Arthur was still doubtful about Alfred's real involvement with the Russian mob – a first name wasn't much to go off of, and he seemed too carefree and his words flowed too freely to be a grunt of Ivan's. He had skimmed the case files on all of the suspects, but he hadn't gotten very far past the first one before he'd nodded off in front of the television.

The next morning, he rose even later than he had on the first day, taking his time in the shower, carefully perusing the newspaper, watching the news channel shift from weather reports to Spanish soap operas around midday. He retained his skepticism all the way from his apartment the street, through the crosswalk, and at the corner, until the restaurant was in sight. Arthur found himself scanning the heads of the customers outside, wondering if Alfred was already there. The sun was bright in the sky, and there was a slow but persistent breeze drifting lazily through the buildings. Perhaps he would be sitting outside.

The man in front of Arthur was rather wideset, so it was a few seconds before he could catch a clear glimpse of the restaurant through the crowd, but when he did he noticed the familiar blonde hair and faded bomber jacket sitting at one of the tables. Alfred's arms were crossed and he was staring off to the side with a stony expression.

As Arthur made his way across the street, he saw the source of Alfred's annoyance, and his stomach dropped like a stone. Standing across the table, his shadow nearly eclipsing even Alfred's lanky figure, was a very tall man with white hair, wearing a long coat and scarf even in the heat. Arthur's pace slowed and he allowed a couple of teenagers behind him to pass. Ivan Braginski was too far away to hear, but whatever he was saying seemed to be making Alfred mad. His jaw was set and his mouth was in a thin line. He seemed to be watching the tourists again, but this time Arthur had almost reached his table before Alfred spotted him.

As soon as he noticed Arthur, he uncrossed his arms and waved, a silly grin breaking up the stiff glare. "Hey, Arthur! What are you doing here so late?" There was a serious question hidden in the casual greeting. Ivan stopped speaking abruptly.

"Hello, Alfred," said Arthur, pulling up an extra chair. He smiled at Ivan. "Who's your friend?" There was no mistaking him – Ivan Braginski appeared exactly the same as his case file photo, down to the heavy scarf and piercing eyes like ice shards.

Ivan opened his mouth to respond, but Alfred beat him to the punch. "This is Ivan. He's the roommate I was talking about. He was just leaving, though, right?"

Ivan shot him a look. "Perhaps we could finish this conversation in private, another time." He spoke very quietly, though perhaps it only seemed that way because Alfred was so loud by contrast. "It was nice meeting you, Arthur."

He glared at Alfred, who only waved languidly, before nodding his head and leaving the same way Arthur had come. The crowd seemed to part for him, and within seconds he had been swallowed by a crowd of tourists.

"Has he come to evict you?" Arthur asked lightly, swiping Alfred's unopened menu. Alfred laughed.

"Nah, he wouldn't do that. He's bugging me about rent." Alfred leaned over the table, which wobbled dangerously. "Anything good on the specials?"

Arthur held the menu out of reach this time. "Get your own." Alfred stuck his tongue out and leaned back in his chair, waving at Feliciano through the window, who beamed. "Generally, eviction usually follows rent troubles. I thought you were running errands for your landlord?"

"He's not my landlord, he's my roommate." Alfred protested. "He's just doing me a favor."

"Seems like a pricey favor," mused Arthur. "Considering you have no money."

Alfred groaned. "I'll pay you for those breadsticks, all right? Cut me some slack! I'm a reliable guy. I'll have money in a couple of weeks."

Arthur seriously doubted that anybody had ever used the word 'reliable' to describe Alfred before in his life. "Planning to win the lottery? Or have you finally got a real job?"

For somebody supposedly involved in a criminal ring, Alfred was an awful liar. Arthur wondered why someone as talented as Ivan bothered to employ someone so easily tripped up. Was he utilizing some skill that Arthur was unaware of? Did Ivan simply enjoy the feeling of having henchmen who were far less competent than him?

"Er….sort of." He was checking the zipper on his jacket now, once again avoiding Arthur's eye. "I've got a, uh, friend. He hired me to do some jobs for him. Nothing big but I can pay everyone back when it's done." He cleared his throat and then laughed, leaning forward and grabbing the menu while Arthur's guard was down. "How's that novel of yours coming along? Write anything good lately?"

Arthur had to admit that Alfred had a talent for keeping information to himself, even if he wasn't very good at pretending he didn't have it at all. "How's that brother of yours?" he countered. Two could play at this game. At least Arthur had some practice in deception.

"Touché," said Alfred, distractedly, less shy about the subject than usual, though Arthur noticed his cheeks had turned pink. "He's doing alright, I guess. We didn't get a lot of time to talk but we talked about our weekends." He smiled. "He actually gets a lot more done during the day than you'd think."

"He sounds better," said Arthur. "That's encouraging."

"Well, duh." Alfred said, as though it were obvious. "Apparently some people have been saying I'm 'charming company'." He winked at Arthur, who snatched the menu back out of his hands.

"I hope you didn't bore him with your astrology lessons," he commented from behind the screen. Alfred looked offended. "Astronomy, Arthur, jeez. Come on! How can you not think the Voyager Golden Record is the coolest thing NASA's ever put into space?"

Alfred went off onto a tangent about intelligent life on other planets and time capsules, and Arthur resigned himself to searching through the extensive wine selection instead of ordering an appetizer.

"I just don't get it," Arthur complained, pacing back and forth while the Chief signed various papers at his desk. "I mean, this guy's the head of the Russian mob! You'd think he could find better cronies to do his dirty work. This kid's head is so far in the clouds he might as well be an astronaut."

"Well, then, you should have no problem finding some incriminating evidence," said the Chief absentmindedly, without looking up from his desk. "How long have you been on this case, now? A few weeks?"

Arthur hesitated. "I mean…he's a bad liar, but he's stubborn. He's awfully closed off about anything important." Though God knows he could chatter on about his feelings on alien conspiracies for an hour without interruption. "I just don't understand. He's a nice guy, but I'm assuming Ivan doesn't hire people for having hearts of gold."

"I'm sure his acceptance into Johns Hopkins and Massachusetts didn't hurt his resume," said the Chief. Arthur stopped pacing abruptly.

The Chief laughed. "You're losing your edge, Kirkland. He was a finalist in the NYCSEF a couple of years back. It was all over the papers. Something about stimulating growth of white blood cells or something like that. He said he'd been accepted to five different medical schools, with full rides to at least two of them. "

"I didn't know that," Arthur muttered, embarrassed. He'd long ago concluded – or perhaps even hoped – that Alfred's involvement with Ivan was purely coincidental, or at least minor enough to warrant an official interrogation instead sneaking around, trying to wheedle information out of somebody clearly capable of holding onto the important pieces. The knowledge that Alfred wasn't an idiot probably meant he was intentionally avoiding Arthur's questions instead of accidentally meandering around them, and it made Arthur surprisingly irritable that he had been fooled.

"You should read the file briefings more carefully," said the Chief. "Never underestimate your suspect! Paperwork may not lie, Kirkland, but people do. Although, Ivan could have hired him for other reasons. You should get back to work and do some more digging."

The Chief returned to his next stack of papers, which Arthur took as his cue to leave. He turned to open the door.

"I know you're a good detective, Arthur. Don't write people off so easily."