The next day was rough for Klavier. Daryan had hounded him about what had happened first thing in the morning and all of the details and why Klavier had a big bruise that was beginning to turn purple on his cheek. When Klavier told him about his father's incarceration, Daryan had nearly fallen out of his seat, hissing back, "What?! Really?!" He'd smiled as if it was cool, like it made Klavier a part of some awesome story, the son of a mobster who'd be able to escape prison somehow. Right? He'd escape, wouldn't he?

The truth was that Klavier had always known that his father didn't love him as much as he loved Kristoph, and yet he still wanted Papa back at home. Papa had never taken Klavier anywhere, done anything with him, but when he was younger, he remembered Kristoph asking why Papa never went to the pool with him anymore. Klavier remembered Papa saying that he was busy with work now that Mama was gone. Kristoph was the one who always did the work that Mama used to - Klavier had finally come to the realization that it was his own fault, that Papa looked down on him with anger for killing Mama in childbirth. Klavier had always hoped he'd have the opportunity to make it up to Papa, but now that he was gone, he felt incredibly empty. It was like there was no way for him to win, not anymore. He'd be left with these feelings to not being good enough for the rest of his life, wouldn't he?

He rubbed his cheek and wished he had the words to tell Daryan everything. He wondered if he'd actually tell him if he knew the words.

It was two weeks before Kristoph could go and visit Papa. The jailhouse was white and smelled like bleach - it unnerved Kristoph. Hearing some of the shouting and cursing, he was glad he didn't bring Klavier. Instead, he was with Mr. Gambino, who shuffled along silently behind him. When he got closer, it was like a cloud of cigar smoke would strike Kristoph in the face, but he never let it show. Politeness was important when dealing with people who were helping you.

The officer led them into the visitor's center, a dark little cubbyhole with one folding chair on their side of the glass - a room containing several large lights that set an artificial mood into place, another folding chair, a security camera, and one bored guard was on the other side of the glass. Mr. Gambino let Kristoph sit in the folding chair with an emphatic smile.

After a few minutes of tense chattering between the two about life at home, Augustus Goldstein entered in a prison uniform that hung loosely from his broad frame. Kristoph noticed that the beer belly Papa had begun to develop had quickly shrunken, and a part of him seemed broken. Dark circles hung like half-moons under his dark eyes. Papa refused to look at Kristoph as he sat with a curt drop. He was shocked at how poorly Papa looked - they'd told him that Papa would be treated better if he confessed, and it would go along better considering the amount of evidence they had against him. That and Mr. Gambino made it apparent that life would be hell for Kristoph and Klavier if Papa tried to fight against it.

Kristoph's features softened as he asked quietly in German, "Papa, how's your back?"

Papa sighed and stared at the wall behind Kristoph, rubbing the stubble that was developing on his chin. "The beds are hard and I can't ever get comfortable. I feel like I've been sitting on rock for… what is it now? Two weeks?"

Kristoph nodded. "Ja."

Papa leaned forward on his elbows, covering his face as he muttered, exasperated, "Lieber Gott."

Mr. Gambino piped up. "How about we speak in a manner that everyone here can understand, huh?" He leaned an elbow against the chair Kristoph sat in, the cloud of cigar smoke smothering him as Mr. Gambino continued to speak. "We're here to discuss what you want Kristoph doing from now on now that you're headed back home. Not schnitzel." As he laughed, and eventually began into a rolling coughing fit, Kristoph felt his eyes deaden as the stereotype rolled off the fat man's tongue.

When Mr. Gambino had recovered, he said, "Now, Augustus, don't look at me so seriously. You know that I jest."

Glancing up, Kristoph saw just what Mr. Gambino was talking about: Papa looked like he would have choked the lights out of Mr. Gambino if a sheet of glass wasn't separating them. The little rat deserved it, but Kristoph took a deep breath and composed himself, thinking of the English words he needed. "I will be continuing work as an attorney, Papa?"

Papa turned around to glance at the guard and the security camera. The guard kept one leery eye on the conversation, but had his head down.

Papa began to speak rapidly in German under his breath. "There's money to be had in the business I do and it's no different than scaring a few hens into dropping eggs. Let Klavier do all of the legal work -"

"You know I won't do that, Papa," Kristoph hissed back. "I'm going to be an attorney and Klavier will have his own life. I'll still work within it and it'll be neater."

"They're going to ask you for things and you need to give it to them, Kristoph!" Papa had a serious look about him, staring directly into Kristoph's eyes. "You must give it to them!"

Mr. Gambino interjected, "You're telling him that he's got a job with his friends, right?"

Papa smiled a large smile, one that Kristoph knew was as fake as fake could be. In English, "Of course!" He looked back at Kristoph with a smile. "Mr. Gambino works with a finance company and will want your help."

Kristoph glanced from the guard to his father to Mr. Gambino and he knew there was something he was missing. Slowly, he replied in English, "I will enjoy working with Mr. Gambino."

For a few tense moments, everyone was silent. Eventually, Kristoph cleared his throat and Mr. Gambino spoke up. "Been seein' a lot more of Klavier now that you're outta the house. I think the kid misses you, Augustus."

Papa's expression soured. He pursed his lips and sat back, crossing his arms and glancing away. "At least he's not with that little devil. Such a sad thing, a young boy with so much witchcraft in him." Then he glanced over to Kristoph and a small smile crossed his face. "Of course, that's probably thanks to my Kristoph. You're home much more than I am. You pull what good you can out of this - get Klavier away from that demon and set him back onto a righteous path."

Kristoph nodded. "I will, Papa. Honoring family is most important, is it not?"

"Attaboy!" Mr. Gambino clapped Kristoph on the bag and laughed loudly. "I could drink to that!"

Kristoph chuckled nervously. Then, in his faltering English, he said, "We need to leave. Klavier sends love."

Papa leaned forward. "But what about you, Kristoph? Are you alright?"

"It's just like it was for the most part with Klavier. Now I just have less time to study English."

"No, Kristoph." He began to speak tenderly in German, "I will be deported within the week, most likely. They want to make the process quick. Are you doing alright at home? I know my loving son always puts on a good face for his father and his little brother, but please, tell me the honest truth before you go. Tell me how you're feeling right now."

Kristoph took a deep breath, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to think about how to describe how he was feeling accurately. "I feel a constant roaring in the back of my head and my stomach does flips. I'm worried about you, Papa. I'm worried about Klavier. I worry that I'm not what this family needs."

Papa smiled a sad smile, little wrinkles glimmering around his eyes. "You'll do wonderful, Kristoph. I'll write to you while I'm in prison over in Germany. I'll help you do what I can. You just have to keep your head above water and do what I told you, do you understand?"

Kristoph nodded. "I understand, Papa."

They all said their goodbyes and Kristoph watched his father be led out and began to put a dampener on his own emotions. Control was everything he needed. As he sat in the passenger seat of Mr. Gambino's ratty little car and watched him light a fat cigar, he knew that this control was how he would get through this.

"Hey, kiddo, wanna grab a drink?"

Kristoph leered at Mr. Gambino from the corner of his eye. "Are you referring to alcoholic beverages?"

Mr. Gambino smiled and shook off the ash from the end of his cigar into the ash tray. "Yeah. We got some bars, it don't matter if you're under age or whatever if that's what you're worried about. We got some business to go over. You know poker?"

"Uh…" Kristoph took a minute to process everything and replied quietly, "What will poker have to do with my work?"

Mr. Gambino laughed. "It's alright, I'll show you."

The next ten minutes went by in silence, besides the occasional freight-train cough from Mr. Gambino. Kristoph wanted nothing more than to stick his head out the window like a dog, but instead suffered silently, doing his best to suppress any coughs that arose. After a few minutes of watching trees pass by, it transitioned into gray buildings. Eventually the constant motion made him begin to feel lightheaded and nauseous, so he sat back to stare at his feet.

The carpet in Mr. Gambino's car was probably originally a beige color, the kind that was typical in little sedans of that model. This one, unsurprisingly, had carpets the color of dust and the smell of cigars that would probably be there till the end of time. Kristoph imagined someone in a garbage dump years and years from now, dumping in coffee grinds and banana peels and bits and pieces of this carpet and choking on the scent of cigars. A throbbing headache suppressed a small chuckle.

When the car ride was over, Kristoph found himself outside of a dingy little hole in the wall with a neon sign in the front door flashing, "Jacks' Place!" A small leprechaun with a merry smile blinked wildly. Kristoph squinted and stepped out of the car, the fresh air doing wonders for his pounding head.

The bar was dimly lit, the inner walls dark brick that matched the brick on the outside of the building. A few pieces of cheesy sports memorabilia created black holes on the walls, contrasting against one flatscreen in the back corner. One old man, haggard and tired with a beer in his hand, sat staring at it, not flinching when the bell chimed to let the bartender know of Kristoph and Mr. Gambino's arrival. The bartender himself was a black man in a black t-shirt and pants, a black apron draped across a muscled figure. Upon their entrance, the man set down the glass and smiled, saying, "Hey, Roger! What can I get for you and your friend?"

Mr. Gambino smirked and leaned his stance back, pushing his chest forward. "Whatever Mr. Gavin here wants, you hear?"

Kristoph glanced from the bartender to Mr. Gambino, thinking about the name in English. "I am unsure of what to say it is."

The bartender raised his eyebrows and hummed in thought for a second before saying, "I'll list everything out to you." Pointing to one section full of clear bottles of clear alcohol, he said, "Vodka." Yellowed glass bottles: "Whiskey and bourbon." Another section of varying bottles, "Rum." Returning to the spot at the bar where Kristoph and Mr. Gambino stood, he explained, "There's also beer. I can make margaritas, which are sour and fruity. A screwdriver is orange juice and vodka, there's blood marys which are tomato juice and vodka along with some other spices, and there's long island iced teas which are made up of a bunch of different kinds of alcohol. Drink enough of 'em and they'll knock you flat on your ass, man." With a grin, he leaned back and set his hands on the bar. "So, what can I do you for, Mr. Gavin?"

Kristoph took a few moments to decide before saying, "I have never had a long island iced tea…" The accent came out on the unfamiliar grouping of words. "I will drink one of the long island iced teas."

Reaching up from underneath Kristoph's towering height, Mr. Gambino slapped a twenty down on the counter and said, "Make it two, Ray!"

Ray grinned and picked up two glasses, saying, "I'm on it, Roger."

After a few minutes of Kristoph watching bottles clink around, two glasses of what looked like innocent iced tea were placed in front of the two men. Mr. Gambino slapped Kristoph on the back and said, "Drink up, Kristoph."

Kristoph hesitantly picked up the glass and inspected it. He took one sip and found a burst of citrus on his tongue. Puzzled, he smiled and said, "It tastes like fruit."

Mr. Gambino slapped Kristoph on the back again, saying, "Attaboy!" Turning his attention to Ray, he asked, "Hey, Ray, you gotta deck we could borrow? We gonna talk business over a game of poker in the back room."

Ray's smiled dampened a bit, down to a polite and understanding smile. He pulled a deck up from behind the bar and said, "It's always open to you when you need it, Roger. If you need me, I'll be here." He immediately began cleaning glasses again, the smile gone.

The two shuffled towards the back with their drinks, where Mr. Gambino pushed open a door to reveal what was indeed a small back room, with one little table and a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. He pulled the cord to turn it on before closing the door. The red box sat simply on the little table, and Kristoph stared blankly. Mr. Gambino locked the door handle before sitting down on the far end of the table, squished up against the back wall. Kristoph sat down across from him, watching Mr. Gambino's hands as he shuffled the deck and dealt their hands. Afterwards, he stood once more to grab some poker chips from a little shoebox in the corner of the room.

After starting off, Mr. Gambino says, "We'll get you a gun. We run protection routes every day of the week, but your old man took off weekends to run numbers with me and Johnny - you'll meet Johnny."

To start off a conversation with the fact that Kristoph would need a gun as if it was nothing shocked the young man. He took one sip from his glass and continued staring at his cards, nodding. "That is just fine."

After a while of talking about times and places and a terrible game from Kristoph, Mr. Gambino stood up, saying simply, "I needa take a piss." Glancing down at Kristoph's glass, he said, "You're dry, Kristoph. I'll get you another."

Kristoph set down his hand, objecting. "No, no, I do not need to be drinking alcohol at an hour like this. I still have to return home and care for Klavier! I am fine, really."

The greasy mobster refused to listen - he grabbed up Kristoph's glass and went back out into the main bar area, claiming, "You been through a lot today, Kristoph. You deserve some drinks. Now don't look at my hand you sly dog!" And with a chuckle, he was gone.

Kristoph sat in silence. His head was already swimming. Alcohol had never been good in his system. He could also blame it on why he was playing so poorly.

He felt like it must have been at least ten minutes of him staring at the wall before Mr. Gambino came back with another long island iced tea in hand. Kristoph took one polite sip and noticed a new bitter flavor. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. Mr. Gambino said nothing and only had to place his bet before Kristoph found his eyes rolling in his head as he tried to focus on his cards. Widening his eyes and cleaning his glasses didn't help anything.

"I see my concoction's kicked in, huh, Mr. Gavin?" Mr. Gambino had a grave look on his face, eyebrows sagging and his little lips pulled into a scowl.

Kristoph set his hand down and leaned back in his chair, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. "What did you…" He tried to go into German but stopped himself. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. "What did you put into my beverage?"

Mr. Gambino leaned forward, lacing his stubby sausage fingers together in front of him. "Don't matter, kiddo. It'll be out of your system in a few hours. What does matter is that you're completely honest with me, and I've found that when someone's a lil souped up it helps with being honest."

Kristoph felt his tongue lolling around in his mouth as he tried to reply, but just odd noises came out.

"Kristoph, you gotta try harder than that." After a curt rap at the door, Mr. Gambino stood up and let in a thuggish man of extreme build. "I told you you'd meet Johnny. Johnny, this is Kristoph, Augustus's son."

Johnny nodded towards Kristoph. Kristoph squinted, wondering why Johnny had three heads.

Mr. Gambino sat down across from Kristoph again. "Kristoph, tell me, would you kill a woman whose husband wasn't paying his dues?"

Kristoph leaned forward. "Why would I kill someone?"

Mr. Gambino replied, "Wrong answer, Kristoph."