You're Only Dead

by Jack Parker

"Victor, what's going on?" Emery demanded.

  Victor glanced around the room and rubbed the back of his neck. "Loretta's down there at the hospital. She's pretending to be his sister to get us details."

  "And?" Emery pressed.

  Victor shook his head slowly. "…It doesn't look good."

  Kurt could see the breath leave Emery as he wavered, catching himself on the table. "How so?"

  "He's in a coma," Victor continued grimly. "They don't think he's gonna survive the night."

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Emery muttered, raking his hands through his hair. He took to pacing again and then stopped, pausing for a long moment before angrily kicking over a table chair.

  "Em, there's nothing we could've done," Victor tried.

  "There's nothing you wanted to do," Emery accused heatedly. "You didn't like him from the start. You made that clear. What, he wasn't worth your time? He wasn't worth any effort even after he saved your life?"

  Victor held up his hands. "You know that's not how it fucking is. I'm not a surgeon. If we took him he'd be dead already—I did what I had to and I gave him the best possible chance."

  Emery kept pacing. "He shouldn't have been there at all. He didn't belong there. Why in the fuck did I let him do this?"

  "I do not understand this tantrum," Ludkov said with a somewhat impatient face. "Mr. Ingram was deliberately hired to be an expendable body. He performed this role admirably."

  Emery balked, then pitched forward and shoved Ludkov hard, shocking the man into standing up straight. "Because he's a person, you great fucking twat!"

  Ludkov shoved Emery back roughly and caused him to hit the dining table and stumble to the ground, crying out in pain as his bad shoulder met hardwood. Kurt saw red. He lunged forward, socking the Russian in the jaw. Ludkov staggered for only and instant before he grappled Kurt by the shirtfront, hurling him against the table and bearing down on him.

  "Hey, hey, whoah!" Victor was shouting.

  Georgie grabbed at Ludkov. "Aleksei, stop! Stop it!"

  Kurt managed to push Ludkov off of himself long enough for Georgie to snatch one of his arms, but she was flung from the appendage like a ragdoll to the floor and he came back down, aiming to hit Kurt in the face but just missing and pounding his fist into the table as Victor attempted to tackle him. Ludkov gripped Victor by the throat with his other hand and shoved him back. The fight was broken up when a gun suddenly jammed its way into Ludkov's temple. All eyes turned to Georgie, who was panting, her nose bloodied, eyes furious.

  "I said bloody stop it," she growled. "There's no time for this petty nonsense. We need each other."

  "You do not threaten to shoot me," Ludkov panted angrily.

  "Are you going to fire me?" Georgie asked. "You're out of a job, Aleksei. To the Bratva you're as good as dead and I'm even more useless to them than that. You may have noticed that you've lost some leverage."

  Ludkov curled a lip, but his posture was slackening. His face fell back into stoicism and he glared momentarily at Kurt before backing off of him. Victor clutched his throat as he backed away and looked between them all warily.

  Kurt pushed himself to his feet and quickly rounded the table to pull Emery off the ground. Emery allowed himself to be guided upright, but as soon as he was standing he jerked out of Kurt's grip and stormed off to one of the bedrooms. Kurt followed after him.

  Emery continued to pace as he entered the room, still a whirlwind of anxiety as he rubbed his shoulder. Kurt closed the door softly. "Are you alright? Your shoulder, is it alright?"

  "It's fine," Emery breathed. "I didn't mean for that. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do any of this."

  "You haven't done a thing. Stop—"

  "I've done everything. Everything, everything that I bloody do these days gets someone shot or killed," Emery rambled. "I can't do this anymore, Kurt. I'm failing. Badly."

  "What happened to that boy isn't your fault."

  "Of course it's my fault," Emery argued. "Dave was my employee. He was only there because of me. Victor told me we shouldn't use him and I didn't listen. And then I went and snapped at him for it and caused a great bloody row on top of everything else…"

  "Emery, it's alright."

  Emery closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he kept pacing. "If I could ever just shut up…if I could ever listen to anyone else but myself, if I could ever find some kind of fucking medium between spinelessness and belligerence none of us would even be in this mess. But I've always got to have it my own way and all it gets is people shot and loses them fingers and I can't keep—"

  "That's enough," Kurt said firmly. The rarity that was raising his voice was enough to get Emery to stop dead in his tracks, mouth shut. Kurt came forward, gripping Emery's shoulders and shaking him once, hard. "What happened to Dave is not your fault."

  "I'm—" Emery attempted, for which Kurt shook him again to silence him.

  "Stop it. Hunter's death is not your fault."

  "Kurt," Emery sighed.

  "The fact that he molested you to begin with is not your fault. The kidnapping, your mother, my disappearance—this," Kurt held up his left hand, "is not your fault."

  He stared at Kurt's hand before shaking his head. "If it weren't for me you'd—"

  "If it weren't for you I'd be dead. If it weren't for you I'd've never known there was more to life than surviving one second to the next. I'd never have known that what I was feeling my whole fucking life through wasn't indifference or detachment—it was pain. The sort of pain with which gunshot wounds and the severing of a useless finger is incomparable. I did that to myself because I loved you. I loved you then almost as much as I love you now and I can't hear this any longer."

  Emery was quiet, looking up at him with a stunned expression.

  "I understand that you're angry and your anger is well earned, but don't use it to self-destruct. You cannot blame yourself for every last thing. It isn't your right. Because not only does it break my heart to watch you do it, but it robs those truly responsible of what they deserve. When you waste all of your efforts punishing yourself, the guilty party gets away with their crime." Kurt gripped the side of his neck with a hand. "Don't let him get away with it. Thompson is responsible for this. He's the one that's meant to suffer and I'm going to see that he does, but I can't do it without you. Don't do as I did. Don't assume all responsibility upon yourself. It simply isn't productive. We've each tried to manage on our own and look how that turned out."

  Emery's voice was a husky whisper when he spoke, eyes searching the floor. "I-I'm sorry Kurt, I didn't mean to imply…"

  "We're in this together. We've always been in it together. Isn't that what you told me?"

  After a moment, Emery cleared his throat and swallowed. "Yes. Of course we are."

  Kurt left a stroke on his jaw as his hand pulled away. "We're not innocent. That's true. But that doesn't mean we should be expected to allow all that's been done to us. You were right when you said that running away didn't do us any good, because perhaps we owe ourselves more than forgiving and forgetting. …Perhaps it's time, Emery, that we sought our revenge."

  At first Kurt wasn't certain he was getting through. Then Emery's gaze hardened, anxiety melting into budding wrath, and after a moment of simmering he responded with a sharp nod.

  * * *

  The mood was pretty fucking tense the next day, Victor noted as he watched a terminally butt-hurt Ludkov glare petulantly at a wall while they waited for Hennessey's contact to arrive. Kurt was in war mode, succinct in his words and boring as all fuck for conversation. Georgie seemed to be in a similar way, but he couldn't help noticing that she Irished up her coffee that morning with a covert splash of found whiskey from under a counter. When he saw this he discreetly pushed his own mug over towards her and she obliged him. He had a feeling it was gonna be one of those days.

  He was just enjoying the horrible marriage of Kenco and Jameson when Emery came into the kitchen to fix himself some tea. Georgie left the
m and there was an awkward silence as Emery filled a kettle with water. Victor leaned against the counter and waited. He knew Emery well enough to expect that there was a guilt-ridden apology on its way up.

  "…I'm sorry about last night, Victor," Emery said quietly, right on cue. "I didn't mean what I said."

  "Yeah, I know."

  He turned with an empty mug in his hands and gave him those pitiful eyes. "I'd never think a thing like that about you. I know who you are. I was just being an ornery cunt."

  Victor nodded. "It's okay."

  Emery offered a tight smile and looked down into his cup. "Have you heard anything?"

  "No," Victor admitted. "I think Loretta might be asleep. She's been there at the hospital all night as far as I can tell. I'm sure she'll give us a call when she knows something."

  "And what's our status with Hennessey?"

  "One of his guys is coming to get us any minute now. I've got the evidence ready to go." Victor's eyes drifted past Emery to Georgie, who was offering a cup of coffee to Ludkov. Ludkov refused to look at her, but took it. "I just don't know about this group dynamic. Hennessey and Ludkov go together about as well as toothpaste and orange juice. We can't have a repeat of last night."

  Emery followed Victor's line of sight for a moment before he nodded carefully. "It seems that both of them are willing to overlook their differences for the time being. Hennessey agreed to consider working with us despite knowing Ludkov was part of the package."

  "I just have a bad feeling," Victor noted.

  "What do you think we should do?" Emery asked as he filled his cup with water he was apparently too impatient to let boil.

  Victor absently rubbed his somewhat bruised throat and had a flashback to a pair of gnarled, bloodied knuckles and a gored out face. "Keep our expectations low."

  A knock at the door caused everyone in the apartment to drop what they were doing and gather to face their visitor. Kurt pushed his way to the forefront immediately and opened the door himself to reveal a familiar figure. It was one of Hennessey's men, the scruff-faced Irish dude who they'd met a few nights ago at Deirdre's pub, but he looked like he'd shaved since then.

  "Mr. McDermott," Emery greeted.

  "Eaton," he replied, then his eyes sought out Georgie and he cordially tipped his hat with a smile. "Afternoon, Ms. Faraday." McDermott fawned over her for a second before straightening up and looking Kurt up and down. "Can't fit all five of ya in my car."

  "So we'll follow you," Victor said.

  McDermott gave him a look that made it clear he wasn't tolerating that. "Think again. One of you is stayin' behind."

  "Mr. Ludkov won't be accompanying us," Emery said, which was news to Victor. He looked over at the Russian in question, who had a skeptical face, but didn't protest. Emery went on. "I'm afraid he's needed elsewhere and I don't see that he's integral to the discussion at present."

  McDermott eyed Ludkov scornfully before beckoning the rest of them with a hand. "Downstairs, then."

  Emery turned to meet Ludkov's expectant glare as McDermott's footsteps headed down the hall. "Sorry to volunteer you, Mr. Ludkov, but we need someone to stay here in case there's any trouble. And since you're the one with at least a dozen henchmen still at his beck and call I thought you might be our best bet."

  There was a tense moment between them in which Victor could practically feel Kurt gearing up for round two beside him, but Ludkov simply shook his head and dismissed them with a gesture. Victor followed Emery out the door with Kurt, Georgie at the rear as she gave one last look to her employer—or former employer, it would seem—and shut the door. "That was a good move," Victor said to Emery.

  Emery let out a breath. "You were right. We can't handle another blow up. It's best for everyone if those two don't have to be in the same room, at least for now."

  McDermott was weird, Victor decided. He drove a taxi for one, which would maybe make an inconspicuous getaway car, but the inside of it smelled like hardcore industrial cleaner and made Victor think twice about what kind of residue he might be sitting in. Naturally their driver decided that Georgie sit up front with him while the three men filed into the back. Victor kept his eyes on the man suspiciously, hoping that they weren't about to be delivered into the hands of a firing squad.

  "So," McDermott said, glancing into the rearview mirror, "Word around town is that there was a great big fuss kicked up at the Ivory Club last night. You fellas have somethin' to do with that?"

  Victor didn't like the idea of an interrogation, but Emery shot him down fast. "If you have to ask then I suppose it's irrelevant."

  McDermott shrugged. "It's nothin' to Hennessey what goes on at that dry shite cesspit. He's not gonna care about whose feathers you ruffled."

  Emery threw Victor a look. "Yes, well Hennessey's not the one asking."

  The Irishman raised an eyebrow and reached into his pocket to pull out a cigarette before sliding it between his lips. "No, he ain't. But if you think he's gonna be easier to convince than me yer mistaken."

  "We have irrefutable evidence that these dicks are Garner's spies. On film," Victor said.

  McDermott shook his head. "Ain't what I mean. The suggestion alone that they aren't what they seem is probably enough to kill his trust in those blokes for good. Proving a couple a twats are shady is the easy part. Provin' that you five ain't?" he paused to blow a stream of smoke out his window. "That's the real challenge, inn'it?"

  Maybe not all of Hennessey's men were dumb mugs. Not that this was necessarily to their advantage. Victor made a mental note to tread soft with this one and surmised that this was the consensus based on Emery's wary face and the glint of distaste in Kurt's eyes.

  It was a long, silent drive to the slummy part of town where Hennessey was choosing to meet them, some old manufacturing district where few to none of the businesses still operated. It was dank, the streets were lined with shambling bodies clustered together in the cold, their eyes following the passing car intently. It looked like the perfect place to go if you were in the mood to score some crystal meth or get stabbed in the face with a rusty shiv, neither of which tickled Victor's fancy at the moment. The cab pulled around to the lot of a building that looked like an old textile mill and slowed to a stop along the curb of the street. McDermott was the first to leap from the car, crossing the front to come around to the passenger's side before opening the door for Georgie. She looked up at him with momentary apprehension before her eyes flicked back at Victor in an "are you seeing this shit" fashion. Victor turned his head and batted his lashes coquettishly at her in return. He could see her force off a smirk before she held up her hand to McDermott, who took it and guided her out.

  Because everything shitty always happened when it rained, the weather started to turn just as soon as the rest of them exited the vehicle into the lot. Victor tucked his tablet computer into his jacket and picked up the pace after Kurt to the door. He expected that as soon as they walked in the place they'd be frisked, that there would be scads of Hennessey's tweaking creeps peering out at them from every hallway and corner, eyes and guns everywhere like he'd grown accustomed to in his brief time working for Aleksei Ludkov, but it was practically a ghost town when they arrived on scene. Victor wasn't sure what to think about that. Either Hennessey really was so ignorant about the present danger that he took zero security precautions or they really were walking into a trap.

  McDermott lead the four of them across the main floor of the factory to the back office, the door to which he opened and ushered them in. Hennessey was inside. Two men milled around behind him where he sat at a desk going over a stack of paperwork that Victor absently wondered if he actually knew how to read. Hennessey looked up at them the way a dog looks at someone who waltzes too close to his food bowl. He beckoned McDermott over. "So you made it," he said, sounding more annoyed than impressed.

  Just barely you dumb fuck, Victor thought bitterly.

  Emery took the opposite approach. "All things are possible with the rig
ht people on your side."

  Hennessey huffed and took a drink from a scotch glass sitting on his desk. "Alright. Give it here, let's see what you got."

  Victor produced his tablet and geared up the footage, handing it over to Hennessey for his viewing pleasure. He studied it for a minute before shaking his head.

  "How'd a bunch of pricks like you get into the Ivory Club?"

  "I'm a millionaire," Emery reminded.

  Hennessey didn't seem to care much for that answer, but he went back to the video. For a few minutes no one said anything, Victor, Kurt, Emery and Georgie all watching quietly while Hennessey and McDermott pored over the footage. A little while later it ended where Victor retroactively cut off the recording, just after the Dutchman's spies exited the building and just before Garner's cringe-worthy attempt to get into Emery's pants. Hennessey dropped the tablet curiously and sat back, giving them all a blasé face that Victor found to be absolute bullshit. That was some of his best spy work right there. "That it, then?"

  Emery glanced at Victor before frowning. "Is that not sufficient?"

  "Oh it's more than sufficient, lad," Hennessey said. "It couldn't've been better if it was staged and acted out. Assuming that ain't the case."

  Victor's fist clenched. If that fat fucking shit-lord was about to accuse them of making this up after everything they went through to get it, he was going to get royally nut punched. Beside him Emery went through a few stages of shock, rage, then immediate calm as he processed the allegation. Kurt's face was a contemptuous mask and Georgie's a perfect glare of disbelief. Even McDermott looked a little confused.

  "I can assure you, it's not," Emery said.

  "So you just happened to be there the night Garner was meetin' 'em? You happened to sit right next to the daft cunt and he didn't mind it while he talked shop?"

  "We followed both Garner and his spies," Emery corrected. "And he didn't think a thing of my presence as he doesn't recognize me. Why should he?"

  Hennessey pointed to Emery. "I seem to remember you tellin' me you'd just become one of the richest men in England. Why shouldn't he? And what's this? Why does this little film end the moment the meeting is over? That seems awfully convenient, don't it?"