by Jack Parker
But that was foolish in every respect. They were not a traditional couple and Kurt didn't buy into what was by today's standards a relatively empty gesture anyway. In any case he had pledged himself to Emery since the day they'd started their life together, so what more was to be said or done? As normal as this retreat was making him feel, they were not, in fact, normal, and should not behave as if they were. Kurt dismissed this silly thought, and would not revisit it until several months later.
* * *
When faced with the prospect of Emery's death while sitting terrified and alone in a Montreal hospital, Kurt's worldview completely fell away and was forced to start entirely anew. He'd almost lost the most important thing in his life to the comparatively unimportant nonsense that was their low profile. He didn't give a damn about anonymity or paper trails or even getting caught if it meant Emery's safety. He was done with all of it. Emery would live, but he would not face this again, no matter the lengths Kurt had to go to for this assurance.
Emery's first day home after the removal of his appendix both relieved and saddened Kurt. Emery was weak, hardly able to move between rooms and so tired from simple tasks that he was nearly helpless. He'd lost so much weight. This was evident as he lay shivering that night in their bed, unable to keep himself warm. Kurt wrapped him up in his arms tight to get him warm again and stayed that way all night, grateful that he was home and where he could be physically reached. Emery would be alright, Kurt told himself. He was here now, where he belonged, and would be protected. Whatever the consequences.
Consequences came in the form of hard work. The next day he resigned from his life as a thug and took up his job at the forge, a nine to five, straight-forward, loud and messy but secure affair. Emery recovered slowly. He put most of his weight back on, regained his energy, and managed his own job in a shop every few days with some old fellow he'd struck up a close friendship with. Kurt was not initially pleased with that, but refused to let it show. He was still paranoid about Emery showing his face so much around the city, getting to know strangers, and making any sort of name for himself, but deep down he knew it was what they both wanted. He couldn't keep Emery trapped any longer. He wanted him to have that normal life. To feel free. And the genuine happiness that he felt Emery slip into over the course of the next few months was the perfect reward. Kurt would work all day, come home, and talk with him about mundane, average things. Films. Friends. Coworkers. The only planning they had to do anymore was what to make for dinner or who was doing what shopping. They once had a terribly idiotic spat over laundry and after a mere thirty seconds of fuming Emery had started laughing instead. When asked why, he replied that his life really must be wonderful if this was suddenly his biggest problem. Kurt didn't know it was possible to feel as stupid as he did in that moment and at the same time be glad of it.
Life was, for all intents and purposes, normal. Kurt had done it all to make Emery happy, but he hadn't anticipated just how happy it would make him in turn. It allowed him to do things and think things he never would have before. He was leaving work one day, tossing his gear into his locker, when Andy, a big, mustached redhead approached him and asked if he wanted to accompany some of the others to grab a drink. Kurt had turned on him, instinctively about to refuse. There had never been room in Kurt's life for camaraderie. He didn't think about these men in any respect other than as extensions of his job, but he realized, with some trepidation, that it couldn't hurt. Emery had friends. Perhaps Kurt could give it a try. So he phoned Emery and went around with them for an hour. He didn't know if he liked it, but having the freedom to do so was strangely enjoyable.
Kurt was comfortable. He didn't mind his schedule, his company, or his minor hardships. Everything about his life was ideal as far as he was concerned, but as he stared across the dining table at Emery one Sunday, watching him nibble contemplatively on his own thumb while reading a newspaper, he couldn't help but come back to certain thoughts. The dangerous part of their life had come to a close. If Kurt was not a typical man before, he certainly was now. And Emery, who had quelled his silly insecurities this Christmas past and told him in no uncertain terms that they were family…Kurt wanted a better word for him than anything he currently had. If Emery was his family member, he ought to be called that. And a part of him deep down, stretching out for the first time in his life like a cat that had lain curled up in a corner since birth and smacked suspiciously of self-worth uttered, why shouldn't I have a husband if I want one?
But it was still a ridiculous notion. He didn't even know if Emery would want that, and so what if he did? Kurt Gabler could not marry—he was a legally dead fugitive. …But he wanted Emery to have everything. Every vestige of normalcy. Marriage was very normal.
A few mornings later Emery awoke lazily and sat at the table to shovel cereal into his mouth. Kurt looked down at him, studying the comfortably humdrum nature of this routine before leaning down to kiss his head. "I'm gone."
Emery smiled without looking up. "Might be a bit late getting back. I think I've refused Bill a drink about every night this week. Can't put it off forever."
"Suppose not. Just don't overdo it."
Emery's expression grew cheeky. "Me? Never."
Never indeed. The number of times he'd had to nurse the man's splitting hangovers was uncountable. Not that he much minded. He didn't know how much those old buzzards in his company drank, but Emery was a small man and clearly had a hard time keeping up. But he loved the revelry and was always sure to try. Kurt headed out the door, deciding to stop and pick up some painkillers and ginger ale for him on the way to work just in case.
Traffic was at a bit of a standstill. As he sat in the car he gazed listlessly out the window into the row of shops nearby, thinking about what he should do for lunch later on, when the jeweler's sign caught his eye. He stared for a good long while. Why not? Between stopping at the shops and the bloody state of traffic he was already late anyhow. When traffic picked back up he impulsively turned off to the side, parked, and made his way in. He instantly felt nervous when he stepped inside, but squashed it down. He was just looking, that was all. Just gauging prices, indulging a trivial curiosity. The shop was brightly lit and nearly empty this time of day. He watched a man buy a diamond necklace before wandering off towards one of the glass cases. Inside was a large selection of rings. Rings—wasn't that all he'd need? A ceremony would be pointless. The legalities irrelevant. The paperwork moot. But Emery could wear his ring. Kurt could look across the breakfast table and see it on his finger and know that he was the one who'd put it there. He set a hand on the glass surface and studied a pair of silver bands.
"Good morning," a voice chirped, and Kurt looked up as the jeweler approached. "See something you like?"
"I'm just browsing," Kurt replied, stepping back.
"What are you in the market for?"
Kurt glanced down and shook his head. "I…a gift. I'm not sure."
"Ah. Someone's birthday? Big weekend plans? Is this for a woman or a man?"
"A man."
"I just got in a great selection of platinum watches."
Kurt took another step back as he heard the door open again behind him, unwilling to do this in front of an audience. "He's got a watch. I was only looking around."
"Only looking around?" another voice asked.
Kurt turned over a shoulder to see a man and a woman. The man was tall, a bit thin with black hair slicked back and a smirk on his face. His accent was English.
"You sure you're not thinking of robbing the poor bloke blind, eh Gabler?" The man leaned forward, pointing at him with the pretense of good humor as he looked to the jeweler. "He's a bloody crook, this one."
The jeweler laughed good-naturedly and went back to his business.
Kurt's demeanor quickly iced over as he turned around. He didn't recognize these people.
The man continued, stepping forward with his hands in his pockets. "You're not easy to find, you know that?"
"What
do you want?" Kurt demanded. He felt suddenly naked without his gun, which used to accompany him nearly everywhere.
"The pleasure of your company, that's all." He planted a hand on his chest. "You mind coming with us?"
"I'm not for hire," Kurt said point blank.
The man smiled and clucked his tongue. "That's a shame, Mr. Gabler. A rotten shame. Well, what about your little pal Eaton? Is he for hire?"
Kurt's chest seized a bit and his fist clenched at his side. Immediately his mind fell back into stringent order. The man was armed. He could see it by the way he carried his weight. The woman was as well. He straightened up, glancing back behind him before coming towards them and following them out the door. The man gestured for him to get into the back of a van and he reluctantly did so. He moved to the end of the seat row and stared ahead rigidly. His blackmailers came in after and sat across from him in the seats that faced his own.
"Lovely to finally meet you. Allow me to introduce myself—I'm Mr. Keller."
"I don't give a damn who you are." Kurt stated.
Keller frowned, drawing back the hand he was holding out. "That's no way to treat a friend."
"You're no friend to me."
"I'm a friend of a friend. Isn't that close enough?" Keller sighed, folding his arms and knocking on the side of the car. It began to move. "I'm here to represent the interests of the Dutchman."
Kurt didn't reply, affecting impatience.
"Ah," Keller, nodded, snapping his fingers. "That's right. He's says you'll know him by a different name. A…Mr. Thompson, was it?"
Thompson. Kurt narrowed his eyes. "I don't work for him. I haven't in years."
"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to sort that out with him, friend, because he seems to think that you do."
Kurt shook his head. "I live in Quebec. Whatever he needs done, he can find someone local. I'm not a part of that business and I'll have none of it."
"I think you'll reconsider," Keller said cryptically, looking out the window. A few minutes later the car pulled to a stop along another strip. Keller indicated out the window and hummed.
Kurt turned to see, with a tightening of his gut, that he was looking at Emery's shop front. Inside Emery was standing at the counter, leaning over and digging through a box while he grinned at Bill on the other side. Something in Kurt's face must have betrayed his fear, because Keller was smiling horribly when he looked back at him. Kurt quickly hardened, eyes full of rage.
"Would you look at that? A millionaire's son. You've been doing quite well for yourself, haven't you?"
Kurt was torn between reaching forward to tear Keller apart with his hands and trying to make an escape, but he knew he could do neither.
"Now I've been told you're a bit of a hard player, Gabler, but I think you've got your soft spots. And he looks soft indeed."
Kurt stared at him unwaveringly.
"Are you ready to listen?" Keller prodded.
Kurt gazed back blankly. "He isn't involved."
"He doesn't have to be," Keller agreed. "So long as you come willingly."
"Where?"
"Back home, of course."
Kurt curled a lip defiantly and was ready to refuse.
Keller held up a finger, reaching with his other hand into his jacket to produce an item. He threw it into Kurt's lap.
Kurt scooped it up and his heart dropped. It was a familiar little picture frame. The image was he and Emery on the beach together and one he knew had been sitting on his bookshelf since they'd come home from that trip. The implication was clear. We've been in your home, and we can be there again.
"See, I don't want this to be difficult. I don't bloody like Canada. It's cold, it's ugly, and tracking you down's sapped most of my daily luster, so I need to get straight to the point here. In one hour you and I are getting on a plane. You can come quietly, or you can watch my man there," he pointed out the window at someone entering the shop, "blow your little sweetheart's brains all over that store window. So which is it?"
Kurt felt like a caged animal as the man in the shop began browsing around. He was picking lazily at jackets, shoes, but his gait was effected by what Kurt suspected was a large gun. Emery obliviously packed leather wallets into a box at the counter. "I'll want the details of this job and its duration."
"And I'm sure you'll have it, but that's not a service I'm here to provide," said Keller. "I'm just your escort."
Kurt looked back at him stonily.
Keller held up his hands. "Does that mean you're going to cooperate, Mr. Gabler?"
Kurt shoved the picture in his hands into his jacket pocket and offered a reluctant nod.
"Excellent. We'll be heading to the airport straight away. Oh, and where are my manners?" Keller gestured to the woman at his right. "This is my associate. Ms. Faraday."
Kurt's eyes locked onto her with all the threat he could muster, but she was looking away.
"Her job is to stay here and keep tabs on your boy for you. If you attempt to contact him, she will kill him. If you disobey your orders or show any form of insubordination, she will kill him. If you half-ass the job, she will kill him. So let's just make everyone happy and play along, shall we?"
Kurt watched her with blatant ire as she moved towards the exit. As soon as she left, he could see the man inside the shop take that as some sort of signal. He walked out the door soon after and hurried down the street out of sight. Kurt's eyes went back to Emery.
"Don't be sore, Gabler," Keller heckled. "It's better this way. You keep him out of the criminal world and he can move on to bigger and better things. Maybe he'll go home. Get some of that change his stepfather's been carting around. What could be better than that, eh?"
Kurt didn't reply, looking down as the car began to move off. He'd been a fool. A stupid, fucking fool. His past had finally followed him, and he was getting Emery caught up in the middle of it. He'd taken all conceivable precautions to keep Emery safe from every imaginable source except for the most dangerous one of all. Himself. As the car drove on and took him away to parts unknown, he reached down into himself to find that blathering, smug newfound sense of self-worth and promptly slit its throat.
Chapter 19
It was comfortably familiar. He'd been at this pub's patio a dozen times before, sitting in this same metal chair drinking the same watered down lager and shielding the man across from him from the shining sun. He didn't love it, but it was always the consensus, the go-to when the argument for every other dive in the city had failed to be appealing. The starting point to god knew what. He took a drink of his beer and set it down with a slight frown.
"It's not that hard," Graham said across from him, giving Marcus a funny look. "It's a mechanism, you know. It can be figured out just like anything else."
Marcus pulled a face and settled into his chair with his glass clutched in both hands. "I know it's possible, fuckwit, I'm just sayin' I don't get it is all. No one ever taught me how."
Graham blew a section of blonde curls out of his face. "Yeah, well it's stickin' a rod into a hole and rattlin' it around 'til it feels right. It's like makin' love. Guess that's why it don't come naturally to you, eh?"
"Fuck off," Marcus said just as he was about to take a drink. His response sprayed a bit of lager and he wiped his mouth quickly.
"Anyway, it doesn't matter, on account of the fact I'd be the one picking the lock."
Kurt studied him for a long moment, but said nothing.
Graham sensed his eyes and turned to him anyway. "What's that look for, Gabler?"
Kurt shook his head.
"Aw, Mum," Graham grinned. "I'm not gonna go through with it. I was only fooling."
"As fools do," Kurt said.
Graham snickered. "Cheeky shit. Marcus, go and get us another round."
"It's your fucking turn."
"The fuck it is."
Marcus huffed and stood up to find the loo. "Well if it's my turn I'm done for the day. I'm bloody tapped, mate."
Gr
aham gave him a petulant sneer as he walked away and then kicked Kurt's shin. "What good's keeping this one around for, anyway? You got anything on you?"
He didn't, but even if he did he wouldn't be inclined to share it with present company. He'd had enough of paying for Marcus, who worked a myriad of odd jobs but conveniently never seemed to have any money. Every time they met him it managed to be the day "just before payday". Besides, they were trying to save up—he didn't know how Graham supposed they would leave the country with no funds. Kurt's money was for them. It was not for pointless nights out and placating their pisshead friends. Kurt shook his head.
Graham sighed. "Bollocks. What good are either of you? Suppose I've gotta do everything myself."
"We could just go home," Kurt suggested.
"And do what? Get stoned and watch bloody Doctor Who reruns? I'm sick of that."
So was Kurt, frankly. He hated the smell of marijuana and didn't want to sit around watching the two of them stupidify themselves for the rest of the night. They made damn poor company that way. Not that they were an awful lot better without it when together. He sometimes wished that Marcus and Graham weren't so close, but they were boys together, mates long since before Kurt came along. He had no place to comment. "The pubs are just tiresome is all."
"Only because we haven't got any money. Let's just go around the corner to that shop we were talking about. I'm telling you, the bloke who runs it is deaf as a stone and near blind—he won't miss a few bills. I can pick that register in a minute flat."
Kurt couldn't help the disapproval from showing on his face.
Graham groaned. "Gabler, you're twenty years old, mate. Why've you got all the luster of a geriatric?"