Who: Katou and Kanan What: Katou's caught stealing, Kanan bails him out and offers him a job. When: Early January Where: Shopping mall. Warnings/Rating: Teenish. Language, mild references to drug dealing and other less-than-legal professions. Status: Complete when posted.
Sometimes, Katou missed being homeless. He didn't miss his old, stained, and lumpy mattress, and he didn't miss how it was too cold to sleep in the winter and too hot in the summer, but he did miss not needing to pay any bills other than his cellphone bill. With Wendy gone now, his busking and squeeging usually made enough to cover his expenses, but didn't have much in the way of spending money after that, which meant if he wanted new stuff, like clothes, for instance, he had to lift them from the stores.
He was looking through some clothes now, hair tied back, a black denim jean jacket covered in band patches overtop a holey t-shirt and covering his fake arm, and a pair of tight, ripped blue jeans clinging to his skinny frame. He had old punk music blaring from his headphones, and was blowing a bubble in the gum he was chewing when he did a quick glance around, and added a pair of jeans to the shirts he'd already stuffed into his backpack.
It was the last thing he wanted on this shopping trip (though, he was considering going by HMV for a couple new CDs after), and in his haste to finish up he’d missed the shop clerk who was watching him from across the store.
“Hey,” the clerk yelled, though Katou didn't notice him until the man grabbed him by the elbow and wheeled him around.
“What the hell, man?” Katou snapped, ripping out his earbuds to glare at the man, and using annoyance to cover up his panic over being caught. He was 18 now, and with a juvenile record, and he wasn't sure what would happen if the man called the police.
The store clerk wasn’t the only one who had been watching Katou.
Kanan had his assumptions that Southern California would be bright and sunny, and while not exactly warm this time of year, would have not required him to wear actual winter clothes. Said assumptions had been wrong. There was actual snow on the ground. (What the hell?!) He had his leather jacket with him and that was warm, but he did find that he needed something other than t-shirts to wear during the afternoons.
He’d been pawing through long-sleeve shirts when the young punk caught his attention. There was absolutely nothing discrete about him: clearly a teenager, light blond hair, clothing ripped in a style that was clearly on purpose, a jacket that was a walking billboard for random bands, smacking gum annoyingly and music blaring so loudly in his ears, Kanan could hear it from where he stood. He may as well been wearing a brightly colored neon sign that said “NOTICE ME!”
Kanan had watched as the kid stuffed t-shirts and jeans into his backpack. He’d been subtle, perhaps, but was still clearly an amature given not only the clothes he chose to wear while shoplifting. At least he’d had the wherewithal to look around before blatantly stuffing merchandise away he had no intentions of paying for.
Kanan then watched as the clerk made several quick strides to grab the youth by his arm before he could leave. Kanan would have left it at that, had it not been a certain shrill tone in the punk’s response to being detained. It probably would have gone unnoticed by the store clerk, who was only interested in retrieving the stolen goods, but Kanan knew the sound of panic.
He sighed and put down the shirt he’d been looking at. A couple of steps later and he had come up along the punk, putting up a relieved expression on his face.
“There you are!” He said pulling Katou from the clerk’s grasp. “Jesus Christ, I’ve been been waiting forever for you to finish up in here. Have you finally found what you wanted? C’mone, let’s pay for your shit so we can go get lunch.” He turned his eyes towards the shop clerk, looking him up and down discerningly. “There a problem here?”
Katou wasn't a stranger to adults who preyed on down-on-their-luck teenagers and kids. It was how he got mixed up in heroin and pill-pushing when he was thirteen. Nothing came without a price. But the last year had been good to him too. Izzy had been a stranger when she got Katou riffling through the dumpster behind Baxter’s and offered to cook him a warm meal instead, and all she asked for was his friendship. The same with Wendy, who’d given him a home after only meeting him a couple of times.
He eyed up the stranger until he was confident that he could take him if it came to that, and then he broke into a wide grin. “Uncle Chester!” Katou exclaimed - if the guy was a sleeze-ball then he could get an awful name. “Yeah, I got it all in here. This dingus,” he jersey a thumb at the clerk, “must’ve thought I was shoplifting or something.”
Said dingus, red and a little mortified, quickly offered his apologies and a mumbled warning about not stuffing clothes into a backpack if Katou didn't want people to think he was stealing, and then turned to lead them toward the cash register.
Kanan thought he could probably pass for a Chester. It wasn’t as if Kanan was his real name anyway. Chester wasn’t bad as far as names went and he gave the kid kudos for thinking quickly on his feet. He didn’t think he was quite old enough to be the kid’s uncle, though, unless the kid’s make believe mother had started popping out babies at a stupidly young age, or if she was drastically older than Kanan himself was. Never mind that Kanan obviously wasn’t Asian and the kid, despite his bleached blond hair, was assuredly not white.
But the clerk seemed to buy the story. Good for him for being so progressive in his thought process. Or, he just didn’t care since the merchandise was getting paid for. Regardless, he seemed perfectly fine to let the punk be Kanan’s problem now.
Kanan paid for the jeans and the t-shirts, spending more money than he’d originally budgeted for and nothing for himself in the pile. Then, bag containing the goods in one hand, Kanan took hold of his “nephew” with the other, bid the clerk a good afternoon, and left the store with the skinny punk in tow. He didn’t speak again until they were outside and the doors to the store closed behind them.
“I don’t recommend you go back to that store for a while,” he told him as he pulled him along. “You drew too much attention to yourself with that get-up, they’ll recognize you again right away. Next time, lose the jacket and the ripped clothes. Ditch the backpack. Clerks are always suspicious of backpacks.”
The fact that Kanan actually paid for everything instead of making up some excuse why he wouldn’t buy anything other than one or two of the articles of clothing made Katou even more suspicious as they left the store.
“Believe it or not, not wearing the jacket would attract even more attention. An’ nearly all my clothes are torn.” Katou had hoodies that he’d sometimes wear to cover up the arm, but none of them were really warm enough for the yearly Orange County snowfall, and Katou didn’t have a jacket that was more wintery than the one he was wearing. He didn’t bother mentioning that he could probably stroll right back into the store and he wouldn’t be recognized if he chose not to be. “What exactly is it that you want from me, Uncle?” he asked, his voice casual and his smile still plastered across his lips, though his eyes were filled with suspicion.
There was a look Kanan was familiar with. He remembered a time many years ago he’d had a similar look trained on some tall stranger that had pulled him out of the gutters. It was natural to be suspicious of people. That’s how you had to be when you had no one to count on but yourself to survive. It was a lonely fucking existence and an existence Kanan knew very well.
“Nothing,” he said with a shrug, but he hadn’t handed the kid the bag of clothes yet. “I saw a kid in over his head and I stepped in before that fucking clerk decided to call the cops. They don’t have to halt business for several hours and you get to not spend any time in a squad room. A ‘thank-you, mister’, would be nice.”
Then Kanan was struck with a thought that surprised him both for how brilliant it was and how it came straight out of left field.
“I did just dump a significant amount of money on this, though” he said holding up the bag of clothes. “Didn’t budget for it and I don’t think you’re able to pay me back for it. So how about we come to an agreement, you and I? I’m in town on business and it looks like it’s going to take longer than I thought and I need some help with incidentals. Errands and shit like that. So how about this: you come work for me while I’m here. You can work off how much I paid for these,” again with the bag, “and still get enough to put in your pocket to do whatever you want with. And I get someone to get me dinner so I don’t fucking starve while I work.”
Katou snorted at the ‘thank you’ comment, because Katou didn’t thank people. It happened sometimes, but never to complete strangers. Besides, he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And then it did. A job of all things. Again, not the first time an adult wanted to help a ‘kid in over his head’ by offering them a job. “What kinda ‘errands,’” complete with finger quotes, “you talking about?” Katou asked. “I ain’t planning on getting off on shoplifting just to get picked up for selling dope or turning tricks.” Not that being a drug dealer hadn’t made him good money (that he never really saw, since it went right back to his supplier for his own personal stash), but he was starting to get pretty comfortable on his wagon and had no intention of tumbling off it any time soon.
Kanan laughed. Oh, god he was having so much de ja vu right now! He’d said almost the exact same things when Janus had picked him up. The difference being, of course, Kanan had stolen from the guy instead of being pinched for shoplifting. Same difference in the end though.
“I don’t sell drugs,” he assured the kid, “and I’m not a pimp. Personally I hate those fuckers. These are legit errands, my friend. I give you a list of things I need - snacks, dinner or lottery tickets, whatthefuckever - and you go and get them for me. Don’t worry, you’ll have the funds to do it.”
That… actually didn’t sound like a bad set up when Katou thought about it. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about being someone’s fucking gopher, but it was better than nothing and he wasn’t likely to get fired for lipping off to any customers. Not if he was just running errands for this guy, who Katou hadn’t managed to insult yet.
“Yeah, alright, I guess I could do that,” Katou said. “You got like, paper or something? I’ll give you my number.” He was already pulling the sharpie he kept on him at all times (for spontaneous acts of vandalism and drawing on his passed out friends’ bodies) You fucking loaded or something?” He couldn’t imagine any other reason why someone would want a personal assistant.
“Loaded?” Kanan chuckled as he spoke. “You think I’d be shopping there if I was fucking loaded?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the store they’d just left. Truth was he probably would be. Kanan had nice enough clothes to wear when he met with clients that demanded a certain high-end look. Hell he even owned a suit, but honestly he was most comfortable in a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt.
“I’ve got enough to be comfortable,” he said. Kanan gauged his comfort level with the amount of booze he was able to buy a night. Right now he was well enough off to keep that going for a while yet and with Nightingale footing the bill for his latest job, he’d be comfortable enough to keep going for a while. He dug the receipt for the clothes out of the bag. “You gotta name?” He asked, motioning for the sharpie.
Katou shrugged, looking back at the store. Maybe it wasn’t the ritziest shop in the mall, but rich people probably liked wearing normal clothes sometimes. He assumed at least. Walking around in a tux and tails would probably just draw the wrong kind of attention.
Katou handed over the sharpie. “Katou,” he said. “I assume you got one too. Unless it’s actually Chester.”
“Kanan,” he answered as jotted down the kid’s name. Interesting name, Katou. Kanan wondered if like him, he’d made it up. None of his business, though. It wasn’t as if Kanan was going to be filing any tax forms while employing the kid. That was a perk of paying someone under the table.
Kanan tore the bottom half of the receipt, just below the purchase total, off. He wrote down his name and cell phone number and handed the piece to Katou, because it was important that the kid be able to get a hold of him while out running his errands.
Once Katou gave him his number, Kanan secured the receipt away in the inside breast pocket of his leather jacket and still holding the bag of purchased goods he made a vague gesture around them. “Your first task is to tell me where the hell is a good place to get a fucking burger around here.”
“Well that’s fucking easy,” Katou said, grinning. This wouldn’t be so bad after all. He jerked with his head in the direction of the burger joint. “Come on, follow me. This place has got this great bacon cheese burger.”