The Porcelain Doll

Who Could Love a Plaything?

"How much do you know about the Holmes brothers, if I may ask?" Greg wondered at last, releasing another long puff of smoke and eyeing John with a peculiar curiosity. By now this wasn't so much of an invitation, more like a casual inquiry. John cleared his throat a little bit, finding this question very easy to answer.
"Not much at all." he stammered. It was the regretful truth, even though John had lived within their walls now for a little over a month. He knew their children, knew their family, and yet aside from their faces and names he was lost. The Holmes family was deliberately secretive, owing perhaps to their many secrets which were better kept safe.
"And what about this club, how much do you know about The Dollhouse?" Greg wondered. John's face reddened this time, as he was more humiliated than surprised with such an abrupt and targeted question.
"A little bit." John admitted finally, feeling as though it was be useless to lie when he had been intercepted at least twice outside of its doors. Who knows how long Greg had been stalking the place, watching him going in and out to his many visits to his Doll?
"Well it may surprise you to learn that there's a connection between the two. Perhaps they are occasional costumers, but the Holmes brothers own this establishment. All of your payed money is going right back into their pockets, as if it never left." Greg chuckled. John blinked, feeling his fingers fall out of his pockets and grip along the gritty cement which held the bricks together. He stared at Greg's face, trying to watch that cigarette twitch in between a conniving smile. And yet he didn't show any sign of humor, he didn't seem to laugh. John hadn't known Greg very long, though he seemed like the man to give up a joke at least a minute after it was told, just to appreciate the longevity of the confusion. It felt as though a minute or two passed, and still John's face was blank, and still Greg was watching him with that look of concern. As if he was worried his witness had suddenly blacked out and managed to stay standing.
"I didn't...I didn't know that." John muttered. "But how can I trust that you do?"
"I'm a police officer, one of the main men in charge with breaking up establishments such as this." Greg admitted with a grin.
"Not very good at your job then." John muttered absentmindedly.
"Startlingly good, actually. You know how hard it is to catch men like them? All of these years you couldn't find a single thing, you couldn't prove any of it. The prostitutes, the tax evasion, the bar fights. None of it could be traced back to those brothers if you tried. Though finally I've got them, a murder, blood on their own four hands! I cannot wait to see the looks..."
"You're planning to arrest them for a murder? I thought you said the man was missing, not ever proven dead?" John pointed out, interrupting Greg before he began salivating at the thought of the Holmes brothers in handcuffs.
"Well...well yes. I suppose we haven't found anything yet, but the sheer fact that we've got some place to start is more than I've ever gotten." Greg admitted. "That's why I need you."
"Like I said, I haven't seen anything." John insisted, holding up his hands defensively and finding it much easier to echo his past lie. At first his tongue had been tied within his mouth, unable to utter the falsities that were at that time necessary. Now it felt more natural, as if suddenly he had a moral ground to stand on. The way Greg taunted wasn't a character trait he appreciated, especially when the man seemed to so blatantly ignore the lives which were dependent on the Holmes brother's incomes.
"I wonder if I can convince you to look closer?" Greg wondered, his voice upturning to further demonstrate his unprofessional connotations. John remained quiet, hoping that his silence and his blank eyes would prompt the inspector to further explain. As of now John was sure he had looked close enough at those strange brothers, he had seen all he could ever want to see.
"I'm imagining they keep very neat records, somewhere in that house of theirs. I'm sure they document all that they do, in the form of letters or numbers or correspondence. I'm sure somewhere there will be a letter from Moran, some sort of promise for a meeting, something that would trace him to those brothers the day of his disappearance." Greg proposed.
"Why do you so immediately suspect the Holmes brothers? There are a million people in this city, why narrow your search so quickly?" John wondered doubtfully.
"Because he had business with them, Mr. Watson. And those brothers funnel all of their business through here." Greg insisted, giving the opposing wall a quick nod so as to clarify he was talking about the Dollhouse. John swallowed hard, remembering the man who was probably pinned beneath another at this very moment, though perhaps waiting on one specific customer to walk through the doors. Was it true that such a specimen was on the Holmes brothers' payroll? Was it possible they knew who was under the mask?
"If they were found to be doing illegal things...what would happen to the club?" John wondered apprehensively.
"Shut down of course. That's been the goal of the operation all along, to get as many whores off the street as we can." Greg assured. John nodded very faintly, hardly even tilting his head to show his agreement all the while his heart had begun to pound with newfound enthusiasm.
"And the whores, what will happen to them? Will you arrest them?" John wondered, his voice nearly choking him as it spit out as many words as he could manage at a single time. Perhaps his excitement was too evident, for Greg snatched his cigarette out of his mouth and gave a large, uninterrupted smile.
"So that's why you've been here so many times. Got a whore of choice then, do you?" Greg chuckled.
"What will happen to them?" John repeated again, feeling as though he was in no place to deny it. Greg sighed at last, shrugging his shoulders before dropping his cigarette to the dirt and smashing it under foot. For a while both men watched the smoke rise, watching it curl in a beautiful spiral before dissipating into the already filthy air around them.
"I suppose they will run free. The club will be shut down, their employers imprisoned. Once you've got the big fish in the net there's no time to round up the anchovies." Greg admitted, watching John's face for his most immediate reaction. John tried to stay neutral; he tried not to let himself get overexcited about the prospect of freedom. And yet the idea was too good not to fantasize, in fact he let his mind wander right here in front of the inspector himself! John allowed himself to imagine the Porcelain doll walking free, peeling off that mask for the last time and leaving it behind. He imagined looping arms around the other man's, now cloaked in a fine suit with his natural hair released from beneath the oily smear. He was a man, he was beautiful, and he was following john home. They would walk arm in arm through the busy streets, braving the walk without ever taking a cab merely to appreciate the other's presence. John could be his savior, he could take him under Mr. Holmes's roof, hire him as a valet, as a footman, as a piece of art. They could share a bed, night after night, just tangled in each other's arms. They could have a life together...they could have a life.
"You're saying a life for a life? I give you Mr. Holmes and you give me..." John let his voice trail off.
"All of them, if you wish." Greg promised. Both of their voices had now grown to sound excited, as their own personal goals began to materialize in front of them in a mutualistic deal. Suddenly they could both be better off, Greg with his big fish on the line, John with his beautiful accomplice forever by his side. As the enthusiasm mounted John almost blurted out all he knew, he almost recited the whole conversation he had overheard, he almost described the position of the hatbox, now lost in the woods! In fact he had to bite his tongue before he said anything too rash, intelligent enough to at least realize that Greg was playing to his fantasies, realizing he had struck a most excited nerve. Certainly the promises he made were hallow, at least in the moment. It would take some more thought; though John had a feeling he'd have all the time in the world.
"Can I have your business card?" John asked at last. "So I can tell you if I notice anything odd?" It was a request used to buy nothing but time, for Greg had his gun and John had the perfect bullet. It was a hesitation with the trigger finger that he needed the most, especially when the barrel was pointed down Sherlock Holmes's throat.
"You can have my bank account number if it'll help." Greg chuckled, though he pulled out his card instead, a simple little design that displayed his office number within the police station and the best phone with which to contact him. John nodded, figuring there was no way he would be allowed to use the Holmes family phone to dial the police station and schedule their executions. Whatever meetings he had with Inspector Greg would have to be in person, preferably in an area where there would be no witnesses. Even now John could feel eyes upon him, though when he looked left and right it appeared that they might be alone.
"I'll um...I'll look." John promised at last, receiving the business card with trembling fingers and tucking it safely into one of his pockets, one which would not spill if tugged too aggressively further on in the night.
"That's all I need you to do." Greg assured, tipping his hat and giving a quick little smile of encouragement. "You can be part of the change, if you'd like to be. Tycoons are a thing of the past, and I'm here to stop them."
"I haven't got a problem with tycoons." John admitted quietly.
"That's because you're on the better end of their payroll. Those Holmes brothers wear halos, if only to hide their horns." Greg promised. "Keep in touch, John Watson."
"I will." John promised, nodding again as Greg turned upon his heel. The inspector didn't manage a proper goodbye; instead he sauntered out of the alleyway, as if it was a perfectly normal spot to emerge from before the sun had even set.