Five
Warehouse District
October 21, 11:24 PM
It was a cold night, heralding the onset of winter. There was no moon and the stars' shine seemed muted behind a thin layer of clouds, shrouding the foreboding alleys of downtown New York in inky darkness. It was the sort of night where decent people stayed at home, for there was no telling what terrible things might happen in the dark but it was assured that you would never be found.
Garret stood in that darkness, huddled in his coat as he waited for Varric's new contact to appear. A few weeks back, his boss had sat his employees down and explained their financial situation. The prostitutes weren't overly happy about having to pay more out of their own pocket, but in the end they all agreed to do so; they had become too accustomed to their rather lavish lifestyle and not having to worry about food every day.
With that taken care of, Varric had then herded Garret into his private office. It wasn't often that the young man was called in here, and for a moment the fear that he might be let go flickered through his mind. Without this job, how would his family live? Leandra and Gamlen relied on this paycheck and it was highly unlikely that Garret would be able to find anything that paid nearly as much—not to mention that a resume of "illegal alcohol salesman" probably wouldn't help him much when searching for other work.
"I'm going to offer you a proposition, Garret. If you don't like what you're hearing, feel free to walk away. I won't force you into anything."
"I'm not a hit man, Varric," Garret quipped, desperately hoping that he hadn't hit the nail on the head.
Luckily, that made the man laugh. "Nothing so drastic, I assure you. But it will involve a great deal of personal risk, so I want you to think long and hard before you accept what I offer."
Garret swallowed past the nervous lump growing in his throat. "Well, don't keep us in suspense."
"I've found a new business partner. I won't go into the specifics of our arrangement, but in short: he'll supply me with alcohol so long as I supply a safe haven for his bootleggers. What I need is a go-between: someone I can trust to handle the transactions, keep an eye on his men, and make sure that my product arrives safely. Understand?"
"Yes." He had seen such arrangements many times before—hell, he'd done the same job Varric was asking of him now. Garret hadn't expected to be pushed back into that position, but…
"Good. I trust you, Garret, to make sure that this guy doesn't short me. But this is no simple job. If you accept, there will always be the risk that something could go wrong—gangsters aren't trustworthy. I have faith that you can handle it."
That had been the proposition and now here Garret stood, weeks later, waiting for his contact to show. This was their first meeting and although Garret knew what he was doing, he couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. In a way, this was no different than his previous life, except that it paid quite a bit more.
How do I always get myself into these situations? He asked himself—not for the first time.
"I think that's our man." Aveline's voice was a welcome strength at his side; she didn't agree with any of this, but like him had gone against her better judgment for the pay.
Garret looked up to where he could just barely make out a shadowy figure approaching them from the opposite end of the alley. The dark night was helpful in disguising their movements, but it sure made things seem more sinister. The figure appeared as nothing more than a blurred shadow with grotesque shadows lumping in around it. Perhaps the man was hunched over and that was why it looked like he had no head; or perhaps demons were real and Garret would finally get to discover whether or not Hell existed.
He muttered a quick prayer beneath his breath for the former.
Sure enough, as the figure moved closer into the small ring of light let off by the guttering torch Aveline held, their contact revealed himself as a slight man donned in a heavy coat and wool hat that obscured his form and face. Garret inwardly chided himself for allowing childish fantasies to plague his mind as he squared his shoulders to face the man.
"Zevran Arianai, I presume?" Garret said, his deep voice rumbling in the cold emptiness of the night.
"Indeed I am." The man pulled his hat back a bit and lifted his face to match Garret's gaze with a pair of amber eyes that seemed to be laughing. "But please, my friends call me Zev."
His voice held a deep Italian accent, his skin a smooth bronze from a childhood spent in sunnier pastures. For a moment, Garret found his eyes drifting across the slender body, wondering what that coat hid…
Zevran seemed to understand what was on the young man's mind and he shifted a bit, amber eyes gleaming deviously. "Aren't you a catch? It will be far from a hardship to get better acquainted, no?"
Aveline elbowed Garret from behind and he quickly regained his composure. "Do you have the supply?"
"Ah, straight to business, I see. It does not always hurt to add a little foreplay, my friend." Zevran winked. "Remember that."
"Just get on with the transaction," Aveline growled. "I didn't come here to listen to your silver tongue."
"My tongue is quite a bit more talented than that, I assure you." Another wink, and then the man was motioning for them to follow before either of them could make another retort. Garret felt into the pocket of his own overcoat to check that the comfortable weight of his revolver was still there. Hopefully he wouldn't need it, but he had learned through much trial and error to always bring along a "bargaining chip" just in case matters went sideways fast.
Zevran led them to the entrance of a small, nondescript warehouse just a few blocks away. They were near to the docks and Garret could feel the cool, salty air of the ocean drifting over his skin. He was reminding himself to find a warmer jacket as he watched the Italian's lithe fingers insert an old key into the padlock holding the door shut. With a few swift movements, the lock was removed and the door swung open. Zevran swept one arm out as he bowed low in front of the open portal.
"Benvenuto! Please, after you."
"You first," Garret said.
"You think me capable of deception?" Zevran straightened and held a hand over his heart with a look of mock hurt on his face. "Such suspicion! You wound me, my friend!"
"Just show us the damn stock," Aveline snapped. The burly redhead had little patience for fools.
"Ah, but I fear my heart may never mend." There was a smile in the man's eyes as he spoke, turning with a dramatic flourish to enter the building first. "It will be hard for us to be friends if you do not show a little trust, no?"
"We're not friends, we're business associates," Garret said.
"Why not both?"
Garret sighed. "Please, just show us what you have. I'd like to get home before daylight."
"Very well." Zevran started in, then paused. The warehouse was even darker than the streets; Aveline's torch could only show the shadowed outline of the Italian's face as he turned and regarded the pair curiously. "It just occurred to me that I do not even know your names. This is a bad way to start a business association, no?"
"I'm Garret. She's Aveline."
"Garret and Aveline…strong names indeed. It is no wonder our mutual benefactor chose employees such as you to carry out this kind of work."
"You're stalling again."
"Ah! Forgive me! My tongue does enjoy running away." Zevran's wink was aimed at the Irish woman this time, followed by a low laugh as Garret stepped in between the pair to keep his friend from charging forward.
"Right this way, my fearless associates." The Italian started walking deeper into the warehouse, seeming not to need any light to know where he was headed. Garret tried to keep a similar composure, but every now and again he would trip over his own feet or a rough patch of concrete on the floor; from the low curses being muttered behind him, he knew Aveline wasn't faring any better.
Finally, Zevran halted and knelt down in front of something that looked to Garret like nothing more than a giant blob of shadow. The Italian motioned for the torch to be brought forward and Aveline complied, grumbling beneath her breath. As the small circle of light fell over the blob, Garret sucked in a sharp breath. Not just one blob, but dozens—perhaps even more, hidden in the inky darkness of the warehouse's grip. From what Garret could see, their contact had enough liquor to supply the Hanged Man for months—and that was with a busy crowd each night!
"Not bad, no?" Zevran was watching his face with a self-satisfied smirk. "It won't be possible to move it all tonight, but we have at least a couple more nights under the new moon. Should be enough time to transport it to your patron's bar."
"How did you get all of this?" Garret breathed.
Zevran waved his hand in a dismissing gesture. "It's a long, boring story. Let's get started while the night is young. You brought a buggy, no?"
"Y-yes. It's down the next alley."
"Well then, my good man! Bring it around and we shall start loading it up!"
Garret obeyed and within a couple of hours they had an entire horse-drawn wagon loaded with the illegal merchandise. They pulled a large canvas over the bottles and tied them to the four ends of the cart, securing the load as best they could. Chances were good that any divots in the road might jostle the wagon and thus sprinkle the night with the sound of tinkling glass, but Garret was hoping that they wouldn't meet anyone along the way. Fenris had agreed to take charge of this route tonight and so long as the officer completed his end of the bargain, they wouldn't see any stray cops wandering about.
Aveline jumped up into the driver's seat and took the reins, gently whipping their old nag into ambling. The wagon was heavy enough and so Garret and Zevran were forced to walk behind it. Garret assumed that time was nearing one or two 'o' clock by now and he distantly felt a little guilty that he would not make it home in time once again.
At least Carver won't be there to hound me, he reminded himself, but it was little comfort.
"You don't seem the sort to be working in this sort of business, if you don't mind me saying."
Garret looked over at Zevran who was regarding him with hooded eyes. "Why do you say that?"
"I've spent my fair share of time around the tough sort both here and back in Italia. They always have a certain air about them, no? You, my friend, do not have that air."
"Are you implying I'm not tough?"
"Not at all," he replied with a chuckle. "I imply only that your brand of toughness does not seem suited for this work. Neither does lovely Aveline's, for that matter. The woman is scary—no doubt—but it seems to me as if you'd both be better suited to a life of legality."
Garret shrugged, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the man's scrutiny. "Work is work. We do what we have to in order to survive."
"Ah, from your mouth to my own heart, signore. I understand and I am not judging. I was merely making an observation, sì?"
They made it the rest of the way to the saloon in silence and without incidence. Aveline parked the wagon in the alley behind the bar before moving back to the front to open the back door while Garret and Zevran began untying and unloading its contents. Moments later, Aveline appeared once more behind the back set of double doors. The "back door" was really more of a cellar door that led into the bar's basement, and it was down a long flight of cement stairs that the trio carried their cargo.
It took about half an hour to get all the crates into the cellar. Once they were done, Garret and Zevran went inside and locked the cellar door behind them while Aveline led their horse to the small stable Varric kept behind the saloon to get the nag rubbed down and fed. Zevran followed Garret up into the main parlor of the bar—which was empty—and then up the small flight of stairs to Varric's office.
"Come in," the man's muffled voice bade from the other side of the door when Garret knocked.
Garret held the door open for Zevran before stepping in behind him and softly shutting the wooden portal, so as not to wake any of the prostitutes or any customers they might still be entertaining. The Italian removed his coat and hat, handing them both to Garret who hung them on the nondescript coat rack next to the door. Now that he was no longer obscured by the heavy garments, Garret noticed how slender the man really was, from his long neck to his narrow hips and beyond. The way he moved reminded the young man of Isabela as he gracefully swayed with each step before gently lowering himself in the straight-backed chair positioned in front of Varric's desk.
There was something enchanting about him, and yet Garret felt little sexual attraction. For the first time in weeks, he found himself thinking of Anders. How was it that the fairy had enchanted him where this man did not? Anders was far more muscular and if anything Zevran struck a more "pansy-like" picture than the blonde; and yet it was still the imprint of Anders's eyes that made Garret feel hot, not Zevran's mischievous amber gaze.
"Since you are here, I'll assume that it was a success." Varric leaned back in his own chair, appraising the Italian with a studious gaze.
"But of course! Your new product is stashed safely in the cellar, as promised."
"All of it?"
"Alas, but it would not all fit in your wagon. If I may borrow young Garret and lovely Aveline again in a couple of nights, we will have the rest safely delivered as well."
"Why wait? Couldn't you transport the rest tonight?"
"We could, but I think that unwise. The officer under your pay will look less suspicious if we space out the times of delivery and I'd rather not tread the same paths twice in so short a time. This is valuable, dangerous cargo after all, no?"
Varric had been nodding throughout the explanation. "I understand. The supply and danger are yours, so I trust that you know what you're doing. Just keep in mind my own people being placed at risk in this situation, as well."
"You needn't worry about that. Garret and I have become buoni amici," he looked over his shoulder at the young man and winked, "have we not?"
Garret rolled his eyes and remained silent; Zevran chuckled. "See? Good friends. And I would sooner take my own life than risk the health of my friends."
"I'll hold you to that. Now, concerning prices…"
Garret listened to the pair haggle for a little while, but exhaustion was quickly catching up with him. It was closer to three than two now and the only thing he wanted to do was head home to his warm bed and sleep for a week. Varric noticed that his bartender was falling asleep standing up and bade the young man to leave. It would be a good idea to keep a close eye on Zevran, but it was unlikely that the sly Italian would try anything funny. After all, it benefitted him more to keep this business with Varric than to betray the saloon owner.
Aveline was just entering the bar when Garret reached the main parlor and he paused a moment to fill her in on what he could remember. She shooed him out the door before heading up the stairwell to Varric's room to play as bodyguard; it was rare that the Irish woman trusted anyone, but she seemed to have a certain personal animosity towards smooth-talking Italians. Or maybe it was just Zevran. Either way, Garret knew he didn't want to get in the middle of that confrontation.
For some reason, Garret found that from the moment Anders had entered his thoughts, he couldn't shake the image of the man's face from the forefront of his mind. He hadn't seen the blonde since that night at the bar which had been nearly a month ago. Back then, Garret had hoped that Anders might make it a nightly habit to sit and visit; but after the first week had passed and he hadn't shown himself, the young man had given up that hope. A part of him had wanted to go and see the fairy—Garret did know where he lived, after all—but every time he started in that direction, his mind would invent some excuse that would instantly have him turning back around.
It was a strange paradox Garret found himself trapped in: his body and heart desired to see Anders, to talk to him, but his mind was too afraid that talk might lead to something else. The city accepted fairies as a normal fixture for the most part, but there were still societal undertones that controlled a man's life and made him less likely to step into the unknown. Garret valued his privacy and the last thing he wanted was to bring attention to himself by being seen walking down the street with a beautiful man on his arm. What would mother think?
And yet it seemed that his body was in control that night, for when Garret finally tuned into his surroundings, he realized that his instincts had not led him home but rather to the rundown tenement building where Anders lived.
He gazed up at the dark windows, torn. His legs wanted to keep moving towards the door—his heart was saying "You've already come this far, might as well." But his mind was trying to shut off everything else as it warned him against this line of action. "Go home," it said. "Turn around and go home."
But Garret was tired and it was unlikely that his legs would have carried him all the way back across town, anyways. So it was that he began up the steps to the tenement building, heart pounding in anticipation.
There was a slim, gaudily-dressed figure seated on the low stone railing of the stairwell. As Garret approached, the figure straightened elegantly and moved towards him, the edges of a faded satin dress sweeping delicately across the ground.
"Good evening, hon," an obviously masculine voice said from the face of a handsome woman. "Looking for some fun?"
"N-No. Sorry." Vaguely, Garret recognized the fairy from that first night Anders had brought him here. There had been a few of them gathered around the stairs then, all chatting and giggling like girls as their eyes followed him inside.
"Hmph. Well, that's a shame." A pale hand reached out to gently press against Garret's bearded cheek. "You and I could have a lot of fun together."
"Do you know Anders?" Garret asked, resisting the urge to take a step back. Insulting the fairy would not help him find the blonde.
"Anders? Why?" Emerald eyes regarded him shrewdly. But before Garret could attempt to explain himself, those eyes widened and the fairy gasped. "Wait…I know you. You're the delicious piece Anders brought home a while back! How could I forget that face?"
"Um, yes, well…do you know where Anders is? I…need to talk to him."
The fairy's face fell a bit and he began to chew on his bottom lip nervously. Garret felt apprehension grip the base of his spine.
"Well, you see…"
"Is he all right? What happened?" Garret started walking past the man towards the building. Slender hands gripped his arm, trying to stop him.
"Wait! You shouldn't go up there!"
Garret rounded on the fairer man, exhaustion forgotten and eyes blazing. "Unless you plan on stopping me, I suggest you stand aside."
"Ohh, scary." The fairy rolled his eyes but released the young man's arm all the same. "If you're going to be stubborn, I'll walk you up. Just…try to stay calm."
And of course, Garret did just the opposite.