"i don't mind a reasonable amount of trouble."

[righteousindignation]

waiting doesn't bother him too much, when cyril's got a solid source that his mark's going to appear tonight at the pier. lighting up a cigarette, he just wished the place didn't smell so awful.

movement in the distance catches his eye, and he straightens up to move and get a closer look. there's two figures, drawn close, and as he gets nearer he can hear a man's sobbing. "please-"

"you get to choose how you die, darling. not many people are so lucky. just let me know if i should let my trigger finger go." it's a woman's voice, smooth and confident but absolutely cold.

"just...leave the rest of them alone." cyril's close enough to see the man--his target--nod his head.

"of course. now, do the honourable thing."

the man, still sobbing, steps off the pier. cyril's too far to save him, if he had the inclination, while the person close enough who could turns around as though she hadn't just more or less murdered a man.

and there miss sutcliffe was again, the woman who'd hired him in the first place, the muddy brown and beige gone. now she was in tightfitting black, lips pressed tightly together, moving with infinitely more grace than she'd displayed in his office. of course she'd have come to do it herself, because there's no better way to get a job done.

as though it was cued, she turns to see him while pocketing the gun, daring him to get upset. instead, he takes another drag off his cigarette and flicks away the ash. "if you were gonna have him die, why did you ask me to go and find him in the first place? it's a waste of time."

"now, with an investigation into his disappearance on the books, it's tragic suicide. if he was killed straight off i might get dragged into a murder investigation and it'd be so tedious. so thank you, for saving me all the potential hassle."

"you can thank me by paying me the rest of my fee." honestly, what a damn chore this had been. chasing around for a dead guy, dealing with her bullshit...the only thing that would make any of this worthwhile and not piss him off further would be cold hard cash for his trouble.

"you'll have it by the morning. oh, and i hate to ask more of you, but could you be a dear and not say a word of anything else you might see tonight?"

"you say it like i'll care about remembering it." it wasn't what she paid him for, after all, what happened after the fact was always something he couldn't give two shits about, and in this case? he was expecting to be gone before anything noteworthy actually would happen.

"good."

---

how she got in, he doesn't care, but she's in his chair and that automatically puts him in a foul mood. seeing his scowl, miss sutcliffe smiles, looking for all the world like she sees no issue in being in someone else's place. maybe she doesn't, actually, but this isn't her office. "i might have information pertaining to your new case. i might not, however. but i'm leaning on the side that i do."

"if you don't, then don't bullshit me and waste my time. there a reason you insist on being cryptic? because it's not attractive, it's actually fucking boring."

she looks for a second as though she might leap up from the chair and strike him, and then it's replaced by the ice he knows so well. "because every man i've ever been direct with has said i terrify them."

"you are a killer, so yanno...not really sure how trustworthy you are. anyway, how reliable is this info?"

"from a source i know would never lie to me. if you want it, then i'll meet you at seven thirty at circolo's." and before he can protest or claim he's not going to show up, she's walking out of his office, her heels echoing on the floor.

---

"are you wining and dining me? you'll have to do better than this place." they're his first words to her when they meet up. the place is understated but with waiters that leave you alone and a menu that assumes you'll trust the chef to make something good.

"i wouldn't be so foolish. it's just that this place has better atmosphere than your office when it comes to discussions."

"better atmosphere for a date, maybe. i knew you wanted me."

"blaming your lust on me doesn't work, you know."

"who said anything about lust, doll? sounds like you've got your mind in the gutter."

the glare she shoots him over the top of her menu says it all, and he's going to have to wait for this information. he's already decided to pick out the most expensive item on the menu, because he's not paying, and he could swear he heard her sigh when he tells the waiter what he wants.

it's only when they're nearly done with their food that she deigns to speak to him again. "your mark isn't dead, but it would be less shameful if he was. he's in the grasp of his lover and his creditors, and to satisfy both he's begun dabbling in the less than legal. drug business. something i don't personally have a stake in."

"but you know someone that does." this deal was too good to be true. she had to be lying about some part of it.

"exactly. i made inquiries, and that's how i know what he's doing." she leans back in her chair. "but i'm not telling you where he is for free. i conduct a business, not a charity, cyril."

"i can't imagine you want money." he makes a disgusted face. "information or something?"

"i want you to help me. i need someone who works in the light, for lack of a better term, because as you bore witness to, the last man that did chose poorly. but you? you don't pretend that i should trust you."

he can't help it, he laughs. loudly, discordantly, enough that other diners and the waiter shoot him a look. when he calms down, he's still grinning. "that's rich. me work for you?"

"it'd be a mutually beneficial relationship." she's almost beginning to sulk, if sulking wasn't beneath her. "i help you, you help me." and since he's chuckling again, the next words come out in a quiet snarl. "think on it, cyril. don't answer me just yet. consider what i could do for you."

"consider what i...what kind of fucking line is that?" standing, still snickering, he grabs his coat and hat. "thanks for dinner, doll."

he doesn't look around once, and so misses how she begins to silently fume. cyril saxon, how dare you laugh at me.