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It’s a habit now, Warren realized. Weekends are filled with nothing but newfound habits. Long hallways and the aching curiosity to explore each and every corner. He’s memorized most of the mansion now. It’s almost difficult to remember that it’s not his in the first place. Warren wonders what it would’ve been like to grow up in such a wonderful house. To play with Minnie and maybe not worry about his father’s anger. A fruitless thought, but he still entertains it.
Bee isn’t even surprised all that much anymore when Warren shows up randomly. Sometimes he’s not even there. Out committing crimes, Warren supposes, or just eating at the café. Speaking of the café, the teen chef, Arthur, was beginning to earn his stripes. Practice makes perfect, or rather, it builds some much-needed confidence.
Warren slides a hand down a stunning portrait of a young woman. He doesn’t recognize her and vaguely wonders if Bee would. A distant family member? She does have roughly the same hair color. Her lips are also a similar shape; however the bridge of her nose is different. He guesses she might be a great aunt or cousin.
He hears soft footsteps, and it jolts him out of his thoughts. Warren turns to find Bee. He’s smirking in a weird way, suspicious. He notices small splotches of blood decorating Bee’s collar and grimaces.
“Who’d you kill?” The words slip out of Warren’s mouth before he could stop them. Impulses are truly the bane of his existence.
“You’re a detective, aren’t ya? Figure it out.”
“It’ll be in the news tomorrow, just tell me.”
“No fun.”
Warren gave him a callous look. “I don’t have the time to investigate every single heinous act you dare commit. It is not beneath me to wait for the goddamn newspaper.”
Bee pouted in a way that was far too childish for his large stature. “Ya wound me, Warren.”
“Good.”
Warren stifled a satisfied smirk and turned back to the portrait on the wall. The woman stared back at him, just as vacant as before. He tried to imagine any other expression on her painted face. Nothing: not a smile, grimace, or even so much as a glare. He’d never had much of an imagination, but damn, this was pathetic even for his standards.
He turned back to his irritating onlooker: “Care to enlighten me on this canvased lady?”
“Not a chance, I give ya one hint and suddenly you’ll my entire family history.”
“Worth a try.” Warren shrugged.
Bee tilted his head to the side as if analyzing him. “What brings ya here? Don’t ya have work?”
“If you dared pay attention to any of Minnie and I’s conversations, you’d know that she hired another cook and that it’s my day off.”
“Oh please, y’all aren’t that interestin’. I’ve got much better things to do that worry about whether ya do or don’t work.”
Warren blinked at him, holding his gaze for a few seconds. Then he turned tail, tucking his hands deep into his coat pockets, and walked back down the hallway.
Bee frowned. “Where ya goin’? I wasn’t done talkin’ to ya.”
“Conversations are two-way streets!” Warren called, speeding up. “I no longer feel like bothering with you.” He continued down the corridor, making it to a fork in the road and turning right. Bee could hear his soft footsteps as he carried on.
“Not even if I had somethin’ to offer?” Bee called, the sound a deeply southern timbre. It was an olive branch, or possibly even a dare. Whatever the case, the footsteps ceased for a moment, as if thinking, then resumed. Bee clicked his tongue, admitting defeat, but then a head full of fluffy black hair peered at him from around the corner.
“And what is it that you of all people would have to offer me?”
Bee shrugged. “Good question, whaddaya want?”
“Ah yes, a man who as everything—or so he says—proposing that I can have ‘whatever my heart desires,’ as if you don’t have some nefarious plot underneath it all.” Warren monologued sarcastically. “How dare you peg me as the type of person that would even consider making a deal with someone that might as well be the devil? Do you not recall how we met? I mean, come on! Nothing about that was—”
“Darlin’ you talk way too much.” Bee walked down the hall to meet him, long legs carrying him swiftly along. For a second Warren considered running, just to see if Bee, ever the big man he is, would be able to catch him; but before he had made a decision, the hellion was upon him.
Bee wrapped a thick arm around his shoulder and leaned in close: “In the time it took ya to say all that, I can up with a mighty fine game to play. Ever heard a hide-and-seek?”
“I am not six, Bee, and I will not be playing hide-and-seek with you.”
“Aww c’mon ya haven’t even heard what ya get from it!”
Warren tried, and failed, to escape from Bee’s grasp. The man just wouldn’t budge. So, he crossed his arms and threw his head back in a groan of defeat. “Fucking fine, what are the rules?”
“Only two, stay hidden for three hours, and don’t leave the mansion.”
Warren cracked his knuckles, thinking about all the possible spaces to stow away in. “What am I rewarded with when I win?”
Bee grinned something competitive and terrible. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up yet detective. You can have whatever ya want, like I said before. I’ll start once I’m in my office, so ya have until then to hide.” He unwound his arm from around Warren’s shoulder, giving him a small wink. Then he meandered up the hall towards his station.
Now that he was alone, Warren was free to go anywhere. He quickly ran any convenient spots through his head, hoping that one of them would at least be somewhat decent. He recalled a hallway in the far west wing that was absolutely crowded with a random assortment of items. He’d found it a whole back while Bee wasn’t home, so he wasn’t able to find out exactly what its purpose was. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume that the man was a hoarder. On top of his already terrible list of grievances, Warren found that idea truly detestable. Either way, it was a prime spot to disappear in.
Warren sprinted down the corridors, using well-known landmarks to guide his way. In his search for knowledge and tips on Bee’s origins, he’d been unable to come up with a floor plan of the entire manor. There were some areas that had been mapped out: the kitchen, foyer, and office area, but others had been left out, no doubt by Bee’s orders. The man was mysterious in ways that Warren found equal parts irritating and intriguing.
He soon arrived upon the start of the ‘junkyard’ as Warren decided to call it. Pieces of old machinery were scattered throughout the hall. Some rusted, others in almost mint condition. He slid his hand across the top of one, noticing that it didn’t have a single speck of dust on its cool metal surface. Someone had been down there recently. What for? Now that was the true mystery.
Further down the hall, the items transition from tattered metal to beaten woodwork. Wardrobes, stools, tables, cabinets, and even the lone spindle(Why Bee had that one, not even Warren could guess). There were all manners of wooden paraphernalia crowded against the wall, all but obstructing his path. Warren considered stowing away in one of the wardrobes but figured that might be too obvious. He’d never been the best at playing this game in his youth, always picking spots that were unideal and conspicuous. Sometimes he’d even end up contemplating where to hole up and would accidentally let time run out. Not this occasion though, no. He was going to win. There was far too much on the line to even consider a loss.
He reached the end of the wooden section, and stopped to cogitate about whether he should continue forward or find an obscurity where he was. He hummed to himself and cracked his knuckles, eyes scanning the area for anything of use. Just as he made a decision, he caught a flash of light buried in all the clutter.
- - - - -
Bee was a lot of things: an atrocious person—first and foremost—a businessman, a con artist, a terrible influence, a murderer, but not and idiot. Never an idiot. He played his cards with the wisdom of a person far older than him, maybe even a god. He never missed any detail no matter how inconspicuous or enigmatic. So, how the fuck was it that he lost sight of that pain-in-the-ass detective; especially when he cheated in the first place.
Well maybe ‘cheated’ was a strong word. Withholding information, technically isn’t deceiving someone, even if it is to your benefit. So, Bee neglecting to mention the pseudo-camera system he had developed and placed in every single room of the building wasn’t cheating. No. It was simply using his resources. Not that it mattered anyway, because Warren was nowhere to be fucking found.
Bee considered the idea that he’d just up and left, then quickly scratched it. His counterpart was determined beyond anyone he’d met in years. He’d dropped everything last time Bee offered even a speck of information, then spent months searching every damn archive in existence. If Bee was anyone else, he’d be disturbed, maybe even scared, but he is not and is instead, massively aroused. He is also not going to explain his complicated feelings to the likes of you.
He flipped through his fuzzy screens, barely able to make out anything at all. Beyond that though, he knew his mansion by heart and would be well aware if anything was out of place. Which is why it was so concerning that he was unable to find a singular man. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. There was only one room in his entire manor that was not under surveillance. The one fucking room that he hoped Warren would be incapable of finding.
Bee slid a hand down his face and gnawed on his bottom lip. “Jesus Christ you’d better not be in my goddamn factory.”
- - - - -
Warren now knew where each of the pieces of junk had come from, and holy shit was it spectacular.
Bee had been concealing a massive factory under his manor, and the worst part about it was the tremendous condition it was in. Warren had seen his fair share of factories, especially living in the rise of what people were calling the ‘Industrial Revolution.’ He’d grown up watching new inventions come out of the woodwork and had even done a bit of industry work as a child and knew just how unlivable those grand buildings could be. Seeing something as clean as this, was a blessing. A truly revolutionary way of running a plant. It was such a goddamn shame the man who made it was a murderer.
He took conscientious steps down a dark hallway, shoes clacking noisily against the petal floor. Every once and a while he’d come across a wide window that would reveal hundreds of employees laboring away on a variety of different projects. One group was manufacturing what looked like highly specialized guns, another building something out of thick steel. There was even a sector creating small boxes nails, which, given Bee’s line of work, was odd.
Warren noticed a light at the end of the hallway and sped up, clanking and soldering noises growing louder. He reached the aperture and his eyes squinted slight at the newfound luminosity. But what he saw… oh it was stunning. The facility was massive, beyond anything he’d seen before, and to think it was all underground. Warren slid his hands along polished steel handrails and carefully leaned over to see what laid below him.
Hundreds of thousands of feet down there were workers of all shapes and sizes. They, like the ones Warren had observed walking in, were all adorned with faded cobalt coveralls. Some wore lustrous orange hard hats, while others had complicated looking googles. They remained in their separate squadrons, each procuring their own separate items to meddle with. It was perfect order, each and every person exactly where they should be; the production line moving with maximum efficiency.
He looked up, his head suddenly swimming with unadulterated dread. He swallowed, staggered away, then crouched down in the middle most portion of the walk. He gasped in deep heaving breaths, steering himself off the cusp of a panic attack. How the ever-loving fuck was he going to take Bee down? Scratch that. He was never even going to make it out of this manor alive. He’d stepped across the one mother-fucking line that was going to sign his death sentence. There was no escape, and when Bee found him…
Warren gently clapped his hands against his face, groaning loudly. He belatedly wondered if the workers below him had heard his woes, but decided it was unimportant. Taking a few more jittered breaths, Warren steeled himself just enough to stand. Then to take a few tentative steps further down the walkway. Then down the stairs until he was on the second floor, this time surrounded by people.
None of them so much as spared him a glance, to the point that Warren wondered if they had truly even noticed him at all. Then, a young man, hardly even fifteen, snuck a shy peek. He smiled in return, but the boy had already whipped away, blushing furiously. Odd, but certainly not unwelcome. It was better this way. The last thing Warren wanted was to get caught so soon, or at all really.
Deeper into the complex, Warren began to realize that most of the workers were now creating convoluted parts. He peered over the shoulders of a few workers—they tried to hide their discomfort, but it was Warren’s job to pick up on subtle cues—to discern what exactly it was that they were composing, but it was fruitless. He had never been particularly mechanically inclined(courtesy of his late grandfather who had never enjoyed such things)and he was beginning to regret not, at least, perusing some kind of leaflet on the matter. Nonetheless, he was at a loss and merely continued moving into the depths of the factory.
- - - - -
Spending an hour wandering around the underground lair his maybe-but-not-really arch-nemesis was certainly something that Warren did not see himself doing in any amount of his lifetime. However, after probing the place with a detective’s eye and realizing that there wasn’t anything suspicious, he came to the realization that maybe it wasn’t really a lair at all, and that Bee was actually just an incredibly misguided businessman. Then he saw it, and every doubt he’d had washed away.
The damn thing was massive, so large that Warren wondered if it’d even be possible to transport it outside of the manor once it was finished. Bee, of course, more than likely already fashioned some semblance of a plan though. It was a mechanism of great proportions, looking slightly humanoid but far too clunky to truly meet that standard. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, a robot maybe? It certainly had hands and the likes, but it wasn’t quite at the cusp of being functional. All the same, it was dangerous and right up Bee’s alley. It only made sense that he’d be manufacturing some super weapon. What for? Warren hadn’t the slightest clue.
He did, however, have the intense urge to go and ask about it. Maybe that would be his request once he won their little game. No, probably not. He was looking to find out something more important, and most of all, useful. Preferably a name, any name would do really. All Warren needed was one of Bee’s ancestors and he’d be able to figure out who exactly the man was, and his purpose for being here. Warren pulled the face of a watch out of one of his coat pockets and checked the time: an hour and twenty minutes to go.
Just off the chest plate of the robot-thing, Warren noticed a strange looking box with a window in it. A room, he presumed. He searched for a way to get up there, eyes eventually settling on a series of aluminum ladders. He wandered over, carefully avoiding any employees(though they really didn’t care about his existence), and began his ascent.
They were tall things, the metal cool against his hands. He caught the sharp scent of bleach and wondered why exactly these needed to be cleaned so regularly. He glanced over at workers soldering long metal slices onto the machine. They were meticulous about it and clearly experienced. As they should be, Bee wouldn’t hire anything less than perfection. There was something off about these people though. Instead of the usual blank stare that Warren had been receiving, these men and women locked eyes completely. They glared at him, more than likely actually concerned by his whereabouts. He merely avoided their gaze and swiftly climbed the ladders.
When he reached the top, the first thing he was met with was a thick metal door. Warren gently slid his hand along it, then wrapped his knuckles against the frame. Pure metal, heavy as fuck and damn near impenetrable. He gripped the handle, turned, then threw his entire body weight against it. Good news: it wasn’t locked. Bad news: he literally couldn’t open more than three inches.
It was clear that the room was slanted, seeing as the door would close on its own with a loud ‘clunk’ whenever it was left open. Warren gave it a few more tries, almost taking a finger off in the process, but after ten minutes he gave up. He stared at the metal blockade, arms crossed, a firm grimace carved into his face.
Warren found it highly improbable that someone even as herculean as Bee, was able to open it all the way. Maybe just enough to squeeze inside, but where was the practicality in that? There was clearly some manner of mechanisms that pulled it open.
He ran his hands along the walls, feeling for anything out of place. There was nothing for a while, just smooth cool metal plates. Then he came across a small metal switch, and the door was open. It didn’t last long, barely giving him more than a minute to jog over there and slip inside, but it was enough.
The box-like room was filled to the brim with papers: blueprints, bills, orders, letters, even some particularly incriminating legal documents. It was a jackpot, exactly what he needed. He might not even require Bee’s favor to answer his questions. Instead, he could make the man pay his bills for the rest of his life, or, better yet, make him turn himself in. End his entire scheme right then and there with a few words. Warren grinned to himself and shuffled through the pages.
There wasn’t anything terribly useful. He found a few documents signed with a set of initials that could prove beneficial for the future and folded one of them into a coat pocket. A case file, laden with thick dust, sat neatly on top of a filing cabinet. Inside were some juicy details about a court case the ended abruptly on account of the judge being murdered. Coincidentally, the next folder was packed with all manners of information about the same judge’s day-to-day life. He seized a few pieces of parchment from there as well.
He browsed carefully through hundreds of assorted papers, pocketing what was necessary and leaving the rest. He was sure Bee would inevitably notice the missing papers, but that was the least of his worries. Especially when he heard a loud crackle of static from outside.
Warren opened the door—well, he really just pressed a button, that thing was still way too fucking heavy—and stepped back onto the plated metal walkway. It clinked under his feet, and he looked down to see hundreds of workers staring up at him. Then from some sort of technological device he heard an unmistakable voice:
“Good evening’ y’all, I believe there might be a straggler down here that doesn’t belong. His name’s Warren: he’s got black hair, green eyes, and should stick out like a sore thumb. If ya see him, grab him and take him to me immediately. First group to catch him gets a raise. Good luck.”
Then the voice cut off with another shock of static, and Warren was aware of just how quiet the factory had grown…
He looked down at the workers below him, hundreds of beady eyes meeting his. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he spoke: “Would it be unreasonable to plead for mercy?”
A woman shook her head at him and called back: “No, but we’re still gonna catch ya anyway.”
“Thanks.” Warren grumbled, cracking his knuckles and searching around for some plausible plan of escape. After all, it wasn’t over until Bee had him, and they still have forty-five minutes left in the game. He spotted a particularly stable looking cord that might very well hold his weight should he grab it. Just as he considered his odds, a soft clanking sound rang out from behind him.
He whipped around, barely avoiding the strong arms of a random worker. The man had jumped from above and was just off balance enough for Warren to knock him over. The detective smashed his hand into the switch that opens the metal door, feeling it snap under his aggression. He raced inside, safe from grabbing hands. But those hands were not safe from the door. Which was exactly why Warren bit his tongue when a severed hand dropped to the floor as the metal contraption clinked shut.
“Holy fucking shit,” he heaved, “I am so fucking sorry!”
The man on the other side just screamed, too indisposed to even consider his apology. Warren leaned against a filing cabinet and took several well-needed deep breaths. As soon as his heart rate dropped enough to function, he looked for an alternate escape route.
He found it in what looked like a sort of elevator shaft. It wasn’t as polished as the rest of the items in the factory, leading him to believe that this room wasn’t used all that often. All the same, it was still in decent enough shape and Warren was able to get the control panel working. There were only two buttons: up and down. He figured that Bee was more than likely above him, so he firmly pressed the down arrow and the lift jolted alive.
He went down slowly, hyper aware of every small sound emanating from the metal around him. He could still hear the banging against the metal door from the room above. Warren had clearly broken the switch, otherwise he’d have been found ten times over already.
The further down he went the more he auscultated. He noticed when the common noises shifted from soldering to the banging of metal against metal. The temperature also rose, and he knew he was in the presence of a furnace. Of course, the metal had to come from somewhere, why not your own personal smelting machine? He really hated Bee right about now.
It was beginning to get so hot that Warren genuinely considered removing his coat. That, of course, was refuted given the necessity for free hands. When the lethargic elevator came to a complete stop, Warren finally came face to face with a scene that was more stereotypical for a factory.
Leagues below the earth, with hundreds of layers stacked on top of it, lied the dirtiest portion of the factory. It was covered in metal scraps and plumes of dust; the air itself almost painful to breathe. He brought the upper side of his coat to his mouth to alleviate some of the stress on his lungs. There was no way in hell he could stay down there for much more than ten minutes.
He carefully maneuvered down the walkways. The metal under his feet creaked dangerously with each step. Underneath, there was more of the same rusted scaffolding littered with soil and scrapped metal. He spotted a conglomeration of workers whose faces were covered with heavy gas masks. It probably meant the air was toxic beyond mere dust, more than likely methane. Warren coughed lightly, the air rattling in his lungs. He spotted another elevator, this one clearly new and well maintained, and quickly got on.
The ride back up was much faster than the decent, whether that be perception or otherwise. He stared out at the cacophony of metal structures; the shift from clean to rusted an ombré of observable age. Warren couldn’t tell if the lower stages were unkempt on account of the age or if Bee just hadn’t gotten around to renovating it. Either way, there was something comforting about knowing such a powerful and cruel man was at least trying to better off his employees.
The farther he ascended, the more people appeared, and each and every one of them noticed his presence. They stared at him with hungry eyes and calculated exactly how to capture him. Which is exactly why Warren bolted off the lift as soon as it stopped, leaving no time for anyone to get within even a ten-foot range of him.
Like the rest of his journey had gone, he had absolutely no idea where he was going; but he had seen what was below, so now the only way to head was up. Up and up and up and up.
He had climbed seven stories in fifteen minutes with an angry mob of workers chasing him. They all had a murderous look in their eyes, just enough for Warren to actually fear for his life. He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time: ten minutes. Ten fucking minutes. He was almost out of there.
So, he kept running, jumping, dodging, sliding, doing anything he possibly could to escape. He could feel his legs beginning to grow tired, lungs aching with every breath. He evaded a burly looking man to his right that had almost gotten a hold of the end of his coat. A woman to his left swung a metal pipe at his kneecaps; he jumped it and kept going. One person actually had a goddamn sparking wire and was mere inches away from sending Warren sprawling to the ground in convulsions. But nobody had caught him, and he was five minutes away from victory.
Which is precisely why it was so fucking infuriating when he rounded the corner and smashed face first into the one man he was avoiding.
Warren had hit him hard; hard enough that he knocked Bee three steps backward and sent himself a foot in the air, only to land back on the floor with a loud clang. His back ached from the metal, and he was pretty sure his elbow was bleeding, but all of that was frivolous in comparison to the massive fucking mistake he’d just made. Especially with the vehement sneer Bee glared down at him with.
Warren let his head fall back into the alloy below him and sighed. Then the exhaustion hit him all at once. Everything he was ignoring before became unbearable; he could hardly breathe, let alone speak, and his legs ached with the ferociousness of a gun wound. He closed his eyes, not wanting to view the irate man before him.
“Have ya had your fun?” Bee derided, “Because ya caused a LOT a fuckin’ trouble, and now your gonna pay the price.”
Another sigh, but Warren remained on the floor.
“It’s hard to threaten ya when you're layin’ on the floor.”
“Just give me a second,” Warren wheezed.
A low grumble left Bee’s lips; Warren not quite able to make out his words. Then he bent down, grabbed Warren by the waist, and tossed him easily over his shoulder. It was uncomfortable, but shifting around was near impossible with Bee’s hand keeping a firm hold on the back of his thighs.
“I dunno what made ya think it was a good idea to run around my factory like a goddamn lunatic. It’s dangerous for you and my operators. Ya ruined their shifts.”
Warren tiredly pushed his torso off Bee’s back in an attempt to look him in the eye. “The bigger problem is that there’s a massive factory in your fucking basement.”
Bee clicked his tongue. “Where else am I supposed to run a engineerin’ empire? In my attic?”
“I detest you.”
“The feelin’s mutual.”
Warren flopped back down, the slight tingle of blood rushing to his head prickling his cheeks. He needed a nap. “I almost beat you.”
“True, ya would’ve if I hadn’t cheated.”
“So that was the catch…” Warren hummed, crossing his arms and resting his head against them. It was a bit hard to do, gravity and all. “I knew you had something or other up your sleeve.”
“Ya don’t even know how I did it, but your already all high and mighty.”
“Oh please,” Warren scoffed, “I’m not stupid. You’re the CEO of an illegal manufacturing company that also murders people for fun. There was obviously some kind of mechanism behind your confidence.”
“How clever.”
“That’s me.”
Bee went up a flight of stairs, each step jolting Warren painfully into his shoulder. He braced himself up once more and elbowed the back of Bee’s head. It wasn’t a particularly hard blow, but the man still growled in warning.
“Do that again and I’ll drop ya.”
“Drop me and I’ll run.”
Bee clicked his tongue yet again. The sound beginning to grate on Warren’s ears.
“I deserve compensation.” Warren announced, lifting himself back up to look back at his captor. “It’s in your best interest to give it to me.”
Bee gave him a low chuckle, the hand on Warren’s thigh squeezing him lightly. The other man stifled a yelp but kept quiet otherwise. “Fine, I’ll bite. Waddaya want?”
“Your full, truthful name would be an excellent start.”
“That’s a hefty prize for someone who lost, dontcha think?
Warren huffed loudly. “Fine, name of your company. No lies allowed.”
“People call it the Honeycomb.”
The detective suppressed his laughter, but it was ineffective. Bee merely glared, though it was without any true heat. He too, seemed to understand the irony at it all.
“I know it’s a dumb fuckin’ name, but I didn’ come up with it. My uncles the one who comes up with this kinda stuff. We know better than ta go against him.”
“So, you, Bee, run the Honeycomb. Am I to assume that your cohorts also have names adjacent to their professions?”
Bee shook his head. “Nah, mine’s more of a coincidence. Y’know it’s not spelled with any ‘e’s right?”
“I know what it stands for, if that’s what you’re asking. Even so, there’s no way in hell I’m not spelling it without ‘e’s. It’s just too funny.”
“It’s not that funny.”
“Agree to disagree.”
There was a long moment of silence derived by a group of employees walking passed. They avoided Bee’s gaze as though even one look would shatter every bone in their bodies. Warren merely opened his eyes and waved saucily(he caught the eye of a young woman that had dared to glance back at him; the blush on her cheeks was all but priceless).
“I’ll make a deal with ya,” Bee tempted. Warren caught the beginning of a wolfish grin at the corner of his lip.
“And what would that be?”
“I’ll give ya my true full name…” He peered back at Warren, eyes sparkling with amusement. “If ya become my personal chef.”
“Oh, go to hell.”
- - - - -
Being carried back to his maybe-but-not-really arch-nemesis’s office was not the most comfortable thing Warren had ever experienced; but frankly, neither was being dropped onto an expensive—NOT comfy—couch, with about the same amount of grace as a pigeon learning to ice skate. All the same, he couldn’t really complain seeing as he was, in fact, not dead(which is the true miracle).
“You could’ve at least been a bit more considerate.” Warren griped, shifting to make himself more comfortable. His legs ached something terrible and his lungs were still protesting from his gallivanting beforehand.
“I could say the same to you. Most guests ask before wanderin’ into unknown rooms.” Bee poured himself a short glass of whiskey. “But you're not really a guest, are ya?”
“If I was, wouldn’t I be in a coffin right about now?”
“That woulda been upta you.”
“So you say…” Warren tilted his head to watch as Bee tipped the glass back and downed the rest of his drink. The burn would’ve made any lesser man flinch. “I need to return to my apartment before Minnie calls and demands to know my whereabouts.”
Bee gave him a jokingly judgmental frown. “What, is she your mother?”
“No, but I certainly don’t like worrying her.” Warren hoisted himself up from the couch, groaning slightly as he did so. It had been a while since he’d participated in such an intense activity. He stretched his back and heard a gallingly emphatic pop that he promptly ignored.
Bee was so kind as to escort him to the door, a hand resting gently on his upper back. “You’re a good man Warren, make sure ta look both ways before ya cross the street.”
Warren slipped out into the hallway and glanced back at him with a sly smile. “As if you could hit me with a car if you even tried.”
Bee grinned that same, utterly amused upturning of lips, and expeditiously slammed the door in his face.