Chapter Text
“You’re sure that this is the right place?”
Silver rings glint in the low light. Tangerine sends Lemon a flat look, and the other man shrugs. There is no need for apologies between them. They have been doing this for long enough to know that there should be no hard feelings when it comes to contract work.
It’s early afternoon, hours before The Posy will open its doors to the public. It’s not the strangest spot the Twins have ever been asked to meet a potential client, but something about it sets them both on edge. Tangerine smooths his suit down while Lemon tugs on his jean jacket, dark eyes scanning every inch of the abandoned club. In the distance, he can hear someone in the back restocking shelves, judging by the clinking of bottles.
“Our contact should be in his office on the third floor. Target is in the basement, ready and waitin’. Said we should go ahead without ‘im,” Tangerine says as they approach the door towards the back, neatly labelled as ‘Staff Only’. It’s no surprise when Tangerine moves to the left, taking the stairs up towards the office levels two at a time, rather than going right towards where their target should be waiting.
Lemon follows closely behind, hyperaware of Lucille resting against the small of his back. He knows Tangerine said no guns for this job — something about the client wanting a more hands-on approach — but Lemon doesn’t like the idea of going in unprepared. And what Tangerine doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Probably.
He listens with half an ear as Tangerine discusses terms with their client; they already have half the money upfront, the remainder due on completion of the job. It’s no small amount, considering how easy the job promises to be. They won’t even need to track him down.
Something about the whole setup sits uneasily in Lemon’s chest. He clearly isn’t the only one, judging by the sharp edge in Tangerine’s eyes.
“If it’s as easy as you’re sayin’, you won’t mind shownin’ us the way,” Tangerine says, one hand resting on the dark wooden desk that dominates their client's office, the other pushed deep into his pocket. Even from across the room, Lemon can see the outline of Tangerine’s brass knuckles being slipped onto his fingers. He stays back, giving his brother room to work.
“If you insist,” Arthur sighs, his chair scraping across the floor as he stands. There is a put upon air about him that doesn’t quite sit right, either. Lemon falls into pace alongside Tangerine as Arthur leads the way down the narrow staircase, moving at a more sedate pace towards their final destination.
“There’s somethin’ not right about this job,” Lemon says evenly. Tangerine doesn’t have to say a word; the set of his shoulders, the way that his hands curl into fists within his pockets both speak multitudes. “One little push and we can be outta here.”
Tangerine lets out a huffed laugh beneath his breath. “This is why I’m the one who does the plannin’.”
The door to the basement swings open, revealing a dimly lit room. It’s as immaculately kept as the club upstairs. There’s a table to one side, a stack of boxes pushed up against the far wall. For a moment, Lemon think that there must be some kind of mistake; they can’t see any sign of anyone but their employer.
“Fuck me.”
Lemon’s head swings towards Tangerine, following his line of sight. There in the corner, handcuffed to the radiator, is their target.
“As I explained, it really is an easy contract. He’s right there for the taking. You may finish him in whatever way you would prefer, though I would prefer it if you did not attract any unwanted attention.” Gunshots in the middle of London wouldn’t exactly be the kind of thing they could easily cover. “My people can dispose of the body. It’s just the deed itself that we wish for you to complete.”
Lemon watches as Tangerine covers the distance, his pace steady, unhurried to the untrained observer. There’s a stiffness between his shoulder blades that has Lemon reaching for Lucille.
Thick fingers tangle in messy blond locks, wrenching the head of their target up. Tangerine’s fingers twitch. Their target is a mess already, blood staining what could have once been a white t-shirt. He’s missing his socks and shoes, his trousers darker in places with what promises to be drying blood. His face is a mess; his lip split, and the start of one hell of a shiner on his right eye. There are red marks across his wrists and hands — burns from the looks of them; it’s uncomfortably hot and stuffy down there, Lemon realises with a grimace. Just how long has the poor fucker been handcuffed to that radiator?
It’s not until Lemon’s eyes lock with weary blue that he realises he knows their target. They both do.
Tangerine doesn’t release his hold. “Lem—”
Brown eyes meet sharp blue, and Lemon draws Lucille. Raising the revolver, he takes aim at their client's head. Tangerine nods — barely more than a twitch of his head — and Lemon pulls the trigger. The sound echoes throughout the basement, leaving their ears ringing. There is no time to wait around as the body falls to the floor in a spray of blood and viscera. Lemon moves towards it, searching his pockets for any sign of the key. Behind him, he hears the clanging of metal on metal as Tangerine attempts to remove the handcuffs the best way he knows how.
Lemon rolls his eyes, holding up the key as he approaches. Tangerine doesn’t step back, instead keeping a steadying hand on their former target’s back. As the lock clicks and the handcuffs fall to the ground, Lemon smiles down at him grimly, offering him a hand.
“Lemon? Tangerine? Is that really you?”
“Long time no see, Jo’burg. You wanna tell us what the fuck you’re doin’ here?”