You're Only Dead

by Jack Parker

  "If you like."

  "I do like, yes." Emery wandered over to lean curiously over the balcony. "Oh, they have hot tubs. Please fuck me in a hot tub."

  "They're not exactly private."

  "I won't tell if you won't."

  Kurt chuckled and joined him at the railing. "What do you want to do first, hm? Eat something, perhaps?"

  Emery gripped the shirt over Kurt's chest without looking at him. "Sod that, let's go to the beach."

  "It'd be a little daft to swim now. It's nearly sunset."

  "I just want to take a walk. It's been ages since I've been to a beach."

  Kurt looked down and shrugged a shoulder. "Alright."

  A few minutes and a change of clothes later they made their way back downstairs, talking about the misery of airports. Kurt regaled him with a tale of some old woman who'd glared back at them the entire last flight as Emery slept against him.

  "Murderous rage," Kurt described. "Must've been about a hundred and fifty years old, giving me a glare like death because I had an arm around you."

  Emery snorted. "I'm surprised you tolerated it. What did you do?"

  "Kissed you repeatedly."

  Emery shoved him playfully, cackling. "You didn't!"

  Kurt smirked. "It got her to stop staring."

  "I suppose it was a kindness. Wouldn't want her to think her indignation was unwarranted." Emery looked down, biting his tongue. "You really should've worn sandals. You'll never get all that sand out of tennis shoes."

  Kurt glanced down and looked back at him. "Do I strike you as a man who owns sandals?"

  "You strike me as a man who's going to buy a pair in the shops before tomorrow's end."

  Kurt remained staring ahead. "If you think I should."

  Emery went forward to the edge of the water where the sand was just damp, watching the tide lull back and forth. "Ah, this is nice. Last time I was at a beach like this I was still small enough to be building sand castles. I'd be lying if I said part of me wasn't still tempted. Dad was good at that—he always helped me build things. Mum always just got a little mad that I was dirty and…" Emery stopped with curiosity as he looked over at Kurt, who didn't seem to be listening. Instead he was staring with a blank face out at the ocean where the clear water perfectly reflected the gold and violet hues of sunset in a great shimmering mirror, standing back a bit so as not to be too near the ocean's edge. Emery perked up, intrigued, and took his arm to guide him a little closer. "Kurt, is…is this the first time you've seen the ocean?"

  "No." Kurt blinked down at him and set his eyes back to the horizon. "Well yes, if you mean up close."

  Emery's lips parted as he watched Kurt gaze into the sea. It was sad thinking that no one had ever bothered to take him to a beach as a boy, but then Kurt's deprivations had been many. Then again it meant he got to see Kurt experience a lot of firsts, and this made him feel rather privileged. "Do you like it?" he asked softly.

  "It's…quieter than I thought."

  Emery smiled, studying him with satisfaction. This was better than he thought. He was going to show Kurt how to have fun here, he decided. For once in his life the man should have a taste of true revelry. They both should. Emery closed his eyes and leaned his head against Kurt's shoulder beside him, listening to the tranquil, muted sounds of the sea and enjoying his new favorite moment in life.

  …But when they opened, it was to somewhere else. Gone was the happiness and the lightness, the warmth of Kurt's arm and the lapping of seawater at his feet. Instead he felt terrified. He stared across the abandoned hangar's control tower at Hunter as he shuffled papers on his desk and was quickly filled with anger. "Where is he?" Emery snapped. "What have you done with him?"

  Hunter turned, looking at him with that horribly serene smile. "Suffice it to say he'll get what's coming to him."

  Emery looked down at his blood-spattered clothes and shook his head. "Answer me! What did you do with him?"

  "Come now, no more nonsense."

  "You found me, didn't you? You—you scoured the earth to find me, just to make sure I stayed ruined." Emery felt small. Young. Powerless. He backed away, fighting back tears and gripping at his hair. "Why couldn't you just leave me alone? I was happy. I was happy, why did you have to do this to me? Why have you got to take everything from me?"

  Hunter frowned and stepped closer. "Hush now, it's alright. It's all fine. I'm here."

  "Get away from me. I don't want you; I want Kurt."

  His expression darkened and he continued to come closer. "Why? Why do you care what happens to that brute?"

  "I love him."

  "You told me you loved me."

  "I lied!"

  Hunter glowered suddenly, stopping a few feet from Emery, whose back had at last hit a wall. "You've always been a liar."

  Emery began trembling, eyes searching for an escape route before realizing that this room no longer had a door. It was also Hunter's bedroom now. His blood ran cold. "Hunter—"

  "You lied to your mother. You lied to me. You even lie to yourself. I doubt you even know what truth is anymore."

  "I had to lie. It was the only way to survive you!"

  "You lie because you're a coward."

  "No."

  "You lie because you can't face your own culpability. You've always got to blame everyone else."

  "That's not true!" Emery shouted. "I know it's my fault! It's all my fault, but…i-it's not Kurt's! He never did anything wrong, he's not a liar, he deserves better!"

  "Of course he deserves better than you," Hunter shook his head. "What have you ever given anyone? Slow, painful deaths like what you gave your mother? Twisted, manipulative heartbreak like you gave to me? Severed fingers and bullet scars like you've gotten him? We should all be so lucky that we deserve someone better than you. But you're all I've got, see, and I'm going to keep you. You are mine. Not his. Mine."

  "Where's Kurt?" Emery rasped. "What did you do with him? Where did you take him? Please. Please, I'll do anything you want, I'll stay here with you, just let him go!"

  "I'm going to make him bloody well sorry." Hunter continued to step closer and Emery began to panic.

  "Don't come any closer," he wheezed. "Don't!"

  Hunter's arms reached out and pulled him into an embrace. "I forgive everything, Emery. It's alright, we'll get past it. You'll just…well you won't see that boy anymore. He won't bother you again."

  He couldn't breathe. He was being suffocated. It hurt. Oh god, it hurt, no, no!

  "Jesus Christ—fuck! Stop! Stop it!" a voice was shouting.

  Emery was still stuck in an embrace, struggling and flailing. "Get off of me!"

  "Calm the fuck down!"

  Victor? Emery stopped, heaving labored breaths and looking around in disorientation. His hands flew up to his neck, where a muscular arm was holding him in a headlock.

  "Stop his bloody screaming before someone calls the police!" a female voice warned.

  "What does it look like I'm doing?" Victor barked in return.

  Emery gripped at the arm around his neck and shuddered, blinking as he stared at the floor below him. "Victor…?"

  "Holy shit, yes, Victor, what the fuck, man? Are you awake?"

  Emery clenched his eyes shut and forced out a breath, opening them to blink repeatedly. "Yes."

  Victor's arm cautiously released him and Emery slowly sat up, making sure that the room, and its other occupants, were real. Victor was sitting on his bed next to him, looking at him with guarded confusion, while Georgie stood at the doorway in shock, dressed in nothing but a thin top and a pair of underwear. He rubbed his face in embarrassment and waved a hand. "Fuck, I'm…"

  "What the hell is the matter with you?" Victor asked, but it was with evident concern. "I thought someone was fucking flaying you alive in here."

  "N-nothing," Emery stammered. "What time is it?"

  Victor looked down at Emery's visibly shaking hands and gave him a wary look. "Nine. Seriously, are you okay?"
<
br />   "Yes." Emery stood up. "Just…give me a damn minute, will you?" He stumbled out of the room before either of them could reply and locked himself in the bathroom, where he took a very hot shower.

  * * *

  Victor examined his reflection in the glass of the apartment's balcony window with dismay, touching at his newly acquired black eye. This was a rough week for his fucking face. He supposed that one was his own fault, though. He should have known better than to try and restrain someone while they were unconscious if he didn't want to catch an elbow to the eye. Still, what the hell? That must've been some kind of nightmare.

  "What in god's name was that?" Georgie asked from behind, peering curiously at his bruised reflection as well.

  "How the fuck should I know?" Victor said, throwing her a glance.

  "You've been sleeping in the same hotel room with him, haven't you? Has he done this before?"

  Victor shook his head. "He didn't sleep. I don't know; the guy has his shit, okay?"

  Georgie raised her eyebrows and turned towards the kitchen. "I've never seen anyone act out like that in their sleep."

  "Stress does a lot of weird things. Insomnia, night terrors, ulcers, all sorts of disorders."

  "Can't have him doing that here. This place is discreet, but someone screaming bloody murder is going to get us noticed, understand?"

  "Do you think I don't know that?" Victor turned, eying her. "I'm not his fucking handler. Talk to him if you want answers."

  There was a moment of silence before she rummaged around and began filling an electric kettle at the sink. "Keep up that attitude and it'll be rather hard for us to become friends, Mr. Scott."

  "What a tragedy," he replied. He turned as the bathroom door opened and Emery emerged, wearing only a pair of pants. Victor absently stared at his appendectomy scar and narrowed an eye at him. "Are you sane now?"

  Emery looked up, but when he saw Victor's face he quickly blanched. "Oh…fuck all, is that because of me?" he pointed to Victor's bruises.

  Victor waved a hand. "It's fine."

  "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't…"

  "No really, forget it."

  "I'll have some tea ready in a jiff," Georgie said.

  "…Thanks," Emery nodded, pulling his shirt on and wandering to the table before sitting down. He spared Victor a few more guilty looks before reaching down to rummage through his bag for his spider. Victor grimaced and leaned back against the window as he watched him set the cage on the surface and examine the creature carefully. Maybe he'd just keep to this spot for now, where there were fewer giant fangy things.

  A minute later Georgie came over, looking down with interest as she set a cup of tea on the table for Emery. "You brought a pet," she commented.

  Emery looked up at her. "I'll put it away if it makes you uncomfortable."

  Georgie shook her head, bending down to his level to observe it. "I use to have spiders as a child. Just little rose hairs, though. Nothing as pretty as this."

  Emery smirked and looked back to his spider. "Really?"

  "Mm, is it a boy or a girl?"

  "No idea," Emery shrugged. "Dunno how to tell. I've always just called it an it."

  Georgie hummed and held her hand to the cage, pausing. "May I?"

  "Sure. Doesn't bite."

  Victor watched with a slight sneer of distrust as Georgie opened up the box and reached in to gently pinch the tarantula's middle and pluck it from its home. Its legs flailed a bit before curling in and she turned it over. Emery was leaning over with fascination. Georgie pointed to the thing's underside with a long nail. "Thought so. You can usually tell just by the size of the thing and it's awfully large for a Mexican Red Knee. A bit plump, no hooks. And it's got rather delicate pedipalps. I'd say you've got a girl."

  Emery gave a smile of wonder. "Fidget's a girl. I thought I'd never know." He held out his hands and Georgie set the animal gently into them, where it settled into the hollow of his cupped palms contentedly. "Can you tell how old she is?"

  Georgie shook her head. "That's harder to tell. How many times has she molted?"

  "Uhh, just once that I've seen. I think it was an adult when I got it. Hasn't gotten any bigger."

  "Well it's mature, that's certain. I don't think you'll ever truly know. Females of the species tend to live a good long while. Decades."

  "This is an incredible lesson on shit I'll never need to know, but maybe we should, I don't know, focus more on the violent nutcase we don't want to kill us," Victor said, coming to the table.

  Georgie pulled up, eyes dull. "Would you like some tea?"

  "I don't drink tea," Victor informed, opening his computer and turning it on.

  Emery thankfully took the hint and nudged the spider back into its enclosure before shutting the lid. Georgie went back into the kitchen and Emery moved his chair in closer to the table. "Did everything go smoothly last night? With the phone and all?"

  "Yeah, it's taken care of," Victor assured. "He probably never suspected it was tapped, but if he did, he won't be able to trace it now."

  "Good," Emery said, leaning back. "I want to see the shock on his face in person."

  Victor stared back at him uncertainly for a moment before Georgie returned with a cup of tea in one hand and a file folder in the other. She plopped it down between the two men, sending a few large photo prints skirting out. "Here's everything I've got on Malcom."

  Victor and Emery both reached into the stack of photos to pull one out. Frederick Malcom was probably in his late thirties, thin and unattractive but very well groomed and dressed. He looked to Victor like a pretty cocky piece of shit, sitting up in some club balcony surrounded by beautiful women who would obviously never give him the time of day if he wasn't loaded.

  "Thirty-seven years old, record immaculately clean, and works for a rather nasty regime of heroin peddlers who've been on a fast rise to power this last year. He likes expensive liquor and cheap women and is pitifully susceptible to even the most insincere flattery. He is, however, keenly suspicious of strangers. He has no known friends or family, no consistent acquaintances, and maintains no pattern to where he shows his face each night."

  Emery glanced up at Georgie before looking back down at the photograph. "Have you got any clue where he keeps his list of clients?"

  Georgie shrugged. "In his head for all I know. Aleksei assumes these names are written down somewhere and he's probably right, but I doubt that Malcom has immediate access to a convenient list. It's even less likely he keeps them on his person if he does."

  "So it's an interrogation then," Emery said.

  "Perhaps." Georgie nodded.

  "Even if we get him to tell us those names, that's not gonna qualify as the evidence Ludkov is looking for," Victor pointed out. He tossed his picture of Malcom back into the pile. "You told us he wants proof. If the list is in this guy's head, that's what we're gonna have to bring him. He'll need to hear it himself. Right?"

  Georgie sat down at the head of the table and thumbed through the pictures idly. "Yes, but it isn't ideal. Taking Malcom out of circulation will raise the very wrong sort of suspicion. He'll be looked for. It would be better if we could get the names from him without his knowing."

  Victor harrumphed and leaned back in his chair. "Well if we're gonna list all the ways this could be 'better' we'll be here all fucking day. What was your plan, Faraday? What were you even doing before we came along?"

  "Surveillance," she replied. "Hoping that he slipped up somewhere. Not much else to do."

  Emery took a long drink of his tea and stretched before hunkering back over the table. "Alright. Give me more details about him. Anything you know. What does he drink? How much does he drink? What kind of girls does he like?"

  Georgie looked up as though scanning her brain for the information. "I don't see him drink much. He's wise enough to keep his wits in public. He likes the tall, busty sort. Pretty and shallow and willing to pretend they're enamored with his imaginary charm in order to skim his wealt
h. He hates a chase and likes it to be easy. The more affection they show him the more he spends. He pulls the birds all night long, but I've never seen him take one home."

  Emery made a sarcastic face. "A proper gentleman, then. Perhaps this'd be easier if we had a woman in our midst he didn't recognize…"

  "It's possible we could recruit one," Georgie mused. "But to what end? He'd doubtfully talk shop with her."

  Victor momentarily tuned out of this pointless conversation and looked back down at the photographs. An intelligent sleaze. This had to be Victor's least favorite type, and he'd worked with plenty of them. They were the sort of two-faced ass clowns who licked boots behind closed doors while strutting their nonexistent stuff like the cock of the walk in public. He observed the picture closest to his hand before picking it up, looking down at Malcom sitting in a booth around a table with three women all clamoring for his attention and a sly smirk on his face. It was unusual for such a type to be as well-behaved as Georgie indicated. He squinted down at the image curiously. "Huh. I think I have that same tie."

  Emery and Georgie both looked at him for a moment before going back to the conversation. "What sort of history do you have on him?" Emery asked.

  Georgie shook her head. "None. None that matters, at least. His record is entirely clean."

  "He's never changed identities? Gone by anything else?"

  "No."

  Victor flipped through a few more photos and tapped his finger down onto the surface gruffly. "Guys, didn't you hear me?"

  Emery turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "About what?"

  Victor held up a finger before reaching down into one of his bags and rifling through it. After a moment he pulled out a box, setting it on the table and opening it to produce a long blue tie, which he held out to them triumphantly. "I knew it. Same exact tie."

  Emery and Georgie exchanged a glance before Emery cleared his throat. "Um…you feeling alright, mate?"

  Victor smirked, flipping the tie over on the table and reaching into a hidden fold to produce a black box about the size of a pack of gum before setting it in the center of them.

  His two associates stared down at it in wonder before Emery gingerly picked it up. "What is this?"