A/N: Well, well, here we are again. I hope you enjoy guys and gals :3
Disclaimer: I own nothing from OUaT. Pity really….
~8~8~
Rent.
Medicine.
Annabelle "Belle" French grimaced inwardly as the two words resounded like mournful dirges through her head. A frown, laced with worry and fatigue from working double shifts, perched upon her pink lips whilst she contemplated the two most important words in her life: rent or medicine?
Cool summer wind, with electricity bearing upon the zephyrs breath, heralded with the feel of a nasty storm dancing precariously on the gray horizon, whipped the few crisp hundreds in Annabelle's grip as though cruelly trying to steal her meager funds away from her clutches. Her dark umber hair fluttered like a tattered pennant in the air strafing into her worry lined face as she clutched the money desperately to her chest.
The sky was darkly blanketed with thick curdled clouds of iron gray that warned of a summer squall nearing the sleepy town from the usually tranquil bay on the other side of the hamlet.
Leaves stirred and rustled in disquiet as the wind rippled through the tree limbs and the dust swirled over the barren roadway outside the old, nearly dilapidated library. The wailing wind whispered of the peril, filling Belle's heart with a peculiar part of dread that clutched her soul with a cold, vicious claw.
Standing on the curb outside of the library, the hard working Miss French swiveled her head to the right and left of the road, her mind and heart caught in riotous indecision that laid before her.
To the left was the pharmacy where her papa's atrociously expensive medicine awaited to be paid for and picked up. In the past few days he'd gotten sicker and the good doctor Whale had prescribed a slew of new medicines that cost a whopping 200 dollars mingled with her father's already expensive pills and medical aid that totaled everything to an outlandish fee of 500 dollars a month.
With her small check as the only librarian in Storybrooke, after paying for food and the other necessities of their tiny apartment of water and electricity, his medical expenses left nary ten dollars in her pocket for the rest of the month.
Looking to her right the beauty frowned ponderously, her stomach twirling crazily with anxiousness wracking her slender form. To the right, leading down a few streets many avoided, was the direction of Mr. Gold's antique and pawn shop.
Mr. Gold, the wealthiest man in all of Storybrooke, was many things to many people. He was a miser, a lawyer, a business man, an entrepreneur, a land lord, a heartless brute, and to many he was a cold hearted beast without a spec of compassion in his black soul. But everyone new the one thing he was first and foremost even if they dared not speak the fact aloud but in the shadows of the filthiest bars and under the covers of their homes where preying ears did not lean to hear.
Mr. Gold ran the underworld of Storybrooke, and perhaps the whole of the Maine single handedly, and with an iron fist that struck down any competition finally and utterly with a devastating mark that left nothing after his murderous wrath.
Small criminal syndicates and would be gangs that dotted the streets were akin to gnats compared to the austere Mr. Gold who was the unchallenged bull of the crime world. No illegal doings happened without falling under his tactile brown eyes. He ruled like a king over robberies and extortion and weapons smuggling and drugs and any other criminal dealings anyone could fathom.
Those criminals who thought themselves loners or in gangs not run by the tactile businessman were sorely mistaken. He ran everything, playing everyone like marionettes to his underworld doings.
Many believed he ran the multi-billion dollar organization of the "Dark One's" in big cities across the world all from his home and shop in the quaint town. His life was the perfect cover for who would ever suspect a shop keeper to be the leader of some gang that ran the world over? No one outside of their town would ever believe the quiet but cruel single man living all alone with his fortune in the back woods of a tiny Maine province.
But nonetheless the fact was all too true.
Mostly everything in his life was a front for the fact that he did hold the utmost criminal power, and everyone from granny who ran the diner to the mayor knew of his façades, his beastly mockery of a law abiding citizen. They just couldn't prove his doings with cold, hard facts that could lock him up from prowling good, honest folk and terrifying the citizenry.
That little sting of knowledge had been the bane of all sheriffs in the town and the mayor who constantly attempted to squash the illegal doings of Mr. Gold. Files on the wily gang lord were thicker than phone books and operation to catch him made up most of the funds for the police department.
Despite all their efforts he was too slippery a snake, always five steps ahead of them and ever with the cocky smirk of superiority and clean hands as he slipped through the fingers of justice like sand.
Though the new deputy, a tough as nails former bail bondswoman, was making ripples in Storybrooke, and potentially threatening the crime lord's doings, still they could not pin an illegal act on the man though his sins were rife and blatantly displayed.
When a horrid gang murder or someone that owed the businessman man dirty money went completed all knew who ordered the hit, but the blame never fell back to him. Of course that did not make him a soft criminal because he rarely personally shed blood. Oh no, far from that naive thought.
Stories of old flew through Belle's mind at the memories of old newspaper clippings, snippets from whispers, and home town gossip that stirred the sleepy hamlet into roaring blazes from time to time.
People had winded up dead or with broken limbs at the order of Mr. Gold. He was not a kind man by any means. She even found out that when her papa was a younger, spryer man the gang lord of Storybrooke had even personally beaten her father black and blue after some issue with a van and her papa had foolishly tried to steal from the gang lord, but her father had been too scared to bring criminal charges to him after his savage mauling.
Still, the gang lord owned nearly every property in Storybrooke, and she owed him rent; 500 dollars exactly.
She was not afraid he would turn his few underworld cronies who managed to work for him on her, or have her and her father roughed up for not paying. Those brutes were for collecting from his underworld patrons, but he would turn them out in a frigid heart beat leaving them mendicants with no place to stay and no place for her papa to live as he lay mostly bedridden and mortally ill.
Once more looking to the right and the left, the beauty allowed a soft, troubled sigh to escape her lips. She raked a hand through her wild, wind blown dark amber tresses, holding back a cry of frustration. If she didn't get his medicine her papa would die a slow, painful death wracked with bloody coughs and disorientation. But if she didn't pay, how was she too care for him properly?
Turning to left, she bravely forced herself to walk down the gray sidewalk leading to the drugstore. Thunder drummed threateningly in the distance like the hammer of a gavel coming down to finalize her decision. The rumble dangerously heralding the furious storms approach made her walk faster down to what she hoped was the right choice.
After she paid for the medicine and went home to care for her papa and give him his pills she would go to Mr. Gold, she determined in herself. With every step she spurred promise into her flagging heart. There had to be something she could do to keep their apartment and not be tossed out, there had to be… she hoped.
~8~8~
Trepidation filled Belle's stout, fluttering heart as she stood in front of Mr. Gold's pawnshop. The quaint little establishment was an off white wooden shop with the windows covered by thick brown blinds, that looked to need a fair dusting. The name of the place was stenciled over the window in dull burnished gold giving the shop a home town feel.
To any who did not know of the gang lord, the place looked like a simple hometown shop any tourist or local would visit for little baubles to take home or lovely odds and ends.
The sign above his shop creaked upon rusted hinges in the howling wind, detailing the signs age. To Annabelle, the creaking sounded of a warning from the world itself telling her to turn away from the beast within. Staring at the paint chipped door, the open sign was like a threat, daring her to enter without the funds she normally held.
She left akin to a knight standing in front of the musty, cold maw of a dragon's lair where the beast stirred hungrily for any foolish enough to enter his domain. Her hand curled over her less than full purse as though he were an empty sword scabbard. Without the money what hope did she have?
A few cold raindrops pattered from the gray sky as she stood out, trying to bolster her courage. The storm seemed to be a hand, prodding her into the shop, if just for shelter from the elements.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, the beauty pushed open the glass door. The small, rusted bronze bell over the threshold tinkled insipidly as though unhappy about getting so little use. Her icy blue eyes darted about nervously as she stepped inside the dimly lit establishment. The shop had a way of making people feel unwelcome and under the scrutiny of many eyes hidden behind the fragile porcelain vases and old nick-knacks crowded about.
The first loud boom of thunder crashed loudly over the sleepy shire just as she entered. Startled, she forced herself not to jump. Her skin crawled with the tingling sensation of anxiousness. Goosebumps raced over his arms detailing her wariness.
As though the thunder were a booming clarion call, the firmament let forth the rain pent up in their clouds. Large drops of fat rain fell in a veritable deluge, soaking the world in a gray curtain and leaving the beauty with no way out to escape the beast of Storybrooke.
"Miss French." The accented voice of Mr. Gold greeted her with a cool acknowledgment, his tone always a mix of forced pleasantness and danger. Behind the counter, the always neat and trim Mr. Gold stood tinkering and appraising with some old emerald ring.
A thin smile carved upon his lips as he placed the ring down upon the bed of dark satin. "I was wondering if you would show up today, you're cutting your rent pay mighty close. I'd hate to have to send one of my…associates with your eviction notice."
Out of many of his tenants in the many places he owned, Annabelle French stood out for her punctual payments and ability to get her rent in on time without complaint or hassle. For a woman with very little means she had a sense of reliability about her. He felt a certain satisfaction seeing her face every first of the month with his money and exchange a polite, if not nervous pleasantry or two, then begin the entire thing over again the next month.
Clearing her throat nervously the beauty padded closer to the glass worked counter. Her hands fidgeted nervously as she forced herself to stare at him. "That's…um…that's what I came to talk about."
Cold silence and curiosity emanated from the pawn broker, filling her with dark dread seeping through her gratuitously flagging courage. His silence was rarely, if ever, a good thing.
Choking back her fear she stood on the opposite side of the counter, her fingers drumming nervously over the glass. "I don't have the rent this month." She admitted in a wary breath.
There was no use rambling off the lists of excuses and reasons, she knew imperatively. She had often seen people getting evicted, or not having enough money to pay back their loans, desperately screaming their woes to him to no avail. A mother had passed away, a child ill, a mistake, or a fire that burned everything. None of the trials of life and happenstance mattered to the hard-hearted Mr. Gold.
"That's a shame Miss French." He shook his head slightly, a frown pulling at his lips. "But if you came here for an extension you know I don't offer any."
Her deep blue eyes turned away. "I know. I came here wondering if we could find a way to work something out."
Before he could reply, the phone in his suit pocket buzzed. "A moment please." He asked politely. Holding up a finger, he turned away, grabbed his cane and limped into the back room all in one smooth motion. For a man with a noticeable limp, he always seemed as smooth and graceful as a prowling cat.
Despondent, the beauty leaned against the counter and wracked her brain to try to come to some accord with the beast of Storybrooke. She didn't have anything to offer him. She had no special skills, not ones he needed anyway unless he needed someone to stamp due dates on book cards, and nothing to offer him equal in payment enough to pawn.
A forlorn sigh tumbled from her lips as she forced away hot tears of disparity that threatened to fall from her azure orbs. Wet brimmed on the rim of her cornflower blue eyes, but she refused to shed the tears of shame for not being able to provide to those that relied upon her.
As long as she was there, she supposed glumly, she could at least get the eviction not-
"What do you mean he was arrested?" She heard the businessman hiss from the back of his shop. Her brow crinkled slightly at the strange ill boding words. One of Gold cronies had been arrested?
The angrily spoken words were like a hand of fate tearing the beauty's morose thoughts away from her woes and piteous plight. Shaking her head to rid herself of the tears she cocked an ear to his lowly snarled words.
"Did he have the money with him?" She heard him snap to the poor soul who was on the other end of the phone. "Small mercies then." His voice lost an inkling of the terrible growl his tone possessed when he was furious. "But if Miss Swann has patrols around the bank there could be trouble. She knows my people; I can't risk her getting her hands on that money."
A low curse spat from his lips as he hung up the phone without another word. Belle could almost picture him jamming the phone furiously into his silk laced pocket, his face twisted with the fury that kept the people of Storybrooke cowed and silent of speaking up.
Many people often wondered how Gold moved his money. They knew he always dealt in cash, but with the amounts there was always some shady soul taking a black brief case to the Storybrooke bank and always for an unnamed benefactor. Gold was always careful with his underworld dealings. Nothing ever led back to him.
The brown and burgundy beads covering the door leading to the back of the shop jangled almost ominously and the steady thump of a cane rang nearer, telling the beauty her land lord had returned. Turning her thoughts away from the contemplations she focused back upon him, her mind suddenly rife with ideas.
While many would have pretended they had never heard or even rejoiced at his black luck, the beauty saw her narrow chance to save her tiny apartment, the only place her papa had to call home, at least for one more month.
"Let me take the money." She offered bravely, daring to acknowledge she had listened in when she shouldn't have. Speaking of the matter was a dangerous game, but one she could ill afford not to play.
Gold's eyes narrowed into dangerous thin slits at her words. His hand curled tighter over the golden hilt of his cane as he limped back to his place behind the counter. "It's not polite to ease drop, Dearie. Something bad can happen to you."
Dread pool in icy torrents in her belly at the all too blatantly obvious threat. Her heart shriveled at his curt tone as he pinioned his anger towards her. No one else would dare bring up his 'business' in front of his face, not unless they had a death wish.
Nevertheless she continued, spurring her bravery onward fearlessly. "I need to make rent and you need some one to deposit that money. They won't suspect me; I'm just the town librarian."
For a moment, the beast of Storybrooke stared hard at the brave woman who dared speak of his doings so blatantly in his face. She was desperate, but he knew she was reliable.
Part of him had to wonder if her words were all a set-up and she donned a wire under her shabby clothes, but immediately tossed the ridiculous notion away. She had too much to lose to try and partner up with his foes.
Abruptly an utterly dangerous smile bloomed over his lips. Her courage impressed him in a way that none other had. Normally he conscripted low life's and drunks to do his dirty work, people who could easily be stricken away, but he never excepted a volunteer, mostly because he had not seen anyone so desperate to plead for a job from him. The offer was a risky one; still, he did love making deals with people that would suit his needs.
"It's a cool 2.5 million in cash." He replied calmly, acknowledging just a little that could never be traced back to him even if she dared to sell him out. "If you do this there is a chance you'll be arrested, your job lost in the blink of an eye. As I understand the situation your father is bed ridden, unable to support himself if you are locked up." He allowed the last part to slip from his lips as an underlying warning. While she might think herself just a nameless face, he knew her, just as he knew everybody and their weaknesses.
She nodded tersely, knowing every word that came from his mouth was a warning. "I understand, but I need to keep our apartment. I don't have anything of value to pawn, or the pay so I either run this money or be homeless."
Looking down, he played with the expensive ring around his fingertips. "You do understand Miss French if you do this, I will own you. I will have every piece of evidence I need to forever hold you under my debt. You will be one of the unlucky few that perhaps permanently work for me. If this succeeds and I have another job that will fit my needs you will have no choice but to do my bidding or suffer the consequences of being found out. In simplicity I have no qualms blackmailing you or selling you out to the police when it suits my needs and ends." He explained, inexplicably cold.
Swallowing hard the beauty tentatively embraced the situation. What other choice did she have? "I understand."
"Then we have an accord Miss French." He held out his hand. A large, feral grin marbled upon his scraggy features akin to a smiling wolf who found himself a lame prey.
Slowly, the beauty outstretched her hand, tremulously taking his. With the handshake the deal was struck.
"You do know that to get the money in the vault and how you get into the bank is your problem." He added on as though he had forgotten to mention the little fact.
Abruptly, his grip tightened over her hand but he kept the same wolfish smile. His eyes were cold shards of brown cutting into her like knives carving at her courage. "And I hope you also know that if you try to take that money and stupidly run or get caught by the police like my other unfortunate associate, then rent will be the very least of your worries. Of that I can assure you with no doubt."
Terror filled Anna at his venomous, undisguised threat that promised pain or death if she failed to deliver. He was not below killing anyone who betrayed him or was a potential target to take him down. Murder was a word he knew well and would not hesitate to call upon his favorite hit men to do the job and rid him of his little problem if she so became one.
Still, she smiled as warmly as she could muster towards the beast of Storybrooke. The deal was struck, by a handshake from a desperate woman to a gang lord who needed a favor.
There was no going back now, she knew without an inkling of doubt. She worked for Mr. Gold.
~8~8~
A/N: So yeah, new story. I always thought Mr. Gold would make a good, chiche gangster. I have not abandoned my other story 'The Mastery of Magic', and per usual nowadays, I cannot promise steady updates, but I shall try.