Chapter 4 – Too Pretty for Prison

"I think there's been some misunderstanding," Ianto said calmly. He really had his heart set on being killed by an alien while defending the Earth. Being killed by senior citizen outlaws was only slightly above being killed by the alien equivalent of a can opener on his ever growing list of ways to die.

"Don't play us as stupid, Jaunty," the well-dressed man said. Ianto decided to try a different tact. He'd tell the truth. Well, he'd tell a truth.

"Look, I'm just the office boy. I do accounting. I'm front office. They made me go out to do something more hands on and I got my arse kicked."

"He is too pretty for prison," Dylan said. He laughed. "Remember Handsome Harry Listin?" The well-dressed man snapped his fingers.

"That's who I was trying to place! You look like Handsome Harry!" Both men laughed.

"Sounds like you liked good ol' Harry," Ianto said hoping that bonhomie transferred to him.

"His name wasn't even Harry. It was Glenn, but he looked like a Harry." Dylan smiled at Ianto's reflection in the mirror. "Poor guy didn't make it a week in prison."

"Cor! That was a mess. So, office boy, you got a message from your master for us?"

"Honestly? No. Look, your business hasn't been affected by us, right? Your business is none of our business. We've coincided a long time. Why rock the boat?" Ianto hoped they believed him.

"You are one cool customer, Jaunty Jones. I don't believe you're just an office boy for a moment, but you have a point and we are semi-retired. And," he said examining Ianto's head again, "you do need a trim. Smart dude like you probably goes to a salon."

"Well, there's this unisex place I went to, but my boss was emphatic I go to a proper barber for a razor cut. He isn't the type of man you go against, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Dylan said picking up a comb. "I reckon we do." He combed through Ianto's hair. The well-dressed man sat down in the barber chair next to Ianto's.

"There's no shame in knowing who not to push," he said sagely looking at his scar in the mirror. Ianto, who only seemed to talk to strangers, kept talking.

"Yeah, Jack, that's my boss, Jack said 'looking a little shaggy, soldier'," Ianto said switching to a barely passable American accent. "Even told me to take the morning off to make sure I got it done right."

"A good soldier follows orders," the man said pointing at Ianto's reflection. "A lot of these gangs today just don't understand. Everybody wants to be the general."

"This isn't going to take all morning," Dylan said confidently. He flipped open a straight razor at Ianto's eye level. "Only going to use the razor a little. You've got really good hair."

"Thanks," Ianto said not sure if he was more concerned the man was going to kill him or if the man was going to give him a bad haircut. "I'll have time to look for a new suit. For an office boy, you'd be amazed the battering my clothes take." The sharp dressed man stared at him in the mirror. He felt the need to elaborate. "You know, clean up stuff."

"Ah, wet work. Thought you had that look about you. One professional to another, you can always tell. You can call me Tom, by the way," the stylish man said.

Ianto was afraid he'd just confessed to being a hitman. He replayed what he said. No, he'd said clean up and Tom had assumed. It wasn't his fault what people assumed.

"Do you know the dry cleaner off Havelock," Tom asked.

"Oh yeah, he does good work. I went through a dozen before I found one who wouldn't ask awkward questions." Ianto had found the dry cleaner to be a Godsend. He'd wondered what other customers the place had that made them look at a bloodstained dress shirt with the same blasé attitude they looked at an ink stained sleeve.

"He's pricey, but worth it. Who does your suits?"

Compared to Tom, Ianto was feeling ratty in his old suit.

"This is from London. You know how that goes – twice the price, half the quality. I need to find a place locally before I run out of suits. Nothing like a little suit shopping."

"I've got just the place! Sid and Sid's father before him are an institution. You can carry on the tradition. He knows the special extras men like us need," Tom said conspiratorially.

"Can he reinforce the knees," Ianto asked without thinking it through. He was pretty sure Tom and Dylan were not of the lavender persuasion.

"Absolutely! Extra hidden pocket in the front, double stitching in the waist, neat tailoring on the waist coat to eliminate any unseemly bulges. The man is an artist!"

"Speaking of artist, what do you say about that," Dylan said handing Ianto a hand mirror.

"Wow, that's sharp!" It was the fastest haircut he'd ever had. Dylan turned his chair so Ianto could examine the back. It was perfect.

"People forget that the Book is also the Barber," Dylan said brushing off the barber's cape still wrapped around Ianto. "Kept the sideburns long, but that's easy to shorten if you want. Wash, dry, a little pomade and Bob's your uncle." Dylan removed the barber's cape with a flourish. Tom went into the backroom.

Ianto stood up and took another look in the mirror. He couldn't remember the last time he was this pleased with a haircut. He was also pleased they weren't going to kill him.

"How much do I owe you," Ianto asked.

"On the house. Call it a professional courtesy. It's nice to have someone come in for a haircut! I've still got the skills," Dylan said. Ianto knew that look. It was the look of a man confident in a job well done, a passion for something most people wouldn't dream of affording meaning to. He had that look when he made cappuccino. He knew no thank you was necessary, but he also knew how much it was appreciated.

"Thank you, Dylan." Ianto felt along the neckline. He couldn't wait to feel Jack's lips brush against it. "This is the best haircut I've ever had. Seriously. To me you will always be the Barber." Ianto watched the old man's smile grow even wider.

That was how Ianto would look if one person, just one, just once, said thank you. Oh they moaned about how bad other peoples' coffee was in comparison, but that was hardly the same thing. He actually kept a tally for everyone and how many times they thanked him when he brought them their beverages or food. Tosh had the current record with a grand total of four.

Tom came out of the back room wearing a trench coat that, like the rest of his wardrobe, Ianto admired. It was perfect for someone as tall and thin as Tom. Ianto always thought he had the body of a butcher. He didn't see anything elegant or refined about it. He'd never get away with a coat like that. He made a mental note to get back in the habit of going to the gym.

"Ready to go? You're going to love this place!" Tom, who had intimidated and scared Ianto nearly to tears, had transformed into a sort of friendly uncle.

"Are you sure you don't mind? I don't want to wreck your morning." Ianto reminded himself that he didn't really know these people and Tom had made it fairly clear that he was a professional killer. Old man or no, maybe going shopping with him was a bad idea.

"Mind? This is a treat! Let's go!" Tom turned and Ianto caught another glimpse of lining.

Ianto thanked Dylan again and followed after Tom. He was willing to risk his life if it meant he could get a suit like that.

"This," Tom said unimpressed, "is your car?" He quirked an eyebrow at Ianto.

"Yes, it's a very safe car." It was a 1997 Audi A4. Everyone seemed to hate Ianto's car. "And it's invisible."

"An invisible car? I didn't realize you were a drinker!" They got into the car.

"If you see this car on the road, what do you think?" Ianto waited a moment. "Exactly. You don't think anything. You don't go 'oh, that's flash' or 'I've always wanted one of those'. You ignore it. I can follow anybody and they don't pay any attention. I need to lose a tail? The car has no glaring feature that makes it obvious to spot."

"You've thought a lot about this." Tom nodded.

"Professional hazard." Ianto didn't mention he got that information from a spy movie or that a man killed himself in it and that was another professional hazard. His practical nature said 'what's one more body?', but if he was honest with himself that was the real reason he'd been driving the Vespa so much lately. He wanted to go car shopping, but he hadn't done it yet. He was dreading it. He was sure Jack would want to help him.

"That kind of thinking should really impress your boss." Ianto almost laughed.

"No, he isn't the type who gets impressed." Ianto thought for a moment. "No, scratch that. He is impressed by me a lot by really trivial things because he always underestimates me. And he hates this car. He thinks I should buy a fancy new sports car."

"Good for picking up the ladies." Tom smiled.

"That's probably why he wants me to buy it so he can borrow it." Ianto smiled. He knew Jack didn't need that kind of prop to pick up chicks. He wouldn't want to compete with a flashy car for someone's attention.

"You admire him, don't you?"

Ianto didn't know what to say. Afraid he would say more than he should he nodded noncommittally.

"That's something else your contemporaries are missing. You take orders and you are loyal. You scared of him?"

"Terrified," Ianto said turning down the street Tom was indicating.

"Good! Don't get complacent! I got this from letting my guard down," Tom said pointing to his scar. "You work with someone long enough, go through enough shit, and the lines between coworkers and friends begin to blur. By the time you realize your best friend is really a rival and remember that getting along isn't why you do the job, it's too late. Worse if you forget your boss is the guy in charge or if you start to think being his pal will equate to special treatment."

"Luckily I've got low self-esteem so I don't expect special treatment." They laughed.

The building Tom directed him to was in a not so nice part of town. It was a bland, brick building. The first floor was a vacant store front. A window on the second floor had "Catelli's Modern Menswear" painted on it. Based on the state of the paint, Ianto guessed 'Modern' referred to some time around 1960. Ianto had a good feeling about the place.

The inside of the building was in better shape. Tom still suggested against taking the 100 year old elevator. That was fine with Ianto, especially after his pledge to return to the gym, but he was worried about Tom. It turned out he needn't be. He practically bounced up the stairs.

"Sid," Tom called out when they entered the room on the 2nd floor, "got a customer for you!"

Sid came out from behind a purple curtain. He was older than Ianto expected. Then again, he thought as he looked the man over, he was probably only 50, but unlike the spry 70 year-olds, he was strained and beaten down.

"Sid, this is Jaunty Jones. He's in a similar line of work and has similar taste in clothes. He's in the market for a new suit."

"How do you do," Ianto said extending his hand. "And it's Ianto. I really don't know where Jaunty came from." Ianto didn't like having a nickname. Every time someone called him 'Jaunty' he felt a little bit more like he was part of the criminal element. At least it wasn't "Yan".

Sid eagerly took his hand in a two handed grip. He smiled and greeted Tom.

"Is Mr. Jones your grandson?"

"Nah, you know I don't have any family left. Jaunty's a new friend with a good eye for the old ways. How's your granddaughter?"

"She's good. She's helping me a few days a week. She's got potential. Her father, God rest his soul, was no tailor. She's got the skills to sew, but she doesn't quite understand the importance of the cut."

"That'll take some time. Helping on this one might be just the thing! Jaunty has a few special needs."

"Excellent! Let's talk about styles!"

Ianto was strangely content to talk with Tom and Sid about lapels and waistcoats for 30 minutes. Once Sid had a good idea of what Ianto wanted, he pulled out the fabric swatches. Immediately Ianto saw the one he wanted. It was a dark grey with a red pinstripe.

"Would it be overkill to wear a red shirt?" Ianto smiled like a kid picking out his first bicycle.

They took a few measurements. This was temporarily made awkward as Ianto had forgotten he had his trouser holster hooked onto the back of his waistband. The moment was only awkward for Ianto. Sid simply made a note of Ianto's preferred location for the holster. He also noted Ianto's special requests without so much as batting an eye.

Ianto tried to give Sid a down payment for the suit, but he insisted he knew Mr. Jones was good for the money. He made an appointment to come back Friday for a fitting. He took Tom back to the barber shop and promised to pick him and Dylan up before the fitting for lunch. Driving to Torchwood he was humming. They might have been unconventional and criminals and three times his age, but Ianto Jones finally had friends.