"What about him? He looks mildly sketchy and reliable." Alex whispered in my left ear, subtly pointing at a guy lingering beside a wastebasket on the street corner.
"Uh, no, he looks like a serial killer, Alex." I shook my head, ignoring his offended scoff, and glanced around the road for other candidates.
"What about him?" He raised his chin towards a gentleman standing thirty feet or so away from us and smoking a comically large cigar. He was shrouded in a thick cloud of suffocating smoke; disgusting.
"Bleugh, I hate smokers." I countered with a grimace. I lightly groaned, annoyed with how surprisingly hard it is to find a trust-worthy looking sketchy person in such a mix of a town. Alex kept his eyes trained on the wandering figures among us on the street, while I switched between looking at him and the women occasionally walking by watching him with bashful looks and batting lashes.
"Who're we looking for?" A deep voice mumbled from behind us.
Alex and I jumped, spinning on our heels to face the speaker, our eyes wide and our brows high. A somewhat pudgy man stood in front of us, a dirtied badge pinned to his blue jacket. I exchanged looks with Alex before nodding in agreement that I'd be the first to speak. I parted my lips to respon—
"None of your business, that's who." Alex replied, bursting my bubble. Damn it, babe.
"Oh, so you're not looking for someone to be a part of some secret, sketchy operation for the revolution?" He interrogated, raising a brow at our surprised faces.
"Uh, how did yo—" Alex shook his head in confusion.
"You two have been bickering for the last fifteen minutes about it, and not very discretely looking for a fellow to help you." The newcomer filled in.
I glanced at Alex and we both had looks of 'are-we-really-that-obvious' etched on our faces. I scratched the back of my neck and heavily sighed.
"Alright, we're looking for a helper. What of it?" I raised a brow, trying my best to look nonchalant. The man lazily raised a bushy eyebrow and gave a slow shrug.
"Eh, nothing, I guess. Just kinda curious as to what you two Americans are doing here, talkin' about some covert operation. Seems… suspicious." He looked us over with his dark green eyes, squinting in wary distrust.
"Well, you sound American as well, so we could ask you vaguely the same thing." Alex rebutted, smugly grinning at his comeback.
God, I need to question my taste in men.
"Alex." He turned to me, and I shook my head with a done look on my face. I turned to the other man, and he was watching us with curiosity. "Who exactly are you?"
He quietly chuckled, sticking his hand out for a shake. "I'm Richard Dockens, a friend of the late Hugh Mulligan, who I believe you're here to help."
I furrowed my brows, and saw Alex do the same. "How did you know we—"
"I've been watching you since you docked, boys." He sheepily admitted with a knowing smile. "Hugh told me a few months ago to keep an eye out for fellow Americans, he said he needed me to help 'em out with some under-the-table revolution stuff."
I slowly reached my hand out to grasp his as he continued, Alex and I listening in silent awe. "I assumed it was to transport weapons or something else to New York, but he wouldn't give me any more info. Said I'd be safer the less I knew. Next thing, a few months later, I stop hearing from him. Popped by his house a few days ago and saw you guys going in. I watched through the window and saw…"-He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and took a breath—"saw one of my closest friends lying in his own blood."
I solemnly nodded, remembering the night we found Hugh. I watched Alex as he wrinkled his nose in distaste as he flashed back to the discovery in his own mind.
"I want to help. Hugh and I smuggled together, fought together." Richard gruffly stated. "We grew up damn near brothers. Y'all see this?"
He pointed to the dirt-laden badge stuck to his coat and rubbed a thumb over it to clear it off. In rusted copper, I could sort of make out a short phrase; Scouts Force.
"Scouts Force? What, like the Boy Scouts thing that keeps showing up in the papers? The 'American Boys' kind of group?" Alex questioned, squinting his eyes and tilting his head like a curious dog.
"Lord, no, it wasn't that patriotic. Hugh and I used to have this friend, Scout was his name, and he made up this little force with the three of us." Richard amusedly explained. "It was just a thing of our boyhood, but as we got older and joined actual forces to fight the wars of our fathers' generation, we kept them as a unity sorta thing. To remember each other if anything happened to one of us."
I bobbed my head, understanding the want to keep your friends' memories alive, even if something happened to them.
"So, then…" I scratched the back of my neck. "Join the team?"
Alex nodded in agreement, glancing at Richard. "Sir?"
The man grinned and enthusiastically shook both our hands.
"Let's catch a murderer, boys."
/ / / /
"I can't believe Herc was so into poetry!" I laughed, nearly choking on the half slice of toast in my mouth.
Richard banged his fist on the table, laughing himself into a fit. "God, he never left home without his diary!"
Alex couldn't even form words; he was folded into himself on his chair, wheezing into his arm. I patted him on the back, trying to squander my own hysteria.
"We used to," Richard wheezed, chuckling. "We used to gather at the riverside, and he'd shush us 'til we quieted down. We'd sit there for hours, just so he could read us his poems."
"That was awful kind of you guys." Alex pointed out, pursing his lips at me. "John and the guys never want to sit down and go through a few hours of me reading my essays."
I playfully flipped my short hair, scoffing. Alex reciprocated by lifting his nearly-gone coffee and ensuring his middle finger was facing me.
"Ah, we didn't want to the first couple rounds!" Richard heartily confessed. "Hugh ended up sitting us down after Herc went home in a huff since we didn't want to listen. He said that writing gave Herc a special kinda joy, and they were having some issues at home. Told us to be good friends and give in to the poetry readings for the time being."
"Oh, that's noble." I noted, jokingly dipping my head to him. We all somberly laughed, before Alex moved on.
"How about we finish up dinner and make up a plan for our next moves?" He suggested, rising to place his empty mug in the kitchen sink.
Richard grunted as he heaved himself up. "Sounds good."
"Alright, here's what I know so far…" Richard began, and we dove into his information.
After learning of a local pub that soldiers loved to reside in, and the hours that were best for such a thing, we decided that a stakeout would be our best move. Alex and I turned in, after bidding goodnight to Richard and seeing him off. He apparently lived right down the road so we agreed he'd sleep there and then come over around late afternoon tomorrow. I'd been exhausted after the day Alex and I'd had, so bed felt like heaven.
"Why isn't anything else as comfortable as this mattress?" I mumbled, smooshing my face deeper into the abundance of blankets.
We'd originally dropped onto our respectable sides of it, but he was too far. I needed to fix that. I reached my right arm across the vast expanse of the bed, attempting to find Alex's waist. I found it seconds later and gripped him tight, wrapping my arm around him and pulling his closer.
"I think there's something comparable to the comfort." He whispered, snuggling his face into my neck as he curled closer. "Your arms give me the same feeling of comfy and safe."
I grinned at his words, feeling my cheeks begin to turn the color of a ripe strawberry. "I love you, Hamilton."
"Not as much as I love you, Laurens." He contently sighed, relaxing into our tried and true position.
"Sweet dreams, darling." I squeezed his side, relishing in his warmth.
"Sweet dreams, love."
A/N: Whoops. Totally, legitimately, forgot about this story and just remembered it a few days ago. I got a notification that someone new had liked/followed it. I am ASTOUNDED by how many reviews this has now, and how many folks enjoy my writing so much. It brings me damn near to tears when I realize that people are still reading my stories and wanting more. I'm truly sorry for not updating in forever, you guys deserve better than this. I'm on Thanksgiving break right now, so I'm doing my best to catch up and update more. Thank you to everyone that's stayed by this story and continues to give support, you have no idea the amount of gratitude I have for you.
I hope y'all have an amazing Thanksgiving, and please read/review!
Sincerely,
thatwritermadeofpotatoes