Elevator Love part 9
By Tralla

I’m in my study.

I look at the surveillance equipment before me and think of my motivation, or rather rationalization, behind my current hobby. I told myself that the blonde and his underlings needed to be watched. I was only partly honest.

It’s not the first time I’ve done this, but it is the first time I’ve actually had to be careful. And I’ve honed my craft. It only took a week to get all the cameras in the locations I wanted. The biggest problem was not finding inconspicuous hiding spots that allowed optimal viewing of the area but accomplishing that while finding an unobtrusive power source to leech off of. I knew before I began that there would only be one chance to place each mic and camera. There would be no opportunity to return and switch out batteries. Plotting and timing were key. There were no problems. Just benefits.

My indifference level has gone up. Almost nothing surprises me.

I’ve gotten accustomed to the braid’s homicidal antics. I now find Mr. Forehead’s arrogance amusing. And I find spidey useful. He has a habit of making an appearance when the braid and Mr. Forehead trespass into asshole territory. He says something clever and derisive and then leaves. It’s a good low energy, unsympathetic technique. I may pick it up, one day.

I snort to myself. I can’t lie. I’ve gotten comfortable here.

It took nearly a month of living here and countless hours of footage to make me realize two important things about the blonde, the braid, spidey and Mr. Forehead: they’re normal, as long as you don’t interact with them.

And they appear normal as long as you don’t see them in each other’s company.

I’m skimming through my audio files. There’s one in particular I’m looking for.

I locate the file on my laptop, put in my earbuds, hit ‘play’ and listen to the recording for the 4th time this week. The feed begins:

“Duo,” says the blonde while sounding surprised.

The braid must have entered his office quietly, for once.

“Checking in for a bit,” supplies the braid. “Whatcha up to?”

The blonde sounds worn-out as he responds, “I’m writing a speech for a conference.”

“So you’ve gotten pretty good with the south paw.”

“South paw?

“You’re batting leftie,” clarifies the braid.

The blonde laughs, “It’s become surprisingly easy. By the time I get the cast off, I’ll be ambidextrous.

“Sure about that?”

The blonde sounds uneasy as he says, “Ye…Yes.”

The braid sounds excited. “Want to check?”

“What do you mean by check?”

“Just a game to test your newly acquired skill.”

“I have work to do, Duo.”

“Lies. You can spare fifteen minutes, maybe longer if you like what I’ve got.”

There’s silence before the blonde says, “What is it?”

“Darts!”

“Darts…”

“Wait here, I got a board.”

The braid apparently brought a hammer and nails as well. There are complaints from the blonde. The braid is hammering away at a wall. The blonde gives up. And there is the sound of the braid taking something out of a box.

He’s instructing the blonde.

“Keep stepping back. More…more…keeping going. There, stop there. Ok, if you can hit the dartboard using your left hand, you’re in good shape.”

“Fine,” concedes the blonde, “but you’re going to have to step away from the board.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Duo, you’ll get hurt.”

“Not if you hit the board.”

There’s a long pause. “You’re…serious.”

“Hit the target. I’ll dodge if you’re off.”

“I’ve played darts before, Duo. You won’t have enough time to move.”

“For the love of God, stop the yapping and start throwing.” The braid scoffs. “Don’t give me that look.” He snorts. “Yeah Yeah you’re my boss, but you’re on a break. So, I can give you lip--”

There’s a sigh. It sounds like it’s from the blonde. “I’ll throw it. One dart and I’m going back to my desk.”

“Sounds great.”

There’s a pause and then a long, pained howl. It’s the braid.

The blonde sounds tired as he says, “Duo, the dart’s in the wall…not your head.”

“Yeah…just realized that.”

I hear movement and then the braid says, “I’m fine. I don’t need to be inspected.”

“I think you do,” responds the blonde.

There’s silence, a very long drawn out silence before the braid says, “Uh...why’s your hand on my crotch?

There’s a brief zipping noise.

“Your fly was undone,” responds the blonde.

“Uhh…oh…ok…Thanks. So, what’s for dinner tonight?”

I take out my earbuds.

I’ve been noticing that kind of questionable behavior across the blonde’s relations with all his cohorts. He doesn’t appear to grasp the concept of personal space. That, or he simply doesn’t care or enjoys putting people in awkward positions. It’s impossible to tell. Whichever the reason, it doesn’t matter. If oblivion, indifference, or sadism is what’s behind his dubious behavior, I’m immune to all three.

Despite my lengthy sessions, I haven’t watched all the footage or listened to all the audio recordings I’ve made.

I’m a few days behind. I browse the files. I’ll start off with the recordings from this past Friday. There’s an interchange between the blonde and Mr. Forehead I’ve wanted to view. Mr. Forehead had walked out of the blonde’s office just as I was entering. Not unusual, except for the fact that he looked sweaty and somewhat agitated.

I click on the file. I’m fast forwarding. Just the blonde on the phone, at his desk, then reading, nothing interesting. Then the blonde looks up from his work, sees Mr. Forehead and starts chatting, except he looks like he’s trying not to appear annoyed. He almost fails.

Damn. Went a little too far.

I synch up the audio to the footage. I hit ‘play’ and watch and listen to the interchange.

“I’m sorry,” says the blonde. He sighs, pushes his chair back, and leaves his desk. “I don’t mean to be dismissive. I’m under a lot of strain right now.”

“Impossible?” comments the blonde. His fingers are just inches from Mr. Forehead’s neck. “You’ve done too good of a job raising money, Wufei. It’s difficult to keep such a large sum secret.”

His hands are on Mr. Forehead’s tie. He’s undoing it, slowly as he continues talking. “Wufei, how long have we known each other?”

Mr. Forehead’s silent but his gaze is locked on the blonde.

“A very long time,” answers the blonde for him. The tie’s loose and he’s pulling it out from under Mr. Forehead’s collar.

Finally Mr. Forehead speaks, “You’re going to fire me.”

The blonde doesn’t answer him. He smoothes over the tie and then places it back around Mr. Forehead’s neck, under his collar. He’s retying it as he murmurs, “I think you need a vacation.”

“But--”

“It’s up to you what kind: permanent or temporary.”

They’re in a standoff. “Temporary,” responds Mr. Forehead.

“Wufei, I appreciate your services and your friendship. Please don’t forget that. Take the vacation whenever it suits you.”

Mr. Forehead acknowledges the comment with a short, stiff nod before turning around and leaving. I see myself enter the office. The blonde greets me.

I stop the footage and the audio.

I lean back in my chair. Genial suggestions that are really veiled threats. Apparently, it’s the blonde’s forte. I’ve already experienced it. It’s what caused me to be here in the first place. But this time around there’s something wrong. It’s not obvious, just a gut reaction. I rewind the footage and re-synch the audio. I’m missing something. I hit ‘play’.

Mr. Forehead walks in and informs the blonde about the status of my bank accounts. The blonde looks up at him as though he’s told him that eggplants are in season. It’s obvious he’s not interested in what Mr. Forehead has to say because he comments, “What Heero does with his money is not my concern. And neither is it yours.” The blonde returns his attention to his work. He thinks the conversation is over. Mr. Forehead does not.

“It’s suspicious,” asserts Mr. Forehead. “It’s only to his gain to put the majority of his earnings in savings.”

I frown. Mr. Forehead’s suspicions are valid. I’ve been spending the bulk of my salary on surveillance equipment.

I watch and listen as the blond says, “If you’re curious, Wufei, ask him.”

“We should--”

“Wufei.” The blonde looks up and smiles. “You’re an intelligent person. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.”

A smiling reprimand, a definite mind job.

Mr. Forehead doesn’t leave nor does he back down. He’s kept his position in front of the blonde’s desk and is staring down at him. “You’re being short with me.”

“I’m sorry,” says the blonde. He sighs before getting up from his chair. “I don’t mean to be dismissive. I’m under a lot of strain right now.”

The footage continues where I initially started viewing.

I’m still staring at the monitor, watching what is occurring but I’ve taken the earbuds out. Was he putting a scare into Mr. Forehead over his comment about my savings account? Or, did his father’s discovery of the money Mr. Forehead had been hording for him tip him over into Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde territory? Perhaps, it was due to both.

I’m still staring. Over a month here. I can write letters that sound like they’re coming from his hand alone and yet his actions are beyond my comprehension. Then it occurs to me that the basis for his behavior doesn’t matter as long as I get my salary.

It suddenly hits me as I watch Mr. Forehead leave again that my free time is over.

It’s time for my appointment with the blonde.

I reach his office and, instead of finding him at his desk or appearing out from some shadow in an attempt to catch me off guard, I see something entirely unexpected.

He’s on the floor, face down. Either he’s been clubbed or he passed out.

I’m standing in the doorway. Instead of thinking of getting him help or supplying it, I’m wondering if he landed on his gimped arm. It’s been nearly five weeks. Maybe he’s moved on from malingering to outright sabotage.

He’s moving. He turns his head to the side and his eyes move up. His gaze lands on me before he says, “Is it one already?”

I look down at him. He’s acting like I just woke him up from a nap.

“Heero, I’m sorry to ask this…but could you help me up? It was easy getting down here, but getting up is another issue.”

I’m still staring at him. He took a nap on the floor. I know it.

I walk over, bend down, and do as I’m told.

He’s dead weight. Much heavier than he looks.

He’s moving on his own. Apparently, he’s trying not to be a giant leaden rag doll. He’s gotten himself up and is leaning against the wall.

He’s laughing and looking embarrassed. “I dropped a pen, bent down to retrieve it, and must of have passed out.” When I continue to stare at him, he elaborates, “I’d say it was just low blood sugar and lack of sleep but I think I’ve been cooped up in here too long.”

It doesn’t sound like he means his office, but this building, itself.

Then it suddenly occurs to me that while the braid, spidey, Mr. Forehead and I have been moving around freely, I haven’t seen him outside, once. Not once in over a month.

Apparently the blonde was serious when he said he’d stay secluded until his arm healed. And now he’s paying the price. He looks like shit, like he’s been locked in a closet living off of moldy bread.

He’d opted for a meeting outside. Or, so I thought. He’d grabbed an apple from his kitchen, tried to force some fruit on me, and then suggested that we head out to the main garden. It was only as we stepped into the sunlight that I realized there would be no meeting; he had simply wanted me to escort him out there. Perhaps, he was paranoid about having another showdown with the ground.

I take him off the path and put him out to pasture. He walks a ways away and parks himself on the grass. I’m about to turn around and head back when he stops me.

“Heero. I have something to show you.”

Great. He suddenly wants to tan and now he wants me to evaluate the results.

I walk over. The apple is in his lap and he’s undoing his vest. I was right.

He pulls out a sheet of paper and lifts it up. It’s a cue for me to take it.

I do. I look down at it.

It’s from his consort. It was evident on sight. And it looks like it’s not the first page of her latest communication. He’s been sharing her letters from the past weeks. Apparently when he said they were personal he only meant the ones with sordid contents. The ones that are rated-G he passes on to me.

I’m already mentally yawning as I start reading. I was right about the G-rating but there’s something else. I finish reading.

She accused him of being cold. She said he wasn’t being as open in his letters. She asked him if he had lost interest in her. She wanted to know why no one in her circle had seen him. She said she was coming to his estate, today. And there was nothing he could do to stop her.

I look up from the letter.

“What’s our next step, Heero?”

“Our?” Suspicious, I look down at him.

“If she finds out that you were responsible for the counterfeit letters, I won’t be the only one with a limb in need of mending.”

I was right to be suspicious, but I have an escapist rationale on my side. “I’m not responsible. I was told to--”

“And if someone told you to hop on one foot while wearing a striped bowtie, would you?”

“If I were paid well, yes.”

He blinks back at me before bringing his gaze back to the scenery. “We’ll all have dinner together. If you see Wufei and Duo before I do, warn them that Dorothy is on her way.”

“Warn them?”

“At times, she allows jealousy to get the best of her. For some reason, my male friends perturb her most.”

I’m sensing impending carnage. And the blonde’s orchestrating it.

I watch him pick up the apple. He looks at it but he doesn’t bring it to his mouth.

Part 10