The Poets in Vienna

Three

     Remus Lupin thought James Potter was pissed when he told him that he killed Regulus Black. But then everyone had started talking about the morning paper, and how funerals were being planned, and Remus was just annoyed.

     You see, the two had made it a little competition between hitmen to find the murderer poet first. Which, morally, sounds fucked up.

     Hey, let's see who can find and kill someone first! Last one to drive a knife through a man's chest is a rotten egg!

     But really, it was just a motivation booster. They had been chasing the murderer poet for three days already and Remus thought he was going to go insane if they stayed in Vienna for any long.

     So when James Potter walked into the coffee shop across from his apartment that morning, with a mischievous grin, and bags under his eyes, Remus already knew he was up to no good. But when he said that the murderer poet they had spent the last seventy-two hours looking for was millionaire's son Regulus Black, and that he had killed him, Remus could have punched that obnoxious grin off his face. Especially since he had just found a lead in the case, that he was sure was the poet. And his name was not Regulus Black.

"James Potter I'm going to kill you." Remus scowled.

     James shuffled in the chair in front of him, a lazy grin on his face.

"Jesus! At least warn me before you get in a shitty mood." He mumbled sarcastically. "Where can a man get some coffee around here?"

     The cafe was small. Small enough so that it was never really packed, but still large enough so that hundreds of people could pass in and out of it every day. The other customers never really bothered Remus though, it was typical to see a bunch of tourists looking for coffee in the mornings. Things like that were just the way people were wired. Go on vacation in the summer, drink your coffee in the mornings. It seemed like it would get boring after a while, but nobody seemed to mind the pattern. Perhaps Remus was just looking into it too much.

     He always resorted to overthinking everything when he was stressed. Like how the taste of water was considered a default, or how animals could have thoughts just like humans. He thought about small, meaningless things that no one would ever wonder about.

"Shouldn't you be more worried about the fact you shot an innocent man than getting coffee?" Remus replied.

     He knew he was pouting, but he didn't care. He crossed his ankles underneath the table, the leather on his combat boots worn from the number of times they'd been rubbed against each other. Remus folded his arms over his chest, slouching backward in the chair. Slouching was something he had grown used to, being six feet tall and spending half his time hunched over a desk looking at files. The sun had only just risen, but its heat was apparent, rays shining down on unhappy tourists passing by the shop.

     Remus and James were sat by a large window near the front of the shop, in a small corner where no one would hear them unless they were close. The shop smelled like espresso and sweat, which, surprisingly, wasn't the worst combination of smells Remus had come across. The espresso overwhelmed the other smells by a long shot though, leaving Remus with a warm feeling. There was a cup of black coffee in front of him, but he hadn't gotten around to drinking it, and it was growing cold.

     Remus Lupin was the most experienced hitman that worked for the boss. James knew that, Remus knew that, and anyone else that worked for the boss knew that. He wasn't the eldest, but had far more experience than any of the older members. Remus was always pushing himself to be the best. Taking unassigned missions, and stealing others. He was born a fighter, and the various scars and bruises he had acquired from missions told that story for him.