sleight of hand

Wednesday, 5 September

a London Pub
around 10:15 pm

★★★

Clouds blanketed the sky tonight, with only a peephole for the moon to shine through. It was late, far too late for any respectable gentleman to be out drinking. The pub was technically supposed to close at ten, as per the mandated hours for buying and selling liquor. Indeed, the bartender seemed to be closing up shop, but a small crowd loitered inside.

Mostly regulars, such as businessmen with their smart blazers, factory workers with oil staining their coveralls, even an odd lady here and there. Familiar faces were allowed to stay as the pub stretched its legality down to the wire.

Jamie was among them, and he was happily soused. The worst of his drunkenness had worn off about an hour ago, and what remained was a blonde boy in a blissful sort of stupor. He leaned against the bar and nodded to the passers-by, all while smiling dreamily.

"Right, Mr. Ziegler, you'd best be on your way," The bartender walked over, polishing a glass. "The bossman's locking up for real this time."

"Aw, really?" Jamie sighed. He straightened up and squinted in the dim lamplight. "Tom, are you sure-- sure she hasn't come by?"

"Afraid not. I'd be the first to know," Tom said, shrugging. "She was a busy woman, right? Probably off playing some other gig." He paused, then leaned in close. "I wish you could stay, honest. You're a good egg, for a yank."

Jamie wrinkled his nose. "Um. Thank you?"

"Between you and me," Tom continued, leaning over the bar, "There is a backroom where the boss lets a few special regulars drink for longer... but I don't reckon you're there yet. Maybe someday, eh?"

"Someday." Jamie echoed forlornly.

The older man smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Get home safe, lad."

---

Jamie trudged outside. The air here in the back alleyway was stark cold against his face, compared to the cozy warmth of the pub. His head was swimming with liquor and faint memories of a lady in red. He blinked a couple times, slowly. Maybe if he leaned against the wall here for a moment, the world would stop tilting sideways.

"Yeah? Well that sounds like a load o'rot to me."

Hang on. Jamie raised his head. Just a few feet away, there were three figures cloaked in shadow. Two guys, one fat, one skinny, circling some other fellow like sharks.

"You ought to know by now not to cross us, mate," The fat one said, cracking his knuckles.

"Right!" The skinny one jeered. "We'll give you a proper reckoning." The two closed in, ready to attack.

Jamie's feet were carrying him towards the trio before he could think properly about it. "Hey," He said, a little too loudly. He cleared his throat and did his best to straighten up to his full height. "What's the problem here?"

Up close, the supposed victim looked quite capable of defending himself. Well built, with broad shoulders and dark curls framing a mean-looking mug. t was also unclear what Jamie's plan was, considering that he was still half-plastered. Who could say...

"This 'ere's a private conversation," Fatman grumbled. "Unless you want some, too, Blondie. That can be arranged..."

★★★

Goodman had sent him to collect.

A fairly insignificant sum on the surface, but when was it ever really about money? Respect. That was what Mateo had been sent to collect, first and foremost. To remind this weasel of a man that Goodman’s men couldn’t be fucked with, and to serve everyone else as a reminder. He was no more than a small vendor, operating behind the counter of a mundane-looking potion store, selling the odd illegal or rare ingredient for a few extra coins. Of little value to their business or endeavours. Just a small blob of ink in Goodman’s ledgers.

He faced the same consequences, though, as any of their customers and partners when they didn’t pay. Or conveniently forgot, as this one had claimed.

The small pouch of galleons pressed against his thigh as Mateo pushed through the door, the shop’s bell ringing overhead before the cool night air swallowed him once more. The alleyway was dark, sparsely lit by the little light spilling from windows above and the streetlights at either end of the road. Cigarette clamped between his lips, Mateo’s lighter was halfway raised when two silhouettes stepped into his path.

Mateo slowed to a halt.

He knew exactly what this was. He’d seen them emerge from behind the very shop he’d just left.

Idiots.

“I don’t think you want to do this,” he said evenly, returning the lighter to his pocket and tucking the cigarette behind his ear.

“Oh yeah?” The bigger of the two stepped closer, rubbing a fist against his palm, sounding much too confident. “Think you’ve got somewhere better to be? Boss wants his money back.”

The lanky one snickered. “Yeah! Wants his money back!”

Mateo released a breath. “Christ almighty,” he muttered.

They’d really sent the dumbest of London. Neither had bothered to conceal themselves particularly well, and neither had thought to bring a wand into sight. Not to speak of the sheer stupidity of confronting him at all.

But that was fine. Mateo knew how to use his fists, and the day had already burned his fuse to a stub. Taking these two out wouldn’t take him much. They looked about as capable as they sounded.

“Your boss should’ve saved the little he has instead of hiring you.” His voice didn’t rise, unimpressed and dismissive. “The money is Goodman’s. So fuck off.”

"Yeah? Well that sounds like a load o'rot to me.” The two idiots began closing in. "You ought to know by now not to cross us, mate."

Mateo frowned faintly. He didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean. He’d never seen either of these blokes before, but he reckoned they’d had a run-in with one of the others. Or maybe they were bluffing. They sure as hell didn’t give the impression of being particularly intelligent.

"Right! We'll give you a proper reckoning.”

Mateo shifted his weight as the two men moved in, hands balling into fists. A call from behind made them pause, and Mateo glanced over his shoulder.

Some bloke approached, three sheets to the wind and the last thing Mateo needed right now. Fuck’s sake. His mood sank even further.

“No problem,” he grumbled, but idiot number one was already hooked.

"This 'ere's a private conversation. Unless you want some, too, Blondie. That can be arranged...”

Mateo swung first.

His fist caught the big one square beneath the jaw, snapping his head back with a grunt. He stumbled backwards, one hand flying to his mouth, but Mateo barely gave him time to recover.

His foot shot forward, catching the man straight in the stomach and driving him into the wall with a groan. The skinny guy lunged next.

Mateo pivoted, his elbow whipping around. Bone crunched as it struck the man across the nose. A howl of pain echoed through the alley, blood dripping onto the cobblestones, but neither seemed to have had enough.

Recovering quickly, visibly angered, both lunged at him again, Blondie seemingly forgotten for the moment.

Mateo only hoped he’d keep out of it.

★★★

Before Jamie could go through with anything, the exchange had quickly dissolved into fisticuffs. And indeed, the stocky fellow seemed to be handling things swimmingly. But the goons had some fight in them, which was enough to propell Jamie forward.

He grabbed the back of the beanpole's grimy coat. "Hey, come on now, fellas, not fair to have two against one, you know!"

"Get off of me!" The man bellowed, but Jamie yanked harder, and the guy toppled backwards-- onto Jamie.

Ah. He really had not thought this through.

Jamie's head hit the pavement, and he swore his brain was bouncing around in his skull. And of course, there was a jumble of unwashed, bony limbs on top of him. The skinny man swore and scrambled to his feet, but not before decking Jamie in the mouth with his surprisingly sharp elbow.

"Shit!" Jamie groaned, blood leaking between his fingers. He saw Beanpole making a break for it, heading towards his buddy again-- oh, no, we can't have that, Jamie thought wildly. His head was spinning even worse now, but he knew what to do. Knew how to fight dirty, had been doing it since he could walk.

There was a certain finesse with these kinds of things. All you had to do was wait for the opportunity to present itself, and then strike when the iron was hot--

Jamie lunged foward, stomach scraping against the cobblestone, arm thrust out in front of him.

In that haze of alcohol and stinging pain, he got hold of the man's ankle, and the bastard went down again, like a tree. He landed face first on the unforgiving ground, and his already cracked nose took the brunt of the impact. He was out cold, just like that.

Jamie panted and tried to push himself up with his arms, but his own noggin was still scrambled to shit. He could only lay there like a slug, catching his breath, as the fight continued above.

At least he'd been somewhat useful. Maybe.

★★★

Mateo braced himself, expecting to take one hit in order to fend off another, but the lanky one never got that far. Blondie had grabbed him by the back of his coat and yanked him away before he managed to get a shot at revenge for his broken nose, sending him toppling backwards.

Despite a flicker of annoyance at realising the drunken fool clearly had no idea how to stay out of things that didn’t concern him, Mateo knew how to make use of an opening when one presented itself. He left Blondie to deal with the lanky bastard while the bigger man came swinging.

With barely a hair’s breadth to spare, Mateo dodged the meaty fist and landed a quick punch of his own. It struck the other’s temple, eliciting a furious growl.

Apparently, that was a mistake.

Whatever strategy or technique the man might have possessed disappeared beneath his anger. His fists came raining down like thunder, faster than his size suggested, each blow aimed at whatever part of Mateo he could reach.

Mateo dodged most, but took the rest. One caught him so completely off guard that he stumbled backwards, the back of his head cracking against the wall with a sickening thud. Warmth immediately spilt down the side of his head. For a second, the alley swam around him, the edges of his vision going soft.

A fist barreling straight toward his face anchored him to reality. Mateo ducked. Above him came the sharp crunch of breaking fingers, followed by a cry of pain.

Using the brief distraction, Mateo twisted around the big bloke. He drove his foot into the back of the man’s knee, sending him crashing down onto the cobblestones, then shoved him hard enough that his head struck the wall with another dull crack.

Fatman slid sideways to the pavement, out like a light.

Mateo stood there for a moment, breathing hard, blood trickling down his temple. Finally, he looked over at Blondie, sprawled across the ground like a fallen sack of potatoes. Were it not for the lanky guy knocked out cold just ahead, Mateo might have thought the unwelcome stranger had actually gotten himself killed.

Maybe he had.

Mateo sniffed, tasting blood. He shifted the muscles of his face against the sting, then spat and slowly crossed the distance between himself and Blondie. He crouched halfway, retrieving the cigarette that had come loose from behind his ear during the fight and clamped it back between his lips.

He lit it as he came to stand next to Blondie. He nudged his foot against the man’s side.

“You good?”

★★★

Jamie had settled for resting his cheek against the filthy pavement. The stone was cool against his heated skin, and the din of the scuffling above him faded into a dizzying hum as he closed his eyes. As the ground shook, Jamie sniffed and opened his eyes. What was he doing? Lying in the soot and grime like a real loser, that's what.

When a boot poked him in the ribs, all Jamie could do was laugh wetly. God, this was so incredibly stupid. But now that other guy was asking him something, and it'd be rude to not reply.

"Yeah." Jamie croaked. Arms shaking, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees. "You should see the other guy--" A cough wracked his body, and blood sprayed onto the cobblestone.

Jamie winced and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Gee. That's not comin' out in the wash."

Did that bit even make sense? Jamie wasn't too sure. He heaved himself up, one leg at a time. Once he was standing on both feet, he smiled radiantly up at his new acquaintance. Must've looked a sorry state, with blood staining his teeth and spotting his collar. Dirt smudged over his coat. Come to think of it, was he still wearing his tie?

Who knew?

"Sorry 'bout all that," Jamie managed. He looked sidelong at the two goons, who were both dead to the world. Nice. "Sure looks like we did a number on 'em, though. But I have t'say, I'm usually more on the offensive..."

Which was true, in most cases. Jamie wasn't the beefiest out of the bunch, but he'd come a long way from the lanky build he had when he was younger. There was meat on these bones, let's say.

Jamie sniffed again. It was hard to tell what was snot and what was blood on his face now. "Can we start over?" He tried, sticking his hand out. "I'm Jamie, and I-- oh--"

One step forward, and the whole world went out from under his feet. Suddenly, the ground was approaching at lightning speed, and Jamie was simply along for the ride. And as fate would have it, he pitched right into the other man’s arms.

“Oh god, sorry,” Jamie snorted, in between giggles. “Forgot I was still drunk. Hey, ain’t this romantic?”

★★★

Mateo watched Blondie laugh, then push himself to his hands and knees, shaking like a leaf in autumn.

Not dead, at least. Pretty fucking drunk, though, by the state of him.

"Yeah. You should see the other guy--"

Despite himself, Mateo felt one corner of his mouth twitch, but the chuckle died somewhere inside his chest. Perhaps the last of the day’s humour had simply been beaten out of him by Fatty over there. Maybe he was just too fed up. Either way, dealing with a wasted Muggle was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Shit like this always had to happen on the already fucked-up days, too. Never any peace.

He supposed he’d gotten lucky on his little companion, at the very least. Drunk fools usually proved more of a nuisance than a help in situations like these, but this one had at least managed to take one of the bastards out.

More or less graceful, but who was he to judge?

Smoking, Mateo watched Blondie finally haul himself to his feet, saying nothing. He was in quite the rough state, blood staining his mouth and collar, dirt smeared across clothes, yet the guy grinned at Mateo like a winner nonetheless. A jolly one, then. Great. Looked like the sort who’d tie you down in an endless, one-sided conversation, too.

"Sorry 'bout all that. Sure looks like we did a number on 'em, though. But I have t'say, I'm usually more on the offensive...”

“Right.” Mateo raised a brow but didn’t comment any further.

Mr. Cheerful seemed to be doing just fine. Nothing that should come crashing back down on Mateo two weeks later when questions about a dead Muggle outside the shoop he’d been visiting that night inevitably came knocking. No magic, either. He would simply leave.

Blondie, apparently, had other plans.

"Can we start over?”

Mateo had already turned to leave. “No.”

"I'm Jamie, and I-- oh--"

Dead weight suddenly crashed into him, sending Mateo stumbling backwards as his arms instinvtively shot out to catch the other man. The impact drove the air from his lungs with a grunt, and something pulled sharply in his back.

“Fuck.” Annoyance sparked hotly in his chest. His cigarette was once again lost to the pavement.

“Oh god, sorry. Forgot I was still drunk. Hey, ain’t this romantic?”

Mateo stared at him for a long beat, brow furrowed.

“Maybe if you were a little prettier.” He pushed the bloke firmly out of his arms and back onto his own feet. “Time to go home. And preferably somewhere that doesn't involve me.”

Mateo bent to retrieve his cigarette, only to find it crushed beneath his own boot.

He stared down at it. Of course. He sighed through his nose.

“Fuck’s sake.”

★★★

To his credit, the guy actually took the surprise swooning quite well. For a moment, it was like a fairytale; the princess cradled delicately in a strong sturdy embrace. Of course, if by princess, you meant drunk, bumbling idiot. He had the golden locks, but none of the gracefulness.

"Yeah, so, I was actually in the middle of that..." Jamie mumbled. He stumbled backward when he was pushed, and only narrowly avoided falling on his ass. "Whoa, easy there-- Hang on, you sayin' I'm not pretty?"

He placed a hand to his chest in mock offense, and batted his eyelashes the best he could. The result looked more like an attempt to get something out of his eyes, rather than a basful gesture. A for effort, though.

"Well you're plenty pretty enough for the both of us," Jamie continued, still unabashedly unbothered. "Say, Mr. Jawline, don't I get a little 'thank you' for saving your ass back there? Or at least something besides a scowl?" Alcohol really loosened up his tongue, and whatever thoughts Jamie usually tried to supress, now came rushing to the surface.

"You have to admit, we make a fine team, me and you." He tracked the other man's gaze to the sad little cigarette on the ground. Smushed beyond recognition. Damn.

Jamie slowly lowered himself so that they were at eye level again. He peered at the guy, searching for something beyond those dark curls and that grumpy face. Then, he remembered something.

"Ah, here." Jamie fumbled in his pocket. His wand fell out and clattered onto the pavement, along with a small box. Jamie blanched and snatched up his wand, before it could be noticed. Sweeping the box into his hand, he held it out. A peace offering, if you will.

"Bought it at the corner shop," Jamie said pleasantly. "Wild Woodbine. Unopened. Could be yours, for a price." That last bit was more of a joke. All Jamie wanted was some recognition for his efforts, if the blood in his teeth was of any merit. And truthfully, the cigs had been an impulse buy. Jamie hadn't smoked a day in his life.

But his buddy here didn't need to know all that, yet.

★★★

Mateo tried his best to ignore Jamie’s seemingly endless prattling. He had half a mind to snap at him, but he bit his tongue.

Thank him? No one had asked Jamie to jump into a fight that wasn’t his business, and Mateo knew he could have taken both bastards on his own easily enough. Granted, it would have taken longer and perhaps a bit of magic, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Appreciation was the last thing on his mind.

Jamie, unfortunately, proved quite persistent.

Even after being put back on his feet and essentially told to piss off, Blondie showed no inclination to move on. Instead, he lowered himself until they were nearly eye to eye.

Personal space and knowing when enough was enough had never been a drunk man’s strong suit. Mateo had learned to tolerate it, but that didn’t make it any less irritating. A quiet sigh escaped through his nose. The day’s exhaustion seemed to settle more heavily across his shoulders, and all he really wanted was to get the fuck home.

Jamie suddenly appeared to have a thought. He rummaged through his pockets, and Mateo’s gaze lifted from the ground to the man’s face. A few belongings tumbled to the cobblestones.

A wand.

Mateo’s brows lifted.

Well. Who would have thought?

He said nothing, simply watching as Jamie hurriedly snatched the wand from the ground and stuffed it away before offering up a small box of cigarettes instead. His for a price. Mateo scoffed quietly.

“Your price is me not beating your ass for that comment.” He took the box from Jamie and stood. “Or for barging into a fight that had nothing to do with you.”

He opened the pack and pulled out a cigarette. For some reason, a small grin tugged at his lips.

“Thought you were a Muggle.”