The Contract 3/?
Title: The Contract
Warnings: Murder, Slash, deliciously underage Alfred, AU
Pairings: Russia/America, France/England
Genre: Romance/Crime
Summary: Alfred thinks it's safe to say that getting involved with the mafia was not how he wanted to start his Saturday morning.
Contract 3
Alfred pulled up to the ice rink, waiting for Matthew to come out of practice. He always finished a bit earlier than his brother and would usually forget to pick him up; half the time he would get part-way home, then glance over at the passenger's side to an empty seat. So today he had gotten the ingenious idea to leave a sticky-note reminder on the steering wheel that read: "DON'T FORGET MATTHEW" in big, blocky red letters. Alfred had to hand it to himself; sometimes he was just too smart.
He checked his phone for the time, hoping it was about time for Matthew to get out, and saw that he had a voicemail. It was from his father.
"I hope you, ah," Arthur had cleared his throat. He sounded worn out. Alfred doubted he'd gotten much sleep the night before. He wondered if he'd spoken to Francis. "I hope you had a lovely day, Alfred. And in case you've forgotten about our deal, I expect you in my office no later than six." There was a long pause and Alfred thought that perhaps Arthur had forgotten to hang up when he spoke again. "Francis..." He paused again. "I-I'm not sure who's meant to pick up Marine this evening so don't let me forget. I may need you to get her."
Alfred groaned and threw his cellphone into the passenger's seat. It was nearly six now and Marine had to be picked up from daycare at six. Was there anything Arthur didn't expect of him? How was he supposed to work for his dad, pick up Marine, do homework, eat, and sleep? Alfred had time for like, three of those things and eating and sleeping were non-negosiable. And who knows how long Arthur expected him to stay at his stupid office-
"Bad day?" Matthew asked quietly.
Alfred nearly jumped out of his seat. "Jesus, Matt! Don't sneak up on me like that. When did you get here?"
Matthew sighed. "A few minutes ago."
Alfred groaned. "Man, why didn't you say something; Arthur's gonna kill me. I'm running late."
"Do you want me to pick up Marine?" Matthew asked.
"Huh?"
"Well since Papa's... not home yet and I know you and Arthur are busy tonight..."
Alfred glanced over at his brother. Though they weren't biologically related they'd lived together as a family since they were toddlers and considered themselves brothers, blood related or not. Sometimes Alfred forgot just how awesome Matthew could be.
Alfred grinned and ruffled Matthew's hair. "Man, have I ever told you how great you are?"
Matthew smiled. "A few times."
-
Alfred, book bag over one shoulder and football gear over the other, handed the keys to his truck to Matthew. "See ya later," he said. "And wish me luck."
Matthew laughed and climbed into the drivers seat.
"And be careful!" Alfred called after him as he drove off. "If you crash I'll kill you!"
"Excuse me," someone said behind him.
Alfred turned around and nearly bumped into a tiny, black haired woman.
He smiled. "Hey there," he said, looking her up and down. Alfred didn't remember anyone this hot working at his father's bank and there was no way he would have forgotten her.
"You're in front of my bike," she said, indicating to a sleek looking black motorcycle. Alfred glanced down and whistled. "Kawasaki ZX," he said; Alfred had a thing for anything with a motor. "Nice."
A hot girl with good taste; it didn't get any better than that. And she had a slight accent as well. Alfred knew what he'd be thinking about later tonight...
She didn't seem the least bit impressed with him. "If you would please move?" she asked with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
It took Alfred a moment to snap out of his little fantasy. "Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry!" he moved out of the way, still trying to come off as hot stuff to a woman obviously older and completely uninterested.
She climbed on her bike, furrowed her brows, and looked at him again, as if noticing something for the first time. "Alfred, right?" she asked.
Alfred blinked a few times and stared at her wide-eyed, completely taken aback by the fact that someone that hot knew his name.
"I recognized you from the photographs in your father's office," she explained. Alfred mentally did a happy dance; she did work here! "Speaking of which," she cocked her head to the side, giving him an amused look, "isn't he expecting you?"
Alfred nearly smacked himself for getting sidetracked. "Oh yeah... Fuck," he cursed and ran up the stairs to the front entrance without a second glance back, hoping Arthur was in a good enough mood.
The moment Alfred turned around she dropped the smile.
"Imbecile," she muttered darkly as she revved the engine and drove off. This was going to be easier than they had originally thought...
-
Alfred rode the elevator up to his father's office on the 60th floor and ran until he was standing in front of his desk. Arthur was on the phone but he pulled it from his ear and held a hand over it when he saw Alfred come in. "Did security give you a hard time?" he whispered.
"No but-"
"Then why are you so bloody late?" he hissed.
Alfred rolled his eyes and looked at the clock. It was only ten minutes after six. Arthur needed to take a chill pill.
"Sorry about that, Mr. Braginski," Arthur said, spinning around in his chair to face the full length window. "Yes, my son just got here." A pause. "Alfred." Arthur laughed. "Yes, he goes to the prep school in the inner city. Mhmm. No, not quite eighteen."
Alfred nearly dropped everything.
Had... Had his father just said Braginski? As in Ivan Braginski?
"Oh, my god," Alfred whispered. "Oh my god, oh my god."
Arthur turned around to shush him.
Alfred began to flail his arms dramatically. 'Hang up the phone!' he mouthed. 'Hang up!'
Arthur spun back around, ignoring him.
Alfred let his bags fall to the floor and clutched at his hair. Oh, this was not good. This was not good at all. Why was that Russian bastard talking to his dad? Better yet, why was his dad talking to that Russian bastard?
"I must say, it's very good to hear from you!" Arthur said. "Indeed. Say, my dear boy, when will you be back in town?"
Alfred's eye twitched. They knew each other? They knew each other!
"Marvelous!" Arthur exclaimed. "I trust I'll be seeing you soon, then."
That was it; Alfred couldn't take it anymore. He walked around Arthur's desk and tried to pry the phone out of his hands.
"Yes we should- Alfred what on earth?" Arthur swatted at his hand and turned the other way. "I'm sorry, Alfred must have forgotten to take his pills this morning," he said through grit teeth, giving Alfred a warning glare.
"Oh, no we haven't had dinner yet," Arthur said, going back to his conversation with the Evil Communist from Hell. "That would be lovely, yes!"
"No!" Alfred shouted. "No to whatever he's saying!"
Arthur yanked the phone away from his ear. "One more time Alfred and I swear you'll regret it." He placed the phone back on his ear. "Mhmm. Alright, we'll see you there. Yes, you too."
Arthur hung up and crossed his arms over his chest. "What has gotten into you, lad?" he asked.
"What's gotten into me?" Alfred exclaimed. "Nothing's gotten into me, I just don't think you should be talking to that Ivan Bragi-Romanov-whatever his last name is."
"For your information, Alfred," Arthur said, voice very low and menacing, "Mr. Braginski and his family are some of our best customers. They've invested a lot in this bank and we've done business with their family for decades." Arthur stopped, mid-lecture, and gave him a puzzled look. "How do you know him, anyways?"
Alfred huffed and pointed his finger at the sky. "How do I know that Commie?" he asked. "I'll tell you how. He-"
Alfred clamped a hand over his mouth. How could he tell his dad that Ivan was a creepy black-mailer who stole his driver's license without incriminating himself?
He thought for a moment, then slumped his shoulders.
"Never mind," he mumbled. "But I'm not eating with that guy!"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "For god's sake, act your age!" Arthur stood up and grabbed his jacket. "We're having dinner at Yao's, it's a lovely place in China Town."
"But what about Marine?" Alfred asked. Sure Matthew was getting her but he hadn't told Arthur that.
"Matthew's getting her," Arthur said, adjusting his tie in his reflection.
Damn it.
"But aren't I supposed to be working?" Alfred asked, growing desperate.
Arthur glanced over at him. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of opportunities to make up for lost time."
"But... But why do I have to go?" Alfred asked, voice a half a step away from a whine.
Arthur took a deep breath. He was probably counting to ten in his head.
"Alfred," Arthur began slowly, "we're meeting him in half an hour. This will be good for you. When you're older and, god willing, have a career, you'll have to do this sort of thing. It's just a dinner business meeting. Think of it as a learning experience."
Think of it as a learning experience? That was going to be difficult seeing as Alfred was too busy thinking about how he was about to die.
-
China Town was only two blocks from Arthur's office so they walked. Alfred complained the entire way about anything from Ivan to how cold it was to how he thought he was getting sick, to the toe he was pretty sure he had broken. But mostly he complained about Ivan.
"-and I think that Matthew and Marine are probably really lonely so maybe we should just-"
Arthur clamped a hand over his son's mouth. "We're here," he ground out. "So belt up and for the love of god do stop acting like a five year old."
Alfred snubbed his nose at the ornate looking restaurant before him. "I bet the food sucks," he muttered under his breath and begrudgingly followed his father inside.
Arthur smiled at the receptionist. "Hello, we're here to meet someone. Last name Braginski."
She smiled and nodded. "Yes sir, right this way."
They followed her through the dinning area to a table in the corner where two men sat. One was Ivan Braginski and the other was a young Chinese man. Both were deep in quiet conversation, though it seemed as if Ivan was making the other man uncomfortable. Alfred wasn't surprised, he couldn't stand the Russian ether.
They both stood up and smiled when Alfred and his father approached. Ivan extended his hand to shake Arthur's and the Chinese gentleman bowed.
"Mr. Kirkland," Ivan said, "this is my dear friend Yao Wang. He is the proprietor of this fine establishment."
Yao tried not to wince as Ivan said the word, 'friend'.
Arthur and Yao shook hands. "It is a pleasure to meet you," Yao said.
Arthur nodded. "Likewise. This is a very beautiful place."
Yao smiled. Alfred thought that he was way too pretty to be a guy. It was almost weird.
"And this is my son, Alfred," Arthur said, pushing Alfred forward forcefully.
Alfred shook Yao's hand but refused to shake Ivan's until Arthur pinched him in the back.
"I hope you enjoy yourselves," Yao said as they sat down. "Should I start you all off with some tea?"
Arthur felt completely at home already. "That would be lovely, thanks."
"I'll have a Coke," Alfred said, slouching over and resting his head in his hands.
Yao bowed again and left.
Arthur kicked his son under the table. "Sit up," he whispered.
Alfred rolled his eyes and sat back, only to slouch down further.
"So, this is Alfred," Ivan said, smiling. "Your father has told me many things about you," he said.
Alfred shot him a glare. Ivan laughed.
"Do not be so worried. They were all good things. How is school going, Alfred?" Ivan asked.
Alfred didn't say anything.
Arthur kicked him again. "Be polite," he hissed.
Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and made a show of looking at everything but Ivan. "Good," he said, voice completely flat.
"Alfred was the starting quarterback this year," Arthur mentioned, voice full of pride. Alfred rolled his eyes again. Arthur was all for bragging about Alfred's accomplishments in front of people but he hardly ever told him how proud he was when no one else was there to hear it. Arthur hadn't even made it to any of his games this season; he had no right to bring it up.
Alfred was about to tell Arthur where he could take his empty compliments when re remembered that right now probably wasn't the best time. Arthur was already having a hard enough time with Francis without Alfred adding to it.
Alfred looked away from the two of them. Sometimes he wished that he and Arthur had a better relationship. or a moment he wondered what it would be like to just hangout with his dad, or go fishing like they did in the movies, or just talk about their problems.
Yao came back with their drinks and took everyone's orders, pulling Alfred from his thoughts. The teenager had no idea what anything was on the menu so he just ordered something with chicken and hoped he didn't end up with any cats or dogs on his plate.
Through the majority of the meal Arthur and Ivan mostly talked business and Alfred saw just how pointless it had been for him to come; he wasn't paying attention to what they were saying and they weren't paying attention to him anymore, so it had been stupid to make him tag along.
Why had Ivan wanted Alfred to have dinner with them anyways? To make him nervous? To piss him off?
Well he wasn't nervous. But if making him mad had been his plan then he had succeeded.
He glanced back and forth between the two as they changed the subject to comparing their respective hometowns in Russia and England. He narrowed his eyes at Ivan. Had he told Arthur about the accident? Alfred shook his head no slightly. That was impossible. If he had, Arthur would have ripped him a new one by now.
Alfred's narrowed eyes turned into a full on death-glare. He didn't care if Ivan hadn't snitched, he still hated him. It was obvious that Ivan was up to something, he just hadn't figured it out yet.
Half way through the meal Arthur excused himself to the restroom. As he stood up he quietly threatened his sun to behave while he was gone. Alfred rolled his eyes.
As soon as Arthur was out of sight Ivan gave Alfred a smug look.
"How convenient that I know your father, da?"
"You better not tell him," Alfred nearly snarled. "Or you'll regret it."
Ivan laughed. "Calm down, Alik. You don't have to worry about that; I've already told you we settled the little matter of my ruined bumper."
"It's hardly ruined," Alfred muttered under his breath. "And my name's not Alec, it's Alfred!"
Ivan laughed. "I'm well aware, Lapushka ."
Alfred's eye twitched. "I really hate you," he said flatly. "What the hell are you up to?" he asked, voice full of suspicion.
Ivan took a sip of his coffee. Alfred remembered the tattoos on his hands and looked, but he was wearing gloves. Alfred made a face. What sort of weirdo wore gloves inside?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ivan said innocently. "And do not forget to stop by tomorrow evening," he reminded.
"Yeah, yeah," Alfred said dismissively. "Hey, how'd you get my number, anyways?"
Ivan smiled. "'That is for me to know' I think is how the saying goes, da?"
Alfred spent the rest of the evening writing down ways to kill Ivan on the back of his paper Chinese Zodiac placemat.
"That sounds like something out of a manga," Kiku said after Alfred had explained the entirety of his weekend, starting with how much he hated Arthur and ending with how much he hated Ivan. "Did you add the NaCl?" he asked, indicating to the test tube in his hand. Alfred had Chemistry with Kiku every Tuesday and Thursday and though they always did labs together, Kiku usually ended up doing all the work as Alfred's mind was usually... elsewhere.
"But don't you think it's weird?" Alfred asked. "That Ivan guy has to be up to something." He looked down at the chemicals Kiku was holding, remembering that they were, in fact, in Chemistry class. "Er, no hang on, lemme finish this first," Alfred said with a grin.
Kiku gave a weary glance to what Alfred was doing. When he noticed him taking something off the Bunsen burner (When had he turned it on?) his eyes widened. What was Alfred up to? The experiment didn't require heating anything. Kiku had thought for sure that Alfred had been so engrossed in the story he had been telling that he hadn't had the time to mess around. Kiku glanced around, a bit nervous for his friend, and looked up at their teacher. Thankfully he wasn't paying attention.
"What are you doing, Alfred?" Kiku whispered.
Alfred shrugged. "Well, we're studying chemical reactions aren't we? Besides, this lab is boring," he said. "And who knows what this will do?" Before Kiku could say anything else Alfred mixed whatever he'd gotten off the burner with an unidentifiable liquid.
The contents of the test tube instantly exploded. Alfred gasped and dropped it, then started to laugh. Kiku closed his eyes, waiting for the teacher to yell.
"Kirkland!" their teacher shouted. "Principle's office. Now."
Kiku sighed again, wondering when, or if, Alfred would stop acting up for attention. One of these days he just knew that Alfred was going to do something stupid at school and regret it.
Alfred grinned at Kiku, taking his safety goggles off. "Meet ya in the parking lot for lunch," he said, then walked out of the classroom, shooting their teacher a mock salute on his way out.
-
"My life is oveeeer," Alfred muttered as he let his head fall on the table with a loud thwak.
"What did the principle say?" Kiku asked.
Alfred mumbled something unintelligible.
"Pardon?"
He turned his head to the side so he could speak properly. "I said I got suspended from the team."
Kiku didn't look surprised. "It's your own fault; that was probably the tenth stunt you've pulled this year."
Alfred glared at him. "A little sympathy would be nice," he said with a pout. "My life seriously sucks right now. You have no idea."
Kiku fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Well look at the bright side," he said. "At least it's the offseason. How long are you suspended for?"
Alfred groaned. "Until I pull up my grades and start, 'acting like an adult'," he said sarcastically.
Kiku smiled. "That's not so bad. Just think of it as extra free time to play videoga-"
Alfred shot him another glare. "I'm grounded from those, remember?"
Kiku bit his lower lip, trying not to laugh.
"You're a horrible friend," Alfred said darkly.
Alfred's phone chimed; he'd received a text message.
Six o'clock. 4000 Kings Street.
Alfred groaned again. Kiku was being to think Alfred was worse than a teenage girl when it came to acting theatrically. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"It's Ivan," Alfred said. "You know how I told you he's making me clean up his place?"
"That is a good deal," Kiku mused. "Considering you wrecked his car."
Alfred frowned. "Yeah well, I signed these papers so he can't use that against me. I think he's just trying to mess with me for some stupid reason, I just need to figure out why so I can get back at him..." Alfred tapped at his chin, deep in thought. Or as deep in thought as Alfred got.
Kiku raised a brow. "Signed papers?" he asked.
Alfred shrugged. "Yeah. Weren't you listening to me at all earlier? It's so I wouldn't have to pay for any damages..." He furrowed his brow, the wheels in his head slowly beginning to turn. "He... had them all ready for me to sign, too... That was... kinda weird..."
"Alfred, signed what papers? You're not a legal adult yet. Nothing you sign is legally binding."
Alfred shot up from his seat, because that was what the cool guys in all the best action movies did whenever they were about to say something ground breaking or kick someone's ass.
Suddenly it all made sense now. The fact that Ivan had made him sign those papers, had conned him into that deal, had his number, made him go out to dinner with his father... It was all part of Ivan's twisted game. And tonight, if that bastard Russian got his way, it would all come to a head.
"Kiku..." Alfred said quietly, building up the suspense.
Kiku looked from left to right, hoping Alfred would start acting normal as soon as possible. People were starting to stare. "Yes, Alfred?" he asked.
Alfred slammed his fist on the table. "He is a serial killer!" he exclaimed.
Kiku deadpanned. "A serial killer?"
Alfred looked very pleased with himself for having "figured out" the big mystery. He nodded. "Yep," he said. "And tonight, I'm going to beat him at his own game. Stupid Ruski won't know what hit him!"
Nobody fucked with Alfred and got away with it.
-
Alfred had to hand it to himself, he felt pretty cool right now. He felt like Bruce Wayne, or John McClane, or Rambo or something, riding the subway to exact justice. He had wanted to drive his truck, but there was no place to park on Kings street.
That had probably been all part of Ivan's dastardly plan, to try to get Alfred to go where he couldn't bring an escape vehicle. Alfred smirked and patted his duffle bag, which he had packed full with top of the line artillery. (Actually he had brought one of Arthur's croquet mallets, a roll of tape, and a paring knife, but who needed a gun when you could just whap someone with a blunt object?)
Alfred got off at his stop, one block away from his destination. He hugged his jacket close as he walked, cursing the weather for being so cold. It didn't help that the sun had already set, making the wind feel that much colder, and the near-empty streets that much creepier. Not that he was afraid or anything. But why did Ivan have to live in one of the sketchiest parts of the city? He supposed most serial killers wouldn't live in a cul-de-sac, but still.
After a few minutes of walking Alfred found himself standing in front of 4000 Kings Street. The building looked looked nice and normal enough, if a it on the foreboding side, but how was Alfred supposed to know which apartment was Ivan's? If he texted him then Ivan would know that he was here already, and Alfred wanted to sneak up on him.
He shrugged, guessing he'd just have to go from door to door asking if they had a hardened criminal in their residence until he found the bastard.
Alfred walked up the concrete stoop and opened the front door, peering in.
There was a small, carpeted landing directly inside. A single, dim, uncovered light bulb illuminated the narrow space, casting an eerie glow against the maroon walls and the worn-out stairs that led directly to a single door.
Alfred gulped. He had to hand it to the guy; Ivan sure knew how to set the mood. But he had come too far to back down now. And he wasn't just doing this for himself. He couldn't let Ivan do business with his father anymore. Arthur was too stupid to realize just how evil Ivan really was, so it was up to Alfred to save everyone.
He took a deep breath, got the mallet out, and walked up the stairs. As quietly and slowly as he could, he tried the knob. It popped open with a click and Alfred nearly had a heart attack, certain that Ivan would come to the door any minute now and greet him with a butcher knife.
A few seconds passed by. Alfred held his breath, straining his ears for any noise. After a few moments of silence he figured it would be safe to go in.
Alfred pushed the door open and looked around. The apartment looked normal enough. Ivan had a pretty nice television and a super comfortable looking couch that Alfred bet would be totally fun to bounce on and-
"You're early."
Alfred's scream broke the sound barrier. Without thinking he closed his eyes and swung the croquet mallet as hard as he could. Expecting to hear the satisfying sound of wood against skull, Alfred was confused to find his swing brought to a premature halt.
He opened one eye and saw that his mallet had been stopped by... a faucet pipe. A faucet pipe being held by Ivan. A very sweaty Ivan, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a towel around his neck.
Alfred, momentarily forgetting why he was there, found himself staring at Ivan's exposed skin. It seemed as if every available surface had been covered in tattoos, from the stars on both his shoulders, to the religious symbols carved into the skin of his torso, to the skulls and words written with the Cyrillic alphabet that covered his arms and hands. Even his kneecaps had tattoos- the same stars that were on his shoulders.
If Ivan had been anyone else, Alfred would have thought that he looked almost... cool.
Ivan smiled. "Like what you see?" he asked teasingly.
Alfred blinked, finally remembering why he was there, and took another swing.
Ivan dropped his pipe, grabbed the mallet with his hand, kicked the door behind Alfred shut, and backed him into it. "What do you think you're doing?" Ivan asked, trying not to laugh at the boy. Alfred tried to push him off, surprising Ivan with his strength.
"Get off of me you commie serial killer!" Alfred shouted, trying to head-butt the taller man.
Ivan raised a brow. "Serial killer?" he asked. He grinned and brought his face closer to Alfred's.
"I'm not a serial killer, Alfred," Ivan whispered. "I'm much, much worse."
-
-
A/N: Sorry for the lack of coolness and Mafia in this chapter. I'm getting to the fun stuff, I swear! Also, this story isn't supposed to be funny but Alfred disagrees. I'm sorry if the tone seems ADD or bipolar. I was going for serious, but, well, whatever. But if anything seems wonky let me knowwwww. And yes. Alfred is straight. I have such a thing for Omg I didn't know I was gayyyy!Alfred. And making Alfred have Arthur's last name seems awkward, but since he's his adopted son it wouldn't have made sense for his last name to be Jones.
Notes:
About dot com says: "Not to mix hydrogen peroxide/acetone mixtures when heated in the presence of an acid because they may cause explosions." That's the extent of my science knowledge soooo.
"Calm down, Alik." Alik is the diminutive for the name Alexander and is also used for many names that are rarely found in Russian and begin with Al-. I was so depressed to find that there was no Russian equivalent to Alfred like there is for Matthew.
"I'm well aware, Lapushka." Lapushka is a nickname that means "little paw". For some reason it reminded me of Native Americans, so I thought it fit Alfred somehow. It's usually used for children, so Ivan is obviously making fun of Alfred here. Also, it's such a cute name; I think it suits him.
Ivan's tattoos: In the Russian mafia, religious symbols usually correlate with what prisons you have been incarcerated in. The stars on his kneecaps means that he is a captain; it symbolizes that he will bow down to no one. A captain or, Avtorityet, is in charge of a group of men who report directly to him. The captain in turn reports directly to the Pakhan or Boss. The Pakhan is the "Godfather" of the Russian Mafia. There are more tattoos and more explanations to comeeeee.
Random fact/rumor: Dude, Vladimir Putin was an advisor of a supposed mafia-affiliated company. How cool is thaaaat.
Warnings: Murder, Slash, deliciously underage Alfred, AU
Pairings: Russia/America, France/England
Genre: Romance/Crime
Summary: Alfred thinks it's safe to say that getting involved with the mafia was not how he wanted to start his Saturday morning.
Contract 3
Alfred pulled up to the ice rink, waiting for Matthew to come out of practice. He always finished a bit earlier than his brother and would usually forget to pick him up; half the time he would get part-way home, then glance over at the passenger's side to an empty seat. So today he had gotten the ingenious idea to leave a sticky-note reminder on the steering wheel that read: "DON'T FORGET MATTHEW" in big, blocky red letters. Alfred had to hand it to himself; sometimes he was just too smart.
He checked his phone for the time, hoping it was about time for Matthew to get out, and saw that he had a voicemail. It was from his father.
"I hope you, ah," Arthur had cleared his throat. He sounded worn out. Alfred doubted he'd gotten much sleep the night before. He wondered if he'd spoken to Francis. "I hope you had a lovely day, Alfred. And in case you've forgotten about our deal, I expect you in my office no later than six." There was a long pause and Alfred thought that perhaps Arthur had forgotten to hang up when he spoke again. "Francis..." He paused again. "I-I'm not sure who's meant to pick up Marine this evening so don't let me forget. I may need you to get her."
Alfred groaned and threw his cellphone into the passenger's seat. It was nearly six now and Marine had to be picked up from daycare at six. Was there anything Arthur didn't expect of him? How was he supposed to work for his dad, pick up Marine, do homework, eat, and sleep? Alfred had time for like, three of those things and eating and sleeping were non-negosiable. And who knows how long Arthur expected him to stay at his stupid office-
"Bad day?" Matthew asked quietly.
Alfred nearly jumped out of his seat. "Jesus, Matt! Don't sneak up on me like that. When did you get here?"
Matthew sighed. "A few minutes ago."
Alfred groaned. "Man, why didn't you say something; Arthur's gonna kill me. I'm running late."
"Do you want me to pick up Marine?" Matthew asked.
"Huh?"
"Well since Papa's... not home yet and I know you and Arthur are busy tonight..."
Alfred glanced over at his brother. Though they weren't biologically related they'd lived together as a family since they were toddlers and considered themselves brothers, blood related or not. Sometimes Alfred forgot just how awesome Matthew could be.
Alfred grinned and ruffled Matthew's hair. "Man, have I ever told you how great you are?"
Matthew smiled. "A few times."
-
Alfred, book bag over one shoulder and football gear over the other, handed the keys to his truck to Matthew. "See ya later," he said. "And wish me luck."
Matthew laughed and climbed into the drivers seat.
"And be careful!" Alfred called after him as he drove off. "If you crash I'll kill you!"
"Excuse me," someone said behind him.
Alfred turned around and nearly bumped into a tiny, black haired woman.
He smiled. "Hey there," he said, looking her up and down. Alfred didn't remember anyone this hot working at his father's bank and there was no way he would have forgotten her.
"You're in front of my bike," she said, indicating to a sleek looking black motorcycle. Alfred glanced down and whistled. "Kawasaki ZX," he said; Alfred had a thing for anything with a motor. "Nice."
A hot girl with good taste; it didn't get any better than that. And she had a slight accent as well. Alfred knew what he'd be thinking about later tonight...
She didn't seem the least bit impressed with him. "If you would please move?" she asked with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
It took Alfred a moment to snap out of his little fantasy. "Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry!" he moved out of the way, still trying to come off as hot stuff to a woman obviously older and completely uninterested.
She climbed on her bike, furrowed her brows, and looked at him again, as if noticing something for the first time. "Alfred, right?" she asked.
Alfred blinked a few times and stared at her wide-eyed, completely taken aback by the fact that someone that hot knew his name.
"I recognized you from the photographs in your father's office," she explained. Alfred mentally did a happy dance; she did work here! "Speaking of which," she cocked her head to the side, giving him an amused look, "isn't he expecting you?"
Alfred nearly smacked himself for getting sidetracked. "Oh yeah... Fuck," he cursed and ran up the stairs to the front entrance without a second glance back, hoping Arthur was in a good enough mood.
The moment Alfred turned around she dropped the smile.
"Imbecile," she muttered darkly as she revved the engine and drove off. This was going to be easier than they had originally thought...
-
Alfred rode the elevator up to his father's office on the 60th floor and ran until he was standing in front of his desk. Arthur was on the phone but he pulled it from his ear and held a hand over it when he saw Alfred come in. "Did security give you a hard time?" he whispered.
"No but-"
"Then why are you so bloody late?" he hissed.
Alfred rolled his eyes and looked at the clock. It was only ten minutes after six. Arthur needed to take a chill pill.
"Sorry about that, Mr. Braginski," Arthur said, spinning around in his chair to face the full length window. "Yes, my son just got here." A pause. "Alfred." Arthur laughed. "Yes, he goes to the prep school in the inner city. Mhmm. No, not quite eighteen."
Alfred nearly dropped everything.
Had... Had his father just said Braginski? As in Ivan Braginski?
"Oh, my god," Alfred whispered. "Oh my god, oh my god."
Arthur turned around to shush him.
Alfred began to flail his arms dramatically. 'Hang up the phone!' he mouthed. 'Hang up!'
Arthur spun back around, ignoring him.
Alfred let his bags fall to the floor and clutched at his hair. Oh, this was not good. This was not good at all. Why was that Russian bastard talking to his dad? Better yet, why was his dad talking to that Russian bastard?
"I must say, it's very good to hear from you!" Arthur said. "Indeed. Say, my dear boy, when will you be back in town?"
Alfred's eye twitched. They knew each other? They knew each other!
"Marvelous!" Arthur exclaimed. "I trust I'll be seeing you soon, then."
That was it; Alfred couldn't take it anymore. He walked around Arthur's desk and tried to pry the phone out of his hands.
"Yes we should- Alfred what on earth?" Arthur swatted at his hand and turned the other way. "I'm sorry, Alfred must have forgotten to take his pills this morning," he said through grit teeth, giving Alfred a warning glare.
"Oh, no we haven't had dinner yet," Arthur said, going back to his conversation with the Evil Communist from Hell. "That would be lovely, yes!"
"No!" Alfred shouted. "No to whatever he's saying!"
Arthur yanked the phone away from his ear. "One more time Alfred and I swear you'll regret it." He placed the phone back on his ear. "Mhmm. Alright, we'll see you there. Yes, you too."
Arthur hung up and crossed his arms over his chest. "What has gotten into you, lad?" he asked.
"What's gotten into me?" Alfred exclaimed. "Nothing's gotten into me, I just don't think you should be talking to that Ivan Bragi-Romanov-whatever his last name is."
"For your information, Alfred," Arthur said, voice very low and menacing, "Mr. Braginski and his family are some of our best customers. They've invested a lot in this bank and we've done business with their family for decades." Arthur stopped, mid-lecture, and gave him a puzzled look. "How do you know him, anyways?"
Alfred huffed and pointed his finger at the sky. "How do I know that Commie?" he asked. "I'll tell you how. He-"
Alfred clamped a hand over his mouth. How could he tell his dad that Ivan was a creepy black-mailer who stole his driver's license without incriminating himself?
He thought for a moment, then slumped his shoulders.
"Never mind," he mumbled. "But I'm not eating with that guy!"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "For god's sake, act your age!" Arthur stood up and grabbed his jacket. "We're having dinner at Yao's, it's a lovely place in China Town."
"But what about Marine?" Alfred asked. Sure Matthew was getting her but he hadn't told Arthur that.
"Matthew's getting her," Arthur said, adjusting his tie in his reflection.
Damn it.
"But aren't I supposed to be working?" Alfred asked, growing desperate.
Arthur glanced over at him. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of opportunities to make up for lost time."
"But... But why do I have to go?" Alfred asked, voice a half a step away from a whine.
Arthur took a deep breath. He was probably counting to ten in his head.
"Alfred," Arthur began slowly, "we're meeting him in half an hour. This will be good for you. When you're older and, god willing, have a career, you'll have to do this sort of thing. It's just a dinner business meeting. Think of it as a learning experience."
Think of it as a learning experience? That was going to be difficult seeing as Alfred was too busy thinking about how he was about to die.
-
China Town was only two blocks from Arthur's office so they walked. Alfred complained the entire way about anything from Ivan to how cold it was to how he thought he was getting sick, to the toe he was pretty sure he had broken. But mostly he complained about Ivan.
"-and I think that Matthew and Marine are probably really lonely so maybe we should just-"
Arthur clamped a hand over his son's mouth. "We're here," he ground out. "So belt up and for the love of god do stop acting like a five year old."
Alfred snubbed his nose at the ornate looking restaurant before him. "I bet the food sucks," he muttered under his breath and begrudgingly followed his father inside.
Arthur smiled at the receptionist. "Hello, we're here to meet someone. Last name Braginski."
She smiled and nodded. "Yes sir, right this way."
They followed her through the dinning area to a table in the corner where two men sat. One was Ivan Braginski and the other was a young Chinese man. Both were deep in quiet conversation, though it seemed as if Ivan was making the other man uncomfortable. Alfred wasn't surprised, he couldn't stand the Russian ether.
They both stood up and smiled when Alfred and his father approached. Ivan extended his hand to shake Arthur's and the Chinese gentleman bowed.
"Mr. Kirkland," Ivan said, "this is my dear friend Yao Wang. He is the proprietor of this fine establishment."
Yao tried not to wince as Ivan said the word, 'friend'.
Arthur and Yao shook hands. "It is a pleasure to meet you," Yao said.
Arthur nodded. "Likewise. This is a very beautiful place."
Yao smiled. Alfred thought that he was way too pretty to be a guy. It was almost weird.
"And this is my son, Alfred," Arthur said, pushing Alfred forward forcefully.
Alfred shook Yao's hand but refused to shake Ivan's until Arthur pinched him in the back.
"I hope you enjoy yourselves," Yao said as they sat down. "Should I start you all off with some tea?"
Arthur felt completely at home already. "That would be lovely, thanks."
"I'll have a Coke," Alfred said, slouching over and resting his head in his hands.
Yao bowed again and left.
Arthur kicked his son under the table. "Sit up," he whispered.
Alfred rolled his eyes and sat back, only to slouch down further.
"So, this is Alfred," Ivan said, smiling. "Your father has told me many things about you," he said.
Alfred shot him a glare. Ivan laughed.
"Do not be so worried. They were all good things. How is school going, Alfred?" Ivan asked.
Alfred didn't say anything.
Arthur kicked him again. "Be polite," he hissed.
Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and made a show of looking at everything but Ivan. "Good," he said, voice completely flat.
"Alfred was the starting quarterback this year," Arthur mentioned, voice full of pride. Alfred rolled his eyes again. Arthur was all for bragging about Alfred's accomplishments in front of people but he hardly ever told him how proud he was when no one else was there to hear it. Arthur hadn't even made it to any of his games this season; he had no right to bring it up.
Alfred was about to tell Arthur where he could take his empty compliments when re remembered that right now probably wasn't the best time. Arthur was already having a hard enough time with Francis without Alfred adding to it.
Alfred looked away from the two of them. Sometimes he wished that he and Arthur had a better relationship. or a moment he wondered what it would be like to just hangout with his dad, or go fishing like they did in the movies, or just talk about their problems.
Yao came back with their drinks and took everyone's orders, pulling Alfred from his thoughts. The teenager had no idea what anything was on the menu so he just ordered something with chicken and hoped he didn't end up with any cats or dogs on his plate.
Through the majority of the meal Arthur and Ivan mostly talked business and Alfred saw just how pointless it had been for him to come; he wasn't paying attention to what they were saying and they weren't paying attention to him anymore, so it had been stupid to make him tag along.
Why had Ivan wanted Alfred to have dinner with them anyways? To make him nervous? To piss him off?
Well he wasn't nervous. But if making him mad had been his plan then he had succeeded.
He glanced back and forth between the two as they changed the subject to comparing their respective hometowns in Russia and England. He narrowed his eyes at Ivan. Had he told Arthur about the accident? Alfred shook his head no slightly. That was impossible. If he had, Arthur would have ripped him a new one by now.
Alfred's narrowed eyes turned into a full on death-glare. He didn't care if Ivan hadn't snitched, he still hated him. It was obvious that Ivan was up to something, he just hadn't figured it out yet.
Half way through the meal Arthur excused himself to the restroom. As he stood up he quietly threatened his sun to behave while he was gone. Alfred rolled his eyes.
As soon as Arthur was out of sight Ivan gave Alfred a smug look.
"How convenient that I know your father, da?"
"You better not tell him," Alfred nearly snarled. "Or you'll regret it."
Ivan laughed. "Calm down, Alik. You don't have to worry about that; I've already told you we settled the little matter of my ruined bumper."
"It's hardly ruined," Alfred muttered under his breath. "And my name's not Alec, it's Alfred!"
Ivan laughed. "I'm well aware, Lapushka ."
Alfred's eye twitched. "I really hate you," he said flatly. "What the hell are you up to?" he asked, voice full of suspicion.
Ivan took a sip of his coffee. Alfred remembered the tattoos on his hands and looked, but he was wearing gloves. Alfred made a face. What sort of weirdo wore gloves inside?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ivan said innocently. "And do not forget to stop by tomorrow evening," he reminded.
"Yeah, yeah," Alfred said dismissively. "Hey, how'd you get my number, anyways?"
Ivan smiled. "'That is for me to know' I think is how the saying goes, da?"
Alfred spent the rest of the evening writing down ways to kill Ivan on the back of his paper Chinese Zodiac placemat.
"That sounds like something out of a manga," Kiku said after Alfred had explained the entirety of his weekend, starting with how much he hated Arthur and ending with how much he hated Ivan. "Did you add the NaCl?" he asked, indicating to the test tube in his hand. Alfred had Chemistry with Kiku every Tuesday and Thursday and though they always did labs together, Kiku usually ended up doing all the work as Alfred's mind was usually... elsewhere.
"But don't you think it's weird?" Alfred asked. "That Ivan guy has to be up to something." He looked down at the chemicals Kiku was holding, remembering that they were, in fact, in Chemistry class. "Er, no hang on, lemme finish this first," Alfred said with a grin.
Kiku gave a weary glance to what Alfred was doing. When he noticed him taking something off the Bunsen burner (When had he turned it on?) his eyes widened. What was Alfred up to? The experiment didn't require heating anything. Kiku had thought for sure that Alfred had been so engrossed in the story he had been telling that he hadn't had the time to mess around. Kiku glanced around, a bit nervous for his friend, and looked up at their teacher. Thankfully he wasn't paying attention.
"What are you doing, Alfred?" Kiku whispered.
Alfred shrugged. "Well, we're studying chemical reactions aren't we? Besides, this lab is boring," he said. "And who knows what this will do?" Before Kiku could say anything else Alfred mixed whatever he'd gotten off the burner with an unidentifiable liquid.
The contents of the test tube instantly exploded. Alfred gasped and dropped it, then started to laugh. Kiku closed his eyes, waiting for the teacher to yell.
"Kirkland!" their teacher shouted. "Principle's office. Now."
Kiku sighed again, wondering when, or if, Alfred would stop acting up for attention. One of these days he just knew that Alfred was going to do something stupid at school and regret it.
Alfred grinned at Kiku, taking his safety goggles off. "Meet ya in the parking lot for lunch," he said, then walked out of the classroom, shooting their teacher a mock salute on his way out.
-
"My life is oveeeer," Alfred muttered as he let his head fall on the table with a loud thwak.
"What did the principle say?" Kiku asked.
Alfred mumbled something unintelligible.
"Pardon?"
He turned his head to the side so he could speak properly. "I said I got suspended from the team."
Kiku didn't look surprised. "It's your own fault; that was probably the tenth stunt you've pulled this year."
Alfred glared at him. "A little sympathy would be nice," he said with a pout. "My life seriously sucks right now. You have no idea."
Kiku fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Well look at the bright side," he said. "At least it's the offseason. How long are you suspended for?"
Alfred groaned. "Until I pull up my grades and start, 'acting like an adult'," he said sarcastically.
Kiku smiled. "That's not so bad. Just think of it as extra free time to play videoga-"
Alfred shot him another glare. "I'm grounded from those, remember?"
Kiku bit his lower lip, trying not to laugh.
"You're a horrible friend," Alfred said darkly.
Alfred's phone chimed; he'd received a text message.
Six o'clock. 4000 Kings Street.
Alfred groaned again. Kiku was being to think Alfred was worse than a teenage girl when it came to acting theatrically. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"It's Ivan," Alfred said. "You know how I told you he's making me clean up his place?"
"That is a good deal," Kiku mused. "Considering you wrecked his car."
Alfred frowned. "Yeah well, I signed these papers so he can't use that against me. I think he's just trying to mess with me for some stupid reason, I just need to figure out why so I can get back at him..." Alfred tapped at his chin, deep in thought. Or as deep in thought as Alfred got.
Kiku raised a brow. "Signed papers?" he asked.
Alfred shrugged. "Yeah. Weren't you listening to me at all earlier? It's so I wouldn't have to pay for any damages..." He furrowed his brow, the wheels in his head slowly beginning to turn. "He... had them all ready for me to sign, too... That was... kinda weird..."
"Alfred, signed what papers? You're not a legal adult yet. Nothing you sign is legally binding."
Alfred shot up from his seat, because that was what the cool guys in all the best action movies did whenever they were about to say something ground breaking or kick someone's ass.
Suddenly it all made sense now. The fact that Ivan had made him sign those papers, had conned him into that deal, had his number, made him go out to dinner with his father... It was all part of Ivan's twisted game. And tonight, if that bastard Russian got his way, it would all come to a head.
"Kiku..." Alfred said quietly, building up the suspense.
Kiku looked from left to right, hoping Alfred would start acting normal as soon as possible. People were starting to stare. "Yes, Alfred?" he asked.
Alfred slammed his fist on the table. "He is a serial killer!" he exclaimed.
Kiku deadpanned. "A serial killer?"
Alfred looked very pleased with himself for having "figured out" the big mystery. He nodded. "Yep," he said. "And tonight, I'm going to beat him at his own game. Stupid Ruski won't know what hit him!"
Nobody fucked with Alfred and got away with it.
-
Alfred had to hand it to himself, he felt pretty cool right now. He felt like Bruce Wayne, or John McClane, or Rambo or something, riding the subway to exact justice. He had wanted to drive his truck, but there was no place to park on Kings street.
That had probably been all part of Ivan's dastardly plan, to try to get Alfred to go where he couldn't bring an escape vehicle. Alfred smirked and patted his duffle bag, which he had packed full with top of the line artillery. (Actually he had brought one of Arthur's croquet mallets, a roll of tape, and a paring knife, but who needed a gun when you could just whap someone with a blunt object?)
Alfred got off at his stop, one block away from his destination. He hugged his jacket close as he walked, cursing the weather for being so cold. It didn't help that the sun had already set, making the wind feel that much colder, and the near-empty streets that much creepier. Not that he was afraid or anything. But why did Ivan have to live in one of the sketchiest parts of the city? He supposed most serial killers wouldn't live in a cul-de-sac, but still.
After a few minutes of walking Alfred found himself standing in front of 4000 Kings Street. The building looked looked nice and normal enough, if a it on the foreboding side, but how was Alfred supposed to know which apartment was Ivan's? If he texted him then Ivan would know that he was here already, and Alfred wanted to sneak up on him.
He shrugged, guessing he'd just have to go from door to door asking if they had a hardened criminal in their residence until he found the bastard.
Alfred walked up the concrete stoop and opened the front door, peering in.
There was a small, carpeted landing directly inside. A single, dim, uncovered light bulb illuminated the narrow space, casting an eerie glow against the maroon walls and the worn-out stairs that led directly to a single door.
Alfred gulped. He had to hand it to the guy; Ivan sure knew how to set the mood. But he had come too far to back down now. And he wasn't just doing this for himself. He couldn't let Ivan do business with his father anymore. Arthur was too stupid to realize just how evil Ivan really was, so it was up to Alfred to save everyone.
He took a deep breath, got the mallet out, and walked up the stairs. As quietly and slowly as he could, he tried the knob. It popped open with a click and Alfred nearly had a heart attack, certain that Ivan would come to the door any minute now and greet him with a butcher knife.
A few seconds passed by. Alfred held his breath, straining his ears for any noise. After a few moments of silence he figured it would be safe to go in.
Alfred pushed the door open and looked around. The apartment looked normal enough. Ivan had a pretty nice television and a super comfortable looking couch that Alfred bet would be totally fun to bounce on and-
"You're early."
Alfred's scream broke the sound barrier. Without thinking he closed his eyes and swung the croquet mallet as hard as he could. Expecting to hear the satisfying sound of wood against skull, Alfred was confused to find his swing brought to a premature halt.
He opened one eye and saw that his mallet had been stopped by... a faucet pipe. A faucet pipe being held by Ivan. A very sweaty Ivan, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a towel around his neck.
Alfred, momentarily forgetting why he was there, found himself staring at Ivan's exposed skin. It seemed as if every available surface had been covered in tattoos, from the stars on both his shoulders, to the religious symbols carved into the skin of his torso, to the skulls and words written with the Cyrillic alphabet that covered his arms and hands. Even his kneecaps had tattoos- the same stars that were on his shoulders.
If Ivan had been anyone else, Alfred would have thought that he looked almost... cool.
Ivan smiled. "Like what you see?" he asked teasingly.
Alfred blinked, finally remembering why he was there, and took another swing.
Ivan dropped his pipe, grabbed the mallet with his hand, kicked the door behind Alfred shut, and backed him into it. "What do you think you're doing?" Ivan asked, trying not to laugh at the boy. Alfred tried to push him off, surprising Ivan with his strength.
"Get off of me you commie serial killer!" Alfred shouted, trying to head-butt the taller man.
Ivan raised a brow. "Serial killer?" he asked. He grinned and brought his face closer to Alfred's.
"I'm not a serial killer, Alfred," Ivan whispered. "I'm much, much worse."
-
-
A/N: Sorry for the lack of coolness and Mafia in this chapter. I'm getting to the fun stuff, I swear! Also, this story isn't supposed to be funny but Alfred disagrees. I'm sorry if the tone seems ADD or bipolar. I was going for serious, but, well, whatever. But if anything seems wonky let me knowwwww. And yes. Alfred is straight. I have such a thing for Omg I didn't know I was gayyyy!Alfred. And making Alfred have Arthur's last name seems awkward, but since he's his adopted son it wouldn't have made sense for his last name to be Jones.
Notes:
About dot com says: "Not to mix hydrogen peroxide/acetone mixtures when heated in the presence of an acid because they may cause explosions." That's the extent of my science knowledge soooo.
"Calm down, Alik." Alik is the diminutive for the name Alexander and is also used for many names that are rarely found in Russian and begin with Al-. I was so depressed to find that there was no Russian equivalent to Alfred like there is for Matthew.
"I'm well aware, Lapushka." Lapushka is a nickname that means "little paw". For some reason it reminded me of Native Americans, so I thought it fit Alfred somehow. It's usually used for children, so Ivan is obviously making fun of Alfred here. Also, it's such a cute name; I think it suits him.
Ivan's tattoos: In the Russian mafia, religious symbols usually correlate with what prisons you have been incarcerated in. The stars on his kneecaps means that he is a captain; it symbolizes that he will bow down to no one. A captain or, Avtorityet, is in charge of a group of men who report directly to him. The captain in turn reports directly to the Pakhan or Boss. The Pakhan is the "Godfather" of the Russian Mafia. There are more tattoos and more explanations to comeeeee.
Random fact/rumor: Dude, Vladimir Putin was an advisor of a supposed mafia-affiliated company. How cool is thaaaat.