#that-figures

Mayor Ramses O’Flaherty hasn’t gotten this far by getting caught off guard.

He knows the name of the woman who marches past security with all the inevitable gravity and force of a star going supernova. He knows her name, her living situation, and the promise that Steel made her on his behalf. And so he knows that trying to stop her would accomplish nothing except to draw out the inevitable. 

“Tell security to let her through,” he says to his personal assistant. “And wire a hundred and fifty thousand credits into her account. She’s an employee, and I intend to see her paid.” 

He signals for his water to be refilled and continues his dinner. It’s one of the few indulgences he allows himself, but even this would seem paltry compared to his predecessors– fish and steamed vegetables, dark bread and butter. He will do many things, but he won’t feast on taxpayer credits. 

His personal assistant sends feeds from the security cameras to track the woman’s progress. The mayoral mansion is enormous, but she makes good time; he only manages to catch a few glimpses of her in any detail before she moves out of focus. 

Her hand is expertly bandaged, but the dressing is old and dirty, all but entirely bled through. She looks like she hasn’t bathed in a week, though there’s a sheen of gloss uneven on her lips. She didn’t come here directly, it seems– no, first she made a stop elsewhere, to reassure someone who kissed her thoroughly when they saw her. Her fiancee, if Ramses had to guess. 

A well-meaning member of the staff steps into her path. 

“Ma’am, do you have an appointment? I’m afraid the mayor is very busy at the moment, but if you could just–”

“I don’t give a shit how busy he is,” she snarls. “There are lives on his hands, and he’s not walking away from this. Pilot Pereyra is dead because of him. Juno Steel is dead–”

She’s still shouting, but Ramses’ attention is diverted by the crack of broken glass. 

One of the waiters stands frozen, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging half open. For a moment, he doesn’t even seem to notice the shattered pitcher at his feet or the cold water soaking into his shoes. Then the moment passes, and he scrambles to clean it up. 

“My apologies,” he says quickly. “My grip must have slipped. I’ll just fetch a dustpan–”

He isn’t even at the door before Ramses signals his personal assistant. “Zaynab, make sure that young man is alright.” He gives Zaynab a meaningful glance, and she understands it intrinsically: don’t let him leave.

The waiter will be dealt with later. For now, he must see to Alessandra Strong.

The moment Strong is sent on her way, Ramses has Zaynab’s report in his hands. Once again, he isn’t surprised: on closer examination, the waiter who dropped the pitcher isn’t the same one who was vetted by the security team. He’s tried to sneak away twice since he was detained, but security has been watching him like a Mercurian falcon. He hasn’t had a chance to properly escape by the time Ramses returns to his office. 

The stranger looks up when Ramses arrives– frightened and chagrined, not like a thief who’s been caught in the act, but like a busboy about to be disciplined for a job poorly done. “Mayor O’Flaherty, sir. You wanted to see me, sir?” 

 He’s even trembling. That’s a nice touch.

“I did.” Ramses strides across the office and sits in his chair. “It was Mister Ivy, wasn’t it? Richard?” 

“Yes, sir.” The words tumble out of his mouth. “I’m so sorry about the pitcher, sir. I promise I didn’t mean to break it, sir. I’ll take it out of my pay, I swear, just please, I need this job–”

Ramses raises a hand in reassurance. “I’m not angry with you, Richard. I only wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked shaken.”  

“I appreciate your worrying about me, but it’s nothing, really,” the man says too quickly. That’s his strategy of choice, it seems– talk fast enough to sweep away his mark with the flow of the conversation. The only way to control the course is to stop him from talking. “Loud noises have always had that effect on me, and–”

“I’m sure they do,” Ramses says. “But that isn’t the reason why you dropped it, is it?”

“My mother always did say I had butterfingers.” 

Ramses continues over him. “You know Juno Steel, don’t you?”

For a fraction of a second, Richard Ivy looks like he’s stepped barefoot on broken glass, and then his face rights itself into a look of sincere confusion. “Who?”

Ramses can’t help the smile that quirks his lips. “You’re a good actor, I’ll give you that. Not half bad looking, either. You’re wasted in a waiter’s uniform; have you ever considered the silver screen?”

The change of direction is abrupt, but it’s not enough to make him break character. Richard Ivy ducks his head, a flustered blush coloring his cheeks, every inch the ingenue who was just handed his big break on a silver platter. “Oh, I’m not– I couldn’t–”

Ramses jumps tracks again. “So tell me, how do you know Juno Steel?”

“I– I–” Ivy lowers his eyes and he bows his head in a pantomime of surrender. “I don’t know him. Not well. Last year there was a murder where I worked; I helped him solve the case.” He lets the words linger in the air, carrying the suggestion of other ways he might have helped the detective. “Last I heard, he was working for you. And I thought, if I got a job here, maybe I could see him again.” 

Ramses rises from his desk, walking toward the younger man with all the gravity of grief and age.

Richard Ivy looks up at him from under a heavy brow. “Is he… really gone?”

Ramses wasn’t exaggerating about the man’s skill as an actor. The cast of his eyes, the tremor in his voice, the slump of his shoulders– every detail is perfect. Ramses knows it’s a lie, but it’s so expertly spun that he wants to believe it. He’s good.

It makes it that much easier for Ramses to slip into his own part. He lays a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Juno’s a stubborn one. If there’s a way to survive, he’ll find it, just for spite.” 

“But that woman said he– she said–” His voice catches perfectly. 

“Miss Strong has every reason to be upset with me,” Ramses sighs. “The last time she saw Juno, he was alone in the desert. There aren’t many people who could come out of that alive. But Juno…” He lets the sentence hang in the air, inviting the other man to make the next move.

And he does, all bright and sparkling with teary-eyed hope. “So there’s still a chance? You’re going to go looking for him?”

That’s not what he wants; he’s fishing for more information. Ramses takes a chance and offers him another nibble. “As much as I want to, I’m afraid it isn’t that simple. Based on where he was last seen alive, his best chance is to head to the Cerberus Province. If he’s alive, that’s where I’ll find him. But you have to understand the position that puts me in. If I send a car to look for him, it’ll be stripped down to the screws and sold for scrap before it’s in sight of that lighthouse. If they find out the mayor of Hyperion City wants Juno back, he’s just as likely to be taken hostage and ransomed back, possibly in pieces. As much as I want to rescue him, I would only be putting him in more danger. My hands are tied.”

There’s a calculating gleam in the man’s eye. He’s already got what he needs, and that’s got him confident. He’s willing to push his luck. “What if… what if it wasn’t you?”

“Exactly what are you saying?” Ramses asks, because these things only work if the mark thinks it’s his idea.

“I could go,” he says, his voice growing more certain with every syllable. “There would be no point of ransoming him off to me. I’m nobody.” 

That much, at least, is true. Zaynab’s preliminary background check has found half a dozen identities tied to this man, all of them less than a decade old. He would have an easier time than most navigating the back alleys of the Cerberus Province. 

“Do you understand what you’re saying?” Ramses asks unnecessarily. “That would be incredibly dangerous.” 

“I could do it.” His voice is cracked with stifled fear, but it’s heavy with determination. “For Juno, I could do it.” 

This Richard Ivy, or Perseus Shah, or Duke Rose, or whoever he is– he’s probably fairly proud of himself right now, thinking that he’s broken in here and convinced Ramses to give him all the information he needs to get what he wants. And while he goes off playing hero for his leading lady, Ramses will get his bodyguard back– all without any paper trail, any expenses, any official orders, anything whatsoever to tie him to the staining corruption of the Cerberus province.