Rumrunner

**Chapter Eight: Requiem**

After standing outside for what felt like an eternity, Argus walked slowly back into the house. The first person he saw was Giulio, leaning against the staircase banister having a smoke.

"What's there to be done?" Argus asked. He remembered a flurry of activity after his father's death, though he wasn't really sure if Muggles dealt with things the same way.

"Nothing for now," Giulio replied dully. "I can't believe- I'm going to kill that man when I see him, I don't care who's watching. He's fucking dead."

Argus looked around Giulio, searching for Gisella. He didn't see her in the hall anywhere, or in the parlor. Giulio watched him with an unreadable expression. "Looking for Gisella?"

Argus nodded and then felt like he was supposed to say something. "Is she okay?"

"She's upstairs," Giulio said. "She's torn up."

"She should be," Argus replied.

"I don't know what the hell to say to her," Giulio said. "I don't know what I feel yet. I can't deal with her."

"He was your cousin," Argus replied vaguely. He didn't know what the hell he ought to say either.

"God," Giulio said.

A sharp knocking echoed through the hall, and Argus nearly jumped. "Who's that?" he asked. He didn't know the Muggle rites of death. Perhaps someone was supposed to show up, maybe take Aldo- no, the body- away.

Giulio shrugged, and strode to the door, opening it to reveal a man with perfectly kempt brown hair.

"Hello," he said cordially.

"Now isn't the time, Ronnie," Giulio growled in response.

Argus was vaguely surprised that this man was the notorious Ronnie. He had imagined someone quite a bit more villainous, and certainly less polite than the man before him. Unlike the Torrios, and most of their associates, this man didn't look like a murderer or a rapist. He didn't even look like the normal sort of sleaze than owned pawnshops and pimped out girls. He supposed that was why he hadn't been put of business yet, or why his bootlegging had gone unnoticed by the authorities.

"What's wrong?" Ronnie continued, glancing around the hall. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

"Maybe you should leave," Argus suggested. He wanted to see this man writhing in torment, and the feeling disconcerted him. Sure, everything he knew about this man made him scum, but when had it become his place to dole out punishment? When had he become judge, jury and executioner?

Ronnie continued to stand on the doorstep, prattling on despite his obvious unwelcome.

"There's been a death in the family," Giulio snapped. "And you are grating on my last fucking nerve."

"A death? It wasn't Gisella, was it?" asked Ronnie, worried.

"It was Aldo," snapped Giulio. He slammed the door. "Bastard."

*

Argus entered the speakeasy, nervous. This was much more public than he was used to.

"Don't worry," Gisella said, resting a pale hand glittering with rings on his arm. "No one knows us here."

"We don't know that," Argus replied briskly, privately relishing in the small pleasure of referring to himself and his angel in one breath.

"Don't be so paranoid," Gisella said. She looked around, bright-eyed. Argus really wasn't sure that being out tonight, the night before the viewing of Aldo's bullet-ridden body, was entirely appropriate, but he hadn't been able to refuse her. She had taken her brother's death hard, but had not complained when her wedding date had been moved up. Giulio had suggested it, and Gisella had agreed that marriage and getting her out of her brother's house would help her overcome her grief. Argus thought that Giulio just hadn't wanted to play the guardian of his spirited young cousin any longer than he had to.

But earlier that evening, a mere month before Gisella was set to wed Icepick, she had shown up at Argus's door. He had been shocked, to say the least. He had not even been aware that Gisella knew where he lived. Hell, he hadn't even been aware that Gisella would even think that he really existed in any capacity outside her brother's business. But she had pushed her way into his cramped living quarters, and had informed him that he was taking her to see a film.

He had stared at her, painfully conscious of the fact that he was only wearing his undershirt and trousers, and had told her it was too late to see a film.

"Well, we're going out. Get dressed," she had said, cuddling deep into her fur coat. It was large enough to conceal whatever undoubtedly sparkling dress she was wearing beneath, revealing only stocking-clad legs sticking out from its fuzzy depths.

"Okay," Argus agreed hastily as she turned her best pitiful expression on him.

She laughed. "You slay me, Argus, you really do."

He obediently dressed, and less than an hour later found himself in a bar with the girl of his dreams.

"Here," she said, offering him a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. He accepted it gratefully.

After imbibing in the surprisingly potent drink for the fourth-no, fifth- time, Argus's nervousness faded, and he allowed Gisella to drag him on the dance floor. He copied the other men's moves clumsily, and then allowed himself to sinfully slide his hands along Gisella's moving body until he felt indecently wicked.

"I'm tired of this place," Gisella said. "Let's go."

Two speakeasies later, Gisella had finally worn herself out.

"I'll drive you home," she said as they headed out the door, giggling.

"No, let me drive you home," Argus said, and then found himself driving the familiar streets to her home. He insisted on escorting her to the door, holding her hand in his so she couldn't flit off into the night again. He wanted to kiss her night-flushed cheeks and her lips, where the rouge had worn off during the long night of drinking and dancing. He wanted to take her to his home, pull her inside and never let her leave.

His hand clenched hers, and he mustered his courage. Argus tasted Gisella, and to his surprise she tasted him back. The door was open, suddenly, and he pulled the willing girl inside. It felt odd to be kissing Gisella- it was as though his midnight fantasies had suddenly come to life. He was not worried about Gisella's soon-to-be married state. He pretended not to feel the dainty golden engagement band around her finger, as he supposed she was also doing. He bravely allowed himself to explore her, hands first traveling across the planes that he had acquanted himself with while dancing, then slowly finding uncharted territory.

A knock sounded at the door. Gisella jerked away, cursing softly. She ran her hands through her hair, attempting to straighten it but only making it look messier.

Argus glared at the door fruitlessly as Gisella strode over and swung it open.

"Good morning," said the man on the other side. Argus did not recognize his black hair or hooked nose, though Gisella's look of aggravated dismay told him she knew exactly who this was.

"Get the hell away from here," Gisella snapped.

"And who is this?" said the man, looking at Argus. "Not your fiancé, I notice."

"Go away!" snapped Gisella.

"I'm Antony Moltisanti," offered the man. "And you are?"

"About to leave," Argus said. He did not trust this man.

"Yes, thank you for escorting me this evening," Gisella said demurely, resting a hand on his arm. "Without Oscar with me I feel so vulnerable."

"This evening?" asked Moltisanti. "It's daybreak. Hardly in mourning, are you?"

Gisella gasped, affronted. Argus took a step forward, and said in a low voice, "I think it's time for you to leave."

Moltisanti smiled grimly. "Just remember, we're keeping a close eye on you."

Argus slammed the door in his face. He turned, afraid that Gisella would be crying, but instead she looked as though she wanted to hit something.

"It's all balled up," Gisella exclaimed angrily. "I haven't done anything wrong! But still he sniffs around here all the fucking time!"

"Who was he?" Argus asked.

"The law," said Gisella miserably. "He wanted to put Aldo in the slammer, but now he's pissed because he can't."

Argus wasn't sure what to say. He looked at the miserable girl, and said, "I should go."

"Probably," Gisella replied. "Thanks for tonight."

He left.

*

The next evening he came back.

It was for Aldo's viewing, which like his father's was held in the man's house. Argus noticed that the coffin was set up in the same room that Aldo had met his maker in, with a new rug covering the bloodstained floor. He greeted Giulio, Treetop and Icepick, but remained on the fringes of the crowd. He didn't know many of the men who were offering condolences to one another, but he knew enough to know they were dangerous.

The coffin was on the far side of the room, set against the wall with flowers on either end. It was open, and Aldo lay on the white satin, looking as though he were asleep and mostly peaceful. The suit he was dressed in hid the fatal bullet wounds, and he looked infinitely too young to rot.

As soon as he noticed her, it was obvious that Gisella was a mess. Probably her situation had hit her hard because it was the first time she had been sober since the terrible night of Aldo's demise. She knelt beside the closed casket for the longest time, forcing the other mourners to just kneel beside her and move along. She finally moved, after staring at the flower arrangement and the unmoving face of her brother for nearly an hour, and walked straight past Argus, not even acknowledging his presence.

Icepick shook his head, watching as his fiancé stopped near the door. "Poor girl needed her brother to look after her. She's lost right now."

Argus stayed silent, nodding his agreement. He was afraid he would let slip what had nearly happened the night before.

"Thanks for looking after her yesterday," Icepick continued. "I know she was looking to get into trouble, and you kept her out of it."

"You're welcome," Argus replied, amazed that he didn't stutter.

"You're invited to the wedding, of course," Icepick continued. "I have a cousin who needs a date, if you want."

"That would be nice," Argus said. He didn't dare refuse the offer, knowing what family meant to Icepick. It was an honor, and he'd be damned if he raised the large man's suspicions by refusing it.

Icepick clasped his hand, then, and pulled him into a brief bear hug. "Aldo was a good man."

"He was," Argus said as he stepped back. He hesitated, then asked what had been on his mind. "What about Jack?"

"Don't concern yourself with the dead, Manacle," Icepick replied. He turned, and walked back to Gisella, who was staring at the floor near the door. Argus watched, jealousy building as Icepick hugged and kissed Gisella gently, and then after a few moments worth of conversation motioned for Giulio. Icepick said something to Guilio that made him smile sadly, then left. Giulio escorted Gisella up the stairs, and after a few minutes Argus left as well. He hated looking at that goddamn shiny wooden box.

It reminded him much too clearly that he too would end up in one.

Wizards had a longer lifespan than the Muggles, and even as a Squib he would have the benefit of that long lifespan. He didn't understand why, exactly, but some trick of inheritance passed along the longer years even when the spark of magic was absent. Still, that didn't affect violent death. And with the way things were going, he was definitely going to die in some bloody manner, probably in the cold darkness with impassive eyes of uncaring killers watching.

Mortality was the boogeyman in even the most heartened killer's closet. Mortality was unavoidable, and Argus didn't really want to embrace it quite yet. He knew that he was on the slippery slopes of an undesirable fate, but he didn't have to like it. He simply ignored it, but the thoughts were unavoidable while standing in next to an open casket or a graveyard watching while someone you had respected went through the final rites of death.

The next morning, he stood in the bright sunshine, wishing for rain. The world just looked to damn cheery and bright, making his eyes burn as he stared at the horizon and his new, dark suit that felt claustrophobic and stifling. He was ignoring the words being spoken by the priest, though he found the man's formal garb to be comforting. It was almost wizard wear, and he felt a mite superior at the fact that the most respected men in this world, the priests and the judges and the scholars during official ceremonies dressed like his people did daily.

A few black crows pecked around a nearby tombstone. One looked up, and cawed pitifully. It's feathers were ruffled and the bird looked half starved. No wonder, since the damn thing lived in a boneyard. Did eating the life growing above corpses, nourished from the dead, make the crows people eaters?

A loud sob from in front of him drew his attention away from the salvaging birds. Gisella was wearing a high-necked black dress that fell well below her knees, and was shaking. She wasn't wearing a coat, though the wind was biting, in sharp contrast to the sunshine. She was holding onto a small beaded bag like her life depended on it, and Icepick had a big, beefy arm wrapped around her. Gisella did not lean into Icepick's shoulder to cry, to hide her tears from the mourning crowd. Instead, she stood as far from him as possible without dislodging his arm, and was looking directly at the gleaming wooden box that was waiting to be lowered into the gaping hole, stretching six feet down.

The funeral was coming to a close, and Gisella tossed a flower into the grave. It was something white and fragile looking, one of the kinds of flowers that only appeared once a death had occurred. Argus stepped away from the crowd of mourners, almost all of whom were crooks and criminals and killers, and hurried towards the gate. He couldn't stay here, and he didn't want to comfort Gisella, and he didn't want to speak to Giulio and try to say something appropriate for the situation.

As he fled, a single phrase from the sermon echoed in his skull, crashing through his thoughts and infecting his mind with their simplicity and truth.

"Dearly departed."