You're Only Dead

by Jack Parker

  "He's isn't dead," Emery said quickly, turning his head to look out the window.

  "Well how did he disappear? Was he on a heist or something?"

  "No. He didn't do that anymore. Neither of us did. We…well, we went straight a while back."

  "Straight," Victor repeated. "Like…what, day jobs?"

  Emery affirmed this with a brief glance. "Yeah."

  Alright, he couldn't picture it. The first image that popped into his head was big scary Kurt flipping burgers somewhere and it was too stupid for words. Then again he never knew what to think, if he ever thought, of Kurt and Emery. What had they been doing for nearly two years in Canada, anyway?

  "He went off to work one morning. Never got there. Never came home," Emery explained calmly. "So I did what anyone would do. Checked the hospitals. The obituaries. Filed a missing person's. Left a hundred messages on his bloody mobile. The only conclusion to draw is that someone took him."

  Victor shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, or…shit, man, he could've been…you know. Knocked off."

  Emery turned a fierce look on him. "Kurt's not dead."

  "Look, I know how you feel about the guy, but—"

  "And if he's dead then it's his body I want. I'm entitled." Emery downed his drink and glared hard out the window.

  Victor swallowed and looked down. "Ah…fuck, okay, but why come back to England?"

  "The last and only lead I had on his disappearance was some shop keep who remembered seeing him with two other men on the day. He remarked that these other men also had English accents. I found that out a week ago and I came to look for you."

  Victor raised his eyebrows. "Well shit, Em, I haven't seen him."

  "No, but you knew him during the time he lived in London. I didn't. You know the crowd he used to hang around with, who he used to work for. More importantly, you have connections here that I don't. I need you. That's why I came here." Emery turned back to him with pleading eyes, and suddenly there was that naïve young kidnap victim he so vividly remembered. "Please. I need your help, Victor."

  "Fffuuuck me…"

  "If I could think of any other option I wouldn't involve you. I'll pay you."

  "Jesus man, let's just dial this back a—"

  "I've liquidated our assets. Drained our savings. We were doing very well for ourselves. I can pay you two hundred thousand pounds. If that isn't enough, I'll get more."

  "Emery," Victor held up a hand. "Okay, look. I get it. You must be freaking the fuck out right now. But this is a wild goose chase with no leads…I mean I was glad when Kurt left the country. Too many people knew his name here. To be honest, I didn't even like associating with the guy. It was dangerous. He was a lot ballsier about who he threw his lot in with than I ever was. If you thought his last crew was bad news, you should've seen some of Kurt's other regulars."

  "So you do know who he has ties with, then."

  "Yeah, but digging into those ties could get the both of us fucking killed." Victor took a drink and grimaced at the way it stung his split lip.

  "You're on borrowed time as it is," Emery pointed out with unanticipated venom. "Need I remind you where you'd be right now had I not decided I'd like to come down here and hire you?"

  Victor balked, straightening up a little. Shit. This was definitely not the Emery he remembered. Clearly he'd spent too much time with Kurt to have developed a menacing aura like that. "…Yeah…I remember…" he replied cautiously.

  Emery bit his lip in aggravation and rubbed his head. "I don't know whether or not you understand this, Victor. I don't know much of anything about your past or the people you've loved, but Kurt is my bloody life. My…my only family, my closest friend, my…everything. He would upend the world to find me if the situation were reversed—I won't just abandon the man to whatever fate's befallen him."

  Victor held the icepack back to his head. "It's possible to be blinded by desperation," he commented gravely. "You don't know what you'd be getting yourself into. If Kurt's alive somewhere, and I'm sorry, but that's a big fuckin' if, then he's probably intentionally steering clear of you. Whatever he'd have to be wrapped up in to cut all communication like that…"

  Emery shook his head, standing up and pacing away. "I don't care. I'm taking him back."

  Victor sighed. "So what? You just want to go around door to door asking every seedy, murderous scumbag in London if they've seen him?"

  "Don't be ridiculous," Emery muttered, snatching a newspaper off a nearby nightstand. "I'd be starting with my number one suspect."

  Victor looked down at the table as the paper slapped onto the surface before him, the front of which featured a printed photograph of one Hunter Eaton.

  Chapter 3

  Victor looked into the mirror with dismay as he picked at the dried blood still caught in his beard that couldn't seem to be scrubbed out, grimacing as his fingers grazed the cut underneath. Fuck those pricks. Fuck the big cross-eyed idiot who sucker-punched him, fuck the skinnier one who'd swept his legs, and double fuck the both of them for kicking the shit out of him while he was down. Seriously, what kind of asshole do you have to be to beat the hell out of someone you already planned to kill? Not that it mattered much now. Thanks to a certain someone's intervention those assholes were both dead. He glanced sidelong at the closed bathroom door and leaned over the sink, rubbing his aching neck. He couldn't do this. Emery had to know he couldn't. What he was asking of Victor was insane. Tracking down a man with a rap sheet like Kurt's was like trying to find a needle in a haystack if that haystack was made of pissed off psychopaths and the needle was armed with an AK-47.

  Still, he guessed he did owe the guy his life. Or did he? After all, Victor had taken a huge hit back when they'd first met. Between not getting paid for the kidnapping job he'd done and hemorrhaging resources on patching up an unanticipated gunshot victim, maybe Emery saving his life tonight made them even. Then again he supposed it wasn't exactly right to kidnap him in the first place, and saving Kurt's life was really more a favor owed by Kurt, so…fuck. He didn't know where they stood. The cold hard facts were thus: Emery was trying to hire him for a reconnaissance mission—something he was actually pretty good at—and by this point he definitely needed the fucking money. He'd worked for worse people, hadn't he? Victor wiped a hand over his face, in total disbelief that he was even considering this. Whatever. At the very least he could give Emery information. That was all he was really asking for, wasn't it?

  And then what? His conscience asked snidely. Send him out there alone to try and sweet talk the most fucked up crooks in the UK to find out what happened to his almost definitely dead boyfriend? That'll go over swell. But what else was he supposed to do? Hunter Eaton being added into the mix was a factor Victor very much didn't care for. He could perfectly recollect the consequences of the last time he'd tried to tango with that tycoon. He'd barely escaped being killed by the skin of his teeth. That guy had ties with mobs and assassins and god knows what other bottom feeders his terrifyingly vast wealth could afford him. But here he was two years later and the guy still hadn't tracked him down and murdered him; Victor had absolutely no interest in testing his luck by poking a sleeping bear twice. Shit, he really needed to talk some sense into that stupid kid.

  Victor dried his face with a hand towel and walked back out into the hotel room, eying Emery where he stood at the small table loading a handgun. He caught sight of Victor and gave a nod towards the black suitcase that sat on the bed. "I've got some painkillers in that bag there."

  Victor hesitated before shaking his head and wandering over to flip it open. He rifled through a few things before finding them at the side, popping the bottle open and knocking two back. He looked over at Emery again but his back was turned. Victor's eyes curiously went back to the contents of the suitcase to study them. A few articles of clothing, some toiletries, and a shallow, lidded glass dish with some bark in it tucked in one corner. He slipped it out and examined it with a furrowed brow before realizing that the box was o
ccupied by a giant fucking spider. He immediately dropped it onto a pair of folded pants. "The fuck is that?"

  Emery looked over, quickly approaching in concern. "Don't touch that. You'll scare it."

  "Yeah, it looked goddamn terrified." Victor blinked at him as he gently lifted the box and held it up to carefully observe the hairy horror inside. "What the hell is that thing for?"

  Emery stuffed the box back into his suitcase and threw a glance over his shoulder. "It isn't for anything. It's my pet."

  Well this just got saner by the minute. Victor held up his hands and trudged back to a chair where he plopped down. "Look Em, I'll tell you everything I know, okay? I'll…shit, I'll give you a few of Kurt's contacts if you really want them. But I'm telling you—you won't get anywhere. These people will kill you just for knowing their names. You'd be less fucked if you hocked one right in the queen's face than you would be just approaching some of these dicks unasked."

  "And these are the sorts of people I should leave him with?" Emery asked, turning back around to face him. "I know what danger is, Victor. Don't mistake my determination for naivety."

  "Fine," Victor conceded, rubbing his brow. "So why Hunter Eaton?"

  "What do you mean, why?"

  "Why do you think he had anything to do with this?" Victor reiterated.

  "He has a motive."

  "Does he? Because I feel like if he suddenly decided to take out your kidnappers two years after the fact, I'd be dead by now. Especially considering that he knows our identities and I'm the one who's been within arm's all this time reach. Anyway, let's assume he did somehow manage to track you down halfway across the world. Why take Kurt? Why wouldn't he just kill the both of you if it's revenge he's after?"

  Emery shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe he realizes that he isn't going to get what he wants by sheer force. He needs a bargaining chip."

  "To make you do what?"

  Emery plucked his gun off the bed and tucked it back into the waistband of his pants. "That's what I'm going to find out."

  Victor raised his hand. "Can I pitch a worst case scenario here? Say you confront him and he's got nothing to do with it. Then all you get is the comfort of the fact that he now knows where you are, that you're alone, and how easy it would be to kill you. You cost him a lot of money and you know his secrets, so I wouldn't tempt the guy if I were you."

  "Hunter won't kill me," Emery muttered. "Probably."

  "That's reassuring as shit." Victor leaned back in his chair and scratched his chest. "Let me lay it on the line for you. You've been gone for nearly two years. In all that time, there's been no missing person's filed on you. There's no warrant out for your arrest. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Emery Eaton is just on fucking vacation somewhere. The guy let you go, man. Don't press your luck."

  "It's perfectly in character for him to do something like this," Emery replied irritably. "He was damn good at scaring, bribing, or dragging off any lover I ever tried to have."

  "Why? Was he that upset about you being gay?"

  Emery pursed his lips. "Something like that."

  "Okay. So what you're telling me here is that this could all be a trap."

  "Yes."

  "One that you're perfectly okay with just waltzing into?"

  "Not as simply, no." Emery walked back over to the table and picked up the newspaper, eyes scanning the article on the front page. "I can't contact him directly. That's probably what he's anticipating, since it would be the easiest thing for me to do. I don't intend to let him corner me like that. I need to get him alone. Unaware. Somewhere I can make him talk."

  "How?" Victor asked, standing up and peering down at the newspaper over Emery's shoulder. Philanthropist Funds Restoration of Historical Abbey. "The guy's well known and well-guarded. You're one guy with one gun. He might as well live in Fort Knox."

  "He didn't get all that money being such a sly businessman, you realize. He's in someone's pocket."

  "Whose?"

  "Whoever he's smuggling merchandise into the country for."

  "Merchan—what kind of merchandise?"

  Emery shrugged. "I've never been able to ascertain just what, but it's a secret for a reason and it's where he makes the majority of his annual profit."

  "This just keeps getting better," Victor sniped. "So not only do you want to go up against a disgruntled billionaire with a shady fortune and a personal grudge, but you wanna get friendly with some black market mercenaries along the way."

  "If I can work my way into their ranks for a payment drop, I can catch him off guard."

  "You mean if you can out-bribe Hunter Eaton? You are absolutely shitting me."

  "I most certainly can," Emery said, setting the paper down. "I'm still his heir, after all. At least as far as the public is concerned. I can bluff as much as I want—my credibility is my face. If his associates want to keep an alliance with the Eaton fortune then they ought to warm up to the man who they suppose is going to inherit it."

  "Agh, god, okay," Victor stood up, grinding a palm into his eyes and beginning to pace. "No. This is a shit plan. No, you kn—it's not even a plan to begin with. I mean have you thought about this at all?"

  "Every minute of every hour of the past eight days," Emery replied gravely.

  "Oh, well shit, that'd be great if this was, I don't know, a fucking birthday party. Operations like this take months of planning. They take funds. Research. Manpower—more than we'd have between the two of us."

  "I suppose it's lucky one of us is a genius, then."

  Victor held out his arms. "I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do with that."

  Emery set his hands at his hips and fixed him with a calculating look. "I seem to remember that you managed to hack into Hunter Eaton's home computer once before."

  Victor blinked, shifting his stance. Sure, that was true. Forcing his video feed into the guy's personal computer hadn't been nearly as easy as he thought. He'd encountered plenty of firewalls, password blocks, and a lot of weird encrypted shit that he'd ignored at the time, so it was feasible that…no, what was he thinking? Victor snapped out of his trance and shook his head vigorously. "Yeah, I opened a video chat between his PC and mine. But that was two years ago and I have to imagine the guy upgraded his security and doused his files after that. If he's smart, anyway."

  "Yes, but you're smarter."

  "Am I?" Victor asked, glaring as he wandered over to the sink to get some water. "Man, look at me. Would I be a beat to shit, thirty year old, dead broke expatriate if I was really as smart as I think I am? I brag, sure, but I am a fucking idiot, okay? Clearly. I mean here I am, still listening to this shit." He flipped up a hand at Emery before grabbing a paper cup and filling it. There was a long silence from Emery as he gulped down his water. Victor paused for a moment and slowly crushed the empty cup in his hand, feeling like he should apologize. It wasn't really Emery's fault. The guy was doing the best he could with what he had, which was nothing.

  "I'm not Casey Sheridan."

  Victor turned over a shoulder with a curious expression.

  Emery looked down, rubbing his neck. "I'm not going to stand here and badger you. Pressure you. Deride you into doing something you can't, or won't, or wouldn't. I didn't…didn't mean what I said earlier. Saving your life tonight was returning a long overdue favor and I think we both know that. I realize how much I've asked of you over the short time we've interacted with one another. I just had nowhere else to turn. As fucking pathetic as it sounds, you're the closest thing to a friend I have."

  Great, that made him feel a lot better. Victor's shoulders slumped and he looked away, shaking his head.

  "I'd be extremely grateful if you'd just give me a few names. A lead. Anything. I'll pay you regardless," Emery said, slowly sitting down on his bed.

  Victor closed his eyes, feeling like he wanted to put his head through the wall. On the one hand he knew that if he walked out of that door, it would probably be the last time he'd ever see Eme
ry Eaton alive. He'd have to live the rest of his life knowing that he sent a relatively innocent man to his death when he could have done something to prevent it. On the other hand, this was so fucking pointless. Kurt was probably already long dead and getting himself involved in this meant that he hadn't actually skirted death tonight; he just briefly postponed it. But hell…maybe that's all anyone ever did. Victor tossed the paper cup in the trash and walked over to the bed. Emery looked up at him tiredly.

  Victor crossed his arms. "If my pad in Whitchurch isn't totally fucked in half by those clowns who just tried to terminate me, I might…might…be able to salvage some of my software."

  Emery's exhausted expression quickly turned to astonishment. "Do you mean you'll help me? You'll take the job?"

  "Let's just say I'll help you get to your godddamn stepfather, okay?"

  Emery let out a breath as if he'd been underwater the whole time, swallowing hard and nodding. "I could kiss you, Victor Scott."

  Victor pointed a finger at him sternly. "Do and you're dead."

  Chapter 4

  Emery stared blankly ahead at the road that stretched on into a bleak, rainy day. He hadn't slept the night before, but that was nothing new. He hadn't done much sleeping since the start of it all and by this point he hardly even felt tired anymore. Sleep had lost its importance entirely. Still he allowed Victor to drive, glad to placate the man however he wished so long as he remained willing to do what he'd said. It was roughly a three hour drive from Stratford to Whitchurch and it was a mostly silent journey. He wasn't about to say or do anything that might jeopardize Victor's resolve. It wasn't until well into the last leg that Emery decided to speak, figuring it was too late to turn back anyway. He had to say something. Anything to take his mind off of the last time he'd traveled on this particular highway. "When was the last time you were here?"