Tales of London #4

Robert had two more lessons to give after the one in the morning, and nothing but caffeine and sheer will led him through them. His arm was pulsing with pain where the shadow hound bit him, and that wasn't even the worst part: his brain felt itchy with frustration because he couldn't figure out what that dog actually was. He hated when he didn’t understand something. Especially about magic: it was supposed to be his thing, after all.

This whole fighting and escaping police and not sleeping business used to be so much easier when he was younger. He always enjoyed a challenge, something Jenna Carvelli was sure to deliver every time, but he felt it was harder and harder to keep up. Now, dangerously near thirty, Robert wondered whether he was a little too old for this lifestyle. Back in the day, he could have a pub brawl with some Carvellis, grab a bite on his way to the university, ace his classes and be out with the others the same evening. Now he will be feeling broken and miserable for at least a few days. How the mighty have fallen…

Even so, he felt rather proud of himself for making it through the day without cursing anyone or falling randomly asleep. The moment of freedom was beautiful: he stepped out into a sunny, warm autumn afternoon, with just the right amount of playful wind dancing with white cotton-like clouds on the amazingly blue sky… And all of those things were instantly ruined for him by his best friend, Marcus, who parked his ridiculously expensive sports car in spite of every possible rule or law right at the bottom of the big stone staircase, with the engine running, and music playing loudly.

Marcus himself was busy talking to two girls, lazily leaning on his car, hands in the pocket of his khaki pants, white, half-opened shirt shining in contrast with his dark skin, and sunglasses on. He won every way possible on the genetic lottery: he was tall, muscular and very handsome with black eyes and ruffled black hair. He spoke in a low baritone voice, with just a hint of a foreign accent which was totally fake as he grew up in London, but made him look much more mysterious and exciting.

'I'm afraid I'll need to keep the extra seat for your favourite professor today, but if you give me your numbers, I promise I will give you a ride, girls,' said Marcus when Robert reached the bottom of the stairs 'And you can try the car, too.' he winked, the girls giggled and Robert sighed. Phone numbers were tapped into the latest must-have smartphone. It was the type everyone knew was the exact same model as the one the company put out last year, but they bought it anyway. Marcus did, for sure, or more like, somebody on his payroll did. Robert could hardly imagine his friend waiting in line for days just to purchase a new phone.

The girls left giggling, and Marcus turned to Robert.

'No,' he said immediately 'Not today. Leave me alone.'

Marcus gave him a cheerful smile and shrugged.

'Suit yourself,' he said. 'If you want to wait for my uncle's men… But I doubt they will be willing to pay for your lunch.'

The man Marcus called his "uncle" was, in fact, his very great-great-great-grandfather, also the Commissioner of London. He usually didn’t make a big fuss about some mild vandalism and such, so Robert didn’t understand the thing with “sending his men”.

'Am I in trouble?' he asked.

'Less so, if you are coming with me now,' answered Marcus, keeping his cheery grin, and opened the passenger side door for Robert.

He sighed again and sat in. He barely had time to finish with the seatbelt, when the engine roared and they shot into the early afternoon traffic. Robert spent some time to figure out the dashboard, which looked like something that should have belonged to a spaceship, and after turning on and then off the seat warmer, he finally managed to kill the music. After that, he felt slightly less miserable. The lack of sleep and the caffeine that at this point was pumping in his veins instead of blood made his head ache badly.

‘New car?’ he asked.

‘What, this old thing? No, it was always at the bottom of my garage…’

Marcus was the kind of driver who liked to drive fast and recklessly, probably more so than his skills would allow that. Robert didn't mind: death looked like a reasonable alternative now. At least he could have a nice nap. And maybe even the headache would go away.

'Where is your fancy cane?' asked Marcus casually.

'Left at home,' answered Robert.

'It's funny,' said Marcus in the voice of someone who is just making small talk. 'My uncle's men found one in the morning, and it looked just like yours. Little burnt, but the same silver top and all. On a crime scene, no less.'

'Well, I guess I'm not the only one using those, after all', shrugged Robert.

'Apparently not,' nodded Marcus as he overtook a big red bus, narrowly missing a van coming from the opposite direction, 'although I seem to remember that you told me it's hand-carved by an old craftsman, especially for your order.'

They outran another car. Its driver wasn't impressed, which he let them know by his horn and some cursing in a foreign language. Not that they would need help to translate the point.

'I don't know what to tell you, mate,' answered Robert after a short pause. 'I promise you I wasn't even near Camden Town in weeks.'

Marcus grinned and Robert knew that he is screwed, even though his half-sleeping brain refused to tell him how and why.

'Yeah, well, nobody said anything about Camden yet, mate. Are you sure you are a real professor? Aren't those supposed to be smart?'

Robert really wanted to give some devastating comeback, something smart and witty, but all he could come up was a quiet 'shit'. Marcus laughed.

'So what happened there?' he asked, speeding down in a narrow street.

'Usual,' Robert answered 'Got a phone call, had to go.' He was careful enough not to mention any names, but it didn't really matter because Marcus knew it very well that there were only two people who were dumb enough to get themselves in a fight and could call him for help. And since one of them was Marcus himself, the caller must have been Bailey.

'So you don't even know who started it this time then, do you?'

'Does it matter?' sighed Robert and Marcus shook his head as he ran a yellow light.

'Not really. Was she there?' he asked with a weird look from the corner of his eye.

'I won't be your snitch, mate. For all I said, I was the only one there and I fought against nothing. And slow down.'

Marcus stepped on it.

'Actually, we already have the full list, thanks to Teodore Carvelli. Well, the names of the important ones anyway. He claims there were more but he doesn't know their names. Care to weigh in here?'

Robert shook his head and grabbed the handrail over the window as the car took a way too sharp turn. The seatbelt hugged him hard.

'Jesus... No, I do not. Whoever you already know about, was the only people there as far as I'm concerned.'

'You don't really help your case here, mate,' Marcus said.

'What can I say,' said Robert innocently 'I stand against the oppression.'

Marcus pushed down the break, so suddenly that Robert was sure he would fly right out of the windshield if it wasn't for the seatbelt.

'Oi, watch it, mate! How did you even get a driving license?!'

'I am adorable,' he shrugged. 'We are here, by the way. I hope you are hungry.'

Robert was many things at that moment, but hungry was not one of them. His stomach was heavy and felt like making summersaults very, very slowly.

"Here" was a four-way junction, with nothing interesting or noteworthy as far as Robert could tell. Residential buildings here and there, some have seen better days. A supermarket down the road and a pub right next to it across from a mosque.

They got out of the car. Robert saw a tall building, a kind of tower, in the distance. Might have been the one where Rose lived, but it was hard to tell. With Marcus driving as he did, Robert lost track of where in the city they were.

At first, Robert thought they were heading for the pub, but Marcus started in another direction. Knowing his friend Robert started to suspect that they are going to some kind of semi-secret restaurant with weird food fusions and even weirder music playing in the background, the kind where the waiters know your name and you can only enter if you are a member of some secret club or order or cult. It wouldn’t have been the first.

He was genuinely surprised when Marcus opened the door of a perfectly normal deli, which he didn't even notice before. It was small with only six tables and a counter, and an open kitchen behind it. A man with paint-spotted blue overall was eating a huge portion of lasagne at the corner. The air smelled like coffee and chips and cooking meat. His stomach, though still a little weary, rumbled carefully. He wanted to take a menu from the box screwed on the wall, but Marcus put a hand on his shoulder and directed him to one of the empty tables.

'Just sit down, I will order for you,' he said and left before Robert could object. He gave a disapproving look to his friend's back, a look always worked on his students, but never on Marcus. Or Bailey, for that matter.

Seeing that there is nothing he could do, he looked around some more. The whole front of the deli was a huge window, so he had a splendid view of the very boring crossroad. This was not at all stimulating so he checked out the interior instead, which was plain and almost as boring as the streets outside. The walls were the kind of grey which could have been either intentionally grey or originally white, slowly turning darker as the years went by. A few paintings were hung on the wall, nothing but motel art. The floor was easily cleanable linoleum. There was nothing, nothing at all that could have been an explanation of why they were here of all places.

Then Marcus came back with the food and Robert understood it instantly. The coffee was decent but nothing special, but the chicken escalope sandwich Marcus got him was easily one of the best things he ever tasted. It was hard to explain, but Robert thought that if he ever knew his grandmother, and she would have very, very good at making this particular type of sandwich, he would now have flashbacks from his childhood. It was like home, and the chips it came with were perfect, too.

Marcus himself ordered a big plate of English breakfast with all the necessary things, like bacon, beans, and everything else. He was obsessed with bacon, maybe because his father never let him have it as a child.

'All-day breakfast is one of the biggest inventions of humankind. How is your sandwich?'

'Delicious,' answered Robert. 'How do you know a place like this? It's so… simple and normal. Pretty much the opposite of you.'

'I have my ways,' grinned Marcus. 'But let's talk business now.'

Robert swallowed the piece of chicken he was working on and nodded. Whatever was about to come, he was facing it with great food in his stomach. Another one of those small victories.

'So, my uncle is furious. Your father is furious as well, not to mention good old Don Carvelli. The two of them have to pay for all the collateral damage you guys caused, and it's a lot, especially given that there are businesses that couldn't open today and they aren't gonna either for several more days.'

Robert, now that he was thinking about it, felt surprised that he hadn't heard from his father yet. Even though Lord Montgomery was probably only angry about the fact that they didn't kill any of the Carvellis and managed to get identified.

‘I didn’t think of the people who worked there,’ he said, quietly.

‘You never do,’ answered Marcus. He wasn’t judging or accusing, he just stated a fact, and then went on. 'My uncle decided that all of you will have to be of service. To make up for the continuing lawbreaking activities that went on for years. Look at it as your very last chance.'

'What?' Robert laughed. 'I can't really see myself swiping the streets, mate. Can I pay my way out of it or something?'

'This is the way you can pay yourself out of it, so you don't have to go to jail, Robert,' Marcus said and his face was serious. 'The Commissioner had had enough. You do something useful for the public and together, no less, or you are done. All of you.'

Robert sighed. He knew the day will come when all the playing around will backfire, but this wasn't what he was expecting to happen.

'Let me get this straight,' he said 'The Commissioner's genius idea is to make Carvellis and Montgomerys work together. In peace. Like… In the same room. As a punishment.'

'Pretty much, yeah. Twenty quid says you are gonna love each other.'

'Bollocks,' Robert snorted. 'That's rubbish. We are going to kill each other before tea.'

'I don't think Carvellis are drinking tea at four, they are basically Italians,' pointed out Marcus.

'That was not my point at all,' said Robert in a tired voice.

'Anyways,' said Marcus. 'Tomorrow, at six, you have to be at my uncle's office for a briefing.'

‘A briefing? Mate, we are civilians. He can’t make us work for the police.’

‘Civilians with more experience in battle than most of the police officers,’ said Marcus, and Robert had nothing to add as an objection.

'Can't you just tell me the details now?' he asked.

'I could… But I won't. It's funnier this way.'

'Bite me,' muttered Robert.

'You wish,' answered Marcus, then he put a piece of sausage in his mouth and grinned at his friend.