Deadly Connections (7/27)
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vigorliTitle: Deadly Connections (7/25)
Authors: Alex ( rangergirl0301@gmail.com ) and Carol (ambrelin2@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG – NC17 (R this chapter)
Characters: Viggo/ Orlando/ Sean B/Various others
Beta: The wonderful Namarie120, whom we would be totally lost without
Disclaimer: We know no one in or associated with this. It is purely fiction. No harm intended.
Warnings: AU, Minor character death, Violence, M/M sex,
A/N: A large thanks to our artists-Cat (dreamerswings42) for the icon, and both Cat (dreamerswings42) and Tina (belil_gaviel) for the lovely banners
Summary: There's a killer of young men on the loose. It's up to Sean to find him. But things are not quite what they seem.
Sean glanced around the small living room from his spot on the old, faded couch, his eyes taking in the sparse details. The walls were bare except for a few small pieces of artwork, the blue paint behind the canvases having been washed by the sun until they were almost gray in color. Pennyworthy hadn't sat down yet, and was slowly pacing the room.
Sean reached forward, seeing a photograph on the main table that was overturned and lying on its glass side. He slowly turned it over in his hands to see a photograph of Mortensen and another man, their arms around each other, faces close. Mortensen looked, for lack of a better word, in love. The picture was only ruined by a large, jagged hole in the glass, as if the frame had been dropped or thrown at some point, and the damage was irreparable.
Pennyworthy, meanwhile, had suddenly stopped in front of one of the pieces, his eyebrow raising.
"Mr. Mortensen made this, sir."
Sean slowly stood and moved across the room. "He did?"
The younger man nodded and pointed to a small "VM" in the corner of the painting. "Maybe why his employment records were so spotty? He just takes jobs when he needs them..."
"Apparently his definition of 'needs' is different from mine," Sean murmured.
"Yes, well...I have a roof over my head, food in my fridge, and the heat's on. What else do I need?" Viggo put in quietly, as he stood in the doorway behind them.
Turning from the painting, Sean took in the other man. His clothes were older and, while clean, were well worn. His hair brushed the top of his shirt, but was neatly combed. He had a light beard, like he hadn't shaved in a few days, bare feet, piercing blue eyes, and a scar on his upper lip.
"I suppose if that's enough to make you happy. It covers the necessities, in any case."
"So, Detective, what can I do for you? I'm sure you didn't stop by to view my art, or to discuss my living conditions."
Stepping away from the canvas, Sean pulled out his notepad and flipped it open.
"Mr. Mortensen, we'd like to ask you some questions. As I'm sure you're aware there have been several murders in the area. I've noticed you in the crowd watching us work more than once. What were you doing there?"
"I'm involved in the gay community, detective. Whenever something like this happens you get that horrible feeling that it might be someone you know. I don't like to hear about my friends dying on the eleven o'clock news."
"So you've known some of the victims then."
More than you know, Viggo thought, but only said quietly, "I didn't say that. I, so far, have been lucky and have never personally met any of the victims. But this community is rather small, so you never know."
"'Personally met'? That's a funny way to put it. Did you know of any of them?"
"I knew some of their names. They were all well-known around the area."
"And why exactly were they well known, Mr. Mortensen?"
"Because they were working boys, Detective, prostitutes. They made their living with their bodies. I never heard a bad thing said about them, though. They mostly did their job and left everyone alone."
Sean made a few notes, and looked back at Viggo. "And were you one of their clients?"
Viggo stared at him, his voice dry. "Do I look like I can afford a prostitute, detective? They are not cheap. From what I've heard, they're the best in the business, but like I said, they never bother anyone. They seem to work by appointment only."
"And I suppose you also have no idea who makes these appointments."
"If you're implying that I'm the man in charge and that I'm killing off any boy who dares to cross me or something, you're barking up the wrong tree. As you can tell, I'm not exactly getting outrageous amounts of income from pimping out young men. I don't know who makes them, nor do I really care."
"Mr. Mortensen, I have a feeling you know a lot more than you want to tell us right now. We need information, and you know more than you're saying. Someone is killing these men, and I think if you don't know who it is, you have a very good idea."
"Detective Bean, I really don't care what you think of me, or what you think I know. I've given you as much information as I can. I have nothing else to give you. Now, if you gentlemen are through, I have some business to attend to."
Folding his notebook and placing it back in his jacket, Sean stood slowly, followed by Pennyworthy.
"I'm going to leave you my card. If you feel like talking more, you can reach me there any time."
Taking the card, Viggo escorted the men to the door. "If I have anything else, I'll be sure you're the first person I call," he replied, closing the door behind them.
As he watched them get into the car and drive away, Viggo sagged, exhausted from the effort of putting up a front. He turned and headed for the kitchen and the phone. Maybe a nice long talk with Johnny would help him sort this out better.
Meanwhile across town a young woman paced nervously, while a man about her age sat on the floor and watched her.
"Kate honey, if you're that worried about it, why don't we just keep the boys in for tonight?" His smooth, quiet tones usually soothed her easily, but not much made Kate Bosworth feel better these days.
"Orli...three of them have been murdered. Three! It's too much to be a coincidence. Someone is killing off my boys and I want to know who!"
Orlando Bloom sighed and rose to his feet, running a comforting hand across her shoulders. As Kate's only male "assistant," he had many privileges, including seeing the normally unflappable blond at her most frazzled. "I know your finances, sweetie. We can afford to skip a night, or even a week or two if we wanted. You're right; this is getting too dangerous. Besides...there are a few of us who only see regulars. We'll be able to keep that going at least."
Kate nodded in understanding. Orlando was right, they wouldn't be hurting to not send anyone out for a few days. But she didn't think that was going to be enough. If this person was targeting her business, then he would know how to find them even if they weren't working.
"Maybe you're right, Orli. I'll make a few calls, get the word out for everyone to stay home for a few days. And to call the police if anything seems strange to them. I don't want them to panic, but I sure don't want another dead boy."
"Of course you don't." Orlando knew that things must be getting desperate if she was allowing them to call the police; usually she only allowed them to let her handle it, seeing as the legality of what they did was in a rather shady area. "I have an appointment with Tommy Jones tonight. I'll see if he knows anything more."
Being her assistant, he wasn't exposed to the usual--or unusual--cast of characters that were only looking for a warm body for the night. He had a small, exclusive list of men that he saw every few nights to pay his bills, powerful, connected and/or rich men like Jones, but he mostly helped Kate run everything.
While Kate made her calls, Orlando went upstairs to his bedroom. He needed to shower and get ready. He needed to be fresh and in his apartment on the other side of town before his client got there.
While Kate was making her calls, Viggo was sitting in his kitchen telling Johnny about the police visit.
"Yes, little slutdoggy, comfort the bitch."
"Excuse me? Vig, what the hell did you just say?"
"I-I don't know," Viggo murmured distractedly, running his fingers through his hair. "What-what did I say?"
The distressed man could almost hear Johnny's arched eyebrow over the phone. "Something about a slutdoggy and a bitch."
"I...don't know where that came from. I just...she'll get hers in the end, I swear it...the little whore will die, and so will her fucking 'assistant.' Stupid fucking thing to call a lapdog. And that's all I was really, just a motherfucking….”
"Viggo! Viggo, stop spacing out on me! Now isn't the time to put my advice to good use. Come back!"
~tbc~
Previous Chapters
Authors: Alex ( rangergirl0301@gmail.com ) and Carol (ambrelin2@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG – NC17 (R this chapter)
Characters: Viggo/ Orlando/ Sean B/Various others
Beta: The wonderful Namarie120, whom we would be totally lost without
Disclaimer: We know no one in or associated with this. It is purely fiction. No harm intended.
Warnings: AU, Minor character death, Violence, M/M sex,
A/N: A large thanks to our artists-Cat (dreamerswings42) for the icon, and both Cat (dreamerswings42) and Tina (belil_gaviel) for the lovely banners
Summary: There's a killer of young men on the loose. It's up to Sean to find him. But things are not quite what they seem.
Sean glanced around the small living room from his spot on the old, faded couch, his eyes taking in the sparse details. The walls were bare except for a few small pieces of artwork, the blue paint behind the canvases having been washed by the sun until they were almost gray in color. Pennyworthy hadn't sat down yet, and was slowly pacing the room.
Sean reached forward, seeing a photograph on the main table that was overturned and lying on its glass side. He slowly turned it over in his hands to see a photograph of Mortensen and another man, their arms around each other, faces close. Mortensen looked, for lack of a better word, in love. The picture was only ruined by a large, jagged hole in the glass, as if the frame had been dropped or thrown at some point, and the damage was irreparable.
Pennyworthy, meanwhile, had suddenly stopped in front of one of the pieces, his eyebrow raising.
"Mr. Mortensen made this, sir."
Sean slowly stood and moved across the room. "He did?"
The younger man nodded and pointed to a small "VM" in the corner of the painting. "Maybe why his employment records were so spotty? He just takes jobs when he needs them..."
"Apparently his definition of 'needs' is different from mine," Sean murmured.
"Yes, well...I have a roof over my head, food in my fridge, and the heat's on. What else do I need?" Viggo put in quietly, as he stood in the doorway behind them.
Turning from the painting, Sean took in the other man. His clothes were older and, while clean, were well worn. His hair brushed the top of his shirt, but was neatly combed. He had a light beard, like he hadn't shaved in a few days, bare feet, piercing blue eyes, and a scar on his upper lip.
"I suppose if that's enough to make you happy. It covers the necessities, in any case."
"So, Detective, what can I do for you? I'm sure you didn't stop by to view my art, or to discuss my living conditions."
Stepping away from the canvas, Sean pulled out his notepad and flipped it open.
"Mr. Mortensen, we'd like to ask you some questions. As I'm sure you're aware there have been several murders in the area. I've noticed you in the crowd watching us work more than once. What were you doing there?"
"I'm involved in the gay community, detective. Whenever something like this happens you get that horrible feeling that it might be someone you know. I don't like to hear about my friends dying on the eleven o'clock news."
"So you've known some of the victims then."
More than you know, Viggo thought, but only said quietly, "I didn't say that. I, so far, have been lucky and have never personally met any of the victims. But this community is rather small, so you never know."
"'Personally met'? That's a funny way to put it. Did you know of any of them?"
"I knew some of their names. They were all well-known around the area."
"And why exactly were they well known, Mr. Mortensen?"
"Because they were working boys, Detective, prostitutes. They made their living with their bodies. I never heard a bad thing said about them, though. They mostly did their job and left everyone alone."
Sean made a few notes, and looked back at Viggo. "And were you one of their clients?"
Viggo stared at him, his voice dry. "Do I look like I can afford a prostitute, detective? They are not cheap. From what I've heard, they're the best in the business, but like I said, they never bother anyone. They seem to work by appointment only."
"And I suppose you also have no idea who makes these appointments."
"If you're implying that I'm the man in charge and that I'm killing off any boy who dares to cross me or something, you're barking up the wrong tree. As you can tell, I'm not exactly getting outrageous amounts of income from pimping out young men. I don't know who makes them, nor do I really care."
"Mr. Mortensen, I have a feeling you know a lot more than you want to tell us right now. We need information, and you know more than you're saying. Someone is killing these men, and I think if you don't know who it is, you have a very good idea."
"Detective Bean, I really don't care what you think of me, or what you think I know. I've given you as much information as I can. I have nothing else to give you. Now, if you gentlemen are through, I have some business to attend to."
Folding his notebook and placing it back in his jacket, Sean stood slowly, followed by Pennyworthy.
"I'm going to leave you my card. If you feel like talking more, you can reach me there any time."
Taking the card, Viggo escorted the men to the door. "If I have anything else, I'll be sure you're the first person I call," he replied, closing the door behind them.
As he watched them get into the car and drive away, Viggo sagged, exhausted from the effort of putting up a front. He turned and headed for the kitchen and the phone. Maybe a nice long talk with Johnny would help him sort this out better.
Meanwhile across town a young woman paced nervously, while a man about her age sat on the floor and watched her.
"Kate honey, if you're that worried about it, why don't we just keep the boys in for tonight?" His smooth, quiet tones usually soothed her easily, but not much made Kate Bosworth feel better these days.
"Orli...three of them have been murdered. Three! It's too much to be a coincidence. Someone is killing off my boys and I want to know who!"
Orlando Bloom sighed and rose to his feet, running a comforting hand across her shoulders. As Kate's only male "assistant," he had many privileges, including seeing the normally unflappable blond at her most frazzled. "I know your finances, sweetie. We can afford to skip a night, or even a week or two if we wanted. You're right; this is getting too dangerous. Besides...there are a few of us who only see regulars. We'll be able to keep that going at least."
Kate nodded in understanding. Orlando was right, they wouldn't be hurting to not send anyone out for a few days. But she didn't think that was going to be enough. If this person was targeting her business, then he would know how to find them even if they weren't working.
"Maybe you're right, Orli. I'll make a few calls, get the word out for everyone to stay home for a few days. And to call the police if anything seems strange to them. I don't want them to panic, but I sure don't want another dead boy."
"Of course you don't." Orlando knew that things must be getting desperate if she was allowing them to call the police; usually she only allowed them to let her handle it, seeing as the legality of what they did was in a rather shady area. "I have an appointment with Tommy Jones tonight. I'll see if he knows anything more."
Being her assistant, he wasn't exposed to the usual--or unusual--cast of characters that were only looking for a warm body for the night. He had a small, exclusive list of men that he saw every few nights to pay his bills, powerful, connected and/or rich men like Jones, but he mostly helped Kate run everything.
While Kate made her calls, Orlando went upstairs to his bedroom. He needed to shower and get ready. He needed to be fresh and in his apartment on the other side of town before his client got there.
While Kate was making her calls, Viggo was sitting in his kitchen telling Johnny about the police visit.
"Yes, little slutdoggy, comfort the bitch."
"Excuse me? Vig, what the hell did you just say?"
"I-I don't know," Viggo murmured distractedly, running his fingers through his hair. "What-what did I say?"
The distressed man could almost hear Johnny's arched eyebrow over the phone. "Something about a slutdoggy and a bitch."
"I...don't know where that came from. I just...she'll get hers in the end, I swear it...the little whore will die, and so will her fucking 'assistant.' Stupid fucking thing to call a lapdog. And that's all I was really, just a motherfucking….”
"Viggo! Viggo, stop spacing out on me! Now isn't the time to put my advice to good use. Come back!"
~tbc~
Previous Chapters
