Chapter Text
“I’ve got eyes on him now. Keep the ground secure, Jaqueline, Bunny.” Hawkeye shifted closer to the ledge of the window overlooking the bar. She gripped the rifle tighter against her shoulder and adjusted her neck to better fit the radio headset on her head. Through the scoped rifle, she had a perfect look over Mustang, inside the lounge, sitting on a plush couch with a young woman at his side.
“Understood. How’s he doing?” Breda’s gruff voice crackled over the static. It seemed he wasn’t too keen on the Bunny code name.
“Kate, get our gentleman back on,” Hawkeye said.
“Connecting now,” Fuery cut in through the radio.
After a short buzz, Mustang was live over the transmission. “...I’ve always wondered what a girl like you did in a place like this.”
Hawkeye grimaced and shifted the gun. Even from a distance, through the scope, and through the window, she could see the way his hand travelled up the girl’s knee. The dress was short enough that it didn’t leave much to the imagination, and the poor Lieutenant could hear the girl’s giggle as she shifted closer to Mustang.
“Sounds like Chief’s doing fine,” Breda said, and she could picture the glint in his eyes and the tilt in his smile.
In Hawkeye’s dark tower, with shade falling over her face, covered by a thick cloak, surrounded by gun cases and bullets, she could scrunch up her nose in peace. Yeah, he was doing alright, working the girl open like a book. But she had a feeling Breda’s comment was the sort that got Fuery’s nose red and would have given Falman a coughing fit.
Damn. She hated this mission with a passion, yet, she couldn’t outwardly disagree with the plan when Havoc had suggested it. Why would she? Hawkeye came short on any possible, plausible objection. The mission was urgent. As urgent as ever. And it required a subtle, careful approach. So eventually, she had to give in, and even agree, when the Colonel pressed her earlier that evening, before they set off, that yes, he did look quite stunning in the three-piece suit with his hair slicked back. She hoped no one would recognise him.
“Me? Oh, baby, I’m just a modest factory owner out in Optain.” Mustang laughed over the wire. The girl had the nerve to put her hand on his chest and play with his tie, pulling him closer in her grasp. “Do you get a lot of men like me around?”
Hawkeye huffed. His voice had that deeper octave he used when he flirted, easy to recognise if one spent as much time around him as she did. He held the girl tighter in his arms, and she swung her long thin legs over his thighs. Like this, they could hear her muffled voice better. The girl sounded exactly like Hawkeye thought she would.
“Not so much… not like you.”
“No?”
“Just the military type,” she laughed. “You know how they are.” The girl waved her hand around as if chasing away a funny thought.
“Haven’t had much pleasure.”
“They’re not as good-looking as you are, mister.”
Hawkeye wished for a worse scope, one with less range and worse focus, through which she might pretend she missed the girl’s hands nuzzling his jaw, tracing her hand over his unshaven chin. He’d grown a short stubble for this one, foolishly hoping it would make him look more mature.
A cough over the static broke her focus. “That’s how you know she wants his money,” Havoc laughed.
She smiled and exhaled slowly. Leave it to Havoc to brighten her mood. “Kate, cut Jacqueline off if she doesn’t pay attention to the gentleman.”
“Hearing you loud and clear….” Havoc dragged the words out.
From Hawkeye’s position, she only had good eyes on the Colonel. Havoc, known for today only as Jacqueline, was inside the Heaven’s Door bar alongside him for physical and, as Havoc put it, moral support. Breda was stationed outside at a nearby cafe with a good view over the front. They weren’t expecting a confrontation, and they hoped they could avoid one at all costs. However, Hawkeye couldn’t deny the tension in the air. The hostess bar had been the scene for a fairly bloody murder of a high-ranking officer. As it stood right now, the girl next to Mustang was their primary suspect.
The colonel had to be careful, and she had to keep him safe.
Mustang’s face didn’t give in to the chatter over the radio. His earpiece was well-conceived, and he made sure to keep his face tilted just right so the girl wouldn’t get a look at it. He squeezed the hostess’ knee and moved closer to her ear. “They don’t treat you right, those military chumps?”
The girl breathed over the mic, sending an awkward shiver down Hawkeye’s arm. “Some girls don’t like them.”
“You do?”
“It…” Hawkeye watched from afar as the girl buried her face in his neck and the Lieutenant’s chest tightened a little. “It depends… some are good, some not so much.”
“Do they come here often?”
The girl laughed and kissed a spot above his ear while her hands travelled over the Colonel’s chest. The wire was close, a bit too close to the spot she was rubbing over his shirt. Hawkeye let her eyes move away for just a bit to collect her breath.
“Do you want me all to yourself?” She purred.
“I do. I’m a very jealous man.”
“You don’t need to worry about them. Right now, I’m here just for you”. That damn girl had the nerve - the nerve - to slide her hand up, up to his thigh. Probably high enough to make any man shiver and eat out of her hand. And her lips kept teasing that spot behind his ear, the one Hawkeye knew he liked so much.
“I don’t want those military dogs all over you, sweetheart.”
“It was just one guy.” The girl laughed over the static. It crackled in the radio and made the Lieutenant, already on edge, grip her rifle tighter. “He’s not even from East City.”
“I’m not from East either. Who knows, maybe I know the bastard.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Is he nicer than me?”
“No.” The girl threw her hair back and scrunched up her nose. Her hands dragged on his tie, bringing him closer until her breath brushed up against the mic. Hawkeye left her guard down for a second, again , to wipe the sweat off her palms. “He’s old.”
“Finally, he’s getting somewhere. It confirms he’s her regular. Sir, push on. We need the name.” Breda huffed in the headset.
Hawkeye’s eyes were trained on Mustang. The corner of his mouth moved up in that stupid dashing smile he used when he wanted to get something. The poor girl stood no chance.
“Is he rich?”
“I think so. Heard he’s a general.”
“A general?” He brushed his hand through the girl’s short black locks.
“He liked to talk about his job. Even made me call him ‘sir’.”
“Sir?”
Hawkeye caught the girl grimace. It was hard to read into it more from a distance. She felt uncomfortable, too; it hit a bit too close to home.
“I think he liked people calling him that.”
“Sounds like someone I know,” he trailed off, brushing the girl’s arms, his fingers tracing her skin from shoulder to wrist, while the corners of his mouth set in a boyish smile.
“Don’t think so.”
“No? Sounds like a general I used to work with, back in Optain….”
The girl shook her head, drawing a hand slowly through her dark locks and smiling back at him with what Hawkeye could only describe as a seductive grin. She was dancing around the name.
“Was he strict?” Mustang pressed on, leaning closer towards her face.
The girl shrugged her shoulders while the Colonel slipped an arm around her, making sure she stayed close to his chest. No, close to the wire , Hawkeye reminded herself.
“Sometimes… but he was alright.” She flashed him a bright smile and moved in to place a kiss on his lips. Hawkeye’s hand instinctively squeezed the rifle tighter. She tried to stay quiet over the radio. Mustang seamlessly moved his head, so the girl’s kiss landed on his jaw. The Lieutenant exhaled and softened her grip.
“He never hurt you, did he?” Mustang whispered in the girl’s hair. The bar was starting to get crowded, with more patrons - all men, of course - sliding in. Hawkeye caught a glimpse of other girls working, some looking in his direction.
“No, no. Of course not!” The girl shifted a little, but even through the scope, Hawkeye could tell that her shoulders had tightened and her face had set in a hardened expression.
“You tell me his name, sweetheart, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.” His voice dropped again, and Mustang’s lips brushed the girl’s ear, nuzzling the soft flesh, sending a sickening shiver down Hawkeye’s spine.
The girl shook her head as if snapping out of a trance.
“Dammit.” Breda exhaled slowly over the radio, and Hawkeye jumped slightly at the sound. “She’s not gonna give up a patron’s name.”
“He just liked to talk about his job,” the hostess quickly added and laughed, drawing Hawkeye’s attention back to the Colonel. “Most men do.” The girl’s fingers pulled on his tie again and went back to dropping small nips on his jaw.
“Must have bored you to death.”
Hawkeye watched the girl whisper something against his ear, unintelligible over the radio, and had to witness the girl’s hand disappear between the two of them. She steadied her breath and cleared her mind. Whenever she felt her heart drop like that and her neck closing up, she reminded herself of who she was. Lieutenant Hawkeye. Right now, she was a sniper in a sniper’s nest. He was a Colonel, going undercover, seducing a girl to—
With deliberate, precise movements, Hawkeye slid her rifle a couple degrees to the left, following the Colonel’s movements. The girl held his hand and dragged him up the stairs, disappearing behind the solid brick wall of the hostess bar. The bright neon sign, spelling out Heaven’s Door, threw off enough light to make a shot possible even at this hour. On the other hand, the wind was picking up. She’d have to account for that, just in case. He didn’t seem to be in danger, at least not with just the girl. Mustang could easily hold his own in a fight, and judging by the girl’s skin-tight dress, Hawkeye didn’t think there was anywhere to stash a gun on her.
“Jacqueline, stay on the floor. Let us know if any dogs come in.” Through the window, she caught a glimpse of Havoc, all dressed in black, quite dashing in his own right, lighting up a cigarette and, with practised subtlety and ease, nodded up in her direction.
“Bunny, cover the front of the shop.”
“Got it,” Breda said.
“Sir, make sure you get the right room.” Hawkeye huffed against the rifle.
He’d never hear the end of this. When Havoc mentioned a covert operation to confirm their lead, he thought it was a good idea. They’d done it before, where one of them passed as bait or a mole, while the others kept them safe. However, it usually didn’t involve getting groped by a hostess while Hawkeye watched him through her rifle, and Havoc snickered at the bar. If this went on much longer, Hawkeye might just snipe him and call it a day.
The girl dragged him up the stairs, swaying her hips in a way Mustang thought for sure would make any man glue his eyes to her backside. She made sure he got a good show, but his eyes focused on a point beyond her shoulder, counting the stairs as he went up. He brushed a hand through his hair, making sure it stayed slicked in place, and straightened his vest. He checked for the gloves in his pocket. Safe and secure.
The girl was short and slim. Said her name was Joanie, and she barely looked 20. He hoped she was at least 18. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but her short black locks and wide brow eyes set her apart from the other girls working the bar. Surely there would be people into that. Her eyes reminded him of his Lieutenant, so much so he found it hard to hold the girl’s gaze.
So far, he had confirmed she had a regular—the dead Brigadier General. The official report had placed her in the bar the night he died, and Mustang had a hunch she had been afraid of him. Could be a strong motive. One strong enough to want him dead?
Joanie retook his hand, dragging him to a room on the right. He held his ground, pulling her back to him. Her hand landed on his chest, and she laughed in his arms. Collecting himself, he slipped back in the act and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “A friend told me you’ve got a nice room with a balcony.”
She rubbed circles on his shirt. He didn’t like how her hands felt on him and how her perfume was too familiar. “The other one is nice too, mister.”
“I only want the best, babe.” The earpiece bothered him. It made it hard to say his lines, and damn, this was hard enough without an audience. His stomach dropped as he continued, “The best girl. The best room.”
Fair to say, he wanted to crawl out of his skin and when he heard his Lieutenant huff over the radio, and Havoc laughed. Thank heavens he wasn’t in her direct line of sight.
“I don’t know….”
“I’m in East for one night. I want to make it count.” He forced his voice to drop again and searched the girl’s eyes. He traced her arms, squeezing them when she tried to move away.
“I’m not really supposed to….”
“Come on, honey. I’ll make it worth your time.” Mustang released her and patted his pocket.
She took a second to consider. He heard what he presumed was Hawkeye puffing over the static again. He held the girl’s gaze until Joanie broke his stare and shifted nervously. Finally, after what seemed like ages, the girl smiled and purred in his neck, seeming to have made her choice.
“Wait here, mister.” Joanie swung her hips and made her way further down the corridor.
Moving to stand in front of the window, Mustang took his time to gather his thoughts and let his eyes wash over the view. East City had fascinating architecture. He liked that about his station here. The closeness to the desert made the air dry, the summers long, and people had to suffer through many droughts in the past. East Command constructed plenty of water towers. And with time, Command declared many defunct. Most had a technical floor, up at the top, where maintenance of the tank could be carried out. And it just so happened to make for a wonderful sniper nest, fit for the best sharpshooter East City had ever seen.
He tilted his head up in the direction of the dilapidated tower. Far enough that he couldn’t see her. Close enough so she could see him. His shoulders relaxed, and he smiled. The thought of Hawkeye watching him, catching his boyish grin, made him pull a little at his collar. But before his fingers loosened his tie, Mustang turned around to the sound of Joanie’s heels. She dangled a key in her hand, her dress riding up as she bounced towards him, and he gestured to her to open the door, turning his back to the window.
“Good. That’s the right room,” Hawkeye’s steady voice calmed him.
The girl took his hand once again and slowly pulled him in. He slammed the door shut, and she laughed. No lock on the handle. He made a mental note of that. Mustang pulled her in an embrace slipping his hand low over her backside, and she purred and nuzzled his neck, making his stomach feel uneasy. His collar kept squeezing his neck, and his palms were sweaty. A different kind of sweaty, a different kind of hot. Not the same as when he thought about a dark water tower and a skilful girl with a rifle.
Quickly, his eyes scanned the room while the girl pressed flush against him. Damn, he had to focus. It seemed to match the description in the files Hughes managed to pull. Deep red wallpaper, dark, dusty floor. A lavish couch, in deep tones, matched with a darkened oak table. A red armchair. Queen size, plush bed. Headboard draped in blue silk. Two bedside tables, golden. A large balcony, no, a terrace , he corrected, gave a perfect view of East City from the bed.
He catalogued the room again while the girl, standing on the tips of her toes, kissed his neck and slid his tie off. It didn’t offer his neck the release he’d hoped for. In contrast, it made his skin buzz, and his hand itched up to push her off him. Easy. He let his fingers rest on her back, trying to focus.
Focus on the bedroom.
Some things were off. The bed didn’t match the decor and stood out like a sore thumb. On the bedside tables, where lamps would usually sit in pairs, there was only one, the other missing. One good thing about growing up in a brothel, a classy one at that, was that he’d seen many of the rooms his sisters worked. And once you’ve seen enough, it was easy to notice when things don’t make sense, when details don’t fall into place-
The girl pushed his coat off and threw it on the couch. She moved him closer to the bed and worked on his vest and shirt. No rug. He thought there’d be one to dampen the sound. His nose scrunched up on instinct. Last thing you’d want is hearing the guy next to you grunt. No curtains. A strange choice given the large, full-length windows and sliding doors facing the terrace. They’d surely have clients very keen on privacy.
Bold and eager, Joanie sucked on the spot above his collarbone and wiggled her hips. Before she’d get any thoughts, Mustang grabbed her fingers to stop her from opening his shirt. Her palms were dangerously close to the wire underneath it. The girl smiled up at him, and in this light, she was quite pretty. Her purrs made his chest tighten. Her hips grinding against him made him nauseous. Given a different circumstance, the dim light would have been quite enticing and romantic. Her touches would have been divine, given another woman.
“It’s hard to get a clear line on you. You’re standing in a blind spot,” Hawkeye spoke over the radio. Her voice was clear, her tone concise. That was how it might have sounded to their team. But after all the years, he could pick up the bitterness in the voice. Hawkeye was pissed. He didn’t blame her.
“Get on the bed,” Mustang said.
The girl smiled devilishly and swayed like a cat to the luxurious bed. She spread herself on the covers, letting her heels fall with a thud. He took a look at her and out the terrace door.
“Couldn’t have been the bed. Based on the report, the angle doesn’t match. I’m sure.” Hawkeye said. He felt the urge to nod.
Instead, he clicked his tongue. It would have also been hard to get the blood out of the silken material pulled over the wooden bed frame. It needed a second look, so he slowly approached the bed. The girl breathed out, shaky chest and sultry purrs. No blood splatter on the wall, as far as he could tell. The red, patterned wallpaper made it hard to pick anything up. But so far, it didn’t check out. Hawkeye was right; it wasn’t the bed.
The girl took her dress off in one swift motion. His lieutenant had just as good of a view as he did. It made his head feel clouded, dizzy. He felt hot and clammy, and not for the right reasons. The girl was determined to work for his money.
Mustang turned his back to her, walking to the couch. He dropped three fat bills on the table. “Don’t move,” he ordered her. “I want you to wait for me just like that.”
Slipping into the bathroom, the Colonel made sure the door was securely closed before taking a big long breath and leaning on the sink. This mission had made him more uncomfortable than he initially estimated. For his team, this might have been business as usual. They’d say he didn’t have the right to complain. All he had to do was charm a lovely girl and let her please him while his agile eyes scanned the murder scene for details the report had missed. But it was hard to steady his breath, to curb the urge to push the girl off. It was hard to convince himself to touch her, to run his hands over her body. Especially since Hawkeye was watching, well aware of where his lips landed and his fingers traced the girl’s thin dress. And even though they had agreed on it, it was tough not to feel like he was doing something dirty and dishonest when touches and embraces like those were supposed to be reserved for someone else.
Think. Think back to the case. He splashed some water on his face.
Brigadier General Thorne was found dead in this room five days ago. His head presented a lovely entry and no exit gunshot wound matching a .45 calibre. Bullet had pancaked against his skull. Moreover, the general’s temple was also bashed in with a blunt object. Hard to determine if post mortem.
His reflection startled him, and Mustang pulled on the shirt, trying to straighten it out and make sure the wire stayed concealed. Alright, running the facts through his head helped him clear his mind, and he let out a long, drawn-out breath. Stay focused on the task. He’d cleared his head of the girl in her underwear. Cleared his head of her perfume. Hm, What were the chances, same one as the lieutenant?
“All good?” Hawkeye’s voice snapped him out of it, and he straightened. While Breda, Havoc, and Fuery were all on the line, they all knew with no doubt that she was talking to him. He flushed the water.
“All good, Elizabeth.” Mustang pulled his glove on and stuck his hand in his pocket. He pushed the door open. “Ready, sweetheart?”
Joanie moaned from the bed. He grimaced. Good thing she couldn’t see him from her position. “All ready for you, sir.”
Sir . Was that a slip? Was it drilled in her mind by her regular? He picked up a trace of hesitation from the girl’s tremble. It rubbed him the wrong way, and he swallowed slowly; it made him feel like a creep.
“Keep your eyes closed for me.”
She kept her eyes shut and spread her legs for him. He focused his gaze on the bedpost above her head. This would take some time, but she seemed used to following orders and kept her eyes tight for a couple of minutes. He held his left hand on her knee while blue sparks coated his right fingers. She moaned softly, purring for him to come to her side, but after a short couple of minutes, her legs slid down the mattress, breath evened out.
Mustang walked up to her and checked her pulse, turning her face gently with his fingers. Regular heartbeat. He pulled the glove off his hand and shoved it down in his pocket. “All good. I’ve got about 5 minutes. Jacqueline, let me know if someone walks up.”
“You did it again, didn’t you, Chief?” Havoc spoke.
“… a cheap trick,” Breda chuckled against the static.
“Oxygen manipulation is not easy, and it’s not cheap!” He checked the bedpost and the wallpaper. No blood splatter up there. “Less flashy than flames, I agree, but it’s the same alchemical principle, Bunny.” He moved away, throwing one last look at the girl. Passed out cold for a little bit. “You just drop the oxygen level enough to—“
“Concentrate,” Hawkeye broke over the radio.
He smirked and moved to the window, touching it slowly, dragging his palm over it: two full-length glass panels and a sliding door. The light from inside reflected strangely off the right window panel. He tapped the glass, listening to the sound it made. Mustang checked all of them, inspecting the glass slowly. One was glossy and transparent, the other weathered down by rain, wind, and sun.
“This one is new.” He tapped against the shiny window again.
“Gunshot from outside?” Riza spoke
“Confirms your theory, Bunny.” Mustang swiped his finger over the two again.
“Our friend in Central said the report didn’t mention it. You think they replaced it?” Breda asked.
“One is crystal clear, the other matte. I could check the composition, but I don’t think I have the time.” The colonel took a glance at the passed-out girl on the bed. She shifted in place a little, and he felt an urge to throw a blanket over her. The poor thing looked even younger, smaller, and more vulnerable like this. “I’d say there’s a high enough chance I’m right.”
He left the window in favour of the bed and crouched near it. The bedside table was nicked and the paint coat chipped on the edge. No lamp on this one. The unidentified object?
He smoothed his hands over the floor. The lacquer was fresher, with tiny scratch marks. He looked over the rest of the room: dusty flooring, full of boot marks. Heavy traffic, chapped by men’s shoes and ladies’ pointed heels. But not here.
“Hey! Wait up! Wait—“ a crackle filled his ears and Havoc’s muffled voice shouted over the earpiece.
“I can’t see Jacqueline!” Hawkeye snapped.
“The wire disconnected!” Fuery’s voice shot over the white crackling noise coming from what he presumed was Havoc’s defunct mic.
He stood up and looked around the room. Think fast. What was he supposed to be doing? His head snapped to the bed, and his hand jumped to his belt. God, he had to make this believable. The girl was still passed out. He couldn’t bring himself to get on top of her, and his fingers froze on the buckle. He looked around the room again, quickly scanning it.
Hawkeye read his mind. “No eyes on the door yet. No outside staircase, no fire escape. I’m looking.”
Fuck. Alright. Mustang threw a hand through his hair, scrunching it up. He pulled on his collar, opening the shirt and the vest as much as he could. He set a knee on the bed, but the door shook violently and smashed open, hitting the wall. Havoc shouted near the entryway while a big, hunky man rushed into the room, quickly taking in the scene.
“I’ve got you on lock,” Hawkeye said.
“Get the fuck out! The room is not open!” the grunt said.
He had a bald spot on his head and thinning black hair, compensating for his lack of eloquence with some serious pectorals and biceps, pumped out under a tight black t-shirt. He took one look at Mustang and one bewildered one at Joanie, who was passed out on the bed and slowly coming back to it with a groan. Without hesitation, the brute’s hands shot out to grab the offender’s neck.
The colonel dodged back, pulling away from the deadly grasp. The bed was an excellent obstacle to add some distance. He had the advantage of speed, but he’d for sure get at least two ribs broken in a one-to-one fight. Worst case, he still had the glove. That seemed like unnecessary escalation and a dead give-away. Mustang was stuck between the wall and the bed. The door seemed so far away, right on the other side of the room, with one brute in between. He caught the terrace door from the corner of his eye.
“I think I see a door on the terrace.” Hawkeye’s snappy voice sealed the deal.
The girl stood up, bewildered, while Havoc shouted at the bouncer. “What the hell is your problem?!” His lieutenant had his hand drawn back, his fingers resting under his coat over the gun.
Mustang took the opportunity Havoc threw at him. The brute snapped his head to Havoc, and the girl kept asking something. He zoomed past the grunt, giving him a serious push in the direction of the bed. The bigger they were, the faster they fell. The girl shrieked. The big fella slammed his leg on the bed and cried out.
“You need to get out of there! The dogs are here!” Breda said over the radio, with a hushed voice, despite the commotion.
The Colonel tried to run past the brute, who got a hold of his footing, and launched a hand out, aimed right for Mustang’s face. No place to run but outside. He was safest out there, where Hawkeye could have him in clear sight. Get to that door. Fast. He ducked again, trading a hit to his shoulder in place of the one aimed for his nose. He slipped to the side, letting the bouncer stumble forward, propelled by his own momentum.
“Get out the back door!” Mustang shouted with one last look at Havoc and slammed the sliding door open. The bouncer grunted and scrambled to his feet.
The terrace was big enough to have a proper fight on. He quickly scanned his surroundings. A metal table and a chair. Not helpful. On his right, something rather big and metallic, a barrel of some sort. No. The bouncer fiddled with the glass panel that was jammed stuck. There! Behind the barrel and behind a tall utility unit, what seemed to be a muted metallic door. He lunged towards the metal shelf and pulled. A jolt of pain shot up his shoulder, and he grunted in frustration. Fuck. He didn’t have time for this.
“It’s fucking stuck!” He gritted his teeth.
Time was short. He needed something else. Fuck his busted shoulder. He didn’t think he’d be able to move that case, not even on his best day.
Think, think.
He was an alchemist ! He turned back and looked down, over the ledge. Yes, yes! It could work. Just a bit of time. Just a bit. The glass panel squeaked loudly, pushed to the side, finally opened. Mustang jammed his hand in his front pocket and quickly scrambled for the chalk. Behind him, the heavy footsteps drawing closer by the seconds alerted him that he was moments away from taking another hit. Almost done, almost there . In a blur, a bullet flew past Mustang and rattled the barrel with a loud bang. The Colonel’s head jerked back just in time to catch the bouncer jumping to the side and falling on his backside, startled by the loud, unexpected sound. A yell filled the thick air, and Mustang snapped his attention back to the pipe, his hands finishing the last rune. Thanking the heavens for what must have undoubtedly been Hawkeye’s skilful shot that bought him the last few precious seconds, he slammed his hands over the array.
The blue sparks travelled down the solid metal pipe, decomposing it and recomposing it.
Mustang jumped over the ledge, quickly climbing down on the makeshift ladder, barely strong enough to hold his weight. He didn’t take his chance to look back up, making a quick turn, towards the crowded front street. If Havoc got out back, better not to be seen together. Anything that placed them together as officer and subordinate, at a known murder scene, could hint at their operations.
Relieved to be back on the busy street, the Colonel stopped near a lamp to draw his breath and look back at Heaven’s Door. He had to put some more distance between himself and the bar but had to straighten himself up first. So, pulling on his vest, he took a look behind. Perfect, no one followed him back. his eyes shifted up, to peer at the water tower, nothing more but a dark shade in the distance, blackened by the night sky.
“Thanks for that, Elizabeth.” Mustang kept his eyes trained on the defunct tower. “Elizabeth?”
He shot a hand up to his ear. Ah. Must have lost the earpiece in the commotion. They’d meet back in HQ then, as planned.
“Colonel Mustang.”
Quickly, he snapped his head up, and with a jerky motion, he removed his hand, bringing it back to his side.
Fuck.
Blue uniform. Colonel epaulettes. Near his chest, the insignia of the Court Martial Office shone in the bright light of the lamppost. Hands behind his back and a stick lodged firmly up his butt. That stern look on his face, framed by small round glasses. The man always had his nose up in a disfigured scowl, like he had just smelled something rotten. And, of course, that superior look, the one you throw at people so far down below you that the mere thought of speaking to them disgusts you. So unmistakable Central of him. Behind the man were, his two goons guarded his back: Lieutenant Tall & Brooding and Lieutenant Short & Dumb.
“Colonel Wolff,” Mustang straightened himself up and nodded. He buttoned up his shirt, steadying his breath, as Wolff’s scrutinising gaze washed over him from head to toe, and his nose made that terrible movement where it pulled his upper lip in a distasteful scowl.
“Your reputation in East precedes you, Mustang. But judging by the rumours, I wouldn’t have guessed you’d have a problem securing an honest date.” He tilted his head to point to the brothel behind.
That caught him off guard. He coughed and smiled sheepishly behind his fist. Closed his eyes for a second and buttoned up the last shirt button that hung open. The tie was gone. His luck was thoroughly lousy tonight; it had been a gift from Hawkeye.
“I assure you, sir, it’s a tasteful place. The women are lovely.”
The officer huffed and pushed his glasses back on his narrow face. Wolff was almost ten years his senior. He never made it a secret that he despised Mustang. He even spoke out against his promotion to Colonel three months ago. A born and bred Central prick.
“Awfully distasteful. At least you’re not in uniform.”
Mustang gritted his teeth. They were the same rank, alright. But everyone knew being a colonel in East was not the same as being one in Central. Wolff had authority and seniority. Mustang decided to let him play that card. “I’m sorry, sir, I wasn’t expecting to run into a Court Martial Official on my free day.”
“Maybe take less time off, Mustang. Or choose better places to spend it.”
His cheeks were probably still reddened, and Mustang brushed a hand through his hair, smoothing it out. Wolff gave him no time to respond.
“I’m sure the news must have reached even you by now. The establishment behind you is the place where Brigadier General Thorne was found deceased.”
“Don’t worry, Colonel, we have newspapers in East City too,” Mustang said.
“He was a good man, the Brigadier General. This backwater city dragged him down in the mud.”
“I’m sure you’ll get at the bottom of the investigation, on behalf of the martial office, of course.”
“Yes, quite so.” Wolff removed the glasses and cleaned with a handkerchief as if the mere sight of Mustang had dirtied them up. “No point beating around the bush, I suppose, since it’s your own subordinate we are talking about. We are wrapping it up as we speak. The trial date has been set.”
“Trial date already?”
“Managed to catch you off guard?”
Mustang smiled. “Not at all. I place my full trust and cooperation into your hands, Colonel. I’m sure that if Warrant Officer Falman is guilty, you, sir, are the man to prove it.”
The three men pushed past Mustang in the direction of the bar. He huffed out a breath and checked his watch while the footsteps stopped behind him.
“A word of advice, Mustang. I’d try not to be caught sniffing around a murder scene if I were you,” Wolff said.
“If you heard the rumours, sir, you must know by now, I’ve got a thing for pretty girls,” he saluted with his hand in a casual, laid-back gesture. His right hand stayed jammed in his pocket, and he pushed a smile up while his eyes remained sharp and focused.