Title: Payday
Fandom: Devil May Cry (Novel)
Characters: Grue, Tony Redgrave, Enzo Ferino
Prompt: #04; Announce
Word Count:
Rating: PG
Summary: Novel-based; Grue and Tony Redgrave meet up for the first time.
Author's Notes: I like the novel AU lots, anyway, so I'll likely be writing more for it… I like Tony.

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He might have looked normal. Might have, but he didn't, not with the shock of silver hair you couldn't miss unless you squinted your eyes shut. Add to that the red leather coat he threw on day after day and the layers of ridiculous weaponry – it equaled more than a mess; Tony Redgrave was drowning in gaudy fashion, brimming with attitude, easy to spot a block away and a breeze to avoid if you weren't in the mood for him.

Grue was never in the mood.

So, when Enzo swaggered up to him in Bobby's Cellar one evening, with a once in a lifetime opportunity to make a boatload of cash, Grue didn't have to think long and hard about the offer. "No."

Enzo's jaw dropped. "You're not even going to think about it?"

"Nope."

"I'm talking about sixty thousand dollars, ya dumb lug. That's not the kind of money a man says no to."

"I'm not gonna work with the punk, Enzo."

Enzo slid into the seat new to him, which sent the message loud and clear – he had no plans of letting up. Grue scowled into his drink and did his best to ignore him, but with Enzo pestering him like this there wasn't a chance of anyone else approaching with an offer.

"Tony's real desperate for cash," Enzo said, after he ordered himself a beer. "I could probably talk him into splitting the pot sixty-forty."

"Not interested."

"Sixty-five—"

"No thanks."

"Listen, Grue, this job is done by two men or not at all. I can't get anyone else to—"

"This might be news to you, Enzo, but if you got Tony Redgrave on board that's a sure sign the job is just a step short of suicide." "I don't even know what you're offering and I know I want nothing to do with it."

The door crashed open behind them.

Grue didn't have to turn and look to know who it was – only one man in town was dumb enough to kick open the door to Bobby's Cellar and draw all that attention to himself. The bustle and conversation started up again in a few seconds, but that didn't drown out the sound of heavy footsteps.

Grue cringed when they came to a stop directly behind him.

"Yo, Enzo," a voice said, loudly. "Any luck on finding me a partner, yet?"

Grue turned around in his chair, and sure enough there was Tony Redgrave in his all his glory. He was dressed in his red leather and a pair of motorcycle boots, he had a machine gun strapped to his leg and a heavily modified pistol on his hand. New to Grue was the massive broadsword – maybe he'd just never gotten close enough to the kid to notice, though now he couldn't see how he could've missed it.

What was Tony planning on hunting?

He turned back to his drink and finished it, slammed the glass down on the bar. So tonight was a bust, fine. He could head home, maybe spend some time with his girls for once.

"C'mon, Enzo," Tony whined. "I'm counting on you!"

Enzo groaned. "I'm trying, Tony, give me a break." He took a long gulp of beer, and jerked his thumb in Grue's direction. "Tried for this guy, but says he not interested."

Tony stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. "What's the old man got against me?" he asked.

Enzo shrugged. "Maybe he don't like the way you smell."

"And maybe you need to get bent," Tony snapped back, though his tone was still cheery and conversational. "Here I am, trying to make a decent living, and—"

"I don't have anything against you," Grue interrupted, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. "I don't know you, kid." He headed for the door.

The night air felt good – Grue spent too much of his life cooped up in that damn bar, waiting for something good to happen. Some magical offer that would change his life, a job and a paycheck that would solve all of his problems. Well, it wasn't gonna happen. There wasn't any magic in this world, and checks the size Enzo promised usually came at the cost of being dead.

He reached into his pocket for his Camels and a match.

"Hey, wait up!"

Heavy footsteps were thundering behind him, and Grue hoped for Tony's sake that the kid never found himself on the wrong side of a job that required stealth. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and didn't bother slowing down.

"C'mon, hold up." For all his complaining, Tony wasn't even out of breath when he pulled up beside Grue and matched the man's pace. "So," he said. "Why—"

"Like I told Enzo, I'm not interested." He dragged the match across the wall of the building as he walked by, and then he lit his cigarette. "Nothing personal, kid."

Tony waved the smoke away. "Jeez, you too? I know the job doesn't have a high life expectancy and all, but you'd think—"

"Kid, I got stuff to do." Before, calling Tony kid had been a pretty blatant attempt to tell him to buzz off – now that he'd seen him up close it seemed all too appropriate. Tony was maybe eighteen, maybe even younger. Where on earth had he learned to fight like he had?

And he knew Tony could fight. You didn't come back from as many jobs as he had without being damn good. If Grue had been as good as Tony, back in the day, maybe he'd have quit the business while he was ahead.

Maybe he should have gotten out anyway.

"Oh. Well, I was just gonna tell you I wasn't gonna take it personal." Tony shrugged. "I was trying to get out of it anyway, and if I don't have a partner I've got the perfect excuse."

So Tony was a punk, and lazy, too. "Not risky enough?" Grue asked.

"Not enough money. I mean, for what they want me to do."

Grue couldn't even imagine what kind of job Enzo had been pushing that wasn't worth sixty thousand dollars – but then, knowing the man, he wasn't shocked, either. "Sometimes it pays to know your limits."

Tony looked at him at that, his face all at once still and serious. "I don't think I have any," he said, after a long silence.

Grue stopped walking and dropped his cigarette butt on the ground. "You're trying to tell me there's nothing you can't do?"

"Not so far."

Grue ground out the burning cigarette and said nothing.

Tony chuckled, too suddenly and too loud. "Nah, I'm kidding. Still haven't figured out how to date two chicks at the same time. Forget about it. How do they always know?" He was a terrible liar, but there was something about his flimsy façade that made Grue want to play along.

Because he felt sorry for the kid, he realized.

"Oh, what do you know about women?" Grue asked. "You're, what, fourteen?"

"Am not," Tony snapped back, with indignation that was fake, fake, fake. "I'm nineteen."

Grue snorted. "Same thing."

"Don't be jealous, old man. I'm sure there's still some girls that want some of that… somewhere."

"Don't get cocky, Tony," Grue said, pulled out another cigarette. "'Round here, it could get you killed."

"I thought it got me laid."

"Funny kid." Grue lit the cigarette and took a long drag, just trying to enjoy it. No luck, he hadn't enjoyed a smoke in years.

The banter had run out of steam, and now the silence between them stretched to nearly a minute.

"So," Tony said. "You're going home?"

"Yup."

Tony nodded. "Okay. I guess I'll see you around, then."

He took another drag. "Yup."

As quickly as he'd come, Tony turned and walked – probably back to Bobby's Cellar, or to whatever dump he called a home. Unless he slept on the streets. Kids like Tony usually did. They wandered from town to town, killing until they got killed, not planning on living long enough to even have to find a place to live.

This time, he hoped that wasn't the case.

Grue watched until Tony had disappeared, and then started home, in exactly the opposite direction.

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