Chapter Text
Cousin,
Today’s our lucky day! Miss M found some lovely-looking chaps looking to make a deal with us on some top-grade hooch. Little strange but they seemed to be nice guys. Meanwhile, some Marigold goons broke in and tried to set the place on fire again. Remind you of anyone familiar? Anyways, please write back when you get the chance. Would love to hear about how life is back home! Probably real boring with ol’ auntie around.
Much love, Rocky.
Freckle found himself staring at the letter written on scraggly notebook paper as the morning sunlight beamed through his bedroom window ― a small glimpse into a world increasingly unfamiliar for a Catholic-raised angel such as himself. Struggling to get out of bed, he found himself trudging down the steps to the kitchen downstairs, where he poured out a bowl of shredded wheat cereal using a pint of milk he had bought from the downtown market.
It had been at least a week since the up-and-gone disappearance of his cousin, and he was no step closer to figuring out just what the hold-up was for Rocky and his nightly treks for the underground rapscallions in Lackadaisy. Even the local police, who had started investigating the disappearance of Rocky and his cohorts, appeared to be giving up. Freckle had seen the three of them standing around outside his house last night, and although they hadn't given up on their search, they didn't appear to have been able to do much more. He eventually figured that if he wanted to find out for himself, then the letter might be a start.
After breakfast, and having told his mother Nina that he would be making a trip to the Soulard Market downtown, he set off into the city to see just where cousin Rocky was. His first stop, naturally, was at the Little Daisy Cafe right on the block, the front for Lackadaisy which served warm food and fresh coffee at a cheap but reasonable price. Greeting him just inside was the usual setup for a place like this ― empty rows fit for a more of a court jester than a king. Folded-then-unfolded paper menus declaring the breakfast, lunch, and dinner items of the day. A lukewarm cup of coffee sitting on the counter with no-one to attend to it. Yep, this was Little Daisy, alright. As he made his way towards the pantry door in the back, he couldn’t help but have the feeling of being watched creeping up like a chill on his spine. But he was quick to reassure himself that it was just a hunch, even if he ended up having to trek through the walls of limestone underneath by himself. Once he got to the speakeasy, cleared out after a night of boozing, partying, and band-playing, he hoped that asking some of the people Miss Mitzi kept on payroll would help him find the answers he needed.
The first place he stopped downstairs was the garage, filled with pristinely shined Model Ts, Daimlers, and other cars readied for hooch-hunting travel. Along the wall next to him was a rack of guns polished to a certain gleam; things like shotguns, Tommys, Berettas, and the like, unusually loaded up for the type of venue he was dealing with. He found Viktor putting the finishing touches on one of the cars, painstakingly restored from a beat-up, carnaged state. Initially curious enough to ask him about the car, he then remembered the beaming glare of death that resulted from Ivy’s quip about them "dating" each other... a single unblinking eye striking a sort of deep fear into Freckle’s innocent, untainted heart. He thought it best to just let him be and started making his way back into the speakeasy. He doubted the big Slovak oaf under the fenders would be of any help to him, anyhow.
"Hej, chlapče . I see you." The baritone mumbling that came from underneath the car stopped Freckle dead in his tracks. He quickly turned to find Viktor rolled out and giving him the same stare that made him uncomfortable the first time. "You vanted to ask question, ya ? " he asked, still staring him down. Freckle caught a moment to regain composure and stepped a little closer.
"I’m... looking for my cousin right now. Did you happen to see him anywhere before he left last week?"
"Nie, not around here."
"So you don’t know where he is?"
Viktor then decided to put it bluntly. "Chlapec is pain in my neck. I vould not haff cared to begin vith. Now go away." He promptly slid back under the car, continuing the repairs he had been working on before Freckle entered the picture. Freckle, meanwhile, was not surprised considering the two’s history since Rocky first joined the gang about three years before.
The garage door then opened to reveal some of the other guys hauling in at least a few cases of the good stuff from a nearby truck. The truck was parked just inside enough so that the cops outside wouldn't be able to catch on to any of the illegal runrumming the group had willingly thrust themselves into. One of the guys figured Freckle had enough innocence in him that a little "convincing" would be enough to sort of indoctrinate him into the whole shebang.
"Hey, kid," he called out to him. Freckle darted away from Viktor to give him full attention. "Ya ever tried rumrunnin’ before," he continued with a slight grin cocked.
The kid simply shook his head for an answer. Jackpot. Blondie here promptly trotted over to him carrying a small, crumpled sheet of paper. The sheet was etched with a road map of St. Louis, stepping the line between finely-detailed and grade school-level notebook drawings. He pointed towards a secluded alleyway within town, labeled "VALERIAN" in someone's handwriting. Apparently, as he explained, the Valerian was a fellow speakeasy venue that maintained a low-profile but amicable relationship with Lackadaisy, even supplying them with leftover alcohol supplies when the pig farmers raided them not too long ago.
"If ya manage to follow this route without bein' stopped," he said, "there'll be a couple'a ll be a couple’a suppliers waitin’ just outside. They’ll lead ya down underground where the gatter’ll be stashed."
Blondie then turned his attention to Viktor, just wrapping up and rolling out from under the car.
"Ay, Viktor," he shouted, earning him a glare. "Take the kid here wit’ ya when y’go. He needs some fresh air..." He leaned into Freckle’s ear. "...don’t ya, lad?"
Staring down a pair of leering eyes, Freckle gave him a forced nod. Blondie then patted him on the back, wished them the best of luck, and quickly left the scene before the two could raise any objections.
The drive towards the Valerian was a long and awkward one at best. Neither one of the unwilling participants spoke to each other or even exchanged looks. The passing civilians that walked, biked, and drove through the city streets meant nothing to them, simply decorations in an increasingly industrialized metropolis that surrounded them. Freckle stared out the passenger window of the truck while Viktor kept his focus on the road ahead, not even stopping for a quick bite or drink. They would have to do that later . Right now, getting the hooch was more important, and if Mitzi had anything to say it would be extremely vital for them to grab it in order to keep her fledgling business up and running during these dry times.
"Vhy is search for your cousin so important to you," Viktor finally asked after a few minutes of silence.
Freckle, realizing what the Slovak had just said, broke his windowside gaze and didn’t answer right away, realizing it was going to be difficult to come up with an honest and believable explanation for why it mattered so much. But damned if he wasn’t going to try.
"Well, it’s just... he’s my cousin, alright? He’s family to me. Not immediate family, per say, but that doesn’t negate the bond he and I have had since... well, forever ."
"That’s it?"
"Well, there’s more to it, but it’s not something I can really explain all that well." He had to consider his next words. "I don’t think you would get it."
Viktor snapped his head in Freckle's direction with the death glare back in full display. "I haff family back in mother country," he interjected, "but we leave them behind vhen Great Var breaks out in Sarajevo. Several more break off aftervards, ve never see each other again, bye bye, see you in hell. Je to jednoduché."
Freckle slumped into his seat with deep embarrassment. "Watch the road," he muttered under his breath.
Viktor promptly gripped his shoulder and pulled him back up. "No pouting" was all he told him as more awkward silence festered between the two on their route. When the duo finally pulled up to the Valerian ― as Blondie predicted ― two men stood leaned against the wall outside the building’s entrance. They were dressed somewhat casually, though still maintaining a sort of businessman-like persona with their shirts tucked and their jackets buttoned up to a T. Their scruffled faces turned to the truck as Viktor and Freckle stepped out with the smushed cityscape behind them. Without a word one of the men led the way with a snap of the finger followed by a beckoning wag, the other holding the door open for them as they stepped through the entrance.
Inside, the place was near empty; a large, open warehouse with nothing but rows of wooden crates scattered throughout its approximately five-thousand square feet of space. It was unclear what exactly were in the crates to begin with, but for the guys running the place it was a pretty safe bet that hidden underneath were cartons upon cartons of alcohol just waiting to be opened up and shared with everyone. Being his first time in a place like this, Freckle simply felt overwhelmed by the scale and lengths they were willing to go through just to score a few bottles of cheap whiskey.
As the Valerian’s crew began opening up the crates for inspection, he began having doubts that his cousin, as crazy as he was to find some psychotic way of escape, would ever be found. The small search party of about six that had been set up for this purpose kept finding themselves with no real leads, and with the forests becoming more and more cleared out for things like housing, factories, and other amenities, the fear that the illustrious Rocky Rickaby had finally met his end was sure to creep in before long.
Another finger-snap took him back to the real world, this time from Viktor who was signaling him to help out with transporting the crates into the truck. Unfortunately his thin, feeble build did not help him in the slightest. From the get-go the crates were some of the heaviest he had ever been forced to lift, even more than the supply he had lifted from the Abelard residence as compensation for an incident involving Rocky, his forehead, and a lead pipe which flew and gashed it right open. That Viktor had been able to lift and carry the crates without much issue or help from the Valerian seemed like an insult to him.
Eventually, some courteous individuals decided to assist in the lifting, bringing in a forklift that literally took the weight off of his shoulders. But it also left him at the sidelines watching everything go by, almost taunting him and his general weakness. A Valerian worker bumped him on the shoulder before leaning against the pillar behind him.
"Too heavy for ya," he asked.
No response.
"Yeah, I'm in the same boat here. The guys never ask me to help them, though, so maybe that's why."
One of the more heavy lifters ― a burly man with longish brunette curls ― felt the need to set the record straight. "We don't have to ask for you to help out," he shouted, "You just want to sit on your lazy ass and watch all day!"
"Hey, shut up, I’m trying to make the kid feel better!"
"What, by lying to him about what you do here? Yeah, that really helps!"
"You think you can do better?!"
The loud shattering of glass bottles broke the tension. They turned to find a broken crate of beer bottles next to an irate Viktor staring them down. "Both of you, all I hear is noise," he shouted, sending chills down the workers’ spines. The sound was enough to reverberate to where everyone just outside would be able to hear him. They quickly apologized and got back to work.
The entire scene looked to be a farce to Freckle, and he couldn’t help but make a face at the whole thing. Viktor was a strange man, sure, but he also seemed like a pretty good guy; he just didn’t do a good job showing through his cold, unfeeling exterior. But at the end of the day, it didn’t change the fact that he was still a human being with feelings like everyone else. He knew that, whether Viktor did or not.
The rest of the group began picking the scraps of whatever was left in the aftermath. Freckle was still leaning against the pillar, not wanting to seem too weak among the other workers, but it was clear that this job wasn’t for him. In fact, it was the moment he decided he didn’t want to be part of it anymore. So without warning, he got up and walked away. It of course didn't take Viktor and the gang very long to notice him attempting a sneak back into the truck.
"Oy! Vhere are you going, chlapec?"
He quickly climbed in and shut the door behind him with nothing to say. The group then continued loading everything up until the truck bed couldn’t be filled anymore, leading to a balance that tilted most of the weight in favor of the back... to the point where it became hard to even get the truck to pull out very quickly if at all.
Viktor and the others were left with a choice to make. Not only were they left with a huge load of stuff to drag behind them all the way back to the garage, but there was also the fact that the load they had on their back now was basically a brick-shaped monster; a load that would be more than enough to send the truck falling down. Viktor had to admit that this was a big problem. But he also knew that he didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t about to just let all this booze rot or break, no matter how heavy or large the load became, and on top of that also needed to make the transport inconspicuous enough so as to not draw the ire of the law.
The crew began moving the load over to the garage, as Freckle found himself standing up front watching it go by. There was still not a single face he knew, as even Viktor hadn’t been able to talk to him, let alone introduce him to someone, which seemed a little strange. He stood there, staring at the load that just sat in front of him, and at that moment he felt he had somehow wandered into another dimension. A load he had no clue how to describe or recognize.