Ch. 10
After a flurry of outfit changes, haircuts, and photos, Steve stared at himself in the mirror, not recognizing himself. His hair was a dark brown, buzzed down to no more than a half inch. Alma had trimmed his beard as well. She had gotten him a pair of dark-rimmed eyeglasses and he was surprised at the transformation. He had been kidding when he had referenced Clark Kent the night before, not really believing that such minor changes would actually be very helpful in changing how he appeared.
"See, your own mother wouldn't recognize you," Alma said triumphantly as she came up behind him.
Steve swallowed. Alma was right, but the glasses had little to do with it.
"Oh," Alma said, wincing, a look of concern flitting across her face. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
"Not to worry. You're right. No one will know who I am," Steve said with a reassuring grin. "What now?"
"We should head out to meet my contact," she said, walking back to her room to grab her purse.
"Alright," Steve agreed, taking one last look at himself in the mirror, shaking his head at the transformation.
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They walked into a small shop that advertised laptop repairs. Steve saw a short, skinny young man who forcibly reminded him of how he looked before he took the serum. The man smiled up at them from behind a long desk full of laptops and strewn with computer parts.
"Hola, Alma," he said enthusiastically and stood up.
"Hola, Pablo," she said as she approached him and greeted him with a small peck on the cheek.
Once again, Steve's eyes narrowed at the gesture, but he tried to mask his irrationally jealous reaction.
Alma turned to Steve. "I'd like you to meet Pablo. Pablo, this is my friend that we talked about. Perhaps we could talk in the back room?" she suggested delicately.
Pablo nodded, going to the front door and turning the sign to cerrado. "Follow me," he said, leading the way to a small back room equipped with a laptop connected to a large monitor.
"Pablo's the best forger in all of Buenos Aires," Alma reassured Steve.
"Always with the compliments. Be careful, Alma. You don't want to add me to your long list of admirers," Pablo teased as he sat down in front of the computer.
"Now who's being flattering?" Alma responded with a chuckle.
"Did you bring me the photos I asked for?" Pablo inquired.
"Yep, they're on this phone," Alma said, handing it over to Pablo.
In a few moments, Pablo had them downloaded to his computer. "Alright, so what's the story we're trying to tell?"
"We want him to be hired as muscle for a less than reputable individual. I was thinking of a couple of arrests in the U.S. for felony assault, an attempted murder or two, maybe a short stint in prison? Perhaps a gambling addiction, too. Throw in some money problems on top of it," Alma instructed.
"I should be able to swing it," Pablo said.
"And, we'll need a U.S. passport, a New York driver's license, a few bank accounts, but not too much money in them and two or three credit cards, maxed to the limit," Alma added.
"And you want this all by seven p.m. tonight?" Pablo asked dubiously.
"C'mon. You know you love a good challenge," Alma replied.
"You're lucky I'm so good at what I do," Pablo said.
"Thanks. We really appreciate it," Steve said earnestly.
Pablo gave him a brief smile. "Anything for Alma. Especially after what happened . . ."
"Let's not talk about it," Alma said, cutting him off. "We'll be back at seven to pick up the packet."
"Will do," Pablo said, turning back to his computer to start on his work.
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"What did Pablo mean, after what happened?" Steve asked as they left the store.
Alma turned to Steve. "I used to help him out a lot, before, when I was working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Throw work his way whenever I could. He knows that I'm out of a job, that's all. He just feels bad for me," Alma said briskly as she began to walk towards the metro station.
Steve could feel that there was more to the story, but he didn't want to press her. "So, where to next?"
"Shopping. I've been wearing the same clothes for twenty-four hours, so as my employer, you owe me some new threads. Also, we'll need to get some clothes for tonight; make sure that you stay in character."
"In character?" Steve asked.
"Well, don't take this the wrong way, but you kind of seem like an overgrown, amazingly sweet Boy Scout. Not the type of guy most people are going to hire as a hardened thug."
"You think I'm amazingly sweet?" Steve needled.
Alma stopped and looked up at him, rolling her eyes. "Really? Yes, you're adorable. I'm sure you hear it all the time."
"I really don't," Steve said, staring at her intently.
Alma held his gaze for a moment, then blushed slightly and looked away, resuming her walk towards the metro stop. "Okay, anyhow, we need to get you some different clothes. Some kind of horrid, wannabe mobster outfit."
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As Steve once again stood in front of a mirror, he had to hand it to Alma. She had chosen a slightly shiny, dark red long sleeved button down shirt paired with a black suit jacket and pants along with a black tie. He never had such a strong, almost visceral reaction of distaste for an outfit before in his life and that included the ridiculous Captain America suit he had to wear when selling war bonds.
He walked out of the changing room to show Alma.
"I would never wear something like this. Not in a million years," Steve said in disgust as he turned around so she could see it from all angles.
Alma smiled. "That's why it's such a great look for you. Along with the new hair and glasses, you look like a totally different person."
"What kind of person?"
"Well, not someone you'd bring home to meet the folks. More like someone you'd sneak out of your bedroom window to go meet."
"You sound like you know from experience," he smiled.
"Like I said, I ran with a dicey crowd in high school. I had a thing for bad boys," she admitted.
"Is that what I look like? A bad boy?" he asked, taking a step closer to her, staring down at her.
"Good thing my eighteen year old self isn't here," she said glibly. " She would have already run off with you. Now, it's time for me to get some clothes."
Steve nodded as he followed her to the women's section of the department store. He briefly wondered what it would take for the twenty-eight year old version of her to run off with him.
Author's Note- For those of you who like tumblr, my name on there is creativewritingfanfiction. I've posted a great photo of Chris Evans I found with dark, buzzed hair and dark rimmed glasses.
Rough Spanish Translations-
Hello
Hello
Closed