Chapter Text
Daniel only ever wanted three things. A fuck, a high, or a story.
It was how he worked. What he ran on. Who needed food, or water, or vitamins or whatever? No. Daniel just needed a fuck, a high, and a story. Honestly, he could do without the fuck, some days. It was more so the social contract of the whole thing, that led to that part. If you wanted drugs and you couldn’t pay, you got on your knees. If you wanted a story and had nothing else to convince the person, you got on your knees. If you wanted a drink and didn’t have the money for it, you- well, you got the idea. Daniel was on his knees a lot. Because it was convenient. Because it got him a high or a story or both. Because he liked it. It made him feel alive. All three of those things made him feel alive. They made it feel like he was struck by fucking lightning. A fuck, a high, and a story. That was all Daniel fucking needed in life. That was all he was ever chasing.
Right now, though, Daniel was only chasing a story. A specific story.
He had caught wind of it a few months ago, honestly. It hadn’t been much of a story, at first. Just a few weird things about some companies that he’d found in the city archives, because he was the kind of guy to spend his Friday night at a gay bar and his Saturday morning in the city archives. Whatever, it had given him a lead. Just a few warehouses owned by the same company, and then a few more warehouses owned by a similar company, and none of the company’s answered the phone when he called their listed numbers. And it was just fucking weird. So Daniel kept looking into it, because that was what he did. He saw something weird, and he looked into it. And he kept on looking until he found the truth. Not a good lie, not close enough to the truth, not something that made the story make sense, the real, unfiltered, messy truth. That was what Daniel looked for.
He hadn’t found the truth about this mystery, so far. But Daniel was getting closer. He could fucking taste it. He had found a couple of leads, which had mostly petered out. But more than a lead, he was starting to have a theory. A theory to explain the weird fucking uptick in warehouses being bought. A theory to explain the sudden string of arson cases that were popping up in San Fran recently. A theory to explain the weird shell companies that Daniel was seriously struggling to untangle. Because there had to be some reason for all of this weird shit going on. Because it all had to be connected. Because there was a story there, Daniel knew that much. He wasn’t completely sure what the story was, but he knew that there was a story. And he had an inkling of what the story was. Daniel had a theory.
He had a feeling that the fucking mob had moved in. Or, not the mob. Daniel was pretty sure there already was a mob in San Francisco. But a new mob. That was Daniel’s working theory, anyway. The rash of murders of gay men, and the rash of arsons, and the weird fucking warehouse thing- it all led to crime. Organised fucking crime. Crime so organised that it had one of those fucking planners that was colour coded and time blocked and shit. It wasn’t like Daniel knew much about the mob, or anything. But Daniel hadn’t known anything about journalism when he had started out, and now he was pretty fucking good at it. And he hadn’t known anything about community theatre, before he started doing critique pieces for easy cash, and now he knew way too much about the differences between swings and alternates and understudies, holy fuck. So Daniel wasn’t going to let something like a lack of knowledge stop him. He was going to chase this story.
And Daniel’s chase brought him to the Azalea, of all places.
It wasn’t anything like any of his normal haunts. He was used to dim bars, filled with cigarette smoke and loud music. He was used to places where people knew his name, mostly because they knew that he rarely ever had money to pay off his tab. He was used to guys grinding on each other and blowing each other in the bathroom and trading baggies of drugs while making out. And this- well, this wasn’t exactly that. It was too fucking clean, for one thing. Too bright, for another. The whole place looked like some sort of twisted mix between a swanky modern living room, and the set of a shitty sci-fi show. At least there was a bar, along one wall, and a bunch of booths against the other. Otherwise it wouldn’t have looked like a bar at all. It was all too fucking well lit and fancy to be a bar. It was weird as hell, man. The music was barely audible, and it didn’t even sound like it was in English. So fucking weird.
But whatever. The Azalea was rumoured to be frequented, and maybe even owned, by this new mob.
And that meant it was a lead. Daniel hadn’t had a lot of leads on this story. Every time he thought he’d had a lead, it fucking disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Some ex-mafia member he wanted to talk to? Suddenly they’d won a free cruise and were off to the other side of the fucking world. A warehouse he had a feeling had been used to store drugs and guns? Fucking blew up a day before he was going to investigate it. The retired cop he was going to interview? Had a heart attack while Daniel was on the phone with him. This whole story felt fucking cursed. But that didn’t mean Daniel was going to give up on it. It just meant that he needed new leads. Hopefully, a lead that would actually go somewhere, for once.
So, Daniel was at the Azalea. The fucking Azalea. Who names a bar after a flower, anyway?
He was sitting at the bar, nursing a grasshopper he had actually to pay for. There wasn’t really much to do, until he found someone to talk to. It wasn’t like people were dancing or anything. No. That would have been actually fun. So instead, Daniel simply focused on taking in everything going on around him. There were people talking in the booth closest to Daniel. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. Could’ve been some seedy business deal, could have been friends getting drinks. There was a man coming out of the bathroom. Could have been someone buying drugs, could have been a guy who needed to piss. There was a girl leaving the bar with a couple of guys. Could’ve been a prostitution ring, could’ve just been a girl ready to have a good time. There was nothing that really screamed crime, here, which was honestly creepier than if it was just a crime infested bar. Either way, this lead was a dead end. Another dead end.
And that was when he walked in.
It felt like everyone turned to look at him, when he walked in. It felt like the whole room fell silent, when he walked in. It felt like everyone stared at him, when he walked in. Obviously, they didn’t. It was just Daniel’s overactive imagination. No one person could actually make a bar, even a crappy one like this, go completely silent just by walking through the doors. Even if he was so hot he was unearthly. People couldn’t just do that. So, obviously, Daniel’s brain was just projecting. And, once he blinked a few times, the bar went back to normal, so yeah. It was just his brain. Nobody could actually make a room collectively hold their breath. Obviously. But if anyone could, it was probably this guy. God, he was good looking. And even from across the room, Daniel could tell that he was fucking loaded. Jesus christ.
Daniel couldn’t stop staring at the man, though. It was like he was a fucking- a fucking beacon, or something. Or maybe a car crash. Either way, Daniel found himself watching the guy as he made his way through the bar. He seemed to know literally everyone there, stopping at nearly every booth to chat with people. Or maybe he was just weirdly friendly. Either way, he was taking his sweet time, circling the room and chatting with people. He somehow had a drink in his hand, despite not going anywhere near the bar. Or having even spoken with a member of the staff. Daniel had no idea when he had gotten the glass, honestly. He had just blinked, and suddenly the guy was drinking something so expensive Daniel had no idea what it was.
The man kept moving, though, never stopping at one table for too long. Eventually, he disappeared from the room entirely. He slipped through a door in the back wall which Daniel hadn’t even known was a door. It looked exactly like the other fucking walls. Seriously, who the hell did the interior design of this place? Not that Daniel really cared about interior design. He more cared about the secret fucking room. What the hell is in there? Daniel wanted to know. But it looked pretty damn impossible to sneak in there, honestly. The door was kind of fucking in the centre of the room, and it wasn’t like Daniel could pretend he was looking for the bathroom, cuz the door didn’t even look like a door and-
And then the man sat down next to Daniel, and all of Daniel’s other thoughts completely disappeared.
He didn’t know what he had done to get this man’s attention. And, honestly, Daniel didn’t know if it was a good thing that he had gotten the man’s attention. He was staring at Daniel with so much fucking intensity, it was kind of like a high in and of itself. But Daniel wasn’t here for a high. Or a fuck. Even if he definitely wasn’t against something happening with this guy. He was here for a story. The story. The story of his fucking life. And, some sort of journalistic sense inside of Daniel was screaming that this guy was connected. He didn’t know how he was connected, exactly, but Daniel just knew that he was. Honestly, someone this rich and good looking, at a mafia bar of all places, had to be tied up in all this shit.
And even if he wasn’t tied up in all of this, Daniel wanted to talk to him anyway.
“Hi,” the man said, cutting off Daniel’s thoughts. “Like what you see?”
Oh, god. Daniel had been staring. Right. “Uh. Hi,” Daniel stuttered out.
“I’ve never seen you around here before,” the man said.
“You in the habit of memorising everyone who comes here?” Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow in question.
The man laughed. “We get a lot of regulars.”
“People actually come here more than once?” Daniel teased.
“It’s definitely an acquired taste,” the man admitted. “But it can be nice to have a more mature space to drink.”
“You’re telling me you don’t find too loud music and people grinding on each other to be mature?” Daniel quipped.
The man laughed again. “You’re funny, you know that?”
“I’ve been told that a few times,” Daniel said. “Along with annoying, frustrating, and stubborn as hell.”
“All admirable qualities,” the man said. He grinned, leaning closer. “I’m Louis.”
Daniel grinned back. “I’m Daniel.”
“Well, Danny,” Louis said. His knee nudged Daniel’s. “What brought you here?”
“I was trying out the whole ‘mature drinking’ thing,” Daniel said. “Got a bit bored of pounding music and flashing lights and all that.”
“And how are you finding ‘mature drinking’?” Louis asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.
Daniel leaned forward conspiratorially. His lips brushed Louis’ ear. “It’s fucking shit.”
“Well,” Louis said, leaning back with a laugh. “We can’t have that, can we? Wanna get out of here?”
“Yeah?” Daniel asked. “You got an idea in mind?”
“I got an in with the owner,” Louis told him. “And we can always have a drink in the backroom. You know, just the two of us.”
Was it smart for Daniel to follow Louis, a stranger who maybe worked for the mob, out of here, even if it was just to the backroom of the bar? Probably not. Not even a little bit, honestly. But a journalist didn’t get a Pulitzer by not taking risks. Not that Daniel knew anything about that, because he didn’t have a Pulitzer. Yet. He didn’t have a Pulitzer yet. Maybe this would be the story that finally launched him out of obscurity. Maybe this would be the story that finally meant that he could stop writing about car crashes and muggings and tornado watches, and finally write something hard hitting and meaningful. Maybe this would be the story that finally meant that he was a real journalist, and just a dumb kid with seven different addictions and no fucking point of view. Daniel could feel the story growing and growing and growing as he talked to Louis. It was like an itch inside of his skin. This could be the story of his fucking life, and all Daniel had to was follow Louis. Like that was a steep fucking price, and not something he’d probably do with or without a story.
“That sounds good,” Daniel said, a smile dancing on his lips.
“Good,” Louis said. He stood up from his stool. “Just give me a second to talk to someone, alright? And then we can head up.”
Daniel took one last sip of his grasshopper. “Cool, man. I’ll be here.”
Louis walked off. Daniel watched him walk over to a guy with deeply tanned skin and black, wavy hair. Who, side note, was also fucking hot.
Daniel slid his hand into his bag and turned on his tape recorder while Louis was distracted. It was good to have proof of their conversation. Especially if this was all a set up and Daniel got murdered or some shit.
“Alright,” Louis said, walking back to Daniel. “You ready?”
“Hell yeah,” Daniel said. He slipped off his barstool easily.
Louis smiled at him. “Come along, then,” he said, walking with purpose.
Daniel followed Louis not to the front door of the bar, but to the mystery door instead.
It turned out that the wall-that-really-was-a-door led to a backroom. Or, rather, a series of backrooms. There were a bunch of doors that Daniel had no clue what they led to, and people milling back there whispering to each other, and a huge staircase that Louis led Daniel up. He was fucking glad that he had turned his tape recorder on, because it kind of felt like he was about to get fucking murdered. But instead of being murdered, he was brought up to what was basically a full ass apartment, with its own bar and expensive looking chairs and what was presumably a bedroom in the back. There was a working fucking kitchen in there. Did Louis fucking live here? Daniel doubted it, because it was fucking tiny for someone who dressed that well. And besides, the place didn’t exactly look lived in. There was literally one piece of garbage in the trash can by the door, and it was a fucking gum wrapper.
But, whatever. Daniel sat down in one of the fancy fucking arm chairs, and took the drink that Louis offered him.
“This place is nice,” Daniel said, filling the empty silence.
“I meant it when I said you were funny, Danny,” Louis said. “I don’t meet a lot of funny people, these days.”
“Then you’re living life wrong, dude,” Daniel said, before he could really think. He was pretty sure he just insulted the mafia, but whatever.
“That’s what I mean,” Louis said. “Funny.”
“So you seriously brought me up here to talk?” Daniel asked, gesturing around to the apartment. “Is this not like- your super secret affairs apartment?”
“Super secret affairs apartment,” Louis said, slowly, like he was trying to process the words. “Who says it’s a secret?”
“The secret wall-door,” Daniel said, immediately.
Louis laughed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll give you that. I guess it is my super secret affairs apartment. But I don’t want to have an affair today.”
“Instead you want to talk to some shitty kid from Modesto?” Daniel asked. “Seriously?”
“I want to talk to someone who says shit like ‘super secret affair apartment’,” Louis said, with a bright smile on his face. “I want to talk to someone who doesn’t want to talk about business.”
Daniel forced himself not to feel upset that he wasn’t going to sleep with Louis. He was here for the story, dammit, not because Louis looked fucking great. Even though Louis did, objectively, look fucking great. He didn’t need to sleep with Louis to get the story. And besides, he wasn’t gay, really, so it didn’t matter that he didn’t get to sleep with Louis. It was fine. Even if Daniel wondered how Louis’ long fingers would feel in his hair, the story mattered more. The story was what Daniel was chasing. And Louis bringing him up here, wanting to talk, that was great for the story. Daniel could definitely get him to talk about shit he probably shouldn’t be saying, especially if they keep drinking whatever the hell this was. This was what he was good at, getting people to talk. Even if he was, also, good at getting on his knees. Right now, he needed to focus on the story. Right. The story.
“Yeah,” Daniel said, leaning back in the chair. “Okay. Talking sounds good.”
“I know it’s probably not what you thought what I meant, when I asked you to come up here,” Louis said. “But you’re just fun to talk to.”
“I’ll take my compliments where I can get ‘em,” Daniel said. “Although, I can guarantee that I am fun in other ways, too.”
Louis laughed, shaking his head. “You’re making it real hard for me to just talk to you, Danny.”
“That’s my goal,” Daniel quipped. “But seriously. I’m good just to talk. As much as I was complaining about the weird bar downstairs, I can be mature.”
Louis raised an eyebrow. “Can you really?”
“Yes,” Daniel said, crossing his arms defensively. “I can.”
“Sure,” Louis said, definitely not believing Daniel.
“I’m serious!” Daniel said. “I can be mature. I just choose not to be.”
Louis laughed. “Yeah, alright.”
“Whatever,” Daniel said. “Now, come on, just tell me: what kinda life are you living where you’d rather talk with the random guy you meet at a bar than fuck?”
“Real estate is fucking boring,” Louis replied.
Daniel could tell that wasn’t the real answer, but it was close. He just had to keep digging. “Yeah? Too many wood panel walls and conversation pits?”
“More like too many stupid people who are convinced they know how real estate works,” Louis said. “People can be tiring.”
“So your way to fix that was to- talk to somebody else,” Daniel said. “A stranger.”
“Yeah, but you’re not stupid,” Louis said.
Daniel laughed. “Lots of people would disagree with you there.”
“Nah,” Louis said. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re smart. Stubborn, impulsive, don’t know when to quit, maybe, but not stupid.”
“Thanks,” Daniel said. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He needed to get the conversation back to Louis. “But, seriously, how stupid can people in real estate be?”
“You can’t even imagine, Danny,” Louis said. He shook his head again. “The people I work with are idiots. Every day, the same problems.”
“You work with the same people all the time?” Daniel asked, feigning ignorance. “I thought real estate was like- a solo thing.”
“I sell a lot of land to this conglomerate,” Louis said. “Handle all their land dealings.”
Daniel forced himself not to smile. God, he was getting close. So fucking close. “And that sucks?”
“It’s good money,” Louis said. “More money than fucking anything. But god, are the people annoying.”
“All of them?” Daniel asked.
“Almost all of them,” Louis admitted. “My sister used to work with me, and she was- Well, she’s my sister. You have any siblings, Danny?”
“No,” Daniel admitted. “No siblings. It was just me growing up.”
“Then you probably don’t get it,” Louis said. “But even when you hate your sibling, you love them.”
“Right,” Daniel said. He- sort of got it. No, that was a lie, he didn’t fucking get it at all. But he wasn’t here to talk about siblings. “Anyone else you don’t completely despise? Someone who actually still works with you, maybe?”
“Armand,” Louis said, softly. “He- you saw him downstairs.”
“The hot one?” Daniel asked, without thinking. God, he really had no filter.
Louis laughed. “Yeah, the hot one. We’re- something. Companions, maybe. Close, definitely.”
“He work in real estate too?” Daniel asked.
“Fuck no,” Louis said. “If I hate this, he’d fucking tear his hair out. He’s- I don’t know. A businessman, slash artist, slash aspiring interior designer.”
“Aspiring interior designer?” Daniel asked. And then something clicked. “You mean- is he responsible for whatever the fuck is going on downstairs?”
“It’s not that bad,” Louis said, immediately. Like a reflex.
Daniel stared at Louis.
“Yeah, okay,” Louis admitted. “It’s pretty bad.”
“Give a hundred monkeys a La-Z-Boy catalogue and they’d design something better,” Daniel quipped.
Louis laughed again. “God, you’re not wrong. But at least it’s better than his other job-” he started, before cutting himself off. “The other things he designed. There’s this one dentist’s office that is stuck looking like an Athenian temple. It’s bad, Danny. So bad.”
“Damn,” Daniel said. “How the hell do you even do that?”
“God, I don’t know,” Louis said. “But I love him anyway.”
“How’d you meet?” Daniel asked.
“This job,” Louis said. “It always comes back to this job, doesn’t it? Damn, that’s bleak. But, whatever. He’s high up, in the business end of things. And we met, and I hated his fucking guts.”
Daniel’s fingers itched for his notepad.
He wanted to write down each of Louis’ facial expressions, and pauses, and glances. He wanted to fucking devour each of the little hidden meanings behind all of Louis’ word choices and coughs and when he chose to take a sip of his, admittedly fucking good, scotch. He wanted to start investigating the name Louis mentioned, Armand, and the sister and- God, he wanted to investigate every single word Louis said. Open up a fucking dictionary and thesaurus and phone book as he spoke. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even tell Louis that his tape recorder was in his bag. Hell, Louis didn’t even know that Daniel was a reporter. Because, well, the mob and reporters didn’t really mix. And even if Louis didn’t seem all that happy with wherever he was in the mob, Daniel wasn’t going to dig his own grave by saying that he was a fucking reporter. Besides, he needed to make it out of here so he could actually write this story. Because Daniel could fucking tell, this was his story. The story. The story he needed to really take off as a journalist. Daniel grinned into his glass, as he listened to Louis talk, and talk, and talk, completely oblivious to the tape recorder whirring away in Daniel’s bag.
“And then what happened?” Daniel asked.