Chapter Text
Monday. It is not that Henry was upset that his alarm went off; he was just disappointed in himself. Who, in their right mind, would actually choose Heat of the Moment as an alarm? He reached for his phone with an audible grunt, tapping and feeling about on the damn nightstand like he was blind or hungover - he was neither of those right now. He simply had a long night. That was all. When he finally reached the buzzing little machine, he held it to his face, squinting at the screen. It read: 5.30.
Great.
Morning routines were always the same for Henry. Get up, wash his face, feed Mutt, feed himself - then he would take Mutt for a walk. The elevator was, of course, not working. One of the floors of the lovely post-Soviet apartment smelled like boiled cabbage. Sometimes, all of them. Very typical. He was used to it. It was one menial task following another menial task - except this time, he had reason not to dress for the occasion. Or rather, he took his sports bag and it was full of reflective gear and the heavy fucking boots. Ever since he accidentally dared complain to Radzig that he literally could not find a proper job, he has been calling him at random times in the day. "Henry, can you send me a copy of your CV?" "Jindra, how was it with your degree? What is it that you did?" "Are you free on Monday?"
He didn't fully realise that Radzig was including him in the least convenient spot for a construction job. After all, he only had one profession - a high school degree in steel welding and... well, labour. He was not ashamed of it at all. Quite the opposite, really. He was a proud blue-collar man. Unfortunately, circumstances come and go and being caught up in a silly fight over an insignificant football match was not the best look. So, try to get a well-paying job with a fresh criminal record. He swore that aggravated assault was just an over-exaggeration!
Well, Radzig knew that. Or at least, he trusted that Henry was telling the truth. That it was a misunderstanding. Now, whether or not that is true is up for debate. He does not remember much.
He started to like public transport. At least now he would have something to do during the day other than sending out disappointing emails and receiving even more disappointing answers.
Now, Radzig gave him an address to a site, seemingly abandoned, with large container offices placed a little too close to the sidewalk. That was fair and square. He got to the spot at 8.10.
"Briefing at 8.15..... but do not be late!!!" - Radzig and his texting choices were truly something. He was not technically late, though, was he? Five minutes was just enough time to get to the office, and besides, as far as these meetings go, he was sure that this would not be that serious of an offence. After all, what could be the worst thing that could happen? Get his eyes gouged out?
The moment he stepped inside the meeting room, he regretted his thoughts. It was that harsh of a sight. A man, standing like an oak with a glorious moustache and an ominous eyepatch in front of an oval table, and a screen that was already lit with a PowerPoint presentation. The only two people who paid any attention to Henry's arrival were that man and a woman in a blue suit, and maybe... maybe an overly tight white blouse underneath. But, judging by the way she was sitting beside the conveniently sized laptop, it seemed as though staring at her was not the best idea.
"Aha, look at that," the man shook his head, "I believe I was clear in my email that everybody should be present by eight sharp."
Henry frowned. "I did not receive an email."
The look this man gave him humbled the boy real quick. And all he did was cross his arms and raise his brow. Henry blinked away, then at the woman, and then back at this guy. He stood with his bag over his shoulder like he was frozen in place.
"Sit down."
Henry dropped his bag and sat down in the nearest chair. First days were always awkward, but not this much.
At least, while he got the chance to look around. The room was nearly empty, apart from a man at one end of the table, the furthest from the window, in a dark shirt and a sombre expression that would have been almost kind, if he cared to smile at Henry in a slightly different way. Now he just looked like he planned an execution. And, another one, to his left, who looked not only unamused but angry. He seemed to have been through way too much bullshit - was he working with these people for too long? He certainly seemed like it, with the skin on his face roughened up and his hair in such an uncomfortable-looking bowl cut.
But it was silent. Henry leaned back in his chair with his hands folded on the table.
8.17. Even the moustache man seemed to be upset about the time.
"Ján," the woman spoke up, straightening in her rolling chair, "let's just begin. We don't need him here, anyway."
"If we start without him, then he will bitch about it. I would rather lose my other eye."
A sigh escaped the woman's lips. Herny was slightly confused, so he looked away and cleared his throat as quietly as he could.
After a silence that lasted far too long, the woman spoke up again, with a confidence that only very well-trained people had. True professionals. "I don't seem to recall your name."
Henry looked slightly awkward. Did Radzig not say? "Uh," he straightened up, "Henry. Kobyla, that is."
The woman's eyes lit up with recognition. It was relieving. "Yes! Of course! Žižka, that's who Radzig-"
"I know, I know!" Žižka waved his hand at her. "I know who he is. I genuinely could not care less. No offence, kid."
"None taken, sir," Henry nodded. Nobody else seemed to comment. He could not tell whether that was a good thing or not.
And just when Žižka was about to lose the marbles he had left (Henry was not sure where he would even keep them, because he could not have imagined that this man would not be at least slightly insane - considering he wore a literal eye-patch, like a pirate), the long-awaited member waltzed into the room, and dropped down on a chair closest to the window dramatically.
"Look who's decided to join us!" Žižka clapped.
"Was just about time," the gruff-looking guy, because looking at him better, what Henry had deducted was that he was that - hissed out in a voice that sounded like coal in a bonfire.
"Ah," the newcomer said, taking his sunglasses off. Henry took a close look at him.
He recognised the flare. He definitely recognised the voice.
"Whatever, Hynek. Continue where you left off, please and thank you, Katherine, dear."
She seemed more annoyed than anything, rolling her eyes. "This is your project, Capon."
Hans furrowed his brow and stared at Katherine for a long while, like he was confused. Then he let out a gasp. "Ah, right!" he snapped his fingers and stood up from the chair, carelessly flinging himself forward in front of the projector. "I forgot it was the seventeenth."
Žižka sat down on a chair without a word.
"Right, so... Good morning, yada yada yada, you know who I am, you know Katherine- where do I even start?" he turned to the computer, bending down and visibly invading Katherine's space, which she seems to have been used to. "This project is very dear to my heart. I have dreamt of this for months on end, really, before I had finally managed to sketch it down on a piece of paper. So, I present to you: Suchdol Resort." Hynek put his head into his hands, holding it like he was being tortured actively.
As Hans was talking rather poetically about the facade plans of this resort, Henry couldn't help but watch him. Had he not recognised him at all? Was he really that ashamed of knowing him since the fight at that match? At least he got bailed out of jail faster than he was - he never responded to his texts after that. Sometimes, he saw that Hans looked at him with slight disdain during the presentation. This was either too much or not enough.
"... So, the plan here is," he eventually concluded, "that we will... I don't even know. Uh... Katherine?"
She stood up with a pack of salmon-coloured envelopes, about the size of an A4 paper. Everybody got one, apart from the gentleman in the dark shirt, who seemed to already have his laptop out. "There is not much for me to say," she sounded rather grumpy, "apart from the fact that everything, including the plans and the construction schedule, is in this envelope. If you lose it, tough luck. Ask your friends."
"What are we, ten?" Hynek waved his hand at them with an aggressive nod of his head.
"Yes, that is exactly what you are," Katherine crossed her arms, "because last fucking time I worked with your group of idiots, you managed to not only get two of the site's machines stolen but I had to print out the blueprints so many times that the whole country suffered from the tree losses."
"It was that bad, huh?" the man in the dark shirt finally managed to speak up, with an almost creamy voice.
"No," Žižka shrugged.
"Yes!" Katherine cried out.
Žižka immediately seemed to change his opinion on the matter. "Yes."
"Wait a fucking minute," Hynek gestured towards the stranger - apparently, he was one, this man, "who's this guy anyway?"
"Project manager. Tóth."
He waved his hand in this fairly demure way. "István is good. No need for that, Žižka."
Hynek was seemingly baffled by this whole ordeal. He dropped back into his chair with his hands out in the air, his gravelly voice quite the irritant in the already unventilated air. "What the fuck happened to the last one?"
"You did," Žižka slammed his fist on the oval table, making both Henry and Hans flinch, "he quit. C'est la vie. This is what you get."
"Ah, please, leave it be," István purred, "I believe we will all get along just fine. Won't we?"
Forget the unsettling atmosphere Hynek created. There was something incredibly slimy about the way this István was talking, and Henry was alarmed by it. Something was wrong. Nobody else seemed to know, but everybody was just slightly uncomfortable. Henry simply looked through the plans and the schedule, trying his best to ignore the horrendous feeling in his bones.
"Hans," Henry stopped him at the door, "hey."
He sounded like a pathetic dog for a moment. Hans scrunched his nose at him. "Do you have any questions?"
"Many," he crossed his arms, the envelope still in his hands. Nobody was in the office. He was supposed to go with Hynek to the site and wait for the rest of the crew so they could start the work according to the schedule. Clearly, he cared little about that right now.
"Cool," Hans tilted his head, "any of them related to the resort?"
"No."
"Then we are done here." He smiled. "Arrivederci." Just as Hans pushed through besides Henry, he decided on a whim to follow that blond asshole.
"Do not 'arrivederci' me," Henry stomped with his sports bag after Hans, who was already searching for his car keys, "you have not called me back once."
"Didn't have time."
"It's been months!" Henry caught up with him. "You didn't even look at my texts."
"Look, Hal," he stopped in his tracks, just in front of his car - of course it was a Mercedes, like always, but this one was yellow, so it had to be extra special. "I was busy. I was- I was simply recovering, you know? You got me to jail, I was pissed off, and frankly, I had to change my number anyway."
Henry only frowned. He was not that busy, for sure - not with all that money in his pants.
"Don't look at me like that," Hans scoffed, "you are at fault here, not me."
"I did not mean for either of us to be arrested." Henry almost spelt it out. He has said it a million times.
"And yet!"
"You-" Henry lifted his hands up. "Listen, I did not know you would be here, but at this point, we could just agree that we will at least not be in bad blood."
Hans turned around, opening the door of his car. He was not an asshole, not completely, that is. A slight asshole. He shook his head. "Fine," he shrugged his shoulders. Henry exhaled.
Then, Henry turned very briefly around to look towards the container offices. When he turned his head back, Hans had sped off in his car, possibly neglecting the speed limit. The road was more dusty than it seemed, and the dust cloud that was left behind seeped its way into Henry's airways. He coughed and coughed until he felt a big, sharp smack right between his shoulder blades. It was Žižka that struck him, quite painfully so. Henry looked at him like he had committed some type of crime (again). Žižka did not say anything mean, though, and they both stared off into the street, which was left in dismay after the reckless speeding of that stupid yellow car.
Žižka shook his head "Architects."
Henry sighed in agreement. The dust settled properly on the ground.