[Secret Santa] [Fanfic] Hit or Miss [1/3]

[shantari.livejournal.com]

TITLE: Hit Or Miss [1/3]
AUTHOR: shantari
RECIPIENT: dunya01
GENRE: Action
RATINGS/WARNINGS: PG-13
SUMMARY: HitmanArthur!AU! where Arthur needs a driver and gets Alfred.
NOTES: Right, sorry I'm late. Will try to get the rest out by early next year. ;)


Arthur Kirkland was thumbing through his papers irritably. On them were information necessary for his next hit: who to kill, how public it needed to be, and the full schedules of his victims. Unlike how it usually was, the way he much more preferred, this hit needed to be a statement. It was less about getting rid of unwanted ones, and more about setting an example. Naturally it makes it trickier. If he just needed to kill them, he could easily find a way to get it over and done with, without getting caught. But now he needed to make a spectacle to be seen by the right people, and ignored by the feds. Just wonderful, really.


Luckily, he still had some days to prepare. And he did have all the relevant information, which had led to the plan he felt most satisfied with. That, unfortunately, didn't say much when he was looking at it with such distaste. If there was one thing Arthur didn't like, it was depending on anyone else when doing his job. If you had a regular job of ... of doing whatever regular people did, you probably wouldn't mind having someone lend a hand with holding your pencil, or whatever. But for his part, his life was on the line every time he took on a job, and being nervous about a guy he had to trust, whether he could or not, did not sit right with him. That's why he seldom relied on any mode of transportation he wasn't fully in charge of. However, this time it was going to be problematic.


No matter how many times he looked over the plans, Arthur couldn't escape the fact that he needed a vehicle to appear at the right place at the right time, to pick him up, and speed out of there. Even with the best of circumstances, there was a definitive need for a speedy getaway. And unless they were gonna invent self-driving cars, as well as get them into production in the next four days, he was going to need a driver. Just bloody perfect.


The hotel room would have to do for the interview. He didn't dare chance a more neutral setting. The room would be free of witnesses. He didn't like it, but he was far too careful of himself to not make sure the driver, his contact had recommended, could be, if not trusted, at least a bit depended upon. Especially with the worrisome way the fellow had been described.
“Don't let your first impression fool you,” was what Joey had said. Arthur generally felt he could trust that man's judgment, but Arthur's never been proven wrong on a first impression before and didn't expect that to happen any time soon. He couldn't help but worry about that.
His unease was interrupted by a knocking on the door, and a quick glance at his watch told him that if this was his guy then he was late.
“It's open,” he said after having secured his grip on the gun he kept hidden behind the cushion of the armchair he had turned to face the door.


So this was Joey's recommendation, then? A mere boy who hopefully looked younger than he was, otherwise he'd be hard pressed to believe his credentials. This Alfred hardly looked like someone working for the mob, or like someone with the least bit of ill intent. He looked like someone who drove his grandma to the store because that's what good guys do. Which could be a good thing if it weren't for Arthur's nagging impression that Alfred's looks matched his personality. “Shut the door,” Arthur finally said. “You're looking like a right fool, just standing there like that.

Alfred flinched, but he hurried inside and closed the door behind his back as he seemed apprehensive about turning his back to Arthur. Just wonderful, the lad was the nervous sort too.
“You're late, by the way.”
“Hey! Joey told me to come here just forty-five minutes ago. I had to find the place too.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his fingers pressed together. Unnervingly, even though he was sitting down, he managed to stare Alfred down. “Let me cut to the chase,” Arthur finally said, as if he were through analyzing Alfred, or whatever it was that he'd been doing. “I'm assuming that you're informed of what I do, and hopefully also that I'm the best there is at what I do. I normally don't require any form of assistance with anything I ever do, but right now I'm in need of a driver. You come on recommendation from an associate I greatly respect, but I'd rather judge a man from what I see than what I hear. And so far all I see is a lad who looks like he got lost on his way to a boy scout meet up. So tell me, why should I hire you?"

The young boy gave him a confident grin. “Because I'm the best there is.”

Arthur almost snapped at him to get his own catchphrase, but he bit it back as he realised there was another way to get him to swallow his words. “Oh, you are? Well then, mind if I put you to the test?”

“No problem what so ever! I'm up for anything!”

“Good,” Arthur moved slightly so that he could grab a couple of envelopes on the table next to him. “These are written instructions for the job I need you to do. If you pass my little test, you'll be given them to study.” He carefully stood up, leaving the gun hidden in the cushions. “For now I just want to see how good you are at following instructions in general, as well as driving under some duress. That sounds easy enough, doesn't it?”
Alfred smiled a winning smile. “Easy as pie. I got my car in front of the hotel. Where do you wanna go?”

..--..--..--..


“So?” Alfred looked expectantly towards his passenger. “We're in the car now and you still haven't told me where you wanna go.”
“You still haven't put on your seatbelt.”
“I haven't even started the engine yet!”
“Nor will you until you've put on your seatbelt.”
Alfred would have grumbled about the man shooting people for a living, but he felt that would give cause for another unnecessary complaint, so he just did what he was told.
“So, where to?”
“The highway.”
Finally, Alfred thought as he turned the ignition.


The drive was eerily quiet, not quite to the driver's taste. “So, that accent... You from Europe or somethin'?” Alfred said in hope to break the silence.

A glare was given in answer.

“With that scowl I bet you're British.”

“Keep your eyes on the road, comedian.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

“I would rather we kept this professional. I need you to drive me around, not to document my life's story.”

“Maybe, but I can't help but find it interesting if the Boss is suddenly hiring foreigners.”

“I've been in the employ longer than you have, I'm willing to bet.”

“Ha! Yeah, sure you have, old man.”

“Just keep to driving as I tell you to.”


They were speeding down the highway, not much said other than a few sudden and demanding orders from Arthur to either maintain an exact speed, overtake another driver, or the odd time he barked out to stop and then take off as quickly as possible.

“So what do you think so far?” Alfred was starting to find this too easy. He wasn't even sure what kind of test this was supposed to be.

“I have to admit,” Arthur said with a not at all concealed reluctance. “You know how to handle a set of wheels. But it is all fine and dandy to be able to drive well when there is no pressure, wouldn't you say?”

“I can drive under pressure, no worry.”

“If I didn't make sure to worry about the right things, I would not be alive now.”

Checking around, Arthur stealthily pulled out the gun from the holster inside his jacket and pushed the barrel against Alfred's side, right by his ribcage. “Now, keep both hands on the wheel. I want you to do exactly as I say or I will shoot you.”

Alfred nervously laughed.

“This is not a joke. If you can't handle this kind of pressure, you're useless to me and would be nothing but a liability.”

“If you shoot me while I'm driving, we'll both die.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps the car will just crash, releasing the airbags, leaving me shaken, possibly injured. But you will most certainly be dead.”


“You too, you crazy idiot! Do you realize what speed we're going at? We're going at 80 miles per hour here!”

“So?”

“Fuck, do you need it in the metric system or something?” Alfred scrunched his nose up in obvious concentration. “That's 128 kilometers per hour! That tell you anything?”

“Less, actually.” Arthur cocked a smirk at the frantic American next to him. “At what point did you think that me being European instantly meant I'd be more versed with the metric system? All I need to know about the speed we're going, is that you need to know what you're doing and do it, or you're for certain going to be dead.”

In just a short moment, Alfred's mind managed to conjure up a riddle it didn't feel like answering: Which is worse, having a psychopath for a driver, or for a passenger?

“Make a u-turn here.” Arthur suddenly said.

“That's illegal! And-” he cut himself off as he felt the gun barrel push harder against him.

“Don't question it. Just do as I say to the best of your ability.”

Alfred gritted his teeth and looked in every rear view mirror, finding an opening to slow down and make an incredibly sharp turn, to drive against traffic. There was no other option, as the opposite going traffic was cut off with a fence.

“We're seriously going to die. We'll make a full frontal collision and they'll be scraping us up with fucking spatulas.”

“Not if you're really the best there is.”

If Alfred wasn't so focused on not dying, he would have looked away from the road to glare at the psychotic British killer next to him. Horns were blaring at them, and Alfred feared for any hidden corner or uphill slope that might be on the road further back, trying desperately to remember any. His eyes were scanning the area right in front of him, a car coming his lane forcing him to change lane only to be met by yet another car whose driver tried to turn to avoid him. Detached, he noted that such a maneuver only increased the area for him to avoid, as he hit the brake while shifting the gear to quickly get going to drive around the car, even as other cars were haplessly ramming it from the behind.


“Take the next exit possible.” Arthur suddenly said.

Gladly, thought Alfred, even if that meant having to cross several lanes at the same time. When they were finally about a mile away from the highway, driving with the traffic, the shock suddenly hit Alfred's whole system.

“I need to pull over,” he said, his eyes scanning for a place to stop.

“You do that then,” Arthur seemed to look at Alfred from the corner of his eye. “I feel satisfied with your performance at any rate.”

Alfred didn't listen to the last part, instead getting out of the car to feel the ground beneath his feet as the rush of adrenaline was leaving his body. Arthur stepped out as well.

“I think I'll walk back to town,” he said, leisurely stretching his arms. “It's been a while since I got a really good walk.”


“You really are insane, you know that?” Alfred stared with no lesser amount of incredulity at the man that didn't seem to care at all that the both of them had nearly died at his own insistence.

“At least, now you know that you really can drive under pressure,” Arthur sniggered. “You're hired.” The man carefully glanced at Alfred from the corner of his eye. “Unless you have second thoughts?”

Alfred was just about to protest, but then thought better of it. Not only was he dealing with a psycho that likely really would kill him if he proved himself more of a liability, but he had his own pride to consider. He had said that he was up for anything, and he did consider himself a man of honour. “Nope. I'm game.”

“Good. Here you go.” Arthur handed over the envelopes and then turned to walk away, but after a few steps he turned back. “Oh, and by the way?”

Alfred looked towards the man as Arthur released the cartridge holder of his gun and tossed it towards him. Alfred easily captured it with one hand.

“No bullets. I'm not a complete tosser, you know.” Arthur chuckled and kept on walking. It was most definitively worth it to have to replace that part later.

Alfred, for his part, just slumped with his back supported by the car. “Son of a bitch!”