December 2nd

"Jones, quit your daydreaming," a voice said sternly. Alfred widened his eyes slightly, his face resting in one of his hands.

"Hmmm?"

"You were looking out the window. Focus." Alfred was tempted to glare at his German superior, but was too tired. He had not been daydreaming, rather, dozing off. Francis snorted next to him and nudged him. The office they were sitting in was actually rather pleasant, seeming more like a lounge than a room to discuss crime, so it was no wonder that the American found it so relaxing.

"Pardon him, he was up all night," Francis explained.

"Doing what?"

"Talking to himself."

"Ah, c'mon, Francis," Alfred groaned. "Why d'ya always have to make me look like an idiot in front of everyone?"

"Because you deserve it, boy. A little humility does you well."

"Better your English, there's a difference between humility and humiliation."

"Well, practicing over conversations to say to your 'long-lost brother' would be humiliating if everyone found out about it," Francis said casually.

"Which is why I did NOT tell anyone," Alfred said between gritted teeth, an exasperated smile on his face.

"Bot of you shut up," their superior growled.

"Sorry, Captain Beilshmidt," Alfred muttered, sinking back into the lazy position that had gotten him in trouble in the first place. Captain Beilshmidt was a stern man, his tendencies for order, often the annoyance of Alfred and several others. He always had his hair cleanly combed back, and occasionally granted spectacles permission to lay on his straight nose. Alfred sometimes saw the man as inept for the position in the police force, the German only seeing the rather linear and blatantly logical in a situation, but in a way that is how the two complemented one another when working together. Alfred's job was to search for what most would not see, his mind that already had ideas that most would not use perfect for the position. Ludwig was there to keep him from straying too far into the realm of the far fetch'd. "So what're we doin' today?" The stoic man just frowned a little more and then slapped a yellow file on the wooden table.

"Had another drive-by last night. Two more dead. When we searched them, their money was gone, but everything else for identification was left."

"Driving licenses?" Alfred offered.

"Yes, along with several receipts. Both were apparently shopping together, for they had receipts to the same shops. A restaurant, and-" The captain reached down to the file and dug through, pulling out two small tabs of paper. "Ah, and a pawnbroker." Francis leaned forward and began to speak.

"A pawnbroker? Were they trying to sell something?" Ludwig hummed and looked over the receipt.

"So it seems... Each also took a loan of two-hundred dollars along with them selling jewelry for about one-hundred," the captain mumbled as he continued reading the information in the file.

"So they needed money suddenly. To pay off a debt perhaps?" Francis muttered, resting his chin on his knuckles.

No one had to announce that this was Prohibition related, the statement self-sufficient in everyone's mind. The thing that was bothering Alfred was a question he always asked after the general introduction to a case.

"Who did it this time?" he asked, more in an exasperated and impatient way rather than anticipatory.

"Unknown..." Ludwig replied, almost earning him a groan from the two other men. The name brought about so much discomfort because out of the bootlegging that took place in the city, there was a syndicate that took it to extremes. The city, and Utah in general, had been infamous for opposing the often irrationally portrayed amendment that banned liquor; families and stores selling alcohol in their basements anyway. However, there was a force that was an underground thread of these citizens.

"They are a thorn in our sides," Francis said with irritation on his face.

"Can we please name them, Ludwig? Calling some weird syndicate thing 'Unknown' is a rather endearing term, don't'cha agree?" Alfred whined. Ludwig grimaced.

"Then what do you suggest we do? We don't know enough about them to call them anything else other than that or 'Syndicate'. For all we know this could be a group of women running this. All we know is that men are killed in drive-by's, their wallets emptied, and their wives telling us they complained of debt. What we do not know is whom they are or how the-"

"I am so sorry for being late," an accented voice said as the door to room was carefully pushed open. A clean-cut man in a perfectly smooth suit walked in. Alfred fidgeted slightly at the new arrival, self-conscious in his entirely less tidy attire.

"Sit down, von Bock..." Ludwig grumbled. The man nodded and sat in a chair next to Alfred, gently placing a briefcase on the table and pulling out some paper from it. He then revealed a pen. Alfred just curiously observed the man, trying to hold back a snicker. He set both items on the table and then turned to Alfred.

"Eduard von Bock, pleasure to meet you," he said warmly to Alfred. Alfred glanced oddly at the hand and then took it.

"Alfred Jones." Eduard nodded and then reached to Francis.

"Francis Bonnefoy, pleasure to meet you." Alfred rolled his eyes at his companion's obeisances before crossing his arms.

"Alright, sit down, von Bock. We were just going over the drive-by that happened last night."

"Ah yes. The one with this so called syndicate. I have some information here..." the clean-cut blond flipped through his papers to one that had scrambled notes on it. "Ah! Here it is... Let's see... Base on the information I have gathered, this group is quite unlike what others have faced in other cities. Most syndicates prefer to make themselves known. The thrill of infamy and all that..."

"Like leaving marks or symbols..." Francis interrupted softly.

"Exactly! Well I have noticed that these people, have no consistencies in their weaponry. It's as if they have an international collection of guns. For all we know, half the crimes blamed on them could have been someone completely unrelated." Alfred just stared oddly at the man. "The only reason we know it's a group is because of a survivor of a shooting, but they could be doing much less or much more than we are eve-"

"Where are you from?" Alfred inquired earnestly.

"Alfred, let the man speak," Ludwig barked. Eduard raised a hand slightly and smiled nervously.

"No, it is quite fine. I should have mentioned that in my introduction. I am from the Baltic region. My country just gained independence several years ago, so under the new government I was able to pursue a career in the Sates. It's a dream come true really; to be able to work here."

"Ah yes, the Baltic region," Alfred said knowingly. He elbowed Francis in the side. The Frenchman sighed and then rubbed his temple.

"It is between Russia and Scandinavia, my friend."

"I know where it is, Francis. Sheesh," Alfred said, winking at Eduard. He then lifted his hands and set his face on his palms, waiting for him to continue speaking.

Suddenly he jerked forward, bringing his shining watch to in front of his eyes. He laughed once through his nose and stood up, a casual push to the chair to line it back up.

"I would really like to stay, but I have a previous engagement that I have been looking forward to for too long to stay around here," Alfred said, tints of smugness cutting at everyone. He walked to the coat rack and found his tan jacket and black hat, quickly equipping them both. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Eduard," he said with a tip of his hat. "I will see you later Francis." Francis hummed and rolled his eyes. "L-Ludwig," he said with a shit-eating grin, although his superior's glare still made him break his bravado.

"And where are you going, Jones?" Ludwig shouted out.

Alfred smirked as he stood in the doorway, his body already half out the door.

"I have got myself a day with the most amazing person in my life."

The shining black Ford stopped with a slight skid on the shining pavement, the hot engine causing some steam to rise as a result from the slightly drizzling moisture. Alfred jumped out and slammed the door, mentally berating himself for overusing his strength on something so expensive. He turned to the store and had to keep himself from gasping a little. It was a clean and well-kept shop with a large townhouse on top. The window had painted on letters, clearly spelling 'Foreign Novelties' on it. He sighed, plastered on a grin, and stepped in.

The small bell made a soft noise as he stepped in, mildly startling him for a moment. The sight of hundreds of well-arranged items -vases, a jewelry cabinet, small pieces of furniture, amongst other things- is what caught him the most. There were a few other couples in the store, Alfred now realizing that the place really did have good business.

"Hello, may I help you?" a cheery male's voice said, breaking Alfred away from staring at the shining, cast-iron statuette of a Roman woman. He glanced over and saw a smiling man with curly brown hair and green-hazel eyes.

"Ah, I am here to see Mr. Kirkland," he blurted out a little quickly. The man gave him an odd glance for a moment before bursting out into snickers.

"You're really eager, aren't you?" Alfred nodded, and slightly winced, trying to discern what made the man so odd. "I will go tell him that you are waiting. What's your name?"

"Jones," Alfred said, trying to look away so as not to make a fool of himself again. The man hummed and walked off. "What an oddball Arthur has workin' for him. What kinda guy just sneaks up like that and then smiles." Alfred froze with his finger gently laying on the frame of a painting. "Francis would get along fantastically with him..." he said with a snort. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of yet another couple entering. "I feel like a fool, standing here all alone," he muttered, now trying to examine a rug hanging before him. He rolled his eyes and mockingly moved his mouth up and down as he listened to one woman talk about 'just how much she adored the pink piece'.

"Still as immature as that gangly adolescent you used to be, huh, Alfred?" Alfred frowned a little and turned around, only to whistle in awe.

"What's the expensive suit for, Arthur?" Arthur flushed and glanced away, a proud smirk on his face.

"Believe or not this is actually one of my cheaper ones," Arthur coughed out, still lucid enough to be boastful. He glanced back up with that same smirk, Alfred now bursting into laughter.

"You're so damn cocky, old man," Alfred chuckled out, patting the shorter's shoulder. Arthur winced and smiled awkwardly as he fought back the urge to rub his now pained shoulder.

"Don't call me that," he grumbled while stepping towards the back of the shop. Alfred grinned and skipped once in the other's direction, pressing his hat against his head.

"Alrighty then," Alfred said sing-song, eliciting a snicker from the other man. They stopped at a door in the far corner of the shop and Arthur turned to face his companion. He shook his head with a soft smile.

"Still so childish," he muttered and then just kept eye contact for a few moments. With a sniff, he turned around and pulled the door open, gesturing for Alfred to enter first. Behind the door was a small area with a staircase. Alfred hummed in curiosity as he stepped in and Arthur silently closed the door behind him. They stood at the base of the steps, Alfred just laughing in an exhale once.

"Do I just-?"

"You go up the stairs, Alfred," Arthur said facetiously.

"Ah, right, wasn't sure if we were just standing in this hall for a reason."

"We are not," Arthur replied with a grin as Alfred started making his way up. Alfred chuckled as if he just won a card game rather than make a fool of himself. "The door on the right should do it." Alfred hummed and pushed open a rather plain door sitting at the top of the staircase. Alfred glanced at another door to his side before walking in the newly revealed room.

"What's in there?"

"Ah a closet. It's for bicycles and the lot for those that use them," Arthur said after he followed in. Alfred did not even bother continuing the conversation for the next moment he was busy gawking at a set of photos laying on a neatly carved oak dresser. "I should have known that those would be the first thing you'd go for."

"Well of course I would! These are still just as amazing, I don't see why you didn't pursue this." Arthur walked up to a smiling Alfred, glancing over his shoulder to look at which photo he was staring at.

"Photography, like most arts, doesn't have good incomes... I saw it as nothing more than a hobby. Some of these I actually dug up just this morning..."

"Oh man, but you were always so fantastic at it..." Alfred muttered as he picked up another. What lured the American the most was what they were of. "These are all of your family's house in England. I recognize that one as the garden, and then... then this one is the shoe corner! Remember how you mother always made us put our shoes right there, by the front door because she thought we were seven or something and were playing in the mud." Arthur hummed, deadpanned, and gently took photos back.

"That's because, thanks to your ideas of fun, most of the time we did end up in the mud," Arthur said, trying to bite back the smallest bit of irritation as he stared at the picture of the shoes. It was shot at a low angle, making it seem as if the viewer were an insect that had crawled up to the dirt-caked shoes that took up one corner of the photo. He cringed and set it down quickly.

"Oh, wow, how old is this one?" Alfred asked with a much more calm and delicate tone. His eyes had widened tremendously in awe as he carefully picked up the small four-by-four photo in its tiny frame.

"A-ah, I actually just found that one today when sorting through one of my old trunks. Little surprised it has lasted this long to be honest..." Arthur stared at the picture for a few seconds and huffed. "Not my best shot... The lighting is terrible... And there was this one little annoyance that kept flittering into the shot right before I was about to take it."

Alfred snorted and playfully punched his companion's shoulder. "That little annoyance is really happy he kept floating into your picture. Gosh, I look so damn happy in this... But what's that thing?"

"Hmm?"

"Right there, in the corner." Arthur winced to see what Alfred was referring to, only to roll his eyes.

"That's my elbow, remember? You tried pulling me into the photo even though I was the one taking it." Alfred laughed several times and gave the photo one last look before setting it down.

"Can't say I recall, but that does sound like something I would've done, all right!"

"Mmm, yes it does." Arthur crossed his arms and carefully sidestepped into the larger portion of the main room. "Would you care for anything to eat or drink?"

Alfred glanced at Arthur before continuing to peer at the photos. "Ah, just some water for me please. And aren't we going to eat at a restaurant?"

"Restaurant?" Arthur asked as he poured a glass with water.

"You didn't honestly think I was just going to come over, see your shop, and then just mooch off ya for the evening, did ya?"

Arthur walked up and handed the glass over, some condensation dripping off. "Actually..."

Alfred raised an eyebrow as he took a drink from the cup.

"I just thought that you might want to see my business and how it works. You know, basic stuff."

"I didn't think there was much to it; you bring in furniture and rugs and other things from Europe and sell it, right?"

Arthur smiled, his face showing slight irritation, but at the same time mild happiness at knowing his friend was still the same. "I suppose that that is all there really is to it. You always had a skill for finding ways to simplify things to an almost deficient level, Alfred."

Alfred chuckled in amusement and shook his head. "Really the only question I have for you, old man, is how do you manage such a large income through just importing to a small shop in the middle of Utah."

Arthur hummed and walked over to a corner of the well-furnished room to where an oak coat hanger stood. He took a black coat from it and delicately put it on, Alfred watching the slender arms make their way through the somewhat thick sleeves.

"Well you see, we don't just sell our goods here. My partners own central hubs in a few other cities in the Western United States. After the war, everyone wanted to live a life of luxury, but it seemed like the western states were being deprived of some of the commodities. So... I supplied them." Arthur walked up to Alfred and looked at the half-empty glass Alfred had left on a nearby table. He reached over and quickly downed it before nodding to Alfred and trotting near the kitchen area.

"I have to admit, I am both impressed and somewhat envious of ya. You're a real testimony to entrepreneurs all over."

"Hmm, I suppose I am," Arthur said with a soft grin. He stepped towards the door they had just entered through several moments ago. "Well then, old friend. Shall we enjoy a night on the town?"

Alfred laughed through his nose and took a single stride before he was standing next to the other man.

"Sure thing, old man."

AN: So there is going to be a set pattern in some of the next couple of chapters involving the work as his job and reestablishing the relationship. Just saying as a heads up to what to look for ahead.

1.) Utah did not experience gang activity like Chicago and other large areas during this time, however, there was TONS of bootlegging from the citizens alone. And there was violence just as much amongst just those citizens. It was all rather odd, now that I think about it.

2.) The Estonian War of Independence took place from 1918-1920. Gosh, Estonia really needs to be more of a bad-ass in Hetalia. Just read about this war.