#slipping in and out of the bars of my jail cell like Frank from Rescuers Down Under

[blackstargazer]

Prompt: Orchids | @moonkillermicrofic | WC: 1022

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The waitress arrived with Barty’s meal and Sirius observed with skeptical eyes as the man smoothly and shamelessly flirted with the young woman.

Sirius hadn’t wanted to leave the station, but he had orders to keep Barty in his sights and while he couldn’t do much—wasn’t allowed to do much— to save his brother, this was a task he was determined not to fuck up.

Barty had stolen the keys to his bike and threatened to take her for a spin, essentially forcing Sirius to chauffeur the killer to his next target—the lamb pasanda dressed up and covered in thick cream.

For the past hour, Barty had carried on like it was just another Saturday evening—strolling past the flower shop on Brunswick, stopping to smell the hints of vanilla from an orchid’s center, breaking it off from the stem and casually walking on when the shopkeep had turned his back.

Time seemed to drag for Sirius, even now as Barty slowly cut into the tender meat with all the precision of a surgeon. Glancing down at his phone, Sirius frowned at the absence of notifications and groaned in frustration.

A sudden worrisome thought burrowed in his brain. What if it was a trap? What if the killer was waiting at Remus’—hoping to snatch them?

“You gonna tell me what rabbit is running through your mind or are you going to calm down and let me eat in peace?” Barty asked, scoring the lamb.

“How can you sit there and ‘eat in peace’ when your alleged friend is possibly dead and your boyfriend could be walking into a trap?” Sirius snapped.

Calmly—so fucking calmly—Barty lifted the napkin to his lips, before cutting his eyes to Sirius.

“This part of town has a lot of history.”

“This whole town has history, you apathetic little shit.” Sirius hissed.

“Right over there,” Barty said pointing out the window toward the skyscraper in the distance, “used to The Rum Runner. In the 70s it was owned by the Bertie brothers and remodeled into a club that was very popular in the 80s. A whole lot of bands used to play there, but one sticks out in particular. The members of this band were not only offered a place to practice but actually worked at the club doing odd jobs until they eventually became the house band. The brothers loved their sound so much they changed careers, creating a label just for them and managing the band right above the club.”

“I don’t need a history lesson on some demolished club.” Sirius sneered.

“Oh, but I think you do,” Barty smirked, “See, the name of the band was Duran Duran who had a number one chart topper on their album Seven and the Ragged Tiger.”

Barty loved his games, and clearly this was one of them. Reluctant but eager to get to the point, Sirius drawled, “Tell me, Barty, what was the song?”

“The Reflex,” Barty grinned, “Which also happens to be the name of the bar across the street from where the Rum Runner once stood before they tore it down to make way for The Hyatt.”

“Fascinating.” Sirius deadpanned, “What has this got to do with anything?”

“Everything.” Barty grinned, pulling out Remus phone and placing it on the table, replaying Regulus’ message.

Sirius frowned trying to cipher the code, and when he came up empty, Barty swiped up—revealing the song waiting to be played.

Synthetic beats and stuttering vocals rang out from the device and Sirius gritted his teeth as he listened to the classic he had heard nearly a dozen times—never paying any mind to the words.

The reflex is a lonely child, he’s waiting in the park.

The reflex is in charge of finding treasure in the dark.

And watching over a lucky clover, isn’t that bizarre?

Regulus’ slurred version echoed in his mind and his furrowed brow shot up, silver eyes snapping to mirthful greens.

“They’re here?” Sirius begged.

“They’re here.” Barty confirmed, flashing his teeth with a wide nearly feral smile.

“Well what are we waiting for?” Sirius shot up, “Let’s go get them.”

“Sit back down, Black.” Barty commanded, “We know they’re in the vicinity, but we don’t know the precise location.”

“So we kick down doors until we find them.”

Barty shook his head, “That’s a horrible idea, going in guns blazing like some Cowboy.”

“Well what do you suggest?” Sirius snapped, his patience with the man waning.

“Finishing the meal for starters.” Barty said and just as Sirius was about to leave, the fiend reminded, “You did promise your lover you would keep an eye on me.”

With a sharp huff, Sirius flopped back onto the seat, stealing a fork and bit of lamb, certain the faster the plate was empty the quicker they could leave.

“He likes you, you know?” Sirius whispered.

“Regulus?” Barty asked, shocked at the misinformation and Sirius barked with laughter.

“No. Remus,” Sirius clarified, “He likes you. Not—The Butcher you, but the reporter you. Though, it’s hard to tell which of you is the real you.”

“They’re both the real me. I’ve only ever been sincere with Remus.” Barty admitted.

“You lied to him.” Sirius frowned.

“I omitted details.”

“Pretty big fucking detail,” Sirius scoffed, “And a lie by omission is still a lie.”

“Tell me, Black,” Barty purred, “Do you tell James everything you’ve ever done, everything you’ve ever thought about doing?”

“Yes,” Sirius said.

“Really?” Barty smirked, “So he knows all about that little box you keep in your left pocket.”

Sirius patted his pocket reflexively, finding it flat and empty and in the corner of his eye he caught the killer snapping the box open.

“It’s quite a big secret to keep.” Barty admonished, “the promise of a lifetime.”

“That’s not the same thing.” Sirius growled, “It’s a surprise.”

“An omission by another name,” Barty said, raising a brow, “Tell me, Black—when we find this kidnapper, how far would you be willing to go to save Regulus? Would you kill for your brother? And if you did, would you tell James immediately or would you let it be a surprise?”