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He’s running.
The hallway of the museum is dark, and empty, and Shiro’s running alone. He’s following someone, but in the dark he can’t see much. The walls of the museum are full of painting, and they come to life: monster and humans alike flash out their frames, their arms and hands stretch to catch Shiro’s ankles.
In the far, a dim light appears. It’s a glass door window, that reflect the moon light from outside. With a relieved smile, Shiro runs faster, and just a second before the monsters are able to take him, he opens the windows.
But he brakes immediately, because the balcony of the windows is completely broken, with not even a railing to protect it. With a hand on the wall, Shiro puts his body back, avoiding at the last minute to fall in the dark canal below him.
“Careful, Detective.”
An amused voice come from above him, and Red the thief his there, with his tight purple suit and his red mantle and his mask that covers the entire upper part of his face, and his top hat. He floats above the canal, in front of Shiro, hung at a group of multicolor balloons. A smirk is on his face.
The wall Shiro is grasping to crumbles to piece, and he starts fall down, fast, to the canal, as the thief’s low laugh resounds in his ears. He stretches the arm to try to catch him…
And then he wakes up.
He finds himself in his bed, sweat sticking his hair to the face, painting hard.
The investigation about the thieving of the famous thief Red are disturbing their sleep, and as much as Shiro loves his job, it’s time to put an end on this and returning at the normalcy of his jobs. And his nights, where he doesn’t dream about museums, paintings or failing in the canals.
The cellphone on the bedside table lights up and rings, communicating a new message. With a grunt, Shiro leans his hand and takes the phone.
James has send him a brief communication: Iverson wants to see you, and Sanda is here too
There is no doubt in Shiro’s mind about the tone and the argument of his future conversation with Sanda and Iverson. Iverson has plenty of faith in him, but Sanda, as the mayor of Venice, has the public opinion at his back, if they don’t catch Red before he steals again.
With a sigh, Shiro takes a brief shower, dress himself and leaves his apartment. He’s been luckily to have it in the center of Venice, at the upper store of a building. It’s small and humid, but it’s his, and it allows him to walk towards the police station by walk, enjoying the small calle the tourist don’t bother with.
Once he enters the police station, James and Ryan stands up from their respective desk and looks at him with a worried look.
“Where are they?” Shiro asks, with a small nod as a greeting.
“Iverson’s office.”
Shiro nods: he surpasses them and knocks at the door of his superior office. A second later, comes a gruff respond. “Come in.” Iverson is at his desk, Sanda sits down in front of him. On the desk, there are all the newspaper of the day, that announces with amusement the police defeat against Red of the night before.
As usual, journalists aren’t kind with them.
“Do you want to see me, Sir?” Shiro asks, polite.
“Sit down, Shirogane. We have to talk.”
And with that, he means Sanda has something to say, and that they both aren’t going to like it. Still, Shiro pretends not to know and sits down next to Sanda, obedient.
“Major Sanda here,” Iverson begins, “isn’t happy about the result of our investigations. I tried to explain her the difficult of our work, but she isn’t satisfied.”
“It’s not just me,” Sanda points out. “I received a call both from the governor and the Home secretary. Like all of us, we’re worried about the raids of the thief named Red. And, until now, this force hasn’t been able to stop him.”
“So what do you suggest?” Iverson asks.
“Maybe we should leave the investigation at someone more competent. Or better, more expert about this kind of investigations.”
“Are you insinuating am I not competent enough?” Shiro inquires.
“You too has to accept that Red isn’t our usual criminal,” Sanda says.
“That’s for sure. But for this exact reason, I don’t feel there’s experts of him around here.”
“Listen, Detective Shirogane-” Sanda begins, but Shiro doesn’t leave her the time, despite Iverson’s gesture to stop.
“No, you listen to me. Naples. Rome. Florence. Milan. Venice is the fifth city in the list of Red’s attacks. Did someone else before me stopped him? No! That’s the reason he’s here now. Because no one has been able to catch him. Am I wrong?”
“You’re not,” Sanda concedes.
“You and everyone else called yesterday night a failure, but it was not. He was so near to catch Red like no one else ever was. Do you know what the problem was? Too much people were there, and Red took advantage of it. I don’t want anyone to interfere with me.”
“Do you realize it’s bigger than both of us, right?”
“I don’t care,” Shiro replies. “I have a 100% of positive results in my investigations. I am the expert around, and my job is to catch Red. Your job is to make everyone else understand this, and keep everyone very far away for me as I work.”
Sanda’s hands turn into fists, and she trembles slightly. She’s the mayor, she’s the one that should give orders. But she can’t contrast Shiro, because he’s a very loved detective in the city, and since he was promoted the level of criminality of Venice has dropped low. She can’t intervene to make him leave, or people will attack her.
“Fine,” she spats. “But you’re walking on thin ice.”
“Like usual.” Shiro turns his head towards Iverson, that makes a gesture to dismiss him, something Shiro does with grace and relief.
When he turns back in the main room, James and Ryan fake to be at work.
“The case is still ours,” Shiro announces, and they take a deep of relief. “But I don’t know for how much long. We need to catch Red before they change their mind. Ryan, I want all the information you manage to find about Red’s previous thieving in the other cities. No matter of small the clue is, I want everything that happened them. James, I want a research about the paintings Red steal usually. Every story, every legend, we need to understand the path.”
“Yessir,” they answer. Then, James adds, looking as Shiro moving towards the exit, “what about you?”
He doesn’t turn around in answering. “I need a coffee.”
In a small campo just behind the police station there’s Shiro’s favorite bar. It’s not attended by many policemen because the owner isn’t as kind as the one that runs the bar just in front of the station, and because the prices are a little bit higher, since it’s a history bar. Shiro enjoys it because it’s quiet.
His usual bar has just been used, and a waiter with long dark hair is cleaning it. He was new, because Shiro doesn’t remember him. He waits until the waiter finishes his job, then takes a step forwards, just when the waiter turns his head at him.
And woah, he’s the most beautiful man Shiro has ever seen. He drowns in those big blue eyes, before the waiter, with a lost expression, runs inside the bar. Hoping to not having scared him, Shiro takes his seat. A couple of minutes later, Sal appears with Shiro’s usual order, a double espresso and a croissant with apricot comfiture.
“Rough days, am I right?” Sal comments.
“You have no idea,” Shiro replies, with a smile. “But I’m feeling already better now, thank you.”
He throws a look inside the shop: the waiter is at the counter, letting a client paying and at the same time taking another order from a fat lady.
“New boy?” he asks, hoping to have used enough nonchalantly to hide his obvious interest.
“Uh?” Sal follows Shiro’s gaze. “Ah, Keith. Yes. Last week old Jack found another job and let me in the middle of the work. Keith is here for a master and he wanted to gain some money, so… we kinda helped each other. A good worker.”
Shiro wants to ask more, but he doesn’t want to raise suspicious, so he just nods. He eats his croissant and drinks his coffee, thinking how much unprofessional and unkind could be flirt with the waiter. He waits twenty minutes, but it’s Sal who clean his table and Keith remains inside, preparing coffee.
He has had his pause. Now it’s time to return to his own work, and thinking back at Red and how to stop him. In the station, Ryan and James are already working on their own assignment, so Shiro’s idea is to recall back the two thieving Red already made in Venice and tries to find a weak spot on Red’s way of robbing. Instead, he finds a young man sitting down in front of his desk.
He recognizes him immediately.
“What are you doing here?” he demans.
“Oh, Hey.” The young man stands up. “Lance Serrano, nice to meet you. I hope there’s no grudge about what happened yesterday night?”
Shiro refuses to shake his hand and sits down. “Do you mean the moment I was about to grab Red’s arm and you fell right into me, so Red managed to escape?”
Lance rubs his head, embarrassed. “Yeah… that.”
“Do you know I can incriminate you for obstruction to justice? Or, even worse, complicity in thieving?”
“Hey, hey, do not joke about it. I’m not that thief’s accomplice. That jerk! I’m trying to catch him since his first appearance in Naples.” He rummages in his pocket and extract a visitor card, that passes to Shiro.
“You’re a private detective?”
“The one and the best. Well, to be honest, Red’s case is my first important one, before him I was like everyone else, following wives and husbands around. But then Red stole something from my family’s house, and I’m looking for him ever since.”
“You followed him around all the cities he stole from?” Shiro inquiries, suddenly interested. Lance doesn’t seem the brightest mind around, but if he has been on the tail of Red for so long, he may have some information for Shiro. Even important one he doesn’t even realize.
“Yep! Not to be extra, but I’m the most expert of Red’s feats!” He takes off a folder. “And, as a sign of forgiveness, I brought you all my notes about him.”
Shiro takes the folder and opens it: there are a lot of interesting takes, paper divided for every thieving, with information about the painting that were stolen and the way Red did it. A job well done, and Shiro didn’t expect it to be.
“We’re on the same side here,” Lance continues. “I really want that thief behind bars. So, I give you a hand, you give me another…”
“Can I keep this?” Shiro asks.
“Of course, it’s for you. And,” Lance grabs a pen and scribbles a number on the corner of the folder, “this is my cellphone. Feel free to contact me as you like.”
***
The shift ends at four o’clock. Keith cleans up the last tables, nods a goodbye gesture to Sal and the he rushes at the stop of the ferrying. He takes it to reach the island of Torcello. It’s quieter than Venice, with less tourist, which mean less people to curious around. The small villa Pidge rent is at the far corner of the island, inside a small park with high hedges to cover the inside.
Most of the villa is unused. Pidge has make his personal office, with computer and everything, out of the big ballet room. He there she is, in front of one of his screen. From the rumors Keith hears, Hunk is probably nearby, creating some new inventions.
“Welcome back,” she greets him. “How was your first day of work?”
“Did you know?”
“I know a lot of things. Be more specific.”
“Did you know,” Keith murmurs slowly, anger under control, “that the bar you asked me for hiring was the Detective’s favorite one?”
“Yes.”
“Why the hell did you do something like this,” he complains. “If he found out…”
“I doubt he will make a connection between the nice waiter at Sal’s and Red the Thief,” Pidge interrupts him, “not unless you say something compromising.”
“I won’t, still I don’t see why taking such a risk. Isn’t Lance already on it to distract him?”
“Yes. But apparently Detective Shirogane is gay and single.”
Keith rolls his eyes. “So what? Do you want me to try to seduce him to keep away for our affairs?”
“That would be a great idea,” Lance’s voice appears in the ballet room, “because God knows how much you need to get laid. And the Detective is just your type, tall and buff. But unfortunately, you’re the worst in this kind of things.”
“I’m gonna resign tomorrow,” Keith states, as he slips away from Lance’s hug.
“You’re not doing such a thing,” Pidge admonishes him. “That will be too much suspicious. You will go to work, chat with the Detective just to pry out some information, and will let us do your job.” Then her attention moves to Lance, “how about you.”
“He’s a tough cookie,” Lance comments, taking a seat on the armchair in front of him. “I left him my usual folder, and he seemed interested, but I won’t count on the fact that he will believe in everything written inside it.”
Pidge nods. “I feared it. We don’t have much choice but to be extra careful next time. We’ll write down a paper that can be ambiguous, and will push the police to the wrong path.”
“Do you have our next objective?” Keith asks, now interested.
“I have. Be prepared.”
***
The next days has been spent into reading all the documentations Shiro collected. His desk is now completely covered by papers scrabbled around, and he also brought inside the office a blackboard when he finished the space on the desk.
Lance’s folder is enough accurate, to Shiro’s surprise. There is wrong information about Red’s methods of thieving, but it could be because Lance isn’t a policeman and probably he wasn’t really invited during the investigation. Most of it seemed out of Lance’s own imagination, not even the journalist’s.
But he made some interesting deduction about Red’s preference in thieving. In every city Red visited, he stole always ten painting, the same amount and from the same ten different artists. He may change the order of the theft, but the number and the artists don’t. And comparing the two thefts Red already made in Venice, Shiro recognizes the same characteristic Lance noted. It may be a collection, or a subject, or another kind of particular, but those paintings are in some way tied.
It was an interesting information, because it means they could try to find what Red’s next objective could be without waiting for his warning card.
Shiro takes the phone. “Hey, Ina,” he greets their analyst. “If I send you a list of artist and one characteristic their pairings should have, can you find a list of painting in Venice that correspond to that?”
“Yes,” she answers simply. “If the paintings are recorded in the Ministry Database, of course.”
“I’ll send you the list by mail right away.” There is still a possibility of some strange painting owned by a private that never got register, but until that moment, Red always took things that are somehow well known.
In less than half an hour, Ina answered the mail with a list of paintings that correspond to the characteristic Shiro wrote down. In total, there are twenty painting, divided for eight artists. For most of them, Shiro reduces the possibilities to anticipate Red at two different choices.
He’s looking at the owner of each painting, with the idea of contacting them one by one and going to inspect the area before Red could do that. With some luck, he can also put every painting under surveillance and spotted any suspicious person around. He fully suspects Red has to visit the place of theft before acting.
“Crime never rests,” a low voice says behind him, and Shiro turns to find Keith, the waiter, coming in front of him with a tray of what it seems his lunch. He hasn’t ordered it. He hopes it’s his justification of his suddenly open-mouth.
“Sal was worried,” Keith murmurs, as he placed down the tray: the prosciutto and cheese piadina and the orange juice he always ordered. “He said you have the habit to not eat when you’re occupied with some particular case.”
“He knows me too well,” Shiro admits. “Thank you. Oh, uhm.”
“It’s Keith,” the other smiles. Shiro shakes his hand and notices Keith doesn’t do any move to leave.
“Do I have to pay you? Tips you or-”
“Oh, no, Sal said you can pay later.” Keith waves his hand. “It’s just… If I leave now, I have to return later to take back the tray. Or… I can wait here until you’re done. If you don’t mind the company.”
Shiro might have been a little too fast in pointing the chair where Keith can sit, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind to much, as he sits down and takes of his coat.
“If you don’t mind looking at me eating,” Shiro says.
“It can’t be so bad,” Keith laughs.
“Watch and judge.” And Shiro takes a very big bite of the piadina. Then, he realizes the slower he eats, the most Keith will stay here. And then he feels guilty because probably Keith has some work to do than keeping him company.
“So, Sal told me you’re here for a master?”Shiro asks.
“Oh, yes. Uhm… Historic art. Yes.”
“Oh, nice. I guess it can be useful for our investigation.”
Keith coughs a little. Then, he throws a look at the blackboard. “So, you’re investigating the case of Red the Thief, uh?”
“Yep. Have you heard about him?”
“Well, it’s pretty famous, the journals speak a lot about him. You know, with the fact he sends warning cards before acting.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s some part of the public imaginary.”
“Why do you think he does that?”
“We have just hypothesis. And I can’t really talk about it, you know, the secret and everything.”
Shiro’s opinion on the matter is clear, though: Red does that to give a false sense of security to the police, and taking advantages of the situation of chaos many people around created.
“Oh, right, sorry.” Keith’s eyes are still on the black board, scrutinized them. “I mean, it’s bad. Stolen paiting… But, you know, it’s the charm of those kind of criminal. See Arsenio Lupin.”
Shiro snorts.
“I guess you’re not a fan?” Keith smiles.
“Not really. I was mocked for this, but to be honest my favorite character is always being Zenigata.” Keith looks at him intently. “I mean, it’s always painted as the comic relief, but to be honest, to do really think it’s credible the Interpool will still pay him up his bills even if he was only unsuccessful. Besides, there are a lot of episodes about Zenigata and Lupin teaming up to arrest some other criminals, and Zanigata is always been competent in them. I’m pretty sure Zenigata is the best agent of the Interpool and that’s why he was chosen to catch Lupin.”
He stops, noticing Keith is looking at him with wide eyes. “Sorry, I’m a nerd.”
Keith laughs. “No, you’re cute. I mean,” he blushes, “it’s nice.”
Okay, so Keith doesn’t find him weird. Good.
“But probably Sal would complain, knowing I’m talking about work again,” Shiro says. “Tell me more about you. How’s the lessons?”
“Ugh. Next question?”
“Where do you come from?” Then, he sighs. “Sorry, they sound like cop’s questions, right?”
“A little.” Keith laughs again. “I’m around Rome,” he always then. “It’s a little bit different here. Have you lived here all the time?”
“No, I’m originally from Milan. My parents used to live here, where my mother met my father – he’s Japanese, you know. But I was offered a promotion for this place, and I’m happy. Venice has a particular charm. The Serenissima. Well, now not anymore, with all the tourists and everything, but there are still corners that maintain the original atmosphere.”
“I’d like to see them.”
“Well, I could-”
Iverson appears on the door of his office. “Shirogane. Everyone. Come here: Red sent his card.”
“Coming!” Shiro looks at Keith with an apologizing smile.
“It’ okay, I have to go back to work too.” Keith stands up. Shiro rushes to give back the tray, and only then he notices a small drawing, depicting Shiro’s bust in a very anime way.
“You made this?” he asks Keith.
He blushes. “Yeah…”
“It’s so cute. Can I keep it?”
“Sure, if you like…”
Shiro strips the piece of paper and put it in his pocket. “If you’d like… we can have a coffee sometimes. Not at Sal’s, of course,” he adds, with a small laugh. “I can show you some of my favorite spot of Venice.”
Keith smiles. “That would be nice.” He lowers a little his head and then he’s off.
With a nod, James and Ryan follow Shiro in Iverson’s office. A copy on Red’s paper is on the desk, and Shiro grabs it as Iverson explains where and what the painting is, and how to act from now on. Shiro reads the riddles Red made this time, and then the clear writing of Ina, that signed at the bottom of the copy her deduction with a comment from her part: too easy.
Ina has Asperger, and doesn’t make such comments unless they mean something. Red’s riddles aren’t the worst ever, but they still required some skill to interpreted them. Evidently, this time the riddle was easy enough to made Ina suspicious of the situation.
“Are you listen to me, Shirogane?”
“Yes, Sir. We’ll go immediately to check the situation and put on the best defense we can.” But as soon as they were outside the room, he adds, “go first, I’ll join you later.”
“Something wrong?” James inquires.
“No, but I want to check a feeling I have before.”
He returns to his desk. The painting is on Ina’s list, so it’s included in the list of characteristic Red searches in his theft. Or maybe, it’s what Red wanted them to believe, therefore the easier riddle. The artist in this case is Monet, so Shiro takes off the list Lance made and the folder Nadia prepared about the painting’s characteristics.
And he immediately notices something: all the Monet’s painting Red stole have the same characteristic Lance found out (they have the same subject, women with white dresses) but they have another one in common. They were made during the same year. It was a very big particular, and Shiro finds strange Lance didn’t notice it. Maybe it was easy to find the characteristic on the paintings themselves than their history. Yet…
He calls Ina back. “Can you look if in Venice there is a Monet painting that was made in 1872?”
“A second,” she answers. “Yes, there is one. Private collection.”
“Send the specific to me.”
It’s a small painting, with no women in it. But looking at it and at the riddle, Shiro can see that painting can be also the solution, a more complicated one, for sure, but still… it can be it Red’s true objective. A satisfied smile compared on Shiro’s face: if Red was force to masked better his theft, it means Shiro is doing a great work into corner him.
Let’s be it, Shiro decides. Let’s Red believe they fell for his trap, so for once he will be the one too overconfident of the situation. After all, Red made his warning for a reason, and Shiro is going to answer back with the same methods.
Still… interesting. Red chose paintings with two same characteristics, so if the situation needs it (like this case) he can switch from one another and still say it has always been his primary objective, and being right about it.
Shiro frowns. Hide something behind something else. It’s Red’s methods, after all. The choosing of paintings, the way he sends the warnings… What if there is something else behind Red’s thefts?
He calls Ina again. “With the list I gave you before, can you tell me if there is another city in Italy that has paintings with the same characteristics?”
Then, he digs into James’ researches. As usually, he was meticulous, and has the Art Department send them a list of the theft happening since Red has been active, to check if there is a common field for those kind of criminals. His conclusion was no, yet Shiro returns back to check all the list, considering only the paintings.
And he notices it. Nothing in Milan, but in Naples and Rome two paintings was stolen: not only from the same artist, Alfor Altea (died two years before), but from the same collection, the Castle of Lion one. Respectively, the Green Lion and the Yellow Lion.
A quick research informs Shiro another painting of the same collection, the Blue Lion, was stole for the owner’s villa in Sicily around a month before Red’s attics began. The culprit has never been found, just like the painting. There are two other paintings in the collection: the Red Lion and the Black Lion. The latter disappeared just before Alfor’s dead, and some consider it the cause of the artist death. The other was sold in an auction last year in London, and the owner is…
Shiro takes a deep breath and he tries to calm himself.
Ina’s call wakes him up. “No, with that combination there aren’t any cities available.”
It makes sense. The Red Lion is the last one of the collection, hypnotizing Red has already the Red Lion. Or that Zarkon has it, in secret, and Red is going to steal them for him. Even if Red looks a little too intricate for Zarkon’s way of action, as Shiro’s prosthetic arm always remembers him.
If Red works for Zarkon, arresting him will mean a possibility witness of Zarkon’s criminal activities. If Red doesn’t work for Zarkon but plans to steal for him, Shiro is sure Zarkon’s methods will be pretty definitive for Red.
Either way, the best course of action is to arrest Red before it’s too late.
***
Keith has a habit of working at night, for obvious reasons. It’s used to walk when the streets are empty, the air cold, the atmosphere dark, and generally a sense of danger and chillness.
Venice is different from any other cities he faced. He’s older, more dangerous. Keith can walk and feeling the cold grip of the ancient ghost. Not that he’s going to tell it someone, Lance especially will mock him to not end.
But the chillness doesn’t leave him as he navigates the dark canal with his gondola. To be fair, he doesn’t really navigate, Hunk modified the gondola so Pidge can remote-pilot it with the GPS. Keith’s duty, for now, is to lie down and not be spotted if someone check outside the windows. Not that there are any risks: the water is a little higher of the normal, so most people are already inside, and the secondary canal is navigating is even more darker, with closed windows.
“Spot reached,” Pidge informs him over the comms he has in his ear.
Keith stands up, throws a small look outside to be sure nobody is around, then sends the hook on the roof and, with the help of the rope, he climbs the wall of the palace. Once he reaches the windows he needs to, he takes off his knife and unhinges the shutter. With a foot on the sill, Keith cuts off a piece of the glass of the window so he can open it. Then, he jumps inside, silent as a panther.
By Hunk’s instructions, the painting should be on the right wall, just below the fireplace. Without turning up any light, Keith slips next to the wall and he touches it until he finds the painting with his hand. He’s about to take it off, when the light of the room turns on, momentarily blinding him.
When he adapts back to the light and he turns, Shiro is already next to the windows. The door of the room is closed, and Keith suspected he’s locked too. He’s trapped, unless he defeated Shiro by himself.
Shiro smiles softly. “Finally we have a chance to meet, Red.”
“What’s happening?” Pidge asks, counting the time Red’s is using is too much for their standard.
“Detective…” Keith exhales.
“Wait! He’s there?!” He can hear her furiously tipping. “But the police is at the museum. I can see them through the cameras…”
“Are you here alone? Brave.”
“I’ll call Lance immediately, you get out of here, now!”
“I read a lot about you,” Shiro whispers. He has his gun in his hand. “In all your thefts, no one was ever armed, and you don’t have guns with you. I’m not in danger.” Now the gun points at Keith. “You’re under arrest.”
“Are you really going to shoot me, Detective?” Keith asks. He lets the painting and takes a step towards him. “Just like you said, I’m unarmed.”
“Not if I don’t have to.”
What Keith needs it’s just a little bit of a distraction, a way for him to throw himself out of the window. He doubts Shiro will have shot him for real, if Keith doesn’t give him any reason.
He takes another step forwards, and now the gun is brushing his chest. “So what are you going to do?”
They look at each other, their deep breath the only sound in the room. Then, Keith lifts his hand, grabs the gun and pull off far for him. The movement startles Shiro, who fears that Keith is going to use the gun against him; instead Keith pushes himself towards the windows. He feels something grabbing him for the mantle, and then he’s pushed on the ground, Shiro above him who keeps the him still and his hand behind his back.
“You’re under arrest, Red.”
Keith grits his teeth and tries to struggles, but Shiro’s grip is too strong. He still has some possibilities to escape – opening a pair of handcuff is nothing for him – but he doubts Shiro will be so nice to keep his mask on for the time needed, and once his identity is discovered, is over for Keith’s plan.
Then, his instinct kicks in, and he feels something outside the door. With his last strength, he kicks Shiro out of himself just before Shiro can put the handcuffs.
“Stay put!” he screams as a warning, just before the shooting starting.
A pierced pain hits his arm. Keith covers himself with his own mantel as the shots pierces the locked door, spreading the wooden splinters around, and then hit the windows and the opposite wall. Four, maybe five guns, Keith understands. He isn’t hard to understand who is shooting.
“Are you okay??? Keith? What’s happening.”
When the silence returns, Keith peeks outside fast and careful. The door is half broken, and he can see the attacker already getting near. Shiro is few meters from him, and he seems fine. In a rush, Keith stands up and grabs him for an arm.
“We have to go.”
He doesn’t wait for an answers. The window is almost destroyed, but the rope is still here, hung at the roof. Keith grabs it and slips back on the gondola, that is still there. A second later, Shiro lands next to him. He has the gun on his hand, and he’s looking back at the window, ready to shot at the attackers.
The windows around are lightened up now, and Keith is sure they’re going to call the police any moment now.
“I’m back on the gondola, but I need to leave. Now!”
“I’m on it!” Pidge answers at the comms.
The gondola starts moving slowly, and the attackers appear on the window. Shiro shot a couple of warning and they put back inside their head. Then the gondola accelerates and turns a little on the right, speeding outside the small canal to reach a bigger one.
“Nice touch,” Shiro says, nodding at the gondola. “Friends of yours?” he asks then, with a little of humor.
“Definitely not,” Keith replies. Then, he turns around to look at Shiro. “Do you still want to arrest me?”
“Of course,” he replies with a smile. Then, his face hardens. “They’re from the Galra gang, aren’t they?” And Keith is too surprised to nor react surprised. “I can help you. I can protect you. If you-”
With the corner of his eyes, Keith sees Lance running towards them, on the dock. With a fast movement, Keith moves on the right, inclining the gondola on that side. Shiro, who is still standing on the border, loses his balance and fall on the dark water. While the gondola keeps his path, Keith observes as Shiro emerges from the water with his wet hair, and Lance calls for him from the dock, throwing him a rope to help him.
“I’m going back,” Keith says. “Bring me home.”
Pidge doesn’t have a snarky remark for him.
***
“Explain me again,” Sanda says.
For once, Shiro can’t blame her for her anger. They’re back in Iverson’s office, and Shiro has still the wet and dirty clothes of the night before. Iverson nods a Shiro to repeat the story again.
“I was surveilling the museum with everyone else,” Shiro starts, fully knowing James and Ryan are going to cover for him. “Red was late, so I became suspicious because Red was never late, not in any thefts I studied for him.”
“It could have been an exception,” Sanda murmurs.
“But it wasn’t, was it?” Shiro replies. “I made some deductions of my own before last night, and there were other three Monet paintings that could have been in Red’s aim. So I read back the riddle and realized that another painting could have been Red’s true objective. And I was right.”
“Yet, you decided to go there alone, without any reinforcement,” Sanda comments. “It was a pretty violation of the rules.”
“And I apologize for it. But the surveillance at the museum has been Iverson’s order, and I didn’t want to risk the operation over something that could have been an exception, just like you said before.”
“I trust Shiro into taking decision of himself,” Iverson points out.
Sanda scrutinizes Shiro. “So you reached for the private house and hears the shooting, then took a gondola to reach it from the river?” she asks. “You didn’t enter the house before, without asking the owners, taking advantages of the fact they’re out of town?”
“Of course not,” Shiro lies. Unfortunately, some of his old not very legal attics are known even by Sanda. “Like I said, I was on the dock when I heard the shooting. I takes the nearest boat I have at disposal and reached the house. That’s when Red fell from the windows. I had to shot at the men from below otherwise we would have been sitting duck.”
“And then Red push him outside the gondola and escape.”
Sanda isn’t amused, she’s angry because she knows, again, Shiro has been so near to a success and instead they’re still empty-handed. Shiro doesn’t correct her about Red’s actions: even if what happened was true, Shiro can’t keep outside his mind that Red had no reason to help him, instead he called for him, and waited him to bring both of the far away from the attackers.
So Red may be a thief, but he isn’t a killer. On the contrary, he has killers on his tail, as Shiro suspects.
“How about that guy?” Iverson asks. “Lance Serrano? His layer came immediately to take him, but to be honest I didn’t have much to keep him.”
“I don’t trust him,” Shiro answers immediately.
At the already suspicious attic of leaving a folder with partial information, his arrival at the right moment to help Shiro just after Red dumped it makes Shiro not believing him anymore. At Sanda and Iverson told Lance had probably followed Shiro while he left the museum, since he wanted to capture Red himself, but Shiro wasn’t at the museum, which mean someone warned Lance about his presence, or Red’s, at the private house.
Either Lance is a Red’s accomplice, which is likely because Red can’t do what he does alone, or, worse, he’s working for Zarkon and his gang. Either way, he can’t Lance interfere with the investigation anymore.
“But I can’t prove anything against him for now.”
Iverson nods. “What are we going to do now?”
“A shooting isn’t something I can hide easily, and the journalists outside are proof of it,” Sanda says. “I’ll try to calm down the water and hopes the Minister won’t complain too much. You keep a low profile, for now, and let the Art Ministry take the lead of Red’s investigations for now.” She anticipates Shiro’s protests and adds, “I’m not saying you should stop, apparently your intuitions are still good, Shirogane. I’m just asking to keep a low profile until the public opinion won’t have something else to talk about.”
“And we have to be careful, if Zarkon’s gang is back on action,” Iverson says, with a quick look at Shiro’s prosthetic.
“Fine,” Shiro agrees.
Still having the investigation is probably the best deal Shiro can have at the moment. Since his past with Zarkon, it’s almost a miracle Sanda doesn’t ask for his immediately dismissal from the case.
James and Ryan are at his desk, waiting for him and his explanation. “We still have the case,” Shiro announces, and then proceed to explain to them both what happened for real the night before (with some cut about Red’s behavior) and the way he reached those conclusions about Zarkon’s role in this entire situation.
“Ryan,” Shiro says then. “I want you to keep Lance Serrano under surveillance.” Unfortunately, Lance is probably suspicious now that he’s been detained even if for a couple of hours, and the fact that he called for his layer immediately is even more suspicious. But still, Shiro hopes they can find some interesting information about him.
“Sure. James is already on it doing some researches in the database,” Ryan says, and James nods.
“Please, ask Nadia to do some research with the Art Ministry about the painter AlforAltea and especially his stolen paintings of the Castle of Lion collection.”
“Already done, boss.” James smiles.” And if you need a coffee, do you want me do distract the journalist outside?”
“Please, yes!” Shiro exhales with a long sigh.
While James goes outside the police station with Ryan and the journalists immediately surround them, Shiro slips outside a secondary door. He breaths again only when he sits down on his table at Sal’s, alone and far from those parasites.
Sal appears out of nowhere with a cup of dark coffee and places him before Shiro. He has the decency of not asking anything, reserving Shiro just a little encouraging smile. Shiro delights the coffee with calm, and throws eyes on the inside of the bar, but Keith’s isn’t there.
A chair at his table is moved and a giant man takes his seat in front of Shiro. Shiro turns with a frown, fearing it’s a journalist, but it’s even worse.
“Sendak,” Shiro growls.
“My, my,” Sendak smiles pleasantly. “Aren’t you happy to see an old friend.”
“We aren’t friend, and considering last time we saw each other I lost my arm, you should have your answer.”
“You used to be more fun.”
“Also, hasn’t last night a better reunion for you?” Shiro adds, and at this Sendak smirks amused.
“Just like the old time.”
“What do you want, Sendak?”
“Relax,” he says, when Shiro startles a little when he puts his hand on his pocket. “I’m just here for pure courtesy this time.”
He places an enveloped in the table and pushes a little towards Shiro, before standing up and leaving without another word. Shiro looks at the envelop, suspicious, but in the end he takes it and opens it.
It’s an invitation for the carnival party Zarkon will host at his house.
***
If Keith could have escape, he would have. But he’s tired, and the bed his soft, and his arm still stings too much even if luckily the shot only scratched him. So he lies down there, the safe arm upon his eyes, while Hunk and Pidge discuss in front of him. He doesn’t have the courage to interrupt them to tell them he wants to rest.
“They followed the detective, it’s clear,” Pidge says again, for the hundred times. “They didn’t find us.”
“But they know we’re after their painting, otherwise why would have them attacked Keith?” Hunk replies. “We did all this to be sure to not have Zarkon and his men on our tail, not until we find a way to steal the Red Lion from him, and the result is that Keith almost died.”
“Oh, he’s fine. He got nine lives just like cats.”
Keith decides to let it slip.
“And we lost Lance’s help too,” Hunk reminds her. “Now he has that cop behind him, and he can’t return here, nor helping us anymore. The Detective is too suspicious now.” He takes a deep breath. “We have no choice, we have to stop.”
“No!” Pidge complains. “We still have possibilities. Zarkon may know we’re after the Red Lion, but he still doesn’t know who we are. That’s our advantage.”
“Yet we won’t be able to rob him if he’s warned of our presence,” Hunk rebuts. “We can try to change our strategy. We have four painting. Allura may pretend to acquired them at the black market, and maybe we can find someone willing enough to listen to her. Your father…”
“We can’t stop now,” Keith murmurs slowly. “We’re too far.”
“But Keith…” Hunk murmurs. “You’re delirious from the pain.”
“I’m not.”
This is the first time Keith feels his life has some meaning, that he’s doing something important. It isn’t going to just give up.
“Who cares about Lance,” he adds. “We’ll find another way to take the Red Lion. Let’s put Red the Thief on the deck for now. Let Zarkon turns around in circle for now.”
“But,” Hunk tries again, but Keith’s cellphone rings in that moment, interrupting him. Keith reaches it with his free hand.
“Unknown number.”
“What if it’s Zarkon? He found us!”
“Answer and put the loudspeaker on,” Pidge orders. “Hunk shielded this house, we’re safe.”
So Keith nods and presses the touch screen. “Hello?” he asks, with uncertain voice.
“Keith,” Shiro’s voice sounds in the room. “Sorry, it’s Shiro. I was at Sal’s and he told me you’re not feeling good, so I was a little worried and he… kinda worried about me so he gave me your number. I hope it’s okay.”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Keith has two numbers, and the one he gave Sal is the sacrificial one. It doesn’t matter if Shiro has it.
“How are you?”
“Fine. It’s just a cold, you know? I’ll be up in a couple of days.”
“Oh. Good to hear.”
“What about you?”
“The only wounded thing is my pride,” Shiro chuckles lightly. “No good, but it could be worse.”
“I’m glad.”
There is a small tension between them, something Keith attribute at the fact Hunk and Pidge are in the same room with him and they’re listening to everything he’s saying. He’s already bad at flirting and lying without even having spectators.
And the fact that he and Shiro met so close two nights before makes Keith a little bit vulnerable, and even if it’s probably an irrational fear, he feels Shiro knows about him.
“Listen,” Shiro says. “My superior asks me to take some days off, to recover from what happened and let the situation calming down. So I was wondering if you’d like that Venice tour I promised you.”
Keith hesitates. Pidge’s plan in his opinion is too risky from the first time, but to be honest he wants to spend time with Shiro. It just would be better if they have met under different circumstances. Pidge lifts one of his table with the written “accept it”. She probably hopes Keith can check what Shiro knows about everything – especially because Shiro’s wording back them seemed to indicate that he at least knows about Zarkon.
How she hasn’t yet understood how bad Keith is to be a spy it’s a mystery.
But he’s happy Pidge gives him an excuse to say yes to Shiro.
***
“The Florian, eh?”
“Well, it’s not my favorite place, and it’s definitely the most expensive place of Venice but… it’s the Florian,” Shiro explains. “If we want to do a nice tour of Venice, we can’t miss it.”
At his side, Keith smiles. “I trust you on this.”
There is a cold wind outside, so they take place inside, in the old tables and the fluffy armchair and the decorate wall. They order two cups of hot chocolate and a piece of Red Velvet cake, not a very Venice cake but apparently Keith likes it, from the way his eyes light up at the name.
“So,” Keith murmurs. “You’re on hiatus?”
Shiro shrugs. “More or less. I don’t know what you read on the newspaper…”
“I don’t believe the newspaper,” Keith adds immediately.
“Oh. Well, thanks,” Shiro says sincerely. “Anyway, things are dangerous and complicates, and when they are… everyone that finds himself in the middle has to stop, at least for a while.”
“They took you away from the thief’s case?”
“For now. But I count to return to it soon enough. I have a track.”
“I see.”
“Sorry I can’t tell you anything. Professional secret.”
“Of course.”
Keith lows his head, taking advantages of the waiter that brings their orders. The cocoa is sweet and dense, and a hot vapor swirls upon it. Keith attacks the cake first.
“How’s your course?” Shiro asks.
“Fine,” Keith answers briefly, head still low. Then he takes the cup and despite the hotness of the cocoa, he takes a long sip.
Shiro is still there, warming his hands with the cup. “I guess it was good.”
“It was,” Keith smiles. “I don’t expect it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the Florian.”
“Don’t you think the older and most famous bar of Venice should be good?”
Keith shrugs. “At this point, it’s a lot more touristic than anything. And touristic things aren’t so good, usually. I guess exception exist.”
“The entire Venice is an exception,” Shiro points out.
With a skeptical smile, Keith looks outside the window. San Marco place is pretty visible, completely fully of multicolor tourist that scream around, take selfie, and feed the pigeons at the point they are covered with them entirely. Pigeons that aren’t feed walk around looking for food in the dirt that overfills the trash can.
After all, it’s Saturday.
“Okay, I realize this isn’t the best example, but… I like the poetic, you know? Imagine this same place century ago.”
“You mean, when there was the plague?” Keith chuckles.
“Oh God, no, not that.” Shiro laughs. “But at least there wouldn’t be people around, because they would be dead. And less pigeons, probably.”
“But more rats,” Keith adds, amused. “They bring the plague, by the way.”
“You really want to ruin my fun, don’t you?” Shiro fakes annoyance.
“Well, it isn’t the mask plague one of the original carnival mask?” Keith replies, with a little smirk. “I guessed the plague was part of Venice’s poetic.”
“That, and the flood,” Shiro admits, with a big smile.
The cocoa has cool enough, so Shiro takes a sip of it and observes Keith: he’s gorgeous as always, with just a red leather jacket despite the cold outside.
“So, tell me about you,” Shiro asks. “You told me you’re from around Rome, right?”
Keith seems a little pale. “I don’t want to talk about me.” He finishes his cocoa. “I want you to talk. About Venice.”
“What?”
“Don’t you promise me a tour of the city? Well, I’m here, and I’m ready.”
Shiro grins. “Fine.” He takes the sip of his cocoa. “But when we’ll be over, just remember you asked for it.”
They leave the Florian, being welcomed from the cold wind. Natural, Shiro places a hand around Keith’s shoulder to keep him near so they can warm each other. Keith freezes a little at first, but he doesn’t run from Shiro’s touch.
It’s a complete tour of Shiro’s favorite spots and stories about Venice, most of them aren’t the most famous around, so they walk in calle and small streets that people don’t usually take. Places Keith feels more quiet about, but with a big smile every time Shiro has an anecdote about a calle, or a house. They lose the feeling of time, and they arrive at the Canal Grande only when it’s almost dark.
“You see that palace,” Shiro points out.
“The one with the white façade?” Keith asks. “Nice.”
“No, not that one. The one next to it, on the right.”
“Okay. Less nice.”
“It’s even less nice when you heard the story.” Shiro chuckles. “That’s Ca’ Dario palace, and legends say it’s coursed. No proof, but it’s real that of all his owners, at least nine died killed, or suicide, or with strange, strange accident.”
“Oh, wow. Nice place to live in.” Then, Keith smiles.
“Yep. But I guess it’s the ideal for his actual owner.”
Keith looks at him curiously, but Shiro doesn’t give any more explanation. Keith doesn’t need to know that Zarkon lives it, and that probably even the course fears him.
“How come all the legends about Venice are dark and grim? Innocent being killed for murdering, son killing their mother, ghosts that bring you in the dark of the night…”
“It’s true,” Shiro admits. “I guess that, for us human, is somehow easier to face fear if we listen to this kind of stories. But I promise, there’s also positive thing. Next time… maybe we can go on Murano, that’s the pretties and less grim place around.”
With a smile, Keith answers, “that’ll be nice.”
***
The one date became two, then three.
Keith is stuck in Venice. Red is at the moment on hiatus – even if Shiro seems to have lower down his guard, there is still Zarkon on their tail, and at that point it’s ridiculous to cover their interest in the Red Lion with other thefts if Zarkon discovered them already.
At the same time, they can’t leave until the take the Red Lion. They still haven’t find a way that don’t result in their painful death, so for the moment Keith can enjoy a little of normal life he hasn’t have for a very long time. Because even if his official excuse to stay with Shiro is to check on his investigations (even if he suspects at least Pidge unmasked him on that) he really enjoys his company.
Shiro is gorgeous, witty, funny and gentle. He’s like perfection in only one person, and Keith won’t push his luck into not staying with him.
The point is, Keith doesn’t really like Venice.
He isn’t a type of cities, to be fair, and he definitely see the poetic of a mountain village, or an isolated big golden beach. Big cities are suffocating, grey, and with too much people. Venice is by far the worst one, in a different way of chaotic city like Rome, but definitely a city Keith doesn’t appreciate. Maybe it was the fact that it’s surrounded by dark water, or the dirtiness that the incredible amount of tourist in such a small place leaves, but Keith doesn’t see any poetic in it.
Yet… Shiro makes him possible. He makes him see beauty in it, in the way he speaks so passionately about it, in the way he knows everything about it, the way his eyes brighten and shine when he talks about it, and the way he smiles when Keith seems interested at his tales.
He makes Keith sees Venice as he sees it.
“I have something for you.”
Shiro takes the notebook Keith is giving him and he leaps thought it, a nice surprise expression appears on his face. It’s plenty of Keith’s sketches of the place he and Shiro visited together, but without the tourist and the dirt. And the pigeons.
“You did this?”
Keith nods. “It’s your Venice. I want to depict it.”
He does expect Shiro thanking him, even being moved by it. He doesn’t expect Shiro kissing him with force and passion, but he doesn’t complain. In the moment their lips touch, it’s like the stars align and everything is right.
“My house or your house,” Shiro pants.
“Yours is nearer,” Keith says.
Yet, they spend much time than needed, still kissing from time to time.
“I have to say, I’m not usually…” Shiro starts, a little embarrassed once they enter in his small apartment, yet he hasn’t stop to kiss or touch Keith once.
“Lube. And condom,” Keith orders.
“Yes…”
He takes it from the bottom of a wardrobe, and they don’t seem to be have used from a very long time. But the reason of Shiro’s shyness as Keith hands start to caress is skin is another entirely, who has nothing to do for not having sex for so long. Once Keith manages to take off Shiro’s shirt, Shiro steps aside a little, ashamed; his torso naked reveals the prosthetic arm in all his glory and the scar that cover his torso and back. The scars looks like cuts, but some are bigger and deeper, coming probably from the explosion that took his arm.
Shiro chuckles a little, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m probably false advertisement.”
“You’re gorgeus,” Keith whispers. He cuts the space between him and Shiro and slowly caresses with his hand Shiro’s hip. Shiro holds his breath, but he doesn’t move from the touch. Keith falls on the ground, on his knees, and kisses one of Shiro’s scar.
“Please fuck me,” Shiro whispers. He’s already hard.
Keith doesn’t waste the moment and pushes Shiro on the bed. But in the end is Shiro that trapped him under his arms and starts to undresses him like Keith is some precious work of art. Shiro does look at Keith like he’s so wonderful and precious and for once in his life Keith forgets about himself, forget about being a broken boy with no dreams anymore and a suicide mission to make his life somehow worthy.
Shiro’s gaze and the way he kisses him makes Keith think he’s actually worthy of something, of some happiness. Worthy of someone like Shiro.
As to be expected, Shiro is a sweet lover, one that like to take his time and be sure both of them love the moment. But it’s also a sap, and a bottom, and Keith enjoys greatly his moans as Keith sucks his dick first and fucks him later. He enjoys his soft and relaxed face as he caresses Keith’s face as it’s the most precious thing ever.
It’s an illusion, Keith knows, but the best one he’s ever had. That’s the reason why he shut his cellphone (even if Pidge can track him, at least he won’t hear their calls) and remains to sleep there, in Shiro’s bed, wrapped in his big and warm arms.
He wakes up at the smell of coffee: Shiro is up and in the kitchen, but the bed is still warm, and his smell still there. Keith rolls on the sheets, enjoying it. Then, lazily, he tries to recall back his cellphone (there is a limit of the time he can make Hunk worries) and for mistake he makes a paper fells on the ground.
He takes it and opens it: it’s an invitation for Zarkon’s carnival party.
Shiro finds him with that in his hand, when he comes back with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“I bet you didn’t expect me to be able to make coffee… oh.”
“Sorry, I didn’t want to pry. It fall and-”
“It’s fine,” Shiro shakes his head and gives Keith the cup. He takes the invitation and put it back inside the drawer. “Carnival party are fun. I wish I can bring you to one, just… not this one.”
“You don’t have to justify with me…”
“No,” Shiro states. “The invitation is from Zarkon. I won’t bring you anywhere near him.” Keith knows something about the story, but Shiro has really never talk about it. But tonight something shifted between them. “I was undercover for almost a year in their organization. They recruit me when I was promoted detective, and I got the permission to make this investigation. I have to do things I regretted – nothing that hurt people, but still… something I can’t look myself in the mirror for.”
“Shiro…” Keith places a hand on his shoulder.
“But in the end, it was all useless. They found out I was a spy and they tried to destroy me and all my work. And they succeeded. I lost a year of my life, an arm, my dignity, for nothing.”
“You don’t lose your dignity,” Keith replies.
“You’re sweet.” Shiro smiles and kisses him again. “Oh, well,” he murmurs. “Maybe it’ll come the time to take down Zarkon.”
Keith regrets not being able to tell Shiro everything. But yes, someone is going to take Zarkon down, and Keith has now another reason to do it. Keith will do something for this man, probably, at that point. Once Shiro leaves Keith alone again, Keith takes back the invitation and takes few shot with his cell phone.
A thing like that, Keith can forger with a hand behind his back.
***
With a little bit of delay, Shiro presents himself at Zarkon’s party. Some of the guests are already there, but not many, and not even the guest of the house, Zarkon himself: as per tradition, the real party wouldn’t have started before at least one hour after the invitation time.
Shiro presents his invitation at one of the guard at the entrance and, after a brief check, he’s permitted the entrance. He wears a pretty traditional mask, a white one that covers his entire face, and a wig with black and silver stripes that fall elegantly on his shoulder; the dress his black, with silver sewed, and the jacked his long, opened in the center to reveal the purple shirt behind, and then fall with a puff of fur just before his knees. He has a rod with him, decorated with the same color of the clothes.
The white gloves hide his prosthetic arm, but not enough for Sendak to not recognize him. It’s probably Sendak has left some guards to check on Shiro to exactly know what clothes would be wear, and in that moment Shiro regrets not having being petty and putting the plague mask on.
“I’m glad you accepted the invitation,” Sendak murmurs, with a sweetness that isn’t good on him.
Still, Shiro accepts the glass of wine he’s offering: Sendak isn’t going to assassinate him with poison on Zarkon’s party, it would have killed the mood. As he sips the wine, he observes Sendak that has a mask that covers only his eyes and nothing to cover his hair. The blue pants with the high heels and the red doublet aren’t much elegant, and Shiro realizes he seems more ready for a war than a party.
“Don’t get this wrong,” Shiro says. “I’m here becaus you surely invited me for some reason, and I’m interested to know what.”
“You’re so suspicious,” Sendak appears offended. “Can’t we enjoy the company of an old friend?”
“I didn’t realize being friends means try to kill each other and leaving one without an arm,” Shiro rebuts, “but I guess you learn something every day.”
Sendak’s smile is feral, satisfied. “You know we could take you back anytime, if you show us a little of loyalty. You were a great agent.”
It’s a tempting offer, a way to try to amend his fault by work undercover again, but with more experience on his side. Still, his wounds are still pretty fresh, and he has no will to return back so early on that life, no when his guilty is still fresh. He doesn’t forget the humiliation of having fail so bad, and the bad feeling as he see Zarkon leaving unscattered, all charges dropped out for lack of proof. But at this point, Shiro doesn’t want to walk in the mud again only to take him down.
With a long breath, he asks, serious. “Why do you invite me here, Sendak?”
“Let’s do it like that,” Sendak smiles. “One question each, but we promise to answer honestly.”
“I could have some trasmit with me,” Shiro says.
“Nah. You learn your lesson about that kind of things. Also, you’re out the investigation for now.”
There is no point into asking how Sendak can know that, Shiro already knows they probably have some spy in the police department. He takes another sip of wine.
“Fine, but I go first and I want to change the question.”
“Shoot.”
“What about the paintings. Alfor’s. The Castle of Lions collection. Why are they so important?”
For a second, a frown passes on Sendak’s face before he returns to his normal smile. “Legends around the life of a crazy painter.”
“Explain,” Shiro demands.
He read about Alfor’s studies a lot, but none of the reveal something particular about those paintings, they’re even the less expensive of his entire collection, even if Shiro suspects they will aquire value once they’re all five together again. Yet, not so much value thai s worthy the elaborate plan Red made to aquire them, not the fact that Zarkon sent some killers to kill him, something that showed his irritation and impatient.
“Alfor was a genious as a painter. Do you know that most of his paintings can’t be forgery because of the unique way he created it, a mixture of science and art?” At Shiro’s positive nods, Sendak continues, “but, as genious often are, he was a little bit crazy, and at the end he became a little bit paranoich. He feared people want to kill him, or worse.”
“Since the way he died, I’m not sure those fears were unfounded.”
Sendak shrugs. “Maybe. Even if his death was deemed as accident… anyway, Alfor believed it, and once said around that he hide a big secret inside some special paintings of him. Considering that Alfor lived a modest life, in the black market someone spread the voice that Alfor hid a big treasure somewhere and the painting are a key to it.”
“And the paitings would be the Castle of Lions’ collection?”
“It’s a story, of course, because they’re nothing in them,” Sendak nods. “They’re just paintings, and with little value. Alfor didn’t hide anything, all his money and property went to his daughter, who lives in America and I don’t think she’s ever back since his death. So…” Sendak shrugs again. “I guess someone still believe it.”
“Yet Zarkon possesses one of those paitings, and he seems ready to kill everyone that tries to take if from him.”
Sendak doesn’t answer to that. “That paiting has an affective value, for the boss. He and Alfor used to be friend, once. Alfor painted the five lions in onor of the group of friend he was in as a child, in the street of Naples. Unfortunately, out of five, the boss is the only one to survive.” He makes a sad smile, who looks out of place in his face. “So when it happened the occasion to acquire the painting, the boss took it.”
Shiro doesn’t believe a word of it. He’s sure there’s something more on this story, and the paintings hide more than a secrets. But yet Sendak gave him some interesting information that Shiro is going to check later just to be sure.
“But that’s my turn now,” Sendak smirks. “So… do you think Red will try to infliltrate at the party to steal the painting?”
Shiro widen his eyes. “That’s it. That’s the reason you invited me here.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t make a fuss of it.”
“I don’t. It’s just that I didn’t expect anything from you and still got disappointed.” But, unwillingly, his eyes scan the room looking for the people in the ballet room, all dressed up with their costumes and masks and therefore irriconoscible. “Do you really think Red will come?”
“He’s stilla live, isn’t it?” Sendak replies, with a meaningful look.
“He’s been quiet lately, for what it seems, but…” Shiro’s voice trails off. He doubts Red resigns to his objectives, even more considered how far he went for taking the Castle of Lions collection.
“Let’s make a deal,” Sendak says. “If you catch him, it’s all yours. Otherwise…” he shrugs. “One of the thing I love of Venice it’s that it’s pretty easy to make bodies disappear forever. Enjoy the party.”
He leaves Shiro’s side as Shiro shivers a little. He has no doubt Sendak can make his promise about Red’s fate, and he has a lot of doubt he won’t try something even if Shiro catches Red. But, first, Shiro has to do it.
With another sip of wine, Shiro moves nearer the banquet table. He places back his mask, hoping that nobody else notice it. The banquet table is the perfect spot for looking around the place: he gives him the excuse to remain still and standing here, playing the dumb guy only interested in the food.
He doubts a thief interested on stealing a painting will be interested at all in the banquet, so he takes off from his imaginary list all the people that look over interested in eating, and they aren’t few. Lukily, the guests have such unique mask that it’s easy to keep track of everyone.
It’s just natural that his attention gets drawn by one mask in particular. The guest wear a bright red dress, with a long skirt with silk and golden lace. The mask that cover entire the face is red with mouth and eyebrow underlined with golden. The chest piece of the dress has a complicated motive with roses and lions with golden seewed between the red, and the wig is made with red feathers and fur, like a mane. Long slevees cover entirely the arms and ends with golden silk, and golden gloves cover the hands.
The feature, as the dress, looks feminine, as elegant is the way they’re moving, but with that mask Shiro’s not 100% sure of the gender.
Red, as Red the thief.
A coincidence too good to be true.
Yet, the guest has arrived in the best possible moment: Zarkon has arrived just a couple of minutes before, and the attention of the guests is more on the house’s owner than the new arrival, which allow the Red guest to avoid any conversation.
They don’t move near the banquet table, they just move around keeping the dress with the gloved hands and walking careful in the banquet all. With the mask on, it’s almost impossible to throw furtive glare around. Shiro doesn’t miss the fact that they place themselves just on the opposite side of the great stair that bring upstairs, and the small doors at its side.
Whe the music start, Shiro takes some step forwards.
The interest of Zarkon’s presence has wore down, and Zarkon himself has excused him for some conversation to join Sendak and another of his men near the entrance, so people starts noticing the Red guest near the window. It’s a bright presence, impossible to not notice.
Shiro ignores the protocol and goes directly for them.
“Do you concede me a dance?” he asks, with a small bow and leaning his hand fowards.
The Red Guest looks a little around, behind Shiro’s shoulder, as they’re checking some way of escape, then they tilt their head a little and accept Shiro’s hand.
Shiro guides them to the center of the ballet room, where people are already moved to give space for the dancer, and some other pairings are there, to Shiro’s relief, dancing at his side. The music is the traditional one from the Venice Carnival, and so are the steps to follow.
It’s been a while since Shiro has danced it, since he’s used to more casual parties at carnival recently, but he studied it inside his passion for the city. Red seems to be a good dancer too, and he follows Shiro’s guide keeping his clothes with a hand and the other tight into Shiro’s hand. At the light of the room, thier mask sparkles around, and so does the dress.
“Your dress is beautiful,” Shiro murmurs, as the music requires more vicinity between the two of them. Red answers with just a nod of his head.
Shiro places his hand around their waist and put them even close, as their hands are still together. Red tilts his head on one side and places his free hand on Shiro’s shoulder, letting the long skirt floating around them as they move.
“You’re friend with Zarkon?” Shiro asks again. “First time in here?”
Still not answer from Red, who just press a little the finger they have on Shiro’s shoulder.
“Mysterious. I like it.”
It’s a strange sensation, but dancing with their body so nearer give Shiro a sense of peace. Which is unlikely for him, that avoids physical contact for long after the accident. It’s like his body feels that it knows who the other person is. Red, Shiro thinks: I was upon him when I almost caught him. It may be his body after all.
When the music of that particular song finishes, they remain still at the center of the room. Shiro barely register the small clapping around him as he keeps Red nearer. He wants to take off that mask, but even if he does, he hasn’t never see Red’s real face so it’ll be pointless.
It’s Red the first one to move aside from his grip. They still don’t talk, and they excuse themselves with a small bow, with the skirt a little lifts with his left hand. Then they rush back to the side, and shakes their head a little at other guests that try to ask them for another dance. Shiro follows them as they reach for the banquet table and take a glass of wine.
They don’t drink. Shiro moves aside, on the other side of the room, nearer the stairs, and he notices that other people invites Red to sit down with them near the window. They still doesn’t talk.
Everything around Red is bright and too noticeable. It would be stupid for a thief with his ability to present to a party organized by people that already tried to kill him with his signature color as a dress. And everything around the Red Guest is suspicious, giving that they don’t talk and try to stay otuside the attention – clearly failing.
Yet.
Yet, Shiro’s realizes, being under the light even when it would have been better not too is exactly Red’s strategy. He sends the warning letters about his theft so people will be there and he can take advantage of the confusion around. He dress of Red during his theft, so people will know him and they aren’t sneaky on him. Damn, even his main plain is based on putting something less important under the light as he stole what was really important.
So Red isn’t the Red Guest, Shiro concludes. They’re an accomplice (Shiro doubts from long that Red can do everything alone) or something that has been paid. Either way, they’re a bait for someone.
Someone like Zarkon, that put guards around the entrance and the stairs but probably none at the upper floor, counting on the alarm system (something Red can get rid off) and the fact that Red would use the party to sneak inside.
Shiro moves again next to the banquet table, observing the situation. From time to time, the Red Guest sends glare in his direction. Then, a group ball starts, and despite his refusal Red is dragging inside the dancing group. Shiro takes his chances and walks towards the stair.
“Move, I’m a cop,” he says as the guards tries to stop him. They are convinced when he takes off his badge and show it to everyone.
It’s improbable they wouldn’t warn Sendak or Zarkon about his movement, but hopefully they will leave him alone for now, since there isn’t any sign of dangerous. Yet, when he’s on the top of the stair, Shiro gives a look: Sendak is whispering with one of his men and doesn’t pay Shiro any attention.
Being in that house for so long, Shiro knows how to move and where to find the paiting. The room is a little studiolo, with a window over the canal; Zarkon uses that room to play cards with his usually closer men. Shiro used to be one of them.
At that time, the Red Lion painting was already there, but Shiro remembered to not having paid attention to it, both because he was more focused on remaining alive, and becaure it’s really very insignificant.
It’s hung in the opposite side of the window, just above the empty fireplace. It’s small, aroundo 20x40, and it show a Red lion with yellow red, sitting down under some rock, as a vulcan explodes behind it and flames erupt around. The color are vivid, the brushes sweet, but overall the subject is boring and nota s good as other Alfor’s painting.
Shiro is dying to understand why Red gives so much importance at that collection. From Zarkon, it’s true it can be a matter of honor, because it’s said criminals don’t like when they’re the victim of a crime. Yet…
A rumor from behind distracted him from his thoughts. He turns around, but the room still look empty, the window closed. There aren’t any bars, because it is an historical palace subjected to stricter rules, but the room is heavily surveilled by both camera and an alarm at the window.
Yet, Shiro has one of his gut feelings. He frowns at the camera, then moves and open the window: non alarm sounds, but the wind let a rope swing in front of him. Immediately, he sticks out and look down.
A man with a dark suit is trying to climb back the rope to return back to a gondola just below him. Shiro grabs the rope and the man stops, looking at him. Then jumps not very delicately on the gondola. He has nothing of Red’s agility and elegance, not considering the lack of the usually Red clothes.
But there’s another one with red dress that night, and now he’s looking at Shiro from the windows of a room on the below floor, with the empty look of his white and golden mask. In a second, he disappeared inside, and Shiro moves too.
He jumps over the steps of the stair from three to three, and this time he has no doubt his attics are attratting the attention of everyone, not only Sendak, but he doesn’t care. He rushes towards the room that, by his memory, his one of the bathroom at the first floor.
When he reaches it, he finds that Red has got rid already of his costume: the dress with the sleeves, and the mask with the wig lay down in a corner messy, while Red himself, a swimming black suit on, his already on the window sill of the windows, his black hair tied up in a messy bun, a diver’s mask and a snorkel on his face.
Shiro bits his lips for not screaming his name and runs towards him. He manages to brush his shoulder just when Red dives in the canal. Not enough to grasp him and catch him, but enough to make him swirls in the air.
So now they’re looking face to face, and despite the mask and snorkel that covered Red’s face, he’s still very recognizable. Especially those big, blue eyes that are now looking at Shiro, widened opened in a scared and incredulous expression…. Just before Red’s body sinks in the dark water of the canal with a loud splash and he disappears entirely from the sight.
“Keith…” Shiro murmurs under his breath.
He barely registers Sendak’s presence at his side, the way he barks orders at his men about the painting and following the thieves along the canal. He just stand there, wondering how his relationship just shattered to piece like a carnival mask.
***
When he returns at the base, the only thing he wants is to put himself in the shower and hope to cancel, along with the dirty water that wet completely him, also the memory of the night. Instead, he has to suffer through Lance’s complain first.
“I told you! I was supposed to be the distraction and Keith the thief!” he’s screaming in no one direction. “I’m the soul of the party. Keith is the emo boy that can enter from a window without being noticed.”
“You know we chose that for a reason,” Pidge replies.
“And I disagree with that!”
To be fair, Pidge and Hunk were right in their decision. Lance is great into being a distraction, but in the event of a party he would have lose himself soon enough, being loud and funny and completely forgetting that he’s supposed to be there to check that Keith’s way is free. It happened before. Lance is abler when he has to bring people on his side by himself, not when he has to surveil things. He becomes boring faster.
Usually Keith would have bite back and engages in some friendly bartending, but the reason is that Lance is reacting in that way because they failed and they’re all sad and bitter, and nothing will result in something funny or positive for them.
“At least, the detective didn’t see your face,” Keith says curt, and the gravity of what happened hit all of them immediately. Lance stops blabbering and bites his lips.
Keith doesn’t let them start a discussion about it, it’s too tired for it. He moves towards the bathroom and closed inside. Here, inside the warm of the hot water, he manages to cool down his brain.
It’s heartbroken, that’s for sure. The look on Shiro’s face… damn. He didn’t want Shiro to find out like that. But, deep inside, he realizes he didn’t believe their story would have survived more than a couple of dreamy months. Disappointed but not surprised, then.
That relationship was rotten to the core, just like that damn city. Keith decides he would do anything to end his mission and being finally able to live Venice and not turning back.
The other gather together in the dining room. Pidge is checking desperately websites and camera around, probably to be sure there isn’t any chance Shiro can find them now that he knows it’s Keith.
“Do you have a way to contact Zarkon without being tracking?”
“Of course!” she replies, and only then she realizes what he asked. “What do you have in mind?” and he tone suggest she suspects she’s not going to like it.
Keith doesn’t answer. The eyes of the others are on him as he opens one of his boxes and takes off the colors, the brushes and a canvas. He takes everything with him as he moves towards the exit of the room. The others hurried to follow him.
“What you have in mind?” Hunk askes, trotting at his side.
“We can’t wait anymore, because we’re too exposed at this point,” Keith says. “We need to take that paint, and do it now. We need to deal with Zarkon.”
“He’s not the type you want to deal with,” Pidge points out.
“He will have no choice,” Keith replies. “If he wants to take back the paintings.”
They are now in one of the room at the first floor, one it was used as a storage one time, but it has a big window on one side. But it was night, and the room was lightening only by the artificial light. Not the best condition for painting, but Keith is too angry for resting, and too scared to lose time. He places the colors on the ground and the empty canvas on the tripod.
“You know that Alfor’s paintings can’t be replicate,” Lance says. “Not even by you.”
“It’s doesn’t matter.” Keith has opened the safe and takes off a painting, that frees from the protective container. It’s the Blue Lion. “I need to make just one copy that seems real. Zarkon knows we have at least three of them at this point, so at least we’ll make use of this information.”
“We can’t deal with Zarkon,” Pidge replies. “Otherwise we would have done it as first thing, using the Black Lion! We did everything to avoid it.”
“And look where it brought us,” Keith shouts back. “We’re wanted criminals and Zarkon still know about us, so everything was for nothing.”
There nothing the others can say, because it’s true. They failed, there’s not sugarcoating it. Keith places the Blue Lion on another tripod right next the empty one.
Lance crosses his arms. “Then, what’s your plan?”
“Zarkon or one of his expect will need the Red Lion to check if my painting is the real thing or not. We will take that occasion to slip the Red Lion from his grasps.”
It’s risky, he knows, and the others think that so, but at the same time they don’t have another proposal for it.
“If we’re going to do it,” Pidge starts, “we’ll need a very solid plane. One that don’t result in any of our death.”
“You think about it,” Keith orders. “Check the place in Venice where the exchange can be safe for us, check the camera, everything. I’ll make the paint.”
“Okay, fine.” Hunk takes the brush from Keith’s hand. “We’ll do as you said. Only if you take some rest before. They’re not going at our door for now, we can assure you. Go rest.”
If even Hunk is so contrary, Keith has no chance to disagree. They all goes to bed, but Keith’s night is tiring and fully of nightmares about Shiro.
***
Shiro wakes up the morning later and still feels empty inside. The mask and the clothes of the night before lay down messy on the floor, and they seem a grim reminder that the party has been real, Red has been real, and Keith’s face under the mask has been real.
With the small light ray that hit the table, Shiro notices Keith’s notebook placed there. Stumbling, he reaches it and opens it. The drawings are nice, intensely: Shiro can imagine Keith bowed to the notebook, biting his lips as his hands slip on the paper. They’re Shiro’s favorite spots.
Keith didn’t have to go so hard, yet. He didn’t have to make Shiro fell in love with him when he wanted just some information from him.
Because, at that point, there are no doubts in Shiro’s mind that it was all an elaborate masterplan for Red the thief – Keith, it was Keith – to keep an eye on him. Shiro risked to stop him at least a couple of time before Keith got hired at Sal’s. He should be flattered that Keith thought of him as a dangerous man that needed to be check out.
With this information, Shiro realizes that Keith’s behavior was a little bit suspicious since the start, starting for the flirting part with him at the beginning. But Keith has always refused to share too much personal information; he said something about his childhood, but very little about their last years. He seemed to have no friends, nor any tells about his art history master. He let Shiro talk and talk, and kept himself under high walls.
He also had the party invitation in his hand when Shiro wasn’t looking.
He’s been so blind, so gay. And he is a sore loser.
Even if he’s supposed to take a day off, he’s too restless. Keith won’t give up on the Red Lion, that much is clear. He went too far for it, and whatever the reason was, it must be important. So Shiro is sure he isn’t going to leave Venice very soon. He still can find him.
Of course he wasn’t at Sal’s (“He quit this morning, without a warning. I didn’t expect it, he seems a responsible guy. I’m in big trouble now.”) and the cellphone Shiro has isn’t active anymore. At this point, even the name could be faked.
He didn’t even greet the colleagues as he sits down at his desk and searches for any information about Keith Koh. To his surprise, it’s a name that exist, and he correspond, or at least it seems, at the Keith he knows. Age and description correspond, and even the place of birth. The residence is listed in a little town around Rome, but when Shiro checks the land register he finds out the house is owned by another person.
With a small research at INPS database, he finds out Keith has listed different jobs around, all certified, and the dates corresponded exactly to Red’s thefts in the different cities. Funny enough, he’s also listed to the student of the various universities, just like he’s listed in the art master of Venice, even if he never did any exams and he never attended any lessons.
It’s a nice cover: for the police is almost impossible to check all the students that move from one city to another to study, and Keith has been careful enough to change his city during the start of the university year and wait a little for his thefts, so the police won’t notice the connection between his arrival and the thefts.
It was a good plan. He’s clever.
But now it’s over. Unfortunately, Shiro doesn’t have any pictures of Keith (he doesn’t like it, apparently, and now Shiro knows why) and he can’t make the identikit going around freely or he would put Keith at Zarkon’s mercy. As much as Shiro hates what he did, he couldn’t bring himself to put the life or another human being in such danger. He doesn’t want to lose any more piece of his humanity.
He shares the identikit only with the people he trusts, and he doesn’t even tell Iverson, otherwise he will be put out of the case immediately. He’s pretty sure that with the information he has and the help of his colleagues, he can find leads to Keith soon enough.
Yet, Shiro’s plan fails spectacularly. Keith looks like a ghost.
“Maybe he already left,” James proposes the idea once, but Shiro shakes his head.
“Even if he did, he’ll be back. Just like Lance Serrano.”
“We don’t know if he’s back,” Ryan points out.
“He’s not back in Naples, and nobody has seen him around. He’s here. They’re here.”
Shiro goes personally around all the place Keith has drew on his notebook. Maybe there is a particular point of view that he chose that will reveal a street he attends often, or a window he could have peep from.
The only thing he find at a certain point is one of Zarkon’s ship waiting for it at the dock.
“Get on,” Sendak says dangerously, and Shiro realizes he can’t say no. They’re in a crowded place, and Shiro is sure, from Sendak’s gaze, that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill some of the people in order to take Shiro. If Zarkon is risking this much, it may be important.
So Shiro nods and sits down next to Sendak on the boat, who leaves immediately.
As the boat goes, the notebook fells in the water and sinks, disappearing in the dark.
***
Even if it’s a working day, San Marco square is full of people, tourist especially. Nobody pays attention at Keith as he crosses the square towards the cathedral, the painting safe under his sweatshirt. The weather is cloudy, which gives him the perfect excuse to keep his hood up his head. He was surprised Shiro hadn’t spread the entire city of Keith’s identikit, and a small part of him – a smaller, stupid part – hopes there was a little bit of respect from it.
Yet, he can’t be sure nobody will recognize him, and going around with a hidden fake stole painting is bad enough. Pidge demeans him as an idiot to present himself in front of Zarkon with his real aspect, with only a bad wig to cover his hair.
For Keith, is part of his plan.
First of all, he can’t be sure it will be Zarkon himself and not one of his minions to present at the meeting. Second, at that point the best way to act is as naïve thieves that don’t know what they’re doing. Someone interested only at some fast money. He does know it’s a weak excuse (their trick to hide the only theft that mattered were articulated) but they failed two times with Zarkon, so it isn’t surprising they’re giving up.
Yet, walking towards the main door of the church, Keith does feel a little stupid.
“I’m going in,” he mutters under his breath, fully known Pidge and the others are listening through his cell phone.
Once at the door, Keith takes off the hood. He pays the entrance fee, passes the control at the entrance and finds himself inside the impotent cathedral. San Marco is suffocating and claustrophobic yet magnificent, and Keith walks with his head up to admire the beauty of the nave’s fresco. Then he turns around a columns: next to the wall between two chapels, there is a small wooden door.
It’s not locket, as it should have been, so Keith guesses the other person is already arrived, even earlier than scheduled. Not a good sign.
Keith sends some looks around and when he’s sure most of the tourists aren’t interested in his whereabouts he opens the door and rushes inside. He climbs the small stone stairs, with high steps, in a walk that seems to last an eternity.
Then, the light of the sun that penetrated the clouds hits his eyes, and Keith emerges from the dark stairs to the porticoes that decorate San Marco’s façade. He walks as much as possible near the wall, so people from the square won’t spot it, even if they probably will think he’s authorized to be there.
His breath leaves his lungs as he realizes that Zarkon himself is there, waiting for him. Ignoring the prudence, he’s looking directly to the square, hands placed to the parapet between two columns with different color than the others, the long purple coat that waves grim around his body.
Gritting a little his teeth, Keith takes off the painting from his sweatshirt and keeps his in his arm, as he walks near Zarkon.
“Do you know about these columns?” Zarkon says suddenly. One of his hand caresses the rock of the column at his right. He doesn’t seem to have speak to Keith specifically, yet Keith hasn’t hid his presence, and he feels like answering.
“They sign the place where the death penalty were proclaimed, just in front of everyone.”
Zarkon turns his head to look at Keith, who stopped a few meters from him. Zarkon’s head tilts a little to the right and his eyes narrows. But there is a creepy smirk on his face, and the voice his pleasant as he comments, “so you know. I should have expect that.”
“So what?” Keith murmurs. “Do you want me to turn around the column,” he nods with the head at another white column, which base has been consumed from walking in the past centuries, “to be spared from death?”
“That would be a waste of time,” Zarkon replies. “I guess the great thief Red has enough fame to be able to do something so simple. If you are Red, of course.”
“I am.”
“Show me the painting.”
Keith unwraps the painting from the carton it’s protected in, and he keeps it from the borders high in front of his chest. He doesn’t move on a step towards Zarkon, who is looking at the painting with a feral hunger.
“Give it to me.”
“The money, first.”
“I need to evaluate if it is the real deal and not a fake.”
“I can say the same,” Keith replies. “Show me you have the money, first, then you can call your expert to check the painting.”
Zarkon nods a little with his head. It’s strange, Keith notices, that he doesn’t have anything with him. Of course you can’t enter San Marco with a suitcase full of money, but he should have something to hide the payment inside. He puts his hand on the coat’s pocket and for a second Keith fears he’s been able to bring a gun inside the Cathedral.
Instead, he takes off a cell phone. He presses the screen for a second, before direct it to Keith. They’re still a few meters away, so Keith squints his eyes to see on the small screen.
It’s a video, and from the numbers in the right corner, a live transmission from some camera. The video shows Shiro, with his usual detective suit, sitting on the corner of an empty room. The area is dark, but Keith recognizes stone wall from some really old building fundament. Shiro’s look is serious, as he looks straight in the camera, almost annoyed by the entire situation. He looks unarmed, the suit is just a little bit scrambles.
Now, if Keith would have been the true criminal mastermind people made him to be, he would have bluffed. He would have been able to hide his surprise and his discomfort over a mask of cold indifference and maybe, maybe, going away with it.
Instead, the situation hits him as a train, and first surprise and worries emerges with his open mouth and wide eyes, then the anger manifests with the grip stronger on the painting and a bite on his bottom lips. When he lifts the gaze from the cell phone’s screen, he knows from Zarkon’s satisfied smile that he can’t bluff anymore.
“This wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“Isn’t it? I feel you may find it an adequate payment.”
“Shiro has nothing to do with this,” Keith complains.
“You’re the one that involved it in this,” Zarkon points out, and the worse thing is that he’s right, “so deal with the consequences now.”
“What do you want?”
“My, my. I believe you to be a smarter boy.” His tone and his face hardener. “I want the paintings, of course. All four of them. I know you have the Black Lion too.”
“Fine,” Keith spats, between his gritted teeth.
“I’ll expected them tonight at one o’clock, just near the dock of the San Maria church, behind the Thieves calle. I feel it’s fit.” He puts back the cell phone in the pocket. “I would hurry if I were you.”
Keith doesn’t wait: he turns and the runs back to the stairs, at the same trying to hide back the painting inside the sweatshirt.
“And Red,” Zarkon calls back again, “be sure to bring me the real deal next time.”
Keith doesn’t stop or faltered; he knows Zarkon is taking a lucky shot because from that distance and without an original to confront the painting to, there is no way to tell it’s a fake. Still, he has a shiver in his back.
He almost dumps some people in his running outside the cathedral, and he keeps looking at his back, fearing someone is following him. He puts back his hood and hides in the fares corner of the ship as he return back to the island. He walks around in circle for a while and only when he’s 100% sure no one followed him, he reaches the villa.
The others are visibly relief to see him back in one piece, but he doesn’t spare them an explanation or a greetings. He shoves the painting in Hunk’s arm as he gets back two more canvas and goes to the room adapted at his study. The other follow him and look as he prepares his thing for painting.
“What happened?” Hunk dares to ask, timidly.
“He got Shiro,” Keith answers dry. “He wants all three painting for this night. I was stupid, I should have prepared them beforehand. Whatever. I still have time.”
“You want to make two forgeries of Alfor’s painting within an hour? No way, man,” Lance comments. “Not even you can do something like that.”
“I don’t need them to be perfect. I just need to be accurate enough to gain some time for Shiro. I can…” his voice drains off a little. “I have tricks to force the expert to check the Blue Lion forgery first. That should be enough. He had to be enough.”
“Still, they won’t have the time to dry,” Hunk points out. “I think Zarkon will see that.”
“Then find a way to dry them faster!” Keith shouts. It’s a blow of rage and stress, and he regrets him immediately. “Sorry. We’re all under pressure.”
“I don’t want to be the one to say this, really,” Pidge starts. “But are we 100% sure Shirogane isn’t working with Zarkon? Because we know he’s used to be undercover in Zarkon’s organization and, well, he got invited to Zarkon’s party just a week ago.”
“It’s a little bit suspicious,” Hunk agrees. “How did Zarkon find about you and Shirogane? Maybe Shirogane told him. They may have an agreement about it. Zarkon gets the paintings, the detective catches the great thief Red and gets a promotion.”
Keith bits his lips. He can’t explain to them, but deep inside he knows Shiro. He’s the one dating him for all this time. Shiro wouldn’t join Zarkon, not even for something like that.
“Also,” Pidge adds, “you don’t owe Shirogane shit. I know you’ve dating the man a little, but don’t forget it wasn’t real. He will arrest you as he get the chance to do it.”
Before Keith has any chance to reply, Lance intervenes, “No. I agree with Keith.” Which is strange. “We did very nasty things in the last year, because we thought it was the right thing. But I trace a line at risking someone life over it. If we have a chance to save the detective, we have to take it.”
“If he’s really in danger,” Pidge says.
Keith nods. “Okay. Pidge, I want you to investigate on the matter, see if we can find something about it. Hunk, Lance, created something that can make me out of there alive. I’ll paint.”
***
They’ve been prudent and discreet, but not enough apparently. None of Zarkon’s men gave him any explanation about the suddenly kidnapping, but there is no need. Shiro fully knows that the only reason Zarkon has to cross the line and attack a police detective are those damn paintings. The only things that surprise him is that Zarkon thinks Shiro’s presence can constitute a leverage against Keith. After all, Zarkon should know something about using people, so he should have recognize Keith’s methods.
From his cell – a small quadrangular spot between stone wall that looks like the fundament of an old church, something Venice is plenty – he can’t see outside, so he can’t know where they are and how much time his passed. Given his tiredness and his hunger – they were impolite enough to not bring him food for dinner - he suspects it’s already past midnight.
They can’t keep him longer without anyone finds out about his disappearance. So Sendak’s arrival isn’t incredibly unexpected.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says at Shiro’s glare. “You know I would have prefer better circumstances. But you’re the one that rejected all of them.”
“It happened when you almost killed someone,” Shiro replies, dry. Yet, he docile lets them handcuff him again and walks next to Sendak out of his cell. “How did you know?” he asks.
Sendak understands immediately. “You should know at this point we have eyes everywhere. Including the police station.” He throws him a meaningful look. “I’m just disappointed you got involved with a second rate thief.”
Shiro doesn’t answer. As much as he doesn’t consider Red a ‘second rate thief’, it isn’t even in the mood to defend him after his tricks. He wonders why they’re so sure Keith will come for him.
After the long stone hallway, they reach a more large space, who looks like an old chapel, buried under another building. The light is dim, but there is some electricity coming down there. Zarkon is there with at least twelve of his men. He and another one are standing in front of an altar, where the Red Lion painting is placed, just right under a lamp, the most enlighten spot of the entire room.
Shiro’s heart, unwilling, misses a beat as he notices Keith is there too. He wears a black jacket with a blue collar Shiro has never seen, and glasses. Sexy, Shiro thinks and the bites his lips in regret. Keith’s squeezing a package at his chest and by the form and the dimension, Shiro guesses he’s keeping the other Castle of Lions’ painting. So he did come. For Shiro.
But he dedicates Shiro just a quick look, before returning to look at Zarkon with fire in his eyes.
“As you can see, he’s here and unarmed,” Zarkon says, as Sendak pushes Shiro a little bit nearer, enough to look at the altar but not enough to touch it. “Now, the paintings.”
Keith doesn’t move, but the frees the package from his deadly hug.
“Macidus, please.” Zarkon nods at the man next to him. He moves until he’s in front of Keith: he has the package in horizontal, the right hand below it and the left hand above it. Then, with a fast gesture, he turns the package in his hands, so now the right hand is above the package, but he doesn’t make any opposition when Macidus takes it, carefully keeping it in the same position.
There is a frown on Macidus’ face as he returns back to the altar. Sure, he’s thinking about Keith’s gesture and what he means. Yet, he places the package at the corner of the altar and opens it. Still with the frown on the face, he takes the first painting and frees it from the carton. He shot a glare at Keith.
With interest, Shiro peeps. It’s the Blue Lion, which depict a wet lioness coming out from a lake, while in the far a cloud is letting the rain falling. The lioness has half body inside the water and it’s wagging its head to dry itself, spreading water drips around. Again, it doesn’t look like a memorable painting, and it doesn’t acquire any particular meaning next to another painting on the collection.
When the Blue Lion starts hisses, Macidus is examining in under the lamp and with a magnifying lens. The hiss becomes too strong to be ignored, and Macidus lifts the painting to check, but it’s too late. White smoke erupts immediately from it. Macidus lets it fall scared, but only accelerates the process. The white smoke fills the room within second. Around him, Shiro hears Sendak swearing and trying to move next to Zarkon.
On the contrary, Shiro takes two steps behind, trying to get away from them. Then, he sees a light and two arms grab him.
Oh, so that’s the reasons for the glasses, Shiro thinks as Keith drags him forwards, cutting the white fog as nothing. They reaches another hallway than the one Shiro came from, and Keith closes the door behind them.
“Turn,” Keith orders, and Shiro obeys. He feels Keith is working on opening the handcuffs. “We don’t have much time, the fog is just a carnival trick.”
“A very effective one,” Shiro comments, rubbing his wrists.
Keith sends him a scrutinize look, and the shadow of a relieved smile appears on his face. Then, he turns and starts walking fast in the hallway.
“You don’t happen to have a cell phone, do you?” Shiro asks.
“No, they inspected me at the entrance. The paintings were the only place to hide something, but not a cellphone.”
“I guess it’s a forgery, then,” Shiro comments. “A lot of things in your life are.”
Keith stops for a second. “I faked many things in the past,” he admits, “but not what it was between the two of us.”
“Forgive me if I can’t believe this entirely.” No matter how much he would like to.
“Then believe this,” Keith says, and its voice is quiet, as he expected distrust from Shiro. “I’ll get us out of this thanks to you.”
Shiro blinks, but follows Keith along the dark and narrow hallway.
“You’re the one telling me most palace of Venice are built over old churches,” Keith continues, “so I made some researches, and finding out that the nobles used the remaining to build also escape route, just in case. We’re in one of them.”
“And here I thought you were bored of my lessons.”
“I was never bored with you. Never.”
The end of the hallway brought them to a closed door, which Keith opens in no time. Voice starts to arrived from the outside. Over the door, there are a small trap door, and then Shiro and Keith find themselves in the open, near the moor. In the far, on the opposite side of the sea, Shiro recognizes the silhouette of the Venice’s palaces, and a little bit on the right, he can spots in the dark the San Marco’s colums.
“We’re in Giudecca’s island,” he murmurs, a little bit surprised that Zarkon didn’t bring them farer. But again, he considers Venice his empire. “There is a casino not very far, they should have guards, we can…”
“No,” Keith shakes his head. “We don’t know how far Zarkon’s influence goes. After all, he was able to find out about you and me, wasn’t he?”
There is a hidden question in that sentence, that Shiro doesn’t miss. “You’re right. I spoke about you only with my trustiest colleagues, yet he found out. We can’t trust anyone at the moment.”
“We should hide, for now,” Keith continues. “At least until we find a way to contact someone.”
“Okay.”
Shiro lets Keith jumps over the wall of a nearby house, one of the few in Venice that has a internal court. Keith opens the gate for Shiro and he slips inside fast, just before he hears someone screaming outside. They crouch towards one of the hedge, tall and thick enough to hide them at the sigh in the night. Shiro keeps his breath as he see the dark silhouette of an armed man peeping inside the court, but then leaving, shouting something around.
For some time, that looks like an eternity, the only sound around is Keith’s breath against him, and the ringing sound of his own heart beating on his ears. He can’t say if it’s because the fear or because Keith’s vicinity. There’s a lot of things he wants to know and ask, a no moment to do it.
Then, the sound of shooting reaches them. Keith startles immediately, then crawls out of the hedge, and Shiro follows him. From the gate, they can’t see anything, but Shiro knows well enough the sound of a shooting, and even the sound of the police when they’re part of it. Without waiting for Keith’s opinion, he opens the gate and walks carefully towards the area once the sounds tune down.
There are three different police ships at the moor, and many policemen around: a couple of them are keeping two men on the ground and, with the ships’ light, Shiro realizes they are two of Zarkon’s men. Neither him or Sendak seem to be around, which do not surprise Shiro. Then, he focuses his attention on the man who’s giving orders, and recognizes him.
“It’s Commander Holt!” he exclaims, happy. “We’re safe.”
He turns around and he’s almost surprise to see Keith is still here, next to him, with a relieved expression on his face. Shiro grabs him for the right arm, gripping hard.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “But you’re under arrest.”
***
The point is, Keith isn’t angry with Shiro. He doesn’t expect any different from him, from the way he has beginning to know him in the past months. And Keith did lie to him, or at least hid part of the truth, so Shiro is even more quiet than Keith expected him to be, which is a relief enough for him. Since the moment he decided to go saving him, he knew it was a possible outcome, and he made acceptance with him. The Red Lion is safe now, and his mission is accomplished. He can be satisfied of himself.
The thing that bother him the most is the boredom of his situation. Once they bought him back at the police station, he’s been inside the interrogation room, alone. They were kind enough to bring him something to drink (which Keith left untouched) but then they literally abandoned him there to rotten. He objectively realized they have a lot to do, but still. He’s bored. He will pay for someone, anyone, to enter the room and start questioning him.
Of course, he pushes his luck too much, because when finally the door opens, Shiro is the one that appears there, and that puts him on the edge. He looks tired, drained. But there’s a pleasant smile on Shiro’s face, and he places a tray with a couple of sandwiches and a cup of coffee on it.
“They’re Sal’s,” he murmurs. “Another person you should apologize to.”
“To be fair, I left the job without warning because you found me.”
Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Are you telling me it’s my fault you lied to me and got near to me only to spy on me?”
“No. Sorry.” Keith takes one of the sandwiches and bites it to stop himself from talking. “I shouldn’t have said that, of course. I’m a little nervous. Sorry.”
“And I’m here as officer,” Shiro adds, “so I should really be impartial in it and not using our relationship against you.”
“You have every right to be angry, you know,” Keith murmurs. “For what it counts, I’m truly sorry. Nothing of this should have happened.”
“Then what you did this?” There is a tiredness in Shiro’s voice.
“It seems a good idea at first.” Keith closes his eyes, fully remembering he thought it was an incredible bad idea, but the others insisted… “Just innocent flirting to find out something interesting. You wasn’t supposed to get attached.” I wasn’t supposed to get attached remains unsaid, even if Shiro seems to catch it nevertheless.
“You came to save me.”
“I wouldn’t ever let an innocent man being killed because of me. I’m not that bad.”
“Right.” Shiro stretches a little his shoulders and opens the folder in front of him. “We’ve checked Zarkon’s lair, but of course there weren’t any traces of him in there, and the palace is owned by a foreign family without any ties with him.” He snorts, fully know it’s just a cover. “We were able to collect back the Green Lion and the Yellow Lion, while the Blue Lion got half destroyed by the explosion of the white fog. I guess they’re all forgeries?”
Keith nods.
“We’ll still have them checked,” Shiro continues. “But the Red Lion was nowhere to be see.”
There are photos of the crime scene in Shiro’s folder. Keith peeps them, and recognizes his own work in the two paintings. The Yellow Lion, with the lion that cuddles relaxed in the golden sand, under a bright sun, and the Green Lion, with the lioness that scratches its claws in the trunk of a tall tree in the middle off a green forest.
“Where is the Red Lion, Keith?”
He shrugs. “I guess Zarkon took it back? As you have noticed, he seems very interested in them.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t the only one.”
“I was there to save your life.”
“And I thank you for that. Truly.” Shiro takes a deep breath. “But I’m a cop. And both as a cop and a… friend, it’s my duty to warn you to cooperate.”
The only answer is a very skeptical look from Shiro.
“Listen well,” Shiro continues. “Until now, I wasn’t questioned much about you. But then Commander Iverson will arrive and I will have to tell him everything. Including our relationship. It doesn’t matter I didn’t know, it caused my kidnapping. And even if that didn’t happen, the fact I was involved with you is enough. My career and my work is on the line, and they surely will take me off the case. So, for both you and my sake, it’s better your start talking. If you’re truly sorry.”
“What do you want me to say?” Keith asks, his voice tired.
“I want you to testify against Zarkon, about what happened,” Shiro starts. “If you accept to do so, we can lower your sentence. If you confess. I want the names of your accomplices, and of course all the paintings you stole back.”
The door wide opens with a loud sound, and Coran enters in the room in all his weirdness. Today he wears a clothes that looks coming out directly from the Sixties. Keith has never been so happy to see him.
“Please step aside from my client, young boy.”
Shiro’s face is a mixture of surprise and annoyance. “You’re Keith’s lawyer?”
“Coran Whinbley Smithiey, at your orders.” He makes an over exaggerating bow.
“You were Lance Serrano’s lawyer too.”
“I have a lot of clients, young lad. How do you think I can afford such nice clothes otherwise?”
“Yeah, but apparently you have just one type of clients.”
Despite the annoyed remark, Shiro stands up, takes back his folder and leaves the room. Coran sits down in front of Keith and suddenly there is a serious expression on his face.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs.
“Fine. I’m still alive, that is what matters, right?”
“Yeah. Look like Number Four’s bug worked.”
“Hoping it hasn’t destroyed my stomach in the meantime.” He wasn’t very happy to eat that metal thing, but it was the only safe way for the others to track its position. And he surely hoped the police won’t check his toiler in the next few days.
“Right. I hope so too. Now, I have to admit the situation doesn’t look good. Shiro saw you and Lance, and his witness counts. Maybe we should…”
“No.”
“Keith…”
“No, listen well to me, Coran. They don’t have anything on me. The idea that the Lions’ thefts were collect to Red the thief is pure speculation from Shiro’s part. I never confirmed that. What they can know for sure it’s that I forged a couple of paintings, tried to steal one from Zarkon, and then tried to sell him forged paintings.”
“That may be correct, yet they are still crimes.”
“I know, and I’m fine with that. We considered it when we accepted the offer,” Keith nods. “I will proclame myself guilty of those crimes, but I will insist I worked alone. See what you can take from it, and I’ll take it.”
“Not much, I fear,” Coran says.
“Fine by me. Are the others safe?”
“We moved them out of the city this morning, taking advantages of the confusion around the Giudecca’s island. Number Four has already prepared a fake apartment for you in Mestre, while the paintings are still at the villa for now, so you’ll be fine.”
“Good.” Keith lowers his voice. “I left the Red Lion inside a hedge on the house with the courtyard on Giudecca’s island. So now you have all of them. I did my part, now it’s up to you.”
***
“So, let me get this straight, Shirogane” Iverson murmurs. He rubs his temple and Shiro shots him an apologetic smile, as he stretches a little in his chair in front of the desk.
“You were dating this guy, Keith Koh. But in truth he’s Red, the thief. At the same time, all the theft Red did were only to hide his true aim, that were those insignificant Alfor’s painting. And Zarkon is interested in them too. In all this, you went to Zarkon’s party, caught up Red in the middle of a theft and not telling me, just continuing your investigation despite your own involvement with the suspect, and then you got kidnapped because said involvement. And you managed to arrest Red because he came to your aid.”
“Sound about right.”
“Dammit, Shirogane!” Iverson stands up and walks up and front his desk. “This is a huge violation of rules. You should have told me immediately.”
“With all the respect, it’s clear we have a spy inside the police station,” Shiro says. “Otherwise there is no way Zarkon would know Keith and mine’s situation. I’m telling you right now because I have no choice, but I don’t trust this information to remain a secret.”
Iverson stops and looks like he’s considered it behind a mask of anger. “…that may be true,” he admits at last. “But still, I don’t like it. You should have trust at least me in that.”
“I apologize, Sir,” and he is sincere. “I probably got involved too much. But, if you prefer, we can lie and say I didn’t recognize Keith the night of the party, only after being kidnapped.”
“Uhmf.” Iverson sits down again. “I prefer no more lies from now on. But surely, explain this to Sanda won’t be easy. I need to bring her something concrete so she won’t complain too much about you.”
A knock at the door, and the Coran, much with Shiro’s annoyance, appears in the room. “I spoke with my client,” he announces. “He will declare himself guilty of all charges and he will testify against Zarkon, hoping for a lighter sentence.”
He places a paper on the desk. Iverson takes it, reads it and frowns. “This is ridiculous! Your client is admitted nothing but what we already can prove about him!”
“Well, because there are his only crimes.” Coran crosses his arm.
Forgeries, one attempted theft and illegal trades of forged paintings, Shiro reads. It doesn’t mention at all Keith being Red.
“Ridiculous,” Iverson repeats. “We want the names of all his accomplices and him admitting he’s Red the thief, including of course all his crime with that name. Then we may talk about an agreement.”
“Very well.” Coran takes back the paper. “In that case, my client won’t admit anything, and you will have to prove everything about him in the tribunal. This is the best way to remember you that you have no proof about him being Red, and all your other accusation depends on Detective Shirogane’s testimony, a man who was romantic involved with my client. If it’s not enough to make it look bad, I add the fact that Detective Shirogane’s last appearance in tribunal didn’t go so well.”
Despite his funny appearance, Coran is as cunning as any lawyers. Shiro grits his teeth and closes his fists, but he doesn’t answer.
“I’ll let you an entire day to think about it before we withdraw the offer,” Coran finishes his discourse and leaves the room.
“Go rest,” Iverson comments tired. “I’ll read your report again and I’ll call you if need. But go.”
Shiro doesn’t feel to complain. And he’s tired. He leaves the police station in a hurry and reaches his apartment. Keith’s presence is still there, yet he’s too tired to complain. He lets himself fall in the bed and closes his eyes.
The cell phone rings just when Shiro is about to sleep. An unknowing number is calling him. With a frown, he answers, fully expected Zarkon or Sendak. Instead, it’s a female voice.
“I believe I have useful information for you, Detective Shirogane.”
“Who are you, and who gave you my number?”
“Our common friend,” is the enigmatic answer. “But I don’t want to talk by phone. Come to Hotel Baglioni and introduce yourself at the reception, I’ll be waiting.”
There are a lot of things wrong in all this, and a lot of things that can go wrong. Yet, despite all the odds, and the tiredness, Shiro finds himself at the main hall of the Baglioni Hotel.
“I’m Detective Shirogane,” he says at the man at the Front Office. “There is a person waiting for me.”
The man check the computer and nodded. “Sure. Just one second.” He calls for his manager, that accompany Shiro in the lift of the hotel. They reaches the last floor, and the manager knocks at the door of one of the main suite there.
“Detective Shirogane is here,” he announces.
“Thank you,” comes the female voice from the inside. The manage bows and leaves, and then the door opens and a beautiful woman with an elegant blue suit appears. He smiles pleasantly at Shiro. “Thank you for meeting me. Please, come in.”
The room is big, with an entire dining room separated from the bedroom, with a terrace outside that has a great view on the Venice’s roofs and the San Marco’s bell tower. Despite the incredible furnitures and decoration of the suite, Shiro’s attention is caught immediately than the painting on the tripod.
The Black Lion. The last painting on the Castle of Lions’ collection, the one that should have been dispersed.
“Yes, this is the real deal,” the woman says.
Without asking permission, Shiro walks to observe here nearer. It depicts a black lion with his mane wavering around its head, and roaring in the direction of the viewers. Behind it, a medieval castle stands imponent in the ground. It’s as insignificant as the others, but now that Shiro has seen all of them, he realizes there’s something more in them.
“They can be combined,” he realizes. His finger brushes the upper right corner of the painting, where are visible the small flames that connect it to the Red Lion’s painting. In the bottom corner, there is the shadow of the small lake of the Blue Lion. Recollecting back his memory, Shiro realizes that in every painting it’s been found a reference to another one.
“This is correct,” the woman says. “My father projected them like they are a single painting, but separated them in five to keep them safer.”
“Your father?” Shiro turns to look at her.
“Nice to meet you, Detective Shirogane.” She leans her hand forward and he shakes it. “I’m Allura Altea.
“The pleasure is mine,” Shiro says sincerely. “I hope you can enlighten for me some of those painting’s history.”
She nods. “I’m afraid most of the recent events are my doing, or at least it was my action that put them in motion.”
“Explain.”
With a sigh, she sits down in one of the big armchair, she brushes her pants and crosses her legs. “The story start years ago, in Naples,” she begins. “With five children that grown together on the street. One of them was my father, another was Zarkon.”
Shiro’s interest piques up, and he sits down in the armchair in front of her.
“When they became adults, my father was the only one that had success,” she continued. “The other managed, while Zarkon… was the one that lost everything. His family used to be one of the richer of Naples but got caught in a scandal. In a couple of months, they lost everything. To help a old friend, my father assumed him as an assistant for his exhibits.”
“Zarkon never spoke about his past,” Shiro murmurs. “I know he was from Naples, but that’s the first time I heard he worked with Alfor.”
“It wasn’t of public dominion, and I doubt Zarkon wants it to be knows, especially considering what happened after that.”
“Which is?”
“Zarkon wasn’t happy to live at my father’s expense, so he started an activity of his own. A very illegal one, and for a while he used my father’s exhibitions to create an illegal drug market. Unfortunately, my father did realize that only years later, when Zarkon didn’t work for him anymore and his empire is growing too big to be stopped.”
“Was Zarkon your father’s killer?”
“I don’t have any proof, but it’s likely.” Her face turns sad. “I was already in America for studying when my father started an investigation of his own, asking the other three friends to help him. And they did, but one after another they got killed. My father was just the last.”
“So he didn’t find out anything?”
“On the contrary.” A smirks appears on Allura’s lips. “A month before my father’s murder, Coran joins me in the States, with the Black Lion, and explained me everything about my father’s legacy.”
“Wait… Coran? You mean Coran Winbley Smithiey, the lawyer?”
“Yes, him. He’s pretty dedicated, and he’s like a second father for me. He’s been my father’s assistance for long after Zarkon.”
“Okay, so. The suspense is killing me.”
“My father found a lot of proof that can be able to send Zarkon in jail forever, but he knew most of them has been illegally acquired, and that he risked their destruction to show them to the police. He was also great with the computer, you know? He hid all the proof in the dark web, then hid the key for them – a QR code – inside the Castle of Lions’ painting.”
“You mean…”
“Yes.” She nods. “If you put all the paintings together, you can find the QR code. My father then separated all the paintings so Zarkon can’t destroy it. My hopes was to collect them back one after another, but Zarkon got the Red Lion first, and then I know I had to act differently.”
“I already understand Red the thief was a distraction for the only important theft,” Shiro says. “It was a very elaborate plan.”
“It was, but it wasn’t only mine,” Allura murmurs. “I have the money, but not the skill, so I put together a team of four more people, to bring back all the lions together. All them have a reason to want Zarkon in prison. Right now, I’m sorry I didn’t have you joined us too. At that time, you were still recovering after your cover mission.”
“Some time ago,” Shiro comments distract. “So Keith was one of them.”
“I chose him because his mother was killed by Zarkon, and because he’s an excellent artist with a great knowledge of art history, even if his past never let him studying for becoming something more.”
“I know that.” Shiro’s mind returns back to the lost notebook. “What about the others?”
“I’m not going to reveal their identities.”
“But one of them is Lance Serrano, right?”
Her answers is just an enigmatic smile. “Now, Keith wants to keep everyone safe, and still completing his mission to defeat Zarkon. From my side, and the others too, we don’t want Keith to pay too much for something that was did for a greater good.”
“What agreement do you propose?” Shiro asks. “If I can help, I will. But you have to understand that I can’t have Keith avoiding prison, just lower the years.”
“We’ll settle with that,” Allura murmurs sadly. “Keith will admit the theft to the Castle of Lions’ paintings, including the Black Lion, and he will give them back to the police, so you can find the QR code and arrest Zarkon for once. In exchange, you won’t ask him about his accomplices, or forcing him to admit he’s Red. I will find the way to give back all the paintings that were stolen.”
There is a big moral dilemma inside Shiro’s mind. Yet, Allura’s decisive gaze indicate him that he won’t gain a better deal than that, and taking down Zarkon is more important than arresting a group of thieves that don’t evens steal for themselves.
His past big crush on Robin Hood is showing.
“I’ll do what I can to convince Iverson to take this deal.”
Allura smiles satisfied. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I hope we can meet again under better circumstances.”
***
“You should have seen her face!” Coran ends his tell laughing loudly. “She was there, complaining about the invasion of her privacy, and there they were, all the paintings, just hiding in the canteen. Damn, I was so happy the police allowed me to see that scene.”
Keith smiles barely. He’s happy, of course, that the Castle of Lions’ painting revealed also the information about the spies inside the government and the police, and the fact that Sanda herself passed information about Red to Zarkon. She’s the one that found out about Keith after all, so Keith doesn’t feel extremely sad by the fact they basically frame her also for the entire Red story.
But also, he’s been in prison for almost two weeks now, and even if he accepted his fate, he isn’t in the mood to laugh about it.
Then Coran returns serious. “You have to sign the agreement now,” he says, taking of a paper from his bag. “They offer five years, I convinced them to take down to four. You’ll probably be out of it in two. Sorry I can’t do more.”
“It’s fine.”
Since the day he accepted to participate in Allura’s crazy and illegal plan, he was sure he would ended up killed or worse. Having an heartbreak isn’t so bad after all. He can get over it He accepts his fate graciously, signing up the paper without even reading them. Iverson arrives to take it.
“Ah, Shirogane has a message for you,” he says. “He’s sorry he lost your notebook.”
***
The airplane is on time, and Shiro takes a cab to the small residence he’s rented for the next two weeks. The owner welcomes him with great greeting and smiles, before giving him the key of the apartment and pointing out the stair to get there.
With a sigh, Shiro closes the door behind him, as a metaphorically way to put all his worries aside. He just closed a big chapter of his life, one that had started with him, freshly promoted in the police, to accept a work undercover in Zarkon’s organization, and he ended with him leaving his life as a police detective behind, just after Zarkon’s definitive condemn.
He satisfied of what he accomplished until that moment, but now he needs to rest, before starting the rest of his life. His computer has bombarded him of advertisement about that little town with the beach and the beautiful sea, and that particular residence specifically. Despite his distrust for Google and its way to track you, he’s been lured by it, and it’s only a matter of time he decided to book it.
And now, here he is, getting his first holidays in… five years?
Then he lifts his head and immediately he’s being back in time, three year by now.
On the dining room, just above the sofa, there’s a big painting, depicting the Venice lagoon. The colour are soft, romantic, and the light is clear, with the gondola and the San Marco’s clock in the far. He recognizes the style immediately, and the small signature in the right bottom corner (KK) gives him just the confirmation he needs.
Abandoning the suitcase without even opening it, Shiro rushes back to the owner of the apartment.
“The painting. The one in the dining room… where do you buy it?”
The owner seems a little distress from Shiro’s outburst. “I bought it from a locan in the center… the barman is also a painter in the free time, he displays his things in his local…”
“Where it is?”
With the address in his hand and the cell phone with the GPS in the other, Shiro moves immediately to look for said local. It’s just on the seaside, a beautiful space with tables on the outside and the wall decorated with light blue tone and sea decoration that are also Keith’s side.
Keith is there, washing the counter inside. There’s another big boy next to him that, as soon as he spots Shiro, he elbows Keith before disappearing in the back of the local. Keith lifts his head and his eyes and mouth widens from surprise.
“Hi…” Shiro smiles at him. He’s even more gorgeous than he remembers.
“Shiro…” Keith exhales. “How… How do you find me?”
“I don’t,” he says, finally reaching the counter. “I’m here for holiday, I rent an apartment and I see your paintings there…”
“The apartment at the corner of the square with the angel’s fountain?” Keith asks.
“That one.”
“And why do you choose it?”
“Well, to be honest it was Google that advertised that to me and it looks nice so…”
Keith rolls his eyes. “Pidge.” He doesn’t elaborate. “You look good.”
“Thanks. You too. So… you’re a painter slash bartender in the free time? Or the contrary?”
“My two friends opened this place when I was in prison,” he explains. He turns his back at Shiro and start working with the coffee machine. “They came to take me after I was freed, so I’m helping them here. And they decided to use it as a way to exhibit my paintings and some people around are interested. Not many, but it’s something.” He prepares a little plate with a chocolate muffing. “Here, double Espresso as you liked. It’s on the house.”
“Thanks.”
The coffee is good, and hot, and the muffin is sweet. Shiro eats it without moving his eyes from Keith. He realizes soon enough that Keith is forcing himself not to look at him, and there is a little tension in the air. Maybe he made a mistake into coming here. But…
“I missed you, you know,” he says. “Those months were special.”
“I missed you too.”
“Then why you don’t come search for me?” Shiro asks. “You know I couldn’t because, until you were a convict man, I’ll be in a power position, giving my role in the trial. But then… You told me everything between us was real.”
“It was.” Finally, Keith lifts his head and smiles sadly. “But two years in prison are enough to survive to a heartbreak, and to realize we are too different. You love Venice, I hate it. I’m a thief, you’re a cop. I love you, you don’t…” He waves his hands as nothing he’s saying is important.
“Woaw,” Shiro exhales. “How can you being so wrong in so few sentences.”
Keith blinks. And blushes. “What do you mean?”
“Well, first of all, you’re not a thief anymore. And I’m not a cop anymore.” At Keith’s surprise expression, he adds, “I resigned. After what happened with Sanda and everything, I don’t have the force anymore to stay in the police.”
“I didn’t know.”
“And okay, I love Venice, but not enough for ruining my love story, I can do it well enough by myself, thank you very much,” Shiro continues. “And you don’t hate Venice, come on. It’s not your favorite, but you drew that painting.”
Keith smiles, and finally it was an opened one, one of the past. “But one thing I was right about… I love you.”
“Present tense.”
“Yes.” Keith nods.
“What are you wrong about is me not loving you,” Shiro replies. “I really don’t know how do you got that idea.”
“Maybe by the way I broke your trust, and you arrested me, and then you disappeared from two years. It’s just an hypothesis.” There isn’t anger in Keith’s voice only tiredness.
“I know, I was a jerk,” Shiro admits. “Not about arresting you, because… things. And you lying to me wasn’t cooler either.”
“It wasn’t,” Keith admits.
“Yet, I should have come visit you. Guess I was afraid.”
“Do you mean it?” Keith asks.
“What?”
“Loving me.”
Shiro straights his back. “Hi, I’m Takashi Shirogane, private detective, You can call me Shiro. I’m currently unemployed and I’m looking for a partner expert in art history for working together in the firld of art thefts and forgeries. And I’m in love with the most beautiful art thief I’ve ever seen.”
There are tears in Keith’s eyes, and also he’s laughing. “It this a proposition.”
“It depends. Will you accept it?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
Shiro really thought leaving Venice would have been harder. Instead, here with Keith’s lips pressed on his own, it’s the easier thing of the world.
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