Money Ain’t Always Green
not a single muscle of ivan’s face moves – the russian nods, eyes fixed on the other. the only audacity he can afford; he knows all too well that in this world, this city, this country – he is a nobody, and he will likely stay a nobody until the trigger of a gun (someone else’s gun, hopefully, but not necessarily) sets him free.
still… it’s better than what he’s left behind. and, since there is no way back home – no home to be back to, either, – does it really matter?
his own last name, fallen from the american’s lips, sounds like mockery. he swallows it, and what came before it, without a move or, for a while, a sound. there’s something inside him, though, a cold, cold rage looking for a way out. almost too cold to bear.
not now, no – he values the job. later, however, he’ll face an opportunity and have a worthy target. he can sense it. that’s why he is here. that’s what he lives for.
as the russian reassembles his thoughts, his reply follows; another, only slightly risky, remark,
‘ perhaps. but i’m on duty now. ‘ entertaining your whores, for the lack of a better word. ‘ i’d rather separate business and… ‘whores‘ — pleasure. ‘
☆•••▪Alfred’s free hand is running a line down the girl’s shoulders as he stands, crushing the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray by his side. He gives her arm a gentle squeeze before offering her a wink. There’s reputations to be upheld, and admittedly, there’s something flattering about having a girl flutter her lashes at your smile. “I’ll see you around, sugar.”
The girl takes her time untangling herself from around his arm before sweeping out of the room, still giggling like a schoolgirl. He doesn’t watch her leave, but instead, scoops up his jacket and tosses it at Ivan. The party’s done.
“Hold this, would you?” He barely gives him a glance as he saunters past, sticking his thumbs in his pockets. “We’re heading out, Adamov. Old man’s probably askin’ around for me.”
He tips his hat at a few men they pass who nod in turn. Connections come with being the big man’s son, but it isn’t long before he’s reached the door, holding it open just long enough for Ivan to reach it. The brick stairs invite them up to the restaurant the speakeasy’s under.
