by Jack Parker
Bergen shook his head.
"Alright, well if you can't put two and two together then you must be rubbish at equations, so let's try a riddle instead. What do you call a two-faced, waffling little weasel of a prosecutor who fancies himself a happy customer one day and a purveyor of justice against his supplier the next?" Keller yanked him close. "Here's a hint: he's about to cop a bollocking at the behest of London's deadliest man. …Got any guesses?"
Bergen shrank back. "I'm not associated with him any longer."
"Oh, I've heard that one before," Keller remarked. "Bill Sharp. Henry Albright. Vincent Grey. None of these names are somewhat familiar to you?"
"I…"
"They ought to be. You helped put them away and made a bit of a damp squib of an important operation. Did you think that'd be ignored?"
Bergen tried to pull away indignantly. "I didn't have a choice in the matter. It's my job. I've got to do my job, haven't I?"
Keller drew his gun. "Or what? You'll be sacked? You're prospects aren't looking much better now, mate, are they?"
Bergen swallowed as the gun was aimed at his head. "Now listen. I don't work for or with the Dutchman. I never did—I…bought from him. Just a time or two. This was nearly six months ago now, but I kicked that habit."
"Mm, and you don't see that you should answer for your crime? You think others of us should answer for you instead?"
"No," Bergen stated, eyes nervously darting around. "That's not what I meant."
"You know it's one thing to sit in the lion's den, but it's quite another to start throwing rocks at him thinking that he'll never strike."
"I don't know what you want from me."
"Compliance. That's all," Keller said. "The lion stays in his corner just so long as you stop lobbing stones. So stop…lobbing…stones."
Footsteps in the hall suddenly alerted all three men. A moment later a figure appeared and without hesitation Kurt pounced on it, snatching the body from the darkness of the adjacent hallway and trapping it in his arms. It was a girl, dressed in nightclothes. No more than sixteen. Her delicate body fell clumsily into his and he wrapped her up with her back against his chest, covering her mouth with a hand and muffling the terrified squeak she let out.
"No, let her go!" Bergen yelped, making for her. Keller held him back easily.
"Oh ho! What this?" Keller exclaimed. "You've been up to some naughty business, haven't you, Bob?"
Bergen turned red. "Let my daughter go!"
Kurt could feel the girl shaking in his arms, twitching as a frightened sob made its way up. He hadn't planned on this. He kept her mouth covered so that she was unable to say anything that might egg Keller on, struggling to maintain his icy expression.
Keller approached, looking her up and down. "Daughter, eh? Not bad, Bergen. Didn't think a man like you had it in him to make a pretty little tart like her."
"Don't hurt her," Bergen pleaded, watching tensely. "She's innocent. She's just a child, please, don't hurt my child." His eyes met Kurt's, who could see the real, hysterical fear in their depths.
Keller chuckled, plucking at the hem of her nightshirt. "She is a fetching little thing." He looked at Kurt. "I know it's the little boys you like, mate, but trust me when I say she's a prime cut." His hand went out to touch her chest and Kurt wrenched her away from his fingertips, eyes issuing a warning. Keller laughed in amusement and turned back to Bergen. "That's only one of two though, isn't it?"
"Please stop," Bergen said.
Keller jerked a thumb over at a hanging family portrait. In the picture was the girl. Next to her was a younger boy. "Where's your little chap at, eh? Upstairs?"
"I don't know what you want!" Bergen insisted. "Will you just…will you just tell me what it is you want me to do and leave my children out of this!?"
Keller turned back on him. "Sure. Resign, that's all. Retire if you like. Either way, get out of the business, or we'll take you out ourselves. Is that clear?"
Bergen nodded emphatically.
Keller smiled. "Good! All's well that ends well."
Both Bergen and Kurt watched as Keller turned off back towards the door. Kurt carefully released his grip on the girl and she quickly leapt into her father's arms, stifling sobs against his shirt. He backed away, hands feeling unclean, and turned swiftly to follow Keller out. They were just at the doorway when Bergen angrily called after.
"I'll resign tomorrow. You won't hear from me again, but don't think that's the last of it. Someone will put a stop to all of this."
Keller turned back to look at him dully. Then he raised his gun. Kurt jerked forward to stop him, but not before he fired one calculated shot. It struck the teenage girl in the head and she dropped to the floor.
"Catherine!" Bergen shrieked in alarm. He stood there for a moment looking down at her before he began screaming in agony, gripping at his hair.
Kurt stared in shock. He watched as the father fell to his knees at her side, grasping at her, howling riotously and pulling her into his lap. Kurt couldn't look away from the scene. Only a moment ago he'd held that trembling little life in his arms.
"Now you've got one less thing to lose, Bob," Keller said flatly. "Don't make us take the other."
Kurt felt cold. He'd weathered two Canadian winters in his time but he'd never been this cold. It penetrated to his core.
"Come on then, don't dally," Keller muttered as though losing interest.
Kurt slowly stepped away from the hall and to the door, eyes lingering on the devastated, wailing parent as long as they were able before he whipped around and marched back out to the car.
* * *
Kurt didn't think much that night on his way back to his lodgings—his cell, more like. Thompson had absorbed a hotel somewhere along the line and it seemed to be where he stored most of his growing forces. Dodgy men hung about in the halls and gave him fierce, cagey looks whenever he traversed them, but did not attempt confrontation. Those halls were empty that night when he arrived. He unlocked his door and stepped inside, flipping on the light and shutting the door with a soft click. He wandered over to his nightstand. Atop it was what had grown into a heap of unopened packaged breath fresheners. Kurt stared at the two weeks' worth of accumulated mints and lethargically fished around his coat pocket to add another one to its numbers. Then he sat on his bed.
When Kurt was a boy, ten or twelve or so, he'd had a hard time of his walk to the shops for groceries some days. It started when he was minding his own business one morning, hands in his pockets, and a great, slavering animal lunged from the nearby hedges and knocked him flat. It was a neighborhood dog. Some awful-smelling shaggy mixed breed of an indeterminate temperament that would bite at him between filthy licks and wag its tail whilst snarling. Kurt didn't know what to do. He didn't have any experience with animals that he could remember and the stupid creature would follow him determinedly until something else to terrorize happened to catch its attention. It scratched him up, dirtied his clothes, and once broke the strap of his satchel trying to pull him back. It broke into and ate or ruined many of the things he bought and generally made his life miserable for days.
When all else failed he had to go to his father. He relayed the story to the man, who towered over him rigidly with his hands at his hips in impatient silence, and he had to swallow his pride and ask what he was to do about it. His father had given a sneer of disapproval at the mention of the word "dog" and plucked at Kurt's torn shirt in observation. "Unruly dogs are the byproduct of unruly people. You want to be rid of it? Take it up with the owner."
Kurt sat in a long moment of still silence and consciously bookmarked this newly resurfaced memory.
* * *
Breaking into his room at night was not easy. Men could pop up around corners at any given moment and it took a good minute to breach the door lock, but he managed it unseen and slipped into the dark room carefully. Keller lay on his back on the bed, shirtless with arms outstretched. Kurt wondered if he would have slept this so
undly two years ago after a job like they'd just pulled. If he would have ignored it, gone along with it, never thought on it again. How much would he have condoned? Kurt lifted the chloroform doused cloth and held it over Keller's mouth, who twitched, but didn't awaken. After a moment he pulled it away and drew the needle from his pocket.
* * *
In all of the years that he had known him, Kurt had never once seen Thompson seated. He didn't know if this was because he liked to intimidate with his height, never mind that he was all skin and bones besides, or if it was simply because chairs were not comfortable for a man of his excessive limb length. Either way any interaction between them took place much the same way. Kurt stood like an attentive soldier waiting for orders in his superior's presence while the man paced around him casually.
"You've been doing your part, Gabler. No question," he remarked. "I'm pleased to bring you in on bigger and better things. I'm going to put a regiment of men under you. Do you think you can manage them?"
"Of course," Kurt stated.
"Good. Keller will fill you in on the details for your next venture. You two seem to be working quite well together, as I anticipated."
Kurt nodded. "He's efficient enough."
"Isn't he? A bit of a wildcard, but dependable in his own right."
"I suppose. It's very impressive that he retains so much function."
Thompson paused. "Why is that?"
Kurt stared, then shook his head. "I only meant that he tolerates the drug very well. Unlike anyone I've ever seen, really. I wouldn't know that he partook if I hadn't seen it for myself." Kurt glanced at the door and straightened up. "Will there be anything else?"
Thompson held up a hand. "You've seen Keller using his product? Is this the accusation you're making?"
Kurt feigned confusion. "I'm not making any accusation."
Thompson canted his head with a slight glower. "Naturally using the drug is not permitted while working. To the best of my knowledge Keller is entirely sober, as all men of your rank are required to be."
"Then perhaps I'm mistaken."
Thompson glared at him for a long moment before his features slipped into something like amusement. He then nodded, rapping on the door with a boney fist. A man opened it and Thompson leaned over him. "Bring me Mr. Keller, please." Kurt watched as Thompson strode back to the center of the room to face him and they studied each other carefully for a moment. "We'll see about that, Mr. Gabler. I should hope you are."
A moment later Keller entered the room with his usual swagger, chewing gum and giving Kurt a smug look as he joined him before their leader. "How can I be of service?"
Thompson held out a hand. "I've just received some interesting news, Mr. Keller. It seems that Mr. Gabler here is calling your work ethic into question."
Keller smirked and stuck his hands in his pockets. "He's a bit of a poor sport, this one. A bleeding heart. I don't know what he used to be like, but he certainly hasn't got the stomach now for what we do here."
"Actually I've been quite satisfied with the job he's done so far. And of course, I've known him for a great many years longer than I've had you in my employment…"
Keller's bravado weakened. He swallowed and forced a chuckle, holding up his hands. "This is your operation, Sir. I'm here to do as you see fit—you want Gabler? You've got him, as you please."
"Yes. Gabler is an asset," Thompson agreed. "Discreet. Strong. Resilient. Just like yourself. In fact I might even say that you two are evenly matched. I'd hate to have to choose between you."
Keller glanced between them and shifted his feet uncertainly.
"But if I did," Thompson continued, looking up in thought, "I suppose I'd have to choose whichever one isn't shooting up on the job."
Keller scoffed, jerking a thumb at Kurt. "Is that what he told you?"
Thompson didn't smile. "Is he lying?"
"Like a bloody dog!" Keller laughed. He thumped Kurt's shoulder and leaned his elbow over it casually. "You want to test me? Happy to oblige."
Thompson raised an eyebrow at Kurt, who reached up, snatching Keller's arm and thrusting up the sleeve. Beneath it were what appeared to be track marks.
Keller struggled momentarily, but stopped in utter shock as he looked down at his own arm. The color drained from his face, icy terror seeping in as he looked up at his employer. His mouth fell open, then he looked back at Kurt. "You…"
Kurt tossed his arm away and Keller jerked back.
Thompson tsked. "A shame."
"I didn't do this," Keller blurted, clutching at his arm and staring murderous daggers at Kurt. "This—this is a ruse! He's set me up!"
"You were close with Peters and Helmsley, weren't you?" Thompson asked calmly.
Keller shook his head. "No, I supervised them under your orders when they were brought on. That's also true of a dozen others, and anyway that was months ago. I didn't have anything to do with their bloody scheme!"
"Mm," Thompson said.
"Don't let him fool you!" Keller snapped.
"Gabler," Thompson made a gesture. "I think I've made my choice."
Keller gawped, not reacting fast enough to stop Kurt from reaching into his waistband to disarm him with one swift move. Kurt grabbed him by the tie and shoved him back towards the door. "You can't do this! I've done everything you've asked! I've done my job!"
"Yes, Mr. Keller," Thompson agreed. "And now it's done."
Kurt drew his gun and thrust Keller out the door and down the stairs, keeping a grip on the back of his jacket. He held up his hands, continuing to shake his head in disbelief. "You won't get away with this you great fucking fairy."
Kurt said nothing. He shoved him down the last few steps and forced him out into the building's secluded alleyway, where the sky was beginning to cloud over.
Keller wrenched out of his grasp and turned on him, hands held up. "This won't solve anything. Killing me won't free you. You bloody idiot, we're on the same side! It was all going along so fucking smoothly, and now you want to go and cock it all up! Why? What's this getting you, eh? What is this bloody getting you?!"
"This isn't for me," Kurt replied, shoving him hard. "It's for you."
Keller fell to the ground and scrambled back, eyed wide.
Kurt raised his gun. "You wanted to see the old Kurt Gabler."
The gunshot was muted, but the burst of brain matter against the nearby dumpster was as satisfying as it had ever been.
* * *
It took some time for Kurt's groggy brain to catch up to the sensation of lips on his side, kissing their way down to his hip. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling pleasant and warm in the morning sun that was lying across his sheets. Hands smoothed down his chest and he caught one, pressing it over his heart.
"Good morning," Emery said with a brief grin before going back to his task.
Kurt looked down at him with a smile and folded one arm behind his head to watch him. "Hello. What are you up to?"
"The same thing you're 'up' to." Emery gripped Kurt between the legs and smirked. He quickly set about tugging his shorts down and freeing his readily hard length.
Kurt reached down to stroke a hand through Emery's hair and rub at his face, observing him fondly and receiving a series of tender kisses on his palm and inner wrist. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy this scenario immensely. One in which he could relax, do nothing, and get a damn nice jumpstart to his day courtesy of his very generous lover. It was perhaps as selfish as he ever got, but Emery was always the one to instigate and Kurt was always very keen on reciprocation. He watched intently as Emery gripped him at his base to hold him steady before dipping his tongue between the foreskin and the head to tease the tip. Kurt sighed and laid back. Emery continued to toy with him gently for a bit before he was throbbing, then set about swallowing him down.
Kurt never got over the skill of that mouth. Emery was so very thorough. One hand stroked the shaft in time while the other fondled his bollocks, softly tugging them and rubb
ing just underneath with the pads of his fingers. Kurt couldn't help himself from being highly vocal. Fuck, it felt so good…every time they made love it felt like it had been centuries since the last encounter. It was a wonder it wasn't what they were doing twenty-four seven. Emery was prone to frisky dreams, however, and morning proceedings like this one were blissfully common. Kurt let his arms relax above his head. He knew full well that he'd be taken care of and trusted Emery to a fault. There was no need to thrust, no need to guide him, no need to concentrate—nothing he could do could make this any better than it was, as it was perfect. Kurt closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing as he felt the contractions coming. Oh, yes. Yes. Yes…
Kurt's eyes snapped open blearily, confused, hot, heart hammering in his chest where he lay on his stomach in his hotel quarters. His body buzzed. He quickly reached down as he realized what was happening, but it was too late. Everything clenched and he was filling up his shorts with ejaculate, gripping himself through the cloth and grinding out a startled moan into his pillow. He squeezed himself harder, hips stuttering, dizzily blinking away the stars and shuddering. Fuck.
He slowly sat up when the pressure eased away, looking down at his fully wetted boxers with a mix of aggravation and relief. It was a bit pathetic, a man his age succumbing to emissions like this. But it seemed to be the only way he could find release anymore. Masturbation had lost its function entirely. Any time he tried his thoughts would inevitably shift to Emery, and then any arousal he felt was overwhelmed by heartache. Kurt rubbed his fingers through his hair and reached over to his nightstand drawer. From it he pulled out the picture frame he'd kept with him of him and Emery in Cabo, cradling it in his lap and studying the happy memory. It had been more than four weeks now. A month since he'd seen that handsome smile, heard his sweet voice, felt his warm touch. He'd weathered stretches like this before, but the promise of reunion had always been the backdrop to time apart. Now…now he had no clue.
He didn't know how long Thompson intended to keep him here. Perhaps when he'd conquered Hennessey he'd allow Kurt to reclaim his lost love, but that was doubtful. He valued Kurt too much. With Emery's life being held over his head Kurt could do nothing but comply, and Thompson was well aware of where Kurt's true loyalty would lie. Allowing him to see Emery again was a blatant liability. And perhaps he shouldn't even if he could. Emery was better off far from all of this for good. If it could only be one of them who had peace then Kurt certainly would not choose himself. But the thought that Emery should go on to live a life absent of Kurt was so stiflingly painful that it crippled him. Emery wouldn't feel better off. He was probably miserable right now. Hurt. Confused. Angry. He traced his thumb down Emery's image and wished, with guilt and regret and longing, that he had given Emery a ring. Proposed months ago on that sunny, Edenic beach. Offered him every possible thing while he still had the chance.