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You've worked out a bit of a balance between the two of you these days, so you don't get his law-abiding buddies coming down on your case and the boys won't beat the snot out of him. Not often, anyhow.
His pals, just like yours, are a bit of a toss-up, as always. Ace's got potential- a brawler, like Boxcars stuck in Deuce's body. You can always use a brawler. But he's stubborn, loyal as hell, and thinks you're the worst kind of scum. You could lure him over- you could get anybody on your side if you applied the right pressure. Everybody's got a breaking point.
But it's your personal gift to Sleuth that you don't weigh his buddies' mental breaking points too thoroughly. It matches his present to you, every time you have a guest or one of the boys comes by, and he takes himself out to the curb to light up a smoke under the streetlight.
He doesn't like your crew members and you don't talk to them about him. He just steers clear whenever they're around and he's not on the case, and you steer them subtly clear of his turf when it's not business. Droog knows. Out of the boys, Droog knows you best. He doesn't say a thing, of course; he knows what's good for him. But you know there's not much he misses.
These days, Sleuth's not afraid of you. He's wary (and rightly so) but he's not afraid and probably never was. He knows you're not going to shiv him in his sleep (even if you've got plenty of opportunity). Droog, though, he's got no such security with.
Sometimes you wonder if Droog is jealous. And how much. And of what. Droog's pretty much a poker face, even to you. Even you can't read his expression most of the time, and you can't quite tell whether he's concealing emotions that burn like yours behind his calm front or if it's just that nothing means anything to Droog. But when they're both around, Droog watches him with hooded, lazy eyes and you know that whatever else he feels, he definitely wants to hurt Problem Sleuth about as badly as he's ever hurt something.
You're just not sure if it's a personal grudge or a brotherly thing or if Droog just likes to hurt people.
At any rate, the two of you work to keep your groups apart whenever you can, because there's a difference in interest there that'd get a man killed, and whatever the two of you have now couldn't stand up to something like that. That's business.
You're still a little baffled by his other teammate. You figured the Inspector would take Ace's side (like the Crew takes Droog's against vigilante do-gooders), and then you ran into him on the street, sending his armful of files flying. You were just pulling your suit back in order and listening to him rambling a wobbly apology when he froze, really noticing belatedly who he'd nearly knocked over. You're getting your snarl in place, expecting another Ace Dick, but Pickle Inspector just gives you a wide-eyed stare and shakily raises his bowler to you. He keeps it up until you leave.
So maybe he's not so bad after all. Just weird.
At any rate, you're still not going to invite him over for blackjack. Or Problem Sleuth, for that matter. You've shown him places you've never shown the boys and shared things you'll never tell them. But that doesn't make him one of them, and it never will.
Lying back in bed at night, in a cloud of cigarette smoke and heady energy, you toss a card in the air and think about carving a spade into Sleuth's shoulder. You let yourself think for a minute of a black trenchcoat and white tie, of a low-pulled hat and his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. Of him losing every night at blackjack, and Droog blandly accepting him as one of you and not watching him with cold murderous eyes every time they share space.
You know it'd work. You could order it while he lies here sleeping- pull his boys into a fight on the Felt's turf, take them both out without him there to coordinate. Burn his office to the ground and his apartment too. Give him the score card, see what happens. You tighten your grip on the king of spades and put your hand down on his shoulder blade. He's snoring; his back moves a little under your hand. Then you take it back and tuck the king of spades under your pillow, and dismiss stupid dreams that'll never come true.
It's your gift to Sleuth.