Lockjaw

A/N: Yes, a new story! God forbid! I give no excuses. This came to mind when I was in Norway, and wouldn't let me leave it. Also, my main character is one that isn't written very much (as much as I've seen, anyway) and the opportunity was too sweet.

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Chowchilla Charlie was not having a good evening. For the second time in as many times, he was tucked under the crook of a demon's arm, travelling down a long, dingy corridor (much different from the usual décor of the cat track), to a back door. By now, Charlie was getting tired of listening to the demon grumbling about his lack of place in life and the jobs he had to do, but soon enough, they reached the fire exit, the demon swung it open, unceremoniously dropped his charge on the wet pavement outside and retreated back into the depths of the Cat Track, away from the pouring rain.

Charlie picked himself up, brushed his suit off (for no apparent reason), and knowing that he couldn't smoke in the rain, stumbled into the dark back alleys of Rubacava.

"Why do I have to… just an honest day's work… maybe slightly illegal…? Who cares?" The inane babbling continued, quietly, as he made his way to a favourite haunt of his- behind a dumpster, behind the elevator- haunt of the gamblers and the only semi-decent crap game in the city that wasn't run in a casino or by the Maritime Union, who all cheated. Just because he was slightly less than scrupulously honest didn't mean that everyone else had to prove their lack of morals by using loaded dice.

The dumpster apparently wasn't 'getting the action' tonight though, so he sat beside it and stared at the club in front of him. Not that he liked the Blue Casket- on an attempt to find a place he wouldn't get thrown out of, he'd sat in there and stuck out like a sore thumb bone. Eventually, the beatniks had escorted him out, after he'd clapped instead of clicked at the end of a poetry reading session. That particular piece of prose had been terrible anyway, even if it was written by Olivia- which cruel skeleton would call their cat Boney?

This evening though (technically morning, but never mind), there was a reasonably bright white light on in the club- surprisingly enough. The top window was lit up brightly, and in morbid curiosity, Charlie scrabbled his way to the top of the dumpster to get a closer look.

Two figures stepped into view, locked together at the jaw. Personally, Charlie had never worked out how you could kiss without lips- or anything else, for that matter. It was simply the fact that he hadn't got much experience it that area of things (although not for lack of trying), but it wasn't that which kept him gazing. It was the individuals involved.

The woman was obviously Olivia- the beret and cigarette holder clutched in her hand betrayed all, but who she was in lockjaw with, he couldn't tell, although one thing was certain. It definitely wasn't Maximino. This was rich- very rich. But who was the other individual involved in this shady affair? Closer investigation would be needed.

Hurrying (although he hated to go faster than absolutely necessary normally) to the elevator, he stepped inside and mentally begged for to speed up as it climbed the cliff, he got out and shuffled (being the best way to describe his walk) to the side of the cliff. If he was looking at the blue casket, then if he walked far enough… he might be able to see the window again.

Finally making it in front of the lit window, he discovered (to his dismay) that the pair weren't standing in front of it any more. This made it slightly more difficult, and he was about to give up on it completely when the pair emerged into view. If Charlie's jaw could drop any further without falling off, he thought it would have done.

Nick. Nick Virago. Lawyer to one side of the biggest partnership in Rubacava, and apparently lover to the other. Who would have thought it? The pair (still firmly attached at the mandible) swung out of view, and the light went off. Drat. Charlie had enjoyed being a peeping Tom, but apparently privacy was a big thing over in that room.

This left a con artist who had information, but not a clue how to harvest it. For large profit, of course, but how to get that level of finance? The skeletons he had dirt on were rich. Very rich. But, conning and swindling money out of people was what Charlie did best- especially with unsuspecting victims.

Well, there was only one place to go. Back to the Cat Track, the High Roller's Lounge, and to see Maximino.