Title: Dinner for One
Author: paraboobizarre
Pairing(s): none
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer:
Warnings: character death (but not one of the important ones)
Summary: It's Georg's birthday and David, tipped off by Bill, arranges for the boys to go to a Murder Mystery Dinner to celebrate the bassist's birthday. Of course, someone dies...
Author's notes: For queendaeva ;)
Beta by the lovely ma_chelle



“This place is fantastic!” Bill exclaimed, clapping his hands, bouncing back and forth on his heels excitedly. Next to him, Tom leaned against the door jamb, surveying the room, complete disinterest written all across his face. He bit down a yawn.

“You couldn't have possibly picked anything more boring for Georg's birthday, huh?” He groused, deliberately bumping into Gustav as they made their way towards the long table at the center of the room.

The room itself was rather dark, heavy drapes of dark red velvet hanging from the high ceilings down to the floor, a big, elaborately carved fireplace, lush carpets in somber colors, darkened wallpaper and a massive chandelier, hanging threateningly low over the center of the table.
All in all, it looked more like a detailed, life-sized stage prop than an actual room anyone would voluntarily live in.

“Murder Mystery Dinner...do we really have to sit through this? “ Tom griped moodily, slumping into his assigned place right next to the head of the table. He flicked his little name tag across the table and groaned in a grand display of misery.

Bill twisted happily in his chair, his fingers flitting over the fine china and silverware neatly laid out in front of him.

“This is like in a history movie – so great...” He picked up a slim, three tine fork out of the seemingly endless procession of cutlery lining each place, eying it curiously.
“What's that one for?”

“It's a strawberry fork,” came a voice from behind him, making Bill jump in surprise.

David sat down in the chair next to Bill, immediately reaching for one of the heavy lead crystal ashtrays, drawing it closer to himself and lighting a cigarette.

“How do you even know that?!” Bill asked, his voice incredulous as he set down the fork in its assigned place again.
The question earned him a vaguely patronizing chuckle from David, who leaned back in his chair and blew wonky smoke rings into the air.

“Once you've sat through as many inane dinner parties as I have you'll know these things, too.” He patted Bill's thigh before he straightened in his chair at the arrival of the next dinner guest.

“It's the birthday boy!” David announced through a bright smile, starting to clap but was waved off by Georg as he sat down opposite of David.

“Thanks for making us sit through that high brow horror,” Tom snarked, roughly elbowing his band mate in the side as he sat next to him. Under the table, the tip of Bill's boot connected with his shin and Tom winced, biting down his next, equally acidic comment.

“Thanks so much for booking that, David – great birthday present.” Georg winked at their manager across the table, gracing Bill with a sparkling smile of his own afterwards and Bill straightened in his chair, grinning broadly at the recognition. After all, it had been he who had tipped David off on this Mystery Dinner thing.

“So how does this work out?” Gustav asked, neatly folding the linen table napkin in his lap, watching another group of guests arrive and sit down at their assigned seats.

“Up there,” David pointed at the head of the table, one of the few chairs that was still unoccupied, “the Master of Ceremonies sits and once the murder has been committed, he is the one who guides through the whole thing, provides clues and all that.” David stubbed out his cigarette, reflexively lighting another one right away. He puffed out a cloud of smoke before he continued.

“The crowd is mixed, real guests and actors and obviously we do not know who's who and we have to find out who really committed the murder.”

Opposite Bill, Tom groaned loudly and let his head fall forward into the soup bowl, making the expensive china clink loudly.
“God, this is gonna take hours!” He moaned to the artfully folded napkin.

“Don't be such a spoilsport, Tomi!” Another light kick under the table. Before Tom could answer however, the lights of the overhead chandelier dimmed and a tall thin man in a curiously old-fashioned dress coat and twirled mustaches entered the dining room, striding purposefully towards the head of the table.

He gently clicked a knife against one of the wineglasses, waiting till the murmur of the dinner guests had subsided before he started.

“Welcome to the Murder Mystery Dinner,” he began, indicating the entire room with a sweeping gesture.

Bill saw his twin's mouth opening, ready to launch into yet another complaint and preemptively stepped on Tom's foot under the table. Tom winced and shot him an icy glare from across the table but shut up.

“While you enjoy a truly exquisite six course meal, each and every single one of you gets the chance to play detective and solve the tricky crime we have set up for you...” A wave of murmur rose from the dinner table, a woman giggled before the Master of Ceremonies hushed everyone with a simple wave of his hand again.

“We shall start with a little amuse gueule to clear your palate,” the man announced and, as if on cue, the door to the dining hall opened, half a dozen waiters streaming in, beginning to serve tiny plates to everyone at the table.

“Parmesan tuile, filled green pea mint sorbet - Enjoy!” And with that the man sat down at the head of the table, unfolding his own serviette and receiving one of the miniature dishes himself.

Bill eyed the tiny cone in front of him suspiciously, barely resisting the urge to poke it with his fork. Tom on the other hand, discarded the cutlery altogether as he determinedly reached for the cone of melted cheese and swallowed it in two bites.

“Mmmh, not bad!” He remarked around his mouthful, sending bits of green pea stuff flying across the centerpiece towards Bill's place.

“Not a fan of green peas?” The Master of Ceremonies asked kindly, leaning towards Bill and indicating his still untouched plate.

Bill smiled uneasily, feeling a bit foolish for his usual reluctance towards unknown food. He liked Parmesan, green peas were okay and mint he loved but still...all of that rolled up together?

“You still eating that?” Tom asked suddenly, indicating Bill's plate with fat shining fingers. It was enough to jerk Bill out of his contemplations and he defiantly pulled the dish closer to himself and scooped up a tiny spoonful of the bright green sorbet. It tasted surprisingly good!

Soon the waiters cleared the table of the amuse gueule plates, another batch of waiters coming to take their drink orders. But before Bill could stutter out a reply, Georg clapped his hands once to get their attention.

“It's my birthday right? So let's all have a cocktail to celebrate – I pay,” he announced grandly before he waved at the waiter and ordered five Asbach Sour.

Tom made a face, rolling up his napkin on the table.
“Asbach is some kind of brandy, right?” Tom grimaced, making a quiet retching noise, stealing a sly glance across the table at Bill, looking for confirmation. Bill simply shrugged his shoulders, tugging aimlessly at the tangle of his necklaces.

“It's my birthday – you have to indulge me aaaall night long,” Georg crowed, playfully shoving at Tom, who groused but failed to hide the smile starting to melt on his face.
“And besides, it is a really good cocktail...”

The drinks arrived in record time, a brownish puddle swapping around in a champagne coupe, decorated with cocktail cherries and a slice of sugar tipped lemon.
Tom took a cautious sip, watching his judgment of the drink mirrored on Bill's face as it screwed up beyond belief, his twin's eyes squeezed shut as Bill swapped the drink around in his mouth before he swallowed it forcefully.

“Good, ne?” Georg prompted, when the praise seemed to fall short of his expectations. Gustav was discreetly sipping at a glass of water to get rid of the strong taste, Bill coughed quietly and Tom promptly lit a cigarette after his first hesitant sip. Only David seemed to actually like the cocktail, taking a big gulp of it and smacking his lips in appreciation.

A cold appetizer, announced grandly as red potatoes and herbed sour cream shrimp, was brought on and Bill thankfully stared down on his plate. Shrimp, potatoes and sauce he could deal with – not too exotic. He happily munched away on the little pink things, stealing a casual glance at his brother, glad to see that Tom had finally made use of the cutlery and was picking the shrimp off with a fork instead of his fingers. Georg had a faint serene smile on his face as he dipped the tail end of his shrimp into the cream, surveying the other people at the table while he ate.

It was hard to tell who the actors were, Bill thought, as he picked off the fried stem of rosemary that was intended to be decoration and nibbled on the crisp green, studying the other dinner guests.
There were about twenty other people in the room, some rather indistinctly dressed, others, such as the elderly woman who sat next to Georg, fitted out as if they had planned on attending the Ascot race course. Maybe she was one of the actors...
Then again, no one in his right mind would draw that much attention to oneself on purpose.

David put his cocktail glass back and Bill couldn't help but raise his eyebrows as he saw the glass was only half full anymore. His manager seemed to have noticed the look and leaned back, smiling at Bill's obvious surprise in a vaguely patronizing manner.
"What? It's a good cocktail – when you get a little older you will realize Red Bull and gummi worms aren't everything in life, Bill."

He chuckled but Bill just nodded softly, his fingers threading through his tangle of jewelry round his neck. Opposite him Tom kicked around in his chair restlessly, drumming his fingers against the table top.

"Will there be any, you know like...normal food at any time during this evening because I-" The lights in the room suddenly went off and the rest of Tom's complaint was swallowed up by the agitated murmur of the other dinner guests. Somewhere down the length of the table a woman let out a cry and Bill bumped into David's side as he jumped in surprise.

"Got scared, Billi?" Came David's low voice right next to his ear and Bill chuckled uneasily as he leaned back in his chair again.
The room was pitch black; he could just about see Tom's vague form sitting opposite him, unmoving, staring at him in the dark.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" The Master of Ceremonies clear voice rang out over the commotion.
"I am sure this is just a minor mishap and that the lights will soon..." Suddenly the chandelier above them flickered to life again, "oh, there they are again!"

A relieved murmur seemed to ripple through the entire crowd now that the lights were on again but it didn't last for long.
Moments later a woman let out a piercing shriek as she pushed her chair back so suddenly it toppled over and cluttered to the floor.

Bill, Tom and David leaned forward almost at the same time, trying to get a better look at what was going on at the end of the table.

"Oh God, good Lord..." The strange woman muttered, covering her mouth with her hand. Her face was ghastly pale.

Bill craned his neck to see past David, who took two big gulps from his drink, an amused little smile on his face.

Next to the woman a man sat slumped in his chair and Bill could clearly see the dark red streams of blood streaking down from his slit throat all across his shirt.

"God, that's so cool," Tom breathed almost reverently as he stared at the presumably dead man slouching in the chair.
"That blood looks so real!" He nudged Georg, pointing at the body and Bill shot a look at the Master of Ceremonies as he stood at the head of the table, looking inordinately pleased at the effect the murder had on his dinner guests.

He raised his knife to clink it against his glass again but stopped when, next to Bill, David started to cough violently.

It wasn't the usual kind of cough the boys knew from the many times David choked on his drinks. This was a more violent and deep one, sounding almost like he was retching. Bill instinctively drew back just a little, while Gustav hurriedly filled a glass with water, holding it out to their wheezing manager, a concerned look on his face.

"David?" Gustav hesitantly slapped the older man on the back.
It didn't help. David seemed to be fighting for breath, his face already a deep shade of red, sweat starting from his forehead.

A subdued sense of panic seemed to spread through the guests now, with people leaning forward, trying to get a look at the spectacle, some muttering that someone should do something about it but no one got up to help.

"Dude...not funny," Tom joked half-heartedly but Bill could see the same expression of shock and helplessness on his twin's face as on any other of the dinner guests.

Bill shot a pleading look at the Master of Ceremonies.
"Can't you call an ambulance? I think he's really –"

At that moment David collapsed in his chair, his hand clawing at the dishcloth in a last effort to hold himself up before he slid sideways and fell to the floor, dragging the dishes and cutlery with him. The china shattered on the ground and Bill jumped out of his chair with an alarmed sound.

Tom was by his side in a matter of seconds, pulling him back towards the wall as David lay on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, trembling and shaking, foam dripping from the corner of his mouth onto the immaculate carpet.

"Oh my God..." Georg muttered as he leaned halfway across the table, looking down on their seizing manager.

Over the agitated chatter surrounding them, Bill could hear the Master of Ceremonies talk hectically to someone on his cellphone; left and right people crowded in around them, all of them trying to get a look. Gustav's eyes were wide open, his face even more pasty pale than usually and Georg looked like he might be sick at any moment as he reached for one of the cocktail glasses with shaking fingers, probably needing a drink to quell his nerves.

Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity and Bill watched as David's lips turned blue and he panted, a horribly flat gasping sound before, with one final shudder, he suddenly lay quite still. Tom's sweaty hand closed around the nape of his neck, forcing Bill's face against his shoulder and that was the last he saw of it.



• • •



The paramedics arrived a good ten minutes later but there was nothing anyone could do.

"Asystole...his heart stopped. There's nothing else we can do...sorry," a man dressed in a white overall muttered while he packed up his bag again. He pulled a plain sheet over David's prone form, stood up and left.

Almost all of the guests had left the dining room by police orders. Four people, the actual actors of the murder mystery dinner, sat at the end of the table. Among them the man with the slit throat. He was still dressed in his blood streaked shirt, chain smoking and bouncing his legs restlessly.
It would have been comic almost, had it not been for David's body lying on the floor.

Bill pulled at the sleeve of Tom's hoodie, pinching and rolling the material between his trembling fingers. Outside in the hallway he could see a man dressed in a worn out tweed jacket talking to two policemen in uniform. He scratched at his balding head compulsively, casting a glance at the nearly deserted dining room every once in a while. That must be the police detective one of the paramedics mentioned earlier.

He twisted his twin's sleeve quite hard and Tom made a disgruntled sound and got off the couch they had sat on together, smoothing his wrinkled clothing and walking over to Georg, who sat in his chair so still and stoic, as if he had been poured out of concrete.
Georg offered Tom the half empty cocktail glass and Tom, even though he made a face at the brownish concoction, accepted it gratefully.

Watching his brother, Bill hoped Tom would come to sit with him again. He felt antsy, not least because of the presence of that detective out there in the hall. Tom, however, took his drink and strolled over to one of the tiny benches pushed up against an opened window, where he sat down between two enormous potted plants and lit a cigarette.

With a deep sigh Bill leaned back in his seat, lighting his umpteenth cigarette of the night. His hands were shaking and try as he might he could not tear his gaze away from the lifeless lump on the floor. It was like seeing a really bad car accident – looking at it made you feel sick, yet at the same time it was nearly impossible not to sneak a tiny peek.

Someone cleared his throat and Bill looked up, scattering ashes all over his black pants.

The detective.

"I uh...I'm very sorry for your loss but I'd really appreciate if you could help me with a few questions I have regarding your managers death." The man muttered, his gaze wandering between Bill sitting on the settee, Tom at the window, Georg and Gustav at the table.

A policeman came in and ushered the distraught looking group of actors out of the room and the balding man motioned for Tom and Bill to come sit at the table again.

"Was there any history of cardiac problems with your manager that you are aware of?" The man asked, pulling out a notepad, his pen already poised to scribble down whichever answer he would get.

Bill saw Tom looking at him, a mildly confused look on his face. He slowly shook his head but it was eventually Georg who muttered a quiet negative.

"Any food allergies that you know of?"

"P-p-pineapple, I think," Bill managed, sucking greedily on his cigarette while the man took down his answer.
"But there was no pineapple in the food we had," he almost whined, feeling his eyes tear up as the smoke of his own cigarette stung his eyes.

The man tutted sympathetically and briefly patted Bill's sweaty hand before he continued with his questions.

Had David complained of not feeling well lately? Had he been in the hospital the last two months or so? Was there anything unusual about his behavior these last couple of weeks? Did they think that David might have taken drugs?

Every question earned him a display of shaking heads and protestations that everything had been alright till, well...just now.

The door opened and a group of three people, wrapped from head to toe in billowing white overalls, trotted listlessly into the room, carrying large bags with them. They started to collect the plates, glasses and cutlery from David's place, taking swabs and sealing each individual item in its own plastic bag.

"Those are just the forensic guys..." The detective waved their appearance off with an aimless flap of his hand.
"Not really looking like you know them from TV shows, huh?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Bill watched as one of the men soaked a q-tip in the last few drops still remaining in David's drink, then put it away in yet another plastic bag. Another one carefully lifted the sheet covering his manager’s body, gently swiping some of the foam off his mouth...

"...and as I said before, I am terribly sorry for your loss, it must have been a tragic experience but we are done for tonight." The man closed his notepad and stuffed it back into one of the bulging pockets of his jacket.

"Thank you for your cooperation, you can go home now...and again, my condolences."



• • •



“Oh my God, finally,” Bill sighed heavily as he threw himself into the backseat of the van. Up front the driver adjusted his rear view mirror and Bill could see the slightly sour lines round the man's mouth. No wonder really, seeing as he had been doomed to wait for them to come back out for at least four hours. He couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for that but the relief of finally making it out of that infernal place outweighed all of Bill's other concerns.

He folded up his legs as Tom squeezed in next to him, followed by Gustav and Georg who took their seats on the bench opposite. The engine started, a light hum going through the entire vehicle before it pulled out of the parking lot into the deserted streets.

For the longest time, no one spoke. Bill was slumping against his twin, smiling lightly to himself as Tom made room for him and draped his arm against the headrest, letting Bill lean up into his side. Georg was staring out of the window, watching the cityscape flit by, while Gustav looked down on the floor between them.

“Some birthday that was...” Georg eventually muttered, though more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Next to him, Gustav snorted out a small chuckle.
“Happy Birthday – you get a new manager as a present,” he observed in his usual dry fashion.

“You're morbid.” Tom retorted, not quite managing to hide that sly grin that threatened to slide onto his face.

“A pity really. He was a nice guy,” Georg observed, his tone thoughtful.
“Well, sort of, at least,” he amended, when Bill kicked him in the shin and gave him a stern look.

With a deep sigh, Bill pulled himself away from his comfortable resting place against Tom's side and straightened in his seat. He fanned himself, opening his jacket and tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“God, someone open the window, it's stifling in here,” he moaned petulantly, lightly nudging Georg opposite him to get the bassist to open the window for him.

A fresh breeze filled the back seats a few moments later, the never ceasing sounds of the city and a bout of cold air, heavy with rain worming their way in.

Bill leaned forward, taking in a few deep breaths of fresh air before he pulled back and started to fiddle with the clasp of one of his many necklaces.

“I don't think I've ever been this nervous – not even before our very first big concert,” he said, his forehead screwing up into a tortured frown as he tried to disentangle the necklaces. Eventually one of them came free and Bill deposited it in his lap while he wiped his sweaty hands on his pants' legs.

“You were great, Bill, don't worry.” Tom fished the necklace out of his brother's lap, holding the heavy key chain between two pointy fingers as if it were poisonous. A clunky sword was clasped to it, silver, studded with neatly cut black obsidians. Tom smiled as the streetlights zapping past caught in the gem stones; he had given Bill that sword to his last birthday, custom made too.

“Gimme!” Bill snapped the chain out of Tom's hands. “Time to get rid of it.”

“You're not throwing away the whole thing, right?” Georg sounded slightly scandalized but Bill only rolled his eyes at him and tutted quietly under his breath as he twisted viciously at the hilt of the sword.
“Don't be silly.” He managed to press out between gritted teeth. The hilt was stuck and wouldn't move.

“Someone open this for me?” Bill held out the sword to Georg, who took it obediently and, with one swift move, twisted off the hilt, handing it back to Bill.

“I was so freaking hurried back there, I stuffed it back in and screwed the lid on too hard...lights came back on way too soon,” Bill mumbled, shaking the hilt over his palm.

A tiny vial slipped out of the hollow handle of the tiny sword, landing in Bill's cupped palm. It was almost empty but for a last few drops of a clear, oily liquid lazily swapping around in the vessel.

“You gave him all of it?!” Tom bleated, staring at the tiny vial with round eyes.

His protest earned him a mean shove into the ribs.

“Well, duh! Wikipedia said 60 mgs is a lethal dose, so I slipped in 80 – just to be on the safe side.” Bill graced his twin with a massive roll of the eyes.

“Hurray for the internets,” Gustav snarked, as he tried to stretch his legs in the cramped space of the backseats.

“And hurray for your sister,” Bill mumbled, his tone almost dreamy and far away as he let the oily substance swirls in slow circles at the bottom of the vial, “who would have guessed that her degree in pharmacy would ever come in handy.”

Bill smiled slyly, more to himself really than to any of his band members but Gustav couldn't help his uneasy chuckle as he nervously smoothed a few imaginary wrinkles out of the sleeves of his jacket.

“I swear she knew I was up to something when I visited her at work and asked her to show me around the pharmacy!” Another uneasy chuckle followed and Bill looked at him, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

“But she never said anything, right?” He almost snapped, the question had such a biting edge to it.

Tom lay a soothing hand on his brother's thigh, squeezing softly and murmuring something under his breath, so quietly that only Bill could understand him. It seemed to have the desired effect though and Bill relaxed visibly. He shrugged at Gustav, giving him an apologetic look.

“Throw it out now...” Tom nudged his brother, jerking his head in the general direction of the opened window.

The vial was thrown out, with Bill craning to look out of the window, as if hoping to see the vessel shatter on the street, spilling the last of its poisonous contents on the asphalt.

“There goes the lovely nicotine...” He murmured, aimlessly waving before he closed the window again.

A short silence followed. Georg watched Bill reassemble his crafty piece of jewelry, his forehead puckering up as he followed the train of thought that had just entered his mind.

“You did get rid of the contents of David's glass, right?” He suddenly asked, fixing Tom from across the car, watching the older twin shrug eloquently.

“I'm not stupid,” Tom grumbled, slouching deeper into the car seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I poured it into the potted plant, just like we said before and then threw the empty glass out of the window into the street below...unless you switched the wrong glasses, of course!”

Georg deliberately ignored the challenge that carried in Tom's voice, only graced him with a broad grin. He had swapped the right glasses, alright. His for Jost's and then the poisonous cocktail had wandered from his own place at the table over to Tom who had taken it under the pretense of needing a drink to steady his nerves.

“That cocktail was the worst thing ever.” Bill shuddered theatrically, just the mere mentioning of the drink bringing back the gruesome memories of the cocktail he had so bravely endured for the sake of their little stunt.

“It was the only thing that even halfway masked the bitter taste of the nicotine,” Gustav remarked, slipping into his usually lecturing tone of voice so easily as if he was remarking upon the weather. It made Bill smile. Gustav had been the most reluctant and it was astounding how lightly he now took it all. Then again, he too stood to gain by David's so untimely demise...

“When are you going to call that lawyer of yours to set up our new contracts?” Bill asked, nudging Georg from across the seat. He sprawled in the seat, letting himself slump against Tom again. Now that it was all over he felt exhausted.
Dead tired but supremely satisfied at the same time. Soon he and Tom could move into that big loft they had visited on their first day of house hunting. They hadn't been able to afford it back then and they'd both been ever so down about it. It was perfect. It was their home. The money issues however...

“In a couple of days – I think we should cram in a few days of mourning before we go on with our lives, don't you think,” Georg smirked, getting chewing gum out of his pocket, wordlessly tossing it over to Tom after he had taken one for himself.

Bill rolled his eyes and huffed but didn't say anything in reply. It was only fair. After all, David was the reason why they lived the lives they had now in the first place. A couple of days would not hurt anyone. He huddled closer to Tom, craning his neck, opening his mouth, much like a chick waiting to be fed; a gum was duly dropped into his open mouth and Bill let his eyes slip closed as he chewed, the sounds of the car starting to lull him into a comfortable haze.

They would have to sit through an inane press conference, announcing the tragic death of their oh-so-beloved manager. He just hoped no one expected him to cry, that could prove to be quite tricky.

“David, David, good ole Dave...” Bill sing-songed under his breath, leaning closer into the soapy warmth of his twin's hoodie.

“Good ole Dave ripped us off beyond belief!” He could feel Tom's mirthless laughter rumble though his twin's ribcage and Bill put a soothing hand on Tom's thigh, rubbing the soft denim.

“Soon we'll have our loft and you guys,” he smiled at Georg and Gustav opposite him, “will get equal payment to the two of us.”

He watched the satisfied little smiles flickering over his friends' faces before he closed his eyes again. Soon he would have his nice loft, very soon...