SATURDAY MORNING VODKA
A/N – Hello everyone! So here I am, back with a new fic, because it's not like I promised myself to stop working on more than one fic at a time (and this is the fucking third!) But damn, work is piling up on me so the only survival solution is to write a fic with loads of guns. Yeah, and my muses were determined to mess up with me yet again and decided that it's this fic I'm writing this week or nothing at all. So enjoy!
Sadiq Adnan – Turkey
Natalya – Belarus
Yekaterina - Ukraine
'If you two still have nothing on the Italians until the end of next week, you might as well turn in your badge!' Chief Inspector Adnanhad grumbled, before slamming the door of his and Kohler's office. He hadn't really meant it, obviously, but the words had stuck to detective Oxenstierna just as much as the growing frustration they were all feeling towards the current mission. He huffed, releasing a small cloud of steam in the crisp morning air, adjusting his grip on the weapon as he squinted at the target. The subsequent explosive sounds and the darkened holes popping in the red-painted cardboard did very little to ease the frown on Berwald's face, but attempting to release the tension was only partly the reason he was here so early in the morning on his day off.
He had a theory worth exploring and the Chief Inspector had surprisingly given him permission to test one of the captured weapons – a customized stainless steel finish Franchi SPAS-12 shotgun with a shortened barrel and magazine tube – and in a private shooting range no less. It was one of the fancy guns people often saw in actions movies, but Berwald had been proven right until now on his suspicion that it was far less spectacular and user-friendly in real life.
As for the private shooting range, it was an opportunity to be seen.
Berwald had been skeptical about that one, but Adnan insisted that aside from the established 'legend' and the fake Interpol records they'd put up for the undercover-to-go detectives, some extra effort had to be put in making things 'look realistic' before the start of the mission.
Not that the idea wasn't awkward as hell - he wasn't that awfully experienced when it came to undercover missions - but he rather enjoyed the peace and quiet of this place, not many people usually showing up in this remote area littered with deserted warehouses and whatnot and definitely not early on Saturday mornings. It offered no privacy whatsoever though, because aside from the large barrack housing the administrative office and storage facility, it only consisted of a courtyard where the targets were placed, surrounded by a low and see-through wire fence which could have very well been absent save for the 'NO TRESPASSING' signs hanging on it every five meters or so. All in all not much of an investment…
After firing another five rounds the Swede lowered the weapon cautiously, his attention drawn by an approaching black van which was swaying dangerously from one side of the road to the other. It stopped abruptly near the gate, tires screeching, and the door on the driver's side flew open, loud bass-boosted hip hop music resounding from the inside. A gorgeous icy-blonde girl with waist-length hair and donning an extremely flattering black mini-dress stumbled out, a Vodka bottle clutched in her hand.
"You pissed your pants, Vanya, just admit it!" she laughed loudly, pointing inside and walking barefoot to the side of the van. Then she swore something foul and shivered, finally feeling the chill, rolling on the balls of her feet as she slammed her free palm into the car. "Tinoskaaaaaaa!" she whined.
The side door of the van slid open and a young man came into view, scowling and holding his forehead. "Where are your shoes, Natasha?" he scolded, getting out and shrugging out of his baby-blue parka. He draped it over the girl's shoulders and scooped her up in his arms, saving her bare feet from the concrete.
"Awwww Tinoska, marry me!"
"No! You made fun of my clothes!" the youth said, still scowling, and asked for Vodka.
He was a bit on the short side, with light blonde hair falling in uneven, ruffled bangs over his forehead, and was wearing a rather striking oversized green sweater decorated with colorful beads and Christmas motifs over skinny grey jeans and black combat boots. Berwald's gaze lingered on him, although the detective had yet to figure out what he was actually staring at. He was undeniably cute, but his outfit was slightly disturbing.
A tall, solid-looking ashen blond in black dress shirt and pants descended from the passenger seat and walked over to them, carrying a large bag in one hand and a pair of black, dizzyingly high stiletto heels in the other. Another girl followed him from the other side of the car, a lovely blonde with short hair held back with glittery hairclips and wearing a short, white fur coat which did nothing to cover the Swarovski-littered and impressively generous bra underneath.
Great, nothing like some drunk Russians this early in the morning, the detective thought upon concluding his quick observations and letting out a small sigh as he pretended to ignore them. He got busy reloading, hoping they weren't looking for trouble.
The smaller blond walked in through the gate after putting the drunken beauty back down and into her shoes and relieving her of the Vodka bottle, and raised his hand in greeting at whoever was watching from inside the office, an indication that he was familiar with the place. The others followed, the taller man throwing the bag on the ground once they decided for a spot (unfortunately a bit too close for Berwald's comfort, but it was a small place to begin with).
The girl with the Swarovski bra squatted and pulled the zip open and then she and the one called Natasha pulled out an AKM rifle each.
"Now, I don't understand why most people around here go for the fancy foreign stuff, da," Berwald heard the taller man say in a strongly accented voice, while the other nodded, taking a swig of Vodka. "These are the best. You get the job done and they don't crap out on you, da." Then he motioned for the girls to take position in front of the targets. "Natalya, Yekaterina, strelyat!"
The erupting gunshots successfully ruined the Swede's concentration and he missed repeatedly, until the blasted shotgun finally decided to jam and then it was game over. Well, his mind was already made up and his report on the captured weapon as good as written, no need to linger and embarrass himself any further.
"Need some help over there?"
Berwald nearly flinched in surprise when he saw the shorter blond walking up to him, a light smile on his face as he offered to take a look at the troublesome shotgun. He nodded silently, unable to help noticing the particular color of the other's large and bright eyes, an almost lilac shade which added to his innocent, childish air.
"Wow, this thing is old," the young man observed, weighing the weapon Berwald had given him for a moment before sliding off the top part with an expert hand and slamming the butt forcefully against his knee. "The production stopped like… back in 2000 or something." Just as swiftly, he put everything back into place and gave the trigger a try. "There, all done!"
"Th'nk you," the detective mumbled awkwardly, his discomfort growing as he noticed that the whole group was staring at him now. Maybe they were just curious because he was a new face around here? One could never be too careful in this environment and a cold shudder ran down his spine at the brief thought of being discovered. The fear was there, every single time, every single moment.
"Name's Tino," the other said good-humoredly, offering him the three quarters empty Vodka bottle.
"A.k.a Santa," the blonde named Yekaterina offered with a chuckle.
"Shut up, Katya!" the young man said quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets but still smiling. "Ivan, Natalya and Yekaterina," he presented the others, with a quick motion of his head.
"B'rwald," the Swede introduced himself, since Adnan had decided that his real name was weird enough to be used safely, whatever the hell that meant. He accidentally took a larger gulp than intended from the bottle and the burning liquid going down his throat made him choke and his eyes water.
Tino nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "So where're you from, Berwald?"
"Sw'd'n…" Right he was apparently, they were trying to figure him out. "You Russian?" he asked, although Tino's accent was different. Still, the kid was downing Vodka like water and the others were clearly Russian.
"My friend, does that odious sweater look Russian to you, da?" the tall ashen blond interfered, snorting.
Tino's gaze narrowed and his smile disappeared. "Right, no way I could do the Slav squat wearing this," he pointed, turning briefly and rolling his eyes. "So no, I'm not Russian. I'm Finnish."
Oh.
"Is th't why y're a weap'ns exp'rt?"
The Finn smiled demurely at this, slight dimples showing in his round cheeks. "No, no, and I'm hardly an expert," he replied shrugging modestly. "Just an aficionado, so to say. I own a clothing store actually, so-"
"A hideous clothing store," Natalya supplied.
"Actually it's a niche clothing store which the likes of you blatantly lack the taste to properly appreciate, you half-assed bunch of communists!" Tino clarified with a grimace while the others continued to laugh.
Funny banter aside, something told Berwald that the cute little Finn was not as harmless as he claimed to be. Meanwhile, the Russians were not giving any information about themselves (not that displaying their arsenal in that fashion wasn't giving some indication as to what they could have been into…), but they were clearly curious about him, so the detective decided to be 'honest'.
"Good f'r you th'n," he said. "I'm m'm'nt'rily un'mploy'd… B't they say th's is the l'nd of all opp'rtunities, r'ght?"
"I guess so." Tino bit his bottom lip, eyes trained on the shotgun the Swede was holding. "So, what were you doing back in Sweden?"
Berwald sighed, shrugging. "S'm' b'sin'ss, I was m'n'ging a few g'rls. B't th'ngs g't ugly 'nd s'meone put the p'lice on my trail. So I h'd t' set sail b'f're th'y g't me…" He was momentarily distracted by the approving exclamations of the Russians, before noticing that the Finn was observing him, lilac eyes scanning his frame appreciatively.
"Well, if you're looking for a job right now I may have something for you," he said unexpectedly. "I mean it's not much but until you find something else…"
"At a cl'thing st're?"
Okay so this was really suspicious. If Tino actually owned a clothing store and if he really sold the sort of stuff he was wearing, then truly the last thing he needed was a guy like Berwald manning the desk to make all go down the drain definitively.
"Yeah, I mean I could use a bodyguard and some help in the warehouse," the Finn explained casually. "Like I said, the pay won't be much, but…"
"Do you seriously want a bodyguard, Santa?" Natalya inquired teasingly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind and plucking the bottle from his hand. "You do know you're scary enough on your own, right?"
"I'm not the one popping knives out of their underwear," Tino replied, producing a business card from his back pocket and offering it to the detective with a bright smile. "Stop by or give me a call if you make up your mind, okay?"
Two hours later Berwald was back home, hunched over his kitchen table and nursing a cup of strong coffee as he continued to stare blankly at the weird Finn's business card. Chief Inspector Adnan would have probably strangled him if he'd known that his first important undercover mission had so spectacularly debuted with being offered a job in an ugly clothing store.
To be continued
