Paranoia Isn't Pretty

[Levi DAmico]

It might have been midnight, but the shops of Honeymead Market were vibrating. People came in droves to sample the fresh produce and curiosities of the craft and farmer stalls. The local cafes, restaurants and pubs were flourishing too, not to mention the vanity fairs. For every person picking olives from Mediterranean buckets, another admired hand-stitched leather satchels, toured worlds of cultural artistry, dipped into narcissism with jewelled fingers, explored the limits of their palates and drank far more alcohol than was healthy. And for every one of those, a hundred more followed in their footsteps looking for a massage, to get their roots tinted, to pick up that right bouquet of flowers. Frankly, there were far too many people here for Levi’s tastes, though in saying that, one was perhaps too many for his tastes. Walking through the area and through the crowds though was like wearing a fresh layer of skin; every accidental knock, jar and jab felt like a bullet wound. It wasn’t until Levi was sat in the al fresco section of a small Italian-themed restaurant that he felt a little better, but he was still being overly sensitive.

When the diminutive waitress came to take his order he grunted at her. He wasn’t in the mood to eat and he didn’t really have a desire to bother when he couldn’t taste ****. Besides that, these people with their noise and their smells were actually making him nauseous, so he ordered an espresso. She giggled, her blonde hair swishing in its ponytail as she informed him of how American he sounded and how she’d always wanted to go there. Her friendliness was going to make him puke. Levi tried to keep all verbal communications to a minimum until she finally went away and left him with his thoughts; there he could fully concentrate on the irony of al fresco dining. In Italian, al fresco actually means in the cooler, a slang term for prison. So when you say you want to eat al fresco, or worse alfresco, and you mean out in the open air, what you’re actually saying to an Italian ear is I’d like to dine someplace dank and disgusting where everyone can watch me masticate and urinate in equal measure.

Still, that wasn’t the end of the irony for him; Levi did actually feel imprisoned here. Being in Harper Rock was about the same as being hauled up in a box somewhere; it was dark, everything felt foreign – including the weather – the food and the people were repugnant and stupid and obnoxious and he was pretty much powerless to do anything about it. He was torn between his world, Malavita in Boston, and this different kind of underworld in Harper Rock. He had to be on his best behaviour while being tugged in every direction by the dogged people in his life. Lorelai practically had them shacked up together like a couple despite his protests and promises to not let things get that intimate again. Every day it felt more and more like he was being domesticated and for every time she offered to get him something he felt like pulling out his hair. The way she fussed over him was driving him batty, but he couldn’t tell her how much it annoyed him, he couldn’t really be straight with her about anything. Lorelai had lost a lot and what it had done to her made her as vulnerable as dust in a breeze. Just because he didn’t want to be her boyfriend that didn’t mean he wanted to see her hurt in any way.

A lot of the time Levi wondered about his motivations with this woman. It had come to the point where he actually gave a **** about her and enjoyed being with her, but he wasn’t going to ever give her what she wanted, which seemed to him to be someone to settle down with. The fact of the matter was that even if he could settle down, he would never want to. His work, his lies, his Family, everything kept him in the air. He couldn’t relax for two minutes without the fear of things ******* up around him and he kind of liked that really. It kept him busy, kept him challenged, which nothing else would do. He’d met no one who could keep him on his toes mentally or physically like his work would do and since yeah, it could be said that he was married to his job, married to the way of life as a capo, he wouldn’t give that up for anyone or anything of a lesser grade. He had to keep Lorelai around for a plethora of reasons and so, he had to be careful with what he said and what he did. Still, that didn’t mean that he didn’t catch himself wondering if it was worth it. Levi felt like he was stringing her along sometimes and didn’t think it was fair, but by simple definition of the term, he actually wasn’t. He’d promised her nothing, in fact, he made a point that he wasn’t in this for a romantic relationship. Lorelai was the one that led him into the bedroom on pretences that it was nothing more than sex. He’d found out she’d lied to him about that and he’d backed off, but it was only a couple of weeks before he was back where he’d started with her.

In his brooding, Levi had set his back to the market crowd; a feeble attempt to escape. He could still hear them all quite clearly discussing the value of hand-made **** over industrialized **** as though the latter was a conspiracy to turn the general public into fat, depressed zombies. He could still see them in the reflection of the restaurant’s front windows too and in amongst all their chaos, their ouroboros writhing, he saw a lone-standing silhouette of a man behind the small hedge that was behind him, masking his lack of reflection. There was something sinister in the way the man just stood there, not that Levi could make out any expressions or features of the subject in question. Since the wind wasn’t blowing in the right direction and the scent of tomatoes, cheese and coffee was so pungent in the air, Levi couldn’t get a fix on this one’s scent either. In a weird way, he actually hoped that this person was here specifically to kill him, to take all his problems away. When he turned to greet those obsidian eyes though, all of his hope turned immediately to dread. The Italian let out a sigh, rolled his eyes and made a gesture for the Japanese man to sit down.

“What, you gonna stand there all ******* night? Sit down, idiot.”

Levi gave the opposing chair a short sharp kick and nodded in its direction, just in case Shiro was being particularly stubborn. After a few seconds, the younger man came within view and took a seat. Only a meter apart, they had the opportunity to inspect one another and Levi couldn’t help noticing that there was an obvious, mutual feeling of disappointment for seeing the other again.

“So what do you want?” Levi asked.

“Just a chat.”

“About?”

“Miss Lee,” Shiro said in a mouse-like voice, the attendance of which caught Levi off guard.

“Why?”

“Because. You know me, ever the one to stick my nose in.”

Levi laughed in agreement.

“Yes, well. I wanted to ask you about her.”

“Yeah? Tough.”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “How much do you actually know about this girl?”

“Enough.”

“You know where she’s from?”

“Yeah. She told me once.”

“And what do you know about it?”

This time, Levi’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about it.”

Shiro smirked, though he wasn’t amused as such. One dainty leg was crossed over the other and his hands settled in his prominent knee, his back straight against the chair – very prince like.

“Well, that is rather my point. There is not much to know about it. Hoshkosh is a small farming community beyond the borders of this city. They’re quite… simple people. They live off the land and what have you. It’s all very dull and boring, except for the fact that they don’t keep records, which I find suspicious.”

Levi shook his head, smirking too. “That’s because you’re paranoid and a change of the wind makes you suspicious.”

“That’s funny coming from you. Better safe than sorry, isn’t that what you like to say?” Shiro asked, his delicate brows poised perfectly in contest.

“So?” Levi grumbled, rather expecting Shiro to get to the point before the sun rose.

“So? You don’t think it could be a rather flamboyant cover story? I’ve checked on her background, any documents or notices, if she’s had any parking tickets, if she’s got cable, whatever. There’s nothing. Aside from her ownership of that apartment, I’ve got nothing. Not even a birth certificate, which is pretty basic in this country if you want to get a job. Which, by the way, she doesn’t have or has ever had. How does she make money? I imagine you don’t pay for her.”

“Alright, calm down, sheesh. You wanna talk my ear off?”

“Well don’t you think it’s a bit weird that she is supporting herself without the very basics of documentation? Or did you meet her at her job?”

Something dark and tremendous flared in the Italian’s eyes then as understanding broke over him like a cold wave. It was a miracle to the pair of them that Levi hadn’t thrown the table at the ********, but something made his stop and channel his rage into a glare.

“She’s not a ******* whore, Shiro.”

“Then explain it to me how a girl like her with no documentation, not even the fake kind, can make a healthy living and own an apartment.”

Levi struck Shiro with a dead-pan expression. “What even makes you think she makes a healthy living? What, because she got an apartment? So what.”

“One still has to pay service charges on these buildings, not to mention electricity and water bills. And I know she shops for food, Levi. Are you paying for her or not?”

“No. I ain’t paying for ****.”

“Then where does the cash come from? Is she a thief?”

“She has a job,” Levi began cautiously. “She works for a friend of hers, cleaning up a bar. Pays cash. No one needs any records of that.”

“I think the tax man would have something to say about that.”

“Well since she ain’t got a birth certificate or a social security number, how’s he gonna know?”

Levi could see Shiro chewing over that piece of obviousness so he sat back in the small metal chair, his left arm propped on the rim. Still, as explanations went, that wasn’t an excellent one. It didn’t take Shiro very long to come up with evermore probing questions. Before the shark could comment however, the waitress had returned with a famished smile and a thimble-sized cup and saucer. She waited expectantly on the sidelines, her small hands trembling from the point of her elbows. Levi didn’t like appeasing her, but he looked her way, giving her the permission to set the cup down before she keeled over. The effort must have been real ******* taxing.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Levi dismissed her.

“Anything for you, sir?”

“No, thank you though,” Shiro said in return.

“You’re very welcome. If you need anything, just let me know.”

Shiro smiled toward the woman and she departed promptly, though neither him or Shiro talked right away. Levi couldn’t bring himself to touch the espresso. In fact, he didn’t even need the buzz anymore.

“I just want you to be careful,” Shiro said finally, his obsidian eyes looking to the cup between them.

Levi was struck silent by the sincerity in the other man’s tone.

“I know there are a lot of secrets between us and I know there’s a lot of secrets in the world. I… just hope you’re being careful.”

Levi sighed, doing his best not to roll his eyes. “I’m always careful,” he grumbled.

Shiro bowed his head, obsidian eyes looking lost under all that hair as the weight of it slipped forward. It had pooled on the table top briefly before cascading back over his shoulders and chest as he sat back. It was unusual for Shiro not to restrain his hair somehow, whether that was in a braid, bun or pony tail. Black hair the length of him washed down his grey trench coat like oil, barely moving even in a breeze. Levi watched the other man carefully with an urge to say something bubbling up inside, but no idea as to what he could say. As far as the Italian was concerned, their conversation – however impromptu – was finished with and he didn’t need to sit here holding counsel with the man any longer. Not that Shiro had precisely come on terms of business, Levi had determined for himself. He didn’t understand why exactly, but when it came to Lorelai, Shiro took things very personally. Levi could work with personal though, he supposed.

“So…” Levi began awkwardly, capturing two dark eyes out of a pale face. “How’s **** in Japan?”

Shiro shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly. “About the same. There’s always someone moaning at me about something.”

“Sounds familiar,” Levi said with a smirk.

“Yes, well, I don’t moan at you half as much as I want to, so be thankful for that.”

“Well, gee, thanks a billion.”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “If you want to be a dick about it, I can always reverse the matter and moan at you about every little thing that comes into my head.”

“I thought you did that anyway.”

“You’d be surprised by how much I hold back.”

Levi quirked a brow. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

A single, delicate shoulder was lifted and then dropped. Shiro pursed his lips as well, averting his gaze. “You can be sensitive sometimes...”

Levi didn’t like that comment one bit, not to mention the way Princess Sour Puss was conducting himself tonight. In one way he was like wounded prey, retreating into its den; careful with his words and almost fearful and yet, that arrogance. Levi could only think that any of that doe-like behaviour was just a trap.

“Try me,” Levi rumbled, that gun-metal glint prominent in his umber eyes as he sat forward.

Behind long black bangs, Shiro’s eyes looked like they smelled blood.