Mad as Jazzmen |1930s Ryden AU| ✔️

-16-

Four short days remained before the bank shut down The Spotted Cat forever, and every passing minute chipped away at Brendon's spiraling sanity.

He was beginning to lose his mind.  Jon had completely gone off the grid.  Spencer's health was only deteriorating more and more as the days passed.  He hadn't uttered a single word to Ryan since the night of the storm, let alone stayed in the same room as him for more than a minute at a time.  Everything was spiraling out of control, and no matter how desperately Brendon tried, he couldn't pick up the broken pieces.

He feared they were marching straight toward an unchangeable fate.

On the afternoon of that day, however, his worries for Jon grew too strong for him to ignore any longer.  It had been far too long since he had heard from the mysterious man or his sleek black cat, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad had happened to them.  Jon was his only hope at that point; Brendon couldn't bear to sit at home and let his fears fester anymore.  He had to make sure everything was all right.

Before he left the apartment, though, he had to take care of something.  The thought of it pained him, but he had no other choice.  He wasn't going to let Ryan wander out by himself and get hurt again.  Not on his watch.

So while he was resting in the guest bedroom, Brendon closed the door and locked him inside; he left the apartment before Ryan had a chance to wake up.

Brendon's heart buzzed as he trotted down the stairs to the lobby.  He knew Ryan would throw a fit when he realized he was trapped.  That was obvious enough, but what else was Brendon supposed to do?  He needed to make sure Jon and Jynx were all right, and without a doubt, Ryan would sneak out again without his supervision.  Brendon couldn't let the events of that one dreadful night happen again.

On the way out of the building, he ran into Dallon, who was absentmindedly sipping on a steaming hot mug of coffee behind the front desk.  Brendon wasn't sure what came over him then, but he suddenly had a burning question to ask the uptight landlord.

"Hey, Mr. Weekes, can I ask ya somethin'?"  Brendon said, approaching the front desk with his hands in his pockets.

Dallon eyeballed him over the brim of his mug, one skeptical eyebrow raised.  "Depends,"  he replied dryly.  Brendon sure hadn't missed his grumpy attitude.  "What do you want, Urie?"

"An answer, hopefully."

Brendon took a deep breath, shaking the nerves out of his system.  He hated himself for even walking up to Dallon to begin with.  He doubted the landlord would give him the answer he wanted, or even an answer at all, but Brendon needed all the eyewitnesses he could get.

He needed to know the name of the man who had destroyed the already brittle remains of his Ryan.

"By chance, have ya seen any suspicious stuff goin' on around here at night?"  Brendon asked.  Hesitancy laced his tone, but he tried not to let it show.  He wanted to know the answer.  "Any weird fellas?  Maybe some gents lookin' for prostitutes?"

Dallon's eyes widened at the mention of prostitutes.  He looked absolutely appalled by the term itself.  "Not around here, Urie,"  he answered with a shake of his head.  "The French Quarter isn't a place for such scandalous activities.  That nonsense remains downtown, in the dirty parts of the city."

Brendon knew it had been a long shot to ask Dallon, but still, his aching curiosity pushed him to ask even more questions.  "Are ya sure?"  he pressed.  "Ya haven't seen anythin'?  Surely some weirdos stalk around here at night for a quickie, huh?"