Snapshots~"Russians and Moonshine"

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

                                 

Napoleon Solo asked for a manila envelope waiting for him and Illya at the counter of a general store in the middle of nowhere. It was a simple courier pickup and one they’d been suckered into making since they were driving through the area on the way to the airport.

A man who’d stepped up beside them, picking up his own parcels, clumsily knocked everything from the counter to the floor... his mail, newspapers and their envelope included.

He gathered up his things, a bit flustered, and apologized in a very deep Southern drawl for his clumsiness and left.

When Napoleon glanced at the envelope on the counter, he realized it was the wrong one. Obviously it had been switched in the confusion...his instincts went immediately to the thought that the mix-up was deliberate.

Illya moved quickly to the door and saw the fellow taking off in an old beat-up pickup truck, and called to his partner.

“That man who was just here,” Solo turned to the clerk, showing him the envelope. “Is this him?” He pointed to the rural route address while adding a little ‘twang’ to disguise his northern accent.

“Charlie? Yep that was him...mixed up his mail with yours enh? He’s always doing things like that. He lives about five miles or so out of town, just stay straight that a ways on the main road, and you’ll be able to find him easy enough. Make a left turn at the tree that looks like a bear, mind you don’t turn if you see a bear that looks like a tree.”  The man’s attempt at humor fell flat on the the two agents

The clerk looked at them suspiciously now, eyeing how they were dressed.

“You fellers ain’t with the government are you?”

“No, why do you ask?” Illya questioned.

“We usually don’t get folks all gussied up in suits in these here parts, lessen it’s Sunday, and it ain’t Sunday. You’re going to a funeral or something?”

“No, just passing through. I told my Uncle I’d pick up his mail for him,” Napoleon answered.

“Your Uncle Mr. Alex?”

“Ugh yes, that’s what it said on the envelope didn’t it?”

“Yep, I read it when I got it out fer you, but don’t know the feller. Never seen him here in town. I’m trying to place where his house be.”

“Way back in the woods,”Illya said, “waaaay back. He does not come to town.”

“Well how does he git his supplies and such?”

“He ummm, grows his own food...does his own canning too,” Napoleon said.

“And when he is visited, supplies are dropped off to him...he is what you call ‘hermit?” Illya said.

“Hey young feller, you talk kinda funny. You a Yankee?”

Kuryakin was suddenly at a loss for words…

“No, he’s not, he comes from...New Orleans,” his partner covered for him.

“Oui, yes. New Orleans,” Illya added.

“All right then, well you just head that ways as I said and you’ll catch up with Charlie in no time. Ya’ll ave a nice day gents.”

.

They made their way down the dusty road, turning left at the tree that most definitely resembled a bear and followed another long, primitive road, arriving at a small farmstead.

As soon as they exited the car, there was the blast of a shotgun. Pellets dotted the car door as Napoleon and Illya ducked for cover.

“Not again,” the Russian moaned. “This is the third car rental this month. The Old Man is not going to be happy.”

“Hey,” Napoleon grinned, “I have suits, you have cars...as far as expenses are concerned, I think you have me beat.”

“Shall we focus on the task at hand?” Illya quipped.

“Well you were the one who brought it up.”

Everything became eerily quiet and the two agents ran in the opposite directions, each heading around the red barn in pursuit of the man who’d taken that very important envelope from them...or rather, mistakenly taken.

“Charlie? Charlie Evans?” Napoleon shouted, taking cover behind a tractor.

“Who wants to know? You revenuers?”

“No sir, we were at the general store earlier. You dropped your mail and mixed an envelope with ours. We want it back...and we have yours for you.”

“Hell, why didn’t you say?” Charlie came out of the barn, but suddenly found himself with the barrel of a pistol shoved into his back.

“Easy now there mister, this was just a misunderstanding.”

“We will see about that,”Illya growled, relieving Charlie of his shotgun and nudging him towards Napoleon.

“A misunderstanding? You were the one who fired on us with your scattergun and damaged our car.”

“Well round these here parts Mister, folks dressed in suits and driving fancy black cars pull up in front of your house and it usually means trouble.  See I have me this little still out back behind the barn…”

“Oh I understand now,” Illya nodded, still not lowering his gun.

“Mr. Evans, my name is Napoleon Solo and my associate here is Illya Kuryakin...Illya will you put away your gun and show the man we mean him no harm. Thanks that’s a pal.” He watched the scowl grow on his partners face.

“As I was saying Mr. Evans, we’re only here to exchange your letter for ours.”

“Sure enough, it’s on the table by the door.  Why don’t you fellers come in and I can get it for you.”

Napoleon and Illya followed the man, no longer sensing any danger.

“Here it is,” Charlie waved the envelope in the air.

The exchange was made, and the agents were ready to leave…

“Say, let me get you boys something to drink. A peace offering?”

Solo nodded,wanting to be polite.

“Come on in the kitchen then. I’ll pour you a jar.”

Evans uncorked a ceramic jug he took from his kitchen cabinet, literally pouring their libations into small mason jars used as glasses.  He poured a healthy one for himself.

“As I always like to say...’over the teeth and through the gums, look out stomach here she comes.”

“Cheers.”

“Za vstrechu!”

Napoleon sniffed his drink before touching it to his lips, barely a sip. It was all he could do to keep from spitting it out as he felt like his mouth was on fire.

Illya, being a bit more hard-core, took a big gulp and swallowed it. He sucked air as the burning liquid went down his throat, and could barely talk.

“That is gooood.” He held out his jar for a second helping, to which Evans gladly obliged.

Napoleon, covered the top of his jar with his hand, passing on an addition to what remained.

Illya and Charlie Evans had several more jarfuls before Napoleon interrupted their drinking session.

“Ugh, Illya buddy, I think it’s time we get going. Don’t want to miss our flight do we?”

“Fllllight? Oh yes, that is riiight.” He turned to Evans, thanking him for sharing his white lightning.

Illya teetered a little as they made their way back to the car.

“Tovarisch, I’m driving if you don’t mind?” Solo held out his hand for the car keys.”

“Fine, have it your way, but dooonot get ussss lost.” Illya tossed him the keys.

They both slipped into the car, the buckshot holes seemingly no longer on Illya’s mind.

“That was pretty nasty stuff Illya, how the hell could you drink it?”

He smiled, recalling a happy memory from his younger days. His voice seemed to sober up. “In Soviet Union, many people made their own vodka...as it was better quality than State produced kind.  We had our own still at University...in lab.  Very goood stuff, and strong...200 proof. Those were days…” Illya’s accent became very pronounced as he expressed his fondness for his Russian white lightning.

“My God man,” Napoleon gasped, “You’re lucky you still have a stomach...no I take that back, drinking that is what probably gave you your cast iron stomach.”

Illya turned his head slowly to face his partner. There was a warm glow in his eyes, and his cheeks were slightly flushed.

“Navernoye_probably.” Moments later he closed his eyes, nodding off, as always.

“Kids, dogs, Kuryakin, and moving cars.” Napoleon smiled at his partners uncanny ability to fall asleep at the snap of a finger, though he wondered if the moonshine might have helped this time...

Comments

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

haha... very cute. We love it when the accents warms up :D

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Not sure what inspired this one, but just went with it. LOL! Thanks for the comment!

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

I do like this one. With Kuryakin's Yankee accent! No doubt it's much the same, after all. And Napoleon's claiming it's New Orleans. Actually, I think Illya and New Orleans go very well together.

And, of course, it being Kuryakin meeting his Waterloo.

Yet again, thumbs up for your original characters. I always hate leaving them. The non villains, anyway.

I find the idea of Waverly as woods hermit very convincing.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

I think you're my biggest fan when it comes to my OCS. I guess I want to make them as memorable as possible to make them feel more real. So even though I didn't give Charlie Evans a physical description, his personality makes him stand out.

Thanks for the compliments and commenting! :D

[reapermum.livejournal.com]

That is a fun story.

What's 200 degrees proof? I'm used to %ABV so don't know the conversion any more. Not so much as a number, but how it would compare with whisky or brandy.

I always think Illya would be working entirely in metric, which could lead to confusion as I assume Napoleon works in whatever Imperial is called in the US.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Illya lives in the US and does 'Amercian speak' for the most part. Using metric (which NS would not be familiar with) would unnecessarily complicate matters fot the sake of the story. 200 proof means it has a very, very high alcohol content. The proof level is twice what the percentage of pure alcohol is. Therefore, 100 proof liquor would be 50% pure alcohol. if there were liquors that were 200 proof, they would be 100% pure alcohol. Really flammable, one would imagine. lol.

Did some research and found there was moonshine that had that high an alcohol percentage.

Glad you enjoyed the story and thanks for commenting!

[reapermum.livejournal.com]

I agree Illya will talk Imperial while thinking metric.

It turns out your degrees proof are different from ours, but then ours was defined by pouring over gunpowder and seeing if the gunpowder would catch fire.

Is your health improving with rest at home?

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Leg hasn't improved and having issues with painful muscle spasms at night...eeek. Have a clinic appointment tomorrow, though I doubt if I'll see a doctor just yet. Just trying to keep my spirits up for now, but it's tough at times. sigh.