A/N: Do I really need to warn this chapter contains smoking? That seems silly so I'm ignoring the advice and not warning anybody about the use of tobacco products mildly described below.
Chapter 9 – The Company You Keep
Ianto arrived at Dylan's barber shop at exactly 9. His only concession to the casual nature of hanging out with friends was to leave the tie at home. Instead of a suit he wore a pair of slacks and a camel hair sport coat. He thought he looked sloppy, but he knew other people weren't as picky as he was.
He entered the shop and sheepishly went to the door leading to the back room. He knocked. He was suddenly nervous. Ianto was good at making a positive first impression. He was good at dealing with strangers. After having lunch with Dylan and Tom, he was referring to them as friends. He didn't know how to act around 'friends'. He'd been so busy trying to not think about Jack, he hadn't been thinking about his game plan for the night. He wondered if that was a mistake or if maybe that's the way other people lived their lives.
"Jaunty," Dylan exclaimed opening the door. "Come on in!"
Ianto wasn't expecting the back room to be as large as it was, but otherwise it looked basically like he thought it would. In spite of the size of the room, it was dominated by the large poker table. It was an oak, octagonal table with an aged, but intact green felt top. Along the wall shared with the barber shop, there was a set of cabinets, a small sink, and a counter top. There was a full size refrigerator in the corner. There was a black leather couch and two matching chairs in the back facing a large flat screen TV. The term 'man cave' came into Ianto's mind.
"I know you said not to bring anything, but I thought this might be a good place to share these," Ianto said handing a box to Dylan. "I'm not a smoker, but I told an acquaintance I occasionally smoke a cigar – these Montecristo 4s that have a hint of coffee taste. He turned out to be quite an aficionado and sent me this box of Montecristo No. 4 Reservas. No coffee taste, I'm afraid, but on the plus side, they are extremely expensive."
Dylan laughed and looked at the cigars. He looked like a kid with a candy bar. The bell over the front door clanged.
"You know my missus doesn't like me smoking," he said conspiratorially.
"Neither does my boss," Ianto whispered back and laughed. "He once saw me smoking and hit me right in the mouth. He says he can smell it for days." He didn't include Jack's more colorful description of kissing an ashtray or his even more colorful expression of sticking his dick in a smoking urn.
Tom came in with an old man around 75. He wasn't as well preserved as Tom and Dylan, but he had lively eyes. He switched his cane to his left hand and shook Ianto's hand.
"Dave Members, this is Ianto 'Jaunty' Jones. He says he doesn't like being called Jaunty so make sure you call him that," Tom said smiling.
"Nice to meet you, sir," Ianto said grinning.
"Wa-hoy! Jaunty has some manners on him, don't he?" Dave slapped Ianto's arm.
"Watch out, Jaunty," Dylan warned. "He's trying to size you up! Dave's a shark!"
Next, Mick came in and they had to recount the story to him of how Ianto had overheard him talking about Dylan's barber shop. They joked about 'Jaunty's' infamy at the Fish. The youngest of the group, was a man Ianto estimated was around 60 named Steve Wills, but everyone called him 'Ice Cream'. Ianto decided 'Jaunty' could have been a lot worse.
Ianto wasn't a great poker player, but he had an excellent poker face. Hanging out with his friends, senior citizen or not, was worth more to him than any poker pot, though. He'd often thought he was born in the wrong time. Hearing them tell stories about their heydays made him feel even more so. He had a little bit of a criminal in him and he had no doubt if he met these men in the early sixties he would have signed on to the crew. Ianto's purloined cigarette lighter got quite a use as he lit his new friends' cigars. He mentioned to them he took it while on the job without really thinking about it. That led to another round of stories.
They played cards, drank beer, drank some gin, drank a little scotch, smoked cigars, and told stories until after 2. Dave was asleep in one of the leather chairs and they'd stopped playing, but the rest were still telling Ianto stories. He could tell they had told some of these stories a hundred times before, but that didn't change how much they enjoyed telling them. Ianto was definitely enjoying hearing them.
Then his phone rang. He knew from the ring tone what it was before he looked at it. The text message confirmed his suspicion – "All hands on deck pronto". Ianto stood up and immediately regretted how much he had drank.
"Sorry guys, but the boss beckons."
"This time of night," Mick asked. "It can't be good if it's this late."
"It never is," Ianto said.
"Don't forget breath mints and a splash of cologne," Dylan said.
"Is he going to work or on a date," Tom laughed.
Definitely not a date, Ianto thought.
"The boss doesn't like smoking," Ianto said.
"Clipped him in the kisser last time," Dylan said.
"He sounds like a tough guy for an American," Ice Cream said.
"You have no idea," Ianto said thinking about Jack punching a Weevil. "Thanks for including me tonight."
"I can't remember the last time we played this late," Tom said yawning. "Come back next week and bring more money."
Ianto was about to respond when he heard the bell over the outside door. He looked at the others.
"I wasn't expecting any party crashers," Dylan said approaching the door.
A crash came from the back door. Whatever it was caused the door to shake. There was a moment of silence then another crash as the back door fell and another almost simultaneously as the inside door shattered. Eight heavily armed men wearing black uniforms entered the room. Ianto relaxed as he realized it wasn't an alien menace.
It was the police.
It wasn't the first time Ianto had been arrested, but it was the first time he was arrested holding a Glock. He found police were much less friendly this time around. He didn't really blame them, except he wasn't sure why they were arresting him. At the station, someone said something about illegal gambling in a way that conveyed they knew it was ridiculous, but weren't they clever for thinking of it.
Ianto knew he could say the magic words and they'd release him. The main problem with that was they would call Torchwood and they would never let him live it down. Worse, Jack might disavow Ianto. He assumed Jack was angry by that point. He'd called in everybody and now, an hour later, there was still no Ianto. If he noticed, and based on their previous conversation Ianto was sure he would, Ianto would be in hot water.
On the other hand, Ianto didn't want to abandon his friends. He could imagine them seeing him leave and assume he 'ratted them out'. He didn't want to risk offending his new friends, particularly friends who in spite of their ages were still criminals who were proud of being notorious and dangerous.
Ianto Jones? Sure, Ianto imagined someone saying, he lived through Daleks, Cybermen, cannibals, Hoix, Weevils, and a pterydactyl. Shame we never found his body after he was killed by a group of pensioners.
Ianto stayed the course and kept to his cover story of being a quiet cog in the Cardiff tourism machine. The Glock, however, did not lend itself to the story.
"Right, Mr. Jones. You're just a humble public servant. Does the tourist bureau give guns to all their clerks or were they expecting trouble on the Quay?" Ianto didn't recognize the policeman questioning him. He was middle aged, English, with a bushy mustache. He introduced himself as Lead Detective of the Organized Crime Taskforce instead of by name.
"It's not mine," Ianto said. Technically, Ianto thought, he wasn't lying. It was Torchwood's gun. He was only the custodian of the gun.
"You think you're a real tough customer, don't you," the detective consulted his file, "'Jaunty' Jones?"
"That's not actually in the file, is it," Ianto asked frowning.
"Ianto Jones," the policeman read, "aka Jaunty Jones. Don't you like your nickname?"
"Not particularly. Is there a way to change that? I don't want to get pulled over for a speeding ticket and have the officer say 'Do you know why I pulled you over, Jaunty?'"
"Not to worry, Jaunty. You won't be driving anywhere anytime soon."
He stood up, turned his chair around and sat down. As far as intimidation tactics went, Ianto wasn't impressed. In a different scenario he would have laughed.
"I think we can work something out, though. Get you out on your Vespa in no time. According to the profile they worked up for you, you like to be well dressed, well mannered, and courteous. I suppose that's where 'Jaunty' comes from, eh? Well, Jaunty, this would be a good time for you to extend that infamous courtesy to me. I'm known for being polite. We could have a nice chat. Why don't you tell me about your organization, hmm?"
"The goal of the Cardiff Tourist Board is to make Cardiff more accessible to the..."
"You're trying my patience, Jones!" Ianto blinked at the interruption.
"That wasn't very polite," Ianto said.
The Detective glared at Ianto. He put a tape recorder on the table. He pressed play.
"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, I reckon we do."
"There's no shame in knowing who not to push."
"Yeah, Jack, that's my boss, Jack said 'looking a little shaggy, soldier'. Even told me to take the morning off to make sure I got it done right."
"A good soldier follows orders. A lot of these gangs today just don't understand. Everybody wants to be the general."
The Detective hit stopped the tape.
"A good soldier. Do they have ranks in the Cardiff Tourist Board?" The Detective hit play again.
"This isn't going to take all morning. Only going to use the razor a little. You've got really good hair."
"Thanks. I'll have time to look for a new suit. For an office boy, you'd be amazed the battering my clothes take...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 Detective hit stop again.
"A professional! You people amaze me. You casually talk about whacking people then go right back to talking about hair. It doesn't bother you a bit, does it?"
"I'm not a killer," Ianto said wearily. It had to be after seven. He was sober and hungry. If he didn't get some water soon he was afraid he'd get a hangover headache even though he felt fine at the moment. He was rethinking his plan to keep Torchwood out of this.
"No, of course not. You're a travel booth operator who blows huge sums of money on expensive suits and steak dinners." The Detective fiddled with the recorder then sat it down on the table and hit play. There was laughter and then a familiar ring.
"Sorry guys, but the boss beckons."
"This time of night? It can't be good if it's this late."
"It never is."
"Don't forget breath mints and a splash of cologne."
"Is he going to work or on a date?" More laughter.
"The boss doesn't like smoking."
"Clipped him in the kisser last time."
"He sounds like a tough guy for an American."
The Detective hit stop.
"I think you remembered what happened after that. So, the 'boss' doesn't like long hair or smoking? Punched you in the mouth! Sounds like a real nice guy. He's an American? Jack, wasn't it? What's his surname?"
"I made it up," Ianto said. "I work for the Cardiff Tourist Board. You can call and verify. Look, somehow a crazy story got started and people think I'm some kind of...gangster. It's nice to not be discounted as just a brochure pusher so I play along."
"Come on, Jaunty, you aren't that creative. We know that he's real. Now, American Jack, Boss Jack – what kind of nickname is that?"
"Sometimes I call him 'Captain'," Ianto offered. "Does that sound more to your liking?"
"Actually, yeah, Capo Jack, the American shot caller. He sounds like a tough guy. He's probably real upset we broke up the party last night. Oh," the Detective said in mock surprise, "he was expecting you, wasn't he? Gosh, I hope that hasn't dropped you in the soup."
Ianto didn't respond. He smiled patiently and waited.
"If he punched you for smoking, what does he do for tardiness? Control freak like that might do anything! So, Capo Jack – is he in with the Italians? How well connected is he?"
"Not to be rude," Ianto said, "but sod off. If I were part of a criminal enterprise, I wouldn't tell you anything. As I'm not, I can't tell you anything. This is wasting your time and mine."
"You've got a point, Jaunty. Why don't I have them take you back to the cells so it will only be your time getting wasted?" The Detective stood up and called for another officer.
Ianto was manhandled back to the cells. Ianto cursed his luck while lamenting the lack of any when they turned the corner and nearly ran headlong into PC Andy Davidson. He'd only met him a week earlier when he'd run into Gwen having tea with him. He hadn't planned to say hello, but Gwen waved him over and introduced them as former coworker and current coworker.
Ianto ducked his head down and hoped Andy didn't make the connection. The last thing he needed was Andy getting Gwen bloody Cooper involved. Then again, the police were taking this seriously. Maybe it was time to play the Torchwood card.