Chapter Text
Anatole was sitting in the office he shared with Dolokhov. Dolokhov was in the adjoining room sorting out the counterfeit bills they’d been manufacturing all week, the equipment bought with Anatole’s father’s money. The concept of counterfeit money was pleasant to Anatole because to his understanding, it meant a steady supply of new money without him actually having to do much but sit in this office and do what Dolokhov told him to. He lit a cigarette and picked up a magazine and read by the sunlight coming through the venetian blinds. The magazine was at least a year old and had been mainly used to swat moths away. Bugs gathered in the corners of the dusty office since they wanted to spare the expense of paying someone to clean up and didn’t want to risk any maid snooping in their illegal business. Dolokhov also refused to hire a secretary because he didn’t like having any extra women around. This was fine by Anatole, since he’d only be distracted from their important work by a secretary.
However, there was no important work until Dolokhov got it in his mind that money was needed or an errand had to be run. The letters on the door said ‘Private Detective’ with the names of the former occupants of the office scraped off with a pocketknife. There was absolutely no detecting going on between the two of them, but Anatole enjoyed dressing the part anyway. He was wearing a designer trench coat that was actually meant for a woman, judging by the length and the side the buttons were on. Dolokhov thought it would be too queer if Anatole were to wear this in public and wouldn’t allow it, but that wouldn’t stop Anatole from wearing it when he wasn’t looking. He also wore a fedora and had an unloaded gun on the table to fidget with.
“We should buy a shag carpet for under this ugly desk, eh?” Anatole yelled loud enough to get Dolokhov’s attention.
Dolokhov cracked open the door between them and answered with a scowl. “Shut up. If we get a rug, would you vacuum it?”
“...No…”
Dolokhov slammed the door shut.
Anatole shrugged and went back to flipping through the magazine. He got bored when he realized there was no point in buying anything to spruce the office up. They would have to leave as soon as any cops, or worse yet, any rival criminals jealous of their success, caught onto them. The only other magazine was about women’s fashion, which was enough to keep Anatole busy for the rest of the day.
A couple hours later Dolokhov finally emerged from the other room. He was in the midst of attempting to tie his tie without looking in the mirror. “I’m going out to get lunch.”
“Oh? I’m hungry! What’re we getting?” Anatole stood up and smiled. “We could go see my sister-”
“You’re not going with me,” he said, putting on his coat that was thrown over a chair with ripped upholstery. “Someone might come by and I need you to be here to collect… a debt own to me,” he lied. The truth was he hated going out with Anatole, having to watch him eat, being forced to engage in his meaningless conversations, and most of all, he despised Anatole’s sister and waiting around in loud nightclubs for them to finish gossiping.
“Really? But I’m dreadfully hungry, Fedya, won’t you bring me back a sandwich and a bottle of wine?” Anatole asked, sitting down dejectedly.
“Maybe. Don’t complain. Call me if there’s any emergencies. If you fuck anything up-” he picked up the gun on the table and threw it at Anatole’s face.
The gun only barely avoided hitting him in the face, but he only winced and didn’t argue. When Dolokhov left, he went to the window to watch the car go down the street. The blue convertible was actually Anatole’s, a gift from his sister for his twentieth birthday, but Dolokhov often took it without asking. This left Anatole with no way to escape his mission of staying in the office. He could’ve walked, sure, but what kind of fashionable, well off man would walk around the dirty city and risk getting his clothes messed up?
He considered calling his sister, Hélène, who would have just gotten to the nightclub where she worked, but she might get annoyed at being interrupted and Anatole wanted to save that for later tonight when he would be actually, painfully bored.
The sky was beginning to be overcast, starting the evening off dark and dreary. What was the point of living in California if the weather was going to be so maliciously attacking Anatole’s desire to drive around in the sun? In Russia at least the poor weather was to be expected. He dreamed of planning a weekend trip back home while taking out his sister’s makeup from the locked drawer of the desk. He stole it when he thought she wasn’t looking. Hélène was aware of this the whole time and didn’t mind, but didn’t want to embarrass him by calling him out on it.
Just as he was about to put on the mascara, the door opened. Anatole grabbed the newspaper on the desk and hid his face behind it, peeking over to see who the unexpected visitor was. The woman shyly lingering in the doorway didn’t look like anyone who would owe Dolokhov any debts.
She introduced herself as Marya Bolkonkskaya. She looked very plain in her black dress and her long hair in a bun. Anatole decided that she might be pretty if her hair was down, but as she was now, he saw nothing of interest. Her dress didn’t show any curves, and the only thing of note was the white ruffle on the collar that made her look a bit Victorian. Her brown eyes were rather beautiful, especially with the stray rays of sunlight reflecting off of them, but her makeup wasn’t right at all.
“Are you the detective…?” the woman began, taking small steps towards the desk. She wasn’t bold enough to look the handsome, well dressed man in the eyes, so she looked down. When she saw the gun on the floor she flushed fearfully. “Perhaps I’ve come at the wrong time…?” she asked in a more strained tone, imagining all manner of horrible crime solving that could lead to guns being thrown around and landing on the ground and causing the bullet holes in the drywall.
Anatole followed her eyes to the bullet holes. They were only there because Dolokhov liked to shoot the walls when he got mad. “It’s a dangerous business… detecting. How can I help you, darling, did you lose your dog?” he asked, finally putting the newspaper down and giving her a sly smile. This was the first time anyone had ever seriously accused him of being a detective and he wanted to play the part. Apparently the trench coat helped a great deal in that area.
“What? No, but I do have-”
“We’re terribly busy at the moment, dear, you’ll have to call back later!” Anatole said quickly, to avoid being burdened with any tasks. He opened a compact and looked at himself, making sure his mustache still looked charming, as if that could have changed in the last half an hour.
Marya was put off by this supposably professional man’s vanity. “Oh, you’re not taking any cases, then? That’s a shame… I’m sorry for bothering you, I really didn’t know… sorry…” she spoke almost fearfully; she was so unaccustomed with how to speak to a man when there was no one else around.
As she left the room Anatole picked up his newspaper again. He meditated on how pretending to be a detective could be helpful in getting dates, in cases like what was just offered to him, but that woman wasn’t really worth it… then he had another thought. If he pretended to try to solve her case, then she would have to pay him. That would mean extra money that Dolokhov wouldn’t make him spend because Dolokhov wouldn’t know about it… money to be spent on sandwiches, wine… and most importantly makeup. He didn’t want anyone to know about that.
He got up quickly and ran out into the hall, right before Marya was getting into the elevator. “Hey! I do, as it happens, have a teensy bit of free time, my dear, so you better come back here and tell me what your business is, hm?”
She scurried back over. “I wouldn’t want you to be overworked… it’s not a very serious matter… well… perhaps it is. Are you sure, Mr…?”
Anatole winced slightly. “Just call me Anatole.”
“The problem is… you see, my brother is missing-” she said, wiping her tearful eyes with a lace handkerchief.
“Can we talk about this in the office? I want to sit down.” Anatole started walking away before she finished her sentence.
They sat down in the office on either side of the desk. Anatole couldn’t find something to write on, so he prepared a pencil and the back of his magazine. “So who’s your brother cheating on? Or your sister- say it again, my dear, you’re terribly hysterical and even incomprehensible, I fear.”
“I apologize, I didn’t realize… I meant to say my brother is missing. His wife passed away recently, God rest her soul, and he said he was going to be away for a bit, and I fear something has happened to him. We haven’t heard a word from him in a while…” she stopped talking when Anatole took a bottle of champagne out of the drawer and poured himself a drink. “Is this really the time for that?” she asked timidly.
“Yes, my dear, I must calm my nerves! Your story is frightening me. Did your brother, by any chance, kill his wife, and then escape to Mexico? I hear this is a very common reason for disappearances in California. One of the top three, at least. Kill wife, go to Mexico, shoot self… happens all the time. I got the records to prove it, baby… it’s not a pretty story, but-”
“Excuse me? She died in childbirth.”
Anatole snapped out of his detective persona and lost interest. “Childbirth, what? Then he probably ran away from the responsibilities of family! Not anything I can do about that.”
“Please help me, if you can… I am very worried,” she mumbled, looking down at her hands that were fidgeting with her purse. “I’m willing to pay you anything you ask…”
Anatole remembered that and wrote down the words ‘missing brother’. “I’m sorry, my dear, of course you will-” he stopped when he saw Dolokhov parking his car below. “Call me later, this isn’t a good time… here, you can always come by my apartment!” He quickly wrote his phone number and address.
She was very surprised that she had actually succeeded with the first private detective she found upon leaving the house with no idea what she was doing. Surprised enough that she didn’t argue when Anatole kicked her out. She got a taxi home and stared at Anatole’s curly handwriting the entire ride back.
Chapter Text
Marya was not the sort of woman who went to a man’s house alone, but since Anatole was a detective and working for her, it could be supposed he was working out of his apartment and it was really just another office, so it was completely appropriate. The next evening she headed over to the address, assuming he wouldn’t be home until later. She made the taxi driver do a couple laps around the neighborhood as she rapidly changed her mind a few times about whether this was the right day to show up. However, her concern for her brother’s whereabouts forced her to be firm in her decision.
The apartment building she was directed to was tall, with glass windows full of flowering plants in the lobby. She went inside and sat down on a plush armchair to collect herself. One of the viney plants repeatedly got caught in her bun as she looked at herself in her compact. She rarely wore any makeup, but since she was going out she decided on a natural shade of lipstick that still made her feel like she was being ridiculous and vulgar just by reapplying it in public, although it was quite necessary since she kept biting her lips out of anxiety.
As Anatole exited the elevator, planning to go to the casino, he remembered the existence of Marya and was briefly charmed by how soon she showed up. But she was still going to throw a wrench in his plans of getting up to no good.
“Hello, Miss Marie, I was expecting you!” he exclaimed delightfully as he walked up to her.
She stood up awkwardly, suddenly very aware of how plain she was compared to the young women who got out of the elevator with Anatole and were no doubt victims of his flirtations on the way down. However, she assured herself that her purple dress was a bit flattering if one looked at her waist and not her chest or her arms. Or this was what her brother’s wife had once told her. Anatole was wearing a white suit with a bright salmon tie that was meant to be the highlight of the whole thing. She smiled a bit at the idea of him carefully picking it out.
“Yes, I wanted to see you to ask what exactly I should give you in the way of information,” she said carefully, watching his blue eyes look over her head and at the car outside that was waiting for him.
“About your brother? Sure, baby, anything you can tell me- but maybe now isn’t the time-” he looked outside and sighed. He wasn’t going to get paid by this rich girl if he didn’t participate a little. “No, I suppose that can wait ‘till later… Was he involved in any crime? I looked him up, my dear, and he seems like the sort of fellow who would get blackmailed by a ring of criminals.”
“What?!” Marya asked with concern, really believing Anatole had looked him up. “He is rather sincere in his beliefs. If he found out about any criminal activities I’m sure he would report them.”
“Criminals hate that,” Anatole replied with a serious nod. “They hate being reported. And there’s lots of criminals in the military, which he is innnn- correct? Yes.”
“Yes,” she said, giving him a quizzical look. “And you have a lead? Already?”
“I do have a lead, baby, and we’re gonna go follow it!” he said happily, sounding very much like a detective, though he wasn’t wearing the detective outfit this time. His fedora would have to be enough for the moment. If he couldn’t go to the casino, taking this boring lady to the nightclub would make up for it. He could see his sister and his friends while playing at solving mysteries.
He gave her his hand to take her off on his impulsive adventure of the day. She took it without thinking, blushing at the contact that he wasn’t even crossing his mind as something special. That assumption, despite the carefree way he kept walking in front of her without looking at her, was not exactly correct. He was considering how her small, thin hand fit into his and how he had to look down at her when he was standing in front of her, and how her little waist made up for her unremarkable face.
The nightclub was only down the street, so he didn’t bother with his car. “Do you dance?” he asked Marya, slowing down his pace when he realized she was behind him still.
“No, I don’t,” she said, very worried about what exactly she was going to do once they arrived at their destination.
“Eh, it’s alright, I’ll figure it out…” Anatole smiled and looked down into her eyes just to see her expression when she looked away. He watched her anxiously look around, seeing that she disliked being outside at night. She was such a nervous creature that it amused him. He touched the back of her arm slightly and watched as she moved closer. Even though it was hidden under layers of fear and guilt, he could recognize the signs that she wanted a man to pay her some compliments and flirt with her a bit. Every woman, Anatole knew, wanted this, but not many were as innocent as her.
When they arrived at the front of the nightclub Marya was beginning to seriously doubt Anatole’s methods. Was this really how detectives acted? She wanted so badly to take control of the situation, to tell him exactly what to do, to stop him from traipsing around the city and running into dead ends. But she took a deep breath and admitted to herself that she knew nothing of the world. Andrei had just disappeared and she had nothing to go on, no matter how she wanted to believe she could find him if she could just get a hold on everything for once. Never in her life had she been in control of anything and it was particularly upsetting when it was suddenly turning into a disadvantage instead of just a normal part of her existence.
“This is going to be dangerous,” Anatole announced to her with a smirk, “so you must stay close to me. We’re going to talk to some very clever criminals.”
She moved closer to him right away, as he planned. If he was going to have to do all this for the money, he might as well let her have a good time as well. Anatole couldn’t think of anything a woman could do that was more fun than going on a date with him.
When they walked in, his arm was around her waist and she felt that she might die. Everyone was seeing them together, as if she was worthy of a man like him. Marya marveled at her luck before remembering this was all for her brother’s sake, so she couldn’t let her sinful feelings get out of hand.
Anatole saw his sister, who was sitting at the bar with one of her boyfriends. She was going to sing later and was all dressed up in a low cut gown covered in sequins. She rolled her eyes at him but came over anyway, walking with a slow, languid elegance.
“This is my sister,” Anatole explained to Marya, who was not thinking about anything but his hand on her back. “She knows all the gangsters.”
“Hello, Tolya,” Hélène said, sitting down in a booth and not waiting for them to join her before ordering a drink. “Whatever have you brought the daily girl here for?” She gave Marya a quick grin, as she hated when Anatole brought his girlfriends to the club because it meant she got less time to spend with him and was instead forced to watch him prance around like a peacock.
It was never one of Anatole’s priorities to care about the feelings of those he was ‘prancing around’ with, but Marya was not like those women who were innocent, but playful and used to men like him. He didn’t want her to think of him like that because although he was completely misrepresenting himself, he had no plans to seduce her and abandon her or any of the usual nonsense. And besides, the sad look in her luminous eyes made him uncomfortable and he preferred everyone to be cheerful around him. Instead of leaving to go find someone more fun, he gave Hélène a little frown and said, “I’m only helping this young lady out, and she’s not used to places like this. Isn’t she adorable?”
Marya gripped onto the edge of the table, feeling almost panicked at the compliment. Running and hiding was not an option, furthermore, it was compliments like that that she spent her whole life craving. She looked up into Anatole’s eyes to see if he meant it or not. When he looked back at her and saw the way her eyes looked in the low light, shining like lanterns, he couldn’t help a genuine smile. Maybe he didn’t think she was pretty, but there was cuteness present indeed.
The small moment between them was not visible to Hélène. She wanted to get back to what she was doing because she felt it necessary that she flirt and socialize when she was out, lest she become useless and unappreciated too soon. “Anatole, dear, did you actually need anything from me?”
He nodded and leaned in to whisper. “Is Rakitin still doing the fruit business?”
‘The fruit business’ referred to the smuggling of fruit into the country to avoid paying taxes and then selling it at a high price by marketing it as fresher because it had not been taxed. This rather nonsensical enterprise had been founded by Mikhail Rakitin, one of Anatole’s gangster acquaintances, who was always up to similar schemes. Because of this he had a lot in common with Anatole’s circle, even if they didn’t like each other very much. This dislike was mainly rooted in the fact that Anatole was an infuriating specimen and Rakitin couldn’t figure out how to get money out of him, since Dolokhov had a monopoly on that.
Hélène pointed to the stairs with her gloved hand. “He’s up there with that odious woman he’s taken a liking to.”
“I think this poor woman’s brother has been victimized by the fruit cartel,” Anatole said gravely.
“Oh, dear, I hope they haven’t started killing anyone who’s run into their late night apple runs,” Hélène said sarcastically, refusing to take the ridiculous comments seriously. “Go on, but come back tonight, will you, and pick me up?” she asked in a quieter tone.
“I’ll be back,” he said sweetly, and leaned over to kiss her on the head, which made her swat him away with a laugh.
It would be quieter upstairs, Marya assured herself, with less people to stare at her. Although it wouldn’t make Anatole go away, in fact, she would be closer to him. The only reason why she wanted him to go away was because he kept doing little things like touching his fingers with hers to make sure she was still there. She followed him up the stairs, looking down at the glass steps and feeling something like a lady for once instead of a scared girl.
Arriving upstairs, Anatole opened the door where some men were playing cards. Rakitin was there, with a woman in his lap who didn’t quite fit in between him and the table and who was in constant danger of being pushed off every time he leaned forward. This sight almost made Marya giggle before she remembered that these were dangerous people.
“Rakitin! Do you know anything about the honorable soldier Andrei Bolkonsky, who I believe, as a detective - which I am, by trade, you know - to have been caught up in your waggish designs?”
“What the devil are you on about, Kuragin?” he looked up in bewilderment. “You should play cards with us, you know, I bet you’d win.” He gave a polite smile, still holding onto the hope of being able to squeeze money from him.
“I am busy, what? As you can see, I have a woman, that’s… unseemly to invite me to your card game!” he pulled Marya closer to him as she blushed deeply.
“Andrei Bolkonsky?” the woman on Rakitin’s lap asked, turning around and hitting his face with one of the feathers on her hat. She was Mrs. Khokhlakova, a widow who was said to possess a great fortune that Rakitin wanted, although they were constantly together in a way that made that motive a little less likely each day. “Are you his sister, dear? I met your father once, what a… strange man he is, he has terrible manners, you know, and I tried to give him some advice on investing in tungsten, as it was the right time to invest in tungsten, you see, and he completely ignored me, at a party, you know, a party full of members of the aristocracy like yourself, and it was such an embarrassment. Does he have his investments in order? Such a rich man, with a sprawling estate, though so easy for dishonest men to take advantage of, especially in his age… and he’s ill as of late, isn’t he? Did your brother get into debts, dear? I bet he did! Officers are always getting into debts. My Misha isn’t in debt at all, is he?”
Rakitin sighed, deciding to let his woman keep talking if it would stop Anatole from saying anything.
“Anyway,” Mrs. Khokhlakova said, “if he’s missing, it’s probably because he promised part of your father’s forests to a fellow he owed money to, and then made himself scarce to avoid selling the property and angering your father. I’m sure this is it. The only way to fix it is to find him and reconcile the two-”
The idea of her brother getting into gambling debts was too distressing for Marya. “That’s not the sort of man my brother is, please don’t say that!” she suddenly exclaimed with tears in her eyes.
Anatole saw the tears and realized that the gangster Rakitin was not going to help him along anymore. He took Marya’s arm quickly and led her out of the room, whispering in her ear, “I was wrong, my dear, I don’t think he knew anything at all.”
“N-no, I don’t think he did…” Marya answered, enjoying the scent of Anatole’s perfume as they walked out together.
He took her back downstairs and ordered two glasses of wine. He wasn’t going to give up for the night, and decided to let her stay out with him since they were there anyway. He would have to find someone else to pretend to question, but for the moment, entertaining Marya was his goal. He watched her drink a small sip of the wine and let their hands meet under the table as he rambled on about all the people he knew and all the connections he had. Marya found this to be perfectly charming.