Alfred's hotel room was messy and cramped as usual, but the younger man didn't care. He shuffled in, slid off his gloves and boots and collapsed at the desk scattered with notes. Brushing back his bangs from his face, he mulled over the notes. All his connections added up, everything made sense, so why did he feel like there was something wrong. His gut pulsed with a steady rhythm, it warned him that bastard was somewhere near by.
His gut was like a ticking alarm and it never failed him. Just like in second grade when he knew that kid stole Mattie's lunch and he had pummeled the living shit out of him. He even saw Mattie's lunch in that kid's cubbyhole, but no… That dumb teacher made him clean the whiteboard for a month; he wasn't even allowed to doodle on it or anything. There were other far more credible incidents Alfred could talk about that would prove he knew that freak was in the area, but he still was mighty proud of himself for winning that fight.
Scratching at an itch on his head, Alfred slumped in the chair and eyed the small fridge in his room. He wished he drank. Then he could drown his sorrows in liquor. However, the blonde held himself strictly to rules and had no desire to cross the law. Beer wasn't that great of a drink in his opinion and he was embarrassed to admit he thought the fruitier cocktails sounded tastier. Frowning, Alfred strode over to the fridge and pulled out a glass bottle of Coca Cola. This was the true shit, not the kind with High Fructose Corn Syrup. Alfred prided himself on drinking the original more sugary drink. He was American through and through and would forever ignore the fact that there was also an original version with cocaine in it. That wasn't what he drank, he was Alfred F. Jones, a hero, and he didn't do anything bad.
Again, his eyes drifted to his notes and then to his phone. He'd handed out a lot of fliers today, someone should be calling him any time. Man, that'd prove Arthur wrong for once. His phone rang, but it wasn't the default tone for an unknown number. It was the tone he had given Arthur, "Iron Man." Originally, he'd given the Brit the tone of Iggy Azeala's annoying songs, but with how often Arthur called, Alfred had to change it to something he could stomach.
The phone kept buzzing and ringing, nearly pushing itself off the desk. Alfred let it. He stared at the phone as it lay helpless on the floor. No desire to pick it up rested in his system.
Maybe he should call it a night. These hotel beds weren't half bad and he could always claim to Arthur he stayed up.
His eyes went back to the map, the red circle over this town.
No, not yet.
He drifted into his bathroom, figuring he could just clean up to keep himself awake.
Iron Man stopped playing on his phone. As he washed his hands he heard another song start up. God, Arthur, just give it a rest. As his ears locked in one a different drum beat, one more relaxed and upbeat and the bass guitar's rhythm he realized it was the Aerosmith song "Sweet Emotion." His default tone for unknown callers. Drying his hands hastily on his jeans, Alfred dropped down into his knees and scooped up the phone. Tapping the green circle he held the phone to his ear and listened eagerly.
"I saw him." It was the Italian from earlier.
"Where?" Alfred breathed into the phone. He didn't even question if it was a prank or a mistake all he could think was he was so going to prove Arthur wrong. His heart sang into his ear, thrumming with the gleeful song of success.
"At the bar we were at, the one a little ways from the haunted house,"
Alfred recalled the location and he made a silent fist bump into the air, mouthing curse words and shouts. He had it right! He was right! If only he hadn't left the area and maybe if Arthur hadn't shown up his gut would have told him to accompany those people and could have arrested Braginski on the spot. It would have been so great. Alfred would have forever been the hero! One of the youngest detectives to catch a criminal like him.
"Did you see what he was doing? He usually has his eyes set on someone, anything you can tell me about a target he could have? Is he still at the bar?" Alfred rattled off, he pulled out his note pad and waited for Lovino to speak. Impatiently, his foot tapped and he leaned against his desk, his body shaking with excitement.
There was a long pause and muffled whispers.
"He was watching us. One of my...friends seemed to have ticked him off."
"You or that other dude?" Alfred's fingers had stilled. He bit his lip. It was a different matter he wasn't sure he was ready for if he was talking to the what could be victims. Suddenly, he didn't feel so excited. He wanted to be the hero and catch Braginski before he attacked anyone, not bare witness to a horrible murder of two people he'd talked to earlier.
"No, we're traveling with two others."
Not good. Not good. That's four lives at stake! "Where are you at?" the blonde questioned, shoving his feet into his boots and his arms into another jacket. Reflexively, he patted the pocket to make sure his leather gloves were in there and his licensed hand gun.
"Longshore Road, on a lone stretch near this ditch and woods. We're fucked aren't we?"
They were in the middle of nowhere, probably in a car. No one would be around to see them. Yes, they were totally screwed. Heroes couldn't tell people that, no he had to go save them and quick.
"Keep calm, I'll be there as fast as I can manage. Is there any cars following you?" Alfred ran from the room practically, paying no mind to the secretary's irritated yell that he needed to pay for another night if he was staying as he sprinted to the parking garage. He found his motorcycle and stood beside it, shifting the phone as he leaned on a nearby wall.
"...Yes." The man was starting to sound panicky now. "I...fuck. Can I shoot them? I have a gun. If I shoot this fucker will I be in trouble. It's a dark black truck, lights off, it's practically on our bumper—Antonio speed the hell up—it's not giving us any space."
Oh god, man, this was really awesome. Okay, it was awful and those people were in danger, but it was also really awesome. Like, Alfred could be a hero really soon and save these people. But it was also really terrible, these people were in danger of being murdered. But awesome! Alfred never had the chance to do this before.
"Shoot at his tires, if he returns fire..." Was he allowed to suggest this? "Um...shoot as a last resort. If anything, don't make it obvious you're armed. If he does-"
"He's trying to fucking ram us. Do I shoot or do I not? Bastard, tell me."
"I..." Alfred froze up, there was the sound of shattering glass and gunfire. Too late to tell him anything different.
"Too fucking late, I shot. It missed and Antonio just swerved into a ditch. Fucking come quick, bring some fucking back up."
The other man had hung up. Alfred zipped his phone into his pocket. He should call Arthur, but not yet. He'd call him when he got there. Right now, he had to intercept as soon as possible. Sliding his leg over his motorcycle Alfred cranked the gear and kicked the kickstand up. He tore down the road, his heart pounding in his ears.
