CUTEST KILLER SMILE

A/N – Hello my dear readers! First of all, thank you for showing interest in this fic, it means a lot to me! Also, I promise not to disappoint you any worse than usual (XD just kidding, I'm a' blow your minds with amazing action and unimaginable plot depths :))))))). But before anything and without intending this as a spoiler in any way, I will say that in my view certain Nordics have great potential as negative characters and I have set out to demonstrate it to you in this story. So you have been warned about that, don't complain.


The two Vargas brothers – in this case generically codenamed 'the Italians' by the police and not necessarily because Chief Inspector Adnan had a personal and particular dislike towards Italians – had showed up out of nowhere a few months prior, although this kind of shit always brewed, carefully planned under the surface before it became apparent. What the likes of them were up to was nothing new as far as the police was concerned – drugs, girls and charging protection tax - except the sly bastards were constantly on the move, always one step ahead of the force, leaving behind more rumors than actual proof. For this reason bringing them in was going to take finesse and a lot of work and in the middle of all this Berwald had instead been wasting his time in a spectacular fashion.

For most of the past week he'd been spending his days discreetly keeping an eye on Tino Väinämöinen's shop, getting to learn the young man's daily routine, the hours he got out to walk his dog, do his shopping or go out to party with his 'funny' Russian friends. The Finn seemed indeed to own a small clothing store in one of the run-down buildings downtown, the ones with living quarters upstairs, had a little white, fluffy dog named Hanatamago or Hatanamago (something really weird at any rate), he was no early riser, preferred to cook at home and Berwald had seen the Russians pick him up in their van on two subsequent nights.

All in all, he'd learned absolutely nothing of interest as far as his job was concerned… until now.

It was Friday and Berwald was already envisaging the grilling he was going to get from the Chief Inspector upon coming back empty handed after a week of 'field work'. Maybe he had lost his touch more than he'd thought? And why had he so suddenly made up his mind to pursue the eccentric Finn of all people, for no apparent reason other than that he'd seen him with some suspicious Russians at the shooting range? He and Kohler had a different assignment currently and this did not appear to be in anyway related to it. These thoughts were plaguing the detective's mind on that cloudy morning as he was leaning tiredly against the brick wall of a building across the street, half-hidden by some debris containers, a steaming paper cup of cheap coffee nestled between his hands, before the his luck finally took a surprising turn for the better.

Back at the office he had a couple of candid shots of Lovino Vargas and he'd genuinely believed the guy was easy to miss in a crowd, just a young man looking somewhat unremarkable, that and Berwald was rather bad with faces upon occasion. Still, when the older of the two Vargas siblings got out of a cab, a small leather briefcase tucked safely under his arm as he waltzed into Väinämöinen's shop, there was no chance in hell the Swede could have missed him. Something about the neatly pressed dress shirt and suit jacket he was wearing, glossy chestnut hair or the surprisingly thick moustache rendered him unmistakable this time and Berwald's eyes widened in shock, paper cup nearly dropping from his hand from the sudden surge of excitement.

It was a weird feeling though – the familiar thrill of finally getting a lead mixing with the realization that somehow, deep down, he had hoped that Tino Väinämöinen had nothing to do with the Italians and he'd not be part of this investigation. But the fact proved beyond doubt when the detective saw Vargas returning to the cab shortly afterwards carrying a plastic-wrapped tweed suit instead of the briefcase from before, now mysteriously gone. Now, he was no fashion expert, but it was unlikely that this small and… unpretentious shop (to put it mildly) was the kind of place a rich Italian would get his clothing from. Even if Lovino's moustache had struck Berwald as rather anachronistic (again, just a personal opinion).

Cautiously, he slipped away from his observation spot, reaching for the cell phone in his back pocket as the hood of his jacket was pulled low over his face and the detective started down the street in the opposite direction from the departing cab.


"Is th's 'kay?" Berwald grumbled, awkwardly sizing himself up in front of the full mirror. Adnan had given him the green light the day before, so it was unclear why Kohler was lingering around now, adding to his growing discomfort.

"Ye're not going on a date, are ye?" the Dane pointed with a snort. "It's yer face that got ye recommended in the first place, wasn't it? Not that ye were wearing anything fancy back at the shooting range… or ever."

"The guy h's a chl'th'ng st're, if I w'nt to g't a job as a b'dyg'rd th're I c'n't look b'd…" he argued, running a hand randomly through his short-cropped hair and knowing full well just how stupid this sounded. But he was nervous, anxious even more than before and it was making him second-guess every little detail. Even his outfit, something he had never bothered himself with before.

"This'll be just fine," Kohler stated, waving his hand in the general direction of Berwald's faded black jeans, simple dark-blue t-shirt and hoodie. "It's not like ye're in the money, otherwise ye wouldn't be looking for a job, right? It's more important not to look like ye're trying too hard to make a good impression. This job is shit – he told ye that from the start – ye're only taking it until something better comes up and nobody expects ye to put too much effort."

"R'ght."

Berwald could do this reasoning for himself just fine, but the Chief Inspector must have intuited how unsettled he was feeling about the mission considering his relative lack of experience and while he had no problem throwing his men in head first and letting them learn 'how to swim' on their own, the detective was going to have an eye kept on him to make sure he wasn't going to screw things up. He didn't think it would be Kohler though, something told him this was just a distraction, after all the loud and conspicuous Dane was hardly the man for such a job.


The old-fashioned bell rang as the door finally swung open, at the end of the two full minutes the Swede had spent staring thoughtfully (or absently) at the 'OPEN' sign hung on the inside of the glass. Normally this would have looked really weird, except he could see that inside no one was momentarily manning the counter. He walked in with slow, unhurried steps, taking in the small space and not really knowing what to expect.

A high-pitched bark resounded from behind the cloth drape separating the shop area from the back and Berwald stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. Some hushed scolding followed and a moment later the Finn appeared from behind the drape, the small dog with the funny name he hadn't been able to catch nestled in his arms. No longer barking now, the snow-white ball of fluff was staring at him with round, bright eyes, wagging its tail excitedly.

Berwald's gaze trailed from the pet's immaculate fur to the young man's baby-blue dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and brown v-neck plaid sweater vest. Obviously, the outfit was purported to have the same Granddad-from-the-fifties vibe as the rest of the merchandise on display and, just like the tweed suit Vargas had bought three days before, made zero sense on someone as youthful-looking as the small blond Finn.

"Oh!" he said at the sight of Berwald, in a fashion which was hard to decipher. Maybe he'd been expected?

"H'llo," the detective greeted, motioning curtly with his head, before his hand emerged from his pocket, holding up the business card he'd received.

"Hi! Bard-…?"

"B'rw'ld."

"Yeah…" Väinämöinen nodded and then shrugged with a small, apologetic smile. "I'm just bad with names, sorry…"

"No pr'bl'm." The Swede took two steps forward casually, gesturing to the various shelves and whatnot. "I j'st th'ght I'd dr'p by 'nd see if the 'ffer w's still st'nding."

The other bit his lip briefly, seeming to ponder. "Um… yeah," he replied, releasing the small dog which instantly darted back under the drape cloth. "I mean, I didn't get to hire anyone else yet. So, nothing came up for you, Ber-wald?" Was it just Berwald's impression or he looked somewhat cautious now, all the sudden? Still, it had been his idea to start with, the detective had certainly not shown up uninvited.

"No, 'nd I th'ght I'd lie low f'r a while 'nyw'y. You s'd you w'nt'd a b'dyg'rd?"

Tino's lilac eyes were sizing him up thoughtfully. "I could use one, yes, but… um… before agreeing to anything you should probably know what you're getting yourself into…"

"D'n't kn'w m'ch 'bout retail," the Swede answered truthfully.

"A-ha! Retail…" the smaller blond laughed softly and nodded, dimples showing in his round cheeks. "Still, you gave me the impression that you can handle serious stuff if need be. Was I wrong?"

Berwald straightened his back and nodded. "I c'n."

"Good. Come with me."

Behind the drape there was a small back room with a computer desk and some ledgers and catalogues lying around and an old, worn sofa half-occupied by a large pink dog basket.

"Her name is Hanatamago and normally she can't stand strangers," Tino mentioned briefly, pointing to the pet now curled up in it. "Do you like dogs?" he asked, retrieving a set of keys from one of the desk drawers.

"I guess-"

Berwald had a mind, for conversation's sake, to ask whether the dog's unusual name meant anything, but found himself at a loss for words when the other opened a side door to another room, which seemed to contain a whole arsenal, the walls lined up with gun racks and shelves with ammunition of all sorts. He swallowed hard, reaching up to adjust the glasses which had somehow slipped down his nose.

"It's 'mpr'ssive," he observed, nodding slowly as he noticed the Finn carefully gauging his reaction.

"You didn't think I was really selling clothes, did you?"

And now he was being tested. "I d'dn't kn'w if you w're 'nto s'lling an'th'ng, to be h'n'st," Berwald replied, leaning against the doorframe and trying to look as relaxed as he could muster under the circumstances.

"No? What else could I be into then?" Tino asked curiously.

"S'rv'c's." The detective cleared his throat, looking away from the other's almost petite frame and hoping that this had not been too uninspired. "B't I d'n't like to m'ke rush'd 'ss'mptions," he added quickly.

The Finn laughed again and shook his head. "Those girls gave you the wrong idea about me but no, not anymore…" Whatever that meant. "So, here's how it is – all of this is 'off the record', only the clothing store has all the legal papers and stuff. And if I'm to put you in the books, it will be at the minimum wage too and the rest will be 'over the counter' and negotiable, okay?"

Berwald exhaled loudly and involuntarily crossed his arms, unable to get rid of the feeling that something was off. After all, this guy didn't know him at all, couldn't have possibly checked him up in such a short time, so unless he was already under some suspicion there was absolutely no reason for the gun dealer to be so open about his business from the get-go. Could it be that he'd been so painfully obvious that Väinämöinen had smelled him and was now trying to see how eager he was to get the job?

"Y'r b's'n'ss l'ks pr'tty s'rious, I c'n see now why you'd need a b'dyg'rd," he observed carefully. "B't I d'n't know why you'd j'st tr'st me w'th th's."

The smaller blond smiled a broad, incredibly cute smile, his large eyes bright and charming. "I don't trust you, I'm just giving you a chance," he stated simply. "And if you betray me, I'll kill you."

And so it was settled.

To be continued