You're Almost Dead Page 10

  Emery scanned the floor for a moment. "In all that time, they never once contacted you?"

  "No." He hated the sympathetic look he could feel without seeing, but he'd done this on purpose.

  "Did your father know they'd died?"

  "It was never pertinent to any of our discussions, so he said."

  "That's positively cruel."

  "He wasn't an emotional man, my father. I don't believe he expected me to be either. I was just an asset of his; an extension of his lineage he was at a loss to find a use for. I joined up with the armed forces to get out of his house. After a short stint of that I…there was this boy, Graham…" Kurt stopped to clear his throat. This was dangerous territory. He didn't know what to say about something he never even allowed himself to think about when he was alone. "…that I sort of went around with. He was a thief. Really got off on stealing things and wanted to show me the ropes. I suppose I was a bit enamored and I went along with his stunts for lack of direction. He got me arrested once. That's when I was disowned by my father. I didn't really care because Graham got me out and we…"

  Emery was staring at him with full attention, his own depression seemingly forgotten.

  Kurt forced himself to continue. "We had plans, he and I. We'd save up enough money to leave our country and see what sort of trouble we could get up to in the next. I think he wanted it to be America; he sort of had this California fetish. He was…blond haired and loved the summer and…I suppose it just suited him. We were together for about a year, but I couldn't keep him steady. He was the mischievous type. He had no sense of limitation. Everything was a game to him and risking his life made him feel alive, I think. An adrenaline junkie. The more reckless the act the better. The very wrong sort to be partners in crime with, but he had me wrapped around his finger. Then, one day, his life is exactly what it cost him. Gunned down in the streets for lifting a wallet off the wrong man like some common bloody pickpocket for no good reason. When they searched him he had more money in his own wallet than he'd stolen."

  He paused, pushing down the flash bang memory of having to hear that news from some mutual acquaintance one evening on his front stoop. How he'd been so upset he'd retched all night, swearing revenge as he tossed their flat in a rage, lying awake hours later with bloodied knuckles in the coldest, emptiest bed he'd ever known.

  "And…then you were more alone than ever," Emery concluded.

  Kurt didn't know what to think about Emery's perceptiveness. It was invasive and made him feel raw, but he couldn't begrudge the man because it wasn't as if Emery's life wasn't an open book to Kurt by this point. But it was the last time he had ever loved another human being and even now, eleven years after the fact, it hurt to think about. He rebuilt his mask of stoicism and regarded Emery blankly. "If you want to lie down, I'll stay a while."

  Emery looked down at the ground and nodded, falling slowly back to the bed on his side and staring out at door in front of them. His eyes didn't close though, still wide and full of thought. "Can I tell you something, Kurt?"

  "Yes."

  "If I end up having to go back to him—"

  Kurt bent down, stroking his fingers through Emery's hair. "Shh, don't do that."

  "—I'm going to kill him," Emery finished tonelessly.

  Kurt's hand stopped. "What?"

  "That was my original plan. Before this. Before you. Kill him and give all of his dirty money away to avoid suspicion. He trusts me and it would be easy."

  Kurt didn't know what to say. He couldn't picture Emery as a premeditated killer. "That's more dangerous than it sounds. You'd be caught."

  "I'm already caught," Emery scoffed quietly. "It's their prison or his."

  Kurt looked down at him with perfect understanding and a heavy heart. He moved his hand to Emery's shoulder. "You shouldn't think about that. You'll never get any sleep."

  "What did you do to the man who shot Graham?"

  Kurt drew back his hand and his lips parted in shock.

  Emery sat up again and looked at him hard. "What did you do to the man who took away the only comfort you had in this world? The one who sucked all the bloody color out of life and left you with nothing and one to turn to?"

  It was odd how someone so young and sheltered could be so astute. Images of a smoke filled pub, the laughter of middle aged men, and a single gunshot flitted through his head. Kurt saw the fury in Emery's eyes and he knew that the only thing for it was an honest answer. "…I killed him."

  Emery's ire receded, settling into a simmer as he relaxed back onto the bed and turned away to face the wall. "It's like I said before, Kurt. We're a pair."

  Kurt forcibly rolled him back over, glaring down at him sternly. "Don't make that a fact. I've done a lot of evil to become this man. You don't want that for yourself."

  "Are you saying I shouldn't kill him?" Emery asked with a betrayed edge to his voice, though his obstinacy faded.

  Kurt shook his head. "I'm saying that you're a novice. If you want him dead, you may as well hire out a professional to do it right. Our rates are reasonable."

  Emery blinked up at him for a long moment, his eyes searching Kurt's face. Suddenly he burst into laughter and shoved the man above him lightly, a hand falling over his eyes and the severe mood fully ruined. Kurt couldn't help a gruff chuckle from escaping either.

  "Bloody hell, you can laugh!" Emery gasped.

  "Quiet," Kurt chastised with barely maintained seriousness.

  "Oh yes, right, sorry. Secret's safe with me."

  They stayed like that for a minute with Emery covering his mouth and Kurt biting a cheek both to keep from laughing aloud, trying to regain composure before Kurt finally got ahold of himself. He sighed and ran the back of his hand along Emery's cheek. "Will you be alright now?"

  Emery wrapped his fingers around the arm of that hand affectionately and nodded. "Yeah…Yeah, I'm alright. Go on back to bed. If I need you for anything I'll just…break something else. One of these hideous paintings, maybe."

  Kurt smiled and stroked Emery's cheek once more before pulling away. "Sleep well."

  * * *

  "Hey,"

  Kurt turned in his chair to see Scott standing above him at the table, hands planted on the surface as he looked down on him. "Yes?"

  "Have you seen Sheridan?"

  Kurt glanced upwards toward the apartment above and shook his head, going back to reading the newspaper in front of him. "No. Probably still sleeping it off, I should think."

  Scott shook his head. "Nah, man. He never came in last night."

  Kurt pulled his paper back down. That was troublesome. "Where did he go?"

  "Beats the shit outta me," Scott replied, sitting down and kicking his legs to rest up on the table's surface. "I don't know what the hell he's doing. Other than shitloads of blow, anyway. The guy's playing it a little loose, don't you think?"

  "It's not out of character," Kurt admitted. "But he's usually not this careless. Does Sterling know where he went?"

  "Sterling doesn't know his ass from his elbow. I already asked. I don't know, I mean maybe he's just holed up in some sleazy rattrap with a strung out hooker, but I feel like he'd've stumbled in by now if that was the case."

  "I'm sure it's nothing," Kurt said, even though he wasn't. "Give him until the evening and he'll be back. He's supposed to meet Eaton again in three days. He wouldn't jeopardize that."

  "You know him better than I do," Scott conceded. "I only ask because…look, I gotta tell you something."

  "What?"

  Scott sighed, rubbing his closely trimmed beard. "I think there was something up about the last drop."

  "What is that supposed to mean? Were you followed?"

  "No. In fact I was outside freezing my nuts off all night making sure we didn't get any unexpected visitors. You're welcome. It's just that it didn't seem like Eaton was alone this time."

  Kurt furrowed his brow. "How so?"

  "It was just him outside this café, but a few tables over ther
e was this other guy who really seemed to be giving him the eyes, you know? Like he was watching him the whole time. He was subtle about it, but it was definitely fucking there."

  "A personal bodyguard?"

  "I don't know. Didn't look much like one if he was. Kinda short and fat. I didn't tell Sheridan because I just figured it'd set him off and he'd take it out on the kid, and I thought it was probably fuckin' nothin' anyway since he scrammed when Eaton did and left the cash. But shit, with him missing now…you think they killed him?"

  Kurt sat back, trying to keep his frustration at bay. "No. They wouldn't dare—not while we still have Emery. I don't think they'd risk capturing him, either." He rubbed his forehead and thought. "We should play this safe. None of us should leave this building until he returns, or at least until we can be certain of his whereabouts."

  "You don't think one of us should go out there and find him?"

  "Sheridan isn't our priority. Emery is. I'm not risking him for anything," Kurt replied with just a little too much intensity.

  "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Fuck…I just knew something like this would happen. I knew something was gonna fuck up, and I knew it was gonna be Sheridan doing the fucking."

  "I refuse to worry until I'm absolutely certain there's something to worry about. You should do the same. Expecting the worst won't do anything for you."

  Scott's legs slid off the table and hit the ground with a loud thud. "Optimism from Kurt Gabler. I never thought I'd see the day." He folded his arms on top of the table and laid his chin on his wrists. "Why the sudden change? A few million pounds brighten your mood or something?"

  Kurt huffed. "This plan is still the most preposterous thing I've ever been a part of, millions or no. But if I didn't have at least some small measure of faith in Sheridan's ability to pull things off, I wouldn't be working with him in the first place. Nor would you, I imagine."

  "I guess. He's never not seen things through with me." Scott tapped his foot and nodded. "Okay. I'll save my panic attack for tonight. Should we talk to Sterling?"

  Kurt hesitated, evaluating Scott carefully a moment before replying. "Nothing you tell that man will make a difference. Perhaps it's best to involve him only if it becomes totally necessary."

  "Fine by me. I don't need to hear his mush mouth Cockney shit right now anyway; I already have a headache.

  Scott got up and wandered off, probably to get some sleep, and Kurt went back to his paper.

  CHAPTER 12

  "It's no use," Emery chided, his arms hanging behind him over the back of the couch as he lazily watched Kurt flip through television channels.

  Kurt landed back on the only visible network in defeat, tossing the remote aside. "Can't have everything, I suppose."

  "Aw, don't you like cricket?"

  "No. Do you?"

  "Nah," Emery chuckled. "Played football when I was a kid."

  Kurt nudged Emery's foot with his own and crossed his arms, staring blankly at the screen.

  Emery looked over at him, wishing he could just sink down between the man's knees and suck him off to pass the time but knowing that this was an impossibility with the others lurking about. His mouth would probably just bleed anyway. Instead he turned away and tried to decipher the figures on the television. "Did you ever play sports when you were a boy?"

  "I spent all of my time playing Nintendo, actually."

  "Really?"

  Kurt gave him a deadpan look. "No."

  Emery laughed. Sheridan was wrong about him—there was most definitely a personality behind his solemn exterior. "So what did you ever do for fun then?"

  "I learned to hunt when I was young. Otherwise I studied. Read a lot of books. Surely you've heard of those."

  "Are those the ones with the paper bits and all sorts of words on them?" Emery asked as he scratched his chin in pretend thought. "I don't recall reading as being particularly fun. You must've been a boring lad."

  "If it pleases you," Kurt dismissed.

  "Why? Were you a shut in or something? Bullied, were you? Books were your only friends perhaps?"

  Kurt spared an annoyed glance. "I was homeschooled."

  "I guess that explains your people skills."

  Kurt turned, putting his arm back over the couch and leaning so that he was intimidatingly close. He dipped his head down and met Emery's eyes with a dangerous glimmer. "Mr. Fletcher…if you can't manage to behave yourself out here, I'll have to take you back to your room and chain you to your bed to keep you out of trouble."

  Emery's cheeks felt hot. Sod it. He grabbed the front of Kurt's sweater and pulled him in so that their lips were nearly touching, but then there were footsteps in the hall. Kurt gave a disappointed grunt before straightening back up.

  Scott appeared in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame with a hand on his hip as he let out a sigh. Kurt glanced at Emery again before they both warily looked back to Scott. "What is it?" Kurt asked.

  Scott shook his head, features grim. "You're gonna love this."

  * * *

  Kurt sat at the table, rubbing his temples and staring off into space as Scott leaned against a wall looking down at him. Emery sat to his right and Sterling in the next chair. "When did this happen?" Kurt demanded.

  "Late last night," Scott answered. "He was in a bar twenty miles south of here. Some seedy joint that runs card games in the back room for equally seedy motherfuckers and apparently the occasional cracked-out high roller."

  "How much money was he playing with?"

  "I don't know. I didn't get all the details. All I know is that he pulled a knife on someone and got collared."

  "Fucking tosser," Sterling growled in exasperation. "Soon as 'e sees a payout 'e's dead from the neck up, that one."

  "Can't you bail him out?" Emery asked.

  "Reckon we'll have to," Scott grumbled as he lightly kicked an empty chair. "This is fucked. This is gonna get us goddamn noticed. What the hell does he think he's doing out there?"

  "I'm sure I don't know, but it's going to stop," Kurt declared. "He can be as much of a bloody terror as he wants when this job is over and not before. I'd let him rot there a few days if it wouldn't hurt our plans."

  Scott shrugged. "And how do you plan to control him? I don't typically stick around after these gigs to watch how Sheridan reacts to shitloads of cash, but I can't imagine he's any easier to deal with on an unlimited budget than he is broke and stone sober."

  "He'll have to be convinced to rein it in," said Kurt.

  "Yeah, well good luck with that," Scott snorted as he started to pace.

  Kurt sighed deeply and leaned back. "We don't have much further to go. Sheridan's at least smart enough to lie low for a few days after this incident—who knows? Perhaps he's learned his lesson already."

  "That's rich," Scott remarked.

  Admittedly wishful thinking didn't suit Kurt and it sounded rather asinine coming out of his mouth. "Let's just one of us go and fetch him then. The longer they've got him the worse it'll be for us."

  "I'll do it," Sterling offered, pushing his chair back.

  "Hell no, your improvisation sucks," Scott protested.

  "What am I supposed to be improvisin', then? I'm just gonna say 'e's my fuck up little brother—they don't ask many questions for things like this."

  Scott shook his head like he was trying to dislodge that statement from his brain. "Okay, yeah—his big, dumb, fucking British brother. That makes sense."

  Sterling scowled. "I can do the accent."

  Scott held up a hand. "I'm not even sure you can do your own accent. Sit the fuck down. I'll get him." He pulled on his coat from a hook on the wall, muttering curses under his breath. "And no one fucking go anywhere until I get back."

  Sterling threw up his hands at him in resignation and stood up from the table, heading back upstairs. Kurt watched as Scott marched out the door and then looked back to Emery, who let out a breath and rubbed his jaw. "Any chance you think this'll just blow over?" he as
ked.

  Kurt turned his eyes back towards the door apprehensively. "Not a one."

  * * *

  When Scott returned with Sheridan two hours later, the latter looking unshaven and disheveled, the mood in the den was visibly tense towards him. Sheridan of course sensed this. Kurt could see it in the way he gauged his men cautiously before trying just a little too hard to play things casual. "Heya kids. How've ya been?" he asked the room, hooking an arm around Emery's neck as he walked in. Emery flashed Kurt a dubious look, but didn't pull away.

  "…Couldn't be better," Emery replied.

  "Love your positivity, E. Jesus, it's freezing in here," Sheridan ruffled Emery's hair and pushed him away, rubbing his arms as he went over to the table. "The heater break or somethin'?"

  "It never worked," Kurt said. He kept his arms crossed as he watched Sheridan sink into a chair.

  "Gee, I guess you don't really appreciate how important it is for something to work right until it seriously fucks up," Scott added snidely.

  Sheridan's eyes flicked over the shoulder that Scott stood behind and then he looked up at Kurt's glower. He drummed his fingers on the table and sighed. "Okay. Fine. Let's hear it."

  "What were you doing last night?" Kurt demanded immediately.

  Sheridan rolled his eyes and leaned back. "It was just a fuckin' card game. I guess I got a little too far ahead for these scuzzy Irish bastards and they jumped me. They had too much to drink. Go figure."

  "Then why were you the one arrested?"

  "How the fuck should I know? The cops that brought me in didn't seem too keen on my nationality—most of the world ain't. Big deal." His eyes shifted around at the ensuing silence and he quickly became agitated. "Hey, what's with the dirty looks, huh? I'm sorry, am I suddenly the only man in the room who's ever been pinched in his whole goddamn life? Scott, you ever spent a fuckin' night behind bars? Sterling? And Gabler," he pointed at him, "you have so many marks against you that you had to fake your own fuckin' death. You're gonna sit here and judge me?"