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ajremixTitle: Best Served Cold
Fandom: DC TV
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4483
Characters: Mark, Clyde, Lisa, Len, a couple cameos
Summary: The ice cream factory is pretty chill work. At least until the Mardon brothers realize their boss is keeping a secret...
Working at an ice cream factory was hardly glamorous but it paid rent and, right now, that's what Mark and Clyde desperately needed. It wasn't technically a factory, the place used to be a bakery back in the day but now all the counters and stoves had been cleared out so they could do mixing and packaging with some flimsy partitions put up to designate an office. Best Served Cold was a local, small business, run and owned by the equally chilly Leonard Snart with his sister Lisa handling the orders- and employees -so he could focus on the logistics. It didn't have a store front. All its business was in distribution to local ice cream parlors, grocery and corner stores and a handful of restaurants. Mark didn't really know how any of that stuff worked, he and Clyde just kept the machines churning out ice cream by the quart or gallon depending on the orders Lisa gave them. It was kind of boring, honestly- tedious and monotonous as they switched out ingredients and punched in different quantities and scoured the equipment multiple times a day. But it was still better than almost every other job Mark ever had- less backbreaking even with loading up the delivery truck. It was also one of the only places not to immediately dismiss the brothers for the felony check mark on their applications.
At least the Snart siblings were interesting. Lisa was the more sociable of the two, simultaneously bright and sharp, reminding Mark of a knife. The decorative kind secretly honed to a razor edge. Len was charming in his own way- talkative while keeping everyone at a measured distance, always thinking of ten different things at once. Most of the time Mark saw him, Len was on the phone talking to someone about something- it wasn't his business so Mark never paid much attention. Even with the thin partitions, Len never raised his voice even when he snapped at someone, just got quiet and intense. Mark wondered if the people on the other end of the phone realized how lucky they were not having to go through that in person. Not three days after they started working, a couple men in suits carrying a briefcase came to talk to Len. Whatever they told him evidently pissed Len off and, though his words were too quiet to hear, Mark could tell from the sneer on his face and rigid set of his shoulders that Len was verbally savaging them. Mark made a mental note to not get on Len's bad side after that.
Which wasn't all that difficult to do. The Snarts were sticklers for quality but Mark and Clyde figured out which parts of the job they suited best and, after a week, were working like a well oiled machine. Even Lisa admitted to being impressed.
Then, about a month being on the job, getting back to their crappy apartment that was listing to one side and settling onto the couch that listed the other way, Clyde said, "I think Snart's secretly a mob boss."
Mark paused in the middle of popping off the cap of his beer bottle. "What?"
"I'm serious! I know you get that shady vibe off him!"
"Because he's got a record." Sure, it was only juvie, but he'd been caught with a pocket full of diamonds inside a jewelry store. He'd been forced to take the fall for his dad, Len had explained, because that wasn’t the kind of information he wanted the Mardons coming across just any which way. When he'd gotten out, his grandfather had basically taken Len in. Len helped his grandfather selling ice cream out of a truck and, when he died, his grandfather had a secret bank account for Len to inherit when he was old enough. Len decided to use that money in his grandfather's honor, learning to make ice cream and opened a small but successful business. Mark was secretly certain that Len had to have dipped into a little thievery before then, however. There was no way a guy working out of an ice cream truck had enough savings for a start-up.
“Think about it!” Clyde said, obviously excited about this revelation. “Who would think an ice cream place would be used for money laundering?”
Mark shook his head. “Whatever, man.” Clyde had always been easily swayed, it made him an easy target for peer pressure and drugs if Mark wasn’t around. Once, at some college frat party he crashed, Clyde had gotten hopped up on something, declared himself a god before jumping off a balcony. It was only through blind luck that he got away with just breaking a leg in the shallow end of a pool rather than his whole body on cement.
“I’m serious! This isn’t some conspiracy theory!” Clyde put his knees on the couch so he could lean into Mark’s space. “You’ve seen those suits with the briefcase.”
“Yeah, so?”
“They show up every Monday and Friday! Don’t you think that’s weird?”
...Okay, sort of. Especially given the fact that Len clearly didn’t like them and Mark hadn’t actually noticed that.
“Also he’s constantly out or on the phone even though this is supposed to be his only business.”
“He’s doing sales work and talking to advertisers.” That much Mark could say with certainty given the amount of times he accidentally eavesdropped on those conversations. Which, “If he’s a secret mob boss, wouldn’t Snart have put in walls people can’t hear through?”
“He’s probably speaking in code or has it for the times he needs to establish an alibi, I don’t know how mob bosses think!”
“You seem to be doing an awful lot of leaps of logic on his behalf.”
Clyde rolled his eyes. “What about the delivery guy?”
“Roy? What about him?”
“He wears sunglasses all the damn time. Even when we’re loading up the truck.”
Mark had noticed that but assumed it as a random quirk. It was harmless so it wasn’t his business. “So?”
“And he’s always wearing black turtlenecks. When have you ever seen a delivery guy wear nothing but black turtlenecks? And they’ve got stains!”
Mark had also noticed that but thought nothing of it. Now that it was brought up, he realized he’d never been able to identify what those stains were on account of the turtlenecks being black.
“Plus his name.”
That derailed his thoughts. “What about his name?”
Clyde gave him a look. “C’mon. Roy G. Bivolo can’t possibly be his actual name.”
“Maybe his parents are assholes. Not like we haven’t known people with shitty names before. Remember Eddy Nigma?”
Clyde clicked his tongue the way he did when he thought Mark was treating him like a little kid. “Okay, what about that one guy that shows up sometimes? Big, bald, all the gnarly scars?”
Oh yeah, Mark knew the guy. Not much taller than Len or Mark but with shoulders like a truck, scowling more often than not. He looked like a quintessential Hollywood thug or mob muscle. And Mark was pretty sure he heard the man call Len ‘boss’ a couple times. “We don’t actually know who he is,” Mark defended weakly.
“Because we’d be dead if they knew we figured it out.” Clyde nodded as if he’d solved a mystery. “So we gotta pretend we don’t know Len’s secret.”
Mark shook his head and finally opened his beer. “You’re fucking high.”
---
The next day the guys in suits were back only this time they didn't go to the front of the building but went around the back where Mark and Clyde were taking a break after loading up Roy’s truck. Something about them made Mark’s neck itch, like he really needed to wash his hands before the men’s presence permanently stained them.
“Snart’s out,” he said preemptively, wanting them away from him and his brother.
“We're aware,” said one, visibly older than his compatriot. “Our business is not with Mr. Snart today.”
“We're hoping to have a moment of your time, gentlemen.” Said the other.
Beside him, Clyde tensed. “For what?” Mark asked.
“It's hardly anything salacious or untoward.” The older man said like he was sharing an inside joke. “We're hoping you could answer a simple question for us. One your employer has been reluctant to answer.”
“You'll be paid for your time.” The other added, hoisting up his briefcase and cracking it open. Just enough so the brothers could see it was layered in bundles of bills. Mark sucked in a breath- he'd never seen that much money, even in the robbery he’d been arrested for. “You will remain completely anonymous as well.”
He saw Clyde open his mouth out of the corner of his eye but Mark beat him to the punch. “What's so important you're willing to go behind Snart’s back?”
The older man’s smile grew, voice full of private laughter. “Why, just the secret to his empire.”
Clyde’s mouth clicked shut.
“Feel free to consider your options. We'll be back later this week to try to reach an agreement with Mr. Snart again. If you agree, you will be doing us a great service.” The men gave them abrupt, tight smiles. “Have a good day.”
Baffled at the sudden retreat, Mark almost didn't hear the purposeful clicking of Lisa’s heels. They turned at her approach and Mark was momentarily thrown by the dark look on her face. She came to a halt next to the brothers, still glaring at the shrinking backs of the suited men. “What did they want?” She all but demanded.
“Some kind of secret.”
Lisa snorted. “Like either of you would know.” The line of her shoulders eased but she still looked tense. “If you two want to stick around,” she said, “next time they approach you, tell them to go fuck themselves.”
Lisa led them back into the warehouse and as the brothers went back to work, Clyde asked quietly, “That was weird, right? It's not just me?”
“That was weird,“ Mark agreed.
“Weird enough it would make sense that he’s a secret mob boss?”
Mark glared. “Just get to work.”
Of course now that the thought was at the forefront of his head, Mark couldn’t help seeing possible evidence. Nothing damning, at least not at first though Mark had noticed, a couple times while Len was on the phone, Len switching topics once he noticed someone was around. And, on the following payday- the day they were receiving payments from clients -Mark accidentally spotted Len and Roy in an out of the way corner and Roy had passed over several thick envelops. They could have very well been something other than cash but, given the shape, Mark was hard pressed to think of something else.
Then the guy with the scars showed up again.
Mark was on break at the time, hanging around outside for a smoke. That was the only reason he was able to witness it. The man didn’t even manage to make it to the door before Len was storming out, expression dark enough that Mark nearly swallowed his cigarette. Instinctively he ducked around the corner to avoid being seen. But was still close enough to hear.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Len snapped.
“Hi, Boss.” The man drawled, clearly not intimidated. Mark’s brain kind of stalled on ‘boss’. “Shipment arrived.”
“And you decided you couldn’t tell me that over the phone?”
“Had to pick up other shit for the job, since I was passing by I thought I’d stop by instead of wasting time calling you up.” He scowled. “Didn’t think I’d need your permission for that.”
“Have you considered I don’t want certain people seeing you here, making connections I don’t want them to make?”
“I can keep a fucking secret, Snart. No one’s going to find out and no one’s gonna be able to trace anything to me.”
Len’s mouth twisted like he was debating if he was mollified by this or not and if he should admit it if he was. Instead he went to the van the man had driven in, nondescript asides from being old and dented. Len opened the doors in the back. There were no windows in the rear for Mark to peek in. “This it?”
“That’s the last of it.”
“22K?”
The man snorted. “Like I’d get less.”
Len stood there, staring at whatever it was before stepping back. He tucked something small into his jacket- an interior pocket, Mark assumed. He closed the door before turning to the man. “No one hears about this.”
“Yeah, Boss, I got it.”
They parted ways and Mark realized he was well overdue to return from break, getting an earful from Lisa when he finally made it back. Clyde pestered him on why he was so distracted for the rest of the shift but it wasn’t until they were driving back home that Mark told him. Clyde beamed like he won the lottery. “I knew it!”
A couple days later, Mark was still so distracted by all this that he dropped part of a mixer on his foot. It wasn’t bad given his steel-toed boots, but it hit his ankle at an angle, making the joint buckle. Clyde helped him to a chair and Mark told the Snarts he didn’t need a hospital. Len took one look at the ankle, eased out of the boot, and told Lisa to call someone called ‘Boo’.
‘Boo’ turned out to be a young woman, probably not much older than Clyde, who examined the ankle cheerfully but clinically, declaring it nothing more than a sprain and wrapped it expertly. Mark wouldn’t have thought it anything special, that maybe she was from a local clinic, except when she went to talk to Len, he handed her a money envelope and a loaded-up brown paper bag. “For your trouble,” he added with a smirk. Boo peeked inside and grinned wickedly.
“Always my favorite customer,” she said before leaving.
It was mostly small, subtle moments like that but as those moments mounted, Mark had to admit the evidence was starting to become all the more likely. Especially when Clyde got back with information from Trixie. Technically, as part of their parole, the Mardons weren’t supposed to interact with her anymore, but given all her police records stubbornly kept the wrong name and gender on them, they decided the police obviously meant a completely different person.
“Get this,” Clyde said, holding up a xerox from an aged newspaper article. It was about a cop being killed by a mob hit, dated almost twenty years ago. “The Snarts’ dad was killed by the Santinis!”
“Sucks, but so?” Mark eyed the article- he hadn’t known their dad was a cop.
“So, don’t you know the saying? Revenge is a dish best served cold?” Clyde threw his hands in the air. “C’mon, you’re the book nerd, you should know this!”
“First, that’s from Star Trek. Second, what? You think Len became a secret mob boss to avenge his dad? Wouldn’t that be a little on the nose?”
“Are you saying that wouldn’t make sense?”
Mark sighed, pushing the copy from his face. “I’m still not convinced he is a secret mob boss.”
Clyde gave him a dark look, obviously disappointed in his brother. “What more do you need?”
“Actual proof,” he shot back before pointedly ignoring Clyde.
So of course the next day it happened: The Conversation.
It was the first time Mark had ever heard Len raise his voice and the question was enough to grab the brothers’s undivided attention.
“What do you mean the body won’t fit!”
They exchanged looks before quietly making their way toward the office to eavesdrop.
“Mick, need I remind you how important this is? This will ruin everything if you don’t- well if you did your job properly, I wouldn’t be telling you how to do it!” On the other side of the wall, Len made a frustrated noise. “I don’t care how you do it- lop off a foot or take the whole damn thing apart, but you better unfuck this mess, Mick. In this situation, I’d argue you should be owing me. I’d rather not call in my solid with Assassin on a distraction run.” There was a long pause and when Len spoke again, his voice wasn’t as hard or demanding. “Mick, I wouldn’t have given you this job if I didn’t think you could handle it. Fine.” Another pause. “Yes, payment is still on the table. Of course it’ll be worth your while. When have I ever left you unsatisfied? Provided, of course, that we pull this off. I’ll swing by tonight to take stock of the situation. Five hours, Mick. Don’t disappoint me.”
They scuttled back to their workstations. They filled orders, Lisa left, then Len closed shop for the day, telling the Mardons to leave while he locked up and went his own way. Clyde showed remarkable restraint waiting until Len’s motorcycle disappeared from view before he damn near throttled Mark. “Holy shit!”
Contrary to his brother’s excitement, Mark was wondering how likely they were to die if he started looking for another job for the two of them.
---
A week passed. As they went into work, Lisa called to them from the office and waved them over. Clyde was still a little fuzzy with sleep but Mark took one look at Len, poised at his desk, and tensed. Lisa shut the door and stood next to it and Mark realized he had no idea if she was part of this or not.
“Mark. Clyde.” Len said with a deliberate congeniality. “There isn’t some kind of trouble, is there?”
“No, sir.” Mark hoped he hadn’t sounded as meek as he felt saying that.
“Then the reason why your productivity and attention to detail has gone down,” he drawled, “is because you just stopped caring?”
Something in Len’s tone of voice seemed to filter through Clyde’s head and he sat up properly. Mark’s blood went cold. “No- nothing like that!”
“Then…” Len drew out the word, an obvious invite for one of the two to elaborate. Neither did, exchanging uncomfortable glances instead. Len scowled, hands dropping from the desk and out of view. Mark flinched instinctively. “Not even going to attempt to justify yourselves?”
Mark bit his lip, looking away from Len. Behind him, he could hear Lisa’s foot tapping irritably. Clyde blurted out, “We figured out you’re a mob boss!”
“Clyde!”
“What? If he’s gonna kill us anyway, I don’t want him torturing the information out of us!”
The footing tapping abruptly cut off as Lisa burst into hysterical laughter. Len just sat there, staring at the Mardons blankly. “How, exactly,” he said slowly, “did you come to that conclusion?”
Clyde seemed to suddenly re-think his strategy in blurting out the truth. “If we tell you, will you still kill us?”
“I wasn’t planning on killing you to begin with, just fire you.”
“Like… permanently fire us?”
“In the sense that I wasn’t going to hire either of you again, yes. Lisa, would you stop laughing?”
“This… is… hilarious!” She gasped out, stumbling to lean against the desk. Lisa burst out into fresh laughter at the brothers’ terrified and wary expression. “Holy crap, you actually believe that! This is the best thing I’ve heard in years!”
Len rolled his eyes and deigned to ignore his sister. “Again, why do you think I’m a mob boss?”
Mark and Clyde exchanged glances, waving their hands vaguely. “The guys with the suits and briefcase full of money.” Mark eventually said, “They wanted us to spill the ‘secret to your empire’.”
Len scowled. “They’re lawyers. An especially shady kind, but that’s all. A few months before I hired you two, I found out one of my clients was modifying my ice cream and re-labeling it as his own. So I sued him and banned him from purchasing my brand ever again.” The scowl smoothed out into a disgusted sneer. “Shortly after, Scudder started sending his lawyers to me, trying to get me to sell my recipe. They tried bribing Lisa, Roy, and you two into stealing the recipe for them.”
Clyde leaned over towards, whispering despite the fact both Snarts were close enough to hear regardless, “Do we believe that?”
“I guess?” Mark shrugged. “I can’t think of a reason not to.”
“Hey- what about Roy?” Clyde asked, sitting upright again.
“What about him?” Len replied, an eyebrow raised.
“What’s his deal? With the sunglasses and turtlenecks and all?”
“He’s colorblind, those are color corrective lenses.”
“And he’s an aspiring starving artist,” Lisa added with a smirk. “His whole look is intentional, he just works for us because he doesn’t actually want to experience the ‘starving’ part.”
“And his name?”
“Roy G. Bivolo is his actual, legal name,” Len said dryly. "I checked when I hired him."
“And the lady you called when I hurt my foot,” Mark started, only to be quickly cut off.
“Shawna- med student. I called her to see if the damage was actually serious because, one- hospital bills are ridiculous, and two- I’m not risking OSHA getting on my ass by making you work on a broken foot. Paying her in cash means it’s not taxable income for her.”
“And the bag?”
Lisa laughed brightly. “Ice cream. She’ll be hitting exams soon, she’ll need the morale boost.”
Mark was starting to feel foolish. “And the guy with the scars?”
“My husband,” Len said flatly, realizing how ridiculous this entire thing had gotten. “Mick Rory.” He lifted his hand and waggled his pinky finger, the only one that had a ring on it.
“He wears that ring because Mick got it for him for Lenny’s first birthday they spent together and they’re both secretly massive saps,” Lisa supplied. Expression stoney, Len pushed her from the desk. Lisa just grinned and leaned up against the wall.
“But… he calls you ‘Boss’!”
“They met in juvie,” Lisa very pointedly ignored the glare Len sent her, “and Len was just as bossy back then as he is now. Good thing Mick seems to like that sort of thing.” She ignored the pencil Len threw in her direction.
“And the thing in the van?” Mark snapped his fingers. “He was the one you were talking to on the phone! About the body!”
Lisa’s eyebrows jump and Len glared. “You’re lucky we aren’t having this conversation eight days earlier,” he very nearly growled. “They were Lisa’s birthday presents, gold jewelry-”
“I love gold,” she said with a dreamy sigh, “I’m very particular about it.”
“She won’t accept less than 22 karats. And a motorcycle Mick built from scratch. He works at a custom autoshop- not a chop shop,” Len cut in when Clyde opened his mouth.
“It’s owned by a disabled veteran,” Lisa added, “who just had a kid- that’s the last place anyone will be doing anything illegal.”
Digesting the information, Mark said slowly, “So the body was… for the bike?”
“The place he ordered it from got the specs wrong. Poor Mickey was pulling all-nighters for days getting it to fit.”
“So the payment I overheard you talking about?” Mark asked, turning to Len who scowled.
“I told him we would do whatever he wanted for a second honeymoon. He picked Aruba.” He made a face, like a Caribbean beach vacation was somehow a chore.
“Is that why you’ve been getting so much of your payments in cash?”
“Of course! I’m not using a credit card in another country, the fees are ridiculous!”
“What about the assassin?” Clyde asked, narrow-eyed.
“You mean Assassin Out Crashin’?” Len raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever heard of roller derby? Lisa’s on a team.”
“I’m Golden Glider,” she said with pride.
“Assassin is a friend of mine, Sara Lance. Shawna’s also on it.”
“She’s Peek-a-Boo.” Lisa started ticking off names on her finger. “There’s also Wild Wild West, Quick And The Dead, Big Top, Mixin’ With Vixen, Light ‘Em Up, Hawk And Awe, Stay Frosty-”
“Sara’s Lisa’s drinking buddy, I would’ve asked her to play distraction if Mick needed more time.”
The Mardons fell quiet and, after a moment, Len asked, “Anything you need me to clear up?”
“You named the place Best Served Cold,” Clyde said weakly. “Like the thing with revenge.”
Lisa gave him a flat look. “Did you not read any of the flavors? Pony Espresso, I Don’t Caramel, Berry The Hatchet- I’m pretty Len would suffer an aneurysm if he passed up a pun.”
“What can I say,” he shrugged, “I can't always be pun-predictable.” He smirked as everyone else groaned.
“So it really had nothing to do with the Santinis and your dad, huh?”
Len and Lisa froze and glared. They may not be secret mob, but they were still frightening in their own way. Mark felt for Clyde, getting the brunt of it.
“Our father,” Len said slowly, “was a piece of shit who deserved what he got.”
“I… read he was a cop,” Clyde said haltingly, in a tiny voice.
“Didn’t I say he was the reason I went to juvie?” Len’s voice was cold. “He made me take the fall for his job. He was as corrupt as they came. The reason the Santinis killed him is because he was dumb enough to try to blackmail them for more money.”
“Right. Sorry. Never mentioning it again.”
“Good.” Len’s glare lessened, but his expression was still stern. “Any other lingering issues? Or can we all get back to work?”
Mark and Clyde nodded like bobble-heads. “Please!”
Len waved a hand dismissively and Lisa laughed as the brothers all but ran out. Getting to the machines, Mark said, “Clyde?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time you have a conspiracy theory, shut the fuck up.”
Fandom: DC TV
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4483
Characters: Mark, Clyde, Lisa, Len, a couple cameos
Summary: The ice cream factory is pretty chill work. At least until the Mardon brothers realize their boss is keeping a secret...
Working at an ice cream factory was hardly glamorous but it paid rent and, right now, that's what Mark and Clyde desperately needed. It wasn't technically a factory, the place used to be a bakery back in the day but now all the counters and stoves had been cleared out so they could do mixing and packaging with some flimsy partitions put up to designate an office. Best Served Cold was a local, small business, run and owned by the equally chilly Leonard Snart with his sister Lisa handling the orders- and employees -so he could focus on the logistics. It didn't have a store front. All its business was in distribution to local ice cream parlors, grocery and corner stores and a handful of restaurants. Mark didn't really know how any of that stuff worked, he and Clyde just kept the machines churning out ice cream by the quart or gallon depending on the orders Lisa gave them. It was kind of boring, honestly- tedious and monotonous as they switched out ingredients and punched in different quantities and scoured the equipment multiple times a day. But it was still better than almost every other job Mark ever had- less backbreaking even with loading up the delivery truck. It was also one of the only places not to immediately dismiss the brothers for the felony check mark on their applications.
At least the Snart siblings were interesting. Lisa was the more sociable of the two, simultaneously bright and sharp, reminding Mark of a knife. The decorative kind secretly honed to a razor edge. Len was charming in his own way- talkative while keeping everyone at a measured distance, always thinking of ten different things at once. Most of the time Mark saw him, Len was on the phone talking to someone about something- it wasn't his business so Mark never paid much attention. Even with the thin partitions, Len never raised his voice even when he snapped at someone, just got quiet and intense. Mark wondered if the people on the other end of the phone realized how lucky they were not having to go through that in person. Not three days after they started working, a couple men in suits carrying a briefcase came to talk to Len. Whatever they told him evidently pissed Len off and, though his words were too quiet to hear, Mark could tell from the sneer on his face and rigid set of his shoulders that Len was verbally savaging them. Mark made a mental note to not get on Len's bad side after that.
Which wasn't all that difficult to do. The Snarts were sticklers for quality but Mark and Clyde figured out which parts of the job they suited best and, after a week, were working like a well oiled machine. Even Lisa admitted to being impressed.
Then, about a month being on the job, getting back to their crappy apartment that was listing to one side and settling onto the couch that listed the other way, Clyde said, "I think Snart's secretly a mob boss."
Mark paused in the middle of popping off the cap of his beer bottle. "What?"
"I'm serious! I know you get that shady vibe off him!"
"Because he's got a record." Sure, it was only juvie, but he'd been caught with a pocket full of diamonds inside a jewelry store. He'd been forced to take the fall for his dad, Len had explained, because that wasn’t the kind of information he wanted the Mardons coming across just any which way. When he'd gotten out, his grandfather had basically taken Len in. Len helped his grandfather selling ice cream out of a truck and, when he died, his grandfather had a secret bank account for Len to inherit when he was old enough. Len decided to use that money in his grandfather's honor, learning to make ice cream and opened a small but successful business. Mark was secretly certain that Len had to have dipped into a little thievery before then, however. There was no way a guy working out of an ice cream truck had enough savings for a start-up.
“Think about it!” Clyde said, obviously excited about this revelation. “Who would think an ice cream place would be used for money laundering?”
Mark shook his head. “Whatever, man.” Clyde had always been easily swayed, it made him an easy target for peer pressure and drugs if Mark wasn’t around. Once, at some college frat party he crashed, Clyde had gotten hopped up on something, declared himself a god before jumping off a balcony. It was only through blind luck that he got away with just breaking a leg in the shallow end of a pool rather than his whole body on cement.
“I’m serious! This isn’t some conspiracy theory!” Clyde put his knees on the couch so he could lean into Mark’s space. “You’ve seen those suits with the briefcase.”
“Yeah, so?”
“They show up every Monday and Friday! Don’t you think that’s weird?”
...Okay, sort of. Especially given the fact that Len clearly didn’t like them and Mark hadn’t actually noticed that.
“Also he’s constantly out or on the phone even though this is supposed to be his only business.”
“He’s doing sales work and talking to advertisers.” That much Mark could say with certainty given the amount of times he accidentally eavesdropped on those conversations. Which, “If he’s a secret mob boss, wouldn’t Snart have put in walls people can’t hear through?”
“He’s probably speaking in code or has it for the times he needs to establish an alibi, I don’t know how mob bosses think!”
“You seem to be doing an awful lot of leaps of logic on his behalf.”
Clyde rolled his eyes. “What about the delivery guy?”
“Roy? What about him?”
“He wears sunglasses all the damn time. Even when we’re loading up the truck.”
Mark had noticed that but assumed it as a random quirk. It was harmless so it wasn’t his business. “So?”
“And he’s always wearing black turtlenecks. When have you ever seen a delivery guy wear nothing but black turtlenecks? And they’ve got stains!”
Mark had also noticed that but thought nothing of it. Now that it was brought up, he realized he’d never been able to identify what those stains were on account of the turtlenecks being black.
“Plus his name.”
That derailed his thoughts. “What about his name?”
Clyde gave him a look. “C’mon. Roy G. Bivolo can’t possibly be his actual name.”
“Maybe his parents are assholes. Not like we haven’t known people with shitty names before. Remember Eddy Nigma?”
Clyde clicked his tongue the way he did when he thought Mark was treating him like a little kid. “Okay, what about that one guy that shows up sometimes? Big, bald, all the gnarly scars?”
Oh yeah, Mark knew the guy. Not much taller than Len or Mark but with shoulders like a truck, scowling more often than not. He looked like a quintessential Hollywood thug or mob muscle. And Mark was pretty sure he heard the man call Len ‘boss’ a couple times. “We don’t actually know who he is,” Mark defended weakly.
“Because we’d be dead if they knew we figured it out.” Clyde nodded as if he’d solved a mystery. “So we gotta pretend we don’t know Len’s secret.”
Mark shook his head and finally opened his beer. “You’re fucking high.”
---
The next day the guys in suits were back only this time they didn't go to the front of the building but went around the back where Mark and Clyde were taking a break after loading up Roy’s truck. Something about them made Mark’s neck itch, like he really needed to wash his hands before the men’s presence permanently stained them.
“Snart’s out,” he said preemptively, wanting them away from him and his brother.
“We're aware,” said one, visibly older than his compatriot. “Our business is not with Mr. Snart today.”
“We're hoping to have a moment of your time, gentlemen.” Said the other.
Beside him, Clyde tensed. “For what?” Mark asked.
“It's hardly anything salacious or untoward.” The older man said like he was sharing an inside joke. “We're hoping you could answer a simple question for us. One your employer has been reluctant to answer.”
“You'll be paid for your time.” The other added, hoisting up his briefcase and cracking it open. Just enough so the brothers could see it was layered in bundles of bills. Mark sucked in a breath- he'd never seen that much money, even in the robbery he’d been arrested for. “You will remain completely anonymous as well.”
He saw Clyde open his mouth out of the corner of his eye but Mark beat him to the punch. “What's so important you're willing to go behind Snart’s back?”
The older man’s smile grew, voice full of private laughter. “Why, just the secret to his empire.”
Clyde’s mouth clicked shut.
“Feel free to consider your options. We'll be back later this week to try to reach an agreement with Mr. Snart again. If you agree, you will be doing us a great service.” The men gave them abrupt, tight smiles. “Have a good day.”
Baffled at the sudden retreat, Mark almost didn't hear the purposeful clicking of Lisa’s heels. They turned at her approach and Mark was momentarily thrown by the dark look on her face. She came to a halt next to the brothers, still glaring at the shrinking backs of the suited men. “What did they want?” She all but demanded.
“Some kind of secret.”
Lisa snorted. “Like either of you would know.” The line of her shoulders eased but she still looked tense. “If you two want to stick around,” she said, “next time they approach you, tell them to go fuck themselves.”
Lisa led them back into the warehouse and as the brothers went back to work, Clyde asked quietly, “That was weird, right? It's not just me?”
“That was weird,“ Mark agreed.
“Weird enough it would make sense that he’s a secret mob boss?”
Mark glared. “Just get to work.”
Of course now that the thought was at the forefront of his head, Mark couldn’t help seeing possible evidence. Nothing damning, at least not at first though Mark had noticed, a couple times while Len was on the phone, Len switching topics once he noticed someone was around. And, on the following payday- the day they were receiving payments from clients -Mark accidentally spotted Len and Roy in an out of the way corner and Roy had passed over several thick envelops. They could have very well been something other than cash but, given the shape, Mark was hard pressed to think of something else.
Then the guy with the scars showed up again.
Mark was on break at the time, hanging around outside for a smoke. That was the only reason he was able to witness it. The man didn’t even manage to make it to the door before Len was storming out, expression dark enough that Mark nearly swallowed his cigarette. Instinctively he ducked around the corner to avoid being seen. But was still close enough to hear.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Len snapped.
“Hi, Boss.” The man drawled, clearly not intimidated. Mark’s brain kind of stalled on ‘boss’. “Shipment arrived.”
“And you decided you couldn’t tell me that over the phone?”
“Had to pick up other shit for the job, since I was passing by I thought I’d stop by instead of wasting time calling you up.” He scowled. “Didn’t think I’d need your permission for that.”
“Have you considered I don’t want certain people seeing you here, making connections I don’t want them to make?”
“I can keep a fucking secret, Snart. No one’s going to find out and no one’s gonna be able to trace anything to me.”
Len’s mouth twisted like he was debating if he was mollified by this or not and if he should admit it if he was. Instead he went to the van the man had driven in, nondescript asides from being old and dented. Len opened the doors in the back. There were no windows in the rear for Mark to peek in. “This it?”
“That’s the last of it.”
“22K?”
The man snorted. “Like I’d get less.”
Len stood there, staring at whatever it was before stepping back. He tucked something small into his jacket- an interior pocket, Mark assumed. He closed the door before turning to the man. “No one hears about this.”
“Yeah, Boss, I got it.”
They parted ways and Mark realized he was well overdue to return from break, getting an earful from Lisa when he finally made it back. Clyde pestered him on why he was so distracted for the rest of the shift but it wasn’t until they were driving back home that Mark told him. Clyde beamed like he won the lottery. “I knew it!”
A couple days later, Mark was still so distracted by all this that he dropped part of a mixer on his foot. It wasn’t bad given his steel-toed boots, but it hit his ankle at an angle, making the joint buckle. Clyde helped him to a chair and Mark told the Snarts he didn’t need a hospital. Len took one look at the ankle, eased out of the boot, and told Lisa to call someone called ‘Boo’.
‘Boo’ turned out to be a young woman, probably not much older than Clyde, who examined the ankle cheerfully but clinically, declaring it nothing more than a sprain and wrapped it expertly. Mark wouldn’t have thought it anything special, that maybe she was from a local clinic, except when she went to talk to Len, he handed her a money envelope and a loaded-up brown paper bag. “For your trouble,” he added with a smirk. Boo peeked inside and grinned wickedly.
“Always my favorite customer,” she said before leaving.
It was mostly small, subtle moments like that but as those moments mounted, Mark had to admit the evidence was starting to become all the more likely. Especially when Clyde got back with information from Trixie. Technically, as part of their parole, the Mardons weren’t supposed to interact with her anymore, but given all her police records stubbornly kept the wrong name and gender on them, they decided the police obviously meant a completely different person.
“Get this,” Clyde said, holding up a xerox from an aged newspaper article. It was about a cop being killed by a mob hit, dated almost twenty years ago. “The Snarts’ dad was killed by the Santinis!”
“Sucks, but so?” Mark eyed the article- he hadn’t known their dad was a cop.
“So, don’t you know the saying? Revenge is a dish best served cold?” Clyde threw his hands in the air. “C’mon, you’re the book nerd, you should know this!”
“First, that’s from Star Trek. Second, what? You think Len became a secret mob boss to avenge his dad? Wouldn’t that be a little on the nose?”
“Are you saying that wouldn’t make sense?”
Mark sighed, pushing the copy from his face. “I’m still not convinced he is a secret mob boss.”
Clyde gave him a dark look, obviously disappointed in his brother. “What more do you need?”
“Actual proof,” he shot back before pointedly ignoring Clyde.
So of course the next day it happened: The Conversation.
It was the first time Mark had ever heard Len raise his voice and the question was enough to grab the brothers’s undivided attention.
“What do you mean the body won’t fit!”
They exchanged looks before quietly making their way toward the office to eavesdrop.
“Mick, need I remind you how important this is? This will ruin everything if you don’t- well if you did your job properly, I wouldn’t be telling you how to do it!” On the other side of the wall, Len made a frustrated noise. “I don’t care how you do it- lop off a foot or take the whole damn thing apart, but you better unfuck this mess, Mick. In this situation, I’d argue you should be owing me. I’d rather not call in my solid with Assassin on a distraction run.” There was a long pause and when Len spoke again, his voice wasn’t as hard or demanding. “Mick, I wouldn’t have given you this job if I didn’t think you could handle it. Fine.” Another pause. “Yes, payment is still on the table. Of course it’ll be worth your while. When have I ever left you unsatisfied? Provided, of course, that we pull this off. I’ll swing by tonight to take stock of the situation. Five hours, Mick. Don’t disappoint me.”
They scuttled back to their workstations. They filled orders, Lisa left, then Len closed shop for the day, telling the Mardons to leave while he locked up and went his own way. Clyde showed remarkable restraint waiting until Len’s motorcycle disappeared from view before he damn near throttled Mark. “Holy shit!”
Contrary to his brother’s excitement, Mark was wondering how likely they were to die if he started looking for another job for the two of them.
---
A week passed. As they went into work, Lisa called to them from the office and waved them over. Clyde was still a little fuzzy with sleep but Mark took one look at Len, poised at his desk, and tensed. Lisa shut the door and stood next to it and Mark realized he had no idea if she was part of this or not.
“Mark. Clyde.” Len said with a deliberate congeniality. “There isn’t some kind of trouble, is there?”
“No, sir.” Mark hoped he hadn’t sounded as meek as he felt saying that.
“Then the reason why your productivity and attention to detail has gone down,” he drawled, “is because you just stopped caring?”
Something in Len’s tone of voice seemed to filter through Clyde’s head and he sat up properly. Mark’s blood went cold. “No- nothing like that!”
“Then…” Len drew out the word, an obvious invite for one of the two to elaborate. Neither did, exchanging uncomfortable glances instead. Len scowled, hands dropping from the desk and out of view. Mark flinched instinctively. “Not even going to attempt to justify yourselves?”
Mark bit his lip, looking away from Len. Behind him, he could hear Lisa’s foot tapping irritably. Clyde blurted out, “We figured out you’re a mob boss!”
“Clyde!”
“What? If he’s gonna kill us anyway, I don’t want him torturing the information out of us!”
The footing tapping abruptly cut off as Lisa burst into hysterical laughter. Len just sat there, staring at the Mardons blankly. “How, exactly,” he said slowly, “did you come to that conclusion?”
Clyde seemed to suddenly re-think his strategy in blurting out the truth. “If we tell you, will you still kill us?”
“I wasn’t planning on killing you to begin with, just fire you.”
“Like… permanently fire us?”
“In the sense that I wasn’t going to hire either of you again, yes. Lisa, would you stop laughing?”
“This… is… hilarious!” She gasped out, stumbling to lean against the desk. Lisa burst out into fresh laughter at the brothers’ terrified and wary expression. “Holy crap, you actually believe that! This is the best thing I’ve heard in years!”
Len rolled his eyes and deigned to ignore his sister. “Again, why do you think I’m a mob boss?”
Mark and Clyde exchanged glances, waving their hands vaguely. “The guys with the suits and briefcase full of money.” Mark eventually said, “They wanted us to spill the ‘secret to your empire’.”
Len scowled. “They’re lawyers. An especially shady kind, but that’s all. A few months before I hired you two, I found out one of my clients was modifying my ice cream and re-labeling it as his own. So I sued him and banned him from purchasing my brand ever again.” The scowl smoothed out into a disgusted sneer. “Shortly after, Scudder started sending his lawyers to me, trying to get me to sell my recipe. They tried bribing Lisa, Roy, and you two into stealing the recipe for them.”
Clyde leaned over towards, whispering despite the fact both Snarts were close enough to hear regardless, “Do we believe that?”
“I guess?” Mark shrugged. “I can’t think of a reason not to.”
“Hey- what about Roy?” Clyde asked, sitting upright again.
“What about him?” Len replied, an eyebrow raised.
“What’s his deal? With the sunglasses and turtlenecks and all?”
“He’s colorblind, those are color corrective lenses.”
“And he’s an aspiring starving artist,” Lisa added with a smirk. “His whole look is intentional, he just works for us because he doesn’t actually want to experience the ‘starving’ part.”
“And his name?”
“Roy G. Bivolo is his actual, legal name,” Len said dryly. "I checked when I hired him."
“And the lady you called when I hurt my foot,” Mark started, only to be quickly cut off.
“Shawna- med student. I called her to see if the damage was actually serious because, one- hospital bills are ridiculous, and two- I’m not risking OSHA getting on my ass by making you work on a broken foot. Paying her in cash means it’s not taxable income for her.”
“And the bag?”
Lisa laughed brightly. “Ice cream. She’ll be hitting exams soon, she’ll need the morale boost.”
Mark was starting to feel foolish. “And the guy with the scars?”
“My husband,” Len said flatly, realizing how ridiculous this entire thing had gotten. “Mick Rory.” He lifted his hand and waggled his pinky finger, the only one that had a ring on it.
“He wears that ring because Mick got it for him for Lenny’s first birthday they spent together and they’re both secretly massive saps,” Lisa supplied. Expression stoney, Len pushed her from the desk. Lisa just grinned and leaned up against the wall.
“But… he calls you ‘Boss’!”
“They met in juvie,” Lisa very pointedly ignored the glare Len sent her, “and Len was just as bossy back then as he is now. Good thing Mick seems to like that sort of thing.” She ignored the pencil Len threw in her direction.
“And the thing in the van?” Mark snapped his fingers. “He was the one you were talking to on the phone! About the body!”
Lisa’s eyebrows jump and Len glared. “You’re lucky we aren’t having this conversation eight days earlier,” he very nearly growled. “They were Lisa’s birthday presents, gold jewelry-”
“I love gold,” she said with a dreamy sigh, “I’m very particular about it.”
“She won’t accept less than 22 karats. And a motorcycle Mick built from scratch. He works at a custom autoshop- not a chop shop,” Len cut in when Clyde opened his mouth.
“It’s owned by a disabled veteran,” Lisa added, “who just had a kid- that’s the last place anyone will be doing anything illegal.”
Digesting the information, Mark said slowly, “So the body was… for the bike?”
“The place he ordered it from got the specs wrong. Poor Mickey was pulling all-nighters for days getting it to fit.”
“So the payment I overheard you talking about?” Mark asked, turning to Len who scowled.
“I told him we would do whatever he wanted for a second honeymoon. He picked Aruba.” He made a face, like a Caribbean beach vacation was somehow a chore.
“Is that why you’ve been getting so much of your payments in cash?”
“Of course! I’m not using a credit card in another country, the fees are ridiculous!”
“What about the assassin?” Clyde asked, narrow-eyed.
“You mean Assassin Out Crashin’?” Len raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever heard of roller derby? Lisa’s on a team.”
“I’m Golden Glider,” she said with pride.
“Assassin is a friend of mine, Sara Lance. Shawna’s also on it.”
“She’s Peek-a-Boo.” Lisa started ticking off names on her finger. “There’s also Wild Wild West, Quick And The Dead, Big Top, Mixin’ With Vixen, Light ‘Em Up, Hawk And Awe, Stay Frosty-”
“Sara’s Lisa’s drinking buddy, I would’ve asked her to play distraction if Mick needed more time.”
The Mardons fell quiet and, after a moment, Len asked, “Anything you need me to clear up?”
“You named the place Best Served Cold,” Clyde said weakly. “Like the thing with revenge.”
Lisa gave him a flat look. “Did you not read any of the flavors? Pony Espresso, I Don’t Caramel, Berry The Hatchet- I’m pretty Len would suffer an aneurysm if he passed up a pun.”
“What can I say,” he shrugged, “I can't always be pun-predictable.” He smirked as everyone else groaned.
“So it really had nothing to do with the Santinis and your dad, huh?”
Len and Lisa froze and glared. They may not be secret mob, but they were still frightening in their own way. Mark felt for Clyde, getting the brunt of it.
“Our father,” Len said slowly, “was a piece of shit who deserved what he got.”
“I… read he was a cop,” Clyde said haltingly, in a tiny voice.
“Didn’t I say he was the reason I went to juvie?” Len’s voice was cold. “He made me take the fall for his job. He was as corrupt as they came. The reason the Santinis killed him is because he was dumb enough to try to blackmail them for more money.”
“Right. Sorry. Never mentioning it again.”
“Good.” Len’s glare lessened, but his expression was still stern. “Any other lingering issues? Or can we all get back to work?”
Mark and Clyde nodded like bobble-heads. “Please!”
Len waved a hand dismissively and Lisa laughed as the brothers all but ran out. Getting to the machines, Mark said, “Clyde?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time you have a conspiracy theory, shut the fuck up.”
