Let's Roll- Larry Stylinson

Chapter VIII

Chicago is the same as Louis remembers. Crowded streets- all sorts of ethnicities roaming the run down area- the staple of the place. It was easy to blend in with the dozens of strangers. Public here was different than in New York. Whereas people in New York went for ritzy and glamour, Chicago was known for its wasting chaos. This was the place Louis wanted to get away from. Negativity was all he thought about in a town like this. A town where everything was basically a caper. Almost everywhere you turned someone was doing wrong. PD here was never on any of the cases, too many of them happening at once. They were trying to figure it out, but they've been saying that since Louis was fourteen. Who knows how long it'll be before they go forth on their word.

Instead of a driver, Harry is the one at the wheel, whizzing down the busy streets with caution to the wind. He's nearly running over the pedestrians, though Louis would have too with the way they meander the streets as if they owned them. Multiple curses have already been thrown their way. Louis has his hands locked tight on his side as Harry swerves this way and that to get to where he calls home. Harry's men are on his tail, driving in a different vehicle.

It's almost another half hour of driving before they park in front of a large mansion like home. It expands further than Louis can even see. A set of marble steps lead to the arched entryway, green grass contrasting to the stark white of the house. Lavender and jonquils litter the path, the buds surprisingly blooming in the autumn sun. Harry's house illustrates Louis' dream house. The house he is hoping to work up to one day.

Behind the door, the house is just as vast. Extravagant guest rooms, moderate bathrooms, sparkling music rooms, anything to choose from, his house had everything. Their last stop was Harry's main room which was as luxurious as the rest of the house- a large bed in the corner, a study, and a connecting bath.

"You'll be staying in the guest room next door, so I can keep an eye on you." He removes his tie along with his coat, placing them neatly on the bed. "Are you hungry? I can have someone whip something up." His stomach growling is answer enough. Harry goes to the opposite end of the room where a rope is hanging from the ceiling. He pulls the rope and after a moment, a bell is echoing into the room. Someone scurries into the bedroom, hands behind their back as they bow.

"At your service."

"Please have the chef prepare dinner for two and could you serve it on the veranda. Thank you." The presumed butler bows again before disappearing down the hall.

"You have servants?"

"I'd prefer to call them colleagues. They tend to my home when I am away and I'm very grateful for them." Harry guides Louis to his room, dropping him off with the promise to fetch him for dinner. Once alone, Louis lies back on the bed, millions of thoughts running through his head.

How could he come back? He had wanted to run and he did. He had made it to New York, only to return less than a week later because of some man. A man that he barely knows. Louis has zero information on Harry other than he's a very skillful man. He's networked himself around the states and that's much more than Louis has ever done in his lifetime. Pondering about that leads him to wonder Harry's age. He is certainly older. His toned muscles and hardened face gave away that he is no longer eighteen. He had to be thirty, twenty-eight at the least. Perhaps he'll ask later. At dinner.

Louis would be having a sit-down dinner with a man he's only just acquainted with. What would they even speak about? Their life? Louis was already aware how Harry was and there was no doubt in his mind he wouldn't go into personal detail. Harry was a man of few words. Mystery surrounded the man like fog surrounded the bay. Harry was this great illusion Louis wanted to understand. He wanted to see his world, how he made himself up- possibly even become a part of it.

On his own, Louis had recognized he'd never have made it. He'd have to resort to odd jobs in and around New York. It would have been the only way with his limited status. Having Harry around has helped a lot. And he's not sure he wants to let that go. However, he can't just stick around. Harry has his own life to live, one that existed before Louis came around. Tagging along would be inconvenient for him. Louis sighs as he stares up at the ceiling. What is he going to do?

"Baked ham with a side of Waldorf salad." The butler announces. After the dishes are distributed between the pair, the butler leaves. Harry picks up his fork, digging into the meat first. Champagne was his drink of choice, sitting in a tub of ice on the table. Candles light up the table, along with the setting sun on the horizon.

"I had them make angel cake for dessert." Harry adds in. The food looks delicious, tastes delicious too. It's far larger a meal than Louis is accustomed too, having lived off of canned beans for the past four months. It's been a long time since he's even seen meat. Now before him is a meal fit for a king, which he supposes Harry in some way is. His entire lifestyle would prove that. Louis' eyes wander up to Harry who is still eating away at his plate. His eyes are locked on his food, not aware of Louis' gaze. Louis takes this chance to study the man.

His face is set with hard lines, most likely formed from the stress he presumably is under. His hair is uncovered, no hat on his head to shield his full mane of hair. His body is leaner than Louis imagined without the suit, Harry only dressed in a white collared shirt. In the light of the early evening, Harry's eyes are a light green, sharper and richer in color. They dart around and Louis follows the movement until their eyes met, Louis looking away first.

"You haven't eaten much." Harry notes, taking in the half empty plate in front of Louis. Louis shrugs, fork skirting across his salad in an attempt to busy himself.

"Not used to so much food." He admits, lightly munching on another piece of ham. Harry blinks at Louis as if only just remembering they aren't from the same background.

"What was your life like, before I found you on the train?" Louis shrugs, not wanting to answer. His life was hardly fascinating. Working at a malt shop was not exactly the American dream, not unless it was making you some incredible cash.

"What was your life like before I came along?" Louis fires back.

"I asked first," Harry says, placing his elbow on the table. He rests his head on his hand as he gazes at Louis. "Though, if you'd feel more comfortable if I spoke first, I'll tell you." His head moves closer, inches away from Louis' face. "Promise to keep it a secret." Harry whispers. Louis gulps, nodding dutifully. 

"I'm a gangster."