Naomibe presents
A story based on Pots' Hitmen AU

Red (Baekhyun) and 61 (Chanyeol) on
GANGSTERS & SOMBREROS

The barman with the Mexican mustache was cleaning his glass more diligently than he should have. He wasn’t Mexican at all, hated the smell of cigar and shivered with horror just thinking about the word “muchacho”. But his cocktails were awesome and the mustache was really good on him. No surprise, consequently, that he was appointed to serve during the little special parties giving by “señor” Alberto Gonzales, alias Kim Sungchul.

Like many gifted criminals, Kim Sungchul had some little habits that could portray the ordinary person as a madman. When they’re rich, influential or simply able to blow up your brain with a snap of the fingers, you said “eccentric”. And Kim Sungchul loved Mexico. He wanted to be called “señor”, drank tequila and had the unpleasant habit to send potted cactus at his enemies to let them know they’ll die.

The barman put his glass down, sighed and watched the room with a hint of worry. Something horrific would happen. He couldn’t say where the first bullet would come from. You didn’t remain a barman and alive at Kim Sungchul service without survival instinct. He had learned to notice troubles even before they grow in the culprits’ head. And here, there was plethora of potential culprits.

The beautiful girl in a red dress who was making “señor” Gonzales laugh. His group of hot-blooded mistresses who were looking at them with the hostility of a displeased mongoose. The numerous bodyguards wearing a sombrero. And the tall silvered-hair guy in a suit who was leaning on the walkway overhanging the room.

It was going to end in tears.

~

A few hours earlier…

Red went into the hotel’s hall and headed for the front desk counter. His heels resonated on the marble floor. The movements of his skirt caught a group of businessmen’ attention, sitting down the small opened salon, at his left. His black jacket highlighted the delicacy of his arms. A man wearing a Fedora gave a faint smile when Red walked past him. The young man of the front desk, called Sol Munhee, surprised himself by stopping to breath when the nice pale throat made some words for him. The girl’s face – or so he thought – was fine and chiseled, nicely surrounded by a pair of long earrings. Munhee noticed a mole above the rosy lips.

Red waited patiently that the employee remembered he was with a guest. Male or female, the regular mix-up hardly bothered him, even if the empty eyes and the lack of response of his interlocutors tended to be tiring. He ended to put his purse on the counter.

“I have a room, booking for Yon Sarang” he explained with a strangely neutral voice. “Booking made by the Daydream company.”

When its special employees were sent on that kind of assignment, the Organization hided behind one of its numerous clients. The Daydream director didn’t even raise her eyebrows when the Organization had asked for false ID to help Red in his mission.

Sol Munhee got back on earth. He gave an apologetic smile to his guest and felt disappointed when her beautiful face remained expressionless. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and began to search actively in his register. Here, booking made by Daydream. Specially arranged room. Sarang. What a lovely name. Room 246. He had a new blissful smile, kept the key in the room behind the front desk and handed it to Red.

“Just a signature, miss, and all will be in order” he said while giving her the register.

He watched the long thin fingers signed with red ink. Then his beautiful guest vanished like a dream to the staircase. Munhee would watch the empty space left before the front desk for a long time after her absence.

Red reached the second floor without effort. Once in his room, he closed the door in his back and headed for the coffee table. The room was light and spacious. The bed, with white sheets and a light tint of gold on the edge, was on the left, flanked by a waxed wooden bedside table. The bathroom door separated them from a big wardrobe built in the wall. In the front, a large bay window gave view to a flowery balcony. Some exotic trees were visible in the background. Finally, a small lounge was on the right. It consisted of two leather armchairs, the coffee table and a sofa on which Red took place to read the file left for him.

File #3542
Client n°583
Target : Kim Sungchul

Head of all the « emerald district ». Specialist in gold, metals and precious stones traffic. Thinks he’s the boss of a Mexican cartel. Loves women and tequila. Extremely dangerous.

Red read carefully all the pages of the file. This time, his mission was asking for more than a beautiful smile or an ornamented brass knuckles. The client number 583 was none other than the director of the company that booked that luxury room : Daydream.

Daydream was lead by a famous jeweler everybody called “Diamanda”. She was specialized in the creation of made to measure jewels. Diamanda was a very creative person and was never preoccupied with some basely material things like law or others property. A gemstone that wasn’t put by her on a ring, a necklace or a brooch she made was a waste.

Kim Sungchul was not long ago one of her suppliers. One murmured they were lovers too and that Diamanda had gave him a ring as a present, a ring topping by an extraordinarily pure emerald. Then the “señor” Gonzales had became infatuated with a curvier youngster and the jeweler had broke up peremptorily.

Now, she desired to recover the emerald ring more than anything.

Red turned the last page of the file. Here, he found an invitation intended for “Nan Minjoo”, on the occasion of “señor” Alberto Gonzales’ birthday, 52 years old, organized in his private luxury hotel at the edge of the ocean. Sombrero must be worn for men at all times.

Someone suddenly knocked on the door. Red lifted his head, intrigued. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe was it the room service? Sometimes the unexpected services offered by the hotel were quite surprising. Once, a waiter had came to bring him a welcome tray, then had started a languid . Red had came to conclusion that people had some strange needs.

Nevertheless, it was better to not take risks. He rummaged through his purse, took a light but surprisingly strong brass knuckles and threaded his fingers into it. Calmly, he headed to the door, that he opened with his left hand.

61.

“Oh. Good afternoon sir. I didn’t know we have to meet so early.”

The file stated that they had to meet in Kim Sungchul’s private hotel. 61 had a faint drop-dead gorgeous smile. In Red’s place, any girls would have felt her legs wobble. With good reason. 61, the best shooter of their agency, was the kind of man on which anyone did a double take. His slender figure reminded the one of a Doberman. He was elegant and always seemed to suppress some kind of internal impulse. His silver hair didn’t make him look older, but looked unusual and pretty cool. As for his big ears, they were fiendishly useful to collect all secrets of his targets, generally being swoon at his feet. But since the mysterious events occurred in 2005, his activities were restricted to shooting.

“Surprise” 61 answered. “May I enter? I doubt that seeing us together in the hallway is a very good idea.”

Without a word, by no means affected by his partner’s smile, Red moved aside to let him pass and closed the door.

“I thought it was better we meet earlier” the shooter said. “That assignment is risky, Kim is a madman and he’s overprotected.”

“It’s not the first time that our target is difficult, sir. Remember Chon Kwang, the boxing champion.”

Despite all his self-control, 61 felt his hair raised on his neck. He remembered Chon Kwang very well. One of his rival wanted him to be eliminated. The champion wasn’t the kind of guy who get messed around easily. 61 knew pretty well men like him : they raised in the society the same way. The street was their school, it had sharpened their predatory instinct, then gave them claws.
Chon Kwang had proved to be a far-sighted target. As a result, Red had broke his right hand while trying to defend himself and 61 had his jaw dislocated. Only his skills with weapons had saved them. 61 turned his back on his partner to face the balcony.

“I came early to avoid that kind of result” he declared with an unusual seriousness.

The memory of the boxer’s chest bloody hole would haunted him less than the one of Red’s bandaged fingers.

They decided that 61 would arrive first, to take his place at his vantage point and, if required, shooting point : a long walkway totally encircling the Kim Sungchul’s ballroom. So, he could see the whole scene and move easily. He might even have access to the first floor outside balconies. His goal was to cover his partner.

To play his role of bait, Red would give rise to his noteworthy entry with a skillfully calculated lateness. The “señor” Gonzales liked unusual women. With his red dress, his harmonious silhouette and his short hair, Red would surely catch his eyes. He then would lure his target in a quiet place, get back the emerald ring, using force if necessary, mention Diamanda’s name and neutralize the man. If all was optimal, he wouldn’t even have to run to leave the place.

But nothing is perfectly optimal in life.

~

61 had contemplated “señor” Alberto Gonzales’ luxury hotel from afar before to go. He didn’t felt the slightest hint of desire. Even less admiration. And yet, the architects and gardeners surely had sweat blood to create that dream scenery. The bright building had got a melted gold tints when the sun had decided to go to sleep. At the same hour than the arrival hour, of course. Behind, the ocean sparkled under the last sun-rays, while the palm trees and other exotic trees were swaying gently under the hot breeze. The chandeliers, already on, turned each window pane into a small shining jewel on the hotel frontage. The shimmering tints of women’ dresses completed the work. Such a shame the effect was ruined by a flood of sombreros.

61 didn’t give a damn about ridicule, but he might admit that he felt pretty ill at ease under his hat. Then he felt perfectly idiot when the group of henchmen who were acting as security guards made him take it off to check if he didn’t hide something under it. Suppressing a sigh, he finally passed the line of finely crafted pillars that embellished the entrance and went into the hotel.

 

Red didn’t felt so much emotions in arriving once the sun had disappeared. With a red-gloved hand, he elegantly held his invitation out to the hotel butler then merged into the crowd. He would catch the attention early enough. His red slit dress would work on its own.

Less than ten minutes later, the “señor” Gonzales gave him a glass of mezcal. Red said yes with a faint smile. The one that gave you the impression you were the only one worthy of his attention. A smile he was absolutely enable to make naturally. Some romantic guitar notes adorned the moment.

“And what is your name, señorita?” Sungchul asked while hand-kissing him. “I do not think we already have the honor of meeting each other.”

“Nan Minjoo. I’m glad to meet you, señor Gonzales.”

Sungchul made a laugh of pure delight. Some steps further, a lot of his mistresses flared up with jealousy. Red totally ignored the eyes boring into his nape, focused on his target. Kim Sungchul was a pretty ordinary man, slightly fat, his skin tanned by the sun. Or UV rays. In comparison, his teeth looked nearly fluorescent white. His sombrero was tamping his already rough features. Nevertheless, each of his gestures was calculated. Nothing useless. Nothing mannered, in spite of all his Mexican razzle-dazzle.

“You’re welcome” he whispered. “Just call me Al.”

From his platform, 61 was observing the scene with an indifferent face. Once he had entered, his destination had been the men restroom. Here, he had removed the sole of his shoes and put back the pieces of his smallest gun together. He had hidden it under his jacket. Then he had had a drink on the bar. Without alcohol, to kept all of his faculties. The cocktail, put on the guardrail near his elbow, had remained untouched since Red’s arrival.

It was a habit, but seeing his partner with one of those guys would always pinch a lost part of his heart. Sometimes, he would found himself wanting to be Red’s target, so he could receive one of his smile, even fake. Then he would get a grip on himself and plunge back into work. Kim Sungchul leaned to Red’s ear, then the pair slowly headed for one of the balconies giving view of the ocean. 61 finished his drink in one gulp and stood up straight.
A hand touched his shoulder.

~

The nocturnal ocean spray caressed Red’s face when his host guided him outside. Like he had supposed it, the balcony was quiet. A glass table, supported by a wrought iron leg, was placed near the edge, surrounded by two chairs and some potted palm trees. A red rose in a single-flower vase perfected the romantic picture. The cactus that escorted it looked pretty incongruous in comparison.
Sungchul had him sit down and took place in front of him. A waiter appeared then as if by magic and left two glass of a colorless drink between them. The criminal inhaled his with a happy face.

“Some Bacanora of Sonora” he said with a charming smile. “A splendid Mexican liqueur. It can make your head spin pretty well.”

He tasted a light swallow of it, before leaning his glass to Red.

“But less than you, of course.”

“A real smooth talker” Red answered with a faint smile.

The “señor” Alberto Gonzales burst of laughing again. He snapped his fingers and a guitarist coming from nowhere played them a serenade.

“I always dine with music” he explained with a graceful movement of hand. You know, a world without music would be a dead world. Music has its own life, its own magic. It can give joy, make shiver the most rough skin, make you shed tears, break hearts...”

Red was only half-listening, his fake smile put on his face like a of paint. Kim Sungchul was wearing the emerald ring to his left ring finger. They were alone on that balcony, but probably watched from above and from the other balconies. Below, on the beach, he saw out of the corner of his eyes a small group of sombreros taking a walk in reeling. The Mexican alcohol was strong. Red didn’t try to check if 61 was observing them too : he knew he was here.

A curiously soft hand slid against his. Red gave a surprised look to his host. Sungchul was smiling to him.

“Aren’t you drinking, my dear? You seem confused.”

“I was thinking of music” Red answered. “I didn’t imagine you would be such a music lover.”

“Oh, really? And yet, I love to think that music and me have a lot in common.”

Red raised a prettily drawn eyebrow. The criminal brushed the rings that formed the hitman’s brass knuckles with his fingers. On the sand, below, someone let out a cry.

“We can give joy...”

He took the rose and delicately Red’s powdered cheek with it.

“We can make shiver the most rough skin...”

Red felt his hair raised on his nape. He suddenly had a bad feeling.

“We can make you shed tears...”

A sound he knew perfectly well was heard on his left. Below, on the sand, near the sombreros. The sound of flesh hitting flesh.

“And we can break hearts.”

Kim Sungchul’s smile grew bigger as Red lost his. He felt the criminal’s hand tightened on his like the talons of a raptor.

“Drink, my dear.”

This once, the deep voice had lost all its pleasant harmonics. He knew. Red didn’t know how, but his target knew his intentions. Finding how was pointless. If he succeeded in neutralize Kim Sungchul, he just would have to steal his ring and run for his life to avoid the bullets. 61 would cover his flight.

Red stood up and hit with his free hand. But Sungchul blocked the punch in a flash like an old professional.

“Look at your left” he ordered.

Another muffle cry came from the sand. Heart beating with adrenaline, Red risked a quick look, tensed like a bow. Two men wearing sombreros were holding another by his arms, while the third showered him with blows. The prisoner’s hat had toppled back, showing his silver hair.

Impossible.

And yet, it was 61, kneeling in the sand. Red made out more than he saw the color of the blows his partner had endured. He remained perfectly motionless when Sungchul stood up in his turn, without let him go.

“You should sit down” he insisted. “And drink. If you don’t, my enforcers will be delighted to blow your friend’s brain.”

And, to illustrated the threat, the third man abandoned his fists to get out a gun from his jacket. He turned to look at his boss, waiting an order.

Red’s face found his natural emotionless again. Without a word, he sat on his chair. His hand didn’t shiver when he calmly took his glass and brought it to his lips. The liquid burned his throat, but he wasn’t letting on. His vision faltered. The last thing he saw was “señor” Alberto Gonzales’ bright smile.

 

~

When 61 regained consciousness, he realized quickly he was fastened. After struggling for several seconds to open his eyes, only his right eyelid opened. The other side of his face was so sore he wondered for a moment if someone didn’t press a flatiron against it. His head was still resonated like a bell. Damn. Those three guys were waiting for him on the walkway. And they didn’t joked. Despite himself, he sighed from lack of comfort. A kind of light laugh answered him. He tried to move but a weight on his back moved, indicating that he had be fastened with another human being.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the red of Red’s dress.

“Your friend doesn’t suffer from any wound, if you’re worrying about it. He seemed more wise than you.”

The guy in front of him didn’t wear a sombrero anymore and his contours stayed blurred, but no doubt about it: Kim Sungchul. He was looking at the pair of hitmen with the satisfied smile of the one who had called the tune from beginning to end. 61 raised his head with a swaggering air, jaw forward. A wet, salty breeze made some of his silver locks fly. Where were they? A warehouse?

“You know, I learned some little things during my career. For example that it is better to not draw attention on you when you want to carry out an infiltration assignment.”

With the tip of his cigar, Sungchul showed 61’s silver hair.

“Black would be better on you, muchacho.”

“Gave my natural exuberance credit for it” 61 said with a tense smile. “You should understand...”

A foot wearing a polished shoe met his jaw. His head tipped back violently in a disturbing crack. Under the , 61 rolled on the side, pulling Red’s unconscious body with him.

“Like I was saying...” Sungchul continued. “Discretion. I fear that you had missed some lessons about it, muchacho. We surveyed you since your arrival at the hotel.”

Beside Sungchul, a henchman wearing a fedora raised his hat for him, smiling. 61’s fists twitched. He had probably ran into him two or tree times at the bar, often in pleasant compa…

Suddenly, a gloved finger brushed the back of his hand.

Accustomed to the exercise, 61 feigned a cry of pain and anger to hide his jolt of surprise. But he had to hide his furious heartbeats full of hope too.

“Him?” he teased. “You’re talking about the guy who had a great time with the lovely blonde who was following you during the party?”

A slight tension in the air indicated him that the words had reached their goal. Sungchul drew on his cigar a tad too hard, in spite of the fedora man’s lazy air. 61 rubbed it in.

“The one with the butterfly on her right thigh.”

That once, fedora man lost his smile. 61’s grew. His muscles tensed to block a potential blow.

“Who’s talking about discretion, now? Service corridors are more visited than you think.”

Surprisingly, the expected reprimand didn’t occur. In spite of it, the atmosphere became thicker like a bucket of syrup. Sungchul inhaled a long puff of his cigar, then briefly disappeared behind the smoke screen. 61 examined the place discreetly. A bug warehouse, full of crates, metallic cans, huge containers… A storage space near the ocean ? He could hear the water slapping behind a heavy iron shutters, on the back of his assailants. Going out of here would be a challenge.

Red still had some difficulties to focus. Even with his closed eyes, his brain seemed stuck to him, his thoughts hazy. He was right to drink just a mouthful. The product was strong. In spite of it, he had succeeded in letting his mentor know he could count on him. When 61 had tumbled on the side, Red had made the most of the situation to pull the high heel out his shoe. By dint of contortions, he had pulled his arm between them. Now, he was using the hidden blade to cut the rope that was binding them together. They had no chance like that.

But soon…

Sungchul moved closer.

“Who sent you?” he asked coldly. “You...”

61 leaped like a cat when he felt the rope lowered around his arms. He smashed fedora guy’s nose with a single punch and hit the nearest henchman’s chin. The hitman had relieved the third man of his weapon before the others fall on the ground. The moment had barely lasted some seconds. He kept Kim Sungchul at bay. No more smile in sight. Joke over.

“The ring, Mister Kim” Red said in standing up, hand on his forehead.
“Señor Gonzales” the criminal replied.

Red got closer, barely staggering, and put the blade of his heel on Sungchul’s neck. He hadn’t enough strength to hit him on the face, but enough to cut.

“The ring, Al.”

The criminal considered his situation from all angles. It was bad. Without a word, face tensed by rage, he removed the emerald ring.

“Put it on the ground” Red ordered.

Kim Sungchul complied slowly, his other hand high as a sign of peace. Taking advantage of his position, Red dealt him a thump of elbow in the nape. Sungchul fell forward in whining with pain.

“With the compliments of Diamanda.”

Red picked the ring, put it on his finger, then looked 61 in the eyes. He nodded. The hitmen left the warehouse without further ado once they found the exit.

~

Escaping from the port district discreetly was difficult. In their situation, it was impossible for them to return to their hotel, probably watched. But the Organization’s hitmen were resourceful. A hideout was waiting for them on town. The darkness allowed them to reach the festive districts without getting themselves notice. Dressed like they were, they looked like a tipsy couple. If Red felt more lively once the effects of the drug were cleared, 61 had more difficulties to stand on his feet. The fight didn’t do good on him. Yet he felt his burden get lighter when Red’s arm got on his waist to support him.

Their hideout was a room in a mid-range hotel. A room with a double bed, a worn armchair, a bedside table, a chair and a bathroom. View on the trash cans street. Once in a safe place, 61 let himself fall in the shower to clear the blood that stained him out. His clothes had it. He should destroy them as soon as possible. Such a shame. It was a good suit. The hot water was a delight. He got back in the room to bandage his wounds while Red was calling the Organization to prove their success.

After he hung up, the young man inspected his outfit. His dress was undamaged. However…

“I laddered my stocking.”

61 knew he should had wait before to turn. But he left his last Rilakkuma band-aid and looked at Red. There always hwas a little something special in his partner’s movements. Something that tightened his stomach each time. And it had nothing to do with his dresses.

Red delicately took the ruined edge of his stocking and detached it from its garter. 61 felt his throat get dry suddenly when the young man in a dress made the stocking slide along his thigh, showing a slit on his alabaster skin. The cloth creased a second on the knee, before it get down the calf and, finally, left the leg. Surely with a lot of regrets, 61 thought.

He looked Red cleaned the cut with a sustained attention, very slowly, until it was just a pinkish mark on his thigh. The color was a lot more gentle than the dazzling red of his dress. Then Red looked for something in the first-aid kit. Without a word, without thinking, 61 squatted near him, peeled the protective layer of his last Rilakkuma band-aid and put it on Red’s leg.
Red looked at him with surprise.

“It was your last, sir.”

“That’s OK” 61 assured with a husky voice. “I don’t need it anymore.”

Red studied his mentor’s bruised face. He would have looked better after kissing a combine harvester. Nevertheless, he didn’t try to discuss. 61 always knew what to do.

“Fine.”

Red put his hand on 61’s, remained on his thigh.

“Thank you, sir.”

61 swore that anyone could hear the jolt of happiness his heart made in all directions. And he gave him a real smile.

“You’re welcome.”

 

The End.