AN: 'TIS HERE. After a longer wait than I'd initially planned, but I'd also planned on having more time to write than I actually got, so there's that. BUT, I do hope you'll enjoy it regardless, and that the wait was worth it in the end. Keep in mind that updates will be sporadic, but that I will do my utmost to not leave you hanging for too long.

So, what do you need to know before you start? It's set circa five years after Hard Liquor, and a little over a year after a stock market crash similar to the Wall Street Crash of 1929. It's the Dirty Thirties, guys, so expect, well...dirt. Also, as per the usual, this fic is rated 'M' for coarse language and violence. There will be no explicit sexual content, only suggestions.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

Black Luck

by Miss Mungoe

Chapter I

The Depression had done a real number on posh town.

Casting a glance across the street, Gajeel surveyed the city square, looking dreary as all hell in the dim light of the fading afternoon sun. A few people wandered to and fro, and his gaze lingered on a tired-looking woman tugging a gaggle of kids along behind her towards dirt town. He'd spent enough years with hungry brats to recognise some when he saw them, and the sight put an ugly taste in his mouth. The woman was empty-handed, but cut right past the small shops lined along the square, not even sparing them a glance as she picked up her pace. The kids at her heels followed suit, but unlike their mother, they all looked back with longing gazes.

Gajeel felt sick, and drew his eyes away, towards the stores in question. He'd used to look at the cheerfully open store-fronts like he looked at the people coming out of them – with barely restrained contempt, or if the occasion called for it, a good old fashioned sneer. Magnolia proper had always had too much flair for his taste. Too many posh people, too many fancy flivvers.

Now, though...

"Enjoying the view?"

The wry purr from his right drew his attention, and he cut a sharp glance at his unexpected companion. "Ain't much of a view."

Loke expelled a sigh. "Yeah. I'd heard it was bad, but..." he trailed off with a shrug. "Didn't really prepare me for this."

Gajeel snorted. "Yeah, well, get used to it," he muttered, reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "The hell are you doing back, anyways?" Offering it, he reached for his lighter as Loke accepted one with a nod of thanks. "Heard ya were doing pretty fine over the border."

Loke smirked as he tucked the snipe between his lips. "Don't believe everything you hear," he retorted, taking a long drag. "And anyway, what is it they say? There's no place like home?"

Gajeel scoffed. "Yeah, well, welcome back. This rust-bucket living up to yer expectations yet?"

Loke exhaled a lungful of smoke. "How long has it been this bad?"

The wry humour was gone, and so Gajeel only shrugged, "This bad? Past few months. Held on for a while after the crash. Could've fooled me at first, but it was just a matter of time. The world's going to hell, just taking its goddamn sweet time." He cast another glance at the man next to him, noting the faded fabric of his neatly pressed suit. It would appear his weren't the only paychecks that had stopped coming. "You been to see the old man yet?"

Loke nodded. "Just came from there." Something flickered in his gaze, and his mouth set in a grim line. "Laxus looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. Makarov..."

"Looks like he's got one foot in the grave already," Gajeel supplied with a harsh scoff. "Been like that for a few weeks now." And if things get any damn worse...

"And you?" Loke asked. "How are you holding up? Last I heard you had a brat on the way." A faint smile touched his lips. "Congratulations, man. What was it? Lucy's letters never said."

The pain lodged beneath his ribcage swelled unexpectedly – startled like a deer caught unawares – but Gajeel kept himself from visibly flinching. Loke must have noticed regardless, because a look of concern flickered across his face, before realisation seemed to dawn on him.

"Nothing," Gajeel ground out at last, snipe clenched tight between his fingers, eyes trained on the run-down line of store-fronts across the square. "Not a damn thing."

From beside him, Loke said nothing, and the silence stretched on so long Gajeel found himself wondering if it wasn't worse than whatever the man could have said, when he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry."

Gajeel didn't respond immediately, but took another drag from the cigarette, wondering idly if anything outside a barrel of bad whiskey could ever take the sting out of a phantom wound that never seemed to stop festering. "Stillborn," he said then, after a tense break. "It was a boy." The words were bitter on his tongue, like he was invoking something dark just by speaking them.

"And...Levy? How's she holding up?"

Meeting his companion's gaze, Gajeel snorted. "What d'ya think?"

Loke sighed. "I think I need a strong drink. The speakeasy still up and running?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'running'."

Dropping the cigarette to the pavement, Loke straightened his jacket. "I mean is there still alcohol?"

Gajeel shrugged. "If you're not too choosy about yer drink, yeah."

"Join me for a glass? You look like you could use one more than me." He didn't bring up their previous subject, but it was implied, nevertheless, hanging thick and heavy between them like a physical weight. And Gajeel wasn't up for a heart-to-heart on a good day.

He stomped out the butt of his own cigarette. "Nah," he said instead, far more civilised than he felt. "Got a meeting with the geezer."

Loke nodded. "Well, I'll be sticking around for a while, so look me up later. I'd also like to say hello to the missus, if she's up for it." He raised a hand in a parting gesture. "Take care, Gajeel."

Gajeel stuck his hands into his pockets. "Stay alive, Leo. Sniff what Cana offers you before ya down it. The juice joint ain't what it used to be."

"Noted," he retorted drolly, before turning around to walk away. Gajeel watched him go with a frown, before casting a glance up at the clock-tower overlooking the square. Fifteen minutes late. A good a time as any.

With a sigh he turned, heading towards the building Leo had come out of. Though his fortune had gone down the figurative drain, the old man still held his old offices, at least for the moment, though the place wasn't as busy as it had been a few years ago.

Sidestepping an assistant on his way out the front door, Gajeel made his way towards the reception. Stopping outside the door, he looked down at himself, and the neatly pressed suit Levy had all but forced on him when he'd left the house that morning. A relic of his old life, and it wasn't even one of his better ones.

Remembering the look on Leo's face when he'd talked about the Master, he grumbled to himself, before reaching down to tug his shirt partway out of his pants. The last time he'd seen the geezer, the man had aged a decade in a week. If he could get a good rise out of him, it'd be a welcome change to the sombreness. Hell, a simple reprimand would be enough. If things got any worse, Laxus would be taking over what little remained of the company before the end of the year.

Pushing through the double-doors, Gajeel stepped brusquely across the reception room towards the twin set of doors at the far end. "You're late," the redhead behind the desk remarked, without looking up from what she was doing, and Gajeel only raised a hand in vague greeting as he strode up to the doors. Knocking once, he didn't bother waiting for a reply before opening them and slipping inside.

From his perch on the mahogany desk, Laxus greeted him with a raised brow. "You're–"

"–late. I know." Ignoring the blonde, his eyes quickly found the other figure in the room, standing before the windows looking over the square, hands resting behind his back. "I had a chat with Leo," he addressed his old boss, crossing his arms over his chest.

Makarov said nothing, but turned his head to regard him. Gajeel raised a brow at the questioning look he received, as though Leo's sudden appearance wasn't suspicious as hell. "Any particular reason you called him over from Extalia?" he asked then. "'S a pretty long way for a social call."

Makarov shrugged. "Good thing it wasn't a social call." With a heavy sigh, he turned to walk over to the desk Laxus was occupying. With a sharp look at his grandson, he took a seat, and Laxus slipped off the desk without a word. Raising his eyes to Gajeel, Makarov made an effort to smile. "It's good to see you, my boy. It's been a while, even for you." The words were familiar, but spoken without the wry reprimand Gajeel was used to.

For once, though, he didn't bother making excuses. "I've had other things on my mind."

Makarov's look softened at that, and the tiredness was almost a tangible thing, clinging to his every move. "Yes, I heard. I am truly sorry. How is Levy doing these days?"

Gajeel tried not to grit his teeth, bone tired of the sympathy, but not blind to the old man's sincerity, so he reigned in his temper. "Better," he said simply. "It's been a year. People recover."

Makarov raised a brow. "From these sorts of things? Never fully." But he said nothing more on the matter, and Gajeel felt the relief like a physical thing. "But I didn't call you here for a chat, Gajeel."

Gajeel snorted. "I figured." It was almost like one of their usual rounds of verbal sparring. Almost, but not quite, for the old man's heart wasn't in it.

Makarov sighed. "I see the state of the economy hasn't affected your attitude," he muttered. "But I'll cut to the case. I am concerned about Minerva."

"Gemma's brat again? Thought we agreed she kept a clean business." Hell, it was more than anyone else did in this town, and as far as Gajeel knew, she had her eye on the prize fighting industry and little else. Her boys were good, too, he had to admit with a twinge of begrudging respect.

Makarov nodded. "So we did, and I was wholly convinced until quite recently." He looked towards Laxus, who handed Gajeel a sheet of paper.

Skimming over the contents, Gajeel felt his brows pull down in a frown as Laxus spoke, "I don't know what you've heard of rumours about popular boxers suddenly forfeiting their scheduled matches, but we found out what happened to some of them. Two were found dead – one floating in the river, another stashed head-first in a barrel at a local distillery. One's still reported missing, but going by the other two we've got an idea of what might have happened to him." The last bit was added with a touch of wryness, though the look on the blond man's face was dark.

Gajeel muttered, "And let me guess, the club they were due to fight against..."

Laxus nodded. "Sabertooth, for all three." He handed Gajeel another sheet. "We've also got our suspicions that some of the recent matches have been rigged. This still looking like a clean business to you?"

From his place at the desk, Makarov sighed. "It hasn't reached the papers yet because there's no evidence leading back to Minerva or Sabertooth. All we've got to go on is speculation, and that's not much."

Gajeel looked up from the papers. "And you're sure it's her? Shit doesn't make a lick of sense. She's already on top of the industry. Why use dirty tricks when you've already got the crown?"

Makarov shrugged. "Who knows how long she's been pulling the strings this way? Who knows if it's even her doing? That is why I called you here."

Gajeel blinked. "'Scuse me?"

Laxus sighed, and stepped away from the desk. "The city is in shambles, but boxing still has an audience. It's not ideal, but to be frank, we haven't got much else to bet on right now. But it's no use betting what little money we've got if the whole game's rigged from the start."

Gajeel looked from Laxus to Makarov. "So you want me to do...what, exactly?"

"Find out who is pulling the strings. If it's Minerva or someone else, and put a stop to it. You've done jobs like this before."

Gajeel raised a brow. "And nearly gotten killed how many times?" He looked down at the paper again. "'Sides, I've put the gloves on the shelf."

"That's not what Lily tells me."

Gajeel's gaze sprung back up, and Makarov met it with a raised brow, as though daring him to contradict the claim. Gajeel glared back, but Laxus interrupted him before he could snap something particularly disrespectful. "Lily said you've been taking on small game once in a while."

Gajeel shot him a look. "Just puttin' food on the table. Don't go getting any ideas."

"Work with Lily on this, and you'll do more than put food on the table," Makarov said then, drawing Gajeel's gaze. "This isn't just about boxing, Gajeel. There's a bigger picture. We'll make the city great again."

"So what, you want back on the throne, and you think a few rounds in the ring will do it?" he raised a disbelieving brow. "You been drinkin' that rotgut Cana's sellin', old man?"

Makarov didn't flinch. "There is a way to save this town, Gajeel. To drag it back out of the dirt. Will you just sit on the sidelines? Or will you help do something about it?" he asked, and now his voice had a distinct bite to it.

But Gajeel was quick to retaliate. "Hey, don't act like I haven't done everything you've ever asked of me! Like I haven't given my fucking' life for your schemes already. Who the hell put his neck on the line so you could get rid of your lunatic brat, huh? Now you're telling me I've got to drop everything because you want to be king again?" He scoffed. "Not fucking happening. Find some other willing cannon fodder for your power-trip, gramps."

"This is not about power, Gajeel–" Laxus cut in.

He levelled the blonde man with a sharp look. "The hell it ain't! It's always about power! Every damn time, and I'm sick of being your go-to-guy when you need something cleaned up." He slapped the papers back down onto the desk. "Find someone else."

Makarov sighed. "Gajeel–"

"Think about it," Laxus cut him off, stepping between them. "Take some time, mull it over, talk to Lil if you have to. It's not just our necks on the line here." He levelled Gajeel with a look that spoke volumes about the severity of the situation. "I know it's a lot to ask, but we are asking, regardless."

Gajeel glared at him, but his anger had lost some of its fuel, and so he kept himself from yelling something obscene. "Fine," he bit out. "I'll think about it. Ya happy now?"

Makarov looked anything but, but he nodded regardless. "That is all I ask, Gajeel. You can go see Lily about the details, if you wish. He's neck deep in it as we speak."

Gajeel said nothing to that, but stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep from socking one of them. "That all?" he growled.

Makarov nodded, and Gajeel turned on his heel, eager to get out of the stifling office, if only to think clearly. The decorative tapestries and fine furniture – those that hadn't been sold already – made him itch, and he felt the need for some air to clear his head before he did something reckless. The conversation with Leo was also fresh in his mind, and the rudely awakened grief clung like a ghost to his every thought.

There was no voice shouting after him to tuck in his shirt, and it only made him pick up his pace, passing the reception without even looking at Flare, but the redhead didn't call after him. They were civil on a good day, but there hadn't been many of those in a good long while.

Pushing past the doors to the outside, he made a sharp turn in the direction of the gym that had been a home-away-from home when he'd been a kid, and again in the months after he'd lost his own brat. Lil had been understanding enough – or wise enough to leave him to his own grief without asking too many questions. And it had kept his wife from worrying about where he got off to at night, although he was far from proud of fleeing the house in the first place.

His feet took him down familiar streets and alleyways, ones he'd walked enough times to know them with his eyes closed, and he'd reached the gym by the time the sun had finally dipped down below the rooftops. It had never been a very nice neighbourhood to begin with, but the events of the past year had taken its toll on the poor more than it had the rich, and so the already poverty-ridden parts of Magnolia had gone from bad to almost uninhabitable. He'd spent most of his early adolescence on the streets, but it had never been this bad for him. With so many people out of their homes most of the Alley's available nooks and crannies were occupied, and he found his gaze lingering on the sooth-smudged kids playing in the gutters across the road from the gym. Kids that would most likely go to sleep in the same gutters come nightfall.

Hands clenched tightly in his pockets, Gajeel turned his eyes away as he made for The Pit, eager to get away from the festering wound Magnolia had become. He'd never felt privileged until now, and the feeling crawled beneath his skin like an unnatural thing. The muted murmurs of the destitute souls behind him followed at his heels all the way down the stairs to the gym, and he couldn't get inside quickly enough.

As usual, the smell met him before anything else, and he stopped in the open doorway, taking a moment to simply enjoy the fact that not everything in Magnolia had gone to hell with the stock market crash. It was sweat and grime and familiar and unspoiled and damn it if it wasn't the best he'd felt in fucking weeks. He didn't realise he'd been standing there a good long while until a voice as familiar as the place itself spoke up and dragged him back from wherever his thoughts had gone.

"You going to loiter in my doorway all day or are you going to come inside? This ain't a peep show, you know."

Opening his eyes, Gajeel watched Lily take a seat at the edge of the raised dais, wiping his brow with a towel. He snorted as he took in the state of his old friend. "You been doin' your stretches, grandpa?"

A grin touched the man's scarred face. "Unlike someone, I'm keeping my skills sharp," he quipped, as he set to unwrapping the bandages from his hands. "Haven't seen you in here since the fight last month. You back for more?" He raised a brow in question as he reached down towards the bucket of water at his side to soak the towel.

Gajeel stepped fully inside, hands stuffed in his pockets as he cast a glance around the run-down gym. The fact that it was one of the more prosperous clubs in the city wasn't evident from the state of the place, that was for sure. But Lily was doing well.

Well, better than most, and that wasn't much with the city in its current state of economic ruin.

"Not exactly," he said, shooting his old friend a sharp look. "Heard you've been chatting with the old geezer."

Lily shrugged, clearly not intending to pretend otherwise. "I might have stopped by once or twice."

Gajeel glared, miffed for some reason that this wasn't just another scheme of Makarov's, but Lily, too. "You making deals with the high hats now, Lil?" He wondered for a moment why the man hadn't just come to him in the first place, if he was the one really gunning to take Minerva down. Going through the old man seemed excessive for Lily, considering their long friendship.

Lily leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "If that's what it takes. I could use the help, you know."

"Not from me."

"From who, then?" he tilted his head, and Gajeel suddenly felt fifteen again, standing in the same doorway, asking for a place to train.

"Someone else. I've got my plate full already."

Lily snorted. "Bullshit. You come here asking for fights when it suits you. I've seen you with your plate full, Gajeel, and this ain't it. This town is a sinking ship. You gonna sink with it, or are you gonna help ladle the water with the rest of us?"

Gajeel glared. "And you think a few successful rounds in the ring's gonna do it?" What was happening with the sudden faith in prize fighting? Had he missed something vital, or were they all just that desperate?

Lily shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But if there's an industry to gamble on right now, it's boxing. But it's no use betting on a club that's second-best."

"And what, that's you?"

Lily nodded. "Sabertooth's got the best boxers in the business. Hell, you know that better than most. But you've also beaten them once."

"Five years ago, and if you think I was in bad shape then you don't want to pitch me against those brats now," he snapped.

Lily raised a brow, clearly not convinced. "I think you fought and won with a fresh gunshot wound, and don't even try to pretend you've got rusty skills. You were in here just last month and you nearly put Fullbuster out of commission."

Gajeel grumbled. "Fella was askin' for it."

"Yeah? Well Minerva's boys ain't asking, just taking. And if the rumours are true..."

"What, the murders and the rigged matches?"

Lily nodded, and something dark flickered across his gaze. "Hasn't been one of my brats yet, but I ain't about to wait for that to happen."

Gajeel paced towards the ring, scrubbing a hand down his face. "So ya want me ta take on a club that may or may not be fighting dirty, so the old man can retake his throne from the Sabertooth queen and have this thrice-damned dust-bowl back under his rule?"

Lily snorted. "A bit melodramatic, but yeah, pretty much."

Gajeel glared at the flickering lights overhead, mulling over the turn of events, and his unfortunate place in the middle of everything – again. "You think it's really her doin'?"

Lily sighed. "Honestly? No. I've been in the business a long time, and she's got no reason to resort to dirty schemes. Her boys are more than good enough to keep her on the 'throne', as you put it. It doesn't really add up."

"Then who?"

Lily wiped the towel over his face, then let it drop back into the bucket. "Your guess is as good as mine, Gajeel. If it's not Sabertooth, someone certainty wants to make us think so. It's the why I can't figure out." His brows furrowed sharply then, tugging at the characteristic scar that made him look meaner than he really was. "And I'm not planning on sitting on my hands until one of mine end up dead in an alley somewhere."

Gajeel rubbed at his temples. "So...what? I pose as bait or something? Do well enough in the ring to make someone want me removed?"

Lily shrugged. "That's one way of going about it. You're more than capable of protecting yourself if someone comes after you. And that way we'd know who's behind the murders, at least."

"And Shorty?" Gajeel asked then. "What if they go through her to get to me? I've been down that road before, Lil, and I'm not about to make a return trip," he growled.

Lily pressed his lips together, and his gaze flickered to the gloves hanging around one of the supporting poles on the dais. "You don't think I know it's a lot to ask? I've got Charle to think about now. My position isn't nearly as insignificant as I'd like, but it's too late to do anything about that now. All I can do is make sure she can take care of herself." The if something were to happen was about as unmissable as an ugly stain, and Gajeel felt the weight of the words settle like a familiar mantle on his shoulders.

A small smile tugged at Lily's mouth then. "Erza's been teaching her a few tricks. Thought it could come in handy."

Gajeel raised a brow at that. "You want me to bring Levy in for a round in the ring with Red? Seriously?"

Lily shrugged. "Why not? You taught her to shoot."

Gajeel closed his eyes, wondering how things had managed to go from bad to worse to fucking cataclysmic in such a short time. At least yesterday he hadn't had to deal with the thought of trigger men coming after his wife, not to mention the whole bloody circus that prize fighting had turned into since his glory days in the ring.

"I am getting too damn old for this shit."

Lily guffawed. "Boy, you are two decades too young to be saying that." He shook his head with a snort. "Old, my ass."

Gajeel smirked despite himself. "I can't believe I'm saying yes to this," he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

Lily rose to his feet. "I'd say you won't regret it, but I'm not really in a position to guarantee that."

Gajeel accepted the outstretched hand, and clapped his old friend on the back, perhaps a little harder than necessary, but Lily only grinned at the gesture. "At least you're honest," he grumbled.

Lily threw an arm around his shoulders. "Honesty is my policy, old friend. Now, get out of that stuffy suit and we'll see what you've got, hmm? See if you're good enough to knock me out."

"Shaddup, gramps, or I'll put you out of commission."

Lily's gruff laughter bounced off the rusted walls of The Pit, and Gajeel wondered idly if it wasn't the first genuine one he'd heard in a year. "Kid, don't make me get serious about this. You know it'll only end bad for you."

"Then I'm taking you down with me, old man," he retorted, and smirked despite the fact that the whole exchange was too damn sinister for his liking, even if he'd never been much for superstition. He ignored the itch between his shoulder-blades as he headed for the lockers, but the thought lurked at the back of his mind as he made to change out of his suit.

You know it'll only end bad for you.

It was dark by the time he made his way home from the gym, mildly bruised but feeling better than he had in days, even despite accepting Lily's offer. Now all that remained was explaining to his wife that her life might very well be in genuine danger in the near future, and that she might want to dust off the peashooter she kept tucked away in her drawer. She hadn't allowed weapons of any kind in plain sight while she'd been pregnant, as if the sight of them alone had posed a threat to the brat.

Gajeel glared into the nothingness, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. It didn't matter how much you prepared in the end; death had a way of finding loopholes in the best defences. The hag had speculated that it might have been the stress that had done it, but obsessing over the cause was nothing but a trip for biscuits. There was no use pointing fingers when there'd be nothing to gain from it. The kid was dead no matter what was to blame.

The dark thoughts followed him like the shadows clinging to the rust-coloured bricks walls, reminding him more vividly than even the city falling apart around him, that the glamorous age of jazz and free flowing liquor was long gone. The life he'd thought he'd have – the one he'd thought he'd had, a short year ago – was little more than a pipe-dream now. The memory of a rounded belly and the god-forsaken empty crib he didn't have the fucking heart to throw out of the nursery his wife avoided like the plague.

With a harsh exhale, he picked up his pace, heading towards the mouth of the alley that wound its way into the small corner of Magnolia they'd made theirs years ago, a determination in his step that he didn't quite feel like he had yet, but that he couldn't go home without. Because life was still life, and if either one of them gave up he didn't think the other would make it very far. They'd go down with the ship, as Lily had put it.

But Magnolia wasn't lost yet, even he could see that, pessimistic or not. And if there was one thing he was good at, it was refusing to simply lay down and give up. Makarov wanted his city back, Lily wanted a prize fighter, and Gajeel just wanted some goddamned peace. And if getting that meant rolling up his sleeves and getting back into the business, then his choice was pretty simple, wasn't it?

But that was all tomorrow, and the city could damn well hold on for one more night. For a few more hours at least he still had his freedom, and he wasn't going to spend it wallowing in his own grief in the shadows.

He was going home.

Keen eyes followed the dark shape as it stalked down the alleyway, before disappearing around the corner leading to one of Magnolia's less-than-prosperous neighbourhoods, although to be fair pretty much the whole town went under that description these days. The shadows provided little light to see, but he'd spent enough years in the dark to not be overly bothered by it.

"He carries a lot of tension in his shoulders," a voice mused from somewhere over his right shoulder. "He's bringing home bad news. I'm guessing the meeting didn't go well."

"You always were one for stating the obvious," he retorted with a snort, eyes still skimming the darkness ahead of them.

Movement told him she was shrugging. "Well, with you for a partner, one has to fill the silence somehow." As always, she didn't miss a beat, and the wry retort fell as easy now as it had the first time they'd met, well over two decades ago.

A moment of said silence passed between them, and he felt more than saw her step up beside him. He heard her draw a deep breath, before exhaling like she was expelling something noxious. "Something bad is brewing in this town."

"Again with the obvious."

A light smack against his shoulder had him smirking despite himself. "You smirk, but you can't feel it. If you could, you'd be swallowing that grin."

He sighed, but bit back his snappy remark. He knew she sensed things others couldn't, and he'd teased her about it more than once in their long partnership, but he'd be kidding himself if he said it was a useless ability. It had gotten them out of practically every bad situation he'd gotten them into, after all.

"So he's here then? The trail wasn't a dead-end this time?" he asked gruffly, casting a weary glance around the empty street. In all his years living in it, Magnolia had never been much of a ghost town. It had always had...too much flair for that. But the Depression had hit harder than he'd thought.

An ominous gust of wind had an old newspaper sticking to the leg of his pants, and he bent down to remove it, glancing briefly at the front page declaring some blonde haired brat the winner of a big match that had taken place the night before, though by the glare on the kid's face, you wouldn't guess it. He snorted, throwing the crumbled paper to the cobblestones.

After what was almost a dramatically long pause, which he was almost tempted to break by asking if she'd fallen asleep, she exhaled suddenly, harshly, before speaking, "Yes. He's here."

He nodded, a grin curling along his lips. "About damn time we had some luck thrown our way. I've had it with following false trails."

"Don't count your winnings yet, my friend. This is far from over."

He rolled his eyes. "And the prize for the most ominous remark of the year goes to..."

Another slap, this time across the back of his head, but he only smirked at her ire. "I swear, I'll find your corpse grinning when the day comes," she muttered.

"I'll hold you to that bet, you know."

He could almost feel her rolling her eyes. "And who's going to collect? Your ghost?"

He shrugged. "I've got a will stashed somewhere...I think." He scratched the back of his head. "Hell if I remember, but the brat will get it, anyhow. And soon, probably. I've been due for a few years now."

"Optimistic, as usual."

"Hey, I'm a realist. Always have been, always will be."

"And yet you've survived this long. Miracles never cease."

He grumbled. "Shaddup. I've got you to look on the bright side of things."

"As well as keeping your ass out of the line of fire, making sure you don't drink yourself to death, or that you don't choke on your own vomit when you do..." she ticked off her fingers idly.

He waved her off as he turned to walk back down the alleyway. "Yeah, yeah, and I owe you my life and then some. Ya happy now?"

When she didn't immediately follow, he stopped, and turned back to look at her. Standing at the mouth of the alley, features mostly hidden by the shadows, he was struck by how easy it was to forget how old they were getting, and how long they'd been doing this shit. She stepped towards him then, and he caught sight of her hair, white coated silver in the dark, as well as the expressive wrinkles lining the sides of her eyes. A testament to a life of smiles, though how she'd kept that up was and would forever be beyond him.

"This will be our last stop," she said then, though there was nothing pessimistic about the way she said it. It was a simple statement of fact. "The end of the road. I can feel it."

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the kinks. Ah, yes, definitely getting old, but there wasn't much to be done about that, now was there? They still had a job to do. "Well, then, we better make it a good run," he declared as he let a grin touch his lips, maroon eyes meeting those of his long-time partner. "Waddaya say, Grandine?" he asked, the grin stretching wide across his face, teeth glinting white in the dim moonlight.

"Time to crash this funeral party."

AN: So this one's a bit grimier than the one before, but I hope you'll enjoy it just as much. As you've no doubt picked up on, there'll be some new (but not entirely unfamiliar, for those of you who've read my other works) faces, as well as a slew of (you guessed it) cliffhangers and historic slang. Buckle up, folks, because it's looking to be a long ride. Also, please drop a note saying what you think so far! Feedback fuels the forges and whatnot.

flivver: car

snipe: cigarette

rotgut: Prohibition alcohol, usually made in back rooms and of low quality

trigger men: hired guns

trip for biscuits: a task that yields nothing