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The car carrying him and Dazai to the fancy meeting he was not able to escape seems to barely make it up the hill that leads to the mansion. Ranpo finds himself wishing for the vehicle to run out of oil before it reaches the house.
“We are almost there, aren’t you excited yet?” Dazai asks one more.
“Not really.”
He isn’t in the mood for speaking, too busy thinking about how none of the many reasons Dazai has given him to cheer up about having to assist the soiree seemed decent. Amongst them, his co-worker has included the delicious food, which he doubts will meet his picky taste, the opportunity to party after a long time, which directly isn’t something Ranpo is into, and the chance of meeting new people, which might be what Ranpo dislikes the most about the whole thing.
He is not a social man, and he would prefer it if his interactions with others were limited to interrogations during cases, the people from work he’s come to consider family, and Poe, an American writer who he has grown close to after reading his work.
“Say, Dazai.” His words make the other turn his head to look at him. “The man who organises belongs to the same association as Poe, does he not?”
“Belongs to?” The other smirks. “If anything, your Poe belongs to his association. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about Fitzgerald.”
“I have heard plenty, he just didn’t interest me.” He replies, before adding something more: “And Poe is not my anything, save for maybe my friend.”
“Heh, whatever… It will just be some hours, though. Perhaps we’ll have fun.”
“I just think you should have invited Yosano instead; she would enjoy it way more than me.”
As stated in the invitation they had received, only two members could come from each of the organisations attending. Dazai had been an obvious option, being the one with more ties with all of them, and the man had taken it upon himself to invite Ranpo. It hadn’t mattered how much the detective denied him, in the end he was the only one else free for the night. At least, the two-member invite had entertained him during the trip, keeping his mind busy as he tried to imagine which people had been selected by each organisation.
“Who do you think the Mafia is bringing?” He asks Dazai, who has not answered his previous comment yet.
“Chuuya, most likely. I’d say Kouyou, but I doubt they’d bring two executives to the same place with so many different organisations. Plus, I am sure they use the opportunity as a distraction for something.” Dazai explains his point of view.
“I thought the same thing.” Ranpo speaks.
“Who do you think is coming with Chuuya?” Dazai is the one to ask this time.
Though it would be fair for implying things about him and Poe, Ranpo contains himself not to joke about the chance of the brunette only being excited about the dinner because it might include seeing the other.
“A pawn.” He says. “I doubt those two teenage gangsters they have would fit in a fancy dinner, though. You know, the redhead and that assassin… In fact, I think it’d be her brother to come.”
“Akutagawa? Hm…”
Dazai doesn’t get a chance to respond before the car stops, wheels making an uncomfortable sound as they slide dryly against the pebble-covered ground. They are at their destination, the driver announces before he allows them to get off.
The mansion standing in front of them is massive: Ranpo would have to save up all his monthly salaries for over a decade to even begin to afford it. Its sturdy walls made of stone shine with the light coming from inside the multiple wall-height windows in it. It seems to have three stores, but Ranpo only perceives activity in the two lower ones. Third one must be for rooms.
“Let’s go in, shall we?”
If he could, he would turn back and go back home, but it’s not viable at this point. Ranpo just follows Dazai inside, with a part of him hoping that the other’s words about Poe being there turn out to be true.
…
The pride he feels when he counts the assistants and realises most, if not all, of his predictions where right is quickly washed away by the joy that takes over him when he sees Poe’s tall figure standing proud amongst the others. Yet, as much as he wishes to rush to him and greet him after not having seen him in some weeks, he doesn’t want to entertain whatever wicked ideas Dazai might have. Instead, Ranpo just takes a glass from one of the plates waiters are carrying around and sips quietly by his companion’s side. His heart jumps a little when he notices the writer is walking up to him instead.
“Ranpo!” The man smiles, reaching up to where he is. “I was not aware you were coming… What a pleasant surprise!”
The chuckle Dazai lets out against his glass of champagne before he walks away and leaves them alone has Ranpo sure that he is blushing just by the interaction.
“Well, I didn’t really want to come.” The look of disappointment in Poe’s face has him regretting his words right after. “I would have if I knew you were coming… Though, I would rather if there weren’t so many people.”
“Oh, I understand that so much.” The taller one giggles. It’s a beautiful melody. “We are not even 20 people, but I feel like I'm suffocating with anxiety… I would have preferred a private meeting with you instead.”
“Hm? How come? New project?”
His interest perks; it’s always delightful to hear about Poe’s stories, which are pretty much the only books he ever reads. Ranpo dislikes reading, and he is specially prone to disliking mystery novels, but the other just writes them masterfully.
“Well, I was wondering if I could use some details of that one case you told me about some months ago… I found it really interesting, so…”
Ranpo cuts him dryly without even realizing.
“No way! I would know how it ends right away, where would the fun be?”
“Hm… I believe you are right.”
They fall into easy conversation after that. It’s difficult to talk to people, or at least, Ranpo finds it difficult. However, it never is with Poe. The other’s mind seems to flow in the same direction as his, with the same pace at that. In him, he’s found a friend different in all possible ways yet impossibly similar. If it didn’t make him sound like the protagonist of a romance novel, he’d say they’re a match made in heaven.
They spend the time close, leaning against one of the walls and speaking quietly as they drink. Ranpo hears the music, but doesn’t feel inclined to listen to it when he could just listen to Edgar speak about his new ideas. His Japanese isn’t perfect yet, but Ranpo prefers it to any of the conversations he overhears.
“I think I’m getting tired of writing murder mysteries all the time.” The man tells him. “I might change genres.”
“What?” Nothing could have prepared him for the literal fear he feels at the words. He doesn’t mind Poe experimenting, but a part of him is afraid their relationship will fall off without their common love from mystery-solving. “Why? What happened?”
“I just… I have been doing it for almost a decade now and I feel I need it to rest. I need to fall in love with mystery again, you know?”
Well, Ranpo doesn’t know. He has dedicated his life to mystery and detective work… Of course, he understands it’s not for everyone, and a part of him takes pride in being so passionate about something so niche, but… Poe? Out of all people? He doesn’t contemplate Poe without mystery or mystery without Poe.
“And how are you gonna fall in love with it if you drop it?”
Poe doesn’t get time to reply. Their conversation ends abruptly, cut by the sound of a body heavily falling to the ground with no delicacy and clearly with no intent. All eyes in the room travel down to the source of the sound: one of the guests, a man with long, white hair that Ranpo quickly identifies as Nikolai Gogol, is lying face-first on the ground.
He shoots a glance to everyone in the room. Poe is with him, staring in disbelief at the way blood starts to spill in the ground. In front of the body, the victim’s companion and husband has his pale hands covering his hands, but does nothing to kneel down to check for details. One of the waiters has dropped his tray to the ground with the shock, and the other is with him trying to clean up the mess. Fitzgerald’s face looks more struck with anger over his party being ruined than with sadness for the man. The two mafia attendants, Chuuya and Akutagawa, remain close to each other with their best póker faces on. Lastly, Dazai is the only one properly moving towards the body.
“Nobody move, everyone remain where you are.” He says, kneeling down by Nikolai’s body and pressing his fingers to his neck in search of his pulse. “We of the Detective Agency will take care of this, won’t we, Ranpo?”
Through the initial shock, his name registers in his ears and has him stepping forward in direction to Dazai. Pulling a chalk out of his jacket’s pocket, he starts to outline the shape of the corpse.
“Ranpo, we don’t know if he’s actually dead yet…” Dazai whispers, as if not wanting to alarm the husband that is standing close to them.
“He is actually dead.” He argues back. “I would go as far as to say he was poisoned. No visible wound, no way of harming him discreetly enough with all the guests here, and no previous medical issue that could cause something like this, or else his man would have known how to react.” He lines out before lifting the body’s lifeless head by pulling his white hair. “And… The bleeding is coming from his mouth, not from head injury.”
“Ahh… I gotta give it to you when you’re right.” Dazai complies, standing up and letting Ranpo finish the outline. “Well, then, it’s obvious the killer is one of us.”
“Indeed.” Ranpo speaks. He points his hand at Fitzgerald after standing up. “You…”
“Me? I didn’t do anything!”
“Never said otherwise. Do you have a room we could use for interrogations?” He asks. “Actually, you do. Can we use the rooms upstairs?”
He doesn’t wait for confirmation before turning to Dazai and telling him to watch the suspects while he goes to check. It’s a matter of less than 10 minutes before he finds an office-like room with a desk and two chairs as well as a revolving blackboard. After taking a notebook from one of the desks’ drawers and a pen from the pencil case on the surface, he returns to the first floor and calls from the stairs as if it was a doctor’s waiting room.
“Suspect number one, mister Edgar Allan Poe.”
Surprised, the writer walks towards him and follows Ranpo up the staircase till he finds himself sat in front of him at the office the sleuth has claimed as him. Green eyes scrutinize him, making him nervous.
“Uhm… Hello?” He says before Ranpo starts to ask.
“Hello, Poe.” It feels weird to be doing this, when he is pretty much sure the other isn’t the culprit. However, it’s his job to not let anyone go without interrogation. Plus, he has an idea in mind…”What did you know about the victim, Nikolai Gogol?”
“Well, I knew of his Ukrainian origin and of his marriage with Dostoyevsky. I heard from them in the local newspaper. I never understood why they are such an influential couple, though I guess people do enjoy their circus show a lot…” The man speaks more to himself than for Ranpo. It’s easy to tell he has forgotten this is an interrogation. “Oh! I also know that he worked at the circus with his husband. I don’t know what he did there, though. I am not a fan of that kind of entertainment…”
“Were you aware he would be here tonight?”
“I was. I helped mister Fitzgerald organize the party, so I was aware of the guests.”
Ranpo lifts an eyebrow at that.
“How come you weren’t aware I was coming, then?”
“The ADA only sent confirmation that two of their members would assist. Other’s, such as Decay of Angels, gave specific names.”
“Hm… I see…”
He highly doubts it was Poe who did it, even if the last bit of information throws him off a bit. He finds the writer wouldn’t have much reason to commit a murder, and he doubts he would have the mediums even if he wanted to… Only thing he can think off is that he could had gone crazy enough to kill someone for inspiration for a book, but it seems highly unlikely he would do so when he was considering abandoning the genre.
“Ranpo… Do you think I did it?” He asks. Ranpo isn’t good with tone, but he has never failed to tell when Poe is genuine, and he detects the same sincerity right now than ever before.
“I can’t say yet.” I don’t think you did. “But still… I trust you, and I think you are well versed in this. Since Dazai has to stay with the others, would you mind being the one helping me for this case?”
“Me?” He asks, as if Ranpo had asked him to marry him.
“Mhm, you.” Before Poe can ask the obvious question that Ranpo already sees coming, he answers him. “You understand people better than I do and could read details that I couldn’t, your imagination is superior to mine in many cases and you could see possibilities that would escape me, and you are someone I can trust despite differences in organizations. Yes, I am aware you are no sleuth, but I want you as my sidekick for this. So, what do you say?”
Silence is heavy in the air for a moment.
“Who should I call for interrogation next, Ranpo?”
…
Fitzgerald is up next. Ranpo sits the man in front of him, not without handing Poe his notebook and pen for note-taking before. He silently examines the blonde’s body language. While it’s not his area of expertise, Ranpo can tell the man is sure of himself by the way he sits with his legs crossed and his back leaned back, as if wanting to show he is not uncomfortable and that, if any of them is superior in this situation, it’s certainly not Ranpo. Still, he is not about to flinch.
“So, Francis Scott Fitzgerald, right?” He speaks right after the other confirms the information. “So, why had you organize this meeting to begin with?”
“Moving forward to the next year, I wanted the different organizations currently settled in Yokohama to discuss interests and affinities, as well as examine possible business. Something as simple as wanting to find out everyone’s interests for the upcoming year and offer financing with interests to those whom I thought could be good partners.”
“Right… So, why would you invite two of each?”
“I would have one of my members with me…” He emphasizes the “my,” as if Poe helping Ranpo was a sort of betrayal or as if Ranpo had stole one of his possessions. Knowing him, it was probably the second. “I didn’t wish that any of the other guests felt they were lacking representation in our dinner.”
“Aha. Now, of which guests’ assistance were you notified?” Ranpo asks, wanting to prove Poe’s earlier words.
“I knew Gogol and his husband would come. Mafia’s Nakahara Chuuya informed he would come along with a subordinate of his, but didn’t specify who. I chose Poe myself to assist. The Agency did not confirm who would be attending, which I will say was inconsiderate with the organizers.”
“I’m sure it was.” Ranpo says, not really caring at all about it. “Did you know the victim prior to tonight?”
“I had done deals with his partner before, but never with him.”
That’s not enough, Ranpo thinks as he takes a mental note to ask Fyodor about Fitzgerald later.
“What kind of deals?”
“I funded most of the advertisement for DOA’s Heaven Night this year’s August.” Then, he adds. “It was a special event they carried out in the circus, you know…”
“If I don’t remember correctly, the organization used the spectacle as a distraction for what was… Quite the con.” The date of the event had matched that of a historical robbery to the city’s museum. “Know anything about that?”
“I just paid for some signs and ads, mister.”
“Mhm, got it.” He’ll make sure to ask Poe once the man has left. “Did Dostoyevsky return the money?”
“That’s a thing of the past.”
“I didn’t ask if you’re over it.”
“He returned less than we agreed to, but nothing that significant.”
“Understood… One last thing… Who hired the waiters for the night?”
“One of my subordinates picked them, but I couldn’t tell you their names even if you asked.”
“Got it.” He says, finishing the interrogation. “You’re good to go.”
He turns to Poe once he is certain the other has walked away from the door, quickly asking the other if he knows how much money the Guild actually lost after the deals done in August with the European organization.
“They were expected to give back the money we’d paid and half of it. Instead, we only got half of it back. The boss was furious about it.” Poe explains.
“That’s what I thought. Then… I can’t help but find it weird that he’d want to do business with them again.”
“Hm… You believe he targeted Gogol as revenge?” Ranpo nods. “Fitzgerald is not that kind of man.” He is about to chime in and complain about how he is sure the other is capable of murder when Poe continues. “He is sentimental when it comes to him, but he wouldn’t go that route with others. If he wanted revenge, which he might, he would go for Dostoyevsky himself.”
He quietly takes in Poe’s information. Meanwhile, he stands up and starts to scribble in the blackboard with the same chalk he used priorly on the body.
“Then again…” Poe continues. “If he wanted revenge against Fyodor, he would have invited him directly, don’t you think?”
“That would have made Fyodor suspicious, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think he fears Fitzgerald. Otherwise he wouldn’t have chosen to come.” A giggle escapes the other. “Just because most of our conversations revolve around it does it mean that everyone is constantly thinking about murder.”
“Damn, Ed, that makes us sound like assassins.”
“Sorry, sorry… Maybe in another life we are partners in crime or something!”
“Are you trying to lighten the mood?” He asks, eyes focused on the blackboard but mouth turning into a smirk.
“Is it working?”
It’s working better than Ranpo would like.
“No.” He says, smiling and unserious. “Call one of the waiters, will you? And tell the other one he will come after.”
“I’m on it!”
…
In front of Ranpo, a man with bicolor hair and anxious grey eyes focused on the ground squirms in his chair.
“Could you please tell me and my partner your name and age?” He asks, first and foremost.
“My name is Sigma. I am 22.”
“Good… How long have you been a waiter for?”
“I worked for 4 years as a waiter in a casino.” He explains. Something doesn’t sit right with Ranpo.
“4 years? Did you start as a minor?” He gets a shy nod in response. “How come?”
“It was not… The most legitimate of places. But I was just a waiter, and I needed the money!”
“What was the name, please?”
“Sigma?”
“Of the casino. Also, why did you leave it?” Ranpo inquires.
“Oh! Sky Casino.” He answers. “It closed down. The manager said there weren’t enough earnings to maintain the place.”
Ranpo doesn’t comment on how he finds it unusual that a place like that and which was clearly rejecting law had no ways of getting money. He puts a pin on it mentally, just in case.
“I see. How did you hear of this evening and why did you decide to work here tonight?”
“I was contacted by a woman from the organizer organization. I came because the salary was good.”
“How much for a night?”
“I would have made in one night what I would do in a whole month working at a pub.” Why is Fitzgerald paying so much to his service?
“Did you know any of the guests prior?”
“No, sir.”
“Alright… Now, for the big question.” He takes a deep breath. “Out of you and the other guy, which one of you served Gogol his last drink?” The silence that sets in the room is enough for him to guess, but he doesn’t want to say anything yet. He doesn’t have enough tact to know what to say or how in this situations.
“Sigma.” Speaks Poe from where he is standing behind Ranpo. “You can tell us if it was you. It doesn’t mean you are automatically guilty. Serving the glass to him is not as much of a crime as poisoning it, so you can rest easy if it was you who gave him the glass. I think it could also help if you told us what was in it.”
“Fine… It was me who was taking care of the couple’s drinks. Atsushi and I were gonna switch after a bit, but then this happened…” He sighs, clearly scared of the situation. “Both him and his husband were drinking red wine.”
“I recall you were serving champagne?” Ranpo queries.
“They asked for red wine specifically. Said they don’t enjoy champagne all that much.”
“Understood.” Ranpo tells him. “That would be all, Sigma. Thank you very much for your collaboration.”
He lets out a long sigh after the suspect walks out the door, leaning back against the chair’s backrest and trying to reduce tension. When he opens his eyes, he sees Poe standing above him and looking at him from above. Despite the case on his hands, Ranpo spares a second or two to think about how beautiful the other looks like this. He even opens his mouth, ready to tell him, but changes his mind after.
“Uhm… Thank you for that.” He says instead, sounding shyer than he intended.
“Hm? For what?”
“For getting him to speak. I couldn’t have.” Ranpo explains. “You are easy to talk to, you know? I get why he felt safer after you talked to him.”
“Oh, that was barely anything… But thank you, Ranpo. I find you easy to talk to as well.”
As he smiles, Poe lets one of his hands rest on the sleuth’s head and play with his hair for a bit. They shouldn’t be doing that, Ranpo thinks. They have a case to solve, and they are just friends, but Poe’s delicate fingers feel great against his scalp.
“What did you think of him?” Ranpo asks, seeing if the writer caught something he didn’t.
“Sky Casino was founded and funded by Fitzgerald himself. Not the Guild, just him.” Poe tells him.
“Hm… That would explain how the Guild was able to contact him.” He scratches his head, standing up and turning around the revolving blackboard to add the new information he gathered. “Why him specifically, though? And why is he paying the waiters so much? That’s fishy.”
“Hm…” Poe hums from behind, staring at his own notes.
“Hm? Any ideas, Ed?”
“I could be wrong…” Poe starts. “But, maybe it’s a sort of blackmail. See, Sigma knows the owner of the casino was hiring minors, and he is short of money. He might not know Fitzgerald was the owner, but he doesn’t need to: he could try to sue the institution either way.”
“That sounds good, actually.” Ranpo smiles. “You’re good at this.”
“Thank you…” From the back of his eye, he notices the other is blushing at his praise. Cute. “Do you think the wine has anything to do with the murder?”
“Oh, I’m sure it does.”
“I am leaning towards that too, but wouldn’t that have killed Dostoyevsky as well?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” Ranpo says, finishing the words on the blackboard. “Let’s call the other server, shall we?”
…
The man in front of him is barely a man. In Ranpo’s eyes, he looks more like a nervous teenager. His suspicion only gets confirmed when after asking him for his data, the other affirms his name is Atsushi (as Sigma had said) and that he is eighteen of age.
“How long have you been working for?” He asks, wanting to start simple. The furball in front of him looks scared shitless, and he doesn’t wish to cause the kid an aneurysm by putting him under too much pressure.
“Here? It was a one night deal.” Atsushi says. “I usually work at a café, but I have only worked there for some months.”
“Name of the place?”
“Uzumaki.”
The name rings a bell, Ranpo says to himself, stopping to think for a second till he realizes that’s the new name of the café in front of the ADA’s workplace. He hasn’t been visiting so much lately, though, too busy with cases in different cities.
“Lovely coffee.” He mentions, pulling a smile out of Atsushi. “Did you know any of the attendants?”
“Mister Dazai usually comes during my shift. So does Akutagawa.” He explains. “I was so happy to see him. I knew Dazai would be coming, but he was a surprise. It was nice to speak with him before… Everything went down.”
Ranpo is considering telling him off for going off track, but Poe speaks before he can.
“What did you talk about with him?” Even from behind his back, Ranpo can tell by his voice that he is smiling, and he is almost jealous that Atsushi can see it and he can’t.
“He told me he was glad to see me, and that he hoped I had an easy night. He also asked me for tea before the other guests arrived, said his throat was feeling hoarse and a hot drink would help.”
“Did you make it for him?”
“Yeah! He likes it very sweet.”
“Other than champagne and tea, did you serve anything else tonight?”
“Mister Fitzgerald gave me the key to the cellar, just in case. Sigma asked me to go for a bottle of wine.” The boy recalls. “I think that’s all, honestly.”
“Alright… Was there anything off in the cellar, the bottle, the wine, the glass…? Anything at all?”
“It seemed perfect to me. I wouldn’t have taken it to Sigma if I knew this would happen.” That… Ranpo finds it easy to believe. There’s a brief silence before he speaks again. “Hm… Was Sigma alright? I don’t want him to feel guilty. It wasn’t me who did it, but it wasn’t him either, I am sure.”
“Your input is greatly appreciated.” Ranpo says before thinking of another question. ”Did you and Sigma know each other prior to tonight?”
“We live together, so he asked the woman who called him to let me come with him.”
He tells Atsushi to leave after a few more questions with no relevant answer. Poe spins the blackboard for him, earning himself a smile from the detective, who is already writing down everything possible. As he writes, Poe chimes in from behind.
“So… Think it could be him?” Poe talks. “He was the one to prepare the drink, in the end… If it had been just the wine, Dostoyevsky would have fallen too, so it had to be specifically Nikolai's glass. Plus, him saying Sigma isn’t guilty could just be a way to earn pity, in a way?” The man tries to explain himself.
“I could buy that, but think about it: what reason would he have for killing Nikolai?” Ranpo counteracts. “If he just wanted to kill someone, he could have poisoned Akutagawa first instead, don’t you think? Plus, that’d make more sense since they actually know each other. However, he didn’t, so I find it hard to believe he just killed a random guy. Sure, he could be incriminating Sigma by making him the one serving the victim… But that’s still risky. If they are leaving together and with two bad salaries, I find it hard he would ruin his relationship with the other that easily. And… Why would he even get out of it?”
He turns around to see Poe staring at him with a gloomy look, as if slightly sad.
“Of course, it doesn’t mean your interpretation is bad. I think it’s wrong, but your opinion still matters to me.” Ranpo speaks, not wanting to discourage him. He reaches out for Poe’s hand and watches as his face blooms with the contact. “I’m glad I can be working on this with you, Ed.”
“I am thankful to be helping you too.” He replies, sounding happier than how he looked. “Hm… Should we call Akutagawa next? Since Atsushi mentioned him?”
“Sounds good.” Ranpo answers, hoping to see if the Port Mafia has anything to do with the case in their hands.
…
Akutagawa coughs into his fist as Poe guides him to his seat, right in front of Ranpo.
“I heard you wanted to see me.” He says, sitting down gracefully in front of the detective.
In the back of his mind, a voice complains about Port Mafia’s subordinates' passions to feign a superiority they lack in any way of the word, but Ranpo tries his best not to show his take on the matter through body language. Instead, he coughs as well and tries to sound as neutral as he did with the other suspects.
“Indeed I did.” He says. “First and foremost… Has the Port Mafia ever associated with the victim of those under his subordination? Lying will do you no good.” He says when Akutagawa rushes to open his mouth.
“Yes, we have.”
“On what terms?”
“The Port Mafia requested transportation aid that was… Not conceded.” The man explains. “Things are tense with them… But poisoning like this is far from the Port Mafia’s fashion…”
“How many executives do you have? Around 6?” He dryly cuts the younger man, not wanting to hear about what he was saying. “I’ve worked mafia cases before, kid. Each one of your high-ups has their wicked way of acting, so don’t tell me that.”
“It’s not Chuuya’s style.”
“That’s for me to decide, alright?”
He is getting worked up, but a hand lies on his shoulder and distracts him, bringing his mind some peace. The reassuring but firm weight of Poe on him relaxes them and makes him untense his muscles.
“Which one of your members was in charge of relationships with DOA, Akutagawa?” He asks, softly, from above where Ranpo is sitting.
The air is heavy around them for a moment before Akutagawa breaks the silence.
“Chuuya, sir.” The way the man’s mouth curves down in the edges, as if worried, lets Ranpo see how uncomfortable he is with the situation.
“Great. Are you aware of which members of DOA he had dealt with in the past?”
“No."
As much as Ranpo doesn’t trust that, it’s not in his fashion to force a response. Instead, he just sighs again, annoyed, as he tries to organize his mind. If the mafia is guilty, it would make sense for Chuuya to send his subordinate instead of him to do the dirty work… Yet, if that were the case, he could find out from the executive just as well as he can from Akutagawa… Or maybe better considering the man’s zero eagerness for collaboration.
“That will be all for now. We’ll call you if we need further information.”
The mafioso stands up with a comment about how this wasn’t an audition and leaves just from where he came before Ranpo sends Poe to find Chuuya. The higher-up walks inside the office just some minutes later, confident as if he owned the place and with Poe following him inside and closing the door behind him.
“Nakahara Chuuya, Port Mafia executive, age: 22, right?” He asks, hearing Poe’s pencil scrap against the paper as he speaks.
“The one and only.” The other chuckles. Despite being shorter than Ranpo, which is already an achievement, his aura and manners make him look important and intimidating. “Anything you wanna ask?”
“What is your relationship with the victim’s organization, if I may ask?”
Carefully, he observes how the man raises an auburn brow before he speaks.
“With the Decay of Angels?” He smiles, as if remembering nice moments with them. “We are not on good terms, but they are no enemy. Overall, we can manage.”
“Have you ever had a reunion or similar with their members attending tonight?”
“They are better drinking buddies than they’re deal makers, if I’m honest.”
The simple affirmation has Ranpo’s interest perking up.
“Hm? They share your taste for red wine?” He says, familiar with the man’s habit of collecting. Working Dazai has its perks, after all.
“I am not giving a taste of my collection to the likes of them.” Chuuya says, defiantly. “They liked vodka the most but that’s not so classy. I usually serve them champagne, or some whiskey I’ve got that I don’t like.”
“Understood… What was the deal they didn’t agree on about? Transporting what?” Ranpo asks, wondering how much money the mafia could have lost from it.
“That’s for me to know and for you to guess.”
“Is that all you are really willing to declare?”
“Pretty much.”
Chuuya gets a sigh from Ranpo before being invited to leave. The detective is placing his head on the table right after the other is outside the door.
“Your back will hurt, Ranpo… Let’s not do that.”
Poe’s caring tone is enough to convince him to sit straight. He doesn’t know about his back, but his head is starting to hurt. It’s late at night now and he hasn’t eaten yet, which is the least of his problems considering the dead person on the ground… Sure, he loves his job, but tonight wasn’t already his thing and working during an event he didn’t want to come to has been stressing him more than he has been letting out… He is tired enough to barely hear how Poe takes the chair in front of the desk and moves it so he can sit by his side, but not enough to not notice the hug he gets pulled into.
“I am tired.” He mumbles against Poe’s chest. “I’m sorry, I know we’ve got priorities…”
“Take a deep breath, Ranpo.” He obliges. “Hey, how you feel also matters. Are you gonna interrogate Dazai?” Ranpo shakes his head no. He trusts his co-workers to not kill anyone if not in self-defense. “Then, we only have one suspect left, and it should be easy, right?” The words he tells Poe in reply die against the soft fabric of his vest. “Hm? What was that?”
“I think it’s Fyodor.”
“Fyodor?” He doesn’t want to tell Poe why yet, but the other builds up his own theory. “Hm… Well, if you don’t count Sigma or Atsushi, you and Dazai or I, the options left are him, the Port Mafia and Fitzgerald… And both the mafia and the Guild have past issues with DOA who would make them more prone to suspiciousness…”
“Mhm. Plus, he asked for wine specifically but Chuuya said he has no problem with other drinks and that it’s not even his favorite…” He whines after he is done speaking. “I think he just wanted to avoid the poison coloring a clear drink.”
“Do you want me to call the police while you interrogate him?”
“Yeah, that’d be nice… But, can we stay here for like ten minutes?” Rano shyly asks. “I just… I need…”
“Shh, it’s alright.”
He doesn’t know how long they spend hugging, though he is aware it’s no longer than the 10 minutes he asked for. A part of him feels like crying, not because he’s sad but because he’s overwhelmed… Yet, the comforting smell of Poe’s perfume and the rhythm of his heartbeat prevent him from doing so. Like this, he’s fine. Especially so when Poe starts to play with his hair and whispers quietly.
“Ranpo…?” He says, causing the other to lift his eyes to look at him. “It’s been a pleasure to work with you tonight.”
He giggles, smiling into his chest. At this point, he is too tired to pretend he doesn’t want to be like this with the other at all times, speak with him whenever possible and be the closest he can humanly be.
“I liked working with you too… You did so well…” Ranpo praises him. “I loved working with you too… I think I…” I think I love you, he wants to say.
“You make mystery fun, you know? You make everything interesting… Life is nice to live when I’m with you.” Poe tells him.
“Ed… Don’t be a sap…” If he kept talking like this, he says to himself, I would fall to my knees and propose on the spot… Damn, what happened to just being friends?
“I don’t mind being sappy with you…” I never wanted to be just friends to begin with, did I? I should have been honest to myself. “Ranpo… Remember what I said about falling in love with mystery again?”
“Heh, are you gonna tell me this is what you needed?” He smirks. “Fell in love with mystery again, Ed?”
“Maybe not with mystery…” His heartbeat sounds faster; Ranpo can tell with his head pressed on his chest. “I think… Ranpo, I think I am in love with you.”
Green eyes open wide and stare into Poe’s dark ones in a matter of seconds. He says nothing. His head is no longer on his chest: Ranpo has moved, separating their torsos so they can stare into each other easily… He no longer hears Poe’s fast-pace heart in his ears, but his own feels like it’s about to jump off his chest. Of course, he says nothing, waiting for the right words to come to him. When they do, he wastes no time in saying them.
“Ed… Can I kiss you?”
Soft lips are against his in a matter of seconds.
…
Interviewing Fyodor would be easier if his mind wasn’t focused on Poe and how he doesn’t want to do anything but kiss him from now on, but with everything he knows, it’s easy to just ask the three or four right questions that confirm their theory. As it turns out, Dostoyevsky and Gogol’s marriage had been going through a slump bad enough for the two completely deranged members of the couple to play a game of killing each other… The wicked dynamic has Ranpo’s stomach turning and his mind struggling to find a reason that would make their idea better than a simple divorce.
As soon as the police arrive and start to take care of Fyodor, he finds himself disappearing inside the house with Poe, ready for some more kisses, a well-deserved amount of cuddles and an actual declaration of feelings.
“Hey, Dazai.” The man being cuffed calls for the detective supervising his detention. “You owe me a favor now, don’t you?”
“For the last time, Fyodor… When I said ‘help my friend get a boyfriend’ I didn’t mean it this way…!”