Work Text:
Mr. Arthur, the best private investigator, tilts his chair backwards, loafers up on his desk, crumpling papers under his heels. He is drinking from a dirty glass of cheap scotch.
The sensual wailing of a saxophone, voice singing.
The days are long and the nights longer, yet Arthur cannot sleep, the dough all but dried up these past few weeks. Light spilled in from the streetlamps, casting deep shadows upon his handsome face.
If only Eames were here to relieve his boredom.
The door squeaks, high-heeled shoes, probably another batty broad, looking to see if her husband is stepping out. Hell, it paid the bills. And the bills needed paid.
The skirt that walks in, she’s a looker. Hair done up, deep rouge marring her lips, gams that men would kill over.
“What’s it you’re here for –?”
“Mrs. Cobb. My fella’s in trouble.”
“Do you have a lead?”
“I found this,” she hands over a paper.
“Find him, please?”
“Sure, doll. Standard fee plus expenses.”
***
Arthur boards the train.
“Mr. Cobb? I’m Arthur. Your dame sent me. Why’re you here?”
“Running. Took a box job for the wrong people, cracked it, no ice. Someone else must’ve nicked them.”
The train stops.
Mrs. Cobb appears, distraught. “Oh, thank you Mr. Arthur!”
“We got a call about a robbery.” G-Man, Eames says.
“I’ve solved the jewel theft!”
“They’re the thieves!” Arthur points to the Cobbs. “Where’s the diamonds?”
“I’m no thief! It was someone else!” she shouts.
“Your man confessed.”
“Bracelets!” Eames barks to his men.
Arthur tries to turn back to watch.
“Don’t look back,” Eames says. “You okay, darling?”
“Better with a kiss, Mr. Eames.”
“Got the jewels.” Eames whispers.
“Good. We can pin it on the Cobbs.” Arthur murmurs.
Eames kisses him and the world fades out.