David didn't know what kind of house he was expecting. An ex-convict with health problems certainly shouldn't be living in the only mansion in town though, right? He keeps his hand on his gun, disliking the way his stomach turns in his stomach. He called for backup under reasonable cause, but they're staying back and out of sight.

He knocks on the large door, taking a deep breath. A tall man with blue eyes and blonde hair looks at him, lips pressed into a thin line. "And who are you?" He asks, obviously trained to turn up his nose to visitors.

"I would like to speak to your employer, please." David says calmly, reaching out to shake the man's hand. The man only turns around and walks into the house, beckoning David to follow him.

The heavy feeling in David's stomach only gets worse, heavier, darker. He tries taking deep breaths, tries to relax, but it's no use. He's done this before though, and he knows it will go away. He knows what to do when the situation becomes dire. But he's through archways, doorways, and he finds this house was fashioned like a maze of hallways and rooms. He prays it won't come back to hurt him, later. The entire house is polished, white, like an indoor snow storm. Then the man stops in the living room, the TV humming away with football playing.

"Sir, you have a visitor." He says calmly, and David sees one of the chairs with the back faced towards him shift, and then someone arise from it. He turns around the side of the chair and raises an eyebrow, his arms crossed over his chest. He has shockingly blue eyes contrasted against darker skin, a mess of brown curls somehow tamed at the top of his head. He grins, a smile so wide you could have guessed his mouth was split open.

"Ah, detective! It's so nice of you to visit, would you like a coffee? Bryce, get this man a drink." Jonathan smiles, eyes alight and intelligent. David has to admit, he's shocked that a man with a rap sheet like Jonathan's is so... alive. Jonathan fixes his sleeve cuffs, then runs a hand through his hair. His voice darkens considerably when he asks, "So... why are you here?"

That heavy feeling returns and David takes a deep breath, trying to be calm about this. "I'm sure you've heard of the murders, yes? Since you have involvement with the club, I was wondering if I could ask you some basic questions." David says, forcing his muscles to relax.

Jonathan nods, heading back to his chair. He gestures for David to sit. "Of course. Ask away, detective."

David clears his throat, settling into the large chair. "Did you know any of the victims?" An obvious question, but a good one. David hopes Jonathan would get a bit too colorful when describing the victims and the wire inside David's jacket would catch it to be used in court.

Jonathan hums, leaning back and nodding. "Yes, yes of course. You said it myself, I frequented at the club and spent at least a little time with all of the strippers. Mini and Ohm were the ones killed, no? I myself liked Vanoss, he was cute. The other victim took him from me." David notices Jonathan's tone change again. Honestly, this man has no filter. "He took up Vanoss' time and hurt him more then once. He was quite rude, really. I caught wind that Vanoss was going to quit to stay with him and it made me quite mad."

"Mad enough to kill a man?" David asks, regretting be so blunt. Goddamnit.

Jonathan raises an eyebrow. "What kind of question is that, detective?" He asks in a warning tone that can be easily translated to: Back the fuck off before I gut you too. That could just be David's hopeful thinking.

David leans back, trying to act relaxed and lax. "The questions I'm meant to ask, sir. Please answer the question. Sir." David says flatly. Bryce returns with a drink and sets it on the lamp table next to David's chair, but he doesn't touch it. He keeps staring Jonathan down, blue versus green.

Jonathan snorts, leaning over his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. His fingers lace together and his lip twitches like a snarl, something primal about his glare. "Sure. You could say that. Evan was mine, and he was running off after this idiot after what, two months of fucking him compared to our six? You'd be mad too if the guy you were fucking ran off." He spits, and David stiffens a little, seeing the violence seeping out. "The bitch wouldn't even talk to me. His idiot boss stopped me from going to the club as often, only let me mess with Ohm and Mini. Then Luke, or whatever he name was, showed up and started talking. Loud." He snarls.

David sees something glisten inside Jonathan's pressed white jacket. A knife.