“Missing–One Black Cat”

Chapter 2

Setting: Paris

Florian looked at the telegram from Solomon Sugar with trepidation while Laila watched him impatiently. She barely waited for the servant to close the door behind him before voicing her disapproval at his delay.

“Hurry up! He must have uncovered news of Noir! Maybe Sugar’s found him already!” Laila’s dark eyes shone with excitement.

Florian looked up from his nervous perusal of the paper in his hand. “Or it could be bad news. My mother used to say that telegrams never bring good news. But, I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Sliding a long elegant finger along the envelope to open it, he slid the paper out and unfolded the telegram. Thoughtfully holding it so that Laila could read it at the same time, Florian quickly scanned the contents. Amethyst eyes met brown in bewilderment after looking at the terse message sent by the detective.

Laila, characteristically, was the first to speak.

“I’m not sure...is it good news...or bad?”

The blond aristocrat firmed his lips and refolded the single page, slipping it into his pocket.

“Ray has been found, that can’t be anything but good,” he said decisively. “We must now make plans to join Detective Sugar in London and help him with this mystery of what has happened to him. Thin to the point of starving, dressed in rags, and there is something else that Detective Sugar only hints at. We must hurry. Run over to Matilde or Cora with a message from me, asking if one of them can take charge of Noel for us, if the first can’t do it maybe she’ll know if the other is available. You’d better handle this message yourself. I’ll write something appropriately flowery out for you and then I’ll go speak with Noel and get him ready while you run the message over. I think we both must leave as soon as arrangements can be made. Solomon says he can’t travel with Ray in his current condition. Ray is either in much worse shape than merely very thin or there is more wrong than he says.”

Not wasting any more time in talk, Laila rushed off to change into clothes appropriate for visiting the society ladies and Florian sat at his writing desk to compose the request for a temporary caregiver for Noel as well as a reply to the detective. As they’d agreed when Solomon Sugar had left on his mission, his communication had been cryptic purposely; the last thing they wanted was for word to get out that businessman Ray Balzac Courland was missing. Florian and Laila knew that Ray would not thank them for raising such an alarm. Not only would the persons who did business with Ray as a moneylender be interested in such news, but the last thing they needed was for Azura to get wind of Ray’s disappearance–assuming he wasn’t behind it!

Thus, the message that Detective Sugar sent may have seemed odd to the telegraph office, but not worth passing on to anyone else.

“Located missing black cat stop thin half starved doesn’t know me stop can’t travel with it yet stop might need a friendlier pair of eyes as not himself stop make that not his recent self stop looking out for old litter mates stop”

Florian paused in his tasks to stare at the message again. What could the message mean? He understood that Sugar had located Ray, black cat having always been one of his teasing nicknames for Ray. Their relationship was one that Florian never understood. They were seemingly enemies, yet Ray loved to tweak the older man’s ego, and to Florian’s discerning eye, Sugar liked him all the better for it. Both of the other men reveled in the type of danger that turned Florian’s stomach. Sugar claimed he was going to catch Ray as Noir some day, yet it seemed to Florian that he’d had opportunity after opportunity to do so and found one excuse after another not to act on it. That is why he’d suggested Sugar to Laila when their worry over Ray’s continued absence reached the point of panic. This quick result proved their trust was well-placed. There truly was no one else who was a greater expert on the man who lived a double life as Noir.

Except....Azura, the man now known as the American financier, Romwell, Noir’s boyhood friend turned greatest enemy. If Ray were weakened in any way, he would be not a cat, but a mouse in Azura’s paws.

Florian completed his task. There was no time for idle thoughts. He had to pack Noel’s bags then get his own packed for a trip to London...of indeterminate length. He hoped Matilde or Cora came through. He didn’t want to drag Noel along into whatever awaited them in London.
 

* * *

London

Solomon looked at Noir, now freshly bathed and clothed in a pair of his own trousers and shirts, the legs turned up since they had fallen a couple inches too long, and the sleeves of the white shirt rolled up on the thin but still muscular brown arms. The newly washed hair had been towel dried and was pushed back, behind his ears on the side and away from his forehead on top, being too long now to skim his arched eyebrows roguishly, as it had before.

Ah, my black cat, what has happened to you? Solomon wondered as he watched Noir eat the meal he’d had delivered to their room. The green-eyed man at as though starving, he noted, then realized that there likely was no “as though” about it–he probably was starving.

Just as Solomon reached that point in his thoughts, Noir looked up. “You aren’t eating?” He looked self-conscious. “Did you want some of this, m’sieur?” There was still about a third of the food left and Ray was looking at it longingly, but he forced himself to put his fork down and push his empty plate away. Solomon forced away the smile that threatened...it wasn’t difficult given that the sight of the hungry young man’s generosity made his eyes burn...and shook his head.

“I ate on the train,” he lied easily. “I ordered all of that for you.” He had sent a telegram to Florian and Laila upon checking in, and took that opportunity to order room service, tipping enough that he hoped he secured the manager’s discretion.

Now Solomon had the dilemma of what to do with Ray, who was still as skittish as a cat, while he tried to take a bath and wash the grime of the train ride from his tired body. He’d been incredibly lucky in finding Ray so swiftly after arriving in this part of London, acting on a tip from an old friend. But he’d moved swiftly and hadn’t had a bath or a rest since leaving Paris. He was in desperate need of both.

There was no hope for it. He’d have to count on his cat’s desire for the money he’d been promised keeping him here. Besides, if he truly had no memory of his recent life and was, as Solomon feared was all too true, living on the street and getting by as a pickpocket and God only knew what else, then he should be happy to spend a few days in a warm hotel room, enjoying three square meals a day.

And servicing the needs of a tall skinny Frenchman, he asked himself cynically. Not if he could pinch my wallet instead, and I wouldn’t blame him. He has no reason to think I would expect him to “perform” and I dare not tell him as it would only raise his suspicions.

Making up his mind to handle this moment by moment, Solomon stood up suddenly, causing Noir to jump back in his chair and look up guardedly.

“You ready for some fun and games now, I suppose?” The green eyes had the challenge back, and if Solomon hadn’t thought his heart had been hardened beyond all possible feeling years earlier, he would have sworn it was pierced by the spark of pure bravery...and bravado...in those emerald eyes.

“Eventually...my black cat,” he replied in a mild voice. “I believe I will be taking a bath first. Please forgive me my lack of trust, but I will have to lock you in here...without my money...while I do so. Do I have to tie you up or can I trust that you wish to earn your wages? Let me assure you I am quite good at knots and while you might escape...in time...I am not one to linger at my bath. Not like you, my good man.”

Noir’s eyes looked panicked at the mention of being tied up. He quickly assured Solomon that he could be trusted, his chin lifting at the very idea that he would welch on the deal. Solomon laughed softly.

“Ah, my black cat, you’d break any deal so shamefully made. To get you back to yourself.....” At the confused look sent his way, Solomon just shook his head. “Never mind me, my mind is wandering. How old are you, Noir? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

The chin came up again. “Old enough.”

“Of course,” Solomon said smoothly, not wanting to upset his guest, captive? He wondered what Noir considered himself. “Well, given that it’s the year...you do know what year it is, don’t you, or does time fly by so on the street you lose track?”

He was acting on the instincts that made him such a good detective. He knew Noir wouldn’t tell him his age. His real age, being so young was a sore spot with Ray Courland as it was, yet in any other man, it would be a source of pride to have achieved so much in so little time, having come from such a background. So Solomon was not all that surprised when that stubborn chin lifted again and said arrogantly,

“It is 1895, any idiot knows that!”

He wasn’t surprised, but his heretofore unsuspected heart did sink. How did Ray Courland get into this condition? And even more importantly, how was he going to get him out of it?

Solomon was thinking of this question as he walked down the hotel hall to the bathroom and didn’t notice the man who crept up behind him until it was almost too late. As it was, he only had a chance to cry out once before he was struck on the head with a large club
 

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