For Jim Moriarty

[the_story_teller]

Richard's found himself in the bar again, which is something he seems to be doing more and more these days. It throws him off his guard a bit less each time it happens, and takes him less time to adjust to suddenly not being where he's meant to be.

And at least this time, he's himself, so the risk of getting sucker-punched and getting a second black eye to match the first is, in theory, smaller.

Today, he was on his way home from a rehearsal for a small show he's in when the bar found him. Once over the initial brief shock at walking into his flat and finding not his flat, Richard makes his way up to the Bar and orders a coffee before settling down to read one of the books he'd recently picked up. He's already finished the first one and is about halfway through the second, determined to find the story where his name comes up.

He's starting to think it's going to prove Mr Moriarty right and never come up at all.

Comments

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim eyes him.

"Behaving like prey, my dear, just makes the predator want to pounce even more."

Rich had been doing so well with that in these past few minutes, too.

"People ask me to do crimes for them. If they're not boring crimes, I do them. If they're exciting, I don't even charge. It's a hobby, not a living."

[the_story_teller]

"Sorry," he says, though he only seems to tense up even more.

"So then what do you do for a living?"

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim gives him a long, long look.



"I did mention the massive international criminal network, didn't I? Or did I hallucinate that part of the conversation?"

[the_story_teller]

"Well, you said..."

Jim isn't exactly playing fair here, but Richard doesn't know how to call him out on it.

"I'm not going out of my way to annoy you. I'm just trying to understand."

[searchingfordistraction]

"I assumed you'd understand that I make a substantial profit from it."

He does frequently misjudge what should be obvious to even the thickest of ordinary people, but honestly.

"It's what I do so I can afford the interesting things. It's my job."

[the_story_teller]

"Yeah, but..." He's trying. He really is. It's just not the sort of thing he understands quite so automatically as other things.

"OK, so you charge for the boring ones, then? And the ones that are interesting enough to be reward enough on their own, you just do because they're fun?"

[searchingfordistraction]

"The boring ones I ignore," he corrects. "It's a luxury I don't have with my little empire, so I exercise it as much as I like with my hobby. Do you need that again in smaller words?"

[the_story_teller]

Something's not adding up. Something obvious.

"No. No," he says. "Let me make a complete hash of this on my own so you don't even have to bother insulting me.

"What are you doing when you're not engaged in your hobby? I guess that's what I'm trying to ask."

Christ, even he doesn't even know anymore.

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim is just going to stare at him for a while now.

[the_story_teller]

"Shut up. I don't know."

OK, Jim didn't actually say anything, but this has suddenly just become exhausting.

[searchingfordistraction]

Rather abruptly, Jim reaches over to swipe Richard's band from him.

And if it happens to look a bit like a lunge, that's because he meant it to.

[the_story_teller]

Richard damn near jumps out of his seat when Jim goes for him. And even if Jim didn't actually make any contact with him, it's still an effective lesson which puts Richard right back to twitchy and avoiding eye contact.

"Sorry," he says quietly.

[searchingfordistraction]

"Just think," Jim snaps. "I realize that's a virtual impossibility for you" - he understands that better than ever now, in fact - "but at least try."

He gets up and goes to put the bands back in their display.

[the_story_teller]

Richard can't exactly imagine what some master criminal might actually do. Somehow forging paintings or massive jewel heists doesn't exactly seem like the sort of thing people actually do in real life.

"Forget it," Richard says. "I guess it's not important."

[searchingfordistraction]

It only takes Jim a few seconds to replace the bands, but when he comes back and resumes his seat, he's entirely composed once more.

"That's something else for your notebook," he says. "What's obvious to us isn't to ordinary people. It can be difficult to compensate for."

Difficult, and frustrating.

[the_story_teller]

"OK. Thank you," Richard says automatically as he writes that down.

He's still on edge, and ready to bolt if Jim jumps at him again.

[searchingfordistraction]

Deliberately, Jim relaxes into his chair, the very picture of someone with no intention of jumping anywhere any time soon.

"If you try to drive your motorcycle slowly enough for someone using a cane to keep up, your engine will stall."

Which is a vast oversimplification, but useful for metaphorical purposes.

"My engine just stalled."

[the_story_teller]

"I'll work on that," Richard says.

Whether he means in the terms of the character, or in trying to actually keep up with Jim remains unsaid.

[searchingfordistraction]

"Good," Jim murmurs.

It could be in reply to either one.

Or both.

Or something Richard doesn't even realize he might have said with that.

[the_story_teller]

Richard spends a long time looking at his notes.

"I'm not a criminal," he points out. "I don't know how to think like one. I wouldn't even begin to know what to do. If I had a script, this would be different, but I don't. It's all improv. Which I can do, but I have to have the right motivation or the whole thing falls apart."

[searchingfordistraction]

Jim appears to consider this.

"You'd be amazed how often my job looks like that of any other business owner. Cocaine or cars, it doesn't always make a difference. There's paperwork, business relationship to maintain, employees to keep happy, other employees to - motivate . . . I can delegate most of the tedious tasks and the dirty work, but some of it requires a more personal touch."

[the_story_teller]

A very small part of Richard is almost curious enough to ask what 'personal touch' that might be. The rest of him is sane enough to ignore that question completely.

"Doesn't that leave a trail?" he asks instead. "Back to you, I mean. The paperwork?"

[searchingfordistraction]

He does have to put in an appearance every now and then. There are people who are important enough to broker deals with face-to-face, and they get so difficult when they think he's being disrespectful.

And yes, of course, there are the other "personal touch" obligations, too. Those are usually a little more fun.

"Most of it's obfuscation," he says. "A little web of legal businesses to keep the boring parts of the government happy. The rest of it's the kind of paperwork that doesn't go on paper and doesn't stick around for very long."

[the_story_teller]

Richard nods. He still doesn't quite follow what he means, but it is a bit more clear now. Less James Bond and more shady pawn broker, by the sounds of it. He even writes this down.

"OK. Thank you. I think that helps."

[searchingfordistraction]

"Good," Jim says again. It's a slow, lazy drawl this time. His gaze is wandering around the room in a way that might look casual but really, really isn't. He's thinking ahead to later, categorizing which items in the room he wants to look at first, estimating which he can break down and put back together, which he can break down and improve, and which he will merely break.