Falling for Crime

Chapter 1

How the hell did he get here?

Alfred shuffled his feet against the cold concrete ground, fidgeting with his hands, his wrists locked tight in cold, heavy handcuffs. While he was still intoxicated, the American had noted the extreme difference in real handcuffs to the toy ones they sold in stores. His blue eyes peeled upwards, once again scanning the cell he was locked in for the hundredth time in an hour. The walls looked sad, grey bricks peeling with debris and lingering with dirt and - Alfred stared at a dark red stain for a bit - possibly blood. The floor was as cold as the environment around him, settling an unfamiliar sense of fear and anxiety in the pit of his stomach. On the surface he looked like he had been here before, covering up all the overwhelming anxiety Alfred looked like he was ready for a full two years in United National Prison. But he was the farthest from ready that one could ever be.

He shifted his feet again, letting the sound echo and drown out his nervousness. Yet again, he wondered how he got here, how did he make the stupid decision of leaving ten grams of marijuana in his car? More so, how could he have been even dumber by driving while drunk? He shouldn't even have been drinking in the first place, Alfred was only nineteen years old.

A gulp. His feet shifted more. The walls felt like they were taunting him. How long would it be until Higher General Bielschmidt assigned him a cell guard and gave him his court approval? Alfred couldn't take the tenaciousness of waiting, it was slowly eating him away.

"Aahh, shit, Matt! Y'think leaving at one A-Fuckin'-M. was a good idea?! You're crazy!"

Alfred struggled to keep his steering straight as he adjusted the phone on his shoulder. He had to slam on the brakes as he reached a stop light, not quite paying attention to his surroundings for a brief minute.
"Alfred, I didn't realize you were drunk! Make your way back home now, you psycho American, you're gonna kill yourself."

"L'be good," Alfred choked slightly, then laughed. "I'll be fine, dude, swear." He couldn't see real well, everything was blurry and objects were seeming to phase together with every head turn.

"Oh god," The other across the receiver sighed and groaned. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have told you to pick up food for me."

"I'll. Be. Fine," Alfred laughed afterwards, dropping the phone briefly before sluggishly putting it on speaker and shoving it in the cup holder. "Ah, shit," He grumbled, then laughed harder. "Dude, everything looks wicked cool! Hah!"

"Jones, please!"

Ignoring his canadian brothers desperate pleas to turn around and drive back home, Alfred rolled down his window and stuck his head out the window. "Fuck yeah, Hello, sweet U.S. - of - A.! Alfred F. Jones fuckin' loves ya!" The light turned green, and Alfred slammed on the gas, flying through the intersection. "Mattie! I'm soaring!"

Honks of other cars could be heard as Alfred barely made the turn, swerving slightly as he shoved his hand out the window, middle finger raised high.

"These people can suck my dick," Alfred slurred, "Beeping n' honking at me like m'Drunk."

"You idiot! You are drunk! Pull over and get out of the car, Alfred! Or I'm never giving you weed or alcohol ever again!" Mathew practically screamed through the receiver, he sounded panicked. What would he do if his brother had left him? What would Mathew do without his beloved idiot of a sibling?

"Fucking-" Alfred swerved from lane to lane, smiling face contorted into one of confusion and haze. He pulled his hand back in the car, trying to steady the wheel. "I dunno where I'm going."