Walking in a big city, while relatively cost effective and quite exciting for tourists, can be absolutely irritating for those who didn't quite appreciate the hustle and bustle of city life. Martin was one of those people. For all of the resentment and bitterness he held towards his former life, he did occasionally pine for his old surroundings, clutching onto the memories of tall mountains and plentiful greenery like a child's security blanket. These bursts of nostalgia were few and far between these days, too busy with work and too caged by tall buildings and water that you couldn't even pay him to go swimming in. However, walking down the streets of Boston, inhaling the fumes of cigarettes and the traffic-filled streets, stepping around litter and people too busy tapping away at their smartphones to notice that they were about to run into another human, the pang of homesickness hit. Well, that and annoyance.
It took a lot to irritate Martin because, even on his worst day, he had more self control than the average man. Still, walking through Boston did put a damper on his day with the sheer noise and chaos that was the streets. Car horns, even this early, blared with an unpredictable staccato rhythm, car engines revved and roared, and the voices of the people pressed around him was a constant noise in the back of his mind. It was, therefore, excellent news that the streets leading up to Santoro Incorporated were far less crowded, like the building had enough power to glare down and intimidate anyone attempting to break the perfectly ordered chaos that it kept in check. Well, almost anyone.
"I'm just saying, Marty," Jude said amiably as they continued their walk, "If you're going to get a car, you might as well get something flashy, yeah?" It was easier to hear Jude now that the noise pollution had toned down, not that Jude was ever loud. No, he spoke in a certain way that demanded attention, like a primal awareness that listening to him just might save your life one day. "Not one of those Mercedes that you Americans like so well, or one of those hyper-cars; you need an Aston Martin."
It wasn't often that Jude spoke cars, but, on their walk to Santoro Incorporated, the flash of a red Koenigsegg Agera R rushing by had caught his attention like a kid in a candy store, changing the strain of conversation almost immediately from where they were going to get dinner that night to what cars tickled Jude's fancy. Martin bit back a sigh; they'd certainly had this conversation before and, just like before, he was prepared with his own line of dialogue in this casual repartee.
"You just want one because you want to feel like James Bond," Martin accused tiredly, bespectacled eyes glancing down at Jude who merely nodded, a smirk crawling its way onto his face.
"You know me so well, Marty. Of course I do. Although…" He paused, which, of course, meant nothing good was about to come out of his mouth, "I think that would make you my Bond girl, wouldn't it? Now, what sort of name would you have…"
Martin almost spluttered in indignation because he would at least be Q or Eve Moneypenny as they approached Santoro Incorporated when a voice cut into his exasperation and Jude's thoughts, catching both of their attentions for very different reasons.
“Hey baby. I have a good ten minutes if you wanna play...only fifty for a quickie.” The speaker was a boy in scruffy clothes, blonde hair messy in a way that even Martin could guess at the origin, a lollipop dangling in one hand as he licked his lips.
Both men froze. Martin's face twisted into one of pure horror. It wasn't the prostitution that bothered him, or even the boy's probable age; oh no. He was worried that he'd have to see this kid die in front of him, and all before a big meeting too. Jude's face, on the other hand, remained achingly pleasant, which, Martin knew as he tried to grab the smaller man, was the worst possible way for his face to look. However, he was too late.
As quick as a striking cobra and potentially twice as deadly, Jude's fist was flying through the air, connecting with the poor boy's smirking mouth with excessive force. The bare-knuckle hit didn't rattle him at all, hands too used to the bare-knuckled brawls he so enjoyed, and his second movement was a grab for the lollipop, which he plucked gracefully from the boy's hands.
"Let me show you where you can shove your lolly, you fucking poofter-" In contrast to Jude's amiable expression, his voice was pure malice hidden behind the tone of someone giving a helpful suggestion instead of a man willing and more than excited to shove a lollipop into someone's eye socket. It was then, of course, that Martin had enough time to move himself and quite knowingly save the boy's life.
"Jesus Christ, Jude!"
The translator grabbed the Irishman from behind, arms wrapped tight around him as he heaved him backwards. It wasn't much on the physical side of things- Martin had never been one for physical confrontation, but it was all it took for Jude to give in, allowing himself to be manhandled so that the candy in his possession was no longer a potential lethal weapon.
"We're done- no, no more. We have a meeting to go to and you can't just kill someone or maim them." Even in times of pure chaos, Martin's tongue hardly failed him. "It's not worth it, Jude. It's really not."
"Fine." It was like a switch had been flipped, the Irishman nodding before turning back to his very near victim. Instead of saying anything, instead of going for one more strike, he dropped the lollipop to the ground before grinding it to dust with his heel.
"Oh, not the sucker too," Martin mumbled as Jude turned away and headed up the steps to the building, stopping only at the door, holding it open expectantly. Martin bit back his second sigh of the day and briefly turned towards the prostitute.
"Right. Well." There wasn't much else to say, but he did fish around in his pocket for a white handkerchief, passing it over to the boy. "Here. You need it more than I do." And, with that, he jogged up the stairs after his psychopath, trying not to glance back.
As soon as the door closed behind them and they followed the familiar path to the elevator, Jude finally spoke.
"I'm thinking Gavin Goodhead. That would certainly be your Bond Girl name," He concluded sounding too entirely pleased with himself.
"Wouldn't that make me a Bond Boy technically?" Martin replied because two could play at the "let's never mention what just happened" game. Jude began to laugh in reply, a great howling sound, when he suddenly stopped, an look of confusion so out of place on his face appearing. Call it a sixth sense, call it a gift for finding the not quite right, but something seemed off in the building. It wasn't until both of them came upon the six beefy men apparently posing outside of the meeting room that it all began to make sense. Well, kind of- there were still six weird men, one with an honest-to-God trumpet and another with a basket full of flower petals, with the rest having assorted other items, like, for some odd reason, a boom box blaring AC/DC. In almost perfect unison, the two peered into the room and caught sight of a young beauty who looked like she'd stepped right out of a magazine, standing before the assorted collection of the Santoro Family Mob like a goddess returning to her people(well, she did. The others didn't seem nearly as impressed and/or pleased). Recognition was instantaneous.
"I think it's safe to say the meeting's cancelled. Come on, let's go," Martin said, spinning on his heel and nearly avoiding beefcake number four with his wind machine. It was far too early for this, although, to be fair, it would never be the right time for this in Martin's opinion. It had been years since he'd seen the eldest Santoro girl, but not nearly long enough for him to expect a pleasant meeting with her arrival.
Jude, on the other hand, was beaming and grabbed Martin by the wrist. Their thoughts went along the same strain, but rather than being tense about whatever insanity was to follow, Jude was more than pleased to see Eleonora returned. She, he was convinced, was going to make things even more interesting than the motley crew collected in the meeting room already would have.
"Now, now, Marty, this is a very important meeting. Can't just leave, now can we?" Martin wanted to reply that, yes, of course they could, but Jude was a force of nature making resistance futile as he dragged Martin into the room behind him.
"What a pity. I would have loved to see that entrance," Jude commented, skirting around the Santoro twins with a smile and a wink for the prodigal daughter returned before finding his way to the same seat he'd always sat in since the beginning of his employment with the Santoro Family. Martin managed a little half-smile, well aware that eyes would probably brush right over him and onto the more obvious and more than likely clinically insane people and things in the room as he slid into a seat next to Jude.
"Our apologies, Don Carlos. We didn't mean to keep you waiting," Martin offered up quietly, threading a hand through his tangled hair as he tried to tame his mess of curls. It was, as always, completely ineffectual.