You're Almost Dead Read online

"It'll take me days," Hunter repeated. "You can't hold him for that long. I—I won't pay you until he's safe."

  Sheridan pulled out his gun again and racked the slide, stepping back to train it on Emery's head. Emery took this cue and cowered pathetically away from it. "There are plenty of rich fish and their little bastard kids in the sea, Eaton. You're just the first on our list. But if you'd like us to scratch you off now…"

  "No! No, don't!" Hunter cried, holding out a hand. "Alright, I'll—I'll get it together. Quickly. I promise. As fast as I can, but leave him be. I can get you five million by tomorrow's end, I swear it."

  Sheridan lowered his gun. "See now that's more like it. Cooperation is good. It really uh, curbs my rage, you know? And when there's no rage, I don't need to take it out on anyone." He reached forward and ruffled Emery's hair. "We'll send you coordinates where to make the first drop. If it isn't you doing the drop, the kid loses an eye. If you don't come alone, we'll pull out his tongue. If you're ten fucking seconds late, he'll be one hand shorter and if I so much as wonder if you've involved the police, I will personally chop off his dick and send it to your doorstep. Are we clear on that?"

  Emery broke into another round of terrified tears. "I'm sorry, god, I'm sorry, Hunter!"

  "Emery, I'm going to take care of it. It's not your fault. It's not your fault, my boy, please don't say that…" Hunter removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with a hand and closing his eyes. "I'll do anything you ask. Any way you'd like. I will buy his safety for two hundred million, but I must be sure that's what I get. You'll get your money—there's no reason to hurt him."

  "No, there isn't," Sheridan agreed, leaning forward towards the computer. "So don't give us one." With that, he hit the disconnect function and Hunter Eaton's image turned to black.

  Emery looked up, his tears stumbling to a halt. He cleared his throat and sniffed, looking to Sheridan expectantly and without a hint of fear in his voice. "How was that? Was it alright?"

  Scott was suddenly laughing. "Ho-ly shit!"

  "Five mil," Sheridan said, ripping off his mask. "Five fuckin' mil, that's not bad, kid!" he reached down and grabbed Emery by the cheeks, mashing an exaggerated kiss onto the top of his head. "I think I could learn to love this guy!"

  Emery grinned brightly and tried to climb to his feet with his hands still cuffed behind him, only to be aided by Sheridan who grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up. "It seemed like he believed me."

  "That guy definitely shit his pants," Scott remarked as he peeled his mask off. "Jesus Christ. That's one and a quarter million each."

  "Most I've ever made in five minute's time," said Sterling, impressed.

  Kurt had no input. His protest had done little before, but with this perceived success it would be worse than useless on his peers now. Instead he glared daggers across the room at the threat—a twenty-four year old man in handcuffs looking for all the world like he'd just won some sort of trophy as opposed to having been threatened with dismemberment.

  * * *

  Emery couldn't help but be proud that he'd pulled it off. Perhaps it was a little sick that he felt pride over making his captors happy, but it was really a matter of self-preservation, wasn't it? Hunter had bought his act entirely and Emery was sure that he would deliver. The men around him were clearly pleased, briefly chatting amongst each other about money while Gabler still stood motionless off to the side. As soon as Emery caught the man's dour expression, his own grin quickly dampened into a reserved smile.

  "Well," Sheridan said, drawing his attention. "I guess you weren't lying about old moneybags, were you kid?"

  "Not by half," Emery agreed. "Help me to get out from under his shadow and I'll make you all obscenely rich men."

  "I think we can come to some kind of arrangement there." Sheridan turned to Gabler and beckoned him with a head toss. "Gabler, take the kid back to his room. And get him something to drink for god's sake. He could use it after all those crocodile tears."

  Gabler obediently stepped forward, looking cross as he gripped Emery by the cuffs and pulled him back towards the stairs. Emery thought is best not to provoke this man. He was clearly the most serious among them and didn't look like the type to shy away from violence if tempted. It was especially lucky for Emery that this fellow was not the leader of the operation. He resolved to say nothing as he was led up the stairs and down the hall back to his homey cell when Gabler pushed him into the room and stopped at the doorway, staring Emery down venomously and holding up a finger.

  "I don't know what it is you're playing at, but you're about to find out exactly what the worst of society is capable of when they're outside the law's reach."

  Emery blinked, stepping back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I'm warning you. This little stunt of yours had better be worth your life."

  "Listen, I'm not lying to you. Don't you think I know my life is in danger?"

  "It should be expected, but those with a true understanding of this scenario are generally more inclined to keep their fool mouths shut and not engage their abductors."

  Emery shook his head and puffed out his chest slightly. "So I'm not your typical victim. Aren't I entitled to cope with crisis how I please? And anyway, what would you have me do? Grovel? Beg? I can't help that I've got a backbone, can I?"

  "Backbone? Is that what I'm to believe this is?" Gabler narrowed his eyes. "I doubt that about a boy who needs the help of hardened criminals just to stand up to his own father."

  Hot rage struck Emery in the gut like a lance. He seethed as he challenged Gabler's stare. "Oh, fuck off. You sniff out just enough information to snatch me off the streets and suddenly you fancy yourself an expert. You didn't even know how much the man you were planning to extort was worth, so don't go getting cocky with the details."

  "You don't fool me. I saw the way you turned it on for the camera just now. Do you expect me to take your word at anything after how superb of a liar you've shown yourself to be?"

  Emery scoffed, stepping forward to be dangerously close to Gabler's face. His neck more like, considering the height difference. "Well I'll tell you who I do 'fool'. That yank boss of yours downstairs and the rest of his motley crew, and in case you failed to notice, they outnumber you." He pulled back, staring with satisfaction at Gabler's icy features. "And where do you get off judging me? You're a fucking hired thug who makes his living threatening parents with their children's heads. Even if I were lying, why should I regret it?"

  Gabler leaned forward, his voice low and menacing as he crowded Emery's space. "Because I'm not a hired thug, Eaton. I'm a hired killer."

  Emery quickly took a step back, his confidence deflating somewhat, but he kept his eyes defiant. He swallowed down his nerves and screwed up what remained of his courage to reply. "Well…when Sheridan orders you to kill me I expect it'll be done without fail…but until then I suppose you really ought to run along and fetch me that drink."

  Gabler didn't reply, regarding him briefly with his piercing, cryptic gaze before he exited the room. Emery slowly backed away as he watched the door close and the lock click, stopping only when the backs of his knees met the bed and he numbly sat down. Instant dread filled him up as he did so. That was quite possibly the worst decision he'd ever made in his life. What was he thinking, making an enemy of that man? Now he was going to be sorry for defending his silly pride. He lay wide awake for the remainder of the night worrying dearly about how this would be proven to him.

  CHAPTER 4

  "Look, Kurt," Sheridan sighed, leaning back against the table and sagging in exasperation. "I don't get why you're making such a big deal out of this."

  Kurt crossed his arms, looking up at his boss from where he sat in a chair. "The big deal is that you're allowing our victim to call the shots for you while our livelihoods—and our lives for that matter—hang in the balance."

  "He's not calling the shots," Sheridan denied irritably.

  "The way I see it, five million
is plenty. It's more than twice our original asking price. I say we hand the boy over as soon as Eaton pays out and be done with this whole bloody business."

  Sheridan waved a hand. "And what? Find another job? Take the time, money, and risk to do shit like this all over again? Why do that when the solution to all our problems is already right here with us?"

  "It's delusional thinking that this is a solution to anything."

  "I knew you were a pessimist Gabler, but this is a little much." Sheridan shook his head, throwing a look at Sterling and Scott a few feet away. "What about you guys? Anyone else too chicken-shit? Anyone else not wanna go through with this?"

  Sterling simply shook his head and Scott tapped a foot, thinking before he replied. "Nah, it's too good to pass up."

  "Too good to be true," Kurt corrected. "This is potential suicide."

  Sheridan rolled his eyes. "What are you saying, Kurt? Are you saying you want out?"

  "I'm saying that you should damn well consider the consequences. At the very least, if you must go through with it, don't do as he asks. At the end of this ordeal Emery has to go back home whether he likes it or not."

  Sheridan scratched his throat and hummed, looking away. "I don't know, man."

  "Sheridan," Kurt began.

  "Hey, all the kid wants is his freedom. I might be a bastard but a hundred and fifty million is a lot of money to snub a simple favor."

  "A simple favor?" Kurt echoed incredulously.

  "It's less of a risk than the alternative," Scott said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. "Hunter Eaton has no way of knowing who or where we are. I mean no way. The only witness with any info that might be even remotely useful in tracking us down," he pointed up to indicate Emery, "is pretty sure to keep it to himself if we let him go like he wants."

  Sheridan snapped his fingers, pointing at Scott while looking at Kurt. "Yeah, and if we send him back to Daddy? You don't think he might be a little sore about that and spill his guts in retaliation?"

  "None of it's as safe a bet as actually offing the little shit," Sterling offered dully.

  "Come on, Al," Sheridan dismissed, but he was clearly a little amused by his colleague's brutality. He turned back to Kurt and shook his head. "Five million isn't enough to cover our asses if Eaton Jr. flips on us."

  "That's assuming he's got anything to use against us," Kurt said. "Identities are hardly an issue. Casey Sheridan is an alias, he doesn't know Scott or Sterling's names and I'm legally Alexander Garrett—according to all records Kurt Gabler died in 2012. It's a bit irrelevant what he's accused of."

  "Yeah," Sheridan relented. "Sure, but you never know who's still out there itching to point a finger. Are you that confident no one's ever gonna connect the dots to you? 'Cause I'm not."

  Kurt didn't say anything, simply staring up at Sheridan with disapproval.

  "Good. Great. Any more issues you wanna raise, Kurt?" Sheridan held out his arms. When he didn't receive a response he turned back to his other two men. "Now the first drop is tomorrow and that leaves us about twelve hours to get our shit together, so—is everyone now crystal fucking clear on what we're doing here?"

  Scott and Sterling nodded their assent, eventually joined by a reluctant Kurt.

  * * *

  When it came time to meet Hunter Eaton in person for the first time, Sheridan and Sterling left both the hideout and their prisoner in Kurt's capable hands. Scott also stayed behind to polish the kinks out of his homemade software before it came time to use it again, typing away at a hundred miles a minute in the corner of the workshop. The others would probably be an hour or so and they would not likely make contact before they returned. Kurt was too agitated to sit still but knew the importance of leaving Scott alone to work, so he decided to excuse himself altogether.

  "I'm going out," he said, pulling on a coat.

  Scott's typing halted and he turned his chair. "For what?"

  "Something to eat."

  "You're not supposed to leave Eaton."

  "Didn't you hear? He's our bloody teammate now. I doubt he's going anywhere," Kurt huffed as he zipped up his jacket. "Want anything?"

  "…Yeah, I guess. Thanks." Scott moved to turn back to his desk, but stopped, clearing his throat. "Has the kid eaten yet?"

  Kurt paused on his way to the door, thinking about the past few days. No, he hadn't been ordered nor had he cared enough to feed their captive, but he supposed it wouldn't do to starve him. With a terse sigh he continued out the door to the streets of Chester. "I'll take care of it."

  He felt that he once had a somewhat respectable place in the underground of society that he had inhabited most of his life, but somehow it had all come down to being a rich man's errand boy. He was generally the muscle of any given operation—the one who was called in when someone needed a good, non-lethal beating to persuade cooperation or on occasion a clean, quiet death, but in one fell swoop Emery Eaton had made his skillset seem quite useless. He knew why Sheridan had put him in charge of handling the boy. He was intimidating, calm, and the least likely one among them to let emotion get the better of him. Because Emery was not easily intimidated and was apparently considered more useful by the others as an ally than as a pawn, Kurt was beginning to feel like a glorified babysitter.

  It didn't matter. If this was the way the others wanted to play it, so be it, but he would do whatever was in his power to show them this was a bad idea. He would break Eaton. He would find out what his true motivations were, and he would happily turn him over to the questionable temperaments of his partners once he did.

  When he arrived back at the shop, Scott was still sitting at his computer, cheek on a fist as he perused an open document full of notes. Kurt set a bag next to his hand and he muttered his thanks. "Has he been any trouble?"

  Scott shrugged. "I haven't heard anything."

  Kurt made his way up the stairs, reigning in his frustration to properly deal with the situation at hand. He unlocked Emery's door to find him lying on the bed with his bound hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling glumly before quickly sitting up once the door opened. Kurt glanced around the room. Everything seemed to be in order.

  "Hello," Emery greeted.

  Kurt stepped into the room and Emery quickly stood up, looking confused as Kurt pushed a wrapped sandwich into this hands. "Eat."

  Emery held up the sandwich slightly and offered an awkward smile. "Thanks. Thank you, I'm starving, actually." Kurt watched with disdain as Emery fidgeted with the paper, struggling with great difficulty to open it while his hands were still cuffed. "Look, um…about yesterday, I…I wasn't trying to be confrontational. I'm not looking to—"

  Kurt plucked the sandwich out of Emery's grasp, tearing the paper off the end and handing it back with a blank look.

  "Uh, thanks," Emery swallowed. He looked down at the sandwich for a moment and lowered it. "Anyway, I'm not looking to make any enemies. I—"

  "Eat," Kurt repeated unkindly. "It may well be your last meal." With that he turned away.

  "Wait, I…"

  Kurt looked back impatiently.

  "Can I ask what's going on down there?"

  "No."

  "Oh." Emery looked down, chewing a lip. "Alright then. Thanks again. For the sandwich." To show his gratitude he bit off a corner and sat back down.

  Kurt studied him for a long moment, trying to piece it all together. Was his contrition out of fear, or did he really think he could still win Kurt over like he had Sheridan? He thought for a moment about it and decided to test the story he had been given. "You said your stepfather has hundreds of millions more than his estimated worth. How?"

  Emery stopped chewing for a moment and looked up at Kurt with surprise. He then pushed the food to one side of his mouth and shook his head. "I don't know, really. At least I don't know where all of it comes from. I'm fairly sure it's got to do with drug trafficking."

  "What sort of drug?"

  "Probably cocaine," Emery replie
d. "I don't think he uses it. I mean I've never seen him do it. But he's got a deal going on with some outside party wherein he facilitates the transportation of anonymous cargo in and out of the country. He owns a private dock somewhere south."

  "And he's told you this?"

  "No. I've had a look through some of his more secretive documents."

  "Is he aware that you know this?"

  Emery shook his head.

  "That certainly shores up nicely."

  "If I were lying about this, he wouldn't have agreed to pay two hundred million pounds that he didn't have."

  Kurt considered that for a moment. "Unless you conveyed a message to him somehow."

  Emery laughed. "Do you think I blinked Morse code at him or something?"

  Kurt's expression remained frigid and Emery's smile dropped off.

  Emery sighed. "I don't know, I…You'll just have to shoot me if the money isn't delivered, I suppose. I don't know how else to make you see."

  "I suppose so," Kurt agreed. He watched Emery pick halfheartedly at the crust of his sandwich before he left the room. He plodded back downstairs and decided to occupy his mind by cleaning his firearms. Scott still sat at the table working away, a ham sandwich fisted in one hand and his mouth impossibly full as he stared dead-eyed at the screen. He didn't react when Kurt rounded his side and sat at the table across from him, dismantling his two guns and laying them neatly on the surface before him. He began meticulously scrubbing the barrel of one when Scott shut his laptop and sighed.

  "So…what if this is for real?" he asked, leaning back and rubbing his beard.

  "I thought that was the general assumption," Kurt replied shortly. "Why else would you all be so gung ho to take the chance?"

  "You said this was too good to be true. I don't know. Maybe it is." Scott shrugged and tossed his sandwich down in favor of a nearby Coke.

  "It's a bit late for second thoughts. Perhaps you should've mentioned your doubts earlier instead of letting me do all the talking."

  "No, I still think it's worth the risk. Sheridan's right. I don't really wanna do this anymore. I mean I've got three degrees and a brain the size of Texas—if you would've told me five years ago that this is what I'd be doing for a living I would've told you to go eat a dick. So I'm asking: what if this is for real? What if the four of us walk away nearly forty million pounds richer each?"