"The Art of Distraction"~ for PicFic Tuesday 11/25

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Where he’d left the package, he had no idea...well, he had a rough idea, just not exactly.

Napoleon Solo knew it was in a used bookshop down in the Bowery, but at the moment he stared at half a dozen used booksellers located there almost all in a row on Houston Street.

“How could you not know where you disposed of it?”Kuryakin growled.

“Hey I was a bit distracted at the time as I was being chased by a couple of gun-toting goons. I ducked into one of these shops, and then took off down the sidewalk before said goons following me had seen where I’d depostied it.”

“Did you not think to look at the name of the place?”

“For all the good that would have done tovarisch, as you can see,” Napoleon pointed, giving a sweeping gesture with his arm.”Most of them don’t even have a name, much less a street number on their doors.”

Illya huffed. “Well there is nothing to do but start searching each of them. Let us hope no one has picked up the package.”

“Hey it’s a nondescript envelope tucked under a pile of used books, surrounded by lots of other stacks of books, I might add. It’s only been out of my sight for less than an hour and as you can see none of these shops are what you would exactly call busy.”

“Point taken, but still I will feel better once we find that package and deliver it as promised. Mr. Waverly will not be happy about this if we do not complete the assignment.”

“Don’t remind me,”Napoleon sighed. “Well there’s no time like the present. I’ll take the first one with the pretty girl at the counter.”

“No, I will take that one, you my friend will go next door. I believe the manager is a woman as well, but rather grandmotherly looking, so you will not have any distractions.”

“Kuryakin, sometimes you’re just no fun.”

Illya opened his mouth to respond but changed his mind and simply rolled his eyes. At times his American partner was simply intractable.

They split up, heading to their respective bookshops.

Illya walked past the pretty blonde standing by the cash register, giving her a quick nod of acknowledgement.

“Can help you sir? Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Though English was a language with which Kuryakin was very familiar, he still made his own mistakes with it from time to time.  He had so many different tongues and dialects nestled in his head that he was bound to make a an error, so once in a rare while it was expected to happen.

Yet for some reason when someone committed a grammatical error with their own language, it grated on him like nails on a chalkboard.

“No thank you and by the way it is ‘may I help you,’ not ‘can I help you,” he politely corrected her.

“Oh sorry. May I help you sir?” She smiled at him, her voice finally revealing just the hint of a Slavic accent.” I am still perfecting my English so thank you for correcting me.”

He took a chance, speaking to her in what he presumed was her native language.

“Odkiaľ ste?”

She was momentarily startled to hear someone speaking Slovak. That ethnic community was pretty small in New York, and everyone seemed to know everyone else. Though a stranger to her, she instantly felt at ease with this handsome blue-eyed blond man.

“Oh I was born in Jasov in Bodva Valley, not far from the monastery.”

Illya smiled. He’d been there once. “Yes it is lovely there.”

“You know it?”

“I once passed through your town. I was a young man and working in the area.” He had to leave out the fact that he was on assignment early in his covert career with military intelligence and was tracking down a deserter who was trying disappear.”

“My name is Illya,” he offered her his hand.

“Mine is Danica. Illya, that is Russian is it not?”

“And that would be correct.”

“Oh…” Her tone of voice changed ever so slightly.

“Is there something wrong with me being Russian?”

“No, not really. It’s just that my father is not very, shall we say, fond of  Soviets, particularly Russians. That is why we emigrated here to America.”

Illya chuckled. “Well it is not like you are taking me home to meet your family.”

“Yes, and I apologize if I offended you Illya.”

“None taken. Now perhaps you could help me with something afterall. My friend may have been here earlier today and thinks he mistakenly left an important package on one of your tables...hmmm, I am afraid he is a little absent-minded.” Illya added that last bit as an excuse.

He held up a photograph of Napoleon.

“Yes he looks very familiar. I do recognize him, but I’m not sure if he came into the shop and might have just passed by. It is very slow and I tend to just watch people as they come and go on the sidewalk. What sort of package was it? I will help you look for it. Áno...yes?”

“Áno,” he agreed.“It was a small tan envelope, about the size of a book.” He used his hands to illustrate the approximate size of it.

“Well we only have those tables along back wall. Come we will check them.”

After looking at and lifting every one of books on the three tables, they found nothing.

This search wasn't getting off to a good start...

“Ďakujem Danica,” he thanked her. “I must leave you and find my friend as he is looking in the shop next door.”

“Wait Illya,” the girl touched him lightly on the arm. She grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something on it, handing it to him.

“I do not often do this, give a stranger my telephone number, but I feel very comfortable talking to you. Maybe we could meet for coffee and speak more about Jasov? You can perhaps help me with the English?”

Kuryakin smiled, taking the paper and putting it in his pocket.

“Yes I would like that.” He disappeared out the door with a wave and headed to the next shop.

Upon entering, there was no sign of Napoleon and he sighed. He quickly flashed the photo to the proprietress and she said he’d gone to another store to look for something he’d lost.

The agent said his thank yous and dashed out the door, suddenly feeling something was wrong.

Again there was no sign of Solo, and Illya headed to the fourth and fifth stores. Still no Napoleon; now he was fighting the panic that was rising from his gut. Something told the Russian not to open his communicator just yet.

Kuryakin walked briskly into the remaining store, forcing himself to maintain a calm demeanor.

He asked the man at the counter, flashing Solo’s picture and saw an instant look of recognition, though the fellow denied it.

Illya didn’t hesitate drawing his Special, pointing it directly at the man’s head as he grabbed him by the lapel.

“Now the truth.”

“He’s...he’s in the back. They have him.”

“Who are they?”

“I dunno who they are but they came in here looking for some package after your friend walked in here.  They got him in the back room.”

“Are you an associate of theirs?”

“No, just afraid of them buddy.”

Kuryakin decided not to take a chance; lowering the angle of his gun barrel, he darted the man and gently lowered his limp body behind the counter.

He quickly shut and locked the shop door, turning a sign in the window to indicate it was closed. Stepping carefully towards the back; he held his gun out in front of himself at the ready.

Illya heard them, voices demanding to know where the package was, as well as his partner cracking wise in response.

There was the sound of slap, no doubt Solo’s reward for his remark.

Illya looked to the right of the door, the only place he could step without being seen, but it was partly blocked by a small table stacked with books, like the other shops.

He did a double-take...spotting the missing package there at bottom of a stack of five books, he slipped it out of its hiding place. Illya stepped into the doorway, holding it up for Solo's captors to see.

“Looking for this gentlemen?” He tossed it at them, causing enough of a distraction to allow him to dart both men with ease.

“So now it was my turn to wait I guess,” Napoleon said.

His partner freed him from the ropes binding his wrists to the arms of the chair in which he’d been seated.

“What took you so long?”

For once Kuryakin was guilty of dallying with a woman, and not his partner. “I was ummm, detained.” A faint blushing of his cheeks gave him away. For once his ability to lie had failed him.

“Hmmm, the shoe is on the other foot for once,” Napoleon grinned.”

“Yes and now you know how I feel waiting for you to arrive like the cavalry.” Illya smiled back at him; cocking an eyebrow.

Napoleon reached down, picking up the package that was the cause of their trouble and staring at it for a moment.

“I think if these thugs found out the contents of that envelope, they would have been very disappointed,” Illya said.

“Which is why I didn’t tell them where it was or what was in it...I did spot it on the table just as you did chum. If they saw what it in it, I figured I’d have been in for more than just a few slaps in the face as they wouldn’t have believed… well you know.”  Napoleon took hold of his jaw, moving it side to side with his fingers. “I figured I just had to hold out until you showed up.”

They walked out the door together; Illya leaving the closed sign up for good measure and as they passed Danica in her shop, she waved to the Russian.

“So tovarisch, did you at least get her phone number?”

Illya half-smiled, refusing to answer the question.

“Okay be that way,” Napoleon stuck his nose in the air.

“My business is my own, my friend.”

Solo laughed out loud as they whistled for a taxi. “That’s all right. I’ll find out eventually. Like you I have my sources.”

Kuryakin rolled his eyes yet again. “Fine if you must know... yes, I got her telephone number. She is from Slovakia and I plan to call her. She was quite affable if you must know.”

“Hmmm, a pretty Slavic girl who likes books. I’d say that’s right up your alley chum.”

“I concur,” Illya smiled.

.

They arrived at headquarters after a quick fifteen minute ride, taking the package immediately to Waverly’s conference room.

“Gentleman, I expected you to be back sooner than this. Were there any difficulties in picking up the parcel?”

“No sir,” Napoleon lied. “There was a bit of traffic and since it was a nice day the streets were rather crowded with pedestrians.”

“Oh, very good then.”

The two agents observed as Alexander Waverly opened the envelope, emptying the contents into his humidor.

He filled his pipe bowl with a fresh pinch of his special tobacco blend, Isle of Dogs No. 22.

As soon as he lit the pipe, and puffed on it, sending smoke wafting into the air, Illya Kuryakin sneezed.

“Oh apologies young man. I forget my tobacco has that effect on you. You are dismissed and thank you gentlemen.”

Once they stepped out into the corridor, Illya repeated his partner’s words.

“Yes, this is the last time we volunteer for something like this.” That vow was followed by a loud sneeze.

“Gesundheit tovarisch.”

“Thank you….ACHOO! How do these things happen to us my friend. We go out on a simple task to pick up a parcel of pipe tobacco and you are set upon by thugs. How do they know these things?"

“Well, tovarisch if you had stayed with me instead of stopping to get that bagel, I might not have had to give those goons a merry chase.”

Illya stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Solo in disbelief. “So this was all my fault.”

“Well you did volunteer us, you did abandon men to feed your bottomless pit of a stomach, but on the other hand you did redeem yourself by rescuing me,” Napoleon grinned.

“You are jealous.”

“Moi. Jealous of what?”

“That I got the girl’s telephone number and you did not,” Kuryakin took a haughty stance, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Napoleon looked at his wristwatch.”Hey will you look at that, we can still make lunch at the Commissary.”

“Do not try to distract me my friend.”

“I hear they’re serving Hungarian goulash. Rumor has it that it’s Sonja Horvath’s grandmother’s recipe. You remember Sonja from the secretarial pool...36-24-36? Va va va vooom.”

“Goulash, really?” Kuryakin’s eyes went wide with anticipation.

“Really,” Napoleon snickered.

Comments

[yumyumpm.livejournal.com]

LOL. What an interesting adventure. You've put so much in this. Illya's penchant for eating. Napoleon losing out on getting the girl. Napoleon getting captured. All for Mr. Waverly's tobacco. LOL.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Yep with these PicFics I feel like I have to squeeze in as much as I can!