by Jack Parker
"Well none of that matters," Emery declared, dusting himself off. "Because we aren't going to fail."
"Sure. Sure, let's just go on out and do in a few days what the whole Russian mob couldn't do in almost a year. Easiest thing in the world."
"I've accomplished feats that seemed far more impossible in my time. I'll accomplish this one, too."
"And what's the cost of success, man?" Victor demanded. Emery said nothing, blinking back at him. Victor growled and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers in frustration. "God damn it. You have no idea what this list of names is that we're supposed to be retrieving. You don't know why they're secret. You don't know why Ludkov wants them. And not that he probably would've told you, but you didn't even ask. Do you even care what it is you're being told to participate in?"
"Of course I do," Emery said. "Deep down, yes, of course I bloody care. But what else can I do?"
"You can listen to me for once. You can stop charging headfirst into worse and worse bullshit at every remote opportunity."
"Running on instinct is the only thing that's gotten me this far."
"And where are you? Doing the mafia's bitch work? Well congratu-fucking-lations!"
Emery thrust an accusatory finger at him. "And where's your skillset gotten you, Victor Scott? Was your track record so damned perfect before all this that I'm dragging you down to a level you've never been to? I'm not about to stand here and listen to my kidnapper get high and mighty with me!"
"Oh that's rich! Moral authority from a guy who just shoved a gun in a kid's mouth for information!"
"Fuck you!"
Victor pointed to himself with both hands. "Wrong kidnapper, dipshit!"
Fire lit up in Emery's eyes, voice turned grating. "I bloody well should've left you where I found y—"
"If," a loud voice interrupted them, "you gentlemen are quite finished…"
Both of them turned to see Georgie Faraday leaning against the side of the building near the alleyway, hands in her coat pockets and looking on at the scene curiously.
Her green eyes flicked between the two men before she gestured behind her with a thumb. "The car is ready. Shall we?"
Emery and Victor glared at one another for a moment before Emery broke off, marching towards the parked car a few dozen feet away without looking back. Georgie gave Victor another once over before turning to follow him. Finally, with a harrowed sigh, Victor fell in step.
* * *
The ensuing car ride was supremely awkward. Emery sat in the passenger's seat, so busy fuming that it wasn't until a full minute into the drive that he realized he had no idea where they were even being taken to. He turned to look at the mysterious Ms. Faraday warily. She was probably somewhere in her mid-twenties, petite but stern-looking, calm and dark-haired and he'd be lying if he denied that she was somewhat visually reminiscent of his mother. Perhaps that's why he'd hopped into her car without question just for the beckoning. He sat back, setting his arms in his lap. "So, Georgie, where are we headed?"
She glanced at him before setting her eyes back to the road. "Your hotel to pick up your things. Then we're headed back 'round to my place."
"How did you know I was staying at a hotel?"
Georgie shrugged. "Must be. You don't live here anymore. And seeing how you've been in the wind for the past two years, I doubt you're staying in Hunter Eaton's guest room."
Fair enough. Emery shook his head, purposefully avoiding glancing at Victor in the backseat. "And what are we supposed to do when we're back at your place?"
"Sleep, I imagine. It'll be late by then."
Emery snorted. "Okay. …Why did Ludkov send you with us, if you don't mind my asking?"
"You mean why did he send a small woman to keep tabs on two grown, able-bodied men?"
"I suppose."
Georgie gave him a look. "Perhaps there's more to me than meets the eye."
Emery held up his hands defensively. "I don't doubt it…"
There was a moment of silence before she relented. "The most likely reason is that I know the most about Frederick Malcom. I've taken over following him for the past month, but therein lies the problem: he recognizes me. He recognizes all the individuals under his pursuer's power by this point. Aleksei is a smart man. He knows the advantage of your unfamiliar faces and that's why he chose this task for you."
Well there was a point in his favor. If Ludkov had thought that far into it, perhaps he did believe there was a chance they might succeed at this. "Do you know what the list of names is for?" he tried carefully.
Georgie shook her head. "Not precisely, but I can hazard a guess. You might have noticed that Ludkov has very few fellow Russians in his immediate employment as of late. This isn't an accident—he has a very healthy suspicion of them. It's probably warranted, as he's weathered several incidents of internal betrayal since I've known him. Instead he surrounds himself with Londoners, most of them dull-witted and easily manipulated, to avoid suspicion in his local dealings."
Emery studied her thoughtfully. "So this list of Russian names, these are people he suspects of some sort of…disloyalty?"
"Malcom is a dealer for a competitor's product. Said competitor keeps a very exclusive clientele and it's within the realm of possibility that some of these buyers are Ludkov's people. The problem here is that he suspects some of the higher-ups—people he doesn't have the authority or manpower to interrogate. I'm supposing he wants the evidence to take all the way to the top, to Kazamir Beletski, and clear out the moonlighters for good."
"I see…" Emery hummed.
"Why are you telling us all of this?" Victor asked sharply.
Georgie's eyes shot to the rearview mirror before finding the road again. "Why shouldn't I? I've been sent to help you. It stands to reason you should know all that I do."
"Does it?" Victor prodded. "It seems to me like a couple of one-time henchmen like us would work best when kept as much in the dark as possible. I don't see Ludkov trusting us with dick. Unless, you know, you and he both plan for us to be dead by the end of this job anyway."
Georgie raised an eyebrow at Emery. "Is he always this cheery?"
"Ignore him," Emery said, and was pettily satisfied by the wave of irritation he could feel radiating behind him. "Do you think that Ludkov will really grant me my request if I do this for him?"
"That depends. What's your request?"
Emery looked out the window at the passing streetlights and frowned. "I need him to get me a private audience with my stepfather."
Georgie drew in a slow breath and looked up pensively. "That's a tall order."
"I know. But it's the only shot I have. It's likely that he has information on my missing friend."
"He must be some friend to willingly get tangled up in all of this," Georgie commented.
"He never said it was a 'he'," Victor pointed out.
Georgie lidded her eyes. "Sue me for assuming."
"Regardless, how likely is it that I'll be obliged?" Emery prompted.
"Quite frankly it could go either way. Aleksei isn't without his sense of honor, as often as he lets his anger subvert it. If he agrees to it, he'll do it, but getting to that point is tricky."
Emery nodded. "Suppose I'd better impress him, then."
Georgie shrugged a shoulder. "You've already intrigued him. That's a damn good start. Keep him sufficiently amused and you may well get exactly what you want out of him."
Emery considered this carefully before filing it away. "Thanks for the tip…Do you have any clue where this Malcom character is?"
"I know most of his usual haunts. A couple of clubs, a pub or two, sometimes a local gallery or anywhere that's hosting a special event. He keeps to the crowds in order to avoid being approached, but it also makes him easy to find: just pick the most densely populated affair in London and there he'll be."
"Can't he be tracked down at his home?"
"Tried that. He lives in an upscale complex with manned security. We haven't be
en able to get a man in there—regulations are too strict and attempts are quick to raise alarm. It'd be much easier if we could corner him somewhere…in theory, anyway."
"Since when is the Russian mob so impotent?" Victor harrumphed. "They've done worse things than kick down a few doors and snatch targets out of crowds."
Georgie spared him another glance. "Haven't you been listening? This particular mission obviously isn't endorsed by the Russians. Ludkov can't exactly utilize his affiliates' resources on a job that he's purposely keeping secret from them, can he? Few men and fewer funds have been allocated for this task."
"Operating under his own people's radar…" Emery mused. "Isn't he worried that if we botch this it'll get him found out?"
"Doubtfully. There are only two ways to botch the job: fail to get his information, which leaves Ludkov no worse off than before, or get killed in the process, which saves him from any trouble at all."
That was probably the closest thing to optimism Emery could hope for, but he already knew this wasn't going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination. They'd have to come up with a real plan by tomorrow night. Trouble is it would all have to be on the fly with Malcom's schedule being randomized. That was alright, though. This was progress. Any which way he had to take to get to Hunter, he would do it. One last time. He would make sure it was one last time. When he'd last had it out with his stepfather he'd made the mistake of letting him go and nearly got Kurt killed in the process. It was a mistake he was not going to repeat. This time around, regardless of how he had to spin it to Ludkov, Hunter Eaton was going to die.
"Mind giving me a clue as to your current lodgings, Mr. Eaton?" Georgie asked.
"It's Emery," he corrected shortly. "And take a left."
Chapter 8
It didn't take long to gather up their supplies from one hotel and transfer them to Georgie's flat uptown, somewhere spacious and nice but oddly deserted. He and Victor cautiously followed her in as she unlocked the door and turned on the lights to reveal an immaculately clean, brightly lit unit. She stepped into the center of the hardwood floor and motioned an arm around briefly as she removed her jacket and rested it over the back of a dining table chair. "Help yourselves to the refrigerator. Towels in the hall closet. I'm afraid it's just a two bedroom, so one of you can claim the couch for the time being. Unless you boys don't mind sharing…"
"And where are you going to be?" Victor asked skeptically.
"In my room, Mr. Scott, but I'm not inviting you to share that bed."
"I wasn't asking," Victor snapped back.
Georgie shrugged, pulling off the thin green sweater from her shoulders and moving towards the back bedrooms. "I'm going to bed. Best to get an early start."
"I agree," said Emery, still scanning his surroundings.
"Goodnight then."
Emery nodded and watched her walk off before sheepishly turning his head to regard Victor, who was taking his bags and dropping them unceremoniously next to the dining table. He plopped down at it and began pulling out his laptop, ignoring Emery at the door. Emery sighed silently and wandered over. "What are you doing?"
"Fuck do you care?" Victor muttered without looking up.
Emery frowned, shrinking back and trudging into the kitchen. He didn't know what to do about this, he thought as he set his bag down on the floor carefully to avoid jostling Fidget. He'd admittedly lost his temper with Victor earlier. It was stupid, but he had been so sure of himself at the time. He'd just talked their way out of an execution and Victor couldn't be bothered to show even an ounce of gratitude. He thought the man would be impressed with his quick wit instead of outraged. Nothing seemed to please the hot-blooded blaggard and Emery had just gotten sick of trying…but he knew what Victor meant. Yes, Emery was being impulsive and probably stupid—he just couldn't take hearing it. He didn't want to have to give in to logic and reason and plans that took days or weeks or months. He'd already lost so much time. But he owed so much to Victor and treating him like a dog was a damn poor way to pay him back.
He turned to the fridge and found a carton of orange juice. He poured himself a small glass and turned to put it back, but found a few bottles of beer as he did so. He considered this for a moment and grabbed a bottle, creeping back to the table and gently setting it down next to one of Victor's wrists. Victor gave him a sidelong glare before returning to his work. Emery swallowed his pride and looked down into the orange depths of his own glass. "You were right," he said.
Victor looked up at him guardedly.
Emery slowly sat down. "…About everything. I'm sorry for what I said. …And for what I've done."
"No you're not," Victor grumped, but he picked up the beer anyway and popped it open. "Why bother apologizing? So I can be surprised when you manage to put the final nail in my coffin?"
Emery looked away. "I'm not trying to get you killed."
"No," Victor agreed. "You just don't care whether or not you do, which is a lot fucking worse in my book. I'm not a goddamn tool."
Emery set his glass on the table and set his hands in his lap. "I know you aren't. Victor, when I said I needed you I meant it. For both your skills and your expertise. But I'm…I'm willing to admit that I'm not fully in my right mind, alright? I just can't think as straight as I ought to, I'm…part of me is…" Emery shook his head, unable to articulate. Nothing added up anymore. "Never mind."
Emery was standing, but Victor held out a hand. "Em," he said, gesturing to the chair. Emery sat back down. Victor slumped and took a drink of his beer. "When's the last time you slept?"
Emery considered the question with confusion before shrugging. "I don't know."
"And you never considered the fact that a couple of hours here and there might help you think clearer?"
"Sleep isn't going to make me any cleverer," Emery said, folding his arms on the table and bowing his head. "Listen…I think we're both aware that I can't get you out of this now. I've gotten you in too deep. That's my fault, and I shouldn't have done it. All I can do is promise you that I'll listen from now on. I won't make any more decisions without your input. And I swear to you, Victor, I will not let you be killed."
Victor shook his head slowly. "That's your problem, Emery. You think you can do anything, but you can't. Whether it's sweet-talking mobsters into doing you favors or manipulating your captors into letting you run your own kidnapping, it'll never turn out good for you. I don't know if you got this attitude being rich or what, but some things are just out of your control and that's a fact."
Emery met his eyes seriously. "You're talking to someone who's never had a bloody ounce of control his whole life through, Victor. Don't accuse me of entitlement."
Something strangely like guilt flitted across Victor's face before he backed off. "Fine." His eyes drifted towards the hall as the sound of a running shower started up from the bathroom. Victor looked between the door and Emery before he set his jaw. "This woman is bad news. I can't feel it."
"Georgie?" Emery queried. "She seems alright…just wants the job done, I think."
"You really think so?"
"Why not?"
Victor lowered his voice. "Come on. She said herself she's been working this gig for the past month. We're supposed to believe she's a-okay with the idea of two strangers walking in off the street and swooping in to take all the credit?"
Emery shrugged. "She explained that bit, though. She can't do it herself because Malcom recognizes her as one of Ludkov's."
"I just don't trust anyone who's on a first name basis with a renowned mobster."
"Alright, but I don't suppose we've got much of a choice but to go along with it for now."
"Guess not," Victor grumbled, pulling a wire out of his bag and unfurling it.
Emery looked over and tried to glimpse his computer screen. "What are you doing, then?"
Victor fished the phone clone out of his pocket and held it up. "Wiping this clone and burning the evidence."
"You don't think we'll need
it again?"
"It's too risky to keep. I should've done this a day ago."
Emery gazed at the phone for a long moment with momentary loathing before rubbing at his face. "Yeah. Alright, if you think so."
Victor eyed him carefully as he plugged the device into his computer. "If you're really serious about listening to me for a change, then go lie down. Take the bedroom and get some fucking sleep. I've got a lot of work to do out here and I don't need to be bothered."
Emery was hesitant to do so, but he had to show Victor that he meant what he'd said. "Okay. Goodnight, Victor."
Victor merely grunted in response.
* * *
On the way from Quebec to Cabo San Lucas, Emery slept through almost all of the second flight between New York and their destination. This meant that when he got to their hotel he was completely wired, all energy and happy thoughts as he felt the warm weather on his skin and followed the waving palm tree fronds above his head with his eyes. He couldn't believe this was actually happening. A vacation was something he assumed he'd never have again, and least of all would he have expected it to be Kurt's suggestion. He watched with a slight smile as Kurt checked them in, still his stoic, business-like self as if they were gearing up for something truly serious instead of resigning themselves to two weeks of relaxation.
Emery was shocked at the size of the room when they went up, marveling at the high ceilings, tile floors, and damn nice balcony view of the beach below. "Oh," he said, taking everything in. "Let's never leave."
"That might be taxing on our funds," Kurt replied, eyes full of amusement as he watched Emery poke and prod at things.
"Naw, Canada's old news. Let's give the Mexicans their fair share of terror, eh?" He grinned and slid his bag off his shoulder onto the bed before walking into the bathroom and turning on the light. "Christ, the bathroom's bigger than our flat, I think. Don't know how many people they suppose'll be in here at once. Nice shower, though. We'll have to try it out." He raised an eyebrow at Kurt, who was setting his own bag on the bed.