Chapter Text
Apollo Justice’s Office, Wright Anything Agency – Friday Night
The days drag on, full of simple, petty cases worked with the dying lights of Los Angeles set as the backdrop. It’s odd how such a lively city can quickly fade to gray and black as Apollo slides into the routine of his work and the darkness that comes with it.
He’s in the office tonight, as he often is, wrapping up the loose ends of his latest case. It’s his least favorite part of this line of work, but there are always things to be filed and reports to be made. It’s easy enough, at least, though the tedious manner of it has him growing more and more drained by the second. He wants nothing more than to go home and get the rest he deserves, but if he doesn’t do this now he’ll have to do it tomorrow, and work only gets more unbearable when he procrastinates.
Besides, there’s something charming about working this late into the evening. It makes him feel like a real private eye, writing beneath only the bright lights of the city outside, still alive and pulsing even as the sun sets and the world grows dark. Actually, it might be more alive than it was before, as the city’s shadowed alleys begin to move and pump blood. They’re dark, corroded veins that regenerate when severed, and forge this sisyphean cycle for people like him, who think there must be a version of this world that doesn’t run on greed or wrath.
If he’s thinking in such dramatic metaphors, maybe he’s feeling a bit too much like one of those stereotypes from the novels. He pushes the thought aside, and tries to focus on getting through this as fast as possible.
“Hallo? I’m looking for Herr Justice.”
He should have known better than to think he’d actually be able to get anything done. There’s always an interruption, usually in the form of the office’s secretary and manager literally appearing out of nowhere to demonstrate a magic trick she’s learned.
This time however, the door creaks open and he’s greeted by a man with a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his tired eyes. He invites himself in and shuts the door with a quiet thud, his expression betraying the aura of confidence he’s trying to exude. He must be a client, because no one else tries this hard to not look defeated.
His immediate instinct is to redirect him to another agency, or at least to Mr. Wright. He did only just wrap up his latest case, and the thought of another one that drains him so wholly and twists him further into a jaded copy of his mentor terrifies him. But something in the combination of this man’s concealed desperation and the late hour warn him this must be urgent, and that sunken gaze as he stares at Apollo beckons him to not turn him away, so he stands and pushes his work aside. “That would be me. How can I help?”
“Klavier Gavin,” he greets. There’s a pain in his voice, dry and unsteady; something Apollo’s all too familiar with. “Thank you for having me at such a late hour, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Of course, that’s why I’m here.” He steps around his desk and pulls out a chair for him, a plush seat purchased with the majority of the pay from one of his first big cases. A worthwhile investment, in his opinion, because there’s nothing more valuable than a client’s comfort. On the corner of the desk beside the seat there’s a much less expensive box of tissues. They both rarely see use, unfortunately, so he’s a little pleased to see Gavin reach for a tissue as he sits down.
“It’s my brother,” Gavin begins, and sorrow bleeds through the three short words, leaving him more visibly upset than he was before. “He left for work two days ago and hasn’t returned.”
A missing person’s case?
He’d be lying if he said it didn’t intrigue him. Though he’s had the chance to work a few major cases before, usually under his mentor’s wing, more often than not he winds up stuck with the petty and unimportant ones. An unhappy fiancee searching for evidence of her husband’s infidelity, or maybe– if he’s lucky– a workplace theft. Something crooked, but mundane and ultimately serving no good for anyone involved. Lovers get spurned, employees get fired, and Apollo bears the brunt of every emotion that comes with it.
But this– this lost, troubled client with a missing brother? This is why he even became an investigator in the first place, for those who really need help. It’s more than trivial greed and frivolity, it’s real.
Apollo leans on the edge of his desk as casually as he can, mimicking what he sees Mr. Wright do every time someone comes to him for help. He’s not as suave as his mentor, but pulls a small notepad from the top of his desk, using it to jot down the few notes he has so far. “Do his coworkers not know where he went?”
Gavin shakes his head. “Nein, they said he took time off work, but this is nothing like Kristoph. The police are sure he just forgot to tell me about a vacation, but I know he wouldn’t forget,” he pleads, earnest and distressed, and Apollo can’t help the bit of him that melts at seeing just how hopeless he is.
Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to turn this man away. Gavin’s endeavored confidence flickers away, revealing just how much he cares for his brother, and after speaking for only a few minutes, Apollo can’t find himself with any strength to refuse such a genuine plea.
“Here,” Gavin continues, reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer. From it, he reveals a stack of bills. “Five-hundred upfront, and I’ll pay you double that when he’s found.” That’s more cash than Apollo’s ever seen at once before, and he fails to grasp how any person might think this is a justifiable amount for hiring a private investigator. His hesitation must show, because Gavin interprets it wrong and digs into his coat again. “I might have more to offer–”
“N-no, this is fine!” he interjects as quickly as he can. “You really don’t have to pay me that much.”
“Ach?” He flips through the assortment of money, briefly counting it, and nods as he holds it out for him. “This is the least I can offer. Bitte, Herr Justice.”
It’s more than necessary, but when Gavin stares up at him with such a desperate, pleading gaze, he can’t find the strength to turn away either. “Uh, thank you. I’ll do what I can.” He takes it from his hand, and sets it on the desk as quickly as possible.
“Nein, I should be thanking you,” he counters, and now that his request has been accepted, he seems relieved. “My brother and I are in your debt.”
No, they really aren’t, but Apollo would rather not press the money issue any farther. “Your brother, Kristoph Gavin? I feel like I’ve heard that name before.”
“He’s the district attorney,” he says, swelling with pride. “I know he’s worked with your mentor in the past.”
A district attorney gone missing? Is such a thing even possible? Surely, a man of that position could take care of himself, but Gavin seems so certain that he’d never do something as careless as forgetting to inform him of a vacation.
Gavin gently dabs a tissue along his cheek and stares up at him with hopeful, ice-cold eyes, studying Apollo as he condenses their conversation thus far into a series of bullet points and questions in his notes. As he notes the last statement, their eyes meet, and Gavin’s deliberate gaze softens. There’s something about him Apollo’s not quite sure of, something past the walls he’s putting up and the way he speaks of his brother with nothing but concern.
But that thought doesn’t linger, as their conversation draws to an end and Apollo formulates the next steps in his mind. “Alright, Mr. Gavin. There’s not much I can do tonight, but would you mind if I stop by your place in the morning? His room might contain evidence to prove or disprove the police’s theory.”
With a smile, somber and charming, he nods. “Of course, danke.” He hands over his notepad, which Gavin promptly uses to write down his address. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, and makes eye contact with Apollo, dire but hopeful. “Bitte, Herr Justice,” he whispers. “I need you.”
It’s such a forward statement, one that convinces Apollo’s mind even further that no , this is not someone he can give up on. Gavin treats it as a farewell too, and departs the office just as soon as he’s delivered his final despondent request that sounds more like a prayer than anything else. Apollo’s not sure how he ever even considered turning him away.
Gavin Manor – Saturday Morning
Atop a hill and framed by the morning sun, the Gavin Manor awaits. There’s something chilling about its overbearing presence, the way its shadows cast over the winding path that trails up to the entrance as though it’s trying to threaten its potential visitors away.
Apollo is one of them and, unfortunately for the metaphorical personification of the manor that only exists in his mind, is determined to see this through. Down the course of stone and gravel, he proceeds to the entrance: a sturdy wooden door framed by rich, intricate stone carvings that preach decadence and allure. Brick lines the exterior walls, around spotless windows with drawn curtains. This house, a beacon of affluence and secrecy, could only belong to the District Attorney and his brother.
At the end of the path and atop a few dark stone steps, Apollo finds himself face to face with that ornate door, and with the assistance of the brass knocker, makes his presence known. The silence that follows is curious, because judging by the impeccably managed exterior, a lavish home like this must have its fair share of staff to handle mundane tasks. He can’t see either his client or someone as prestigious as his brother doing things like greeting visitors or landscaping. He waits a minute, until he’s sure he must not have been heard, and moves to knock again, only to be interrupted not by a member of staff, but his client.
“Guten Morgen, Herr Justice.”
A distinct contradiction to the man he met last night, Gavin purrs a greeting in German and sweeps a hand through his hair, eyeing Apollo like he’s about to sweep him off his feet. Gone is his pained expression, replaced with an aura of vibrant, but collected confidence he’s never seen in anyone else.
“Good morning, Mr. Gavin. It’s–”
“Bitte, call me Klavier.” He drapes himself against the door frame, the dark fabric of his robe laid across his figure just as elegantly as him. There’s something inviting about him; maybe the way he outstretches his hand, or the way his gaze drifts across Apollo, enticing and charmed.
Apollo takes his hand. Most formalities were taken care of last night, but if Klavier insists, he’s polite enough to oblige.
Formalities aren’t what’s happening, however. Klavier lifts his hand and in greeting, presses a kiss to the back. Apollo retreats as soon as he’s let go, if only to manage his reaction. To say he isn’t flustered would be a blatant lie, as he takes the brim of his cap and tugs it down just enough to defend the heat in his cheeks. “You’re, uh, in a much better mood than you were last night, huh?” Klavier’s forward in all but his distress, and so openly charismatic that Apollo’s just the slightest bit jealous.
“How could I not be?” He smiles in response, quite innocent for being so openly flirtatious. “Now that you’re here, it feels like all my problems have been solved.”
“Well…” That’s awfully sweet of him, if not a little overenthusiastic. Clients don’t usually flirt with him, especially not so early in the case when Apollo hasn’t managed a lick of progress. “I haven’t done much yet. You might want to save the praise for when I’ve made some headway.”
“Ach, of course.” Klavier’s odd, but altogether harmless. He’s far from the only client he’s met to have some sort of turnaround once their case has been accepted. For some, simply having another person on their side is more than enough to reinvigorate hope, though Apollo can say this is the first time that’s manifested in such outgoing charm. Klavier steps back and beckons him into the manor. “Well then, why don’t you come in?”
He leads him through the entry, down a long, dramatic red carpet and deeper inside. The interior feels far more homely than the polished walls that greeted him, decorated with pictures of the brothers and one adorable golden retriever. Past the foyer is a living area, with two leather couches that look more expensive than all of the furniture in Apollo’s apartment combined. A cup of steaming tea rests on the table– Klavier’s, most likely– beside an old newspaper and a few books on law– his brother’s.
“Entschuldigung,” Klavier starts, and Apollo’s only half-sure it’s some sort of apology, “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, so I didn’t think to brew you a cup as well.” He retrieves his tea from the table, blowing off the steam.
“No, it’s alright. Tea isn't really my thing anyway.” Though he has to admit he’s a bit curious what kind of flavors a family like theirs might have available. Certainly better than the monstrous drink Trucy likes to offer him in the morning, the one he thinks might not be made with an actual blend, but real leaves. From outside. He pushes that awful thought aside. “Have you been awake long?”
“Nein, I’m not usually up this early. It’s been half an hour at most.” Based on Klavier’s appearance, there’s no reason to doubt him. Behind his charming smile, there are bags under his eyes, clear as day despite the layer of makeup over them. Klavier seems to have been awake all night, but considering his predicament, that’s hardly a surprise. It explains the robe too, though with the several minutes it took him to answer the door, Apollo wonders if he might have had the chance to change.
Klavier leans against the armrest of the loveseat behind him, watching Apollo as he continues to cool his tea. His eyes flit toward the newspaper on the table, just for half a second, but Apollo’s inquisitive nature urges him to read into it more than he probably should. From three days ago, Wednesday , an advertisement catches his attention.
There, circled in red, is his name, just above the address for the Wright Anything Agency.
“You’ve had me in mind for a while, haven’t you?” Apollo lifts it from the table to double-check the date. Sure enough, it’s the day Klavier said his brother didn’t come back from work.
“Ja, I have.” Klavier returns to solemnity, at least for a moment. “When Kristoph didn’t return from work I feared the worst, but I didn’t want to be too hasty, so I waited to see if he’d return.”
Klavier thought of him before the police? Odd, but those in his position are rarely rational. It’s clear how deeply he cares for his brother, and Apollo’s ready to make sure that he’s found. “Why don’t we head to his bedroom, then? Maybe I’ll find something there.”
“Of course.” Klavier nods, and with a deep breath to shake off his remaining worry, leads Apollo to Kristoph’s bedroom.
Through the halls he follows again, past more portraits and paintings, way too many mirrors, and the dog he saw pictured earlier, lying asleep on the floor outside their destination. As they approach, Klavier bends forward to stroke his back. “This is Vongole, he’s my brother’s.”
“Vongole?” As in, clams? Apollo’s not sure he wants to question their choice of dog names. “He’s cute.” Klavier takes his hand, another blatant, but innocent disregard for common social barriers, and guides it down toward the dog, who leans into his touch and licks his hand before laying back down to resume his rest.
“He likes you,” Klavier muses. “More than me. He usually growls when I get too close.”
But Vongole must be distraught about Gavin’s disappearance too, because he huffs and whimpers, resigned to wait outside the door.
“We’re here.” Klavier leaves the dog alone for now, and leads Apollo into the bedroom. It’s neat, as clean and put-together as the outside of the manor. The sheets are tucked in, the books are organized, and not a single thing is out of place. Everything in the room is deliberate, entirely unsurprising for a district attorney. It’s chilling how it manages to look more like a museum than a lived-in room.
“Is your brother’s room always this neat?”
“Ja, he hates any sort of mess.” Klavier makes himself comfortable against the open door, lounging once again as he sips his tea and leaves the hard work to Apollo. “We hire staff weekly to clean the manor.”
“What about everything else? Like cooking or… greeting visitors?” Since coming in, he hasn’t seen anyone working. Brewing the tea and answering the door were tasks left to Klavier, it seems.
“Well, if I may say, I’m quite the cook.” He grins, a rather odd thing to brag about. “Kristoph doesn’t like staff staying on the grounds. He prefers his privacy.”
Fair enough, though Apollo knows that if he earned the salary of a district attorney, he’d gladly hand over some of his privacy for the chance to have someone take care of all the trivialities for him. Or, at the very least, someone to clean the toilets when it’s his turn at the Agency.
Apollo begins his investigation at the bedside table, where a framed photograph– the only personal object in the room he can see– sits. In it, the two brothers stand side by side at what appears to be a nightclub, Klavier with a wide smile, and his brother with a much more controlled one. “You two look happy here. What was the occasion?”
Klavier leaves the door and joins him, peering over his shoulder at the picture he’s holding. “My first performance at the Sunshine Club.” He smiles, just as warmly as he does in the image.
“Performance?” Apollo frowns. “You work there?”
“You’re in the company of the main attraction at Los Angeles’ sweetest nightclub.” Another chance to gloat. Great. Klavier twists a strand of hair around his finger as both his smile and ego grow. Apollo’s not sure if he’s more annoyed or jealous of his pride. “Klavier Gavin, lead singer of the Gavinners, at your service.”
Instinctively, Apollo keeps his hands close, just to be sure Klavier won’t try to kiss one again. “Interesting. That’s quite different from your brother.”
“Well, when one brother has one of the most prestigious jobs in the city, it demands the other do something most parents would be disappointed by.”
“Are your parents disappointed?” he inquires. As Klavier leaves his shoulder, Apollo turns to inspect the desk. It’s empty, and he’d presume it was unused if it weren’t for Kristoph’s career.
Klavier takes a seat on the bed, and only answers after a long, thoughtful drink of his tea. “Nein, they passed years before I started to sing.”
“My condolences. I’m sure your brother’s proud.”
“He is.”
His answer is too flat, too muted, and when Apollo turns to look at him, his smile has become vague and hollow. He chooses to leave it there, feeling a little guilty about driving the conversation to the point that his client’s charisma becomes so dull. Unsure of how to comfort him, or if he even wants comfort, Apollo returns to his investigation. The room at large offers nothing of any use, leaving his only hope for progress in the closet.
It’s full, but just as organized and clean as everything else. An assortment of suits and various other dress clothes are hung up on the bar, evenly spaced and more akin to a model home than a bedroom. Two hat boxes rest on the top shelf, and beneath the array of clothing is one suitcase with an empty space beside it.
“Klavier,” he begins, and his client shakes himself from his stupor to respond. “Do you know if this spot’s supposed to be empty?”
He joins him at the door, looking at the empty space with him. “Nein, I’m sure my brother has two suitcases.”
“Then one’s missing.”
It corroborates the police’s theory, that Kristoph might have left for a business trip without telling his brother, but based on the look in Klavier’s eyes, he clearly refuses to believe that this means anything to support that. “He must have taken it,” he admits, “but Kristoph would have told me where he was going.”
“It’s not enough to form a conclusion either way.” Apollo sighs. The rest of the room is too clean to offer anything of substance. This might be all he gets here. “Did he take the suitcase when he left for work?”
Klavier shakes his head. “No, I’m sure I would have noticed.”
So Kristoph either came back for the suitcase, or someone else took it: two theories he can’t make sense of at this point in time, let alone prove or disprove. “I think I’ll try his office next. Maybe I can find more there.”
“I’ll come with you.” Klavier’s insistent, bordering on forceful, but Apollo’s not inclined to deny him. Not when he could use the help. “They’ll let you right in if you’re with me.”
District Attorney’s Office – Saturday Afternoon
Klavier wasn’t wrong about them being let right in, but not for the reason Apollo assumed.
He doesn’t mention his relation to his brother, and gets them in by leaning against the front desk and unabashedly showering the clerk in flattery and praise. Apollo’s behind him and can’t see, but when they giggle, he’s almost certain that it’s because Klavier just winked at them. They’re given permission to enter the building, and all Apollo can do is mutter his thanks and follow his client, who seems more than happy to take the lead.
Apollo’s more confused than anything, at how easily Klavier seems to flip between despair and delight, as if neither’s entirely real. Of course that’s not a conclusion he intends to stick with, preferring to chalk it up to Klavier’s eccentricity rather than another odd conspiracy theory his mind is so fond of coming up with.
It’s a good thing, actually, that Klavier seems comfortable enough to disregard bleakness within minutes of bad news, and return to what seems to be his real self: unashamed and vibrant.
“Trust me, Herr Forehead,” Klavier begins, “if anyone has information for us, it will be my brother’s secretary.”
“Herr Forehead?” To Apollo, the sudden use of a nickname he doesn’t approve of is more important than the rest of that statement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Herr, as in how someone would call me Herr Gavin; and Forehead, for what you’re hiding beneath that little paperboy cap of yours.”
Okay, maybe it isn’t such a good thing that Klavier’s so cheerful again, because Apollo doesn’t like any of what he just said. Of course the feeling in his chest attests to the opposite, as Klavier’s playful, carefree tone inspires some sort of traitorous warmth blooming inside him.
“It’s a flat cap hat, actually,” he corrects, because he doesn’t know how to respond to the rest.
“Most often associated with thirteen year old paperboys. If it weren’t for that large forehead of yours, I’d think you were one of them and you’d gotten lost.”
Quietly, Apollo groans, and tugs his cap down just as he did earlier this morning, when Klavier was bold enough to kiss the back of his hand. He’s never been fond of teasing, but there’s something different about Klavier.
A dangerous sort of different, because if Klavier keeps this up, Apollo worries he might become just as useless as the clerk that was supposed to only be letting authorized visitors through.
“Just… stick to Apollo, alright?”
That conversation comes to an end as they arrive at his brother’s office, where they’re greeted by the aforementioned secretary that waits out front and greets them with a kindhearted smile. “Mr. Gavin, what brings you here? I didn’t think you’d stop by while your brother’s on vacation.”
Already, this has taken a turn for the worse. Klavier’s face drops immediately, his smile sinking back into anguish. It only lasts for a second, before he forces it away and replaces his smile. “I wasn’t planning to, but there was something I forgot last time I visited. Would you mind if I went in to look for it?”
“You and your little friend?” She looks past Klavier, giving Apollo a once-over. “I’m not sure your brother would want anyone in his office while he’s out.”
“Don’t mind him,” he assures her, and Apollo worries for a moment that he might double down on the whole thirteen-year-old thing to use as an excuse. But he doesn’t. He plays her, just like he did the person at the front desk, with a twirl of his hair and smile no one can say no to. “I’ve got him on a tight leash, ja?” He winks again, and this time Apollo has to see it.
“Alright, Mr. Gavin.” She folds easily. “Just don’t make a mess or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Danke, Fraulein.”
Satisfied, but clearly still grappling with her first statement, Klavier leads him into the office. The first thing Apollo notices is that it actually looks used, unlike his bedroom. Papers and files lay across his desk, organized, but only in a way the district attorney himself would understand. A few books and binders are stacked up on a table by a window, accompanied by two leather seats, one of which Klavier immediately makes himself at home in.
The curtains are drawn and the office secluded, a refuge from the bustling city outside; the one he must confront daily in all of its darkness and glory. Apollo’s taking notes on how he could make his own office this comfortable and private, but he can’t linger on that long, not with so much to do.
He begins his investigation with the desk and its clutter of notes and reports, as though it was left this way in the middle of work. Most of it he can’t make sense of, nor does he want to, because he worries that reading some of this might be illegal in some way. Breaching confidentiality or whatever. He isn’t sure. Mr. Wright never really bothered to prepare him for investigating a room like this.
There’s an assortment of personal notes on the left side of the desk, most at least a week old. Reminders for lunch, meetings, or even just to buy something after work. He skims through them without much thought, until one catches his attention.
Friday, 8PM
Sunshine Club – Gramarye
It’s the most recent, because it’s layered on top of several notes dated for this previous Monday and Tuesday just before he’d gone missing. That drives him to the conclusion that it must mean last night, not long before Klavier came to his office.
“Klavier, were you at the club last night?” He picks the note off the desk, re-reading it just in case there’s a chance he didn’t just find something that turns this entire case around in the worst way possible.
“I was. I wrapped up my last performance around ten-thirty so I could come find you.” Klavier frowns. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“You didn’t see your brother there, did you? This note says he was there around eight.”
Klavier practically leaps from his seat to snatch the note from his hands, reading it over with even more urgency than Apollo. “Nein, I didn’t…. If he came by, he should have stopped to see me, especially since he’d been gone for two days.” He laughs weakly.
“It definitely has something to do with him being missing, then.” Some sort of blackmail, maybe, if he was meeting with someone. Apollo recognizes that name, and knowing who shares it, that part of the note might be what he’s most worried about.
Klavier’s on it too. He hands the note back and makes a beeline for the shelves lining the wall, where he starts to dig through his brother’s belongings. “The other day, Kristoph mentioned a certain case, the murder of Thalassa Gramarye. They’re… Ach, they’re gone!” Apollo joins him, directed by Klavier to a binder on the shelf, completely empty. “They should be here. It was his first case as district attorney, and I know he worked with your boss, Herr Wright.”
Selfishly, all Apollo can worry about now is Trucy. Thalassa Gramarye, that has to be her mother. He doesn’t want to think of what it might mean, for her family to be related in any way to the disappearance of his client’s brother. “I’ll ask him,” he assures Klavier and himself. “If your brother worked with him on it, I’m sure he’ll know something useful.”
“Please do,” Klavier pleads. “I worry that the reason my brother is missing has something to do with those files.” He stares at Apollo, eyes wide and full of nothing but hope and worry that draws him in and makes him feel like he absolutely has to do something about this, whatever those files may mean. “Bitte, Apollo. We need to find them.”
He’s helpless, entirely weak and lost. Apollo steels himself now, devoted not just to Trucy, but to him. “We will. Mr. Wright should be in the office, I’ll head back and talk to him now.”
“Good.” Klavier accepts it, a bit of the worry draining from his face. “Danke, Apollo. If you find out anything, please find me at the Sunshine Club tonight and tell me about it.”
“Of course. We’ll find him, I promise.” Apollo knows better than to make promises he might not be able to fulfill, but when Klavier stares at him with such longing concern, he can’t stop himself. “Leave it to me.”
He knows he can handle this.
With all he’s finding out, he has to.
Wright Anything Agency – Saturday Afternoon
“Is your card… the ace of spades!?”
“Nope.”
“What? No way, you’re lying!”
When Apollo enters the office, he hears what he does most often: the bickering of the Wrights, the noisiest father-daughter duo known to man. More often than not, one is bothering the other, and today they’re at her desk, though he’s not entirely sure which one of them is doing the bothering. He takes up roost in the open doorway, quietly observing whatever lighthearted argument they’ve gotten into this time.
“Am not. Look.” Mr. Wright pulls out a card, showing it off to her. “You got it wrong.”
Trucy, seated on the desk, grabs the card from him as her face falls in disappointment. “No way….”
He got her pretty good, Apollo has to admit, but if anyone here is wrong, it’s him. There’s a card tucked into his back pocket, the ace of spades. It’s not the first time he’s played with her like this; fooling her into thinking she got a trick wrong is his usual method, but he’s seen Mr. Wright hide her belongings before too. Apollo clears his throat and points at the real card for her. Trucy, always quick on the uptake, hops off the desk and before her father knows what’s hit him, snatches the card from his pocket.
“Really, Daddy?” From seemingly nowhere, she pulls out a wand, which she promptly uses to whack him atop the head. “I have a show in an hour and you made me think I lost my magic touch!”
“Ow, hey!” With a huff, he rubs his head and shoots Apollo a glare, still playful. “Nice going, Apollo. I would have gotten away with that.”
The father and daughter laugh, light and airy, with no feelings spurned between them. Apollo can’t resist joining. “So, Polly,” Trucy recovers, packing her cards up and tossing them in her bag on the desk. “Are you gonna make it to my show tonight? I have a new trick to show off.”
“Sorry, I don’t think I can tonight. I have a new case I’ve been a bit busy with.”
“Oh, alright.” She shrugs, thankfully not seeming to mind much. Apollo does his best to make it to as many as possible– usually between two and four each week– and when he sees her smiling at him from the stage, he knows watching such an unreasonable number of her performances is worth it. “But you’re coming to see the trick next time,” she demands, vaguely threatening. “What’s the case? Another estranged fiancee?”
“Thankfully not,” he answers, the horror of his last client still fresh in his mind. “It’s a missing person’s case. This musician guy, Klavier Gavin, he–”
“Klavier Gavin!?” It’s easy to forget that Trucy’s just like any other teenage girl, at least until she gets like this, overly excited by something Apollo has zero interest in. Practically vibrating with enthusiasm, she grabs her bag from her desk and points a finger at him, now openly threatening. “When I’m back, you have to tell me all about him, okay!? I’ll never forgive you if you don’t!”
“Jeez, okay!” He backs up, before she has the thought to attack him like she did her father. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. Have a good show, Trucy.”
She hugs her dad, waves goodbye, and in a second, he’s alone with Mr. Wright, who has taken on a much more dire expression than a moment ago when he told his daughter to break a leg. In an instant, he’s gone from the happy, loving father, to the strict boss of the agency, a role he rarely embraces when not in the middle of a case.
“I didn’t realize you had a new case, Apollo.”
“I only got it last night. You and Trucy had already gone home.”
He hums in recognition and brings a hand to his chin, considering something. “Klavier Gavin, huh? What does he need?”
“His brother didn’t return from work a few days ago. The police think he took a vacation, but Klavier’s adamant that his brother wouldn’t leave without telling him. He hired me to find him.”
“A missing person’s case? You’re moving up in the world.” He smiles happily, but there’s something more behind it, a gear turning in his head. “How’s the investigation going?”
“I started this morning, first at their home, and then at his brother’s office.” He’s only had a chance to work a missing person’s case shadowing Mr. Wright once before. This is his first alone, and he can only hope the impromptu report on his progress is satisfactory. “Their home didn’t offer much, but in his office I found a note placing him at the Sunshine Club last night. There’s also a set of missing files Klavier thinks has something to do with the case. They’re actually–”
“You keep calling him Klavier.”
“Huh?” Apollo’s not sure why Mr. Wright’s interrupting for that , or what importance it has in this conversation. “Yeah, uh, he insisted?”
“The Gavins insist on a lot of things,” he warns, making tense eye contact that Apollo now feels himself writhing under. “It’s in your best interest not to get too familiar, trust me.”
“Right…” Apollo can’t claim to understand, nor does he know why it’s such a serious topic that had to be brought up now. But Mr. Wright’s the more experienced of them anyway, and it’s for that reason he’s inclined to agree and accept the advice for what it most likely is: truth. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”
“Now, what were you saying about these missing files?”
“Well, they’re from the murder of Thalassa Gramarye. We think they might be related to this case.”
“Gramarye, huh?”
In an unfortunate turn of events, the door slams open and before the conversation he came here for can continue, they’re interrupted.
“Mr. Wright!” A detective enters, wrapped in a long coat and clutching a bag at her side. With a bit too much enthusiasm, she grins up at the boss, completely ignoring Apollo’s presence.
“Oh, Ema.” Mr. Wright seems to loosen up a bit, the tension from their previous conversation dropping from his shoulders in an instant. “Apollo, this is Detective Skye. She’s the best assistance you’ll ever get from the LAPD.” Strangely, he drops the previous topic of conversation, focusing on the visitor instead. “What do you need?”
“Well,” she starts, fishing through her very full bag for something, “you asked me to keep an eye on the Sunshine Club, and I have some big news.”
At this, Mr. Wright perks up, but Apollo speaks before he can. “The Sunshine Club?” She finds what she was looking for and hands a file over to his boss, who immediately begins flipping through it. “Why are you interested in it?”
“Just business,” he answers, and it’s a bit too quick and flat for Apollo to accept. Before he can ask any follow-up questions, however, Mr. Wright has moved on. “A murder at the club?”
“Cleaners found the body this morning. He died sometime last night, it seems.”
Mr. Wright nods, lingers on the victim’s picture for a second too long, and closes the file. “Do I have your permission to investigate the scene? I’d like to take a look.”
“Already told the officers there to let you in. The body’s already been taken to be identified, but everything else is exactly as it was found.”
Klavier’s scheduled to be performing there tonight, but there’s no way that the police would let that take place in the middle of a crime scene. “Is the club closed tonight, then?”
Ema sighs, seemingly bothered by that topic. More bothered than she was about the murder, oddly enough, but in the two minutes he’s had to get to know her, nothing about her seems anything less than odd. “Unfortunately, not,” she answers. “The body was found in a private room around back, not even connected to the main body of the club. We advised them to shut it all down, but they saw no need.”
“You should come with me to the scene, Apollo,” Mr. Wright suggests, though it sounds more like a demand.
“Why?”
“You’ll do a bit better in your own case with a fresh mind, don’t you think?” He completely glosses over any valid connections: Klavier’s work at the club, and his brother being there the previous night. He also doesn’t offer much chance to respond or argue, grabbing his coat and bag from the rack with a wave for Apollo to follow.
Once more, he’s confused by him, but he doesn’t see any reason to decline. Mr. Gavin was there last night, and Klavier will be there now. All he regrets is how quickly this has gotten out of his hands, and how he’s required to resign himself to waiting until later to have his chance to discuss the missing files from Mr. Gavin’s office. It’s a bit curious that Wright’s seemingly avoiding that topic.
His daughter’s family is involved, after all.
But there’s no chance to redirect the conversation, so he nods and joins Mr. Wright in leaving for the club.
“Thanks for the help, Detective Skye.” Mr. Wright smiles at her. “If you get any other news, come straight for me, okay?”
“Of course, Mr. Wright!”
She’s a fair bit more helpful than Apollo assumed a detective would be, and as this murder inspires a sense of dread in his chest, he’s thankful for it. Right now, he needs all the help he can get.
Sunshine Club – Saturday Evening
In the club’s private room, found down a dark alley around back and guarded by a police officer that let them in with a smile as soon as he recognized Mr. Wright, the music from the main building can still be heard. No vocals, Apollo finds himself lamenting, but the enchanting rhythm of the accompanying instruments still makes it through.
It would be nicer if it wasn’t a crime scene, with a chalk outline and dried puddle of blood obscuring the dark wood of the floor and the lush, rich ambience this room possesses when not taken over by the police. One officer is photographing the room, as two others discuss the state of the scene while leaning against the wall. It’s less hectic than predicted, but most of the investigation had probably been completed long before Detective Skye came to inform them.
So that leaves them with the scraps, and little of use, though over the course of today, Apollo’s gotten used to that. Mr. Wright still spends the better part of an hour combing over every inch of the room, searching for whatever he can get his hands on while avoiding the only things of note: the outline and blood. There are no fingerprints, no minute traces of who the murderer may have been, but Mr. Wright searches like there must be and drags Apollo along for every inch of the worthless endeavor. As tedious as it is, he offers all the help he can.
Mr. Wright isn’t usually this thorough, and between his odd fascination with every nook of this room and the encounter with Ema earlier where he seemed a bit more interested in this club than he originally let on, Apollo can surmise that something is up. He’s just not sure what, though he’s never sure with his boss. More often than not, these suspicious behaviors are little more than Mr. Wright being Mr. Wright, unapologetically cryptic but altogether harmless.
“There’s not much here, is there?” Mr. Wright asks rhetorically, finishing his sweep of the table in the corner.
“There is the body outline,” Apollo suggests as subtly as he can, though a day’s worth of mostly worthless investigations have him too drained of patience to be able to accomplish that. “And it looks like there’s something else marked over there too.” Something small, pointed out by an evidence marker and currently obscured from his vision by the officer photographing it.
“Hm.” Mr. Wright nods, reluctant, and motions for Apollo to go over and look. “You go ahead, I’ll catch up in a minute.” For whatever odd reason he has, he returns to his investigation, moving past the table and onto its seats.
Whatever’s gotten into his boss, Apollo wants no part of it.
The evidence is as straight-forward as can be. The pool of blood is dried right beneath the outline’s chest, so that must’ve been where he was attacked. Apollo somewhat regrets not reading the report Detective Skye gave Mr. Wright, but the conclusions aren’t hard to reach. All he needs to give the outline’s position is a cursory glance, because there really isn’t anything more to it.
He approaches the one piece of marked evidence next, just past the chalk stand-in for the body, and the officer photographing it backs away to allow him to look. All that’s there is a bullet, covered in blood after going through the victim.
“That’s a thirty-eight caliber,” the officer tells him. “We’re probably looking for a revolver as our murder weapon.”
“Standard law-enforcement issue?” Mr. Wright comes up behind them, either done with his search or just that intrigued.
“Well, yes, but it’s not exclusive.”
“Interesting.” His lip twinges up in something similar to satisfaction, but as soon as he clears his throat it’s gone and he’s off that topic. “I think that’s all we’re going to get here Apollo.”
“Huh? But you’ve barely looked at the outline and the blood.”
Mr. Wright shrugs it off. “It’s all in the report Ema gave me, and I’m sure she’ll have another for me in the morning. It was more important to make sure they didn’t miss anything useful.”
Apollo almost wants to ask why they’d need anything useful. After all, this isn’t a case either of them have been hired for, and the police sure don’t seem to need their help. He makes no mention of his thoughts, however, because he knows that all he’d get in response is something entirely cryptic and-or unhelpful. He nods, and Mr. Wright continues. “Trucy’s show will be ending any minute now anyway. We should go pick her up.”
“Actually…” Since he’s here, Apollo doesn’t see the need to leave so soon. He thinks that maybe Klavier will be glad to see him, even if he hasn’t had his chance to ask Mr. Wright about the Gramarye case. “I think I’ll head into the club and check on my client.”
After a moment of silence, Mr. Wright nods. “Just remember what I said.”
“Don’t get too close. I got it.”
“Good.” He smiles, almost polite. “I’ll see you at the office in the morning then. Take care.”
He leaves, and his last words sound more like a warning than a farewell. Apollo’s not far behind him, exiting the private room once he’s gathered his bearings and both tried and failed to wrap his head around his boss’ peculiar tone every time the topic of Klavier Gavin comes up.
The way back to the club’s main building is easy. It’s a quick walk through the dark alley between the club and building next door, a path Apollo hopes isn’t actually this dark when the private rooms are available. It seems straight out of a novel, actually. A dark, suspicious path leading back to a cold and isolated meeting room fit for a criminal. Someone purely evil, willing to murder in cold blood for something as impersonal as money or as intimate as revenge.
Apollo tries not to get too absorbed in that thought, because he’ll be the first to admit that sometimes he gets a bit too enamored by the fantasy of saving his damsel of a client from evil. Even if his current case seems as stereotypically noir as can be, he knows better than to think anything else will go that way. Humanity is far more complex than it appears in fiction, for better or worse.
There’s a bouncer stationed at the door, but it’s hardly a challenge to get through. He gives Apollo the briefest once-over from head to toe and nods before opening the door to let him in. Klavier probably informed him that Apollo might stop by, though he’s dreading the thought of what description was given to render any sort of conversation unnecessary.
The club is nothing like the bar Trucy performs at five days a week– the only real comparison he can make. It’s nowhere near as homely or cramped, instead decorated with glass chandeliers suspended above the finely dressed patrons that make Apollo feel out of place in his worn work clothes. There are plenty of people for him to blend in with, however, and as soon as he joins the small group of people standing right in front of the stage, he melds right in with the crowd.
Or at least he thinks he does, pushing his way through dancing couples and further into the floor to get a better view of the club as a whole. He must stand out quite a bit more than expected because as soon as he’s granted a view of the stage, his client, in the middle of a song and accompanied by the band, finds him. Their eyes lock as Klavier sings about some enchanted evening and lovely stranger, but honestly, Apollo’s not listening to the lyrics.
Mr. Wright’s words attempt to outweigh them, warnings to not get too close to Klavier ringing in his ears. But when they’re staring at each other like this, and Klavier’s singing with such a dreamy, wistful tone, Apollo can’t help but feel close to him; like their lives are intertwined, a tangle or red string and blooming roses.
He can hear Trucy’s voice in his head too, the teasing, but happy musing of, “Aw, Polly has a crush!”
It’s not like that, his mind insists, but the heat rushing to his cheeks once more begs to differ. There’s nothing to be falling for. It’s only been a day, after all, full of little more than eccentric greetings, some rather rude teasing, and a mostly fruitless investigation. Because of that, Apollo rationalizes that there’s no reason to like this man, and so, he does not.
The song ends shortly, and their moment as well. Apollo feels foolish thinking of it as a moment , even mentally, because they only held eye contact for half a minute before Klavier broke it off to turn back to his adoring crowd.
Polite applause fills the room as Klavier offers thanks that Apollo isn’t listening to, too preoccupied with getting his flushed cheeks under control, if that’s even possible. Klavier gives a kind bow to the audience, waves, and leaves the stage, his focus returned to Apollo. Eyes trail him through the room (Why wouldn’t they? He’s the most stunning person here) until he stops right in front of him.
“Ach, Herr Forehead.” He smiles; that wide, conceited smile Apollo can’t deny is starting to grow on him. “You came to see me perform?”
“Apollo,” he corrects half-heartedly. “And I was just next door helping Mr. Wright with an investigation.” He decides it best to not go into the details of it. If Klavier doesn’t know about the murder, he surely won’t benefit from learning about it now. “I thought I’d stop by to talk.”
“Here, why don’t we have a seat?” Klavier grabs his wrist with a gentle grasp and through the horde of bystanders and tables, directs Apollo to an empty private booth in the back of the club. He draws the dark curtain shut and slides into one side of the U-shaped seat, leaving Apollo to take the other. Klavier’s smile fades from vain and flattered to pleased, and with a deep breath, he sinks into his seat.
“You’re a good performer,” Apollo compliments. “It’s obvious how much you like it.” When Klavier’s swaying up there, it doesn’t seem like a performance, but his true self, free and magical.
“It’s easy to let go of everything else on stage. Up there, it’s just you and the music.”
Something about him seems more comfortable now than before, even when earlier he felt suave enough to flirt so brazenly. Now, he seems at home; relaxed and entirely himself. It makes him wonder, though, if Klavier wasn’t entirely himself before. All of him seems so genuine, and yet so restrained, like there’s always something more, something new to chip away.
Even now, as another piece of plaster crumbles from his defenses, there’s even more. Hesitance, though Apollo can’t even begin to guess why.
“I studied law once,” Klavier continues, “when I was younger. I would have stuck with it, but my music career took off first and… Well, I’ve always felt better suited to performing than what my brother does.”
He sighs wistfully, and in it Apollo hears the truth he didn’t get earlier when he remarked that Klavier’s brother must be proud. That dully offered affirmation was a lie, and now he knows why.
“Your brother wanted you to go into law too.”
Klavier stares at him a moment, silent until he nods and decides to elaborate. “Our father was a lawyer before he passed. Kris always saw it as some sort of… well, right for our family. He rose quickly in the field and wanted me to do the same. He never said it outright, but I know he was disappointed when I dropped out of college.”
The weight of a family name, and the silent pressure from someone you care about. Apollo may not fully understand, but he does know that it must be a difficult topic to address. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“Nein, don’t be.” Klavier’s smile grows, and though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, it shatters another bit of his defenses. “I–” He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that before. I don’t think I’ve ever shared anything so personal .”
When Klavier drops the restraint, the pretense, that’s when Apollo suddenly doesn’t feel the need to push down Trucy’s teasing voice, and his mental admission that he might actually feel something for his client that he shouldn’t.
He does, however, push down Mr. Wright’s voice. He’s more experienced, but he isn’t here like Apollo is, just a few feet away from Klavier yet somehow mere inches apart.
“I’m not just here to help you find your brother,” he says. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
“Whatever I need?” Klavier moves closer, sliding down the booth until their imagined distance and reality are no longer that far apart. “Herr Justice… Apollo, I don’t know if I’ve ever been this close to anyone before. I feel like I could tell you anything.”
He stares at Apollo, longing in his gaze. Apollo softens a bit, and finds himself moving closer too.
“You can.” That’s exactly the kind of person he’d like to be for Klavier. A confidant, a friend, and maybe– with the way his heart is thundering in his chest– something more.
“Anything?”
His heart races more and more by the second as Klavier inches closer. Apollo’s grateful for the dark curtains that obscure the booth, because he doesn’t want to imagine what kind of scandal a moment like this will create. Los Angeles’ most popular nightclub singer and some unknown private investigator, staring into each other’s eyes like there’s no one else in the room– no , the world.
“Apollo,” Klavier whispers, and the way his name rolls off his tongue is nothing short of divine.
But not nearly as divine as what happens next, when Klavier pulls him close and kisses him, desperate and sudden. It doesn’t last long, and after only a few seconds in his tender care, Klavier draws back with a doubtful expression that makes Apollo’s heart ache. “Entschuldigung, I’m– I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He’s backing away, but Apollo doesn’t want him to. Before his mind and rationality can catch up with the moment and all the things that are happening that shouldn’t be, Apollo kisses him back. It feels right; a geyser bubbling up in his chest, a silent admission of something he never thought himself capable of.
They only pull away after what feels like an eternity, and neither knows what to say. So they don’t say anything. They sit there, in the quiet ambience of soft jazz music and idle conversation outside the booth as they look at each other and come to terms with what just happened.
A series of warnings and worries fill Apollo’s mind in a flurry he’s trying to ignore. Mr. Wright’s certainty that the Gavin’s aren’t good news; knowing that he shouldn’t be falling for someone he’s supposed to save; the weight of his own emotion, and how he’s never felt this way for anyone before.
This is an awful idea and Apollo knows it, but when Klavier stares at him now, with a gaze that pleads and begs for this to never end, how can he deny it?