Three— Power Tends to Corrupt
Rossa Pagliacci didn't mind that Torchwick wasn't old school Valais, like he was. Roman was old school in the ways that mattered, like Pagliacci remembered the days before the Racketeering Act started infringing on the Business, the days when they would send flowers to the widows of men they'd had to bump off, when the Headmaster at Beacon— before the current one— crossed the street out of respect, when half the cops in the city knew which side of the toast was buttered. Roman Torchwick had done more to galvanize the Business' prospects in the city of Vale than maybe anyone else in the organization, and when Torchwick had inherited his position over the corpses of his brother and father— courtesy of the Vacuoan cartels— Roman had ended a budding war before it had even started. That was why Rossa didn't mind running the lion's share of things while Torchwick handled a client.
Rossa leaned back in his booth in Giorgio's Steakhouse. He patted his stomach heavily, then checked his watch. 9:29 pm, he read. His meeting with the boss was scheduled for midnight, and then they'd be getting a drink at one of the legitimate clubs, to show the flag and let the city know that just because Roman had been busy, he was never too busy to hold court. It was, as Roman liked to say, all about image.
So when Rossa's image of how he thought the rest of his work night would go was broken, he was a little annoyed. Some kid walked in like he owned the place, and Rossa debated having Big Pat throw the kid out. That stopped when he saw the Beacon crest on the kid's blazer. Then the kid, instead of going to the bar and trying to sneak an underaged drink in, walked over to Rossa's table. Rossa finished the whiskey in his glass to settle his nerves.
"Good evening," the kid said. He carried himself with the assured air of a veteran Huntsman— like he could level a block of the city and not even break a sweat. But his eyes— oh, the eyes— those looked like he'd seen, and been party to, quite a few murders over his time. And not in the hardened, did that for a living way, like Eddy Ice.
"Good evening," Rossa returned neutrally. Inside he wanted to sweat bullets. "What can I do for you, young man?" Polite, neutral, act like he's doing me a favor by letting me do him a favor. Just keep cool, Rossa.
"Mr. Pagliacci, I need to speak with your boss."
"I'm sorry," Rossa said. "You mean Mr. Massimi, at Vale Waste and Recycling? He's probably asleep—"
"Not Massimi," the guy interrupted. "Mr. Torchwick. I'm a student at Beacon, and I'm looking to do a deal."
Oh shit. What kind of deal could a Beacon kid want with Roman? Better to play it cool. The boss' meeting with her isn't until later anyway.
"Hey, Ton'," Rossa called. His driver, Anthony, poked his head up over the separation between their booths "Call Roman's driver, let him know we need him down here, fast."
"You sure, Rossa?"
"Of course I'm sure, Ton', I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't. Now, kid, take a seat and let me get your name. We don't do business with anyone who we don't know."
"Arc," the kid said as he slid into the other bench seat. "Jaune Arc." That was when Rossa really started sweating. He shoved a finger into his collar and loosened it, then unbuttoned his shirt's second button to try to get some air flow.
"Listen, Mr. Arc, whatever brings you down here this time of night— especially with Beacon just finishing initiation— I'm sure we can work it out, right?"
"That's right," the young man said pleasantly. "I'm sure we can." He sounded pleasant, but Rossa figured it was a veneer that wouldn't take a whole lot to wash off, and Rossa didn't even want to start to speculate about the kind of pain or grief that could have caused it. Kid looked like he'd been through the wringer, like Roman had after they went to the mattresses to tangle with the cartels.
"Look, Mr. Arc, you had dinner yet?" The kid shook his head. "Lemme buy you dinner, anything off the menu you want, I know the owner, Giorgio is a friend of mine, you'll get it fast. Anything you want."
Rossa slid over his own menu, any thoughts he might have had about dessert forgotten. The kid looked at it, glanced over it fast, and then laid it back down. He told Rossa what he wanted.
"Giorgio!" The owner of the steakhouse came over. Giorgio looked like he should have been slinging barrels with one meaty arm, but he had gone to seed after rigging boxing matches hadn't worked out for them. His dark eyes took in Rossa, sweating. They took in Mr. Arc, sitting at ease in Beacon blazer and khaki slacks, and the sword leaning against the seat back next to the student.
"Welcome, welcome," Giorgio said. "What can I get for you, sir?"
"My buddy Mr. Arc here will have the butterbread entree, the porterhouse, medium, with the mushroom sauce like your mom made, and a nice red."
"Excellent choices all around, Mr. Arc." He extended a huge hand for the student to shake, and to Rossa's relief the kid took it.
"Nice to meet you," Arc said. His head swivelled to look back at Rossa, and he leaned forward. Giorgio left, roaring at the kitchen in Valais, and Arc smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile.
"You're Torchwick's left hand guy, right? Third in command, old school cosa nostra?"
"Hey, if this is about anything illegal you might need to speak with my solicitor—"
"It's not," Arc interrupted. That made it the second time that evening that he'd done so, but if he felt comfortable interrupting Rossa in Giorgio's, with the low red lighting and the wiseguys drinking at the bar, and the guys covering the doors, and the barman with a shotgun under the bar— it's not? Thank the Brothers.
"I want to know if Roman Torchwick is willing to do a deal. Information, and protection for someone... close to me whenever they're in Vale, and I'll do him a couple of favors."
"At a glance? Probably," Rossa said. "Mind you, I ain't admitting nuthin' 'bout nuthin' illegal. Capisce?"
"Sure," Arc said, and leaned back. They fell into an uncomfortable silence, and a few minutes later Giorgio brought out Arc's meal. The kid slammed the food like he hadn't eaten anything in three or four days, and slammed the wine like a champ.
After he'd eaten, and Giorgio had cleared their plates away, the kid ordered dessert. Rossa let the kid have a pass on that one, because a Huntsman, even in training, willing to deal with them was huge, and Giorgio made more on not having to pay for an alcohol license in a month than a solid week's worth of meals like that would cost.
Later, Rossa stood up as soon as he saw Roman arrive. Arc stayed seated, some kind of insouciant display of bravado or something. Rossa bowed his head and kissed Roman's ring.
"Mr. Pagliacci," the boss said. "I hope this is good. Your man wouldn't tell my man anything other than you needed me down here as soon as I could get here."
"It is, Mr. Torchwick, I wouldn't have called you otherwise." Torchwick was wearing his signature white coat, and looked dapper as usual. They shook hands, and then Rossa gestured to Arc.
"Boss, this is Mr. Arc. He's a student at Beacon, looking to discuss a business proposition with you." Roman's attention turned to Arc, and he gave a slow gave up his seat for the boss, and then walked over to the bar. He was close enough to eavesdrop, and so he ordered another whiskey and listened in.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Arc." That was Roman, all genteel and courtesy until it was time to double-tap the back of a Vacuoan cartel soldier's head.
"Likewise, Mr. Torchwick."
"Can I buy you anything? Whiskey, another dessert?"
"No thanks. I'd like to get right down to business."
"Understandable. You mind if I smoke?"
"Go right ahead. I understand the steakhouse is basically yours in all but name."
"Smart. Alright, so what can our organization do for you?"
Rossa heard something tapping on the table.
"Information on —" something Rossa couldn't hear. "Protection for my friend whenever she's in Vale. Any day, any time, no matter what happens. If your guys have to catch bullets for her, we'll figure on a couple extra favors. In exchange, I'll do two favors for you except in relation to the one I asked for information on previously. Any time, day or not. Anything save that sole exception."
"Well," Roman said. "This sounds promising. Five favors."
"Two and a half."
"Two and a half? What do you think this is, money? Four."
"Three," Arc said. "Three, and if your guys go down protecting my friend I won't owe anything extra."
"And if they do, you'll send flowers for the widows. Yeah?"
"Of course," Arc said. "What did you take me for, a barbarian?"
"Not at all. So who's so important to you that you're willing to make this kind of deal with us?"
"Pyrrha — " Rossa didn't catch the surname. "But she's not to know anything about this. My friend, she sees crime, she stops crime. She's that kind of person."
"And you're not? You're training to be a Hunter, after all."
"I have a more... flexible view on how I interpret the law, and what it means to be a Hunter. The way I see it, you're just trying to get by, same as anyone else. I can't hate you for it. Me? My job is to stand between everyone else and the Grimm. Not hold hands with the cops."
"Delightful. A drink to our friendship?"
"Of course." Rossa heard the clink of glasses, and then shoes scraping on the hardwood flooring of Giorgio's.
Later, after Arc had left, and Roman had left, Rossa settled in at the poker table in the back room with Giorgio and Tony and Pat. Cigar smoke lingered heavy in the air, and Rossa took a slug of whiskey.
"That weren't no kid, Ross'," Giorgio said. He puffed on a cigar. "Something don't make sense. Don't add up. You know what I'm saying?"
"Sure," Rossa said. He laid his cards on the table.
"How's a boy get that much mileage? You know who he reminded me of? He reminded me of Roman's brother, before the Vacuoans got to him. He's fresh out initiation, innit he?" Tony said.
"You know the kind that become Huntsmen— Roman was going to, too, before the family needed him. They ain't all salt-of-the-earth." Pat smiled at his cards.
"There's Huntsmen material, and then there's fucking damaged. This kid's damaged. Three favors for our organization, and no questions asked?" Tony again. Rossa tried to concentrate on the game.
"All for what, huh? You catch who he wanted protected?"
"Yeah I did," Giorgio said. Although not made, he knew to keep his mouth shut when talking to the cops or anyone not involved in the game. "Pyrrha Nikos."
"Holy balls," Rossa said. "The Pyrrha Nikos? What, he thinks someone's gonna try to kidnap her? None of our guys are that stupid, right?"
"Our guys aren't," Tony confirmed. "Can't say the same for the Atlesians or Vacuoans or even her own Mistralans. Those guys play by a different set of rules entirely."
"Look," Rossa said. "Whoever he wants information on, we'll hear it eventually." A thought occurred to him. "Unless— do you think?"
"Think what? Giorgio took a few too many hits to the head," Pat jabbed. "You know that!"
"'Ey, fella, listen here—" Giorgio sounded mildly offronted.
"Look here," Rossa said. "If he is after the bitch, that's only good for us, right? Even though half the Dust stores we've been hitting have been our own places and we're collecting the insurance money easy as pie, she's still fuck-bug-nuts. She's no good for the organization. Me? I say, more power to him."
"No matter who he wants the information on, that kid was willing to bring some serious firepower to our side if we protect Red," Pat said.
"Imagine, a Hunter on our speed dial."
"Yeah, you know he's going to be on the boss' speed dial, right? Not yours?"
"I'm fine with that," Pat said. Rossa nodded. No matter what, having a Huntsman, even one in training, on the phone dial couldn't hurt. Right?