In Spite of his Name...
Summary: ...Luck Gandor learns that Las Vegas really isn't his town. Now if only he had been smart enough to leave Firo and Claire in New York.
Rating: PG13. Ish.
Warnings: Violence, language, Claire Stanfield. My sense of humor is black as hell at night, so expect jokes being thrown around in vastly inappropriate places.
Characters: Luck, Claire, Firo, anyone else I feel like throwing into the mix?

It was June of 1962 and Firo Prochainezo wanted to be anywhere but Luck's living room. The youngest of the brothers Gandor was in a particularly bad mood today and he expressed that by tearing apart half his apartment in some pathetic attempt to find his keys. On the balcony, perched on the railing, was the literal redheaded stepchild of the family. He was much less discontent than Firo and good on him. At least one of them was guaranteed to have a good time.

"This is every kind of a bad idea," the Camorra deadpanned.

"Pft. This is gonna be fun, if Lucky doesn't blow a gasket half-way through Ohio."

"Don't call me Lucky. And I don't even think we're going through Ohio."

"We should. Nice place! Not much there, but what is there is nice."

"Luck, please remind me why I agreed to this."

"Because Claire... Felix... whoever was gonna shove you into oncoming traffic otherwise."

"Don't see why that made you so nervous, pal. I mean, s'not like it'd kill ya..."

"Well, it still hurts like a bitch." A pause and the youngest of the three snapped his head back over to glare at his oldest friend. "And, you know, friends don't use their assassin big brothers to intimidate each other."

"They do when you're being obstinate. Now help me find my keys."

Luck's exceptionally bad mood had a source, at the very least, and that source was a good-for-nothing scumbag accountant he'd employed for the last five years. The son of a bitch had taken almost every red cent in his bank account. When Luck had sent men to "discuss" his missing funds at the accountant's office, they were greeted by a bomb rigged to explode the minute the office door was kicked open. Two were in the ground, two were still in the hospital, and the last had lost his arm.

So yes. Luck was feeling particularly murderous, especially when he heard that the rat bastard had fucked off to Las Vegas. In fact, murderous wasn't quite the word to explain Luck's rage. It had gone past "righteous fury" and looped around to the cold, horrifying desire to bring Anthony Vasquez and anyone who'd even been in the same room as him to a bloody and violent end.

In a word, he was pissed.

So he had called Claire or Vino or Felix or the Rail Tracer or whatever the hell he was going by these days because no one knew how to hurt people quite like his big brother. Bringing Firo along had been Claire's idea because- in his words- "you're too gloomy." Luck had agreed only because he figured bringing back-up was a good idea, even if Claire functioned as a small army.

"Why are we driving?"

"Flights to Vegas are all booked up. Train would take way too long, so don't even suggest it, Claire."

"Felix."

"Whatever. ... Where the hell are my keys?"

"Top of your fridge," the other two men droned and Luck's face fell. He turned to look and sure enough, there they were.

"And you didn't say this earlier because...?"

"Because watching Mr. Smartypants check his bread box for his keys will never ever ever get old," Claire snickered. All Firo did was smirk and got to his feet, picking up the lone bag he'd tossed a few extra shirts and pants into. "Vino" hopped off the railing and made his way over to his ever-exasperated little brother, giving him a strong slap to the back. "Now c'mon! Not every day I get to road trip with Firo and little Lucky."

"...this is easily the worst idea I have ever had..."

"That's what I was trying to tell ya if you'd just listen!" Firo slapped a hand to his face. "I'm gonna start wearing glasses. Then maybe someone will think I look smart."

"Like a brainy fourth grader, maybe," Luck muttered. Firo glared, Claire snickered, and then all three swore when they stepped out into the hot summer sun. By the time they had rounded the corner, sleeves were rolled up their arms and Claire was hoping he'd brought something that wasn't black.

And then they stopped at the end of the street and Luck let himself grin a little. Behind him, Claire chuckled and followed his adopted sibling's gaze. "And that's why we're drivin' to Vegas, Firo," the assassin explained.

Waiting at the end of the block, glistening in the sun, was a dark red Cadillac convertible, just as new and beautiful as if Luck drove it off the lot yesterday. Never mind he had bought it two years ago. But the sight of it put a renewed vigor in the youngest Gandor and he was quick to pull the top down and swing himself into the driver's seat. The look on his face was pretty much exactly the same as it had been when he'd pulled up in it in 1960.

And people said Firo was a kid.

"You're a dork."

Luck's response was to find his sunglasses and smirk more.

"Maybe. But I am a dork with a car."

At least the weather had the common decency to be nice. They had left New York about an hour ago and were speeding along the interstates, headed west.

"I am telling you, we should go through Ohio. Lots of interesting road side shows. See the world's largest potato!"

"Shouldn't that be Idaho?"

"Why do you even know anything about Idaho?" Luck asked from behind the wheel. He'd lost his sunglasses to Claire in the first fifteen minutes. Firo just sort of shrugged in response to the question, then looked around some. None of this looked particularly familiar to him, but then, he didn't do that much traveling. He'd promised Ennis they would soon, but a plane ticket was ridiculously expensive. When he did travel, it was still by train, which tended to limit what he saw.

"If we had brought a map, we would have known if we pass through Ohio or Idaho or whatever," he pointed out. The youngest Gandor did little to hide his ire.

"As if I need a map."

"Does your car turn you into a walking cliché? Or is it the sunglasses? Because Claire has those now, so your Common Sense should be coming back any time," Firo retorted. His best friend ignored him and Claire just grinned like a goof from behind his new sunglasses. "You look like an idiot."

"You're just jealous because they'd make you look like a baby doll," Claire replied and was quick to duck a slap to the back of his head.

"This was an awful idea."

Part 1 - 2 : There's Not Much In Ohio, but What is There is Nice

"See, I told you stopping here was a good idea."

"And I told you the damn potato was in Idaho."

"Are we seriously having this argument?" Luck muttered from behind his coffee. Firo and Claire just ignored him and went right back to bickering in their booth in the little diner somewhere in Middleborn, Ohio.

"More coffee, hon?"

"Oh! Yes, please," Claire chirped and held up his cup. "And desert for everyone, too! On me!" The nice lady holding the pad of paper gave a small nod, and then looked at the rather extensive spread the three had ordered. "See, my little brother is a bit broke right now, so I'm playing the responsible brother until he-"

"Claire. I don't think the nice lady wants to hear our life story," Luck hissed, fingers curling around a fork in a way that suggested Claire was about to be short one eye. The waitress serving them took a nervous step back; Firo just sighed.

"Don't mind them. It's always like this. Can I get some ice cream?"

"See? I told you Ohio's nice!"

Part 1 - 3 : In Which Luck Gandor Finally Buys a Damn Map

"You boys're headed to Las Vegas?"

Luck sunk further into the driver's seat as the gas station attendant moved to fill up his car. Next to him, Claire was grinning just as politely as ever. Before Luck could stop his moron adopted brother, he had opened his mouth and asked the young man at the pump if they were on the right track.

They weren't.

"Boys, you're on I65. You keep goin' this way and yer gonna hit Alabama at this rate."

In the back seat, Firo groaned and covered his face with his hands. Then he leaned forward and a hand smacked right upside the back of his best friend's head. "Go into the damn station and buy a damn map."

"We do not need a damn map. Now that we know we're on the wrong track, we can turn around and-"

"Buy the damn map!" Claire and Firo snapped in unison and Luck winced. Without another word said, he got out of his car and practically stormed into the station. Firo covered his eyes with his palms, as if he were trying to ignore the train wreck this trip was rapidly becoming. "Vino" just kept grinning away, like all of this was impossibly hilarious to him.

It was about this time that Luck reemerged from the station and smacked Firo in the head with their new map. The gas attendant looked between the three, coughing as he put the gas cap back in place.

"Uh... You boys havin' problems?" he finally asked. Luck just cranked his car.

"Only every day of my life."

Part 1 - 4 : Somewhere in the Middle of Nowhere

"Claire, under no circumstances are you driving my car."

"Lucky, we've been driving for at least eight hours-"

"Don't call me that."

"-And you look like you're about to pass out. Lemme drive. C'mon."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"You're being unreasonable."

"The last time I let you touch something I bought with my own money, you threw it into the river."

"It was on fire!"

"And who's fault was that!"

Silence in the car. Firo looked up from where he had laid down to occupy the entirety of the backseat.

"I could drive?"

"Firo, your legs wouldn't even reach the pedals."

"...Luck, you know what? We're not friends anymore. I'm officially taking you off my Christmas Card list and uninviting you from my wedding."

"Whenever that'll be."

"Shut up, Claire."

"Felix."

"Whatever. Now let me drive the car."

.tbc.

A/N: If you can't tell, I watch a lot of Quentin Tarantino movies.