How Do You Sleep While The City Is Burning? Part Two
Part One
Ryan went into work the next morning in exceptionally good spirits. He was surprised that he felt so cheerful, considering how awful yesterday had been; but considering he had the promise of a front page worthy story that evening definitely helped with his mood.
He’d just sat down at his desk when he noticed the unusual quiet in the room. Normally, his fellow reporters were already talking about their stories, or what they’d done the night before or something, but today they were all sitting around and trying not to look in his direction.
Ryan frowned to himself, leaning over to Greenwald and pulling the man’s shirt sleeve. Greenwald turned toward Ryan, biting his lip before shaking his head briefly and turning away like he wasn’t supposed to be seen talking to his fellow reporter.
Ryan frowned more and was about to tug on Greenwald’s shirt sleeve again and demand to know why everyone was acting like they couldn’t see him, when there was a timid feminine cough behind him.
He turned in his chair and was surprised to see one of the girls from the steno pool behind him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever even gotten her name, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen her nearly as nervous as she currently looked. She was wringing her hands like she’d rather be anywhere else, like back with the other girls, but she finally straightened up and dropped her hands to her sides.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ross? Mr. Wentz would like to see you in his office immediately,” she said, her eyes not meeting his but focusing on her shoes.
Ryan suddenly wondered if her reluctance to look at him was for the same reason his fellow beat reporters wouldn’t look at him or talk to him. He got up, wondering if he’d find out, and followed the girl up the stairs to the offices. She stopped in front of Wentz’s office, and through the window Ryan could see Wentz walking around the room, waving his arms like a mad man while Stump was leaning against the desk with a decidedly worried expression on his face.
Wentz was talking, the wild gestures matching his words, while Stump said nothing. Wentz paused his apparent tirade and Stump looked up as the girl knocked on the door before pushing it open a bit.
“Mr. Wentz? Mr. Stump? Mr. Ross for you,” she said. Her eyes finally met Ryan’s before they dropped once more, but in that moment, Ryan knew that whatever was causing everyone to be avoiding him like this, it had to be bad.
Suddenly, Ryan’s mind flashed back to Brendon Urie’s statement of the night before, when he’d said that he had the resources to be able to find Ryan, no matter where he went. Urie had, after all, already been to Ryan’s apartment, had probably gotten Spencer to give him the address. It was, therefore, only a matter of time before those resources stretched to the work place.
“Thank you, Greta.” Stump smiled faintly as Wentz nodded. The girl let Ryan in before she closed the door behind him. Through the window in the door, Ryan saw her glance back at him before she walked back downstairs.
Wentz looked at Stump before he crossed his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth, before pausing, clearly unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say.
Ryan chewed his lip. “If this is about the Palmer dame, I didn’t kill her. She was dead before I got there.”
“We know.” Stump looked at Ryan. “We heard.”
Wentz took a deep breath before laughing. It wasn’t a very humorous sound, and a drastic difference from Wentz’s usual laugh. “Patrick, let’s cut the crap. At least around Ross here.”
Stump looked at Wentz before sighing. “Fine. You’re right.”
Ryan wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Cut the crap about what?”
“Some of the connections this paper has.” Stump straightened up. “What gets said in this office stays here, got it? No gossiping.”
There seemed to be a lot of that going on in Ryan’s life in the past day, but he nodded mutely. Stump glanced at Wentz briefly.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumor that I’ve got ties to the mob, right?” Stump looked at Ryan for confirmation, and Ryan nodded. “It’s true. And I hear that last night, you met my tie to the mob. William Beckett.”
Ryan froze at that, biting his lip before remembering the deal he’d made with Beckett. “Beckett said that the Journal could run the story on Amanda Palmer’s death.”
“I know.” Stump looked at Ryan quietly. “I don’t know if you saw this morning’s paper, but it ran in the morning edition. I’ve already talked it over with Beckett. He says you saw something you shouldn’t have, and he made a bargain with you about that and the story.”
“I saw Brendon Urie leaving an elevator at the hotel. He says he didn’t kill her either,” Ryan said.
Wentz stared at him. “You actually talked to Urie?” He glanced toward Stump and Ryan wondered if there was something odd about having spoken to Urie. After all, Urie had talked to Ryan first; it wasn’t like Ryan had intentionally planned on striking up a conversation with the guy.
“And Beckett. I didn’t have much of a choice in either.” Ryan shrugged faintly. “My roommate works at the Black Canary and thought I needed a night out. I got too curious, got too close to Urie’s office and got caught. Beckett made a deal with me regarding any story about the Palmer dame’s death: we could run it, but no mention could be made of Urie being there.” He paused, taking in the looks that Wentz and Stump were exchanging with one another. He wasn’t sure what those looks meant, but he could imagine that it wasn’t anything good for him. Even so, he went on. “And I went home. Only, Urie showed up at my apartment and made me a further deal.”
“What sort of deal?” Stump said after a few moments of silence.
“Just, Urie had a really good story to give. Front page material.” Ryan chewed his lip. “I just can’t mention Urie, Beckett, or anyone Urie’d mention in the story. I couldn’t name my source, either.”
“Good deal,” Wentz commented, glancing toward Stump.
Stump sighed. “It is. That makes this hard, Ross. You’re a good beat reporter. We just - .” Wentz cut in, finishing Stump’s sentence. “We just can’t have you on the paper at the current time. Not with Beckett and Urie taking a mild interest in you, not if they’ve been seen talking to you.” He patted Ryan’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”
“Although, if you do get that story,” Stump shrugged. “We’ll definitely print it, if we like it.”
“You’re - “ Ryan’s voice trailed off as words failed him. He’d never, in his years at the newspaper, felt lost for words; and he’d never, in this whole mess, suspected he could lose his job. But here he was, words definitely failing him and hearing both Wentz and Stump telling him that he should leave the newspaper.
Wentz patted Ryan’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. “This’ll work out, just you wait and see. We’ll take you back as soon as whatever’s going on is over and done with. Think of it as an extended vacation.”
Ryan nodded numbly, but managed to dredge up a smile. “So, I guess this is a dismissal for now?”
Stump nodded, smiling. Ryan was pretty sure the smile was about as faked as his. “Yeah. We’ll see you back at your desk before you know it, Ross. Just watch.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Ryan waved vaguely, turning and heading back down the stairs. In the time that he’d been gone, someone had scrounged up an empty box and had placed it on his desk. He made a face, carefully packing up his things and pretending not to see his former coworkers, while they pretended to not see him. When the last of his things was tucked into the box, he placed his bag on top and picked it up, making his way to the door.
He managed to hail a taxi without much trouble, gave his address to the cabbie and slumped back into the seat. As the car sped toward his apartment, he wondered what he was going to do now. The recession was still on, he knew of no other papers hiring reporters and he had no idea how he would make ends meet until this was all over. He knew that Spencer’s job paid well for his own lifestyle, but it couldn’t support the both of them. He was grateful that the ride went quickly and that the driver didn’t try to start a conversation with him; he wasn’t even sure what he’d say or if words wouldn’t still fail him, especially with the way his thoughts were turning.
He got out of the cab at his apartment building, briefly resting the box that held everything that was left of his career as a reporter on the roof of the cab. He paid the driver before making his way upstairs.
As he climbed the stairs, he wondered how he’d tell Spencer about the Journal letting him go. At least he had time to figure that out; as far as Ryan could tell, Spencer hadn’t come home from the cabaret last night. That wasn’t unusual for his roommate, though: Ryan knew that Spencer had a girl - he’d met Haley a few times, great girl - and that he occasionally spent the night at her place when he stayed late at the cabaret. Ryan wondered if Spencer’d ever do the right thing and marry Haley; he’d never seen his friend happier than he was with her, and Haley was the type of gal that any guy would love to have on their arm.
Ryan had just made up his mind to start teasing Spencer on the topic of letting Haley make an honorable man outta Spence when he reached his floor and froze.
The door to his apartment was busted down, lying on the floor in the doorway, and from where Ryan stood, he could see that the place had been trashed.
Ryan made his way into his apartment, setting the box on the floor as he surveyed the damage.
Whoever had broken in had clearly been looking for something, but Ryan couldn’t imagine what. Sure, they had some things of value in the place, but, from where Ryan was standing, it didn’t look like anything was taken.
He made his way through the apartment, checking as thoroughly as he could, but came up with nothing missing. Everything that should have been present in every room was there, so whatever this person or persons had been looking for, they must not have found it.
He bit his lip, picking up the battered door and resting it against the wall, before picking up the phone. His first thought was to call the cops and Spencer, but he paused, and soon found himself dialing the number Urie had given him. True, Urie had said to only call in case of an emergency, but Ryan couldn’t think of a better idea of an emergency than having his apartment broken into.
He took a breath to compose himself before dialing the operator and asked for the Copeland Hotel. He left a message with the front desk clerk at the Copeland to have Urie call him as soon as he got the message. Then he hung up, got the operator again, and asked for Haley.
When she answered the phone, he talked to Spencer and explained that someone had broken into their apartment and that Spencer should get home as soon as he could. Then he got the operator to patch him through to the police.
After he’d finished with his various phone calls, Ryan cleared a spot on the couch and sat down to wait.
Spencer was the first to arrive, pausing in the doorway as he took in the carnage that had been their apartment. Behind him, Ryan could see Haley craning her neck as she tried to look around him before she finally pushed past Spencer and stepped into the apartment.
“Oh, wow.” Haley breathed as she looked around at the mess. “I knew you two were messy, but this is too much, even for you.”
Ryan smiled despite himself at the teasing. “This wasn’t us. I don’t know if you noticed, but we don’t have a door at the current time.” He pointed to where it leaned against the wall and Haley’s eyes widened. “That’s a new one for us.”
“Oh gosh,” Haley repeated, taking a seat next to Ryan as she looked around the apartment once more.
Spencer made his way through the apartment, checking on things just as Ryan had. While he was gone, Urie seemed to magically appear in the open doorway, surveying the damage. Ryan wondered what crossed the man’s mind as he came in.
“You have no door,” Urie said conversationally, sitting on the arm of the same chair he’d sat in the night before. “It’s a new trend, I imagine, not having a door.”
Haley bit back a giggle as Ryan gave Urie an exasperated look. He didn’t see what was so funny about having his apartment broken into, after all, even if Brendon’s presence did lighten the mood slightly.
Urie looked around the living room, giving Spencer a small nod when he emerged from the investigation of his bedroom, before fixing Ryan with an unreadable look. “You do realize that having your apartment broken into wasn’t what I meant by having an emergency, right?”
“I didn’t know who else to call besides the police.” Ryan shrugged. “Besides, I had other things happen to me today besides having my apartment broken into.”
Urie managed to look slightly mollified. “I didn’t think you’d plan to have your apartment broken into. That wasn’t what I -.” He paused in the middle of his apology before shaking his head. “Well, I’d meant something else, that’s all.” He leaned to one side, peering into Ryan’s bedroom. “You said you called the police?”
“Yeah. They should be here any moment, I think.”
Just as the words left Ryan’s mouth, the four of them heard footsteps coming up the stairs before the first of the police officers came into the room.
~~~
Brendon didn’t like talking to police officers; not even the ones that he knew were dirty. He didn’t have to talk to any of the coppers that showed up to investigate the break-in at Ross and Smith’s apartment, thankfully, but he kept an eye on everything and thought things over.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he knew, but if he were to guess, he’d say that whoever had broken into the newshound’s apartment had some connection to Amanda Palmer’s death. That didn’t necessarily mean that whoever had killed Amanda Palmer and whoever had broken into Ross’s apartment were the same person, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt sure that those two pieces fit together. As for how those pieces fit into the overall picture, that Brendon wasn’t sure of.
He listened to Ross and Smith talk to the officers as he made small talk with Haley, trying to hear anything worth hearing. He’d met Haley before, on one of her countless visits to the cabaret to listen to and watch the band, and Smith in particular, and knew her to be a fairly intelligent young woman. In fact, she reminded him a bit of his sister Kara back home.
Soon enough - not soon enough for Brendon’s taste, though - the police officers left, promising to send Ross and Smith word if they heard or found anything. Smith showed the officers out, turning back toward the group.
“So now what?”
Ross chewed his lip, glancing toward the battered door. “Probably get the door fixed.”
Brendon looked at Ryan and Spencer thoughtfully, before focusing his gaze on the door and the rest of the room. “Smith, I’d understand if you’d like the evening off in order to make sense of this mess. And I’d understand, Ross, if you’d like to skip that interview I promised you.”
Ross opened his mouth. To say that he wasn’t interested in the story, perhaps, but before he could say what he wanted, Smith waved a hand. “Go on, Ryan. I’ll call someone about the door, and after that, Haley and I’ll just go to her place, in case whoever did this comes back.”
Brendon considered for a bit, weighing all the possible options he could think of as he listened to Ross and Smith bicker over who would stay in the apartment and clean up and who would go do whatever they needed to do. After all, while he had no real opinion on the newshound, Smith was his employee, as well as a member of his mob, and therefore, Brendon felt obligated to keep an eye out on the skin tickler. Especially if the apartment being ransacked was tied to Amanda Palmer’s death, and whoever had done this came back.
He cleared his throat, making sure the sound was loud enough to be heard over the two men’s bickering. Even Haley turned toward him in surprise.
“I have a suggestion. Or, perhaps, options that might be beneficial to the two of you,” Brendon started, taking in the looks on both Smith and Ross’s faces. “I fully understand if you want to stay home and skip our appointment, considering your current track record with keeping appointments, and for all intents and purposes, I’d like to live past today.”
“I’ve done plenty of interviews where the people I’m talking to don’t turn up dead.” Ross frowned at Brendon, looking like he was still upset by the memory of seeing the Palmer dame’s dead body. Brendon couldn’t blame him; he wasn’t sure if the Palmer dame had been the first dead body the newshound had ever seen, but even if it wasn’t, he could imagine that the memory would definitely stick with him. After all, the first dead body Brendon had ever seen still occasionally haunted his dreams, and so did the ones that came after.
“I imagine you have.” Brendon smiled, trying to look as reassuring as he could. “I’m just saying that I’d understand if you’d like to reschedule the interview for another day while you and your roommate clean up your apartment. As for my other suggestions, feel free to send the repair bill for your door to me at the Copeland and I’ll see about getting someone to watch your place for you.”
Smith hesitated, glancing toward Ross, unsure. Brendon could guess that Smith was connecting the dots as to why Brendon would offer to protect both of them, and might feel the need to discuss it. Brendon didn’t want to address the fact that he was sure of the possibility between the murder and the burglary right now, though. No sense in worrying the newshound, he was sure that Ross would come to the same conclusion sooner or later.
“Look, like interviews, I don’t generally go out of my way to provide my employees or passing acquaintances with the same protection I’d expect for myself.” He pushed himself to his feet, spreading his hands. “Call it protecting my interests. Smith, you’re one of my employees, after all, and if something were to happen to you, there’s the risk that my clientele would go down until I’d find a suitable replacement for you. And Ross, even though I highly dislike newshounds, you and I have a bargain in the works. Therefore, neither of you are very useful to me dead, so it’s in my best interest that I provide you both with protection.”
Smith glanced toward Ross before nodding. He looked resigned, but at least willing to go along with Brendon’s offer. Ross looked briefly like he might be stubborn about it, but in the end he said nothing, only nodded.
“That settles that, then. “ Brendon clapped his hands together, smiling charmingly to all three of them. “I have other business to attend to, so I’ll take my leave of you three.” He tipped his hat to Haley, ever the gentleman. “Miss.”
He made his way out and was nearly to the front door - through the glass of said door, he could see Hall waiting by the car - when Ross ran down after him.
“Wait!”
Brendon paused and turned to Ross, eyebrow raising. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew that Hall was already moving toward the door in case Brendon needed help. After all, Brendon didn’t make it a point to carry a gun to most visits - he didn’t much like guns as a rule, but sometimes they helped to prove that, despite his young age, there was more bite than bark to Brendon - but he did make it a point to make sure his bodyguard was packing at all times.
Ross himself paused at the bottom-most stair and worried his lip - Brendon guessed at the sight of Hall moving in to defend him. “Can you call off your dog? I’m not gonna attack you, I just have a question.”
Brendon turned slightly toward Hall, making a small gesture with his hand and waiting until Hall had nodded and walked back to the car, before turning back to Ross. He crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed the newshound. “Alright, I’m listening, and I’ve called off my dog, as you put it.”
Ross stepped off the bottom stair, but came no closer, clearly keeping an eye on Brendon’s bodyguard as if he expected the guy to attack at any moment. “I just wanna know why you’d do something like that up there.” He pointed upstairs as if he thought Brendon wouldn’t know what he was talking about. “Offering bodyguards and things of that sort.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “I get why you’d help Spencer. He’s your employee, and like you said, you’re protecting your interests. But why -.”
“Why would I consider keeping you alive protecting my interests as well?” Brendon finished the question, faintly amused. He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when Ross nodded quietly.
“Yeah. I mean, say someone would come back and kill me? Then no one would know about our bargain and the specifics we agreed on. Besides, you’ll have to find someone else to make sure there’s no connection between you and Miss Palmer running in the Journal anyway, because I’m not welcome at the paper anymore. At least not until this mess is cleared up.” Ross looked away, ashamed.
Brendon, for his part, hesitated. Although he understood where Ross’s bosses would stand in dismissing Ross, even temporarily, Ross being fired didn’t fit well in any of his own plans. He highly doubted that it fit in very well with any of Beckett’s either, at least where Brendon himself was concerned - but he also knew he couldn’t just play the champion for the newshound, even if he had the stones to push Stump’s hand in the matter; that would make things even worse for both of them. He settled for smiling reassuringly at the reporter.
“What if I have a future use for you? Besides, you’ve been the only newshound I’ve come across, Janey, that I’ve actually felt inclined to help write a story.”
Brendon wasn’t quite sure why he felt the nickname was appropriate, or even why he’d call an actual newshound by the name of a fictional one, but it was enough to make Ross frown in his direction. The sight only made him grin more.
“Well, that settles that, then. I’m going to call you Jane Arden for the rest of our acquaintance.” He tipped his hat toward Ross as the reporter sputtered, still grinning broadly. “Goodbye, Miss Arden, I shall see you when I see you.”
He turned to go, still amused at the faint sounds of sputtering coming from behind him, when Ross called out for him to wait again. He didn’t turn around, just glanced over his shoulder at the reporter.
“Yes?”
Ross looked entirely unsure of himself all of a sudden, licking his lips and trying to find words. “So I still get that interview, right?”
“Of course. As I said earlier, I fully understand if you choose to postpone it in order to deal with your apartment situation. In fact, if I were in your shoes, I’d do the same. When you get the story don’t matter, right? So long as you get it?”
Brendon smiled over his shoulder, heading out the front door and down the steps to where Hall waited by the car. He opened the car door and Brendon got in, settling in against the backseat. As he waited for Hall to get behind the wheel, Brendon turned to watch Ross watch them go.
“Where to?” Hall asked, glancing at Brendon in the rear view mirror.
Brendon slid further down into the seat, watching the scenery go by as he considered his options. “There any new talkies worth seeing that you’ve heard of, Zacky?”
Hall glanced at him in the rear view mirror again, smiling faintly. “We can always see, Boss.”
Brendon pointed forward vaguely, still watching the scenery. “Let’s do that then, followed by dinner someplace nice. Maybe we’ll run into someone worth running into along the way.”
“Good plan, Boss.”
~~~
Ryan watched Urie’s car leave, wondering if maybe he should’ve asked to go with the gangster and get the story he was after now rather than later. True, the big goon who seemed to be Urie’s shadow outside of the Black Canary was scary, and that had hampered his decision to ask if he could go with. Either way, it was too late now; he’d just have to call Urie later to see if he could still get that interview.
He knew that he should just follow Urie’s advice and take the night to help Spencer clean his apartment, but with the loss of his job as a reporter, even if it were temporary, he couldn’t think of anything else but that promise of a story.
He thought it over as he headed back up to his apartment, trying to convince himself to just stay home and help Spencer clean, but there was a part of him that didn’t want to be there. It was a crime scene, after all, and after seeing Amanda Palmer’s dead body, he didn’t want to stick around another one of those.
“What do you know about your boss?” Ryan asked as he walked into the apartment once more.
Spencer blinked at him, straightening up from where he was crouched, working on cleaning up his bedroom. Haley paused where she was straightening up the area around the couch. She glanced at Spencer, and Ryan wondered what the look was supposed to mean.
“You mean Urie?” Spencer leaned against his doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve heard the rumors. How do you know those aren’t true? And why, besides the apparent interest he’s got in us all of a sudden, are you interested in him?”
“You heard him. He’s offered me a story,” Ryan said defensively, mirroring Spencer’s stance.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Haley sitting down on the couch, watching both men with wide eyes. That was out of character for the outspoken young woman. “Besides, you know me. I like covering all my bases before going after a story.”
“You want to know which of the rumors are true and which are false?” Spencer looked at Haley before sighing, glancing toward the battered door. “I’m not gonna talk about that while we’ve got no door. Not exactly the most discreet place to talk, y’know?”
Ryan’s eyes lingered on the gaping doorway. “Yeah, true.”
“There’s been a few write ups about him,” Haley spoke up. “I’m sure if you check the library, you could find them. There’s been a lot of events that he’s been to. A few of them with that dead dame.”
Ryan considered, grabbing his bag. “You’re right. That’ll be a big help in figuring out my angle for this story. I’ll see you two later.” He waved, heading out.
It wasn’t that far to the closest library and Ryan got there in a matter of minutes. With some help from the librarian, he quickly found the stacks of newspapers, and settled in at a nearby table to start going through them. He set aside those that mentioned William Beckett, The Black Canary, and Brendon Urie, even if it was a very brief mention. He also set aside any papers that mentioned the Palmer family, especially Amanda Palmer. As Haley had already mentioned, there were a few stories that mentioned both Brendon and Amanda at various events.
When he’d gotten all the newspapers he could find on his topics, he put away the ones he didn’t need before tackling the ones he’d set aside, making notes as he went. Soon, he had a story of his own sketched out: Brendon Urie came from a prominent family in New York. He’d come to Chicago a few years ago, under mysterious circumstances, and was first seen in the public social circle at a party the Palmers had thrown in their hotel. It was also the first event that had Urie escorting Miss Palmer, and quite a few more would follow.
Ryan spread out one of the articles that had an accompanying picture of Brendon Urie and Miss Palmer, studying it for a long time. They certainly looked like a happy couple; he wondered just what had been there, if anything, had been there before she’d been killed. But Urie hadn’t seemed terribly upset by her death. In fact, he’d seemed more like someone had killed an employee that Urie needed to complete a task, and less like someone who’d lost a companion.
Did that, then, mean Amanda Palmer hadn’t been Urie’s moll?
The thought made Ryan find a few more articles that dealt with events where Urie had made an appearance with his boss William Beckett - charity events, social gatherings, city related business - and Ryan studied the pictures that accompanied more than a few of them.
He paused at one of the articles, spreading out the paper - funnily enough, it was for his own Chicago Journal - and framing the accompanying picture with his hands - William Beckett, Brendon Urie and a third man Ryan would guess must be Gabriel Saporta, William’s other right hand man and Urie’s partner at the Black Canary. The article itself had to do with a charity event that William Beckett had thrown for a local hospital, and the event had played host to more than a few politicians.
Putting together Brendon Urie’s back story, Ryan had come across quite a few articles that referenced how William Beckett - for all intents and purposes, an upstanding businessman who dealt nearly exclusively in furniture sales, but was rumored to have his thumb in quite a few of nightclubs and various other parts of the Chicago night life - frequented, and threw, plenty of parties for local politicians. Ryan figured that that would make sense; after all, as a member of the mob, William Beckett would have to pay off a few politicians, and other people, to get them to look the other way when it came to his illegal operations.
Was this the story Urie had promised him? A story about the mob, dirty politicians, and the people that bound them together?
Ryan chewed on his thumbnail, tracing the lines of Urie’s face in the picture. It was so much like the story he’d been given by Stump, the one that had led him to finding Amanda Palmer’s dead body. Did he have it in him to continue on with this adventure, go further down this rabbit hole into gangster territory, and find out where it would take him? It might wind up getting him being killed later on for knowing too much, but Urie wouldn’t have offered him the story if the gangster intended to kill him later, right?
He looked from the newspaper photograph to his own notes. They weren’t Pulitzer material just yet - he only had the barest basics of a story - but he seemed to have more questions than answers where it came to Urie and it piqued his curiosity.
He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to piece together the facts he knew. He didn’t get very far in his thoughts - barely anywhere, really - before the silence of the library got to him.
Ryan shook himself, getting to his feet and putting all the newspapers he’d set aside in one pile. On top, he set the newspaper with the photograph of Beckett, Urie, and Saporta, and he studied the three men’s faces for a long moment before he shook himself again. He grabbed his things, shoving his notebook into his bag, and headed for the library door.
It had gotten dark while he’d been in the library, and he paused at the top of the stairs, watching the cars drive past. He wondered if their apartment door had been fixed by now. He wondered if Spencer and Haley had stuck around the apartment, or if they’d gone to her place, or even to the Black Canary, even though Spencer had the night off.
More importantly, he wondered if Urie was home. He might have a back story started on Urie, but the facts he’d uncovered caused more questions than provided answers when it came to why someone would kill a socialite like Amanda Palmer.
He caught a cab and told the cabbie to take him to the Copeland Hotel. The cabbie blinked at him, clearly wondering why someone like Ryan would want to go to a nice place like that, but he didn’t say anything, just drove.
Ryan had only been to Uptown a handful of times in his life, so it always managed to take his breath away. Uptown just seemed to be so different from the rest of Chicago. The driver stopped outside of the hotel and Ryan got out after paying him.
He hesitated in the reception area, looking around and wondering if he looked as out of place as he felt. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before he shook himself and made his way to the front desk.
The clerk there ignored him for a few minutes, and he was about to clear his throat to get the man’s attention when the he finally looked up.
“Can I help you?”
Ryan smiled, trying to emulate the same smile he’d seen Urie give. He wasn’t sure if it had the same effect on the clerk, but it was worth a shot. “Um, yeah. A friend of mine is staying here, and I was wondering if you could tell me if he were in?”
The clerk looked Ryan up and down, like he couldn’t imagine that anyone who stayed at a place like the Copeland would have a friend who looked even remotely like Ryan. Normally, Ryan would’ve felt insulted, but he decided he may as well handle this like he would when he was trying to get a news story and let it roll right off him. “What’s the name of your….” The clerk paused, glancing briefly over Ryan’s shoulder as someone came in, but no one came to the desk so the clerk turned his attention back to Ryan. “Your friend?”
“Brendon Urie,” Ryan said without hesitation.
The clerk looked even more like he couldn’t imagine someone like Brendon Urie would consort with someone like Ryan, and this time, Ryan did feel a little insulted. “I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Urie is currently not having visitors. Perhaps you’d better come back later. And call first.”
“So Brendon Urie is in?” Ryan leaned over, tapping the phone that sat in front of the desk clerk. “Couldn’t you call him to see if he’ll see me? I have an outstanding appointment with the man. Ryan Ross. He’ll see me, I’m sure.”
The clerk looked like he wanted to deny Ryan on principle, but he picked up the phone and dialed a number. He waited a moment before someone answered on the other end and then moved away so Ryan couldn’t hear the conversation. After what felt like hours but was probably only a few moments, the clerk came back and gave Ryan a dark look, like he wanted to go against anything he might have been told. “Mr. Urie says you can go right up. He’s in the penthouse suite. Take the elevator straight to the top.”
“Thank you.” Ryan smiled charmingly, heading to the elevator. He got in and told the elevator operator inside to take him up to the penthouse suite. He was let out into a short hallway that led to a numbered door.
Ryan hesitated before knocking. Behind him, he could hear the elevator doors close and the elevator head back down. Behind the door in front of him, however, he could hear a small dog yapping and scratching at the wood.
He was about to knock again, in case said knock or the yapping dog hadn’t been heard, when there was the sound of the door being unlocked and Urie opened it.
It was the first time Ryan had ever seen Urie out of anything that wasn’t a three piece suit, and he couldn’t help staring. Urie was barefoot, wearing a pair of simple slacks and a button down dress shirt. He looked almost like an average young man, the kind that could be found anywhere, instead of the bright young businessman the papers made him out to be.
Ryan also saw the source of the barking: under Urie’s arm was a small terrier that was now struggling to get away from its master and bark at the intruder. The terrier was another thing that didn’t match up to the gangster image.
“You have a dog. Literally,” Ryan said, and automatically regretted it because it sounded so stupid to say aloud.
Still, Urie smiled, setting the small terrier back on the ground. It trotted over to Ryan, barking and sniffing his leg for a while, before it finally got bored and trotted back into the hotel room. “Yes, I have an actual dog. He keeps me company and doesn’t judge me for anything that I do.”
He stepped back, indicating that Ryan could enter, and led the way into a plush sitting room. The terrier was curled up on the cushions that were on one side of the couch, and it wagged its tail at Ryan, clearly seeing him as no threat if its master had let the intruder in.
Ryan held his hand out for the dog to sniff before scratching the terrier’s soft ears. “What’s his name?”
Urie smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to know his namesake. Humphrey Bogart. He’s an up and coming actor on the New York stage.”
“You like the theater?” Ryan blinked. He hadn’t read anything like that in any of the articles that had mentioned Urie. Of course, that didn’t mean that the newshounds in question hadn’t known it, or perhaps hadn’t felt it was important to their stories.
Urie’s smile became mysterious as he settled into a chair. “I enjoy many things, Jane Arden. Theater’s just one of them.” He watched Ryan sit down on the couch next to the dog. “I suppose you’re here about that interview I promised you?”
Although it had been, Ryan wasn’t sure if that was his intention anymore, not now that he was faced with this young man who didn’t match up at all with the image he’d previously had of the young gangster. He decided that he might as well be honest. “I was thinking about that when I decided that I couldn’t stay at home, worrying that whoever broke into my apartment might come back. But I didn’t come here right away. I spent some time at the library, piecing together at least some of your back story from various news articles.”
Urie leaned back in his chair, a quietly amused expression on his face. “And what does your back story have to say about me?”
Ryan pulled his notebook out of his bag, setting it on his knee and smoothing out the top sheet, as if the action would make the words embed themselves in his brain. Next to him, the terrier wagged its tail before it curled up in a ball and fell asleep. He glanced toward the dog, trying to compose himself. It was easier said than done.
~~~
As he sat in his chair across from the newshound, Brendon was more than a little amused. He was well aware of what could be found about him in the library - he’d had no qualms about posing for the photographs that all newspaper photographers seemed to want out of him and his fellow gangsters - but he wondered what Ryan Ross had deemed important in his back story.
He watched as the newshound fidgeted on the couch, sneaking glances toward Humphrey as if, like the notes on the notepad against his knee, the dog could help clear up any unanswered questions he had. He considered letting the guy linger a little longer, but he wasn’t entirely sure if Ross would want to be in Brendon’s house as the evening lengthened. Not that Brendon would do anything.
“Well?” Brendon smirked, finally deciding that the awkward silence had gone on long enough.
Ross startled, looking at him. He looked down at his notes, as if they’d speak to him. Whatever they had to say, Brendon couldn’t hear anything from where he was sitting. The newshound took a deep breath, composing himself.
“You came to Chicago from New York a few years back, under mysterious circumstances. Almost from day one, you were working for William Beckett, and you were seen at social events with various dames on your arm. At a few of those social gatherings, you had Amanda Palmer on your arm. A lot of those events had quite a few politicians at them as well.” He paused. “And I already know you’re in the mob. You’re William Beckett’s right hand man.”
Brendon smiled, leaning forward. “Well, you’re remarkably good at putting the pieces together. I’m from New York City, it’s true. Born and raised, in fact. You’d have to tackle newspapers over there to get that back story, because it’s not one I share lightly. And I did come here to Chicago under, as you call them, pretty mysterious circumstances. I can’t tell you why I was invited to work for Beckett or what happened to my predecessor because, I’ll be honest, I don’t know myself. But I’ve learned that it’s wise not to stir up the past..” He tapped his fingers together, resting his elbows on his knees. “And I won’t lie and say that I didn’t escort Miss Palmer to quite a few social events.”
“So why would someone want her dead?” Ross glanced at his notes before looking up at him.
“That’s a question I don’t have the answer to.” Brendon shrugged. “I can tell you this, though. Amanda Palmer’s death doesn’t help anyone in William Beckett’s circle. We needed her for a few of the dealings we had with certain politicians. After all, her family has considerable ties and pull with a few people that Beckett’s connections couldn’t get him.” He smirked. “I think your research into my history is cutting into that cover story I intended to give you. Bravo.”
Ross blinked at Brendon, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “Really? I wasn’t trying to get anything on the story you wanted to tell me. I just wanted to get a little more background information on you. Y’know, find out what’s rumor and what’s fact.” He gave Brendon a weak smile. “I just like knowing the facts on people I intend to get stories about.”
“Ah yes.” Brendon leaned back in his chair, studying Ryan over his fingertips. “But not everything that’s printed in the newspapers is the whole story. I filled in some of your blanks, though. Do you have any questions about me you’d like answered before you get your story? Fill in more of the information, find out what’s rumor and what’s fact, as you so succinctly put it?”
The newshound licked his lips, clearly considering the offer, before he nodded. “If I promise not to publish it, can I get your whole back story?”
Brendon paused, blinking. Although he had offered to answer any questions the newshound might’ve had, he hadn’t been expecting to give the reporter a history of himself. He wasn’t even sure if he were entirely comfortable with the idea.
He pushed himself up from his chair, starting to pace the room as he thought it over. After a few paces, he stopped behind his chair, resting his arms on the headset and leaning forward. “Very well. But what I say in this interview doesn’t go in any newspaper. There’s a lot in my history, in my dealings, that doesn’t need to be public knowledge, nor do I want it to be. And if I even hear a hint that anything private about me is put into a story to further your career, I will find you and make you regret using private information to better yourself. I’ll also withdraw the previous offer of helping you with your career problems by giving you that story about Miss Palmer that I promised you. That’s your bargain for my back story. If you can’t accept it, that’s it.”
Whatever Ross might have felt about the bargain, Brendon didn’t find out because the phone chose that moment to ring. As he wasn’t expecting any phone calls - everyone at the Black Canary knew Brendon was taking the night off and that he was not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency - he frowned at the phone, toying with the idea of not answering it before he crossed over to it and picked up.
He felt the newshound’s eyes on him as he talked to one of Saporta’s guys - he could never really get any of Saporta’s underlings straight, let alone remember their names, and felt that it was better to just not care, because Saporta tended to change underlings the way most men changed their shirt - before hanging up in disgust.
“Problems?” Ross spoke up in the silence, worrying his lower lip again.
Brendon glowered at him before taking a deep breath. After all, it wasn’t really the newshound’s fault. “Unfortunately. Things always seem to break at the Black Canary when I’m not there, so sadly, we’ll have to skip your interview and story for tonight. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Can.” Ross paused, as if he wasn’t sure how to get his point across or what words to use. “Can I come with? Seeing you in action’ll definitely help me compose a back story on you, even if I can’t publish it.”
Brendon was about to say no to the idea before he paused to reconsider. Even though the newshound couldn’t write about it, didn’t mean he couldn’t see at least some of what went on at the Black Canary behind closed doors. Especially since he had intended on giving the reporter at least part of his own back story along with his original story. True, that sort of information would probably make any future career as a newshound tough, because he’d lose more jobs because of his new connections and because there were a lot of people who would pay a lot of money to get their hands on even one personal tidbit of information on William Beckett’s right hand man. And what he knew.
“Sure. But anything you see tonight goes under the conditions bargain I just gave you. You can’t write about it.”
Ross nodded, putting his notebook in his bag. Brendon wondered briefly what, if anything, crossed the newshound’s mind at the new bargain, but decided to leave it be. “I understand.”
Part Three
Ryan went into work the next morning in exceptionally good spirits. He was surprised that he felt so cheerful, considering how awful yesterday had been; but considering he had the promise of a front page worthy story that evening definitely helped with his mood.
He’d just sat down at his desk when he noticed the unusual quiet in the room. Normally, his fellow reporters were already talking about their stories, or what they’d done the night before or something, but today they were all sitting around and trying not to look in his direction.
Ryan frowned to himself, leaning over to Greenwald and pulling the man’s shirt sleeve. Greenwald turned toward Ryan, biting his lip before shaking his head briefly and turning away like he wasn’t supposed to be seen talking to his fellow reporter.
Ryan frowned more and was about to tug on Greenwald’s shirt sleeve again and demand to know why everyone was acting like they couldn’t see him, when there was a timid feminine cough behind him.
He turned in his chair and was surprised to see one of the girls from the steno pool behind him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever even gotten her name, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen her nearly as nervous as she currently looked. She was wringing her hands like she’d rather be anywhere else, like back with the other girls, but she finally straightened up and dropped her hands to her sides.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ross? Mr. Wentz would like to see you in his office immediately,” she said, her eyes not meeting his but focusing on her shoes.
Ryan suddenly wondered if her reluctance to look at him was for the same reason his fellow beat reporters wouldn’t look at him or talk to him. He got up, wondering if he’d find out, and followed the girl up the stairs to the offices. She stopped in front of Wentz’s office, and through the window Ryan could see Wentz walking around the room, waving his arms like a mad man while Stump was leaning against the desk with a decidedly worried expression on his face.
Wentz was talking, the wild gestures matching his words, while Stump said nothing. Wentz paused his apparent tirade and Stump looked up as the girl knocked on the door before pushing it open a bit.
“Mr. Wentz? Mr. Stump? Mr. Ross for you,” she said. Her eyes finally met Ryan’s before they dropped once more, but in that moment, Ryan knew that whatever was causing everyone to be avoiding him like this, it had to be bad.
Suddenly, Ryan’s mind flashed back to Brendon Urie’s statement of the night before, when he’d said that he had the resources to be able to find Ryan, no matter where he went. Urie had, after all, already been to Ryan’s apartment, had probably gotten Spencer to give him the address. It was, therefore, only a matter of time before those resources stretched to the work place.
“Thank you, Greta.” Stump smiled faintly as Wentz nodded. The girl let Ryan in before she closed the door behind him. Through the window in the door, Ryan saw her glance back at him before she walked back downstairs.
Wentz looked at Stump before he crossed his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth, before pausing, clearly unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say.
Ryan chewed his lip. “If this is about the Palmer dame, I didn’t kill her. She was dead before I got there.”
“We know.” Stump looked at Ryan. “We heard.”
Wentz took a deep breath before laughing. It wasn’t a very humorous sound, and a drastic difference from Wentz’s usual laugh. “Patrick, let’s cut the crap. At least around Ross here.”
Stump looked at Wentz before sighing. “Fine. You’re right.”
Ryan wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Cut the crap about what?”
“Some of the connections this paper has.” Stump straightened up. “What gets said in this office stays here, got it? No gossiping.”
There seemed to be a lot of that going on in Ryan’s life in the past day, but he nodded mutely. Stump glanced at Wentz briefly.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumor that I’ve got ties to the mob, right?” Stump looked at Ryan for confirmation, and Ryan nodded. “It’s true. And I hear that last night, you met my tie to the mob. William Beckett.”
Ryan froze at that, biting his lip before remembering the deal he’d made with Beckett. “Beckett said that the Journal could run the story on Amanda Palmer’s death.”
“I know.” Stump looked at Ryan quietly. “I don’t know if you saw this morning’s paper, but it ran in the morning edition. I’ve already talked it over with Beckett. He says you saw something you shouldn’t have, and he made a bargain with you about that and the story.”
“I saw Brendon Urie leaving an elevator at the hotel. He says he didn’t kill her either,” Ryan said.
Wentz stared at him. “You actually talked to Urie?” He glanced toward Stump and Ryan wondered if there was something odd about having spoken to Urie. After all, Urie had talked to Ryan first; it wasn’t like Ryan had intentionally planned on striking up a conversation with the guy.
“And Beckett. I didn’t have much of a choice in either.” Ryan shrugged faintly. “My roommate works at the Black Canary and thought I needed a night out. I got too curious, got too close to Urie’s office and got caught. Beckett made a deal with me regarding any story about the Palmer dame’s death: we could run it, but no mention could be made of Urie being there.” He paused, taking in the looks that Wentz and Stump were exchanging with one another. He wasn’t sure what those looks meant, but he could imagine that it wasn’t anything good for him. Even so, he went on. “And I went home. Only, Urie showed up at my apartment and made me a further deal.”
“What sort of deal?” Stump said after a few moments of silence.
“Just, Urie had a really good story to give. Front page material.” Ryan chewed his lip. “I just can’t mention Urie, Beckett, or anyone Urie’d mention in the story. I couldn’t name my source, either.”
“Good deal,” Wentz commented, glancing toward Stump.
Stump sighed. “It is. That makes this hard, Ross. You’re a good beat reporter. We just - .” Wentz cut in, finishing Stump’s sentence. “We just can’t have you on the paper at the current time. Not with Beckett and Urie taking a mild interest in you, not if they’ve been seen talking to you.” He patted Ryan’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”
“Although, if you do get that story,” Stump shrugged. “We’ll definitely print it, if we like it.”
“You’re - “ Ryan’s voice trailed off as words failed him. He’d never, in his years at the newspaper, felt lost for words; and he’d never, in this whole mess, suspected he could lose his job. But here he was, words definitely failing him and hearing both Wentz and Stump telling him that he should leave the newspaper.
Wentz patted Ryan’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. “This’ll work out, just you wait and see. We’ll take you back as soon as whatever’s going on is over and done with. Think of it as an extended vacation.”
Ryan nodded numbly, but managed to dredge up a smile. “So, I guess this is a dismissal for now?”
Stump nodded, smiling. Ryan was pretty sure the smile was about as faked as his. “Yeah. We’ll see you back at your desk before you know it, Ross. Just watch.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Ryan waved vaguely, turning and heading back down the stairs. In the time that he’d been gone, someone had scrounged up an empty box and had placed it on his desk. He made a face, carefully packing up his things and pretending not to see his former coworkers, while they pretended to not see him. When the last of his things was tucked into the box, he placed his bag on top and picked it up, making his way to the door.
He managed to hail a taxi without much trouble, gave his address to the cabbie and slumped back into the seat. As the car sped toward his apartment, he wondered what he was going to do now. The recession was still on, he knew of no other papers hiring reporters and he had no idea how he would make ends meet until this was all over. He knew that Spencer’s job paid well for his own lifestyle, but it couldn’t support the both of them. He was grateful that the ride went quickly and that the driver didn’t try to start a conversation with him; he wasn’t even sure what he’d say or if words wouldn’t still fail him, especially with the way his thoughts were turning.
He got out of the cab at his apartment building, briefly resting the box that held everything that was left of his career as a reporter on the roof of the cab. He paid the driver before making his way upstairs.
As he climbed the stairs, he wondered how he’d tell Spencer about the Journal letting him go. At least he had time to figure that out; as far as Ryan could tell, Spencer hadn’t come home from the cabaret last night. That wasn’t unusual for his roommate, though: Ryan knew that Spencer had a girl - he’d met Haley a few times, great girl - and that he occasionally spent the night at her place when he stayed late at the cabaret. Ryan wondered if Spencer’d ever do the right thing and marry Haley; he’d never seen his friend happier than he was with her, and Haley was the type of gal that any guy would love to have on their arm.
Ryan had just made up his mind to start teasing Spencer on the topic of letting Haley make an honorable man outta Spence when he reached his floor and froze.
The door to his apartment was busted down, lying on the floor in the doorway, and from where Ryan stood, he could see that the place had been trashed.
Ryan made his way into his apartment, setting the box on the floor as he surveyed the damage.
Whoever had broken in had clearly been looking for something, but Ryan couldn’t imagine what. Sure, they had some things of value in the place, but, from where Ryan was standing, it didn’t look like anything was taken.
He made his way through the apartment, checking as thoroughly as he could, but came up with nothing missing. Everything that should have been present in every room was there, so whatever this person or persons had been looking for, they must not have found it.
He bit his lip, picking up the battered door and resting it against the wall, before picking up the phone. His first thought was to call the cops and Spencer, but he paused, and soon found himself dialing the number Urie had given him. True, Urie had said to only call in case of an emergency, but Ryan couldn’t think of a better idea of an emergency than having his apartment broken into.
He took a breath to compose himself before dialing the operator and asked for the Copeland Hotel. He left a message with the front desk clerk at the Copeland to have Urie call him as soon as he got the message. Then he hung up, got the operator again, and asked for Haley.
When she answered the phone, he talked to Spencer and explained that someone had broken into their apartment and that Spencer should get home as soon as he could. Then he got the operator to patch him through to the police.
After he’d finished with his various phone calls, Ryan cleared a spot on the couch and sat down to wait.
Spencer was the first to arrive, pausing in the doorway as he took in the carnage that had been their apartment. Behind him, Ryan could see Haley craning her neck as she tried to look around him before she finally pushed past Spencer and stepped into the apartment.
“Oh, wow.” Haley breathed as she looked around at the mess. “I knew you two were messy, but this is too much, even for you.”
Ryan smiled despite himself at the teasing. “This wasn’t us. I don’t know if you noticed, but we don’t have a door at the current time.” He pointed to where it leaned against the wall and Haley’s eyes widened. “That’s a new one for us.”
“Oh gosh,” Haley repeated, taking a seat next to Ryan as she looked around the apartment once more.
Spencer made his way through the apartment, checking on things just as Ryan had. While he was gone, Urie seemed to magically appear in the open doorway, surveying the damage. Ryan wondered what crossed the man’s mind as he came in.
“You have no door,” Urie said conversationally, sitting on the arm of the same chair he’d sat in the night before. “It’s a new trend, I imagine, not having a door.”
Haley bit back a giggle as Ryan gave Urie an exasperated look. He didn’t see what was so funny about having his apartment broken into, after all, even if Brendon’s presence did lighten the mood slightly.
Urie looked around the living room, giving Spencer a small nod when he emerged from the investigation of his bedroom, before fixing Ryan with an unreadable look. “You do realize that having your apartment broken into wasn’t what I meant by having an emergency, right?”
“I didn’t know who else to call besides the police.” Ryan shrugged. “Besides, I had other things happen to me today besides having my apartment broken into.”
Urie managed to look slightly mollified. “I didn’t think you’d plan to have your apartment broken into. That wasn’t what I -.” He paused in the middle of his apology before shaking his head. “Well, I’d meant something else, that’s all.” He leaned to one side, peering into Ryan’s bedroom. “You said you called the police?”
“Yeah. They should be here any moment, I think.”
Just as the words left Ryan’s mouth, the four of them heard footsteps coming up the stairs before the first of the police officers came into the room.
~~~
Brendon didn’t like talking to police officers; not even the ones that he knew were dirty. He didn’t have to talk to any of the coppers that showed up to investigate the break-in at Ross and Smith’s apartment, thankfully, but he kept an eye on everything and thought things over.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he knew, but if he were to guess, he’d say that whoever had broken into the newshound’s apartment had some connection to Amanda Palmer’s death. That didn’t necessarily mean that whoever had killed Amanda Palmer and whoever had broken into Ross’s apartment were the same person, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt sure that those two pieces fit together. As for how those pieces fit into the overall picture, that Brendon wasn’t sure of.
He listened to Ross and Smith talk to the officers as he made small talk with Haley, trying to hear anything worth hearing. He’d met Haley before, on one of her countless visits to the cabaret to listen to and watch the band, and Smith in particular, and knew her to be a fairly intelligent young woman. In fact, she reminded him a bit of his sister Kara back home.
Soon enough - not soon enough for Brendon’s taste, though - the police officers left, promising to send Ross and Smith word if they heard or found anything. Smith showed the officers out, turning back toward the group.
“So now what?”
Ross chewed his lip, glancing toward the battered door. “Probably get the door fixed.”
Brendon looked at Ryan and Spencer thoughtfully, before focusing his gaze on the door and the rest of the room. “Smith, I’d understand if you’d like the evening off in order to make sense of this mess. And I’d understand, Ross, if you’d like to skip that interview I promised you.”
Ross opened his mouth. To say that he wasn’t interested in the story, perhaps, but before he could say what he wanted, Smith waved a hand. “Go on, Ryan. I’ll call someone about the door, and after that, Haley and I’ll just go to her place, in case whoever did this comes back.”
Brendon considered for a bit, weighing all the possible options he could think of as he listened to Ross and Smith bicker over who would stay in the apartment and clean up and who would go do whatever they needed to do. After all, while he had no real opinion on the newshound, Smith was his employee, as well as a member of his mob, and therefore, Brendon felt obligated to keep an eye out on the skin tickler. Especially if the apartment being ransacked was tied to Amanda Palmer’s death, and whoever had done this came back.
He cleared his throat, making sure the sound was loud enough to be heard over the two men’s bickering. Even Haley turned toward him in surprise.
“I have a suggestion. Or, perhaps, options that might be beneficial to the two of you,” Brendon started, taking in the looks on both Smith and Ross’s faces. “I fully understand if you want to stay home and skip our appointment, considering your current track record with keeping appointments, and for all intents and purposes, I’d like to live past today.”
“I’ve done plenty of interviews where the people I’m talking to don’t turn up dead.” Ross frowned at Brendon, looking like he was still upset by the memory of seeing the Palmer dame’s dead body. Brendon couldn’t blame him; he wasn’t sure if the Palmer dame had been the first dead body the newshound had ever seen, but even if it wasn’t, he could imagine that the memory would definitely stick with him. After all, the first dead body Brendon had ever seen still occasionally haunted his dreams, and so did the ones that came after.
“I imagine you have.” Brendon smiled, trying to look as reassuring as he could. “I’m just saying that I’d understand if you’d like to reschedule the interview for another day while you and your roommate clean up your apartment. As for my other suggestions, feel free to send the repair bill for your door to me at the Copeland and I’ll see about getting someone to watch your place for you.”
Smith hesitated, glancing toward Ross, unsure. Brendon could guess that Smith was connecting the dots as to why Brendon would offer to protect both of them, and might feel the need to discuss it. Brendon didn’t want to address the fact that he was sure of the possibility between the murder and the burglary right now, though. No sense in worrying the newshound, he was sure that Ross would come to the same conclusion sooner or later.
“Look, like interviews, I don’t generally go out of my way to provide my employees or passing acquaintances with the same protection I’d expect for myself.” He pushed himself to his feet, spreading his hands. “Call it protecting my interests. Smith, you’re one of my employees, after all, and if something were to happen to you, there’s the risk that my clientele would go down until I’d find a suitable replacement for you. And Ross, even though I highly dislike newshounds, you and I have a bargain in the works. Therefore, neither of you are very useful to me dead, so it’s in my best interest that I provide you both with protection.”
Smith glanced toward Ross before nodding. He looked resigned, but at least willing to go along with Brendon’s offer. Ross looked briefly like he might be stubborn about it, but in the end he said nothing, only nodded.
“That settles that, then. “ Brendon clapped his hands together, smiling charmingly to all three of them. “I have other business to attend to, so I’ll take my leave of you three.” He tipped his hat to Haley, ever the gentleman. “Miss.”
He made his way out and was nearly to the front door - through the glass of said door, he could see Hall waiting by the car - when Ross ran down after him.
“Wait!”
Brendon paused and turned to Ross, eyebrow raising. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew that Hall was already moving toward the door in case Brendon needed help. After all, Brendon didn’t make it a point to carry a gun to most visits - he didn’t much like guns as a rule, but sometimes they helped to prove that, despite his young age, there was more bite than bark to Brendon - but he did make it a point to make sure his bodyguard was packing at all times.
Ross himself paused at the bottom-most stair and worried his lip - Brendon guessed at the sight of Hall moving in to defend him. “Can you call off your dog? I’m not gonna attack you, I just have a question.”
Brendon turned slightly toward Hall, making a small gesture with his hand and waiting until Hall had nodded and walked back to the car, before turning back to Ross. He crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed the newshound. “Alright, I’m listening, and I’ve called off my dog, as you put it.”
Ross stepped off the bottom stair, but came no closer, clearly keeping an eye on Brendon’s bodyguard as if he expected the guy to attack at any moment. “I just wanna know why you’d do something like that up there.” He pointed upstairs as if he thought Brendon wouldn’t know what he was talking about. “Offering bodyguards and things of that sort.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “I get why you’d help Spencer. He’s your employee, and like you said, you’re protecting your interests. But why -.”
“Why would I consider keeping you alive protecting my interests as well?” Brendon finished the question, faintly amused. He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when Ross nodded quietly.
“Yeah. I mean, say someone would come back and kill me? Then no one would know about our bargain and the specifics we agreed on. Besides, you’ll have to find someone else to make sure there’s no connection between you and Miss Palmer running in the Journal anyway, because I’m not welcome at the paper anymore. At least not until this mess is cleared up.” Ross looked away, ashamed.
Brendon, for his part, hesitated. Although he understood where Ross’s bosses would stand in dismissing Ross, even temporarily, Ross being fired didn’t fit well in any of his own plans. He highly doubted that it fit in very well with any of Beckett’s either, at least where Brendon himself was concerned - but he also knew he couldn’t just play the champion for the newshound, even if he had the stones to push Stump’s hand in the matter; that would make things even worse for both of them. He settled for smiling reassuringly at the reporter.
“What if I have a future use for you? Besides, you’ve been the only newshound I’ve come across, Janey, that I’ve actually felt inclined to help write a story.”
Brendon wasn’t quite sure why he felt the nickname was appropriate, or even why he’d call an actual newshound by the name of a fictional one, but it was enough to make Ross frown in his direction. The sight only made him grin more.
“Well, that settles that, then. I’m going to call you Jane Arden for the rest of our acquaintance.” He tipped his hat toward Ross as the reporter sputtered, still grinning broadly. “Goodbye, Miss Arden, I shall see you when I see you.”
He turned to go, still amused at the faint sounds of sputtering coming from behind him, when Ross called out for him to wait again. He didn’t turn around, just glanced over his shoulder at the reporter.
“Yes?”
Ross looked entirely unsure of himself all of a sudden, licking his lips and trying to find words. “So I still get that interview, right?”
“Of course. As I said earlier, I fully understand if you choose to postpone it in order to deal with your apartment situation. In fact, if I were in your shoes, I’d do the same. When you get the story don’t matter, right? So long as you get it?”
Brendon smiled over his shoulder, heading out the front door and down the steps to where Hall waited by the car. He opened the car door and Brendon got in, settling in against the backseat. As he waited for Hall to get behind the wheel, Brendon turned to watch Ross watch them go.
“Where to?” Hall asked, glancing at Brendon in the rear view mirror.
Brendon slid further down into the seat, watching the scenery go by as he considered his options. “There any new talkies worth seeing that you’ve heard of, Zacky?”
Hall glanced at him in the rear view mirror again, smiling faintly. “We can always see, Boss.”
Brendon pointed forward vaguely, still watching the scenery. “Let’s do that then, followed by dinner someplace nice. Maybe we’ll run into someone worth running into along the way.”
“Good plan, Boss.”
~~~
Ryan watched Urie’s car leave, wondering if maybe he should’ve asked to go with the gangster and get the story he was after now rather than later. True, the big goon who seemed to be Urie’s shadow outside of the Black Canary was scary, and that had hampered his decision to ask if he could go with. Either way, it was too late now; he’d just have to call Urie later to see if he could still get that interview.
He knew that he should just follow Urie’s advice and take the night to help Spencer clean his apartment, but with the loss of his job as a reporter, even if it were temporary, he couldn’t think of anything else but that promise of a story.
He thought it over as he headed back up to his apartment, trying to convince himself to just stay home and help Spencer clean, but there was a part of him that didn’t want to be there. It was a crime scene, after all, and after seeing Amanda Palmer’s dead body, he didn’t want to stick around another one of those.
“What do you know about your boss?” Ryan asked as he walked into the apartment once more.
Spencer blinked at him, straightening up from where he was crouched, working on cleaning up his bedroom. Haley paused where she was straightening up the area around the couch. She glanced at Spencer, and Ryan wondered what the look was supposed to mean.
“You mean Urie?” Spencer leaned against his doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve heard the rumors. How do you know those aren’t true? And why, besides the apparent interest he’s got in us all of a sudden, are you interested in him?”
“You heard him. He’s offered me a story,” Ryan said defensively, mirroring Spencer’s stance.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Haley sitting down on the couch, watching both men with wide eyes. That was out of character for the outspoken young woman. “Besides, you know me. I like covering all my bases before going after a story.”
“You want to know which of the rumors are true and which are false?” Spencer looked at Haley before sighing, glancing toward the battered door. “I’m not gonna talk about that while we’ve got no door. Not exactly the most discreet place to talk, y’know?”
Ryan’s eyes lingered on the gaping doorway. “Yeah, true.”
“There’s been a few write ups about him,” Haley spoke up. “I’m sure if you check the library, you could find them. There’s been a lot of events that he’s been to. A few of them with that dead dame.”
Ryan considered, grabbing his bag. “You’re right. That’ll be a big help in figuring out my angle for this story. I’ll see you two later.” He waved, heading out.
It wasn’t that far to the closest library and Ryan got there in a matter of minutes. With some help from the librarian, he quickly found the stacks of newspapers, and settled in at a nearby table to start going through them. He set aside those that mentioned William Beckett, The Black Canary, and Brendon Urie, even if it was a very brief mention. He also set aside any papers that mentioned the Palmer family, especially Amanda Palmer. As Haley had already mentioned, there were a few stories that mentioned both Brendon and Amanda at various events.
When he’d gotten all the newspapers he could find on his topics, he put away the ones he didn’t need before tackling the ones he’d set aside, making notes as he went. Soon, he had a story of his own sketched out: Brendon Urie came from a prominent family in New York. He’d come to Chicago a few years ago, under mysterious circumstances, and was first seen in the public social circle at a party the Palmers had thrown in their hotel. It was also the first event that had Urie escorting Miss Palmer, and quite a few more would follow.
Ryan spread out one of the articles that had an accompanying picture of Brendon Urie and Miss Palmer, studying it for a long time. They certainly looked like a happy couple; he wondered just what had been there, if anything, had been there before she’d been killed. But Urie hadn’t seemed terribly upset by her death. In fact, he’d seemed more like someone had killed an employee that Urie needed to complete a task, and less like someone who’d lost a companion.
Did that, then, mean Amanda Palmer hadn’t been Urie’s moll?
The thought made Ryan find a few more articles that dealt with events where Urie had made an appearance with his boss William Beckett - charity events, social gatherings, city related business - and Ryan studied the pictures that accompanied more than a few of them.
He paused at one of the articles, spreading out the paper - funnily enough, it was for his own Chicago Journal - and framing the accompanying picture with his hands - William Beckett, Brendon Urie and a third man Ryan would guess must be Gabriel Saporta, William’s other right hand man and Urie’s partner at the Black Canary. The article itself had to do with a charity event that William Beckett had thrown for a local hospital, and the event had played host to more than a few politicians.
Putting together Brendon Urie’s back story, Ryan had come across quite a few articles that referenced how William Beckett - for all intents and purposes, an upstanding businessman who dealt nearly exclusively in furniture sales, but was rumored to have his thumb in quite a few of nightclubs and various other parts of the Chicago night life - frequented, and threw, plenty of parties for local politicians. Ryan figured that that would make sense; after all, as a member of the mob, William Beckett would have to pay off a few politicians, and other people, to get them to look the other way when it came to his illegal operations.
Was this the story Urie had promised him? A story about the mob, dirty politicians, and the people that bound them together?
Ryan chewed on his thumbnail, tracing the lines of Urie’s face in the picture. It was so much like the story he’d been given by Stump, the one that had led him to finding Amanda Palmer’s dead body. Did he have it in him to continue on with this adventure, go further down this rabbit hole into gangster territory, and find out where it would take him? It might wind up getting him being killed later on for knowing too much, but Urie wouldn’t have offered him the story if the gangster intended to kill him later, right?
He looked from the newspaper photograph to his own notes. They weren’t Pulitzer material just yet - he only had the barest basics of a story - but he seemed to have more questions than answers where it came to Urie and it piqued his curiosity.
He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to piece together the facts he knew. He didn’t get very far in his thoughts - barely anywhere, really - before the silence of the library got to him.
Ryan shook himself, getting to his feet and putting all the newspapers he’d set aside in one pile. On top, he set the newspaper with the photograph of Beckett, Urie, and Saporta, and he studied the three men’s faces for a long moment before he shook himself again. He grabbed his things, shoving his notebook into his bag, and headed for the library door.
It had gotten dark while he’d been in the library, and he paused at the top of the stairs, watching the cars drive past. He wondered if their apartment door had been fixed by now. He wondered if Spencer and Haley had stuck around the apartment, or if they’d gone to her place, or even to the Black Canary, even though Spencer had the night off.
More importantly, he wondered if Urie was home. He might have a back story started on Urie, but the facts he’d uncovered caused more questions than provided answers when it came to why someone would kill a socialite like Amanda Palmer.
He caught a cab and told the cabbie to take him to the Copeland Hotel. The cabbie blinked at him, clearly wondering why someone like Ryan would want to go to a nice place like that, but he didn’t say anything, just drove.
Ryan had only been to Uptown a handful of times in his life, so it always managed to take his breath away. Uptown just seemed to be so different from the rest of Chicago. The driver stopped outside of the hotel and Ryan got out after paying him.
He hesitated in the reception area, looking around and wondering if he looked as out of place as he felt. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before he shook himself and made his way to the front desk.
The clerk there ignored him for a few minutes, and he was about to clear his throat to get the man’s attention when the he finally looked up.
“Can I help you?”
Ryan smiled, trying to emulate the same smile he’d seen Urie give. He wasn’t sure if it had the same effect on the clerk, but it was worth a shot. “Um, yeah. A friend of mine is staying here, and I was wondering if you could tell me if he were in?”
The clerk looked Ryan up and down, like he couldn’t imagine that anyone who stayed at a place like the Copeland would have a friend who looked even remotely like Ryan. Normally, Ryan would’ve felt insulted, but he decided he may as well handle this like he would when he was trying to get a news story and let it roll right off him. “What’s the name of your….” The clerk paused, glancing briefly over Ryan’s shoulder as someone came in, but no one came to the desk so the clerk turned his attention back to Ryan. “Your friend?”
“Brendon Urie,” Ryan said without hesitation.
The clerk looked even more like he couldn’t imagine someone like Brendon Urie would consort with someone like Ryan, and this time, Ryan did feel a little insulted. “I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Urie is currently not having visitors. Perhaps you’d better come back later. And call first.”
“So Brendon Urie is in?” Ryan leaned over, tapping the phone that sat in front of the desk clerk. “Couldn’t you call him to see if he’ll see me? I have an outstanding appointment with the man. Ryan Ross. He’ll see me, I’m sure.”
The clerk looked like he wanted to deny Ryan on principle, but he picked up the phone and dialed a number. He waited a moment before someone answered on the other end and then moved away so Ryan couldn’t hear the conversation. After what felt like hours but was probably only a few moments, the clerk came back and gave Ryan a dark look, like he wanted to go against anything he might have been told. “Mr. Urie says you can go right up. He’s in the penthouse suite. Take the elevator straight to the top.”
“Thank you.” Ryan smiled charmingly, heading to the elevator. He got in and told the elevator operator inside to take him up to the penthouse suite. He was let out into a short hallway that led to a numbered door.
Ryan hesitated before knocking. Behind him, he could hear the elevator doors close and the elevator head back down. Behind the door in front of him, however, he could hear a small dog yapping and scratching at the wood.
He was about to knock again, in case said knock or the yapping dog hadn’t been heard, when there was the sound of the door being unlocked and Urie opened it.
It was the first time Ryan had ever seen Urie out of anything that wasn’t a three piece suit, and he couldn’t help staring. Urie was barefoot, wearing a pair of simple slacks and a button down dress shirt. He looked almost like an average young man, the kind that could be found anywhere, instead of the bright young businessman the papers made him out to be.
Ryan also saw the source of the barking: under Urie’s arm was a small terrier that was now struggling to get away from its master and bark at the intruder. The terrier was another thing that didn’t match up to the gangster image.
“You have a dog. Literally,” Ryan said, and automatically regretted it because it sounded so stupid to say aloud.
Still, Urie smiled, setting the small terrier back on the ground. It trotted over to Ryan, barking and sniffing his leg for a while, before it finally got bored and trotted back into the hotel room. “Yes, I have an actual dog. He keeps me company and doesn’t judge me for anything that I do.”
He stepped back, indicating that Ryan could enter, and led the way into a plush sitting room. The terrier was curled up on the cushions that were on one side of the couch, and it wagged its tail at Ryan, clearly seeing him as no threat if its master had let the intruder in.
Ryan held his hand out for the dog to sniff before scratching the terrier’s soft ears. “What’s his name?”
Urie smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to know his namesake. Humphrey Bogart. He’s an up and coming actor on the New York stage.”
“You like the theater?” Ryan blinked. He hadn’t read anything like that in any of the articles that had mentioned Urie. Of course, that didn’t mean that the newshounds in question hadn’t known it, or perhaps hadn’t felt it was important to their stories.
Urie’s smile became mysterious as he settled into a chair. “I enjoy many things, Jane Arden. Theater’s just one of them.” He watched Ryan sit down on the couch next to the dog. “I suppose you’re here about that interview I promised you?”
Although it had been, Ryan wasn’t sure if that was his intention anymore, not now that he was faced with this young man who didn’t match up at all with the image he’d previously had of the young gangster. He decided that he might as well be honest. “I was thinking about that when I decided that I couldn’t stay at home, worrying that whoever broke into my apartment might come back. But I didn’t come here right away. I spent some time at the library, piecing together at least some of your back story from various news articles.”
Urie leaned back in his chair, a quietly amused expression on his face. “And what does your back story have to say about me?”
Ryan pulled his notebook out of his bag, setting it on his knee and smoothing out the top sheet, as if the action would make the words embed themselves in his brain. Next to him, the terrier wagged its tail before it curled up in a ball and fell asleep. He glanced toward the dog, trying to compose himself. It was easier said than done.
~~~
As he sat in his chair across from the newshound, Brendon was more than a little amused. He was well aware of what could be found about him in the library - he’d had no qualms about posing for the photographs that all newspaper photographers seemed to want out of him and his fellow gangsters - but he wondered what Ryan Ross had deemed important in his back story.
He watched as the newshound fidgeted on the couch, sneaking glances toward Humphrey as if, like the notes on the notepad against his knee, the dog could help clear up any unanswered questions he had. He considered letting the guy linger a little longer, but he wasn’t entirely sure if Ross would want to be in Brendon’s house as the evening lengthened. Not that Brendon would do anything.
“Well?” Brendon smirked, finally deciding that the awkward silence had gone on long enough.
Ross startled, looking at him. He looked down at his notes, as if they’d speak to him. Whatever they had to say, Brendon couldn’t hear anything from where he was sitting. The newshound took a deep breath, composing himself.
“You came to Chicago from New York a few years back, under mysterious circumstances. Almost from day one, you were working for William Beckett, and you were seen at social events with various dames on your arm. At a few of those social gatherings, you had Amanda Palmer on your arm. A lot of those events had quite a few politicians at them as well.” He paused. “And I already know you’re in the mob. You’re William Beckett’s right hand man.”
Brendon smiled, leaning forward. “Well, you’re remarkably good at putting the pieces together. I’m from New York City, it’s true. Born and raised, in fact. You’d have to tackle newspapers over there to get that back story, because it’s not one I share lightly. And I did come here to Chicago under, as you call them, pretty mysterious circumstances. I can’t tell you why I was invited to work for Beckett or what happened to my predecessor because, I’ll be honest, I don’t know myself. But I’ve learned that it’s wise not to stir up the past..” He tapped his fingers together, resting his elbows on his knees. “And I won’t lie and say that I didn’t escort Miss Palmer to quite a few social events.”
“So why would someone want her dead?” Ross glanced at his notes before looking up at him.
“That’s a question I don’t have the answer to.” Brendon shrugged. “I can tell you this, though. Amanda Palmer’s death doesn’t help anyone in William Beckett’s circle. We needed her for a few of the dealings we had with certain politicians. After all, her family has considerable ties and pull with a few people that Beckett’s connections couldn’t get him.” He smirked. “I think your research into my history is cutting into that cover story I intended to give you. Bravo.”
Ross blinked at Brendon, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “Really? I wasn’t trying to get anything on the story you wanted to tell me. I just wanted to get a little more background information on you. Y’know, find out what’s rumor and what’s fact.” He gave Brendon a weak smile. “I just like knowing the facts on people I intend to get stories about.”
“Ah yes.” Brendon leaned back in his chair, studying Ryan over his fingertips. “But not everything that’s printed in the newspapers is the whole story. I filled in some of your blanks, though. Do you have any questions about me you’d like answered before you get your story? Fill in more of the information, find out what’s rumor and what’s fact, as you so succinctly put it?”
The newshound licked his lips, clearly considering the offer, before he nodded. “If I promise not to publish it, can I get your whole back story?”
Brendon paused, blinking. Although he had offered to answer any questions the newshound might’ve had, he hadn’t been expecting to give the reporter a history of himself. He wasn’t even sure if he were entirely comfortable with the idea.
He pushed himself up from his chair, starting to pace the room as he thought it over. After a few paces, he stopped behind his chair, resting his arms on the headset and leaning forward. “Very well. But what I say in this interview doesn’t go in any newspaper. There’s a lot in my history, in my dealings, that doesn’t need to be public knowledge, nor do I want it to be. And if I even hear a hint that anything private about me is put into a story to further your career, I will find you and make you regret using private information to better yourself. I’ll also withdraw the previous offer of helping you with your career problems by giving you that story about Miss Palmer that I promised you. That’s your bargain for my back story. If you can’t accept it, that’s it.”
Whatever Ross might have felt about the bargain, Brendon didn’t find out because the phone chose that moment to ring. As he wasn’t expecting any phone calls - everyone at the Black Canary knew Brendon was taking the night off and that he was not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency - he frowned at the phone, toying with the idea of not answering it before he crossed over to it and picked up.
He felt the newshound’s eyes on him as he talked to one of Saporta’s guys - he could never really get any of Saporta’s underlings straight, let alone remember their names, and felt that it was better to just not care, because Saporta tended to change underlings the way most men changed their shirt - before hanging up in disgust.
“Problems?” Ross spoke up in the silence, worrying his lower lip again.
Brendon glowered at him before taking a deep breath. After all, it wasn’t really the newshound’s fault. “Unfortunately. Things always seem to break at the Black Canary when I’m not there, so sadly, we’ll have to skip your interview and story for tonight. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Can.” Ross paused, as if he wasn’t sure how to get his point across or what words to use. “Can I come with? Seeing you in action’ll definitely help me compose a back story on you, even if I can’t publish it.”
Brendon was about to say no to the idea before he paused to reconsider. Even though the newshound couldn’t write about it, didn’t mean he couldn’t see at least some of what went on at the Black Canary behind closed doors. Especially since he had intended on giving the reporter at least part of his own back story along with his original story. True, that sort of information would probably make any future career as a newshound tough, because he’d lose more jobs because of his new connections and because there were a lot of people who would pay a lot of money to get their hands on even one personal tidbit of information on William Beckett’s right hand man. And what he knew.
“Sure. But anything you see tonight goes under the conditions bargain I just gave you. You can’t write about it.”
Ross nodded, putting his notebook in his bag. Brendon wondered briefly what, if anything, crossed the newshound’s mind at the new bargain, but decided to leave it be. “I understand.”
Part Three