"Bang, Snip", Baccano! NaNoWriMo response
Wee~ the community post was a huge success! I got a ton of new requests! I think I nearly have enough to complete this thing, now. ...I wonder if I really will end up doing NaNoWriMo twice over this year if the requests keep piling up. THIS IS SO WEIRD. I'VE NEVER BEEN SO PRODUCTIVE. NEVER DOUBT THE POWER OF A DEADLINE ON PROCRASTINATORS.
I chose badseafood's prompt this time, because I've been failing epically at writing Ladd and I want to see if I can finally force myself into doing him justice. Also, Tic is win. Hopefully, I'll manage to develop acceptable levels of badassery for both of them. Even if I consider action my weakest genre. D: Holy hell, if I pull this one off, I'm going to seriously level up my writing skill. :D
Also: my first Baccano! genfic. :D weee~
Character: Ladd Russo, Tic, possible side characters (Claire?)
Genre: (Dark?)Comedy
Rating: It's Tic and Ladd. You do the math.
Prompt: During a trip to New York (pre-Flying Pussyfoot) Ladd needs a haircut, and by some strange twist of providence, the only barber in town and decent price range is Tic. Hilarity ensues. Hopefully. And violence. Definitely.
Amendment: Bonus points if you work Claire into it without Ladd Russo actually meeting/noticing him. Feel free to include any of the New York crew of characters. Assume Isaac and Miria are off in California (no easy laughs).
Title: Bang, Snip
Characters: Ladd, Tic, Claire, Firo
Genre: Black Humor/Suspense/Action/Comedy
Rating: Baccano!; R
Warnings: Ladd; Tic; violence, gore, and death, but now I'm just being redundant.
Wordcount: 4447
Total Progress: 15173/50000 = 30.34% complete
When he wasn't busy with a job, hanging out with his friends, or proposing to beautiful women, Claire Stanfield's favorite thing to was waste time on the roof of the Coraggioso, looking down upon the crowds passing by, fancying himself Godlike.
It was there that Firo Prochainezo discovered him after learning that his childhood friend would be in the city for the next couple of days, sitting on the ledge and whimsically kicking his feet in the air. With a smile, he stepped up beside him, knowing full well that Claire already knew he was there despite his lack of a response. Firo had never been able to successfully sneak up on him. Looking out over the edge, but not seeing anyone of particular interest walking through the streets, he turned toward the older man and said, referring to the lack of pedestrians, "Doesn't look like a lot is going on today. I don't understand how you find this fun--I'd get bored of it after five minutes. Are you checking out girls again?"
Claire finally turned toward him with a lazy smirk, giving Firo the impression of a cat resting in the sun after eating his fill, but set his companion's conversation aside in lieu of what he decided to be a slightly more interesting topic. "It's been about a year since I saw you last. I didn't think it would happen, but you finally managed to grow a bit, haven't you?"
"Hey. Hey," Firo replied, feigning anger. "Is that the type of thing you say to a person you haven't seen in a year? You better watch out, Claire--I'll catch up to you one of these days."
"We'll have to see about that." He studied Firo's shifting jaw and added, "Aren't you going to offer me some gum?"
Firo had forgotten that he had been chewing on a piece. "Sure," he answered, removing a weathered package from his inside jacket pocket and handing it to him. Claire removed a stick and returned the pack, unwrapped the piece and began chewing thoroughly. "Maiza bought it for me a while ago. I don't really like the stuff, but it's nice once in a while. Luck says I should chew more 'cause it keeps my mouth occupied."
"I don't notice much of a difference, unless, of course, you're talking more than ever. If that's the case, kindly keep chewing for now." Claire chuckled a bit at Firo's frown, but quickly began to frown as well. "Ugh, can't those useless candy companies figure out how to preserve the flavor already? It's such a disappointment when the flavor fades so fast. This is why I don't buy chewing gum. Why should you buy something you shouldn't swallow when it only tastes good for a short time? It doesn't make any sense."
The piece Firo was working on had become entirely tasteless, and the only thing keeping him from spitting it out now was the lack of a handy trashcan. "Why did you even ask for some, then?" he asked, baffled at Claire's bizarre thought processes.
Claire's frown quickly flipped into a conniving grin. "Firo. How far do you think I can spit this gum?"
Firo stood stark still for a moment, realizing that whatever happened after this point could, and likely would, be entirely blamed upon him. "Don't. Don't do it, Claire. You might hit someone with it."
"A target?" Claire asked, in growing interest, beginning to scan the street. "Even better."
"Seriously. Seriously, Claire," Firo continued to protest, even more so now that he'd only made it worse. "We're on top of the Coraggioso. If you get the wrong person, you'll be making a lot of trouble for Luck, Berga, and Keith."
"Now there's an interesting individual," Claire went on, completely ignoring the boy beside him. "Just look at the skip in his step. He's having a good day."
"Claire--" Firo tried, one more time, but before he could even finish saying his name, Claire had launched the sticky wad of gum from his mouth, and he watched its trajectory in horror, all the way from his friend's lips into the unsuspecting man's hair.
"Will he notice? Will he notice?" Claire asked in excitement, leaning dangerously over the edge, not really expecting any verbal answer. The man was too far away for them to note much about him other then the colors of his briefcase, clothes, hair, and skin, but close enough for them to see a difference in his pace the second the gum caught and tangled itself in his hair. His head turned from side to side, curiously looking at the people who he had just passed on the street, and he lifted his hand to brush through the tendrils, but didn't seem to locate the mass or anyone suspicious and simply continued on his way.
"He... he didn't notice," Firo replied, drifting somewhere between relief and guilt.
~~~
Ladd Russo toured the streets of New York City, a slight skip to his step. It was a good day. An exceptionally good day that had more than made up for the long, boring train ride from Chigago that had stopped and been delayed for much too many times on the way, and he resolved that the only way he would ever consider such a long trip again would be through one of those special express transcontinental trains.
Ah, but there really wasn't any need to ruin his good mood; he had found that useless investor that had caused his uncle so much trouble and loss in profit with ease and had finished the job quickly. Better yet, the guy hadn't even seen him coming. Apparently, he had felt that there was nothing for him to fear in New York City, because Ladd hadn't noted any significant security protocols beyond the usual guards watching over valuables rather than their employer's life. Ladd had expected it to be just another simple, boring mob hit on a worthless coward (though such cases often provided some of the greatest entertainment through an amazing collection of skilled bodyguards), but the guy had been so confidant in his personal safety that he had even answered the door in person despite the huge amount of hired help in the mansion. Taking a great amount of pleasure in seeing the man's expression of superiority suddenly hitch and fall from his face mere moments before his head was blown to pieces, scattering throughout the entrance, Ladd had rushed inside for more more more people to find and kill and found and killed plenty.
It hadn't been particularly difficult to slaughter every soul in the mansion, but Ladd enjoyed the easy jobs almost as much as the moment a stronger opponent realized a fateful mistake and witnessed their own death approaching swiftly. It gave him time to play. His favorite part of the day had been chasing that young, pretty maid down the hall as he shot her legs out from under her. She'd taken a lovely spill down the main staircase, breaking her neck instantly, flying like a black and white bird with bright red tail feathers.
He had been so disappointed once it was over, carefully searching every room and peering out the windows. No one left in the house? No one returning from an errand? No one investigating the strange noises calling out in broad daylight? Giving up, Ladd retrieved his suitcase and cleaned himself up, changing out of his bloody clothing and putting them safely out of sight. He treasured the proof of his killings, but others would not agree. Walking in the street covered in blood in a big city filled with big city police would be intensely interesting, but came hand in hand with his inevitable capture and imprisonment, spoiling his fun completely.
Ladd hadn't expected to finish so soon. His return trip was scheduled to depart late in the evening, and it was still only mid-afternoon. Not having anything else planned for the day, he had decided to walk the streets, studying the city while recalling his murders in satisfaction. He would sleep well on the train that night. The city itself was bustling, even busier than Chicago in certain areas, but he didn't care much for the crowds. At one point, he felt something strange whiz by his face and tug at his hair, but he didn't find anything strange with his fingers and no one in the vicinity made a suspicious effort to avoid his eyes, so he simply attributed it to one of the many examples of trash fluttering about in the slight wind and continued on his way. It was nowhere near his preferred hour of dining, but wandering the streets was beginning to bore him and he had worked through lunch, leaving him with a monstrous appetite now that his drive to kill had been satisfied for the moment.
Quickly locating a promising cafe, Ladd, ordering a steak; rare; with a side of mashed potatoes and steamed mixed vegetables, was very impressed with the service and quality of the meal, and decided that, should he ever return to New York City in the future, he would definitely be sure not to kill anyone who worked there and planned to sample their menu further. It would have been a completely perfect experience, in fact, if only he had noticed the tightly wound lump in his hair before he had arrived. It just so happened that he finally found out once the waitress was walking away after delivering his bill. She had stopped, suddenly, and hesitantly announced, "Sir, I do believe there is a wad of gum in your hair."
Ladd, in the process of finishing off his plate, choked slightly on the final forkful of mashed potatoes, but quickly got it under control, swallowing it as he reached up to his head, combing his fingers through his hair, finding the snag a little further in the back than he had searched earlier that day. He tugged on the mass, which held fast, and stood up in rage, disturbing the table, attempting to remember the faces of the people whom had surrounded him at the time, but came up with nothing. If it hadn't already been true long beforehand, it would have been at this exact moment that Ladd Russo decided he really, really hated crowded streets, and murderers like himself did the world a pretty favor.
"Tell me where I can find the nearest barber," he grit out toward the suddenly terrified waitress, who stuttered in response that there was one close by, just a block or so to the north. Without another word, he dug out his wallet and paid the bill with a generous tip that was more due to his haste to leave the cafe quickly than any measure of goodwill. A few other customers already on their way out returned to their seats as Ladd stormed by, compelled through sheer instinct to stay clear, unknowingly reacting to the presence of a predator. Returning to the street, he violently shoved aside a young man attempting entry, accompanied by a date. He started to react in bravado to impress the girl, but immediately lost his voice upon catching a glimpse of Ladd's furious stare.
How long had it been there and how many people had laughed about it behind his back? It was infuriating. Completely infuriating. Ladd stomped his feet against the pavement all they way up the block and caught a glimpse of the barbershop he was directed to, switching direction to make a beeline toward the entrance, ignoring the motorists screeching their vehicles to a stop and shouting at him from their open windows as he cut across the street. Thinking they were completely safe behind the wheel. Small fry, Ladd told himself. Small fry definitely not worth the trouble of killing until after he got the gum cut out of his hair.
Ladd slammed the door open and stalked up to the counter. "How much," he hissed, "does a man have to pay here for a quick trim?"
The barber, previously busying himself by flipping through his book of appointments in an otherwise empty shop, looked up at him, undaunted by his customer's temper, his first mistake in the events soon to follow. He likely didn't see the clump of matted hair sealed around the sticky gum, but it probably wouldn't have mattered. "Five dollars," he replied, noting how well Ladd dressed, thinking he could probably manage to successfully haggle him into paying at least twice the going rate, which would help offset his slowing business.
"Five dollars?" Ladd repeated. The walk over had calmed him considerably, but now his eyes began to narrow. "Five dollars for a haircut? I'd sooner spend such a ridiculous amount of money on a badly cooked lobster in some disgustingly uptight restaurant. What are you trying to pull, here?"
The barber stuck to his story, sealing his fate. Shrugging his shoulders, he answered, "Five dollars is probably the best deal you'll get from any reasonably acceptable place in the business. You can shop around if you'd like, but if it helps, I'm offering a small discount, today only, bringing the total to just $4.75."
Ladd dropped his suitcase to the floor and reached over the counter, grabbing the barber by the throat and pulling him off his feet as he finally recognized the danger in the man's eyes for what it was. "Do you take me for an idiot?" he asked, a little more softly, though just as menacingly, than before, now that he was looking forward to taking out some of his frustrations. "Maybe the market is a little different between New York and Chicago, but I can't remember anyone ever charging me anything close to three dollars, let alone five. You think you can swindle Ladd Russo? You think you can take me for a ride, sir? How pompous of you. How fearless. You must think you're so perfectly safe behind this counter to push such an unreasonable price. Well? Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"
However, with the way his hand was tightening around the barber's throat, the man didn't even have a chance to respond, and, soon enough, even lost the ability to force air into his lungs. In a final act of desperation, he reached into his apron and withdrew a pair of scissors, attempting to jam them into Ladd's arm to free himself, but the Russo family assassin caught his arm with his free hand and redirected the blow directly, deeply, into the barber's eye.
Releasing the corpse, Ladd looked down upon it and sighed. Killing the man made him feel a little better, but it didn't do anything to solve his problem. "Look what you did," he said, shaking his head. "Look what you brought upon yourself. I would have forgiven you. Really, I would have, but then you just didn't apologize. You see? If you would have just apologized, this would have never happened and a perfectly reasonable business transaction would have been possible, making us both very happy, but now there's only me here feeling a little less miserable than before. How foolish of you." Ladd turned away and examined himself in one of the barbershop's many mirrors, noting that he had stained the collar of his shirt with the man's blood. "Ah," he griped, "I knew I should have brought along another change of clothes just in case." He looked a little closer. "Then again, it's not a lot and shouldn't be too noticeable. If anyone asks, I can blame a sudden nosebleed." That decided, Ladd picked up his suitcase and stepped back out the door, but held it open for a moment longer to turn the greeting sign from "come in, we're open" to "sorry, we're closed". He didn't notice the presence behind him until the new arrival chose to speak.
"Oh, they're closing?" a voice wondered out loud, cheerfully, and Ladd turned around to see a fox-like young man standing close by.
Something about the guy struck Ladd as somehow off or wrong. Something about how the smile didn't actually reach his eyes. "Yes," he replied, continuing to hold the door open. "It's a pain, but there doesn't seem to be anyone inside."
"What a shame," the other man replied. "Your situation seems dire. It must be embarrassing to walk around in such a state."
Ladd didn't like to be reminded. "If you know where I might find another barber, I'd like to be on my way."
The other man's smile widened in response, and he suggested, "Why don't you step back inside? I can take care of that little problem of yours." He pulled a pair of scissors from a customized holster attached to his belt and twirled them around his fingertips before tossing them back into place like a cowboy playing with a gun.
A look of understanding steadily overcame Ladd's face. "How much are you charging?" he asked, moving to the side to allow his entry.
Immediately taking his invitation and stepping inside, the slight, pleasant young man wondered out loud again. "What do I charge? Ah, I don't work publicly as a barber any longer, so I don't know anything about the current street rates. But, then again, I haven't been getting much practice lately, so I couldn't charge the regular price with a clear conscience. Hmm, how does a dollar sound? Or maybe that would be too much, as it just needs a quick fix?"
"A dollar is an excellent bargain," Ladd assured him as he followed the younger man into the shop. If he noticed the limp arm in view from behind the counter, he didn't let it show.
"It's agreed, then," he replied, leading Ladd to a nearby chair. "Will you be requiring your hair cleaned today, sir?"
"It probably wouldn't be wise to use any of the barber's shampoo without his permission," Ladd answered. "We might be accused of robbery."
The odd, slender man chuckled a bit in response as Ladd lowered his suitcase and took his seat, and spread a long, plastic cover over his customer's clothing, tying it closed at the base of his neck. "That's true," he admitted. "We can't have that." Borrowing a comb from the counter-top, he began to delicately work it through the areas unaffected by the gum's presence. "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name is Tic Jefferson."
"Ladd Russo," he replied, keeping a close eye upon the man in the mirror. He wasn't a public barber, carried scissors around with him but not a comb, and hadn't gotten much practice lately. No matter what he thought about it, the story was suspicious.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Russo," Tic greeted him formally. "What brings you to New York City this fine day?"
"Oh?" Ladd uttered in surprise. "Is it that obvious that I'm from out of town?"
"I just assumed that you were in the middle of a business trip due to the suitcase and your formal attire," Tic offered in response, putting away the comb and pulling a pair of scissors from his belt, starting to pull at the clump of matted hair to see how much space he had to work with. "And, although I suppose it was possible that you've just returned home from such a trip, it would be a little strange for a resident to not know where to find a barber."
"True enough," Ladd relented, not having much of a reason to not use his prepared alibi. "I came from Chicago to negotiate a few business dealings between my company and one of our competitors. Unfortunately, it didn't go very well. In the end, we couldn't settle upon an agreement."
Tic began to carefully snip around the mass of gum, salvaging as much hair as possible. "That's certainly a shame," he said in sympathy. "I can understand your frustration, and then to have this happen on top of it--what an awful trip. You must be wondering why you even bothered to come. I hope this terrible turn of events hasn't harmed your view of New York. It really is a very nice city."
Keeping his head as still as possible once he heard the scissors begin their delicate work, Ladd replied, "It wasn't a complete waste. I did enjoy a good meal and ended up having quite a bit of fun during the meetings."
"That's wonderful. Very nice to hear," Tic told him, removing the unrecoverable clump of hair and gum, dropping it in a nearby wastebasket, and carefully inspecting the outcome. "Ah, good news, Mr. Russo," he announced. "It isn't nearly as bad as it seemed. I'll be able to disguise the damage with a little layering rather than removing an inch from everywhere. It will be shorter the closer to the base of your neck, but it's only a slight modification to your current hairstyle."
"Excellent," Ladd said, glad to hear it. "Your help is much appreciated. I wouldn't mind a trim while you're at it. If I like the end result, you can expect another dollar on top of it."
"How kind of you, Mr. Russo," Tic replied, making short work of trimming the rest of the area down to the same length, and letting the longer strands from higher areas fall back down, covering the shorter lengths in an aesthetic fashion. He swiftly, and with great precision, began to trim the rest of Ladd's head of hair as he continued to speak. "I was worried that coming here would be a waste of time, since it seems that I won't be speaking with Mr. Lewis today, but it appears that you've made it well worth my while."
"Did you have some business with the barber here?" Ladd wondered.
"Yes, some very important business," Tic answered, providing the finishing touches. "It seems that he owes a great deal of money to my employers and has been falling behind too far on his payments. I was sent here today to deliver a message of disapproval." His work complete, Tic pulled the scissors shut with a piercing shing, and gently pressed the sharpened tip against Ladd's throat. "I wonder what you had to go and kill him for, Mr. Russo."
Ladd sighed heavily. "How unfortunate. I didn't come all the way to New York just to kill a stupid barber. He just happened to piss me off with his attitude, causing my hand to slip."
"It's going to cause me some problems," Tic explained, "having to tell Mr. Luck that Mr. Lewis has been killed by another group of mafia. He's going to wonder what sort of business the Russo family had in New York City, and whether it proves good or bad for him and his brothers. I would appreciate it if you would kindly answer these questions for me, Mr. Russo."
He didn't like being threatened all that much, and especially not with a pair of scissors, though they certainly were an interesting weapon of choice. Ladd snapped a hand out from under the plastic cover to grab hold of them to hold them steady while he quickly rose from the chair, backing away and releasing the scissors. "Hold on, there!" he called out before Tic could spring forward, scissors now in both hands, and untied the strings securing the plastic covering to his body and let it fall to the floor. He brushed a hand across his neck and the back of his head, liking the feel of the cut, and admired himself in the mirror. "I like it," he decided. "You really did do a good job, after all. So, you see, while it really would be fun, it would be a terrible shame to have to kill you. I'd miss the opportunity to take advantage of your cheap and skillful services, so it'll just have to wait until I go bald--a horrifying thought, though it's unfortunately a prominent trait of the men in my family."
Tic kept his defensive posture for a moment or two longer before lowering his sharpened blades. "It would be wise to let you live for now, as well, Mr. Russo," he decided. "At least, until I know for sure what Mr. Luck thinks of your family. Taking your life today could hurt the possibility of dealings in the future, should such an opportunity come to pass."
"I'm glad that we're in agreement, then," Ladd replied, stepping back over to retrieve his suitcase. "To answer your questions, though, I came to kill a wealthy financial investor that thought he could secretly steal from my uncle and flee to another city without facing the consequences. You'll probably be reading about it in the news within the next couple of days. You'll know which guy it was because I didn't leave any survivors. I doubt he had set up any business plans in this city so soon after arriving, but if he did end up meeting with your employers, I probably did them a favor. I don't have any more business here, and I'll be heading back to Chicago tonight. And the barber really just pissed me off. Sorry about that. Hopefully, he had a responsible relative prepared to pay off his debt."
"I see," Tic said, thoughtfully. "It's troublesome, but there's nothing to be done about it, now."
Ladd got an idea. "You know, I'm thinking of assembling a group of people under me for various jobs. Sometimes killing a bunch of people all on your own gets a little tiring and I thought it would be fun to share the thrill with good friends. What do you say?"
Tic's smile widened at the suggestion. "It sounds like an interesting concept, but I must respectively decline. I'm already fairly busy here in New York, and I'm very attached to this city."
"Ah, that's a little disappointing, but I suppose that's that." Ladd walked toward the door, but then doubled back, remembering to pull out his wallet and left two crisp bills on the counter. "The invitation stands, though," he called back as he left the shop. "You're more than welcome to track me down in Chicago at any time!"
Tic put away one pair of scissors, freeing up a hand to cheerfully wave good-bye. Once the older man had left his sight, he lowered his arm, and stepped over to the counter, admiring Ladd's work, but worrying that Mr. Luck might not believe the story, considering the murder weapon. Sighing, Tic took hold of Mr. Lewis' hand and extended his sharpened scissors, removing the man's left pinky finger, as he had been instructed, and wrapped it inside a clean handkerchief. It really had no meaning to the Gandors anymore, but Tic had been looking forward to doing it, and there really wasn't anything stopping him.
He tucked the souvenir into his jacket pocket, wiped his scissors clean on Mr. Lewis' pantleg, pocketed the two dollar bills Ladd had left him, and left for his next destination.
I chose badseafood's prompt this time, because I've been failing epically at writing Ladd and I want to see if I can finally force myself into doing him justice. Also, Tic is win. Hopefully, I'll manage to develop acceptable levels of badassery for both of them. Even if I consider action my weakest genre. D: Holy hell, if I pull this one off, I'm going to seriously level up my writing skill. :D
Also: my first Baccano! genfic. :D weee~
Character: Ladd Russo, Tic, possible side characters (Claire?)
Genre: (Dark?)Comedy
Rating: It's Tic and Ladd. You do the math.
Prompt: During a trip to New York (pre-Flying Pussyfoot) Ladd needs a haircut, and by some strange twist of providence, the only barber in town and decent price range is Tic. Hilarity ensues. Hopefully. And violence. Definitely.
Amendment: Bonus points if you work Claire into it without Ladd Russo actually meeting/noticing him. Feel free to include any of the New York crew of characters. Assume Isaac and Miria are off in California (no easy laughs).
Title: Bang, Snip
Characters: Ladd, Tic, Claire, Firo
Genre: Black Humor/Suspense/Action/Comedy
Rating: Baccano!; R
Warnings: Ladd; Tic; violence, gore, and death, but now I'm just being redundant.
Wordcount: 4447
Total Progress: 15173/50000 = 30.34% complete
When he wasn't busy with a job, hanging out with his friends, or proposing to beautiful women, Claire Stanfield's favorite thing to was waste time on the roof of the Coraggioso, looking down upon the crowds passing by, fancying himself Godlike.
It was there that Firo Prochainezo discovered him after learning that his childhood friend would be in the city for the next couple of days, sitting on the ledge and whimsically kicking his feet in the air. With a smile, he stepped up beside him, knowing full well that Claire already knew he was there despite his lack of a response. Firo had never been able to successfully sneak up on him. Looking out over the edge, but not seeing anyone of particular interest walking through the streets, he turned toward the older man and said, referring to the lack of pedestrians, "Doesn't look like a lot is going on today. I don't understand how you find this fun--I'd get bored of it after five minutes. Are you checking out girls again?"
Claire finally turned toward him with a lazy smirk, giving Firo the impression of a cat resting in the sun after eating his fill, but set his companion's conversation aside in lieu of what he decided to be a slightly more interesting topic. "It's been about a year since I saw you last. I didn't think it would happen, but you finally managed to grow a bit, haven't you?"
"Hey. Hey," Firo replied, feigning anger. "Is that the type of thing you say to a person you haven't seen in a year? You better watch out, Claire--I'll catch up to you one of these days."
"We'll have to see about that." He studied Firo's shifting jaw and added, "Aren't you going to offer me some gum?"
Firo had forgotten that he had been chewing on a piece. "Sure," he answered, removing a weathered package from his inside jacket pocket and handing it to him. Claire removed a stick and returned the pack, unwrapped the piece and began chewing thoroughly. "Maiza bought it for me a while ago. I don't really like the stuff, but it's nice once in a while. Luck says I should chew more 'cause it keeps my mouth occupied."
"I don't notice much of a difference, unless, of course, you're talking more than ever. If that's the case, kindly keep chewing for now." Claire chuckled a bit at Firo's frown, but quickly began to frown as well. "Ugh, can't those useless candy companies figure out how to preserve the flavor already? It's such a disappointment when the flavor fades so fast. This is why I don't buy chewing gum. Why should you buy something you shouldn't swallow when it only tastes good for a short time? It doesn't make any sense."
The piece Firo was working on had become entirely tasteless, and the only thing keeping him from spitting it out now was the lack of a handy trashcan. "Why did you even ask for some, then?" he asked, baffled at Claire's bizarre thought processes.
Claire's frown quickly flipped into a conniving grin. "Firo. How far do you think I can spit this gum?"
Firo stood stark still for a moment, realizing that whatever happened after this point could, and likely would, be entirely blamed upon him. "Don't. Don't do it, Claire. You might hit someone with it."
"A target?" Claire asked, in growing interest, beginning to scan the street. "Even better."
"Seriously. Seriously, Claire," Firo continued to protest, even more so now that he'd only made it worse. "We're on top of the Coraggioso. If you get the wrong person, you'll be making a lot of trouble for Luck, Berga, and Keith."
"Now there's an interesting individual," Claire went on, completely ignoring the boy beside him. "Just look at the skip in his step. He's having a good day."
"Claire--" Firo tried, one more time, but before he could even finish saying his name, Claire had launched the sticky wad of gum from his mouth, and he watched its trajectory in horror, all the way from his friend's lips into the unsuspecting man's hair.
"Will he notice? Will he notice?" Claire asked in excitement, leaning dangerously over the edge, not really expecting any verbal answer. The man was too far away for them to note much about him other then the colors of his briefcase, clothes, hair, and skin, but close enough for them to see a difference in his pace the second the gum caught and tangled itself in his hair. His head turned from side to side, curiously looking at the people who he had just passed on the street, and he lifted his hand to brush through the tendrils, but didn't seem to locate the mass or anyone suspicious and simply continued on his way.
"He... he didn't notice," Firo replied, drifting somewhere between relief and guilt.
~~~
Ladd Russo toured the streets of New York City, a slight skip to his step. It was a good day. An exceptionally good day that had more than made up for the long, boring train ride from Chigago that had stopped and been delayed for much too many times on the way, and he resolved that the only way he would ever consider such a long trip again would be through one of those special express transcontinental trains.
Ah, but there really wasn't any need to ruin his good mood; he had found that useless investor that had caused his uncle so much trouble and loss in profit with ease and had finished the job quickly. Better yet, the guy hadn't even seen him coming. Apparently, he had felt that there was nothing for him to fear in New York City, because Ladd hadn't noted any significant security protocols beyond the usual guards watching over valuables rather than their employer's life. Ladd had expected it to be just another simple, boring mob hit on a worthless coward (though such cases often provided some of the greatest entertainment through an amazing collection of skilled bodyguards), but the guy had been so confidant in his personal safety that he had even answered the door in person despite the huge amount of hired help in the mansion. Taking a great amount of pleasure in seeing the man's expression of superiority suddenly hitch and fall from his face mere moments before his head was blown to pieces, scattering throughout the entrance, Ladd had rushed inside for more more more people to find and kill and found and killed plenty.
It hadn't been particularly difficult to slaughter every soul in the mansion, but Ladd enjoyed the easy jobs almost as much as the moment a stronger opponent realized a fateful mistake and witnessed their own death approaching swiftly. It gave him time to play. His favorite part of the day had been chasing that young, pretty maid down the hall as he shot her legs out from under her. She'd taken a lovely spill down the main staircase, breaking her neck instantly, flying like a black and white bird with bright red tail feathers.
He had been so disappointed once it was over, carefully searching every room and peering out the windows. No one left in the house? No one returning from an errand? No one investigating the strange noises calling out in broad daylight? Giving up, Ladd retrieved his suitcase and cleaned himself up, changing out of his bloody clothing and putting them safely out of sight. He treasured the proof of his killings, but others would not agree. Walking in the street covered in blood in a big city filled with big city police would be intensely interesting, but came hand in hand with his inevitable capture and imprisonment, spoiling his fun completely.
Ladd hadn't expected to finish so soon. His return trip was scheduled to depart late in the evening, and it was still only mid-afternoon. Not having anything else planned for the day, he had decided to walk the streets, studying the city while recalling his murders in satisfaction. He would sleep well on the train that night. The city itself was bustling, even busier than Chicago in certain areas, but he didn't care much for the crowds. At one point, he felt something strange whiz by his face and tug at his hair, but he didn't find anything strange with his fingers and no one in the vicinity made a suspicious effort to avoid his eyes, so he simply attributed it to one of the many examples of trash fluttering about in the slight wind and continued on his way. It was nowhere near his preferred hour of dining, but wandering the streets was beginning to bore him and he had worked through lunch, leaving him with a monstrous appetite now that his drive to kill had been satisfied for the moment.
Quickly locating a promising cafe, Ladd, ordering a steak; rare; with a side of mashed potatoes and steamed mixed vegetables, was very impressed with the service and quality of the meal, and decided that, should he ever return to New York City in the future, he would definitely be sure not to kill anyone who worked there and planned to sample their menu further. It would have been a completely perfect experience, in fact, if only he had noticed the tightly wound lump in his hair before he had arrived. It just so happened that he finally found out once the waitress was walking away after delivering his bill. She had stopped, suddenly, and hesitantly announced, "Sir, I do believe there is a wad of gum in your hair."
Ladd, in the process of finishing off his plate, choked slightly on the final forkful of mashed potatoes, but quickly got it under control, swallowing it as he reached up to his head, combing his fingers through his hair, finding the snag a little further in the back than he had searched earlier that day. He tugged on the mass, which held fast, and stood up in rage, disturbing the table, attempting to remember the faces of the people whom had surrounded him at the time, but came up with nothing. If it hadn't already been true long beforehand, it would have been at this exact moment that Ladd Russo decided he really, really hated crowded streets, and murderers like himself did the world a pretty favor.
"Tell me where I can find the nearest barber," he grit out toward the suddenly terrified waitress, who stuttered in response that there was one close by, just a block or so to the north. Without another word, he dug out his wallet and paid the bill with a generous tip that was more due to his haste to leave the cafe quickly than any measure of goodwill. A few other customers already on their way out returned to their seats as Ladd stormed by, compelled through sheer instinct to stay clear, unknowingly reacting to the presence of a predator. Returning to the street, he violently shoved aside a young man attempting entry, accompanied by a date. He started to react in bravado to impress the girl, but immediately lost his voice upon catching a glimpse of Ladd's furious stare.
How long had it been there and how many people had laughed about it behind his back? It was infuriating. Completely infuriating. Ladd stomped his feet against the pavement all they way up the block and caught a glimpse of the barbershop he was directed to, switching direction to make a beeline toward the entrance, ignoring the motorists screeching their vehicles to a stop and shouting at him from their open windows as he cut across the street. Thinking they were completely safe behind the wheel. Small fry, Ladd told himself. Small fry definitely not worth the trouble of killing until after he got the gum cut out of his hair.
Ladd slammed the door open and stalked up to the counter. "How much," he hissed, "does a man have to pay here for a quick trim?"
The barber, previously busying himself by flipping through his book of appointments in an otherwise empty shop, looked up at him, undaunted by his customer's temper, his first mistake in the events soon to follow. He likely didn't see the clump of matted hair sealed around the sticky gum, but it probably wouldn't have mattered. "Five dollars," he replied, noting how well Ladd dressed, thinking he could probably manage to successfully haggle him into paying at least twice the going rate, which would help offset his slowing business.
"Five dollars?" Ladd repeated. The walk over had calmed him considerably, but now his eyes began to narrow. "Five dollars for a haircut? I'd sooner spend such a ridiculous amount of money on a badly cooked lobster in some disgustingly uptight restaurant. What are you trying to pull, here?"
The barber stuck to his story, sealing his fate. Shrugging his shoulders, he answered, "Five dollars is probably the best deal you'll get from any reasonably acceptable place in the business. You can shop around if you'd like, but if it helps, I'm offering a small discount, today only, bringing the total to just $4.75."
Ladd dropped his suitcase to the floor and reached over the counter, grabbing the barber by the throat and pulling him off his feet as he finally recognized the danger in the man's eyes for what it was. "Do you take me for an idiot?" he asked, a little more softly, though just as menacingly, than before, now that he was looking forward to taking out some of his frustrations. "Maybe the market is a little different between New York and Chicago, but I can't remember anyone ever charging me anything close to three dollars, let alone five. You think you can swindle Ladd Russo? You think you can take me for a ride, sir? How pompous of you. How fearless. You must think you're so perfectly safe behind this counter to push such an unreasonable price. Well? Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"
However, with the way his hand was tightening around the barber's throat, the man didn't even have a chance to respond, and, soon enough, even lost the ability to force air into his lungs. In a final act of desperation, he reached into his apron and withdrew a pair of scissors, attempting to jam them into Ladd's arm to free himself, but the Russo family assassin caught his arm with his free hand and redirected the blow directly, deeply, into the barber's eye.
Releasing the corpse, Ladd looked down upon it and sighed. Killing the man made him feel a little better, but it didn't do anything to solve his problem. "Look what you did," he said, shaking his head. "Look what you brought upon yourself. I would have forgiven you. Really, I would have, but then you just didn't apologize. You see? If you would have just apologized, this would have never happened and a perfectly reasonable business transaction would have been possible, making us both very happy, but now there's only me here feeling a little less miserable than before. How foolish of you." Ladd turned away and examined himself in one of the barbershop's many mirrors, noting that he had stained the collar of his shirt with the man's blood. "Ah," he griped, "I knew I should have brought along another change of clothes just in case." He looked a little closer. "Then again, it's not a lot and shouldn't be too noticeable. If anyone asks, I can blame a sudden nosebleed." That decided, Ladd picked up his suitcase and stepped back out the door, but held it open for a moment longer to turn the greeting sign from "come in, we're open" to "sorry, we're closed". He didn't notice the presence behind him until the new arrival chose to speak.
"Oh, they're closing?" a voice wondered out loud, cheerfully, and Ladd turned around to see a fox-like young man standing close by.
Something about the guy struck Ladd as somehow off or wrong. Something about how the smile didn't actually reach his eyes. "Yes," he replied, continuing to hold the door open. "It's a pain, but there doesn't seem to be anyone inside."
"What a shame," the other man replied. "Your situation seems dire. It must be embarrassing to walk around in such a state."
Ladd didn't like to be reminded. "If you know where I might find another barber, I'd like to be on my way."
The other man's smile widened in response, and he suggested, "Why don't you step back inside? I can take care of that little problem of yours." He pulled a pair of scissors from a customized holster attached to his belt and twirled them around his fingertips before tossing them back into place like a cowboy playing with a gun.
A look of understanding steadily overcame Ladd's face. "How much are you charging?" he asked, moving to the side to allow his entry.
Immediately taking his invitation and stepping inside, the slight, pleasant young man wondered out loud again. "What do I charge? Ah, I don't work publicly as a barber any longer, so I don't know anything about the current street rates. But, then again, I haven't been getting much practice lately, so I couldn't charge the regular price with a clear conscience. Hmm, how does a dollar sound? Or maybe that would be too much, as it just needs a quick fix?"
"A dollar is an excellent bargain," Ladd assured him as he followed the younger man into the shop. If he noticed the limp arm in view from behind the counter, he didn't let it show.
"It's agreed, then," he replied, leading Ladd to a nearby chair. "Will you be requiring your hair cleaned today, sir?"
"It probably wouldn't be wise to use any of the barber's shampoo without his permission," Ladd answered. "We might be accused of robbery."
The odd, slender man chuckled a bit in response as Ladd lowered his suitcase and took his seat, and spread a long, plastic cover over his customer's clothing, tying it closed at the base of his neck. "That's true," he admitted. "We can't have that." Borrowing a comb from the counter-top, he began to delicately work it through the areas unaffected by the gum's presence. "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name is Tic Jefferson."
"Ladd Russo," he replied, keeping a close eye upon the man in the mirror. He wasn't a public barber, carried scissors around with him but not a comb, and hadn't gotten much practice lately. No matter what he thought about it, the story was suspicious.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Russo," Tic greeted him formally. "What brings you to New York City this fine day?"
"Oh?" Ladd uttered in surprise. "Is it that obvious that I'm from out of town?"
"I just assumed that you were in the middle of a business trip due to the suitcase and your formal attire," Tic offered in response, putting away the comb and pulling a pair of scissors from his belt, starting to pull at the clump of matted hair to see how much space he had to work with. "And, although I suppose it was possible that you've just returned home from such a trip, it would be a little strange for a resident to not know where to find a barber."
"True enough," Ladd relented, not having much of a reason to not use his prepared alibi. "I came from Chicago to negotiate a few business dealings between my company and one of our competitors. Unfortunately, it didn't go very well. In the end, we couldn't settle upon an agreement."
Tic began to carefully snip around the mass of gum, salvaging as much hair as possible. "That's certainly a shame," he said in sympathy. "I can understand your frustration, and then to have this happen on top of it--what an awful trip. You must be wondering why you even bothered to come. I hope this terrible turn of events hasn't harmed your view of New York. It really is a very nice city."
Keeping his head as still as possible once he heard the scissors begin their delicate work, Ladd replied, "It wasn't a complete waste. I did enjoy a good meal and ended up having quite a bit of fun during the meetings."
"That's wonderful. Very nice to hear," Tic told him, removing the unrecoverable clump of hair and gum, dropping it in a nearby wastebasket, and carefully inspecting the outcome. "Ah, good news, Mr. Russo," he announced. "It isn't nearly as bad as it seemed. I'll be able to disguise the damage with a little layering rather than removing an inch from everywhere. It will be shorter the closer to the base of your neck, but it's only a slight modification to your current hairstyle."
"Excellent," Ladd said, glad to hear it. "Your help is much appreciated. I wouldn't mind a trim while you're at it. If I like the end result, you can expect another dollar on top of it."
"How kind of you, Mr. Russo," Tic replied, making short work of trimming the rest of the area down to the same length, and letting the longer strands from higher areas fall back down, covering the shorter lengths in an aesthetic fashion. He swiftly, and with great precision, began to trim the rest of Ladd's head of hair as he continued to speak. "I was worried that coming here would be a waste of time, since it seems that I won't be speaking with Mr. Lewis today, but it appears that you've made it well worth my while."
"Did you have some business with the barber here?" Ladd wondered.
"Yes, some very important business," Tic answered, providing the finishing touches. "It seems that he owes a great deal of money to my employers and has been falling behind too far on his payments. I was sent here today to deliver a message of disapproval." His work complete, Tic pulled the scissors shut with a piercing shing, and gently pressed the sharpened tip against Ladd's throat. "I wonder what you had to go and kill him for, Mr. Russo."
Ladd sighed heavily. "How unfortunate. I didn't come all the way to New York just to kill a stupid barber. He just happened to piss me off with his attitude, causing my hand to slip."
"It's going to cause me some problems," Tic explained, "having to tell Mr. Luck that Mr. Lewis has been killed by another group of mafia. He's going to wonder what sort of business the Russo family had in New York City, and whether it proves good or bad for him and his brothers. I would appreciate it if you would kindly answer these questions for me, Mr. Russo."
He didn't like being threatened all that much, and especially not with a pair of scissors, though they certainly were an interesting weapon of choice. Ladd snapped a hand out from under the plastic cover to grab hold of them to hold them steady while he quickly rose from the chair, backing away and releasing the scissors. "Hold on, there!" he called out before Tic could spring forward, scissors now in both hands, and untied the strings securing the plastic covering to his body and let it fall to the floor. He brushed a hand across his neck and the back of his head, liking the feel of the cut, and admired himself in the mirror. "I like it," he decided. "You really did do a good job, after all. So, you see, while it really would be fun, it would be a terrible shame to have to kill you. I'd miss the opportunity to take advantage of your cheap and skillful services, so it'll just have to wait until I go bald--a horrifying thought, though it's unfortunately a prominent trait of the men in my family."
Tic kept his defensive posture for a moment or two longer before lowering his sharpened blades. "It would be wise to let you live for now, as well, Mr. Russo," he decided. "At least, until I know for sure what Mr. Luck thinks of your family. Taking your life today could hurt the possibility of dealings in the future, should such an opportunity come to pass."
"I'm glad that we're in agreement, then," Ladd replied, stepping back over to retrieve his suitcase. "To answer your questions, though, I came to kill a wealthy financial investor that thought he could secretly steal from my uncle and flee to another city without facing the consequences. You'll probably be reading about it in the news within the next couple of days. You'll know which guy it was because I didn't leave any survivors. I doubt he had set up any business plans in this city so soon after arriving, but if he did end up meeting with your employers, I probably did them a favor. I don't have any more business here, and I'll be heading back to Chicago tonight. And the barber really just pissed me off. Sorry about that. Hopefully, he had a responsible relative prepared to pay off his debt."
"I see," Tic said, thoughtfully. "It's troublesome, but there's nothing to be done about it, now."
Ladd got an idea. "You know, I'm thinking of assembling a group of people under me for various jobs. Sometimes killing a bunch of people all on your own gets a little tiring and I thought it would be fun to share the thrill with good friends. What do you say?"
Tic's smile widened at the suggestion. "It sounds like an interesting concept, but I must respectively decline. I'm already fairly busy here in New York, and I'm very attached to this city."
"Ah, that's a little disappointing, but I suppose that's that." Ladd walked toward the door, but then doubled back, remembering to pull out his wallet and left two crisp bills on the counter. "The invitation stands, though," he called back as he left the shop. "You're more than welcome to track me down in Chicago at any time!"
Tic put away one pair of scissors, freeing up a hand to cheerfully wave good-bye. Once the older man had left his sight, he lowered his arm, and stepped over to the counter, admiring Ladd's work, but worrying that Mr. Luck might not believe the story, considering the murder weapon. Sighing, Tic took hold of Mr. Lewis' hand and extended his sharpened scissors, removing the man's left pinky finger, as he had been instructed, and wrapped it inside a clean handkerchief. It really had no meaning to the Gandors anymore, but Tic had been looking forward to doing it, and there really wasn't anything stopping him.
He tucked the souvenir into his jacket pocket, wiped his scissors clean on Mr. Lewis' pantleg, pocketed the two dollar bills Ladd had left him, and left for his next destination.