Luther: A Criminal Underword Odyssey

A muted commotion can be heard beyond the exterior of the four walls that make up Luther's apartment. Luther lays in bed, motionless. Their dresser is littered with a mixture of bottles and trash, save for a single photo in a frame. The photograph contains three soldiers and the lower body of what appears to be a nurse; but the photo had been burned to remove a portion of the picture.
Suddenly, a loud knock jolts Luther awake. Their sweat stings the eyelids as the summer humidity remains unbearable. They rub their red-stained eyes, unrested from another sleepless night.
The knock rings out again as Luther groans. Jack can be heard from the other side of the door. His voice slightly muffled, "Luther... Come on! It's half past noon. We have to get going."
The knock rings out for a third time as Luther is slow to rise from their bed. As they shuffle across the room, they head into the kitchen rather than letting Jack in. As Luther opens the fridge to grab a beverage, the knocking subsides. A tinkering noise takes its place, followed by a click from the lock.
"Don't pick my lock, asshole." Luther says cracking open a beer as Jack enters the room.
Jack's appearance is almost the exact opposite of his partner's. His hair has been combed back, he's wearing a freshly pressed suit, and while the duo might both smell like bourbon; his is pleasantly from a spritz of cologne, whereas Luther's originates from the swig of a bottle.
Jack flicks a pin across the room into the trashcan. As he walks over to the chair, he sets an envelope on Luther's counter.
"Here's for last night, subtract the cremation fee," Jack says.
Luther appears slightly agitated, but continues to drink through the beer bottle. They finish it and set it on top of the envelope. The bottle leaves a condensation ring on the envelope, wetting the cash inside.
"You can keep it Jack," Luther remarks.
"No. You need the income too. I mean..." Jack responded, taking a brief moment to pause and look around at the disheveled apartment. It's on the verge of falling apart. Jack continues speaking to his partner, who has returned to the solitude of their spring mattress, "Anyways. We have work to do."
"Who's the handler?" Luther asked.
"Anderson," Jack answered with a light hesitation.
"Fuck Anderson. Where's Hernandez been?"
"Vacation. Besides, Anderson has always brought us solid work that pays out."
In Luther and Jack's line of work, there are middlemen known as handlers. Typically, they're counter intelligence agents that work for and represent different countries of interest. They handle information and dossiers for different jobs tasked to the hunters.
Anderson is known for his conservative, derivative tone when speaking with Luther. While he respects and values their skills and capability, there's always been an aura of hostility between the two. The fact that their alternate handler Hernandez had been on vacation for four assignments straight irritated them.
Luther rolled over on the bed, no longer facing Jack but instead the water-stained wall. There was an elongated pause between the two. Luther could sense there was further news they weren't going to enjoy.
"Spit it," Luther said.
Jack stretched out his body in the chair with a bit of a sigh. "I have some provisions, that are well past due."
"Meaning?"
"I'm going to need you to handle this one on your own. Ride solo."
Luther burrowed into their pillow a little further, cementing their unwillingness to get up. Between the hangover, meeting with their favorite handler, and having to do double the work, today wasn't off to the strongest start. Jack lifted himself out of the chair and scanned out the room. He began to grab trash from the countertop and throw it into the garbage. It might not be his apartment, but he couldn't stand how disorganized Luther had left it.
The sounds of bottles clinging and valuables being sorted lifted Luther's ears from the depth of their recently diagnosed comatose.
"Don't clean my stuff Jack—" Luther began.
"—It's a mess." Jack retorted before Luther could finish.
"But it's my mess. Organized chaos. When you start moving things around, I can never find what I'm looking for."
Jack set what he had in his hands back on the nearby dresser. He tied off the trash that he had picked up and threw the bag over his shoulder.
"Come on. You know he doesn't like to wait." Jack said as he began to head to the door.
Luther rose to their feet and threw on a new shirt. The two headed out of the apartment entrance. As they stepped down the stairs of the damp and grungy complex, the commotion from outside began to grow in volume.
Jack opened the exit to the building's front door. The daylight sun blinded Luther in a sudden white flash.
The noise from outside was originating from another military parade. Crowds haad gathered around in support of their troops and Italian dictator Mussolini. Children sat on their father's shoulders waving Italian flags, as vehicles in rows slowly drove by with the dictator's face plastered on the side. On the sidewalk there was a recruitment booth, where men eagerly awaited to sign their lives away proudly.
At least that's how Luther felt about it all; they glanced over at the sideshow and grumbled to themselves. The two hunters continued walking for a few blocks, parting their way through crowds and festivities. Jack took in a little bit of fun, giving complete strangers high fives and walking with a bit of a shuffle.
As the two approach a nearby café, Jack broke away from Luther and headed towards his parked vehicle. As he opened the driver's door, he turned back and yelled, "Don't go off dying while I'm away."
"No promises," Luther said as a small smirk breaks through their mask.
Jack enters his vehicle and begins to drive off, meanwhile, Luther enters the café. As the door opens, a small bell is rung to signify the entrance of another customer. Inside, the sun shined brightly through the panel windows. Coffee is being pressed and brewed at a steady steam. The dark, rich aroma called Luther to the register.
On the other side of the room in the corner sits Anderson. He sports a pair of sunglasses and a thick wool coat. His cappuccino serving as nothing more than a mere prop to blend in with the crowd. As Luther orders their dark roast, Anderson continues to casually look down at the newspaper in front of him. The headline of the newspaper reads, 'Germany breaks through French borders! When will Mussolini join the warfront?'
Luther approached the table and took a seat.
"Morning," Luther said taking a sip of their coffee.
"It's past noon... you look like hell." Anderson replied.
"Yeah, well, you know only jackasses wear sunglasses while indoors."
Anderson doesn't respond. He just stares at the being sitting across from him, judging and unamused.
Luther breaks the silence first, "Jack says you have a present for me."
"Only because I need you."
Luther gives a sarcastic smile as they pour cream into their coffee, "Awe, you need me? Do you really mean that?
Anderson's demeanor doesn't budge. He slides the newspaper over to Luther.
"I need you to pick up some groceries."
"Will the store be busy?" Luther asked as they stirred their beverage.
"It'll be rush hour," Anderson warned.
"And who will I be picking up for help with all these, heavy, groceries?"
"Luca Balero." Anderson stated.
There is another brief silence between the two. Luther is attempting the mental gymnastics to make sure they heard everything correctly.
"Is there a problem?" Anderson asked.
"No... I just don't usually get kids to help," Luther hesitantly said.
Anderson taps the newspaper with his index finger, "Haven't you read the headlines. Matter of time before Mussolini pushes Italy to war. Then no more groceries."
"And Balero?"
"Kid's father is a top Marshall under the courageous dictator. If put to the task, he'll step down from his position to not risk the life of his son. That kind of setback can delay Italy's involvement in the warfront. At least that's what the National Liberation Committee thinks."
"And it won't?"
"All of this is inevitable. But their checks clear for you and the US government approves of their tactics, at least off the record."
Luther continued to drink their coffee, "What's my budget and timeframe for this errand?"
"You can find more of that information in your paperwork, but it's an urgent task; and after work, I'd consider a change of scenery."
"I've heard Spain is nice this time of year. Or maybe we could be neighbors."
Anderson looks at his watch and gets up from his seat. Pushing his chair in, he asks for confirmation, "Are you in or out?"
Reaching down for the newspaper and hidden dossier, Luther places their hand over it first and responds "I was getting tired of this place anyways. Food is overrated."
Anderson wiped his hand on the side of his coat, readjusted himself, gave a slight nod to Luther, and begins to walk away. Continuing to the front door, he remained stone-faced; his deadpan mask becoming indistinguishable from his actual anatomy.
The bell attached to the entryway rang out to signal Anderson's departure. Luther leaned back in the chair and finished their coffee. They tossed the cup into the garbage behind them and stood up. As they pushed their chair in, they noticed that Anderson had left behind his cappuccino, still untouched.
Luther grabbed the drink for themselves and headed for the exit.
"Wasteful knob," Luther murmured as the café bell rings out.