Note # 1 — Some readers were afraid I was on hiatus. Nope!

Just got busy and this chapter was tough to write.


Note #2 — A kind reader informed that Russians never say "Fredka". I used to teach Russian students. Russian is one language that doesn't make sense to me. My students tried to teach simple phrases and it always came out wrong.

It became a source of comedy. My attempt to count in Russian had my students in stitches.

That's why I rarely have Ivan speak Russian and generally Ivan speaks it in my stories simply to piss off and baffle Alfred. It gets Alfred's attention.

"Why are you saying 'da'?" Alfred might ask.

Ivan would smile innocently and reply, "No reason."

Anyhow, apparently "Fredka" is absolutely wrong. It's "Fedya", "Al" or "Fred". So I shall use "Fedya" now because that'll piss Alfred off more. Ignore past uses of Fredka.


Empty Eyes


When by himself, Alfred would practice his impersonations. He felt had did a damn good Clint Eastwood — no matter what Matthew said. That same Matthew enjoyed Alfred's Christopher Walken, only wishing he would stop overdoing it.

Patrons at the Pancake Factory often gave great tips when Alfred did his Looney Toons and Mr. T impressions. However, the best rewards came from the kids. He had delighted one little girl on her birthday by imitating Stitch.

Matthew had once tried to convince Alfred to brave the stage at at Comedy Club, but Alfred wasn't ready for that. He was not as confident as he acted.

In the middle of an impersonation of Lord Voldemort, he gestured to his right. "Harry Potter," he said breathlessly. He hissed on the 's'. "Do you like my muggle prison?"

"No," Alfred said, shaking his head. Lowering his pitch and adding more air, he repeated, "Do you like my muggle prison."

He frowned, squeezing Tony's handlebars. Why couldn't he get this right? If Matthew were here, he'd complain that Alfred's British accent sounded too American. Whatever that meant.

Switching to a Bond Villain, Alfred said to himself, "Well, Mr. Bond, what do you thick of my evil lair? No one would ever expect a Glass Factory! Muwahahaha!"

He tossed his head back, laughing cruelly until an elderly lady across the street threw him a dirty look. Then he laughed cruelly in a quieter way.

"No. Still terrible." British accents sucked.

The red brick compound of the Glass Factory certainly looked menacing, a place enclosed by concrete walls with iron pikes and barb wire coiled on top. Black storm clouds would have suited the atmosphere better than the golden, late evening sky.

Seriously, why this much security for a glass factory?

"Minions!" Alfred said, mimicking the voice from the protagonist/ villain of Despicable Me. "Listen here! First, we steal the moon! Second, we turn this into our new lair. Third, we will—."

He stopped cold, realizing that Gru spoke in a Russian accent. Alfred had been imitating a Russian accent. That brought his mind to Ivan and he colored.

"Hell, no." He shuddered, walking his bike up to the back gates and the squat, grey guardhouse.

Inside the window slept a security guard — fat, bald, and clutching a half-eaten chocolate-glazed donut — who was leaned back in his seat. So much for security. The guy could not be more cliche if his name was Earl. He jumped upright, donut dropping to the floor, when Alfred knocked on the glass.

"Whazzit? Wha…" He blinked awake. Round, bleary eyes focused on Alfred, fuzzy, salt-and-pepper eyebrows drew together. Bending over to pick up his donut, his gut squished against his thighs and he revealed a very prominent, hair butt crack.

Alfred cringed inside, but plastered on his best grin anyway.

"What do you need?" the man grunted, dusting off his donut before stuffing it in.

He broke the five second rule! Alfred thought in disgust. You never eat food if it's been there for more than five seconds. That was like law. Everyone knew that!

"Yo," Alfred glanced at the man's silver name tag, "Bob, is it? How're you doing?"

A less than amused Bob stood up, wiping his greasy fingers off on the thigh of his black slacks. "Name and business."

Chest puffed out, Alfred widened his grin and gave a thumbs up. "Alfred F. Jones. Hero extraordinaire. Here to rescue my father from the torture of menial labor!"

See, Alfred knew obscure words.

"You're not on the list," Bob grunted, grabbing a clipboard off the wall. He flipped through a couple pages. "Nope. No appointments for any heroes either."

Alfred's composure nearly broke. Seriously? Bob thought Alfred was being serious. "Um… my dad is Tino Oxenstierna. He started today. Said his boss invited me."

"To the back gates?" Bob muttered, pulling a pen out of the breast pocket of his grey, button down shirt. He clicked it and jotted something on the bottom of the page. "You need to head to the front gates."

"C'mon, dude. I got mixed up. It's a long walk. Can't I just go through this way?" He pointed at the gates. "I'll be late and my dad'll be pissed."

"Not my problem," the man grunted, scratching at a rather large, butt cheek absentmindedly. "Besides, didn't you say your name is Jones?"

"Yes."

"But your father's name is Oxen- whatever? Your parents divorced or somethin'?"

Alfred squeezed the handlebars, fighting back a flush of anger. In a tight voice, he said, "It's complicated. Can I please go in this way, sir?"

The man opened his mouth to answer when the phone in his guardhouse rang. Drawing together his salt and pepper eyebrows, he went inside to answer. Alfred glanced up at one of the security cameras above, surprised when the lens zoomed on him. Was he being watched?

"Hello?" Bob answered. His postured shifted from relax to rigid and apologetic. "S-sorry. I… I see, sir. Right away, sir." There was a distinct tremor of fear in Bob's voice.

Who was he talking to?

After he hung up, Bob pressed a button and the white gates began to open.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Jones. I had no idea you were expected by the Management."

"The who?"

Bob went back to his seat, waving Alfred through.

Throwing Bob a quizzical look, Alfred headed inside.

Weird.


While charming the slim receptionists with the bony face with his Christopher Walken impression, Alfred heard the ding of the lobby elevator and turned to see his dad exiting with a man in a dark blue suit, one Alfred assumed to be a nicely dressed intern.

The guy leaned on a cane, one that clicked on the rose-marble of the floor as they came over. He looked as young as Alfred, but his eyes caught Alfred. They were so cold and empty.

Hairs rose on Alfred's nape from the way the man in square-framed glasses studied him, the way he smiled at him. A panther eyeing its prey.

"Al," Tino greeted cheerfully, waving. "This is my boss, Mr. Von Br—."

"What?" Alfred interrupted, almost falling over. "Him? This kid?" Then he colored. "I mean… oh shoot…"

Tino looked very unamused. In an apologetic tone, he said, "I'm sorry, sir. He tends to say the first thing that comes to his mind."

The kid chuckled. "It's quite all right. I get this a lot. Yes, I am only a year older than you. There were a lot resentful that father gave me this position. I have aimed to prove them wrong and earn their respect."

"Man, I need to rethink my life goals. I can't believe you run a factory. That's amazing," Alfred said, rubbing his nape. He stuck out his hand. "It's… uh… nice to meet you. Sir."

"Likewise. I've heard so much about you, Alfred. Call me Ed if you like."

"Ed?"

"It's from Edward. However, I find that name too formal," Edward said, lips splitting in a widening smile, one that never reached his eyes.

"I know how you feel. My name's Alfred. Don't what my parents were thinking."

"Hey!" Tino said.

Edward took Alfred's hand. His eyes bulged slightly when Alfred shook it vigorously. His hand is cold and clammy, Alfred noted.

"Shall I show you around?" Edward said, removing his hand, massaging the palm.

"Really?"

Tino nodded. "Edward has been an amazing to me. He completely understands my disability."

"Tino is an amazing employee. And I understand needed to take it slow." Edward tapped his cane a couple times on the floor. He turned, waving for them to follow. "This way."


By the time they'd returned to the lobby it was dark. Alfred had gawked at the machinery in the factory part and the cubicles on the fourth floor where Tino worked.

They had just reached the lobby when Edward turned to Tino and, in a disappointed voice, said, "Oh drat. I left the file from the Bugany account upstairs. Good I ask you to retrieve it Tino. I can wait here with Al."

"Of course. Al stay here and be good!" Tino said, fixing Alfred a hard look.

"When am I not good?" Alfred called back as his dad headed for the elevator.

The receptionists was gone and the lobby was empty.

After the elevator doors closed and it was just the two of them, Edward turned to Alfred and asked grimly, "Be honest. How is Tino doing?"

"Uh… fine." Alfred forced on a smile. He looked up into Eduard's blue eyes when the man placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"I need honesty, Al." The man smiled gently. "I know your family is struggling. I want to help. My family and Tino go way back. Won't you let me help Tino?"

It was weird having a guy only a year older than him talk to Alfred as the adult.

Alfred opened his mouth and closed it. He hung his head and stared at the ground.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Eduard said.

"You already helped by hiring him." Alfred clenched his jaw. He suspected Ivan was behind this "generosity". He just didn't know how. He wanted to believe Eduard.

"I want to more more." He squeezed Alfred's shoulder, almost caressing it. It felt more intimate than it should. "People like us have to stick together. We're the good guys, after all. The heroes."

Alfred perked up at that. "What're you suggesting? Just giving him money?"

"No, no. Tino would be hurt if I did it that way." Eduard waved a dismissive hand. I remember my former babysitter who used to dress up as Santa."

"Still does," Alfred said.

Eduard leaned closer, the light glinting in his glasses. Alfred could see himself and Texas reflected in them. "I want to offer you a job."

"Job? Here? But I can't—."

"Not here. No, this would be a one time gig. I have this friend. He works with modes and you're exactly what he needs."

"Model!" Alfred blurted out, pointing at himself. "Me?"

Eduard's gazed traveled up and down. He nodded in approval. "Don't be so modest. You'd be perfect. You have an Adonis figure. You're exactly what's he's looking for and he'll pay well. Above market rate. As a favor to me."

"I can't accept that."

"You have to," Eduard said. "You can use it to help Tino. Please, hasn't he suffered enough?"

Alfred paused in thought. "Yeah…"

"Let me be a good guy. We can both be the hero. You won't regret it."

"B-but I don't have any experience and —."

"Relax. He knows how to work with first timers. C'mon. At least consider it," Eduard reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Call me on this number when you have had time to think it through."

Alfred took the card staring at it. "Don't I need parental consent? I'm not eighteen."

"After we take the photos, I'm sure we can persuade Tino," Eduard said. "He'll see how talented you are."

Alfred blushed. Talented?

"Mattie's gonna crack up when he's about this."

"That's another thing, Eduard said in a low voice, close to Alfred's ear. "You should keep this secret until after. If Tino found out…"

He left the statement hanging.

"Mattie wouldn't snitch."

"If you're sure," Eduard said with a shrug. "I can only advise."

Alfred chewed on his lip.

"Think on it and call me by tomorrow," Eduard said as the elevators door pinged open and Tino stepped out. "It'll be an evening you won't ever forget."

Alfred tucked away the business card. Modeling? What could be the harm in that with a crazy, jealous boyfriend.

He groaned at the thought of Ivan. That guy could definitely not know about this.


TBC in… "Liar, Liar".

Next chap has Ivan again. Shh… he mustn't know.