harlots kiss better
Note(s): Introduction of the second main character: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Also, every chapter has a different point of view.
Warning(s): money and Picasso, baby.
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she laughs like gold, her mind's like a diamond – buy her tonight, she's still shining
Carmen; Lana Del Rey
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People don't just like Antonio for his go-lucky smiles and bright, honest meadow-green eyes, oh no, they practically adore him for his sob-story past, -father was a Spanish immigrant, mother was the son of a preacher man and he just happened-, and his never-let-you-down attitude. He serves the law with a tremendous dexterity, an unwavering sense of justice and, well, it doesn't hurt that mister Carriedo looks extremely good in the uniform. His neighbor, madam stereotypical senior citizen, gives him a bright green apple for work every morning, but not this morning, because commissioner Kirkland appointed him as reinforcement officer on the greatest charity event in the entire city.
He's protecting the stars tonight, the rich and the famous and the infamous.
Life hasn't been easy on him; his father worked himself to the bare bones, he emptied the power in his muscles for a meager salary and haphazardly risked his health with strenuous jobs. His mother was disowned by the local Christian community, gone were the string of family pearls around her olive neck and her nerves welcomed the relaxing company of mister Johnny Walker. They moved to NYC when Antonio was old enough to realize his home wasn't a perfect picture 50's commercial but still young enough to cherish hope. Mamá joined AA-meetings, papá joined a small-sized gang. Papá got shot. If the licensed therapist at the bureau was any good at her job, then that would've been the psychological moment lil' Tonio developed an affinity for enrolling at the academy. Antonio just says he likes helping people and has no intentions whatsoever to seek revenge on a small-time crook. (doesn't stop him from fantasizing about emptying his gun onto the fucker's head, though.)
His smiles are infectious; truly, but his superior, Arthur 'I served in bloody Scotland Yard' Kirkland and his partner, Vash 'Triggerfinger' Zwingli, contrast the Latino's perpetual sunshine-behavior with sour scowls and disgruntled dismissals. He often ends up in heated arguments with the British commissioner on, well, basically everything. Except tonight, tonight is special. Tonight, Antonio accepts his mission without one single retort, without one sly condescending grin because he remembers how the Edelstein foundation provided him and his mother with food and shelter when the glass beneath their feet finally cracked. He puts on his uniform, the emblem of the NYPD proudly embroidered on his right arm, and pins the broche of the 'Red Squadron' on his breast pocket. Vash rolls his eyes when he notices the giddiness in Antonio, who keeps rocking on the balls of his feet in excitement.
He stares at the Museum of Modern Arts in dumbstruck awe; are these people for real?
Paparazzi click-clack away on their cameras as the celebrities parade on-and-off the red carpet on their dazzling high-heels and Italian leather dress shoes. Photographers cheer loudly as yet another couple is announced and everyone teeter-tatters on the edge of fame-starvation when Herr Beilschmidt and his plus one climb out of a stunning silver-gray cabriolet. Antonio makes the mistake of glancing directly at the beauty dangling on the man's arm and nearly doesn't have the time to pick up his jaw off the ground. She seems to have noticed the officer; when she passes by his post, she produces him a seductive simper and throws her head back in a model-manner and her golden ringlets literally bounce against her pale shoulders in resistance to gravity.
Vash nudges him in his sides with the sharp bone of his elbow in case Antonio'd do something incredibly stupid. Like wave.
Inside, the museum has received a serious make-over in favor for installing a stage to hold a miniature orchestra, two rectangular tables with linen tablecloths and refreshments, the works of the 'from Matisse to Bourgeois' exhibition are occupying the right wall of the square room and servants in elegant costumes are catering the guests with sparkling champagne. Antonio is discretely standing near an emergency exit, overlooking starlets dance to posh-sounding classical music. He prefers guitars over violins, but this particular tune got him thumping the tip of his foot in sync with the beat. The couple of the evening, Roderich Edelstein and his spouse, look particularly stunning in their ensembles –Antonio doesn't even bother guessing which designer styled them, such delicacies are a little lost on him- and the two are talking with Beilschmidt and the beauty who blatantly flirted with him.
He catches snippets of their conversation when they move closer to the bar, located a few feet from his left; "Honestly now, I can't believe Taurys Laurinaitis –of all people- would mingle with someone from the Braginski clan.. Such a promising upcoming European artist."
"I have done business with Ivan Braginski, a rather peculiar persona.. Er ist wirklich, wie sagt man es schon… He is polite but ruthlessly effective." The blonde touches Beilschmidt's arm and chuckles sweetly, her thumb rubbing soothing circles.
Roderich excuses himself from his company, rearranges his glasses on the bridge of his nose and takes his place on the stage to commence his mandatory speech. The beauty, to Antonio's sheer disbelief, sways over to his corner and stands casually next to him amongst the shadows. Her sparkling eyes sweep over his frame, linger on the Glock in his holster and focuse on his face. He nervously smiles at her.
"Hello, señorita.. I'm afraid I haven't caught your name yet." She allows a smirk to cross her scarlet lips, full and plump and, Antonio swallows, attractive.
Her voice is smooth, enthralling, "Call me Bel. No need to get formal." He nods and introduces himself properly, not wanting the woman to think he's unsophisticated.
"So.. Antonio.." His name rolls off her tongue, "Enjoying yourself despite the serve and protect? The art is quite lovely, especially the peintures." She launches into a full-fledged story, "Picasso is one of my personal favorites. I visited his museum in Barcelona a few years back.." She pauses and takes in his features, "Do inform me if I'm boring you.."
He fiddles idly with the upper button of his shirt, "Oh no, no.. Señorita, I'm just a bit shocked you would bother talking to me. Hehe.. But yes, Picasso is a very good painter. I've already seen the permanent collections here and Les Demoiselles d'Avignon is a…"
She cuts him off by placing her hand on his shoulder and he immediately stiffens, "Why would I not talk to you, officer?" The gleam in those bright green orbs makes him falter, "We're all human here." Bel leans in, closer and closer until the tip of her nose nearly brushes against his unruly chestnut hair, "These men and women here… My, you wouldn't want to know what some of them do in their spare time. Here's the catch… You can't even arrest them if you did.. Know, that is."
Choosing to ignore the implications and harsh accusations in her former statements, Antonio gazes at her from his peripheral view and softly speaks, "Some humans are more equal than others.. We don't all arrive in a flashy Mercedes. I'm a simple police official and you are the most stunning woman I've ever laid eyes upon." She chortles, low and pleasant. The sound tickles his ears.
"The distinction in class is evident." Her hand falls off his shoulder when he says the last part of his monologue.
Something in her irises twinkles, something undetermined and her teeth sparkle underneath the fluorescent lights as she grins. "You think I'm stunning?" There's slight disbelief creeping in her soprano but he confirms with an eager nod.
"You outshine everyone in this museum. Easily." Antonio doesn't know what sort of madness spooks inside of his skull when he not only compliments Ludwig Beilschmidt's girlfriend, but he also has the balls to take her frail hand and press a ghost of a kiss against the bone-white knuckles. Thank God, they're in a desolate corner and every pair of eyes is on Edelstein, eloquently and elegantly enchanting the crowd with his 'let's make this world a much better place' speech.
Philanthropist.
She purrs the following, "I have to play eye-candy again; I hope I'll ever have the pleasure to see you again, officer Antonio, sir." The hem of her little black dress flutters against her ivory legs as she moves forwards but she stops abruptly to give him a wink, "The legal system's like karma though. Quite the bitch. Watch your step."
Vash appears next to him no less than two seconds later, intimidating as always; "You're an idiot, Carriedo. What if something happened when you were making kissy-faces at lady blonde and taken over here?" He grits out the 'taken' extra hard to get his point across.
"Oh, com'on, amigo." Antonio complacently simpers, "Everyone in this room is dirty rich. They can buy a real Van Gogh if they wanted one. Pocket change… She is rather pretty, isn't she?" He expectantly looks at his partner.
The blonde smacks the back of the tanned man's head and rolls his eyes so hard Antonio actually thinks they're going to pop out of the sockets one day.
Things go awry later that evening when the Erzsébet Edelstein, née Hédérvary, loses her diamond locket. Antonio winces visibly when hubby Roderich gives all the security guards a crude verbal lashing at their complete and utter incompetence and inadequacy at doing their jobs. His wife, headstrong and gorgeous in a form-fitting turquoise cocktail dress, calms the red-faced philanthropist with a stern glance and a few whispered words; she then looks at the corps and tells them to keep a look-out for a necklace with a pear-shaped locket, riddled with South-African diamonds. –She doesn't specify whether there's blood on the pretty stones, but it's best not to ask.- The brunette placating as ever, states the lock must've come undone and it's probably on the floor. Her husband admiringly strokes the skin of her bare neck and dismisses the guards. Antonio, impressed by the woman, walks back to his corner, but scans the inches of ground he crosses in case there's a jewel on display.
His eyes flit to a familiar face, to the gorgeous companion of Herr Beilschmidt, who is sipping rather unconcerned from a crystal tumbler.
Mind must be playing tricks on him, because Antonio could swear Bel's also stuffing a necklace into her satin-webbed purse.
Afterwards, when the drunken socialites shamble and scuffle into their stretch-limousines with flustered cheeks and shouting crude, inappropriate jokes at someone they think is a club-bouncer, Antonio, Vash and his other colleagues are called over to commissioner Kirkland for a throughout 'debriefing'. Alfred F. Jones, a rookie at narcotics, is already making bets with the others whether Arthur and Antonio would have a fall-out again about something miniscule and unimportant. The discussion starts five minutes into the debriefing and is, as usual, a result from Antonio's optimism and Kirkland's pessimism. They agree on one thing; the piece of jewelry isn't just lost; it's stolen.
Speculations on who stole it just happens to be the reason for another heated argument. Alfred makes a profit of 30 dollars and 59 cents.
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I'm feeling needy again; indulge me.