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"Witness Protection"Written By: Snowdragonct Disclaimer: Don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or the characters, more's the pity. This is for fun...no profit involved. Rating: R Warnings: Warnings: AU , yaoi, swearing (lots),
some OOC (probably), violence, drugs, sex, a naughty Duo (i.e. he
has a potty mouth and is a bit, er, slutty)…if you are wedded
to the “pure, chaste” version of Duo, he might be a bit
dark and crude for your taste…ditto for the other characters
in here…hey, Quat’s a lawyer…how much lower could he
get? Pairings: 1X2 eventually, 3X4 also eventually, (past 2X3, 6X2) A/N: I’ll apologize in advance that Zechs is, well, deceased right from the start. I like him a lot, and there’ll be mention of him…but mostly in the form of discussing/investigating his murder. Sorry. Summary: When Zechs Merquise is found murdered,
detectives Heero Yuy and Wufei Chang are tasked with the unenviable
chore of keeping the only witness to the crime alive long enough to
testify against the leader of the Oz syndicate, Treize Khushrenada. "Witness Protection" Chapter Four: Exotic Places Wufei’s scowl deepened as we pulled up outside The Jungle, and as I parked the car, I heard him muttering under his breath. I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes, trying not to smirk. “Suck it up, Chang. It’s just a strip joint.” “A male strip joint,” he said stiffly. “You see naked guys in the locker room all the time,” I pointed out. “That’s different. They aren’t flaunting it.” “I should hope not.” The bouncer at the door eyed our suits with a raised eyebrow and crossed his arms. I flashed my badge and he scowled deeply, stepping aside. As we pushed through the doors, we were nearly overwhelmed by the smoke and noise. The place was mobbed. I heard Chang mutter something about the injustice of having to get the smell out of his hair and clothes later. He could be such a pussy at times, and I told him as much, getting a fierce glare and a raised middle finger in response. The music was a steady, thrumming beat—slow and as dark as the atmosphere in the dusky club. And as we pushed and maneuvered our way towards the bar, hoping to find someone who could point out the manager’s office, my gaze was irresistibly drawn to the dancer on the stage. He was moving with the slow beat of the music, stalking the length of the stage with sinuous grace, and then slipping seamlessly into an exotic and erotic dance. Tall and slender, he had the long, lean muscle of a gymnast or acrobat. His reddish-brown hair hung across his face, though I saw the flash of deep green eyes as he paraded through his routine. All he wore was a leopard-print thong, and someone had painstakingly applied henna so that the pattern spread up his torso and across his chest and shoulders—then down his arms. Likewise his legs were mottled with leopard markings right down to the tops of his feet, which were bare. He hadn’t gone so far as to wear ears or a tail, but his face was painted with exotic lines to accent nearly luminous eyes. He looked and moved like a big cat on the hunt, and of course the song that was playing fit his act perfectly—phrases like “I wanna fuck you like an animal—” permeating the steady throb of the base. All in all, it was—arousing. “Disgusting!” Chang spat under his breath. I kept my opinion to myself. “We’re not here for the floor show, Chang. We’ll be out of here shortly.” “None too soon,” he grumbled. The bartender set two glasses in front of us. “Name your poison, gents.” I shook my head apologetically, displaying my badge once again. “Need to see the manager.” The guy grunted in response, a sour look crossing his face. “Wait here.” He disappeared through a door to the back, and I glanced over at the stage again, trying to look like I was just sweeping the room for possible clues. The leopard-skinned dancer was nearing the end of his routine, hips rocking in a suggestive, sinuous curve that mimicked sex, while the music rose in tempo and volume towards its own climax. Goddamn! I pulled my gaze away and turned back to the bar, wishing I’d asked the bartender for a glass of water at least. Fuck, my throat was dry all of a sudden. Chang was leaning his elbows on the bar, eyes straight ahead, as if by distancing himself he could avoid being sullied by the very atmosphere. A woman with short, dark hair walked out with the bartender, eyeing us appraisingly. “Can I help you—detectives?” I smirked slightly. She hadn’t missed the fact that we weren’t in uniforms and were therefore not patrol officers. “Could we talk in private?” “Certainly.” She gestured us to follow her down a hall behind the bar. The passageway was cramped and dark, leading past an opening that must have led to the stage, as there were scantily-clad men apparently preparing to go after the leopard performer. I almost snorted wryly. He’d be a tough act to follow. On the heels of that thought came the resolution to keep my mind off that compelling image. We entered a small office, and the woman gestured us to two chairs, sliding into one behind her desk. “I assume you’re here investigating Mister Merquise’s death,” she said without preamble. I flipped out my note pad. “And you are?” “Lucrezia Noin—manager of this club. Mister Merquise was my employer.” Something flickered in her dark eyes momentarily, and I wondered if she didn’t have a small regret that they were nothing more than employee and boss. “When was the last time you saw him?” “Actually, it was some time ago. Several weeks. You see, Mister Merquise didn’t believe in hovering over his employees. He let me do my job, send my weekly reports, and call in with any special problems or requests.” “Ah—so in essence, he sat back and let the money roll in?” Chang asked astutely. “Something like that,” came her amused reply. Her gaze sharpened slightly—intensified. “Do you have any leads on the murderer?” I gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’s very early in the investigation, ma’am. We’re really just interviewing anyone close to Merquise at this point to try to find out who might have had reason to do him harm.” I shifted my grip on pen and paper. “As a matter of fact, we heard that he had a steady lover.” A knowing smile touched her lips. “I take it you know him?” “Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “He used to work here. But if you were thinking of making a suspect out of him, you’re way off base. Duo adored Zechs; he’d be the last one who’d kill him.” “You said ‘used to’ work here,” Wufei commented, never one to miss the subtle nuances in a conversation. “Yes. He and Trowa did a show together.” “A—strip show?” Wufei asked with a disdainful grimace. The woman gave a throaty chuckle. “Yes, a strip show. Hell, they practically fucked right there on the stage.” She waved a hand at herself as if to cool off. “I’m not usually one to ogle the hired help—but frankly, I never missed their act.” “That’s very nice,” came my partner’s dry, scornful reply. “Do you have a last name for this ‘Duo’ fellow?” “Duo Maxwell,” she told us. “And do you know where we might find him?” I asked, hoping for an address or phone number at the very least. “You could try the Sanc Palace. That’s where he went to work after he hooked up with Mister Merquise.” So, our mystery witness had bettered his circumstances after meeting the crime lord. The Sanc Palace was one of the more “respectable” strip clubs in the area, drawing a slightly higher class of clientele than the dark, smoky Jungle. “Do you have an address for him?” I pressed. “Maybe a phone number?” She shook her head. “All his personnel records transferred to Sanc along with him. But Trowa would know—they were very close.” “Does ‘Trowa’ have a last name?” I asked. “Barton.” “And where would we find this ‘Trowa Barton’?” Wufei asked. “Oh, you’ve already seen him,” replied the club manager, with a small, enigmatic smile. “He was on stage just now.” Oh fuck! We were going to have to interview the leopard-skinned Adonis. And as much as I’d enjoyed the floor show, I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to be in close quarters with such a drop-dead gorgeous guy—at least not with Chang at my side. “It would be helpful if we could talk to him,” Wufei was saying, busily taking notes of his own. “Could you arrange it?” She stood up, giving a curt nod. “He’s got a break between shows. You two gentlemen can wait here, and I’ll get him.” She gestured to the wall behind her desk, which was littered with framed photographs of what were obviously male dancers. “If you’d like to know what Duo looks like, his picture’s right there…the one with the braid.” She walked out, and I stood up restlessly, pacing across the small office to scan the pictures on the wall. “Maybe we should just get over to the Sanc Palace and see if Maxwell’s working tonight,” I suggested. “We will—but if Barton can give us an address, it will help track Maxwell down whether he’s at work or not.” I’d finally spotted the picture Noin had indicated, and nearly swallowed my tongue. If I’d thought Barton was gorgeous, that was nothing compared to the guy in tight black leather pants with a long, chestnut braid trailing down his back. He was facing away from the camera, but was half-turned, one hand resting on a butt-cheek, and the other braced up against a wall over his head. A devilish smirk and glimmering, half-lidded indigo eyes were framed by loose wisps of hair, as he apparently flirted with the photographer. I couldn’t help feeling like I’d seen him before, though I doubted I could forget someone as blatantly sexual as him. My thoughts were interrupted when Barton arrived, stepping in and leaving the door ajar, as if ensuring a way out. The auburn-haired performer still wore his exotic makeup, which made him ooze raw sexuality, but he’d thrown a shirt and jeans on over his, erm, costume. He eyed my partner and me warily, much as I imagined a real leopard might. “Trowa Barton?” I asked. He nodded, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, before settling into the seat I’d vacated. Wufei’s nose wrinkled in distaste. He truly hated this part of an investigation—having to get down and dirty with people whose lifestyle he found repugnant. That was essentially two-thirds of our clientele. Face it—rich respectable people rarely were involved in the kinds of crime we investigated. “You were Duo Maxwell’s—dance partner?” Chang asked with a heavy hint of irony. A trace of a smile touched one side of Barton’s lips. “Something like that.” “Something?” Wufei growled. “Were you, or were you not?” “We—performed together,” Barton shrugged, his deep green eyes on me rather than Chang. “On and off stage?” I guessed, casually moving to sit on the edge of the desk, where I could fix a more intimidating stare on our witness. Unfortunately, it also brought me within range of his musky scent—a heady combination of sweat and maleness that almost made me drool. He shrugged again. “Friends with benefits,” he admitted. “And when did you last see your ‘friend with benefits’?” I asked coolly. “He doesn’t work here any more,” came the evasive reply. “That doesn’t answer my question.” The green eyes fixed a sharp look on me. “I know that. I also know I’m not obligated to talk to the cops.” He flashed a brief smile. “I’m just humoring you.” His gaze lingered on my face, and I wondered if he was noticing my parted lips, and the way I was trying to regulate my breathing. I knew being in a small room with him was a bad idea. I cleared my throat, focusing—with effort—on the purpose of the interview. “Have you seen Maxwell since Zechs Merquise’s murder?” “Why? Is he a suspect?” “Right now we just want to talk to him,” I said carefully. “Word on the street is he was dating Merquise and might have been with him the night he was killed.” So I made that last part up; but I’d know for sure when forensics got back to us. “I wouldn’t know.” Was that a trace of jealously in Barton’s voice? “Wouldn’t know what? That he was Merquise’s lover—or whether he was with him that night?” Trowa tossed his head, snuffed out the remains of his cigarette, and pulled out the pack for another. “Look—officers—.” “Detectives!” Wufei said stiffly. Barton smiled just slightly, and I knew the insult had been intentional. He paused to light a cigarette and blow smoke into both of our faces. “Detectives—,” he drawled snidely. “I’ve gotta go back on stage in fifteen minutes—and I’d like time to hit the john first. We about done?” “Not until you tell me how close Maxwell and Merquise were.” He twined two fingers together. “Like that,” he smirked. “Lovers?” He nodded, preparing to stand up. I put a heavy hand on his wrist, giving him a narrow look. “Not so fast.” Oh, fuck—was I actually touching him? Bad idea, when it let me feel the heat still emanating from his skin. “I answered your question,” he growled impatiently. “Merquise and Maxwell were fucking. Okay? Can I go now?” I shook my head. “Why not?” “Because you just told me you might’ve had a motive for Merquise’s murder.” The green eyes widened, and for a moment the man’s jaw went slack. “Me? Why in Hell would I kill Merquise?” “Jealousy, Barton. He was fucking your friend. Maybe you didn’t like losing your benefits.” He jerked his wrist free, glaring at me. “Who says I lost ‘em? You think Merquise and Maxwell were exclusive? And d’you think I’d resent it if they were?” “You tell me.” Placing both hands flat on the desk, Barton leaned in until we were almost nose to nose. His uniquely sexual scent was almost overpowering at that distance, and I had to force myself not to back off. “Look—detective—Duo and I are friends—and yeah, we’ve fucked. But only to pass the time. We were never in love…but I think Merquise and he might’ve been. And believe it or not, I was happy for Duo…’bout time he found a guy who could better his lot in life and cared enough to try. Duo found a good thing in Zechs Merquise, and I’m the last person who would have wanted to take that away from him!” “Then tell me where to find him so we can see if he knows enough to put away the murderer who did!” The man pushed away from the desk, and I drew a relieved breath. “You’re the big-shot detectives. Go ahead and ‘detect.’” He turned and walked away, with the same sinuous, cat-like grace he’d shown on the stage. “You want to take him downtown and see if an interrogation room makes him a little more cooperative?” Chang asked, his nostrils flaring in distaste as he waved away some of the lingering smoke. My own nostrils might have flared as well—but in the hope of picking up one last wisp of the sexy dancer’s erotic scent. “No. I hate to say it, but I think I believe him. He and Maxwell danced together—maybe shacked up—but Merquise’s death wasn’t the act of a jealous lover. It was an execution.” I had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming in frustration. “My gut tells me Khushrenada was behind it—but in order to prove it, we need an eyewitness—and Maxwell’s the best lead we’ve got.” “But you let our link to him walk away—.” “No. Noin said Maxwell works at the Sanc Palace. I think we should try there.” “Another gay bar?” Wufei sighed. “Actually, it’s bi,” I told him. “They’ve got ladies’ nights and gents’ nights.” I was guessing Maxwell probably performed for both, as his picture made him look feminine enough to tempt guys who might be on the fence about their sexuality. “How do you know so much about the place?” Wufei asked, giving me a fishy look. “I did my homework, Chang.” I gave him a glare
that wiped the suspicion right off his face. “C’mon—let’s
go check the place out.” tbc...
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