One for the Money (9b/10)
anonymous
April 21 2011, 13:52:40 UTC
It had been surprisingly difficult to find this place. For as remarkably open as Rome had always been around him, it had come as a shock to realized he'd actually remained carefully discrete about certain details-the location of this place, for one. Germania had been forced to call in a lot of favors to figure out so quickly where Rome would be... and even more to learn the address.
Finding the address had only been part of the problem in getting here, it turned out. Germania had nearly passed the building by twice.
The restaurant was an odd little thing, looking like it had simply been wedged in between the two larger building that flanked it when nobody had been looking-but then it got stuck and had to stay. The sign and the papers that decorated the windows were mostly in Italian, save for the sign on the door which only read: "Come in; we're open!"
Even though he'd blazed off on his mad quest to find Rome this morning, now that he was actually here, Germania found himself at a rare loss. Was he to simply storm up to Rome and demand to know what he was planning? Even if instinct was screaming at him that something was going to happen, he didn't have any proof of it. Would instinct really be enough to confront Rome with?
His thoughts were interrupted as the door of the restaurant suddenly swung open. A young man backed out, in the middle of shouting, "-ell, old man!"
He could hear the faint, all-too-familiar sound of Rome's laughter following the youth until it was cut off by the door slamming shut. The young man turned, and Germania recognized him. Lovino "Romano" Vargas, the eldest of Rome's two grandchildren and general public menace, glared at him.
"What're you doing here?" Lovino demanded.
Germania sighed, but privately, he was grateful for Lovino's attitude. Dislike and distrust was rolling off the boy so strongly that it was almost tangible; it came as a stark contrast from his grandfather's easy smile. Maybe this would be easier if Rome would share his grandson's attitude just this once.
"I'm looking for your grandfather," Germania stated.
Lovino eyed him suspiciously, going from head to foot and back again. For a moment Germania wondered if Lovino was going to try fighting him off, but then he said instead, "He's in the back. His office."
Germania nodded, and brushed past the young Vargas to enter the restaurant. He steeled himself as he went-Rome's man Tony was in the room and said something rude, but he ignored the little man. He was here for Rome.
When he reached the office and opened the door, the room was empty.
-- Rome sighed, rubbing his temples. All he'd wanted to do was talk to his eldest grandson, but then Feliciano had come in to share his latest award-winning art project... Really, it wasn't like he'd done anything wrong by taking a moment to gush over the painting-it was so beautiful, so elegant, so life-like!-and the next thing he knew, Lovino had stormed out of the office, shouting for him to go to hell.
He wondered where he'd gone wrong with the boy. Why was it that Lovino had such a sour temperament, compared to Feliciano's sweet nature? Was it just a case of being the eldest?
But whatever the reason, Rome had missed his chance to talk with him today... And he couldn't linger here, not when he was sure Germania would be dropping by any day now. He'd been avoiding his friend for so long that surely the police chief was at least starting to worry-or suspect.
All the pieces had long since been put in place, and Germania's discovery would topple his carefully-built house of cards. He needed to speak with Lovino, but with Lovino already gone, Rome had little time to waste. There was still more to do, more he could do, before he ran out of time entirely.
Rome picked up his coat and swept out of the office, leaving through the back door before the chimes on the front door rang to announce Germania's arrival.
One for the Money (9c/10)
anonymous
April 21 2011, 13:54:11 UTC
Germania brushed a lock of hair out of his face as he glanced around Rome's office. He must have just missed the man-that much was obvious even without Tony's incessant shouting that Rome had just left and you'd better get the hell outta here unless you want to leave a few pounds lighter, Kraut.
He'd only twice before had the misfortune of speaking to Tony, but on both occasions, the little man had left the impression of certainly having a way with words. Germania simply closed and locked the office door. Tony could grouse all he wanted, but Germania wasn't ready to leave just yet.
The problem was that he didn't exactly have a search warrant. He reminded himself of that as he lifted a piece of paper from Rome's desk and glanced it over-but he wasn't looking for evidence to use against him right now. All he wanted was some indication of where Rome might have been spending all his time lately, of where he might be able to find the man. That was all, he assured himself as he set aside that one paper in favor of another.
And so it went until he'd finished with the top of the desk, and had wrenched open a particularly stiff drawer. There was a thick folder inside, and a few pages in, Germania felt something in his stomach twist. He closed the folder immediately.
He needed a warrant for this. He needed... He needed to find Rome, to ask him about this... But, no, how could he confront him with this, without a warrant?
Germania glanced at his watch. It was only a bit past one in the afternoon; there was still time... The warrant would take longer than he had; he needed to find Rome immediately. The folder told him where he'd be.
He just needed to get there.
-- Half an hour after leaving the restaurant office, Germania found Rome.
He'd almost thought it would have been harder than this, given the trouble to find the restaurant earlier, but it had been surprisingly easy. The meeting that had been indicated in the folder was to take place in a fairly public location, it turned out-he'd pictured an abandoned warehouse or the like, but the spot was actually only a few blocks east of a major bus stop, on a street that simply wouldn't see much traffic until that evening, after people were off from work.
Rome was there, waiting, with his back to Germania. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see that cloud-and it almost looked closer than before. He came to a stop a few feet away.
"You've gone too far this time, Rome," Germania said, his expression grim.
Rome didn't react at first, not even to acknowledge Germania's presence. After a long, tense moment had passed, he slowly looked over his shoulder, that same damn affable smile he always wore on his face.
"You're late, Germania," he said, ignoring the accusation against him; a note of cheer lifted his tone, but otherwise his voice sounded gruff... too gruff to mean that Rome was his normal, cheery self despite the smile. Before he could respond, Rome added, "You were supposed to be waiting for me."
Germania was confused; they hadn't seen each other in six months, and even then it had only been a passing sighting from when Germania had been forced to personally break up a dispute between Ludwig and Rome's eldest before further damage was caused to public property. Why did he think Germania would have arrived there first? He'd only found out about this meeting because he'd been in Rome's office, after Rome had already left. "...Excuse me?"
"You were supposed to be waiting there at the top," Rome clarified. "You'd be waiting there to stop me; isn't that what you'd said all those years ago? When I got there, you were still climbing... but there's still time." His smile wavered and then evaporated, replaced by a serious expression Germania could only remember having seen once or twice before. "I'm on top of the world, and you say I've gone too far. So now it's your turn, Germania: stop me."
"Rome, you..." There was something odd about this-all of this-but Germania wasn't sure what to say. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to sort through it in his mind.
One for the Money (9d/10)
anonymous
April 21 2011, 13:56:17 UTC
He'd known Rome had been up to something-this and the file and everything confirmed it-but asking to be stopped? Was Rome trying to repent? Was there more to this than he realized?
When he cracked his eyes open once more, it was in time to see Rome raising a gun. Germania reached for his own as the first shot rang out, and the two that followed were from the police chief's pistol.
Neither of them noticed the wide-eyed young man watching from the opposite end of the alley.
-- Alfred had a small problem, in the form of a larger problem, in the shape of a dead man.
This certainly wasn't what he'd expected to be doing today when he'd woken up this morning. He'd just seen a man die in front of his eyes, and he'd seen who'd done it, too. If that wasn't enough, the dead man-while he'd still been just a dying man-had voiced his final request to him, a request that Alfred didn't even know where to start with.
If it hadn't been official before, it was now: today sucked.
But that wasn't really the problem. The problem-the small one in the form of a larger one in the shape of a dead man-was that he was in trouble. Big trouble. He could hear sirens in the distance.
He'd seen a man die, and that man's blood was currently all over him: his hands, his clothes, and even his hair, from when the then-dying man had grabbed him to pull him close enough to hear. The cops were going to get here any second, and when they did, Alfred was pretty sure he was going to end up suspect number one and only.
The other guy, the one who'd traded gunfire with the dead man, was long gone, leaving Alfred, the dead man, and the problem.
What could he do, though? He could always ditch the dead man and his request, but bolting would just make him look (even more) guilty... and anyway, he'd given his word to the dead man. The man was dead and would never know, but Alfred wasn't going to break his word. No, he'd just have to stand his ground and deal with this. The cards were stacked against him, but he could still win with the hand he'd been dealt. He didn't have the murder weapon, after all, so he could handle this. He had to handle this.
Alfred could see the police cars now, and he pulled himself to his feet. This would be the moment that defined who Alfred F. Jones was, he decided. This would be the moment he'd prove to Arthur-no, to the world-that he was the stuff of legends.
-- From the moment the first car came screeching to a halt, it had been a zoo. There had been cops and investigators and photographers, and the press being held at bay at the perimeter of the scene. There were several guys in professional-looking suits, sometimes talking amongst themselves and sometimes giving orders to the men in uniforms. It had been even busier than Alfred had imagined when he'd heard the sirens.
Alfred himself had been photographed-his hands and shirt and hair where the dead man had covered him in blood-and his shirt had been collected as evidence. One of the professional-looking guys had said he could get cleaned up as soon, and loaned him a fresh shirt in the meanwhile. He'd be taken to the station shortly, and Alfred had been debating whether to ask if he could make a phone call first.
That was when the shouting started.
"Goddamn bastards, let me through! That's my damn grandfather!"
Alfred looked towards the crowd gathered along the lines of police tape, where an angry young man was trying to push his way past a couple of cops. He seemed to have gotten the press's attention: there was flashing, and shouted questions, and a lot of microphones being shoved in his direction.
If he was the dead man's family, then maybe...
A sigh came from beside Alfred. "I was hoping the family wouldn't show," said the professional who'd been going over the events with Alfred one more time. "I'd better stop Lovino from making any more of a scene. You; keep an eye on Mr. Jones."
He felt a little disappointed that the angry youth's name wasn't one of the ones the dead man had mentioned. That meant Alfred's problem was going to have to stick around a little longer, and speaking of problems...
One for the Money (9e/10)
anonymous
April 21 2011, 13:57:55 UTC
He smiled at the policeman who'd been told to watch him.
"So, can I make a phone call? I'm kind of late for an interview."
-- It was Thursday night, which meant Roderich and Elizaveta were going on a date.
Gilbert could never quite figure out why they always went out on Thursdays-not that he cared. Maybe Roderich had once said it was to beat the weekend rush, or something, but that sounded like an excuse to him. It was more likely just them being boring.
Gilbert was also decidedly not figuring out what the best way to crash their date would be when his cell phone rang. He almost ignored it-it was probably just Ludwig asking where he'd gone or asking him to pick up milk-but on the third ring, decided to pick up after all with a gruff "What?"
The voice that answered wasn't West's.
"...Gilbert?"
There was suddenly a chill in the air. That sounded like... like Germania. Gilbert and the old man hadn't exactly been on speaking terms lately, so why the hell was he calling now?
"Gramps? What-"
Germania cut him off before he could finish. "I need you to listen to me, Gilbert. I killed Rome today."
Roderich and Elizaveta and their date had been forgotten entirely, as Gilbert moved the phone from one ear to the other. Rome had been on the news earlier that day, but his death hadn't been exactly confirmed yet... And now Germania was saying he'd been the shooter? What the hell was he getting at by calling with this?
"What'd Vargas do?"
"Nothing yet," was Germania's reply. Gilbert could hear him take a shaky, wheezy kind of breath before he continued, "But he'd gotten into something big-really big-and I found out. He was going too far; I had to stop him before it was too late. I had to make sure nothing would happen."
"So why're you telling me this? You're the cop, not me."
Germania didn't answer right away. A long, drawn-out moment of silence passed before he spoke again, "I want you to do something for me. Keep an eye on Rome's grandchildren... He was the last of their family."
"Do it yourself," Gilbert retorted, but then there was another of those wheezing breaths. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this whole thing.
"I can't."
A really bad feeling.
"If the ambulance doesn't get here soon, I'm not going to make it much longer. I just wanted to make sure I took care of everything while I still have time."
"Where are you?" Germania couldn't be that far; if he left right away, then maybe...
"Promise me, Gilbert."
"Yeah, sure; I promise. Where are you, gramps?"
The line went dead.
-- Arthur was going to be upset, Alfred thought, only to banish the notion as soon as it had come to mind. If Arthur was upset, it served him right. It would give him time to see the error of his ways, and when Alfred was released and allowed to return home tomorrow, Arthur would be so glad to see him.
"Mr. Jones, we may need to take you into witness protection."
...Okay, maybe a bit longer than that from now.
"The death of Rome Vargas is a high-profile case, and you're the sole witness. We can't say yet if it'll come to trial, but if it does, there's a high likelihood your life could be targeted. We'd like to make sure you remain safe, Mr. Jones."
All this being called 'Mr. Jones' was starting to get to Alfred. "Hopefully it won't come to that, right?"
The man nodded. "Of course. For now, we'd like to take you to a safe house and keep you guarded. Just for a while-a week or two at most-while we sort this all out and keep the press away from you. Would you like us to contact anyone for you? You said you live with a roommate..."
Arthur again. Alfred shook his head and answered, "No; that's okay. He already knows not to expect me back." It wasn't entirely true, but it was close enough. He had said that he never wanted to see Arthur again, even if he hadn't really meant it.
"Very well," the man said, gathering up a few loose papers and placing them into a folder.
Alfred may not have wanted to contact Arthur, but there was still the issue of his interview.
One for the Money (9f/10)
anonymous
April 21 2011, 13:59:20 UTC
The cop he'd asked earlier hadn't let him call, but maybe this guy would let him. He was one of the suits, after all, and he'd said himself that all those guys were all federal agents.
"Actually, there is one thing... I was supposed to go to an interview today, before everything happened. It'd mean a lot if I could reschedule it."
The man looked at Alfred again. "If you give me the details, I can see about arranging that for you."
Alfred grinned, feeling relieved. He'd been looking forward to the interview for weeks-maybe even years, really. He'd always dreamed of being a secret agent, and for all of this to happen when he'd gotten so close...
"Really? That would be great!" he said. "I have the contact information right here, though you probably don't need all of it... You see, the interview was for becoming an agent, too."
-- Alfred felt bad about ditching the guys who'd been assigned to protect him. Really, he did-and if they found out he'd slipped away in the wee hours of the morning, he was going to end up in a whole lot of trouble. Especially if they realized this was already the fifth time he'd left the safe house on his own.
He'd promised, though. He'd promised the dead man-he'd promised Rome Vargas-that he'd deliver a message. It didn't matter that Rome was the biggest mob boss in... well, forever; Alfred had given his word. Come hell or high water, he was going to find Hamburger Street.
...At least, he was pretty sure 'Hamburger Street' had been what Rome had said; it had been pretty hard to understand. But after several unproductive morning of searching, he was beginning to thing that maybe it didn't exist.
And that was why he'd sunk to the curb at the corner of Roswell and something at what would have to be the end of today's search-and maybe the end of all the searching. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. He needed to get back to the safe house soon, so that he could sneak back in before his guards thought to check whether he was still sleeping, but he still had a few more minutes to allow himself a moment of dejection and contemplation over what to do now.
He hadn't expected a hand on his shoulder just moments after he'd begun to despair. He would later remember the moment with more dramatic actions and angles and rays of light breaking through the clouds, but it had actually been an overcast morning and all he'd done was turn to see who'd tapped his shoulder.
The man was fairly short, and fairly bald. "You're in the way," he said. (Later, Alfred would remember what he'd said as "Are you okay?")
And there, hanging above the man's head like a halo, was a sign: 'Hamburg Street'
Close enough. Here in his hour of need, a hand had reached out to guide him, to show him the way-to show him he'd found what he hadn't known he'd been looking for. Alfred scrambled to his feet in awe.
"You can help me!" he said hurriedly. There was no question in his mind about it; this strange little man was his guiding angel. "I'm looking for Tony's restaurant. Well, I don't know if that's what it's actually called; I just know it's a restaurant and I'll find Tony there."
The man had looked confused at first, but then his gaze shifted to suspicious as he looked Alfred over (a part Alfred wouldn't remember at all) and asked, "You a Fed or something?"
Alfred shook his head. "No, not yet. I hope to be, though!"
The man's eyes narrowed further. "So what do you want with Tony, huh?"
Alfred smiled what he hoped was a winning smile. "I've got a message to deliver to him! I promised a dying man, you see."
The man gave him another apprising look, and after a moment (in which Alfred's memory would kick back in), cautiously said, "I'm Tony."
It hadn't just been a sign after all. That hand on his shoulder then had been a miracle. No more short nights so he could go street by street looking for a nameless needle in a haystack. No more imperiling his future career by not following orders. He could finally deliver Rome's final words.
Tony was the best thing that had happened to him since this whole disaster started.
One for the Money (9g/10)
anonymous
April 21 2011, 14:00:10 UTC
"Really?" Alfred's smile split into a wide grin. "Great! Rome said to......"
-- Lovino wasn't sure why he wasn't dead yet.
He didn't quite remember Antonio releasing his grip on him, nor did he remember getting to his feet. All he knew was that he was now cowering behind the Spaniard-or had Antonio moved forward to shield him?-and that Alfred F. Jones had a gun pointed in his general direction (by the gun being pointed anywhere at all).
Jones bursting in the house was the one thing he remembered very clearly.
But more than wondering why he wasn't dead yet, Lovino wondered why he hadn't fled yet. That would have been the smart thing to do when Jones had burst in with pistol at the ready; Antonio would only make a good shield for so long if he was fired at. He should have run and just let the idiots get what was coming to them. He wouldn't have been missed; Jones was asking about the Beilschmidts and not-
"You and I need to talk," Jones said, his gaze moving from the potato bastard to Lovino himself. Lovino's gaze, for his part, drifted to the gun, and he couldn't quite muster up the courage to disagree.
He did, however, managed to stammer out, "W-what the hell do we need to talk about?"
Jones didn't answer, looking at the Beilschmidts once more.
"Arthur, Tony," he said instead. Slowly (too slowly for Lovino's liking), Jones holstered his gun. "I need to talk to Romano and the Beilschmidts. Get everyone else out of here."
"No," Antonio said unexpectedly, shifting so that he was shielding Lovino a little better than before. "I'm not leaving Lovino."
Lovino felt a rush of gratitude, which he quickly stifled. "I didn't ask for you to protect me, bastard."
Antonio turned his head to look back over his shoulder. "But Lovino..."
Lovino looked away pointedly and said quietly, "I'll be fine." Jones had put the gun away, at least, so there wouldn't be any more shooting any time soon.
Hopefully.
Antonio looked a little disappointed (or so Lovino thought), but nodded. "Come on, Francis," he said, taking man's arm and heading to the door with him before Kirkland or Big Tony tried to physically remove them. Lovino couldn't quite decide whether he looked excited that Antonio was touching him, or just resigned to his fate at this point.
Kirkland, however, still wasn't moving. Jones looking pleadingly at him. "Arthur, please. I'll explain everything to you later, just... leave us alone for a minute, okay?"
Kirkland looked less than pleased, but he turned towards the door. "You had bloody well better."
-- "What is this about?" Germania's look-alike asked once Arthur had closed the door.
Honestly, Alfred himself wasn't sure what this was about-not any more, at least. He supposed he just wanted answers at this point. Answers about what he'd seen, answers about what he hadn't. If the man he'd seen shoot Rome had really been Chief Germania... Why had he done it? It may have been from a distance, but Alfred had witnessed the whole thing. There had been no struggle, no argument... Guns had been drawn, sure, but for all intents and purposes, it had looked like they'd fired at each other in cold blood, and only Germania's bullets had struck true.
So why?
"It's about getting answers," Alfred finally said, looking from the taller Beilschmidt to Romano. "It's about piecing together what happened three years ago. Do any of you know why Chief Germania killed Rome?"
"H-how can you be so sure it was Germania?" Romano asked loudly. His eyes were fixed on the floor, and his cheeks were beginning to flush. "They never said anything about that bastard on the news."
That, at least, was easy enough to answer. "I know because I saw him do it," he said. He looked at Romano once more, studying him for a moment. "If you don't believe me, I can tell you Rome's final wor-"
"No." Romano was still deep in a staring match with the floor, but his fists were clenched now. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. After a moment he tried again. "Don't say it."
One for the Money (9h/10)
anonymous
April 21 2011, 14:01:09 UTC
The taller Beilschmidt cleared his throat. "Mr. Jones, if you think our grandfather told us anything about Rome before he died, you're mistaken."
Alfred shrugged. "And if that's the case, then I guess I'm out of luck here. But if you do know something..."
The blond shook his head.
"I do."
It was a voice he hadn't heard until then-though something about it seemed familiar. Alfred's gaze shot towards the pale-haired brother, who until then had been silent.
"I talked to the old man the day he died."
The taller one looked confused. "Gilbert..."
"But I told all of it to the cops ages ago," Gilbert said, glancing at his brother. "It matched with what he'd reported, anyway."
Alfred frowned. If it had been reported, Gilbert's statement would be locked up along with everything else he didn't quite have clearance for. "Tell me."
"He just said that Rome had gotten in over his head. Said he had to stop him before it was too late."
Was that it, then? Was that all there was to the death of Rome Vargas?
"He also asked me to keep an eye on Lovino here," Gilbert added.
Romano's head turned towards him so fast it gave Alfred whiplash just from watching. "He what?"
"Feliciano, too, but the kid's so close to West I figured that was covered. He's not likely to get into trouble, though."
"Gilbert, you bastard! If you were 'keeping an eye on me', then what the hell were you thinking by dragging me into-..."
Romano's angry shout had fizzled and died somewhere in there, but Alfred's mind was on the message he'd delivered three years ago. "Why?"
Gilbert shrugged. "Mafia ties, you know. If Lovino was supposed to followed in Rome's footsteps, then..."
That was it. "That's what he meant then?" Alfred muttered. "That's what Rome meant by it."
"What'd he say, anyway?" Gilbert asked. "I didn't even know anyone talked to Rome after gramps shot him."
Romano looked away suddenly, and Alfred opened his mouth to repeat those three words for the second time.
-- Rome Vargas was dying, and it wasn't from the bullets or the bleeding. If he hadn't goaded Germania into killing him quickly, the cancer would have taken its time at it instead. There had been no deal about to go down, there had been no great diabolical plan-well, there had been, but he'd only involved the Family in it enough to get the details before he withdrew participation. Everything had been for the sake of this.
And it was just about perfect. It hurt like hell, but everything had turned out the way he had hoped and the truth... The truth would die with him.
He grinned up at the sky. Dying like this meant he'd have no regrets... Ah, no; that wasn't quite true. There was still Romano... His grandson had been the one kink in planning his own downfall. He hadn't gotten to tell Romano...
"Mister! Hang on, okay!?"
Rome rolled his head to the side, and for a moment, all he could see were sneaker-clad feet running towards him. It took some effort to find and focus on the face of the blond young man.
Ah... God must have been smiling on him today, and sent him someone in his hour of death. If he could just tell this young man; if he could eliminate this one regret...
The young man dropped to his knees by Rome's side, glancing at the ugly, bleeding wounds left by Germania's bullets. He then started going through his own pockets. "I'm going to get you to a hospital; you're going to be-"
"No."
The blond turned his head sharply to face Rome, question written on his face.
"Just listen...... to my last... re-request......"
Rome mustered the last of his strength to reach up to the blond. His hand found the back of the young man's neck, pulling him in closer, and he began to voice the last words he'd ever say.
One for the Money (9i/10)
anonymous
April 21 2011, 14:02:10 UTC
-- The dying man coughed, a wet, sickly sound that Alfred didn't think sounded very good at all. He did his best to clear his throat, to say the three words he wanted delivered to this 'Tony' guy at the Hamburger Street restaurant he'd mentioned seconds before:
"Let Romano choose."
Notes: I can't apologize enough for how long this chapter took! This was seriously the hardest chapter so far, but now that it's out of the way.... Everything should be wrapped up soon! A million thanks to all you readers who have stuck with me this whole time, and please stick with me just a little longer. We're almost there! :3
Re: One for the Money (9i/10)
anonymous
April 21 2011, 23:50:09 UTC
I haven't even read the update yet, I just had to freak the fuck out because you're still alive. And you updated. Ffffffffffffffffffff :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
Re: One for the Money (9i/10)
anonymous
April 22 2011, 06:39:52 UTC
I was so, so excited to see this had updated! I love this fic so much! It was one of the first I read for the Hetalia fandom, and has been my favourite ever since, and re-reading everything to catch up has only made me love it more ♥. I am so curious about the mysteries you've set up and started to resolve with this chapter, and I can't wait not literally - I would wait as long as it takes to read the end to see what happens next! Thank you so much for continuing with this fic even after all this time!
Finding the address had only been part of the problem in getting here, it turned out. Germania had nearly passed the building by twice.
The restaurant was an odd little thing, looking like it had simply been wedged in between the two larger building that flanked it when nobody had been looking-but then it got stuck and had to stay. The sign and the papers that decorated the windows were mostly in Italian, save for the sign on the door which only read: "Come in; we're open!"
Even though he'd blazed off on his mad quest to find Rome this morning, now that he was actually here, Germania found himself at a rare loss. Was he to simply storm up to Rome and demand to know what he was planning? Even if instinct was screaming at him that something was going to happen, he didn't have any proof of it. Would instinct really be enough to confront Rome with?
His thoughts were interrupted as the door of the restaurant suddenly swung open. A young man backed out, in the middle of shouting, "-ell, old man!"
He could hear the faint, all-too-familiar sound of Rome's laughter following the youth until it was cut off by the door slamming shut. The young man turned, and Germania recognized him. Lovino "Romano" Vargas, the eldest of Rome's two grandchildren and general public menace, glared at him.
"What're you doing here?" Lovino demanded.
Germania sighed, but privately, he was grateful for Lovino's attitude. Dislike and distrust was rolling off the boy so strongly that it was almost tangible; it came as a stark contrast from his grandfather's easy smile. Maybe this would be easier if Rome would share his grandson's attitude just this once.
"I'm looking for your grandfather," Germania stated.
Lovino eyed him suspiciously, going from head to foot and back again. For a moment Germania wondered if Lovino was going to try fighting him off, but then he said instead, "He's in the back. His office."
Germania nodded, and brushed past the young Vargas to enter the restaurant. He steeled himself as he went-Rome's man Tony was in the room and said something rude, but he ignored the little man. He was here for Rome.
When he reached the office and opened the door, the room was empty.
--
Rome sighed, rubbing his temples. All he'd wanted to do was talk to his eldest grandson, but then Feliciano had come in to share his latest award-winning art project... Really, it wasn't like he'd done anything wrong by taking a moment to gush over the painting-it was so beautiful, so elegant, so life-like!-and the next thing he knew, Lovino had stormed out of the office, shouting for him to go to hell.
He wondered where he'd gone wrong with the boy. Why was it that Lovino had such a sour temperament, compared to Feliciano's sweet nature? Was it just a case of being the eldest?
But whatever the reason, Rome had missed his chance to talk with him today... And he couldn't linger here, not when he was sure Germania would be dropping by any day now. He'd been avoiding his friend for so long that surely the police chief was at least starting to worry-or suspect.
All the pieces had long since been put in place, and Germania's discovery would topple his carefully-built house of cards. He needed to speak with Lovino, but with Lovino already gone, Rome had little time to waste. There was still more to do, more he could do, before he ran out of time entirely.
Rome picked up his coat and swept out of the office, leaving through the back door before the chimes on the front door rang to announce Germania's arrival.
--
Reply
He'd only twice before had the misfortune of speaking to Tony, but on both occasions, the little man had left the impression of certainly having a way with words. Germania simply closed and locked the office door. Tony could grouse all he wanted, but Germania wasn't ready to leave just yet.
The problem was that he didn't exactly have a search warrant. He reminded himself of that as he lifted a piece of paper from Rome's desk and glanced it over-but he wasn't looking for evidence to use against him right now. All he wanted was some indication of where Rome might have been spending all his time lately, of where he might be able to find the man. That was all, he assured himself as he set aside that one paper in favor of another.
And so it went until he'd finished with the top of the desk, and had wrenched open a particularly stiff drawer. There was a thick folder inside, and a few pages in, Germania felt something in his stomach twist. He closed the folder immediately.
He needed a warrant for this. He needed... He needed to find Rome, to ask him about this... But, no, how could he confront him with this, without a warrant?
Germania glanced at his watch. It was only a bit past one in the afternoon; there was still time... The warrant would take longer than he had; he needed to find Rome immediately. The folder told him where he'd be.
He just needed to get there.
--
Half an hour after leaving the restaurant office, Germania found Rome.
He'd almost thought it would have been harder than this, given the trouble to find the restaurant earlier, but it had been surprisingly easy. The meeting that had been indicated in the folder was to take place in a fairly public location, it turned out-he'd pictured an abandoned warehouse or the like, but the spot was actually only a few blocks east of a major bus stop, on a street that simply wouldn't see much traffic until that evening, after people were off from work.
Rome was there, waiting, with his back to Germania. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see that cloud-and it almost looked closer than before. He came to a stop a few feet away.
"You've gone too far this time, Rome," Germania said, his expression grim.
Rome didn't react at first, not even to acknowledge Germania's presence. After a long, tense moment had passed, he slowly looked over his shoulder, that same damn affable smile he always wore on his face.
"You're late, Germania," he said, ignoring the accusation against him; a note of cheer lifted his tone, but otherwise his voice sounded gruff... too gruff to mean that Rome was his normal, cheery self despite the smile. Before he could respond, Rome added, "You were supposed to be waiting for me."
Germania was confused; they hadn't seen each other in six months, and even then it had only been a passing sighting from when Germania had been forced to personally break up a dispute between Ludwig and Rome's eldest before further damage was caused to public property. Why did he think Germania would have arrived there first? He'd only found out about this meeting because he'd been in Rome's office, after Rome had already left. "...Excuse me?"
"You were supposed to be waiting there at the top," Rome clarified. "You'd be waiting there to stop me; isn't that what you'd said all those years ago? When I got there, you were still climbing... but there's still time." His smile wavered and then evaporated, replaced by a serious expression Germania could only remember having seen once or twice before. "I'm on top of the world, and you say I've gone too far. So now it's your turn, Germania: stop me."
"Rome, you..." There was something odd about this-all of this-but Germania wasn't sure what to say. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to sort through it in his mind.
Reply
When he cracked his eyes open once more, it was in time to see Rome raising a gun. Germania reached for his own as the first shot rang out, and the two that followed were from the police chief's pistol.
Neither of them noticed the wide-eyed young man watching from the opposite end of the alley.
--
Alfred had a small problem, in the form of a larger problem, in the shape of a dead man.
This certainly wasn't what he'd expected to be doing today when he'd woken up this morning. He'd just seen a man die in front of his eyes, and he'd seen who'd done it, too. If that wasn't enough, the dead man-while he'd still been just a dying man-had voiced his final request to him, a request that Alfred didn't even know where to start with.
If it hadn't been official before, it was now: today sucked.
But that wasn't really the problem. The problem-the small one in the form of a larger one in the shape of a dead man-was that he was in trouble. Big trouble. He could hear sirens in the distance.
He'd seen a man die, and that man's blood was currently all over him: his hands, his clothes, and even his hair, from when the then-dying man had grabbed him to pull him close enough to hear. The cops were going to get here any second, and when they did, Alfred was pretty sure he was going to end up suspect number one and only.
The other guy, the one who'd traded gunfire with the dead man, was long gone, leaving Alfred, the dead man, and the problem.
What could he do, though? He could always ditch the dead man and his request, but bolting would just make him look (even more) guilty... and anyway, he'd given his word to the dead man. The man was dead and would never know, but Alfred wasn't going to break his word. No, he'd just have to stand his ground and deal with this. The cards were stacked against him, but he could still win with the hand he'd been dealt. He didn't have the murder weapon, after all, so he could handle this. He had to handle this.
Alfred could see the police cars now, and he pulled himself to his feet. This would be the moment that defined who Alfred F. Jones was, he decided. This would be the moment he'd prove to Arthur-no, to the world-that he was the stuff of legends.
--
From the moment the first car came screeching to a halt, it had been a zoo. There had been cops and investigators and photographers, and the press being held at bay at the perimeter of the scene. There were several guys in professional-looking suits, sometimes talking amongst themselves and sometimes giving orders to the men in uniforms. It had been even busier than Alfred had imagined when he'd heard the sirens.
Alfred himself had been photographed-his hands and shirt and hair where the dead man had covered him in blood-and his shirt had been collected as evidence. One of the professional-looking guys had said he could get cleaned up as soon, and loaned him a fresh shirt in the meanwhile. He'd be taken to the station shortly, and Alfred had been debating whether to ask if he could make a phone call first.
That was when the shouting started.
"Goddamn bastards, let me through! That's my damn grandfather!"
Alfred looked towards the crowd gathered along the lines of police tape, where an angry young man was trying to push his way past a couple of cops. He seemed to have gotten the press's attention: there was flashing, and shouted questions, and a lot of microphones being shoved in his direction.
If he was the dead man's family, then maybe...
A sigh came from beside Alfred. "I was hoping the family wouldn't show," said the professional who'd been going over the events with Alfred one more time. "I'd better stop Lovino from making any more of a scene. You; keep an eye on Mr. Jones."
He felt a little disappointed that the angry youth's name wasn't one of the ones the dead man had mentioned. That meant Alfred's problem was going to have to stick around a little longer, and speaking of problems...
Reply
"So, can I make a phone call? I'm kind of late for an interview."
--
It was Thursday night, which meant Roderich and Elizaveta were going on a date.
Gilbert could never quite figure out why they always went out on Thursdays-not that he cared. Maybe Roderich had once said it was to beat the weekend rush, or something, but that sounded like an excuse to him. It was more likely just them being boring.
Gilbert was also decidedly not figuring out what the best way to crash their date would be when his cell phone rang. He almost ignored it-it was probably just Ludwig asking where he'd gone or asking him to pick up milk-but on the third ring, decided to pick up after all with a gruff "What?"
The voice that answered wasn't West's.
"...Gilbert?"
There was suddenly a chill in the air. That sounded like... like Germania. Gilbert and the old man hadn't exactly been on speaking terms lately, so why the hell was he calling now?
"Gramps? What-"
Germania cut him off before he could finish. "I need you to listen to me, Gilbert. I killed Rome today."
Roderich and Elizaveta and their date had been forgotten entirely, as Gilbert moved the phone from one ear to the other. Rome had been on the news earlier that day, but his death hadn't been exactly confirmed yet... And now Germania was saying he'd been the shooter? What the hell was he getting at by calling with this?
"What'd Vargas do?"
"Nothing yet," was Germania's reply. Gilbert could hear him take a shaky, wheezy kind of breath before he continued, "But he'd gotten into something big-really big-and I found out. He was going too far; I had to stop him before it was too late. I had to make sure nothing would happen."
"So why're you telling me this? You're the cop, not me."
Germania didn't answer right away. A long, drawn-out moment of silence passed before he spoke again, "I want you to do something for me. Keep an eye on Rome's grandchildren... He was the last of their family."
"Do it yourself," Gilbert retorted, but then there was another of those wheezing breaths. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this whole thing.
"I can't."
A really bad feeling.
"If the ambulance doesn't get here soon, I'm not going to make it much longer. I just wanted to make sure I took care of everything while I still have time."
"Where are you?" Germania couldn't be that far; if he left right away, then maybe...
"Promise me, Gilbert."
"Yeah, sure; I promise. Where are you, gramps?"
The line went dead.
--
Arthur was going to be upset, Alfred thought, only to banish the notion as soon as it had come to mind. If Arthur was upset, it served him right. It would give him time to see the error of his ways, and when Alfred was released and allowed to return home tomorrow, Arthur would be so glad to see him.
"Mr. Jones, we may need to take you into witness protection."
...Okay, maybe a bit longer than that from now.
"The death of Rome Vargas is a high-profile case, and you're the sole witness. We can't say yet if it'll come to trial, but if it does, there's a high likelihood your life could be targeted. We'd like to make sure you remain safe, Mr. Jones."
All this being called 'Mr. Jones' was starting to get to Alfred. "Hopefully it won't come to that, right?"
The man nodded. "Of course. For now, we'd like to take you to a safe house and keep you guarded. Just for a while-a week or two at most-while we sort this all out and keep the press away from you. Would you like us to contact anyone for you? You said you live with a roommate..."
Arthur again. Alfred shook his head and answered, "No; that's okay. He already knows not to expect me back." It wasn't entirely true, but it was close enough. He had said that he never wanted to see Arthur again, even if he hadn't really meant it.
"Very well," the man said, gathering up a few loose papers and placing them into a folder.
Alfred may not have wanted to contact Arthur, but there was still the issue of his interview.
Reply
"Actually, there is one thing... I was supposed to go to an interview today, before everything happened. It'd mean a lot if I could reschedule it."
The man looked at Alfred again. "If you give me the details, I can see about arranging that for you."
Alfred grinned, feeling relieved. He'd been looking forward to the interview for weeks-maybe even years, really. He'd always dreamed of being a secret agent, and for all of this to happen when he'd gotten so close...
"Really? That would be great!" he said. "I have the contact information right here, though you probably don't need all of it... You see, the interview was for becoming an agent, too."
--
Alfred felt bad about ditching the guys who'd been assigned to protect him. Really, he did-and if they found out he'd slipped away in the wee hours of the morning, he was going to end up in a whole lot of trouble. Especially if they realized this was already the fifth time he'd left the safe house on his own.
He'd promised, though. He'd promised the dead man-he'd promised Rome Vargas-that he'd deliver a message. It didn't matter that Rome was the biggest mob boss in... well, forever; Alfred had given his word. Come hell or high water, he was going to find Hamburger Street.
...At least, he was pretty sure 'Hamburger Street' had been what Rome had said; it had been pretty hard to understand. But after several unproductive morning of searching, he was beginning to thing that maybe it didn't exist.
And that was why he'd sunk to the curb at the corner of Roswell and something at what would have to be the end of today's search-and maybe the end of all the searching. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. He needed to get back to the safe house soon, so that he could sneak back in before his guards thought to check whether he was still sleeping, but he still had a few more minutes to allow himself a moment of dejection and contemplation over what to do now.
He hadn't expected a hand on his shoulder just moments after he'd begun to despair. He would later remember the moment with more dramatic actions and angles and rays of light breaking through the clouds, but it had actually been an overcast morning and all he'd done was turn to see who'd tapped his shoulder.
The man was fairly short, and fairly bald. "You're in the way," he said. (Later, Alfred would remember what he'd said as "Are you okay?")
And there, hanging above the man's head like a halo, was a sign: 'Hamburg Street'
Close enough. Here in his hour of need, a hand had reached out to guide him, to show him the way-to show him he'd found what he hadn't known he'd been looking for. Alfred scrambled to his feet in awe.
"You can help me!" he said hurriedly. There was no question in his mind about it; this strange little man was his guiding angel. "I'm looking for Tony's restaurant. Well, I don't know if that's what it's actually called; I just know it's a restaurant and I'll find Tony there."
The man had looked confused at first, but then his gaze shifted to suspicious as he looked Alfred over (a part Alfred wouldn't remember at all) and asked, "You a Fed or something?"
Alfred shook his head. "No, not yet. I hope to be, though!"
The man's eyes narrowed further. "So what do you want with Tony, huh?"
Alfred smiled what he hoped was a winning smile. "I've got a message to deliver to him! I promised a dying man, you see."
The man gave him another apprising look, and after a moment (in which Alfred's memory would kick back in), cautiously said, "I'm Tony."
It hadn't just been a sign after all. That hand on his shoulder then had been a miracle. No more short nights so he could go street by street looking for a nameless needle in a haystack. No more imperiling his future career by not following orders. He could finally deliver Rome's final words.
Tony was the best thing that had happened to him since this whole disaster started.
Reply
--
Lovino wasn't sure why he wasn't dead yet.
He didn't quite remember Antonio releasing his grip on him, nor did he remember getting to his feet. All he knew was that he was now cowering behind the Spaniard-or had Antonio moved forward to shield him?-and that Alfred F. Jones had a gun pointed in his general direction (by the gun being pointed anywhere at all).
Jones bursting in the house was the one thing he remembered very clearly.
But more than wondering why he wasn't dead yet, Lovino wondered why he hadn't fled yet. That would have been the smart thing to do when Jones had burst in with pistol at the ready; Antonio would only make a good shield for so long if he was fired at. He should have run and just let the idiots get what was coming to them. He wouldn't have been missed; Jones was asking about the Beilschmidts and not-
"You and I need to talk," Jones said, his gaze moving from the potato bastard to Lovino himself. Lovino's gaze, for his part, drifted to the gun, and he couldn't quite muster up the courage to disagree.
He did, however, managed to stammer out, "W-what the hell do we need to talk about?"
Jones didn't answer, looking at the Beilschmidts once more.
"Arthur, Tony," he said instead. Slowly (too slowly for Lovino's liking), Jones holstered his gun. "I need to talk to Romano and the Beilschmidts. Get everyone else out of here."
"No," Antonio said unexpectedly, shifting so that he was shielding Lovino a little better than before. "I'm not leaving Lovino."
Lovino felt a rush of gratitude, which he quickly stifled. "I didn't ask for you to protect me, bastard."
Antonio turned his head to look back over his shoulder. "But Lovino..."
Lovino looked away pointedly and said quietly, "I'll be fine." Jones had put the gun away, at least, so there wouldn't be any more shooting any time soon.
Hopefully.
Antonio looked a little disappointed (or so Lovino thought), but nodded. "Come on, Francis," he said, taking man's arm and heading to the door with him before Kirkland or Big Tony tried to physically remove them. Lovino couldn't quite decide whether he looked excited that Antonio was touching him, or just resigned to his fate at this point.
Kirkland, however, still wasn't moving. Jones looking pleadingly at him. "Arthur, please. I'll explain everything to you later, just... leave us alone for a minute, okay?"
Kirkland looked less than pleased, but he turned towards the door. "You had bloody well better."
--
"What is this about?" Germania's look-alike asked once Arthur had closed the door.
Honestly, Alfred himself wasn't sure what this was about-not any more, at least. He supposed he just wanted answers at this point. Answers about what he'd seen, answers about what he hadn't. If the man he'd seen shoot Rome had really been Chief Germania... Why had he done it? It may have been from a distance, but Alfred had witnessed the whole thing. There had been no struggle, no argument... Guns had been drawn, sure, but for all intents and purposes, it had looked like they'd fired at each other in cold blood, and only Germania's bullets had struck true.
So why?
"It's about getting answers," Alfred finally said, looking from the taller Beilschmidt to Romano. "It's about piecing together what happened three years ago. Do any of you know why Chief Germania killed Rome?"
"H-how can you be so sure it was Germania?" Romano asked loudly. His eyes were fixed on the floor, and his cheeks were beginning to flush. "They never said anything about that bastard on the news."
That, at least, was easy enough to answer. "I know because I saw him do it," he said. He looked at Romano once more, studying him for a moment. "If you don't believe me, I can tell you Rome's final wor-"
"No." Romano was still deep in a staring match with the floor, but his fists were clenched now. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. After a moment he tried again. "Don't say it."
Reply
Alfred shrugged. "And if that's the case, then I guess I'm out of luck here. But if you do know something..."
The blond shook his head.
"I do."
It was a voice he hadn't heard until then-though something about it seemed familiar. Alfred's gaze shot towards the pale-haired brother, who until then had been silent.
"I talked to the old man the day he died."
The taller one looked confused. "Gilbert..."
"But I told all of it to the cops ages ago," Gilbert said, glancing at his brother. "It matched with what he'd reported, anyway."
Alfred frowned. If it had been reported, Gilbert's statement would be locked up along with everything else he didn't quite have clearance for. "Tell me."
"He just said that Rome had gotten in over his head. Said he had to stop him before it was too late."
Was that it, then? Was that all there was to the death of Rome Vargas?
"He also asked me to keep an eye on Lovino here," Gilbert added.
Romano's head turned towards him so fast it gave Alfred whiplash just from watching. "He what?"
"Feliciano, too, but the kid's so close to West I figured that was covered. He's not likely to get into trouble, though."
"Gilbert, you bastard! If you were 'keeping an eye on me', then what the hell were you thinking by dragging me into-..."
Romano's angry shout had fizzled and died somewhere in there, but Alfred's mind was on the message he'd delivered three years ago. "Why?"
Gilbert shrugged. "Mafia ties, you know. If Lovino was supposed to followed in Rome's footsteps, then..."
That was it. "That's what he meant then?" Alfred muttered. "That's what Rome meant by it."
"What'd he say, anyway?" Gilbert asked. "I didn't even know anyone talked to Rome after gramps shot him."
Romano looked away suddenly, and Alfred opened his mouth to repeat those three words for the second time.
--
Rome Vargas was dying, and it wasn't from the bullets or the bleeding. If he hadn't goaded Germania into killing him quickly, the cancer would have taken its time at it instead. There had been no deal about to go down, there had been no great diabolical plan-well, there had been, but he'd only involved the Family in it enough to get the details before he withdrew participation. Everything had been for the sake of this.
And it was just about perfect. It hurt like hell, but everything had turned out the way he had hoped and the truth... The truth would die with him.
He grinned up at the sky. Dying like this meant he'd have no regrets... Ah, no; that wasn't quite true. There was still Romano... His grandson had been the one kink in planning his own downfall. He hadn't gotten to tell Romano...
"Mister! Hang on, okay!?"
Rome rolled his head to the side, and for a moment, all he could see were sneaker-clad feet running towards him. It took some effort to find and focus on the face of the blond young man.
Ah... God must have been smiling on him today, and sent him someone in his hour of death. If he could just tell this young man; if he could eliminate this one regret...
The young man dropped to his knees by Rome's side, glancing at the ugly, bleeding wounds left by Germania's bullets. He then started going through his own pockets. "I'm going to get you to a hospital; you're going to be-"
"No."
The blond turned his head sharply to face Rome, question written on his face.
"Just listen...... to my last... re-request......"
Rome mustered the last of his strength to reach up to the blond. His hand found the back of the young man's neck, pulling him in closer, and he began to voice the last words he'd ever say.
Reply
The dying man coughed, a wet, sickly sound that Alfred didn't think sounded very good at all. He did his best to clear his throat, to say the three words he wanted delivered to this 'Tony' guy at the Hamburger Street restaurant he'd mentioned seconds before:
"Let Romano choose."
Notes:
I can't apologize enough for how long this chapter took! This was seriously the hardest chapter so far, but now that it's out of the way.... Everything should be wrapped up soon! A million thanks to all you readers who have stuck with me this whole time, and please stick with me just a little longer. We're almost there! :3
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Apologies again for how long it took..... orz
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment