Chapter Text
“Does anyone recognise this man?”
An image appeared on the projection. A young man with a squarish face, stubble, close-cropped soft blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore a clean hoodie and there was a ring in his left ear. Although the photograph was very crisp and professional, it was candid, snapped with a long-angle lens as the young man was walking down the stairs of some office building in the city. He hadn’t noticed the camera.
Henry looked around the small gathering in the dark debrief room. As usual, his coworkers looked varying degrees of bored. Despite the debrief sessions being potentially the most crucial aspect of any espionage mission’s success, the eclectic group of professionals tended to treat it like school detention, and their chief handler, Jan Žižka, as a barely-tolerated tyrannical headmaster.
“His name is Johannes ‘Hans’ Capon,” Jan Žižka continued. “Heir to the Capon Co., Ltd company. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It owns a great deal of real estate and it’s one of the wealthiest companies in the country.”
“Ahh. Are we going to see that money?” Dry Devil asked, rubbing his jaw.
“You’re not the only one asking that question,” Jan Žižka said. “But I’m getting to that. You’d think young Mr Capon would have lived an easy life, but that’s not really the case. He has a criminal record for petty theft and he’s been rehab three times.”
Katherine drummed her long nails on the wall and watched Jan Žižka speak. Her expression was perfectly calm.
“Young Mr Capon only recently came back into the public eye,” Jan Žižka said. “He’s enrolled in university using his Mother’s maiden name. Does anyone know why? It was on the news when it happened.”
Adder grumbled something indistinct. Next to him, Janosh raised a hand. “He’s wondering if we can stop the, uh, audience participation and get to a point, yes?”
“His uncle died,” Dry Devil said.
“Not dead yet, but yes,” Jan Žižka said. “His uncle, Hanush is in a coma following a car crash. Capon, who had been in a conservatorship since he was seventeen, is finally back in the public eye again. Capon’s father died a long time ago, and his mother’s not in his life. He can’t inherit the bulk of the money whilst his uncle still lives, but he’s also out from anyone’s protection as the conservatorship ended. He fired all his old staff and doesn’t employ any security.”
“He’s vulnerable,” Henry said.
“Yes,” Jan Žižka said. “That’s why I did some digging into the circumstances of Hanush’s crash and found it’s no accident at all.” He clicked the next slide.
Ištván Tóth’s face filled the projection.
Something rippled through the room. A change of mood. Everyone paid a little more attention, and Henry shifted forward in his seat. His heart started to beat hard.
“We have reason to believe Tóth, consigliere for the Bergow crime family, secretly orchestrated the car crash,” Jan Žižka said. “Ištván’s very smart, and it’s only because he follows the same pattern as always that we’re able to track him. He’s letting Capon run around and taste freedom, but eventually Capon will want some mentorship, some direction, and that’s when Ištván will be there... to give him guidance.”
“Kurva…” Henry hissed.
“With a couple billion at his disposal, we’d never have a chance against Ištván again!” Dry Devil grumbled, kicking the chair in front of him. “I shudder to think what that bastard could cook up with that kind of money...”
“He’ll become harder to kill than a President, for a start,” Jan Žižka said. “But it’s not over yet. Capon is still up for grabs, and he might just be the bait we need to bring Ištván out of the woodwork. So far, the problem we keep running into is that we only catch Ištván’s low-level minions and never get the head of the snake. But we can assume he’ll make a real appearance to solidify his alliance with Capon.”
“So we’re going to follow him around?” Henry guessed.
“Cheh. Catching him won’t be the problem, but keeping him will,” Dry Devil rumbled. “How long until the meeting? I imagine the tomcat can keep him distracted for two weeks.”
“It’s in three months,” Jan Žižka said. He folded up his notes. “He’ll just have to manage that long.”
Dry Devil chuckled. “This is stupid.”
“What are you talking about?” Henry asked, looking between them.
Adder made a comment. Janosh cleared his throat: “Adder says the longest relationship is four months, so a month to spare, all is good.”
“Relationships with whores don’t count,” Dry Devil muttered.
Janosh shook his head. “He says he didn’t pay, so it counts.”
“Adder will seduce Capon and keep his claws in long enough to get an invite to the fundraising event,” Jan Žižka said. “Henry will be acting as on-site handler. You’ll have an apartment opposite Capon and keep an eye on things and be there to act as support for Adder.”
Katherine put a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “It’s the first time you’ll be in the field, but don’t worry, we’ll be on hand if you need any help. If it all goes to plan… your next three months should be pretty boring.”
*
Henry slammed the boot shut and buzzed himself into the building’s foyer with a box on his hip.
The small apartment building was unassuming, slotted into place between the library and the town hall in the centre of the city, and Henry could hear the rattling churn of cars even in the building’s foyer. When he climbed the stairs, he could hear the faint noise of the apartments through the wall as he passed by. He glanced at the faded wallpaper.
As he turned to climb another set of stairs, he glanced out of the window. The glass was so yellow it was almost opaque. Water stains darkened the wall under the windowsill.
Capon seemed to have chosen the apartment at random. It certainly wouldn’t be where Henry would have chosen, not if he was the heir to a substantial fortune. There wasn’t even a concierge. Henry swapped the box onto his other hip and fished the keys out of his pocket, unlocking his door.
Henry’s new apartment was fairly standard. Henry set the box down on the pristine kitchen table. There wasn’t much point in personalising anything, but there were a few things he might hang up on the white-washed walls. A framed photograph of his parents, perhaps a calender. But nothing he would regret leaving behind, in case he had to make a hurried exit. He headed back out.
Henry left his apartment and nearly stumbled into Hans Capon.
Hans sidestepped him in time, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Well, hey. Are you moving in?”
Hans wore a pink polo shirt and off-white slacks, loafers and a shiny silver rolex. Henry realised that the arms of the black sweater tied around Hans’s waist also partially disguised a small semi-automatic pistol in a leather holster on his hip.
Henry stared dumbly at the other man. After so much study and research, actually seeing the Capon heir in the flesh was like being in an art gallery and one of the paintings striking up a conversation. “Yes. Flat 17, that’s me.”
“I’m number 16,” Hans said. “So, did the old lady who used to live in 17 die, or was the awful rotting smell just a coincidence?”
“I have no idea,” Henry said. There was a short silence, and Henry mentally kicked himself. He wasn’t usually so awkward. “I didn’t know her. I just found a good deal on the rent.”
“Student?” Hans asked.
“No, I have a job nearby,” Henry said. He groped for any suitable profession. “I’m a baker.”
“Well, you’ll have to bring me the best of the leftover stock at the end of the day,” Hans said. He fished his keys out of his pocket. “There’s no two ways about it.”
Henry glanced to one side and then back to Hans. “...do you have any allergies?”
“I’m allergic to boredom, tweed suits, loud chewing noises and plastic open-toe heels,” Hans said. “You?”
“Bananas,” Henry said.
Hans chuckled and opened his front door. “Okay. You’ve promised now, don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” Henry said.
Hans shut the door behind him. A few moments later, he opened it again. “I’m Hans. FYI.”
“Henry,” Henry said. “I’ll probably see you around.”
“You know where to find me,” Hans said, slipping back behind his door. It shut and there was the sound of the latch sliding into place.
Henry stared at the closed door for a long moment, before he realised Hans might be watching him back, through the keyhole. The thought jolted him and he hurried back down the stairs to his car.
*
At eight that evening, Henry stood at to the back of the bar, dressed in the same black and mahogany brown as the wall behind him, watching the orange overhead light glint off all the glasses and beer bottles. There was a constant chatter; driven up by the anonymous pop music vibrating from the speakers and underscored by the occasional slap of the double doors as staff left the kitchens and returned with stacks of dirty glasses rescued from busy tables. The bar tender operated the bar like a worker on a factory line.
Hans Capon had not noticed Henry. His blonde hair shone with a copper polish. Hans sipped his beer, checked his phone and occasionally focused on the conversation his lively friends were having. When he talked, he gestured wildly, and when he laughed, he threw his head back. His shirt was unbuttoned to the sternum to display the full span of his long and graceful neck.
Adder came through the doors at 8:13 PM. He went straight to the bar and pushed his way through the waiting crowd, sparking loud complaints which Adder bypassed, waving for the bar tender’s attention. He got his drink. He pulled up a chair at Capon’s table and introduced himself. One of the girls looked angry and sipped her drink, shooting a glare that Adder ignored.
Hans Capon noticed him. His eyes went bright, and he leaned towards Adder with an eager smile. He said something.
Clearly, Hans spoke at least a little Polish, because Adder’s reaction was loud and pleased. He clapped Hans on the shoulder and leaned in to talk in his ear. Hans threw his head back in a laugh. There was a brief discussion, and even if Henry had been close enough, he would not have understood it. Something Adder said made Hans flush and shift about in his seat.
Adder tugged him by the elbow and Hans bowed to quickly finish his drink before setting it down and stumbling along with the other man towards the bathroom.
When Henry shifted his weight to go after them, he found his boots had fused to the sticky floor. It made a noise when he peeled them away. He wove between the patrons, and lost sight of the men he was following when he had to take the long way round to head towards the bathroom. The stairs down to the basement were steep. Henry was glad he was sober and in full control of his legs.
In the Men’s Room, one stall was occupied, and Henry glimpsed two sets of shoes from under the stall door. Hans laughed, there was the sound of a belt unbuckling and Hans’s knee was visible as he knelt down.
Henry turned on his heel and climbed back up to the bar. The clamour of the crowd washed over him, the smell of alcohol and perfume and the warmth of nearby people. There was such a thing as dignity, and although Henry was still very new to being a handler, he didn’t feel Adder needed him in the room whilst he was getting his dick sucked. Better to stand where he could see but not be seen, watch and wait for the deal to be closed. He resumed his station waiting by the wall.
*
About fifteen minutes later, Hans and Adder had left, weaving through the bar and slipping out into the early night. Lingering heat made the air curiously soft, and the warm breeze carried a tang of motor oil. It was a short walk back to Capon’s apartment; Henry didn’t feel like he needed to risk being spotted tailing them and so waited about five minutes before he left the bar, too.
Even though it was just gone 8:30 PM, the summer sun wasn’t done with them yet and the city still glowed in dusky orange. The only indication that it was actually night was the lack of traffic, the wide-open pavements, the stores which were now closed and dark for the night and the clubs which had all turned their neons on. A pretty woman in an exceptionally short leather skirt waved at Henry, and Henry resisted the polite urge to wave back. She probably wasn’t just being friendly.
Climbing up the stairs to his apartment building, Henry fished the keys out of his pocket. The door clicked closed behind him.
Hans’s voice reached him, and Henry paused on the stairs, just out of sight. Hans was indeed speaking Polish, with a strong accent but fast and confident, and Adder responded with his voice rising in a question. There was the sound of keys. Hans’s apartment door shut after them and there was the noise of the latch.
The coast now clear, Henry climbed the rest of the way up to his floor and unlocked his own apartment. He switched the light on as he entered. Inside, it was as cold and barren as he’d left it. He took his shoes off and dropped his keys in the pot. He texted Katherine to update her on the progress: sᴏ ғᴀʀ, sᴏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ. She sent a thumbs-up emoji back to him.
Henry ate something and showered.
As he was dressing for bed, he heard the rhythmic banging of the bedframe against the wall he shared with Capon’s apartment. Buttoning up his pyjamas, he considered whether he should update Katherine on that. Maybe even send her a voice memo. The thought made him uncomfortable.
Henry took his pillow and duvet from the bed. With his headphones on, he slept on the couch, as far away from the shared wall as he could get.
*
At 4:56 AM, Henry woke to the sound of his front door swinging open. Adder stalked into his apartment, slammed the door shut and flipped the lights on. He had a cheeky, satiated grin, and strutted about Henry’s apartment like a tomcat. He pulled the fridge door open and helped himself to Henry’s milk, drinking straight from the bottle.
“What the—? What are you doing here?” Henry snapped, pulling his headphones off.
Adder rolled his eyes, screwing the cap back onto the milk bottle and setting it on the counter.
“You have your own apartment,” Henry muttered in an undertone. “You can’t go in here just because it’s closer.”
Adder flipped him off and kicked open his bathroom door. There was the sound of the shower running. Water drummed against the tiled wall. Adder shut it off and climbed out, scattering water everywhere. He dried himself haphazardly on Henry’s towel, walked naked through Henry’s apartment, and then dropped the wet towel on Henry’s bedroom floor. He dug through the cupboard draws until he pulled out a clean shirt, underwear, and baggy jeans which he pulled on, taking Henry’s sneakers for good measure.
Adder reappeared in Henry’s kitchen/living room dressed in Henry’s clothes. He knocked on the kitchen island to get attention and mimed turning a steering wheel.
Henry glared at him, still muzzy-headed with sleep. “No, I’m not letting you borrow my car.”
Adder grumbled and repeated the mime.
“I said no.” Henry massaged his face. “Isn’t it going to look crazy suspicious if Hans goes to your place and my car is parked outside? Just walk you lazy bastard, your place is only a twenty-minute walk from here.”
Adder said something obviously rude and showed him the bird before pulling the apartment door open again and slouching out.
With a grunt of effort, Henry got up from the couch. Adder hadn’t even closed the door properly and Henry had to shut it, locking it again. He was thankful that his car keys were still in his jacket pocket, hanging up on his bedroom door, otherwise Adder wouldn’t have had to ask for them.
Moving about like a zombie, Henry followed the path of destruction and undid it, putting the milk back in the fridge, putting Adder’s dirty clothes in his hamper, setting his toiletries on the shelf and retrieving his wet towel, and finally packing his clothes back into his cupboards in the bedroom. Hopefully, Hans Capon really liked doing chores and tidying up — otherwise his relationship with Adder was probably doomed.
*
At 9:32 AM, there was a loud knocking on Henry’s door.
Henry set his coffee down and went to the door. He peered through the keyhole, frowned, and pulled it open.
“Hi,” Hans said. “Good morning. I’m Hans. Number 16, remember, from yesterday?”
Henry nodded, slowly.
Hans grinned. Despite the warm weather, he wore a turtleneck, presumably to hide the love bites on his throat. “That’s your car downstairs, isn’t it?”
“Did something happen to it?” Henry asked. He started to scowl, already imagining a tipsy Adder scratching something profane into the paintwork.
“No? Not that I know of,” Hans said. He held up his phone. “Look, I woke up late and I have an exam at 10. I tried to get an Uber, but they’re all thirty minutes away and it’s a ten-minute drive from here and I really don’t want to be late. Um, I know this is a crazy request, but could you give me a lift? I have cash.”
Henry stared at him for a long moment. “Sure, why not? Let me get my keys, I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Thank fuck,” Hans said, breathing out a sigh of relief.
Just a few minutes later, and Henry was pulling out of the narrow parking lot attached to the apartment building, only reasonably sure he was doing the right thing. Hans sat in the passenger seat, his textbook open on his lap. Ideally, since handlers were not field agents, they were not supposed to directly interact with marks, this much Henry was pretty sure of. The mistake had been made yesterday, when Henry had been friendly and introduced himself. At least he knew for next time.
“I like all the pebbles you’ve superglued to the dashboard,” Hans said. “Very creative. Kind of reminds me of this beach I went to in Malibu.”
Henry pulled an embarrassed smile, turning into the main road. “It wasn’t me. It was my, uh, I guess I’d call her my ex. She was a fan of Tiger’s Eye.”
“Oh, right,” Hans said, running his fingers over the glossy, golden-brown gemstones. “This is a lot of Tiger’s Eye. Is it expensive? I’m surprised your girlfriend didn’t return and take it all back during the breakup.”
“She’s dead,” Henry said.
It dropped like a brick into the conversation.
Hans sat back in the seat, straightening up. He rested his hands flat on the textbook open in his lap. “I’m so sorry, Henry, I didn’t know.”
“That’s okay. Also, Bianca wasn’t my girlfriend, she was my fiancée,” Henry said, and then mentally kicked himself. As if that additional information was really necessary? Had it helped at all? “Anyway… they’re actually all lab grown, so…” he just gave up.
Hans nodded.
The silence that followed was painful.
Henry pulled the car to a gentle stop at the red light. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Sunlight gleamed across the bumpy landscape of golden-brown tiger’s eye gemstones that stretched from one end of the dashboard to the other. Henry had only pretended to like it when Bianca had surprised him with her DIY project, but in time, the beauty of it had come through. It reminded him of the little creek in Skalitz in springtime, when the waterline was low enough that it could only gloss the surface of the riverbed, turning the pebbles and stones into shining amber and gold.
“What are you studying?” Henry asked.
“Business,” Hans said, immediately, clearly eager for the tension to end. “I’m doing Business Studies.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
“Eh, it’s not the worst. I actually did a year of Liberal Arts and transferred over here into the second year of study, because for some reason they let me keep the credits. My exam’s on Advanced Quantitative Analysis in Management and please don’t ask me what that means, because I certainly don’t know.”
“You used to study Liberal Arts?” Henry glanced over as the lights changed, and the car rolled into motion. “Seems like a big change.”
“Business will probably be more useful,” Hans said. “Anyway, I actually didn’t even like Liberal Arts. I think I knew that even when I applied, to be honest.”
“Then why did you apply?” Henry asked.
Hans opened his mouth and then paused. He grinned, apologetically. “I’m sorry. It’s kind of personal. If we ever get drunk together, maybe I’ll tell you…”
Henry nodded. This was how normal people treated sensitive matters. “No problem. I’m glad you’re enjoying it, though. Is this the right entrance?”
Hans glanced up, out of the window. The University building loomed very large and white. “Yes! Just pull up anywhere, I’ll jump out.” He scrambled for his wallet and flipped it open. “Is $30 enough?”
“You don’t have to pay me,” Henry said, waving him off.
“Of course I do, you saved my skin and also, it’s not like we’re friends,” Hans said. “$40?”
“Get out of the car, Hans.”
Hans brandished the cash. “Just take the cash, seriously, it’s not like I need it.”
Henry pressed the seatbelt button on Hans’s seat, and it released with a click. “Jump out before I get a ticket because trust me, they’re more than forty bucks these days.”
Hans relented, pushing the door open. “You’re a star, Henry. I won’t forget it.”
“Okay, okay. Good luck with your exam,” Henry said, reaching over to shut the door.
Hans climbed up the broad, majestic steps up to the plinth where the university building rested. It looked more like a courthouse or a parliament building than the dinky little community college building Henry had been frequenting back in Skalitz. Hans quickly became a small mark on the white steps and then vanished entirely.
On the short drive back, Henry wondered if he should mention the situation to Katherine. Katherine had been training him, somewhat informally, and she would probably not be happy with the contact he’d had with Hans, innocent though it had been. She hated it when too many variables were involved. They had a debrief that evening and if she asked him directly, he would mention it, otherwise… what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Sunlight sparkled on the rare bands of quartz in the Tiger’s Eye stones. It highlighted every mote of thick dust that lingered on the bumpy surface of the dashboard. Normally, Henry would have cleaned them, but the dust helped mitigate the glare from hot-gluing about fifty sparkly gemstones under the windscreen and then driving around in the middle of summer. God… he missed that crazy girl.
Henry was leaving his car when he noticed something peaking out of the pocket in the passenger side car door. He pulled it out. It was four crisp $10 notes, hidden behind Henry’s tattered map book.
*
That evening, Henry sat cross-legged on his living room floor, his laptop across from him and his headphones in. There was a cake box open to his right, currently containing a few slightly crushed cinnamon buns. Katherine was talking.
“We’ve managed to secure job roles for Žižka, Dry Devil and Janosh as waiters,” Katherine was saying. “I’ll stay off-site to coordinate, and we’re working on something for Henry. Of course, we’ll still need Adder there as a free agent otherwise it’ll be pretty much impossible to keep an eye out for Tóth and maintain our covers at the same time. Adder can go where we can’t without raising much suspicion.”
Henry unwrapped a few croissants he had bought from a local deli, squeezed them to make them look dishevelled, and set them beside the cinnamon buns. He picked up one of the croissants and turned it over, setting a butter knife into the pastry.
“…able to infiltrate the event as security,” Katherine continued. “But if Tóth’s to attend any event, he always has staff on the security team. We’re spooked him that way before and this might be our last chance to neutralize Tóth before it’s too late. Does everyone understand?”
Into the cut he’d made in the croissant, Henry tucked the $40. He set it into the box. “Understood.”
“Good, great,” Katherine said. “Excellent work so far, Adder, Henry. We’ll speak again soon.” The call ended.
Henry pulled his headphones off. Even the brief voice call had made his ears slightly sweaty. He scooped up the box of squished pastries and climbed through his window, down the fire escape, and into the street. From there, he re-entered the apartment building and climbed all the way back up to his floor. He knocked on apartment number 16.
After a few minutes, Hans opened the door. He wore a tank top and there were a couple large, lurid hickeys on his throat. He looked down at the box and then up at Henry. “Hi, Henry. Is that for me?”
“Discarded pastries from work,” Henry said. “You asked for them, remember?”
Hans raised both his eyebrows. “Are you trying to win best neighbour award or what? Have you fallen madly in love with me or do you just need the karma? It's a bit much.”
“Don’t be such a prick,” Henry said, pulling the box back. “I’ll bin them if you don’t want them. I’ve just gotten really tired of eating pastries, that’s all.”
“Hey!” Hans snatched the corner of the box and dragged it back. “I didn’t say that. Thank you, really.”
Henry let Hans take the box out of his hands. “It’s nothing. I’d just bin them, otherwise.”
“No, honestly, I am genuinely grateful, sorry for being a dick,” Hans said, flipping the box open. He closed it again. “I’m just not used to people being nice to me without, you know, wanting something from me. But I guess that’s just how the city is, and you’re a country boy, so you have manners and human kindness and stuff from small-town living.”
“Why do you think I’m from the country?” Henry asked.
“Aren’t you? Your accent’s pretty strange, but kind of familiar too somehow,” Hans said. He leaned against the door-frame and tore into one of the cinnamon buns. “Do you want to come in?”
Henry almost said yes but managed to stop himself in time. He took a deliberate step back and gave himself a mental shake. It was just so easy to talk to Hans, so natural, that he was starting to forget what he was actually there for. He had that uneasy, dizzy sensation of a near-disaster, like a car passing an inch away when he was jaywalking, or a bridge collapsing the moment after he’d finished crossing. What the actual fuck was he doing?
“No, sorry,” Henry said instead. He took another step back.
Hans glanced down at the floor as if to check something and the look seemed to confirm what Henry felt. Henry might have only taken two steps away, but the distance that yawned between them was suddenly much greater than that.
“That’s okay,” Hans said. “Are you free later? I was going to go to the bar with some friends, and you could…”
“I can’t,” Henry said, tone abruptly cold. “Sorry. I just came to deliver your pastries and I’ve done that now.”
“Alright,” Hans said, a slight frown marring his brow. He made an effort to smile. “Offer’s still open if you change your mind, Hal. You know where to find me.”
“I’ll see you,” Henry said, and privately hoped he wouldn’t. He slipped back inside his apartment and shut the door. Through the thin walls he could hear Hans’s apartment front door shut and lock, a few moments after his own did. Henry could hear the other man move around inside his apartment, and listened intently until he realised he was listening intently, at which point he put his headphones on and tried to think of something else.