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You watch Problem Sleuth without a word, without tiring, without losing patience. You look exactly as you always do: exquisitely dressed and completely cold. You don't feel the need for Slick's threats and posturing. You are the most dangerous person in the city, and the perceptive will know it when they see you without you telling them what you'll do to them when they step the wrong way.
You make up your mind what you will do to everyone the first moment you meet them. You have excellent judgement and a superb understanding of pain tolerance, with an instinctive knowledge of whose is where. So stepping the wrong way is truly just an excuse for you to mete out their inevitable fate. Some avoid it, it's true. They are extremely lucky.
You've seen the way he handles himself. He is wary, but not paranoid, and too caught up in his own grandeur to be truly aware. You do not rely on this, but you factor it into your considerations. He will not take you seriously at first- or rather, he will pretend to take you seriously. You will make him stop, and quickly. You have infinite patience but little tolerance.
Fingers, one by one. Tape his mouth... no, gag him. Horrible things, gags. You will wear gloves. There is no way you will touch him. If you could get Boxcars to... but no. This will be just between you and Problem Sleuth, as things used to be just you and Slick, and now are just Slick and Problem Sleuth. You find appealing symmetry in it.
You watch him passively. Unlike many people, you have the ability to hold utterly still when you wish, which is frequently. You find excessive movement a sign of weakness.
Your phone rings. It's Slick. He reminds you of your job, of the plan. You find it painful to listen to, the way he dances around where you are and what you're doing. You are here to ensure Problem Sleuth does not leave his apartment, and thus misses the extremely important business transaction going on just down the street.
Slick was so much better once. Like you. Well, not perfectly, but more so. Callous and cruel and insular, though still raving and forceful and emotional. He was an excellent foil. He was more than that, certainly. He clearly did not ascribe the same importance to your relationship as you did. No, you refuse to believe that. It cannot be correct. You and Slick were brothers, and he drew you out just as you balanced him. It was ideal.
You cannot believe it has fallen apart as it has. It is not permanent; once he's over his infatuation with Problem Sleuth (you can barely bring yourself to say that), things will return to the way they were meant to be. You cannot imagine how it got this way to begin with.
You cannot believe that Problem Sleuth, of all people, has come to replace you. He's weak. He is fragile. You can ruin him so simply. You slipped into Slick's apartment last night and stood over him while he slept, holding a dozen varieties of card. Your heart was seizing with bitter freezing hatred, cold and silent and waiting, and you stood over him as he snored there, arm thrown over Slick's shoulder. Slick mutters something in his sleep, like he always has, and your hatred pulses slightly, your grip tightening on the queen of diamonds. Fingers, one by one...
But no.
This is Slick's decision. Slick was always the boss. You always obey. That's just how it is, and you're going to show Slick that if he wants to throw away what you had, well, you will wait. At the end of the day, you will be there waiting.
And as soon as he's finished with Problem Sleuth, you will be there waiting for him, too.