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In any other situation, Sheriff Jose's presence is one Mr. Inference hopes to avoid. The only time that the two men ever cross paths is during or after a case, and the crimes the two men handle often contain a body count. But tonight is uncharted territory, as the detective finds himself surprised by an invitation from the Sheriff, one that warrants an investigation.
Inference doesn't make it a habit to visit Chinatown all that often. It's something that frustrates Truth to no end, as this district is famous for its shopping and entertainment options, including a clockmaker's shop she seems to spend an abnormal amount of time in. But all of that makes the area densely populated and noisy, and Inference tries to avoid places with both traits as much as possible. Naturally a case will always bring him here if needed, and if Truth pesters him enough, he often relents. But tonight is different. Tonight, he's doing something unexpected with someone unexpected.
Is it truly unexpected, though, to meet outside of work with a colleague? Probably not, but he'd always assumed that the Sheriff would prefer the company of others on his own force, not a private investigator that he occasionally works with. Moreover, he's not the kind of man Inference would expect to go out drinking with others. He's heard the rumors about the Sheriff's personal struggles with alcohol, but even so, he's never given the impression of being a social drinker at all. It's for these reasons that the detective has decided to accept this invitation, and why he's bothering with this noisy part of town on his own.
And speak of the devil, the Sheriff is already outside waiting for him. It had rained earlier today, so the ground is still wet and covered in shallow puddles, which capture the flashing golden neon of the bar's marquee and give the Sheriff a glow from above and below. He's dressed casually - or, well, as casually as a man like him could dress. A jacket barely light enough to protect from the post-rain winds, durable boots that likely set him back a paycheck or two, and the standard grooming of hair (facial or otherwise) that comes from years of exposure to high society and the Queen's Navy. Even without seeing a prosthetic arm or multicolored eyes, Sheriff Jose Baden is recognizable from a mile away, although the distance between the two men at this point is a mere street.
Jose spots the younger man as he starts crossing, and nods in greeting. "Inference. Glad you could make it."
"Sheriff Baden." Neither man is much for small talk, which is why this perplexes Inference even further. Is there some sort of case the Sheriff hopes to discuss? Something more on D.M., perhaps. His letter had been very direct, sent at the highest delivery fee so get there before day's end (likely is still adjusting to the use of telephones; those aren't exactly a common feature out on the sea). This entire situation feels so unusual. "Thanks for having me."
The Sheriff offers a polite smile at this point. "Thought you could use some company. Let's head in before we talk further, shall we?"
Having both served at some point, both men are numb to cold and rain, but the noise of a busy shopping district is easily drowned out behind walls and a few drinks. And fortunately, it seems as though Jacky's is slow tonight. Only a few patrons at the bar, with the rest at the adjoining diner further in. The two men have ample space to sit down, with Inference taking the spot furthest right and the Sheriff to his left. Jacky's oldest son is on duty tonight, and he stops by immediately upon spotting the Sheriff.
"Evening, Sheriff. The usual?"
"Evening, Danny." The Sheriff turns to his companion for the evening, giving him a sly smile. "How about it, Mr. Detective? What am I ordering?"
Ah, so he's being tested? It's not something Inference is unused to. His more affluent clients tend to treat his skills as parlor tricks at first, some being so bold as to treat him like a pet performing for an audience. A bit grating, but he certainly takes satisfaction when things become serious, and he surprises his hosts by uncovering the truth with those "trivial" skills. But the Sheriff already knows of his abilities, and is most likely doing this on a whim. Humoring him may not be such a bad idea.
"You're a Navy man," Inference starts, thinking out loud as much as he's speaking to the Sheriff. "I worked for the East India Company, so I'm familiar with what's common on the warfront. Therefore…" He looks to the bartender. "One gin and tonic, please."
The Sheriff's grin grows wider, and he opens his mouth to speak.
"...for me. He'll have the Port."
Inference keeps his eyes on the bartender, but he can see the Sheriff's reaction out of the corner of his eye. Eyes widening, mouth hanging slightly...it's a sight he's used to, and it's still as satisfying as ever. The bartender grins, excitedly looking back and forth at the two men. "He got it!"
The Sheriff weakly clears his throat to compose himself. "It, ah...appears he did. Put both drinks on my tab, Danny, if you will." As the boy leaves, the Sheriff smirks, resting his chin on his metal hand as he looks at the detective. "Well done. You had me for a moment, there."
Inference merely shrugs his shoulders. "Gin and tonic was the easy answer. But you're Navy and high-born, so something imported was more likely. And of all the possibilities, Port is stronger, but not as strong as beer."
"You know more about liquor than I'd expected."
"You learn many things when searching for the truth." In actuality, he'd taken a crash-course in spirits during one case a while ago. A young man had been convinced that a friend of his was being slowly poisoned, and although he'd been written off as eccentric, as it turned out Mr. Frank had been completely correct. His friend had been the sole witness to a murder years ago, and as a result the culprit had decided to silence him for good by poisoning Mr. Ellis' wine while they'd been snowed in at a hunting lodge. Inference is relieved that he'd managed to figure the charade out before Mr. Ellis' condition became fatal. Cases like those he never takes for granted, as it's not often that intended victims escape their doom.
The older man hums, seeming to accept that explanation. "You're a man of many surprises. But, between you and me…" Danny has their drinks served by now, and the Sheriff swirls his wine around in the glass. "There's another brand of wine I enjoy most. I'm sure you've heard of it?"
He's heard of a special brand of wine, so special that only one bar in the entire world serves it...and only one person knows how to craft it. "...Dovlin is it's name, right?"
The Sheriff smiles and nods. "Indeed it is. Nothing else I've ever had compares to the stuff. Don't know if you'd particularly care for it, though. It's rather sweet, compared to other drinks." He finishes off by tilting his glass towards Inference's own drink.
It's at that point that Inference picks his gin and tonic up, the ice having melted enough so that "its flavors are properly blended," or something. Another thing he'd learned from that hunting lodge trip, from a musician with a particular affinity for alcohol. Ironic, really, considering his husband's toxicology background had ultimately been what had helped Inference make his case. He silently toasts to them both for aiding him then and now when he and the Sheriff bring their glasses together.
The cocktail is good, fresh and citrusy, far more palatable than the makeshift ones back in the trenches. Strange, really, to think that a drink crafted out of necessity out on the battlefield has become something almost trendy back in town. Yet another contrast to the life Inference had known, and the life someone in his line of work ought to lead.
"I don't mind sweet," he says, setting his glass down once he's downed it. He won't be getting another, as the last thing he wants is to tempt fate and get drunk at all, much less in front of a colleague. As it is he can already feel his face getting a bit hot as the color rushes to his cheeks; someone of his build is no doubt a lightweight. The same can't be said for the Sheriff, who has a head and shoulders over the detective, with a broader build to match. But judging by the way the Sheriff's body has started getting softer, he's definitely more used to the stuff than Inference will ever be.
"In that case, I can bring you a bottle the next time I'm at Bourbon's. Trust me, it'll be the best wine you've ever had."
Probably. As it is, he can't remember what kinds of wine he's had prior to the lodge incident, just that they had all been red. "Do you go there often?"
"As a matter of fact, I do." The Sheriff smiles fondly, staring at his reflection in the empty glass. "The proprietress and I go back quite a ways."
"Is that right…"
"Indeed. She's brilliant, really. Both when it comes to her craft, and just as a person." He chuckles to himself as Danny pours him another glass, pausing to take a sip, while Inference quietly observes the Sheriff. It's never right to assume anything about anyone, as often assumptions lead to culprits being written off or innocents being framed. But there's something about the way the Sheriff brings this girl up. He's disciplined, yes, and is known to be very direct and dry when it comes to his work. But the smile is soft, his tone sentimental, so Inference can't help but to wonder--
"You know," the Sheriff says, setting his glass down. "She's about Truth's age."
...oh.
"You're…?"
"Oh, I'm not her guardian, no. She's old enough that she lives and works on her own." He pauses then. "But I knew her brother, long ago. She learned everything from him, and he had always been so good to her."
There's a fondness in the way the Sheriff speaks about the brother, too, but it's different from the way he speaks about the sister. A sideways glance from the Sheriff, as if quietly assessing whether Inference knows what he's conveying, and if he's right to trust him with this information. A slow, single nod of the head lets the older man know the answer to both is yes.
Seeming relieved by this, the Sheriff continues. "She was...sick. I'm still not sure what condition she had, but we were never sure if she'd live to see the morning every time she went to sleep. He'd gone off in search of a cure, along with my father. I was…"
He trails off, but he doesn't need to say anything further. Those rumors had mentioned that once the Sheriff's alcoholism had reached its peak, he'd missed a voyage that his father had taken. That was the last anyone had heard of Viscount Baden, his crew, or the ship full of treasures they'd been sent to deliver to the Queen. A family in ruins, centuries of noble lineage snuffed out in one fell swoop. And there's no question how the Sheriff himself feels about the situation. There's a deep emotion behind his gaze, a mix of sorrow and grief and regret that the Sheriff can't hide as he quietly pushes his glass of Port away from himself.
"...my apologies, sir." He brings those melancholy eyes up to the detective. "I hadn't intended to let any of this slip at all."
"It's fine." And it is, truly. If nothing else, Inference is a good listener. And it seems there aren't very many people in the Sheriff's life that he would dare to let listen. The mind works in mysterious ways, and often people spiral down in thought and association. A human trait that has helped Inference many times, and one that he can understand in the Sheriff's case. "The girl. Is she…?"
It's a slight topic changer, one that can hopefully help the Sheriff compose himself as he so desperately seems to be doing. The sorrow leaves his eyes, and he straightens up, the cracks of vulnerability smoothed over...though Inference knows from personal experience that should they continue talking about the young woman he looks after, they may start showing again without warning. "You know, it's the strangest thing. She'd received a letter one day with some chemical formula, and once she figured it out...not only could she replicate her brother's Dovlin recipe, but she improved upon it, so much so that her ailments have cleared up. Actually, that's part of the reason I joined the force. To uncover that mysterious benefactor…"
And to solve the mystery of the missing ship, no doubt. Inference understands all too well. That accident that had taken him from the army, the disappearance of Truth's friend...these are all mysteries left unsolved, questions that need answering. And they're going to find them in their own ways. And if in doing so, they can help other people answer questions of their own? Well...there are worse lives to lead.
"How is Lady Truth, anyways? I haven't seen her in a while."
Inference shifts a bit in his seat. "She's...well, I haven't heard much," he admits. "She's got a case at some girls' school involving another friend of hers." She's undercover, so he won't say anything more, but naturally he can't help but wonder over her wellbeing, especially when she can't send letters.
The Sheriff nods. "I see...that wouldn't happen to be the same girls' school that--"
"Of course it is." Inference exhales, feeling a small stirring of agitation within him. The Melodis family is one that always seems to find their way into everything. The current family head, D.M….Inference trusts him as far as he can throw him. But he should be careful. The Baden family had been well-connected, once upon a time. Say the wrong thing, and--
"That damned family…"
Ah. Nevermind.
There's a sinister note in the Sheriff's voice, one that's as surprising to hear as the softness when speaking of the Bourbon family. "It wasn't my choice to declare Madame Bella's death an accident. If there truly is any justice in this world, that man will pay for the things he's done. I can only hope the price isn't something money can buy." Without even seeming to think about it, the Sheriff takes a drink of his neglected Port. More than a drink, actually, as he downs the entire thing. Once he's done, he wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "Bella was no saint, but she deserved better than that. And so did…"
He trails off again, sighing in frustration. Apparently whatever he's feeling is hard to put into words. But Inference can try to venture a guess. "Did you know someone involved personally?"
"I...not...not personally, no." The Sheriff shakes his head. "But her maid...she reminded me of someone."
It's not hard to fill in the blanks when wondering who that 'someone' could be.
"That young actress, too. Kroto, was it? There's a girl at Bourbon's, she works as a dancer. A bit more naive than Kroto, from some fishing village, but there are traces I'd picked up on."
Kroto and the maid, Phonograph, had despised each other. But this dancer working for the barmaid… "Are the girls you know...close?"
The Sheriff smirks. "As close as I had been to her brother." There's a heavy pause. "I'd taken them both on a holiday after that case."
"So that's where you were for that week…" He can understand why, though, considering the Sheriff's feelings on the case. Inference's mind wanders off to Truth, and her increased concern with every letter Anna had sent her. The last thing he'd seen the night she'd left is something he'll never forget. Standing in the doorway, with a death grip on both her suitcase handle and a crumpled up letter, her face obstructed by shadows save for the fire in her eyes that reflected moonlight. First Doll, now Anna… Maybe, when she gets back from this investigation of hers, they could--
"What's so funny?" Inference looks to the man beside him, having heard a small chuckle. The Sheriff is in better spirits now, that second glass of wine taking effect on his mood.
"I'm learning that we have more in common than I'd previously expected. That's all."
Inference must look puzzled, so it's up to the Sheriff to clue the detective in.
"I have that same look on my face when I think about mine."
Inference has no idea how he must look now, but judging by how the Sheriff laughs, it's not good. But he doesn't feel too humiliated, as the few others here don't seem to mind.
...oh, that's right. There had been other people here at Jacky's. Inference had been more caught up in this conversation than anything else going on. Which usually isn't the case. It shouldn't be the case. His vigilance is something he's so accustomed to that the absence of it is alarming. And it's only ever happened once before, with yet another army man, also scarred and smiling as Inference downs his gin and tonic.
He has many memories of that time, that he sees in his sleep or in his waking moments, that haunt him and pull him right back into that hell on earth until he can return. But that memory, and any others with that man, are ones he actively tries to remember.
"Finally finished?"
"Hm?" Inference looks down to his hand and the finished drink. "Oh." Hadn't even realized… "I should quit while I'm ahead."
"That's for the best." The Sheriff nods, looking at his own glass. "I should follow your example…"
So that's it, then. The two of them will head off back home, and Inference will go on with...well, more work, he supposes. "Can I ask something, Sheriff."
"Hm?"
"What gave you the idea to invite me out?"
The Sheriff opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. It's clear he's looking for a proper answer, but Inference already knows what it must be. We have more in common than I'd previously expected. Two men, haunted by violent pasts with tragic endings, with only one person left in the world that they care truly and deeply for. Two men powerless in the grand scheme of things, caught in endless cycles of murder and mystery. Two sad, lonely men, fighting an uphill, seemingly even futile, battle for the truth that may not ever be won.
But the Sheriff only says, "I thought we could both use a drink."
There's a silence that follows after that. But Inference finds his mouth opening, and his voice asking a question.
"Have you eaten yet?"
The Sheriff blinks, then chuckles, shaking his head. "Truth really is out of town. I doubt she'd let you out drinking before eating supper. We can't have you eating like--"
He cuts himself off, but they both know he's gone and answered Inference's question. It neutralizes the Sheriff's little taunt, so Inference decides to just press on. "The diner here...think it's any good?"
"Well…" The Sheriff tries to put on his usual no-nonsense expression, but he's incapable of keeping the corners of his mouth down. "I do know the answer to that...but I think that's one mystery you'll need to solve for yourself."
That actually earns a snicker from Inference, something both men are surprised by. But as they get up from their seats, the Sheriff fishing into his wallet to leave some banknotes as a tip for the bartender, Inference gets the feeling that any more surprises his companion has for him may not be so bad, after all.