by Jack Parker
"I fired you."
"Fine. Then maybe I'll tell Ludkov you lied about being the brains of this outfit and he'll hire me back himself."
Emery shook his head at the floor. "Why would you willingly do that?"
"I guess because…" Victor looked up, trying to remember the correct phrasing. "As fucking pathetic as it sounds…you're the closest thing to a friend I have."
Emery didn't look at him, but after a weighty pause he lifted his hand and lethargically clinked their beers together.
Chapter 13
"Mr. Eaton," Ludkov greeted, studying the three people who once against stood before him. His eyes were lingering for quite some time on the sling that bound Emery's right arm. "It would appear that my end of the deal was kept, yes?"
"Yes, indeed it was."
"And you are satisfied?"
"As well as I could be," Emery replied.
"Did you face some sort of trouble?" he held out a hand to the injury.
"It's an old injury. Nothing but a separating shoulder—occasionally it'll happen all on its own."
He didn't think Ludkov bought that, but there was no present evidence to support the truth. "Mm hm… And I see that Mr. Scott is still with you."
"Our agreement was that he be free to go on about his way. This is the way he's chosen to go."
Ludkov nodded, staring Victor down curiously. "I see."
Emery quickly sought to remove Ludkov's attention from Victor. "Ms. Faraday informed us that you've got another job."
"Yes. You are ready to work Mr. Eaton?"
"It's Fletcher," Emery couldn't help but correct.
"Come again?"
Emery cleared his throat. "Hunter Eaton married my mother when I was thirteen. My real father's name was Fletcher."
"Mr. Fletcher, then…" Ludkov eyed him in a way that made it obvious he didn't care to be corrected on this perceived frivolity.
"I'm ready for whatever you need, Mr. Ludkov. I'm at your service, as promised."
"Very well." Ludkov motioned for Yuri, his ever-present bodyguard, to leave him and settled back into his chair. "You will be pleased to learn that the task I have for you is much simpler than the last. All it requires is a very basic extraction of information from a particular target."
Frankly that sounded exactly the same as their last mission, but Emery wasn't about to protest.
"On Malcom's footage there is a face absent that I was hoping to catch. Geoffrey Garner. He is what you would call an investor, yes? I have suspected him of being aligned with Malcom's employer, a problem interloper who has been flooding heroin into the city, for some time now. I need information on this man, but it is likely he is under the protection of said employer. His accountant, however, is not."
"Accountant?" Emery repeated.
"Yes. A Mr. Christian Isaacs. He keeps very detailed records on all of his clients and I would like to see his file on Mr. Garner for myself. I want to know what he is making, and where it is said to be coming from."
Emery nodded. "How shall I proceed?"
"You will meet with him tomorrow. Isaacs is a stubborn old goat. He will not be swayed by threats and has proven himself unafraid. However, he is also a lawful man. It is unlikely he knows of Garner's illegal conduct and it would surely displease him to learn of it, but his work ethic is…troublesome. I do not know if he can be convinced to produce this file. If he cannot, you must take it from him, and he must remain unaware of any affiliation to me."
Emery chewed his lip and considered this for a moment. "Forgive me for asking, but might this be better solved by a simple break-in? We could lift several of his files; make it impossible for him to know which we were after."
"No. I want Garner to know he is being looked into."
"Just not by who," Emery gathered.
Ludkov nodded. "He is a nervous man, Garner. I want to make certain that he stays nervous."
Emery wanted more details on this situation, but he knew that asking would be overstepping his bounds. What did it matter anyway? Henchmen didn't typically need details and that's all he really was. Better to just get this damnable business out of the way as quickly as possible. "Consider it done."
"Very good Mr…Fletcher," Ludkov replied. He waved them off and looked down at his phone as they were leaving, but Emery could distinctly feel his eyes on his back as they departed.
"An accountant," Victor huffed as the three of them climbed back into the car. "And here I thought we were getting into something dangerous."
"You may well be," Georgie replied with a sigh. "Isaacs is harmless. So is Garner, for that matter, but the man he is suspected to work for is anything but."
Emery buckled his seatbelt in the passenger's seat and stared into the side mirror at the shrinking drug den behind them. "The heroin dealer."
"The heroin dealer. They call him the Dutchman," Georgie affirmed.
"He must be a real ball-buster to make a guy like Ludkov cautious," Victor guessed.
"Aleksei's well aware that he doesn't have the resources to chase the bastard off, what with some of his affiliates in cahoots with the man, so he's going to play it underhanded. Ludkov isn't the only one he's upset. There's a rival gang of drug dealers who've been operating in London for the past decade that have not been as accepting to our heroin dealer's presence as the local Russians. They're well established and not inclined to share space. This association and the Dutchman remain on a very, very tenuous armistice at the time being. The slightest push could cause a war between them. Ludkov is trying to exact that push."
"How so?" Emery asked.
Georgie glanced at him. "With you."
"Oh, good," Victor intoned sarcastically.
Emery shifted in his seat. "So you mean to say that when we enquire after Garner, Ludkov's hoping this Dutchman character will suspect his rival gang instead?"
"It's the perfect plan, really. Once again your anonymous faces will work in his favor. No one knows that you work for him yet and he's going to keep you under wraps for just that reason. Since you're English," she paused, glancing at Victor, "or not Russian at least, suspicion will not fall on the Russians, with whom Mr. Dutchman is attempting to forge an alliance."
Victor thumped Emery's good shoulder. "Not every day you get to incite a turf war, eh?"
Emery frowned at him. "Are you excited about this or something?"
"Why not? Getting these scumbags to wipe each other out is like killing a million birds with one stone. I know the gang she's talking about," Victor jerked a thumb at Georgie. "The one based here in London. They've cropped up on a lot of jobs I've pulled and they're a bunch of filthy meth-mouth cocksuckers. …Uh…no offense."
Emery turned back to the front and sighed. "Wonderful. Happy to be doing the city a service."
"Come on, Em. This job'll be easy. In and out, no problem."
There was something to be said of Emery's outward demeanor if it was inspiring Victor to be the optimistic one, but he couldn't be bothered to care. He was tired, his shoulder hurt immensely still, and he felt empty inside. He'd promised Kurt he would find him. He could not break that promise, but having to accept the possibility that when he found him it would not be alive was soul-crushing. He absolutely couldn't stand to think about it. In some ways he was glad to be working for Ludkov now, because he needed the distraction of a task in order to remain sane. Otherwise he might just curl up into a corner somewhere and sob himself comatose.
Georgie could clearly sense his morale was down. She ordered takeout and bought more alcohol that night to try and lighten the mood, but Emery had withdrawn quite a lot by then. He gingerly removed his sling and sat at the dining table, taking apart his gun, fastidiously polishing each piece the way Kurt had shown him to keep it best maintained. After a while of watching him, Georgie took a seat at his side and studied the pieces set out before her.
"You're very good at that," she remarked.
"Why shouldn't I be?" Emery muttered. "Got to know what you'
re working with."
She nodded. "I agree. You should never use a weapon you don't know both inside and out."
He looked up at her for a brief moment. "How long have you been in this business?"
"Since I was nineteen, round about…that's seven years now."
Emery set down the piece in his hand. "We're the same age, then?"
She leaned back, putting a hand to her chest and pretending to be offended. "Why the surprise? Do I look older or something?"
Emery smirked. "No."
"Hm, well anyway I've known how to use one of these since I was twelve," she gestured to the gun. "When did you start shooting?"
"…Two years ago."
"And…your boyfriend. He was the one who taught you?"
Emery stared at her. "He's not my 'boyfriend'."
Her face was apologetic. "My mistake."
He went back to cleaning his pieces, feeling strangely irked. Boyfriend—were they school children or something? Kurt was his…well…he was more. "Yes. He taught me. He taught me everything I need to know to survive. He's literally the only reason I've been doing so."
She drew her hands from the table and folded them into her lap. "I'm very sorry about your situation, Emery. Truly."
"Doubt you had anything to do with it."
"All the same, if there's anything I can do to help…"
Emery looked up again, eyes drifting to Victor, who was watching television and pulling Lo Mein from a carton into his mouth with a pair of chopsticks, before settling back on her curiously. "Like what?"
Georgie shrugged. "I have scouts, remember? I could instruct them to keep an eye out. Search the city while you're busy with Ludkov's chores."
He blinked repeatedly. "Ludkov wouldn't like his men being used for that, would he?"
She raised an eyebrow at him. "So don't rat me out."
Emery didn't know what to say. He swallowed, setting down the piece in his hand and leaning back. "…Thank you, Georgie."
She nodded again. "He'll be found, Emery. London is a large city, but it's hard to hide a face if you've got the right resources."
"Yes, well, that's assuming he's even here," Emery pointed out, eyes downcast. "For all I know he never made it outside the Canadian border. Just because the blokes who jumped him were English doesn't mean they came back."
She worried her lip. "I think you're on the right track. Where else would he go?"
"I have no earthly idea."
There was a long moment of silence. So long that Emery thought he could hear a cricket chirping in the background. In fact…that was exactly what he was hearing. Confusion formed on his face before Georgie suddenly straightened up. "Oh. I'd almost forgotten." She reached into her bag beside her on a chair and pulled out a small white box, which she pushed in front of Emery. "I picked you up a little something."
Emery picked it up and could instantly hear the shuffling of tiny legs. He peered into the crack of an opening at the top to surely enough find a black cricket.
"Well, for Fidget, actually."
Emery smiled softly and set the box down. "Right…thank you. She must be hungry by now."
Georgie stood, looking down at him. "If he's in England, we will find him. That's a promise."
Emery watched as she went off into the living room and sat next to Victor, who handed her a paper sleeve of chopsticks without looking. He looked back down at the occasionally chirping box and set a hand on it. Tears were collecting in his throat and he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was just that he'd been going it alone for so long. He'd had to learn to live with his pain by keeping it tightly bound inside and never letting it show for fear of causing himself more trouble. Or anyone else who might try, and fail, to help him. Two boyfriends in his time had been severely beaten on his behalf by Hunter's thugs for being audacious enough to pry into his home life and it had taught him to push others away at all costs. Protect them and tell them nothing. Keep your feelings wrapped up. I had been difficult to unfurl that for Kurt. To allow him the full truth and accept his comfort, to be told that it was alright to grieve, it was alright to be angry. Once he had, it was like the world had fallen off his shoulders, but when Kurt disappeared he took every bit of that newfound security with him. Now, as he looked at Victor and Georgie sitting on opposite ends of the couch together, he somehow felt he had an ounce of that relief back. For the first time since he was fifteen years old, it felt like…he had friends.
Emery scrubbed at his nose and sniffed hard, gruffly clearing his throat as he reassembled his handgun. He then pulled out his tarantula box and cracked open the lid, tapping the unfortunate cricket into the enclosure and shutting it back up. "Here you are, Fidge," he said quietly. The spider swiveled a bit from its corner and spread out a few of its front legs as the cricket moved over the substrate. Emery watched it lunge and snatch, piercing its carapace with large fangs and gathering it in towards its underside. "Now if you don't mind, I'm bloody starved myself." He tapped the cage lightly and left it undisturbed on the table before walking over to the couch.
Victor looked up at him before offering out a carton of food. "Eggroll?"
Emery smiled. "Cheers, mate."
* * *
Victor could tell that the shoulder injury was taking a toll on Emery. It obviously didn't let him sleep, as was apparent by the way he continuously nodded off in the car while the trio made their nearly four hour trek to keep their appointment with Christian Isaacs. He looked in the back seat to see him leaning on a hand, eyes closed, breathing deeply. It couldn't hurt to let the guy zone out for a few hours. Victor watched the passing countryside scroll by out his window while Georgie did the driving. She looked his way and caught his gaze. "You ever been this far north?" she asked conversationally.
"I lived in Scotland for a year," he said.
"Sorry to hear that."
"Hey, Scotland's fine. Never got in nearly as much trouble there as I have here."
"You didn't find it dreary?"
Victor snorted. "Compared to most of the world, Britain as a whole is dreary as fuck. But I kind of like that."
Georgie hummed. "An American who doesn't complain about our weather. Perhaps now I've seen it all."
Victor grumbled. He didn't like being assumed to be a stereotype by someone who was, for all intents and purposes, your stereotypical British woman. Composed, uppity, pale-skinned, tea-sipping. …He guessed her teeth were alright, though. "And how many Americans have you met, huh?"
"A few," she said. "Where are you from, Mr. Scott?"
"Hartford Connecticut. Where are you from?"
She gave him a sidelong glance. "East Sussex. I moved to London when I was seventeen."
"The luxury of ritzy parents, I take it."
Georgie let out a quiet breath. "I grew up in poverty, thank you. If I hadn't, is it likely that I be making my living this way?"
Victor shrugged. "Crime's a funny business. It takes all kinds." There was a long silence. Georgie continued to focus on her driving and Victor felt suddenly uncomfortable. This was going to be a damn long car ride if it kept going this way, so maybe he should ease up. He folded his arms, looking back out the window. "…I wasn't trying to be a dick."
"What, just now? Or since we've met?"
Victor thought about that for a moment before rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I'll admit I'm less than huggable, but you can't expect me to trust you. You work for Ludkov."
"Yes. That's something we have in common, in case you'd forgotten."
"That's different. Em and I got sucked into this. You were there—you know why he's doing this."
Georgie pursed her lips. "And do you think I applied for this position out of the pure hope I'd get to work for a notorious killer? That I had a doctorate and a high-paying salary job that I chucked in order to hunt down perverts and addicts all day long?" she shook her head. "Look away from yourself for once and you might actually see yourself, as my mother would say."
Victor didn't really h
ave a response to that. Sure, everyone had their reasons…maybe it was a little unfair to judge. He'd worked for some real assholes too and no one had ever expected any excuses out of him. "Okay," he relented. "I'm sorry."
"Quite alright," she bit unconvincingly.
Victor looked back through the windshield as rain started to tap on the glass. A moment later Georgie deployed the wiper blades and his eyes followed them back and forth. "Uh…thanks, by the way. For, you know. Feeding us and…mowing down that shithead at the park and stuff."
She glanced back to him a few more times before her icy exterior melted a little. "Well. Thanks for getting me off of Malcom's case."
Victor nodded. "You really hated that guy, huh?"
"Malcom is an utter twat. I didn't enjoy watching him smirk at us from the safety of the general public night after night. If I never see that pompous face of his again it'll be too soon."
"Do you think this 'Dutchman' will ice him if he finds out footage is missing from the guy's circuit?"
"It'll more likely be attributed to a glitch by his direct superiors. Your plan was very clever."
"That's me in a nutshell," Victor decided. "Clever plans and stupid decisions."
Her eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. "At least your heart's in the right place."
"Sure, I'm sentimental as hell."
"Did you know his partner?"
"Kurt?" Victor paused, shrugging. "Yeah…always liked him. Sort of a hard-ass, but no-nonsense in a nonsense world. Kind of a shocker he fell for a guy like Em."
"Why? Emery's pleasant enough, isn't he?"
"Yeah, well, it's actually a shocker he fell for anyone. I guess you'd have to know him. Those guys really had somethin', though. Two years and they've still got this Romeo and Julian bullshit going on." He stopped a moment to think. "It's kinda nice, actually."
Georgie quirked a brow at him. "Really?"
"Sure. You don't see a lot of love in this business."
"You weren't joking about being sentimental."
Victor leaned his seat back. "Nope."
Georgie smiled and turned back to the road. "I'm beginning to understand what Emery sees in you, Mr. Scott."