by Jack Parker
"You're not the only one," Georgie said, defeated. She watched as Ludkov drank the rest of his beer and tossed the bottle at the trash, missing it entirely.
Victor's arm suddenly tightened around his neck. "I love ya, Em. You should come to Mexico with me…bring Kurt…hell, you c'n even bring the spider, I don' care…"
"You'll be singing a different tune in the morning."
"Nah," Victor denied. He followed Emery towards his bedroom, leaning on him heavily. "Ugly. Hah. I'll have you know most women think I'm like an eight outta ten, you dick…"
"Yes, well, women are conditioned to be more forgiving."
"Hey, fuck you…"
Emery rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Victor, you're as gorgeous as you are brilliant, alright? Now just shut up and go to sleep." He pushed him off onto the bed.
Victor struggled to regain balance in a sitting position, squinting up at him and suddenly serious. "Em…"
"Yes?"
"I just…want you to know. All of this…all this shit that's happened. I don't…regret any of it. If it gets us killed, I guess it gets us killed. I was dead anyway, right? Anyway, it's been a really long time since I felt…since I could remember what this was like."
Emery looked down at him curiously. "What what was like?"
Victor shrugged and clumsily flung a hand out at him. "To have like…you know, a brother."
Emery smiled, feeling suddenly sentimental. He knew that Victor was drunk, but he couldn't help being honored by that statement. He set his hand on Victor's shoulder. "You're the closest thing I've ever had to one myself."
Victor reached out to grip Emery's arm in solidarity, face sincere. Then he pitched forward and vomited all over himself.
Emery sighed. "Bloody hell…"
Victor held a hand to his mouth. "That's my bad."
Chapter 24
Kurt's eyes slowly opened to a very unpleasant throbbing of his neck. Everything around him was white and blurry. Something was dripping. His shoulders were incredibly stiff when he shifted and he gradually began to realize that he was slumped over a toilet, head lying on his arms over the bowl while his legs were dead numb underneath him. He didn't think he'd be able to get off his knees without falling over. Even the sound of his own sigh aggravated his screaming headache. God, how long had he been this way?
He could count on one hand—his left, even—the number of times he'd been this badly hung-over. There was the time in Las Vegas when he and Emery had cajoled information during a card game from some heavy drinker a year or so back. There was that night in Cabo when they had gotten carried away on sugary, tropical cocktails. Then there was the first time. He was twenty. He tended not to drink much, but when he did he was large enough to handle quite a lot and when he was drunk was subdued enough to pass as sober. Graham had been fascinated with this when they'd first started hanging around one another. One day he was convinced he needed to see exactly how much alcohol it would take to put him out of commission and Kurt was young, stupid, and unable to refuse him. He spent the next day with shakes and shivers, retching and wishing desperately that he could somehow escape his own body. Graham had ridiculed him mercilessly, his admiration gone. Kurt had never before felt so ashamed and embarrassed and he refused to drink again for weeks. Even that might've paled to this morning, though. Perhaps he was simply getting old.
The sound of the bathroom door easing open made him tense in pain. "Oh, Kurt," Emery said softly behind him. He could feel the man kneel down by his side. This was thrilling. Now he'd get to look pathetic in front of Emery as well.
Kurt could barely speak. "Please go…"
"How long have you been here?" Emery asked, ignoring his plea and touching his back.
"Not long en—nn—" Kurt couldn't finish his sentence before jerking upright, yanking the toilet seat up, and heaving what felt like his liquefied innards into the pot.
"…Never seen it that color before," Emery said uneasily.
Kurt bowed his head. He really was becoming more and more useless by the day. Emery however, who was love personified, offered nothing but sympathy in response.
"I shouldn't have let you sleep. I should've sobered you up a bit. You'd think that out of all the times you've done that for me I could've handled you just this once. I'm so sorry."
Kurt closed his eyes and tried to stop his head from spinning. "What happened…? Were we successful?"
Emery stood up and Kurt heard the dripping sink turn on. A moment later it was off and Emery was back by him, laying a cold, folded cloth over his neck. It helped with the pain. "We pulled it off. You, Georgie, Victor, even Ludkov, you all couldn't have done better. And I think I got through to Hennessey for the most part. I mean if not then we're all dead, but you win some you lose some, I suppose."
Kurt sighed shakily and nodded.
"This is gutting me," Emery said, touching his shoulders. "You've got to lie down somewhere comfortable. I can't leave you here this way."
"What time is it?" Kurt asked.
"Morning. Victor's asleep and I just sent Georgie as well—Ludkov hasn't slept but is inexplicably alert and sober."
"…Why is Ludkov here?"
Emery grunted. "That's a long story."
"Have you slept?"
"Here and there. I spent most of my night scrubbing up Victor's dinner from the floors and having sex."
"With me?" Kurt grumbled in confusion.
"No, with Hennessey. How do you think I won his favor?"
It was a joke, of course, but somehow still enough for Kurt to briefly picture it and jettison the rest of his stomach into the bowl.
Emery kindly kept things quiet so as to preserve Kurt's dignity as he helped him to recover. He turned on the shower to keep others away from the bathroom and mask the sound of retching, coaxing him to sip water every few minutes and offering him some sturdy painkillers when it seemed he was finished expelling everything. Then Emery left him alone. After a little while of sitting on the floor until his legs regained feeling he decided to pull himself together and got into the shower to wash away the sweat and vomit and the dried semen he discovered on his neck. He still felt feeble when he got out and dressed himself, but he was at least able to mask it by that point. He went out to meet the others in the dining area to see Victor and Ludkov seated at the table. Victor was looking worse for wear. He held a hand to his head, disheveled next to Ludkov, who seemed to be in good health.
A moment later Emery came in and set a plate of dry toast in front of him. Kurt nodded his thanks and stared at it contemplatively as he sat.
"You sure you don't want anything, Victor?" Emery asked, observing the man in question.
"Fucking kill me," Victor replied in a hoarse monotone.
"Right," Emery said. He looked at the three men seated at the table and gingerly sat down himself. "So for those too sloshed to remember the deed, let me fill you in. Hennessey seemed agreeable to our terms as I presented them, but his alliance came with a stipulation. If we want him to help us go after the Dutchman, we have to give him proof that these men in his ranks are double-crossing him."
Kurt didn't fully remember that, but he supposed it was to be expected. Hennessey wasn't going to believe a troupe of strangers over men he'd known for months without proper incentive. He carefully bit into a corner of toast and tried to think their way around this.
"Great," Victor said, holding a fist to his mouth and looking like he was gulping something back down. "Another runaround. I'm sure it'll be easy as hell and nothing will go wrong. Just like all the other times."
Emery gave him a stern look. "There's no room for pessimism. Now we've got these blokes' names. Bystrom, Cox, and Carrigan. Right?"
Kurt nodded as he was looked to.
"They shouldn't be hard to find with our available forces," Emery continued. "How often do they report back to Thompson?"
Kurt sighed silently and set his food down, still feeling ill. "I couldn't say. I know their names and faces and
that they collect their payment from a man named Garner, but beyond that I've got nothing of use."
Emery's brow furrowed. "Geoffrey Garner?"
Kurt met his eyes curiously. "Yes."
"Do…you know Garner? Or any of his connections?"
Kurt glanced between Victor and Emery, who both seemed to be giving him odd faces, before shaking his head. "No. Why do you ask?"
Emery dismissed this with a quick changing of the subject. "In any case, what does he have to do with Hennessey's spies?"
"Garner owns several businesses in the area. Hennessey's gang has long since been a threat to them. Garner has had these three spies for quite some time now to inform him of the organization's goings on, and when Thompson allied with Garner he inherited this advantage."
Emery huffed. "The man's a Borg."
Kurt stared. "A what?"
Emery turned to him. "Like from Star Trek, you know. Assimilating every type of crook he comes across into his collective."
Kurt continued staring.
"I got it," Victor assured.
"And Hennessey knows that Garner works with the Dutchman." Emery looked down in thought. "So we just need to prove that these spies are on his payroll… Mr. Ludkov, do you still have that file we brought you?"
Victor perked up. "Shit, yeah. We might already have the evidence we need."
Ludkov shook his head as he casually lit up a cigarette. "It was sent to Beletski."
Victor slumped back down. "Oh, good. For a minute there I almost thought this wasn't fucking hopeless."
Emery sighed, gripping the back of a chair and looking down at the surface of the table. "There has to be a way we can pull this off. Any suggestion is a helpful one. We haven't got much time to extract our proof before Hennessey loses interest and the Dutchman catches up to us, so we've really got to put our heads together."
"I don't know about the rest of you, but my head is pretty fucking worthless right now," Victor said, bowing his head into his hands.
"Then it is lucky for us that I have spent the night awake making plans," interjected Ludkov.
All eyes turned to him as he blew a long stream of smoke. Emery gave Kurt another glance before looking back at him. "You have a plan?"
"Yes," Ludkov said.
"Well what is it?"
Ludkov made a gesture towards the kitchen and leaned back in his chair. "Crack one egg into a glass of orange juice and bring it to me. Then I will tell you."
Victor blanched nauseously and quickly stood to head for the bathroom. Kurt gave up his meal for good.
* * *
Victor couldn't watch as Ludkov chugged his raw egg cocktail, but he could still hear the explanation of his plan intermittently from where he stood puking in the bathroom's sink. He registered stirring from the other room as he did so and a few moments later Georgie emerged from her room to join the crowd, probably too disturbed by the voices and the upchucking to sleep. Ludkov was just beginning.
"As I once told you, Garner is a nervous man. He only does business where he feels most comfortable. Money is what comforts him. Because of this I am certain he can be found most nights at the Ivory Club, a members-only venue frequented by several criminals in London and the upstanding citizens who do business with them. A place where many of the city's most devious connections are forged. I have membership to this location. This is how we will get in."
"How?" Victor heard Emery ask. "You've got a contract out. Won't walking into a place like that get you killed on the spot?"
"Beletski will not be broadcasting his plans for my execution. This is too dangerous, especially in such a well-known place. None of his people will ever feel safe there again."
Emery hummed. "And how are we going to get the evidence we need?"
"Garner meets his spies at this club," Ludkov said. "It is where he chooses to conduct all of his business. I have already placed a tail on these three men and will be informed of their every move, so we will know when the time comes for them to meet. Once we are inside, we will record their interaction, as you have proven to me you can do, and present the evidence to Hennessey."
Victor spit into the sink and rinsed his beard once more for good measure before shambling back out into the dining area. "That's great and all, but the Ivory Club? There's no way you're getting in there with uninvited guests, and I'm betting that if Garner sees your face he's gonna split."
Ludkov nodded. "Yes. I cannot do this myself. Garner will recognize me, but he will not recognize Mr. Fletcher."
Victor glanced to Emery. "Maybe, but they won't let him in there. Security is top notch at places like these."
"Which is why I will dispatch them," Ludkov replied. "You will arm Mr. Fletcher with the necessary tools to record Garner's discussion and I will make certain that he gains access. This is my role. Yours is the mechanics. Mr. Gabler will guard our exit, and Ms. Faraday will accompany Mr. Fletcher as his date."
Victor looked over to see Georgie's back go rigid, her surge of anxiety palpable. Clearly that was bad news, and Victor could imagine why. The Dutchman's men might recognize her. He casually cleared his throat and shook his head. "That's no good."
Ludkov arched a brow at him.
"If I'm going up against a place like the Ivory Club, I need more surveillance than just one dope with a camera," Victor explained on the fly. "Kurt'll get overrun trying to guard the exit on his own. We need eyes everywhere. Once you get Em inside the place, you and Faraday will have to start patrolling for security, keeping our path clear. I have enough spy-cams to go around."
"Another of my men can do this."
"None of your men know the layout of the place like I do," Georgie chimed in. "Nor are they bright enough to figure it out."
"But you are the only female I have at my disposal," Ludkov said. "Mr. Fletcher cannot get near Garner if he is alone. A man lingering on his lonesome in this place is a very suspicious thing. He must have company."
Emery was staring down at the table, brow furrowed. He obviously caught on to the problem as well and did his part to jump to Georgie's aid. "So we just need another female, right?"
Ludkov shrugged.
Emery smirked, glancing between Victor and Georgie. "Well then I've got just the girl."
The group spent another twenty minutes or so talking plans and by the time they were finished it actually resembled something serviceable in Victor's head. He sure fucking hoped it'd work, because they were just about out of blind luck by this point and he knew it. Once a general consensus on things had been reached Ludkov left to return to his den and regroup his men while Emery and Kurt got ready to go and meet with Eaton's lawyer. Emery was putting on a straight face—a little too straight—and gave his nerves away as he pulled his jacket from the hooks on the wall near the door.
Kurt reached out and took his own coat before looking at Victor. "Stay low. We'll return as soon as we're able."
Victor lightly thumped his arm with the back of a hand. "Yeah. Be careful. If it looks shady get the fuck outta there."
Emery threw Victor an appreciative look before he and Kurt departed.
Victor watched the door shut. Then Georgie turned to him, eyes grateful. "Thank you. For getting me out of that with Ludkov."
"Wouldn't do us any good if you got recognized. It'd blow the whole plan." Victor wandered back over to the table. "Did you know Garner?"
Georgie lowered her voice. "I've worked with him, yes. He'd know my face."
Victor considered this for a moment. "Does that mean you know who Isaacs is?"
All he got in return was a long blank stare. "His accountant?"
"Never mind," Victor dismissed. He motioned towards the front door with a head toss as he leaned against the table beside her. "You think those two'll make out okay? I mean just rolling up to Eaton's mansion seems like a bad idea with the Dutchman on their tails. He'll think to look there, won't he?"
"Perhaps, but Emery claiming his fortune is actually a substantial defense meas
ure. He has notoriety now. It makes him difficult to touch. A man who just inherited ten million pounds won't go unnoticed if he happens to disappear."
That was probably a good point. "Yeah, but what about all the drug money? Where does that go?"
"To the wind, I reckon. I don't think anyone knows where Eaton kept all of that."
Victor whistled. "That's a lot of cash to never see the light of day again."
"Yes, well, it was hardly doing anyone much good before."
"It almost did me some good, once upon a time. …A hell of a lotta good, actually."
"Money isn't everything."
Victor scratched his throat and scoffed lightly. "Neither is oxygen, but good luck living without it. You can't tell me the money in this business isn't a big part of its appeal. You seem like the kind of gal who likes the ritzier side of life."
"And you seem like the kind of bloke who revels in slovenly bachelorhood, so what would you need all that money for?"
"Hey," Victor grumped, glaring sideways at her. "There's nothing slovenly about my bachelorhood."
"Only teasing."
Victor stared down at the floor. "Yeah, so uh, listen. Sorry about last night. I mean I don't really remember much, but I know what I'm like when I've had that much to drink. Guess I just got carried away. It was stupid."
Georgie glanced at the front door and shook her head. "Doubtfully your fault. When Aleksei decides the crowd is drinking, the crowd is drinking. I'm sure he didn't give you much choice."
"I think I was just trying to drink away the memory of what he fucking did to that guy's face…" Victor recalled with a wince. "But…uh…" He cleared his throat hard, holding a fist to his mouth and shifting uneasily. "I didn't, you know, like…try anything. Did I?"
Georgie stared back at him obliviously for a long moment. Then she suddenly straightened up. "Oh. Well…"
Well? Well what? Oh god. "Shit, what did I do?"
Georgie bit her lip. "I tried to stop you, but you were quite forceful."
Victor's eyes widened. "What?"
"Yes. It's true, I'm afraid. You were pissed and randy and wouldn't take no for an answer."
"Jesus Christ," Victor stood back, looking her up and down in a panic. "Did I-I hurt you or something? Fuck, Georgie, I never—"