You're Almost Dead Page 4

  "Yes, what if?" Kurt muttered.

  "Come on, Gabler. I know I like the sound of being retired at twenty-eight. And you, what are you, thirty something? Haven't you thought about what it would be like to go home one day and start a new life?"

  "I already do that frequently. It's something of a necessity for men in my line of work."

  "Yeah, because you have to, not because you want to. I'm betting you'd lay your ass out on a beach somewhere for the rest of your life if you could. Get rid of that English pallor." Scott held up his hands. "Unless you like this shit. Me, I can't stand it. The idea of roughing up some guy like Eaton up there…his dad might be a prime target, but what did he ever do, you know?"

  "He's a man, not a child. And I'm willing to bet that he isn't as innocent as you think." He set the cleaned piece down and picked up another. "Men rarely are."

  Scott chugged the rest of his drink and shrugged again. "I'm not used to this. Sheridan's pulled me on heists and shit, but nothing that ever involved hurting people who didn't have it coming."

  "This is hardly the time or place to be growing a conscience."

  Scott planted a hand on his chest. "Hey, some of us had one to begin with."

  Kurt met his eyes briefly but didn't reply.

  "And I'm pretty sure you know what I mean. I never bought this whole terminator act of yours—deep down you're just a regular shmuck like me. I don't think you like this kind of thing either."

  "I don't feel one way or the other about it. It's a job."

  "Okay, but you're not like Sheridan. That guy likes it. So come on, tell me. If you're a millionaire by the end of the day, what do you plan to do with the rest of your life?"

  Kurt regarded him coolly for a long moment before shaking his head. "I don't make plans, Vic. Not beyond the job at hand. It tends to cloud judgment."

  Scott leaned back in defeat. "Alright. Alright, alright." He stood up, stretching and wandering off towards the bathroom.

  Kurt reassembled his first cleaned gun and started on the next.

  He believed what he had told Scott. Plans were a vulnerability. A man tends to skew his decisions unwisely when he plans too far in advance, maintaining unnecessary commitment to an idea that may become impossible over the course of things. That sort of commitment got people killed and left survivors too lost to adapt. He'd learned that the hard way many years ago. Besides, the current plan—Sheridan's plan—had already come off its hinges. Kurt was ready for anything at this point.

  A sound behind him made him whip around quickly, holding his finished gun towards the source with his finger on the trigger. It was an unloaded bluff, but better than nothing. Sheridan stepped away from the door a moment later and immediately skirted to a halt with his hands up. "Whoa, don't shoot!" he said with mock terror. "Easy there killer."

  Kurt set his gun back flat on the table in a flash. "You're early."

  "Yeah, so shoot me," Sheridan jeered. "Jesus. At least I don't have to worry about your reflexes. You know what else I don't have to worry about?" he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out an absurdly thick, banded stack of bills and dropping it on the table in front of Kurt with a thud. He was grinning madly. "Anything."

  Kurt stared at the money as if it were a snake he wanted to make sure was dead before he touched it. "So he delivered."

  The great tromping footsteps of Sterling could be heard at the doorway and Sheridan clucked his tongue. "He made good. No cops, no friends, no whining or sniveling. In two more days, we pick up another five."

  "Excellent," Kurt said dryly. "At this rate we'll only be at it for the next two months."

  "Hey, now how can you be so goddamn cynical with all those queens staring you in the face? Take it. That's yours, that and more. Go buy yourself somethin' nice. Like a personality."

  Kurt hesitantly took the money with a hand.

  "That's more like it. How's the kid?"

  "As well as ever."

  "I guess he should probably eat, huh?"

  "Already seen to."

  "Good man," Sheridan commended, slapping his shoulder as he walked back towards the door to help Sterling. "I never wonder why I count on you. Now come help me with this cash so I don't throw my back out gettin' rich."

  Kurt looked down for a few seconds at the notes in his hand, pushing out a silent sigh before obliging.

  CHAPTER 5

  One of the primary problems with jobs of this nature, besides the obvious danger and the constant tension, was the boredom. Some of them were better at dealing with it than others. Kurt and Sterling rarely had much to say anyway, so sitting in silence hardly bothered either of them. The difference between them was that while Sterling tuned out the world entirely, Kurt made careful observation of it all. Sheridan was perhaps the most impatient of them. He often took to pacing when there was nothing to occupy his time, and this in turn had a tendency to agitate Scott. Kurt was watching this familiar scene unfold, Sheridan walking back and forth while Scott was hunched over his computer, shoulders growing tenser by the minute, when suddenly the former stopped in his tracks.

  "You boys play cards, right?"

  Sterling didn't look up, sitting in a folding chair with a newspaper in his hands. "Only with drunks."

  "Well make an exception, I'm goin' outta my skull here," Sheridan beckoned him with an arm and plopped down across from Scott at the table. Scott pushed his laptop aside with lidded eyes and laid his hands on the table to be dealt in. Sterling made a slow start of standing, dragging his chair behind him as he hobbled his way over.

  "Kurt," Sheridan said, and Kurt supposed he'd be ordered to play as well, but was unpleasantly surprised by what came next. "Go get Eaton."

  Kurt was frozen mid-stand as he processed this request. "Beg your pardon?"

  Sheridan waved him off. "Go get the kid, I bet he can play. What's a billionaire's son got to do all day but play games?"

  "Why on earth?"

  "Because I want to," Sheridan challenged Kurt's insolence with a solemn stare.

  Kurt pushed down his frustration, masking it from the other three as he made his way for the stairs.

  ________________________________________

  Emery had never slept so much in his whole life. There was simply nothing else to do. He wasn't sure what he expected being kidnapped by villains to be like, but he thought it might be a little more exciting in one way or another. Not that there wasn't still an ever present thread of fear. It was just difficult to maintain when you spent twelve hours of your day on a comfortable bed staring up at a cracked ceiling. Oh well. Be grateful for the little things, his mother always used to say.

  He wondered how long he was going to be stuck here like this. Surely Hunter would make good on his promise, but he knew the man didn't simply keep all that money under his mattress. Wherever he kept it wasn't going to be an easy access, and even less easy to conceal from suspicion if anyone was monitoring his financial habits. So far Hunter had only delivered ten million over the course of four days. It could be weeks before he was out of here—yes, he had lied about the timeframe a little. He knew it would take longer than he said, but he'd hoped that the guarantee of all that dosh coming in every other day would sate his captors' patience. God help him if it didn't.

  Emery looked over as his bedroom door opened. Gabler stood there with his usual stony expression. "Get up."

  Emery obeyed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pushing himself to his feet. "Do you need me for something?"

  "Sheridan wants you downstairs."

  Emery swallowed nervously. Shit. They must already be irritated at the pace of things. "What for?"

  "He wants to see if you can play cards."

  If it were coming from anyone else Emery would probably assume they were joking, but he was fairly sure that present company was incapable of humor. "Sorry—cards?"

  "That's what I said," Gabler took Emery by the arm and led him out.

  Emery stole a few glances at Gabler as the
y made their way down, dismayed that his attempt to smooth things over seemed to have had no effect whatsoever. If anything the man just seemed surlier. On some level he could understand this, but really, didn't a couple million pounds buy him any favors?

  When Emery arrived downstairs, he saw the table of men gathered, cards laying on the table and all eyes on him. "Hey, there he is," Sheridan said, blowing out a cloud of smoke from his lit cigarette. "The man of the hour. Sit down, kid. Gabler, take his bracelets off, will ya?"

  Gabler snatched Emery's arm and unlocked the handcuffs, pulling them off sharply and walking away. "Um, thanks," Emery said to the room.

  "You too, Gabler. You're already dealt in." Sheridan pointed at his chair and Gabler sat, crossing his arms.

  Emery carefully wandered over, rubbing his wrists and taking the seat across from Sheridan that had been indicated to him.

  "Texas Hold'em," Sheridan announced. "You Brits know how to play that, right?"

  "Oh, uh, yes. But…I haven't got anything to play with."

  Sheridan raised an eyebrow, conceding to this fact before reaching back and digging into a duffel bag at his feet. He produced a stack of ten thousand pounds and threw it in Emery's direction where it landed on his cards. "Now you do."

  He looked down at the money and then slowly back up to Sheridan. "D'you mean it?"

  Sheridan waved the smoke from in front of his face. "Sure. Sure I do. We're takin' a lotta money from you. Might as well give you a chance to take a little of it back."

  "Alright then." Emery nodded in approval. He scooped up his cards and set his money aside, looking between his fellow players casually. "So who's under the gun?"

  Sheridan chuckled, picking up his cards. "Well shit, Eaton, I guess no matter how you look at it, that's you."

  "Fair enough. I'll call."

  Emery kept his cool as best he could while sizing up the others. The big fellow on Sheridan's immediate left and the shorter man to his own right didn't seem fazed by his presence here, but he could practically feel Gabler's threatening aura on his skin.

  "I fold," the bearded young American murmured, dropping his cards down with a glazed look in his eyes.

  "Call," Gabler stated.

  Sheridan cracked his neck and snorted, tossing in two chips. "Raise. So tell me something." He pointed at Emery. "Why are you living with Hunter Eaton? Where's your real Dad?"

  Emery kept his eyes down on his hand, shocked by the boldness of the question but refusing to let it show. "He died. Years ago, when I was a boy."

  "So your mom, she married this Eaton guy for the money?"

  "I don't know. I suppose that was one reason. I was thirteen when it happened and I never asked. Didn't really have a chance to before…well, I never got the chance."

  "She croaked too, huh? That's rough, Junior. Real rough."

  Sheridan's tone was anything but sympathetic, but it didn't seem like he was being derisive either. Emotion was not his strong suit, nor something he was likely to respond well to. Emery leaned an elbow back over his chair and shrugged. "Yeah, well everyone's got their sodding tragedy. Mine's just got a bigger budget, that's all."

  Sheridan smirked. "I like that. That's honest, I like that." He took another long drag. "I mean, my dad was a worthless deadbeat and my mother was a pill-popping nut. Scott over there killed a guy in some bar fight over a Knicks game. Sterling here was married once."

  "Now that was a bloody tragedy. Nothing fucking sadder than a wedding," Sterling remarked monotonously. "Rubbish. I fold."

  "So you're right," Sheridan concluded. "Everyone's got their shit."

  "And what about Mr. Gabler?" Emery met Gabler's wolfish stare across the table.

  "Him? Three years I've known this guy and I don't know dick about him. Somethin' must've fucked him up good, though," Sheridan snapped his fingers in front of Gabler's face and didn't receive so much as a blink. "They make robots now with more feeling."

  Emery searched Gabler briefly for the slightest hint of resentment but found nothing. Scott, on the other hand, had a new glower about him. Clearly he didn't care much for his mention. Emery carefully continued to play his hand and kept his observations discrete. "I'm a bit rusty at this."

  "Beats sittin' in a room all day, don't it?" Sheridan asked.

  "Only if I win. It wouldn't do to be in your debt on top of it all."

  Sheridan chuckled again. "Hey, what's another mil to a guy like you?"

  "Mm, well I've still got at least a bit of money sense. I wasn't always rich. In fact I suppose you could say I never was. Never will be."

  "Kind of a depressing way to look at it, but okay," Sheridan muttered, deciding on another raise as he threw his chips in. "You know something? You're a funny guy, Eaton. You amuse me. But…" he gestured around to the table. "I don't know that my friends here agree. Hell, one or two of 'em might downright hate your guts. What do you think about that?"

  Emery kept his eyes down, unsure how to treat this. Sheridan was testing him, seeing if he was as cool under pressure as he seemed. He looked up with a casual shrug. "I suppose I'll just have to convince them to see me the way that you do."

  "That's ballsy." Sheridan nodded. "How do you plan to do that?"

  "Well I know a few jokes."

  "You don't say? That's a start. Okay, kid, so liven up this crowd. Tell us a funny joke."

  Emery pointed to himself. "What? Now?"

  "Yeah, now. Go on."

  "Alright, uh, stop me if you've heard this one." Emery cleared his throat and moved to the edge of his seat. "So this bloke steps into a pub—don't stop me yet; they sort of all start out like that—in a small town on his way passing through and he orders himself a drink. The bartender looks at him and asks, 'What are you, new in town or something?' The man is a bit taken aback but he replies, 'Yes, I am. What's it to you?' The bartender says, 'Everyone local knows that you don't order a drink at this time of day around here. Any minute now the legendary Black Knight's going to show up, and if he catches anybody in here he forces them to do whatever it is he wants or else he kills them.'

  "Well, that's hogwash, the man thinks, and he orders his drink anyway. He's got a long trip ahead after all and he needs a bit to unwind. By the time he's halfway through his beer, however, he suddenly realizes that the pub around him has emptied out. Even the bartender's fucked off. As if on cue, the door behind him swings open and in steps this massive, hulking monster of a man. Twice the size of this one here." Emery jerked a thumb towards Sterling. "And he's dressed all in black, head to foot. He's the meanest looking chap this man's ever seen and he thinks, 'Shit! This must be the Black Knight!'

  "The gigantic man sees our hero sitting at the bar and makes straight for him. Naturally he wants to run, but he can't move because he's frozen with fear. He approaches the man with great thunderous steps and booms at him, 'Oy you little prick! Get on your knees and suck my cock!' And right then and there he whips out a rock hard, horse-sized cock. This of course seems like the worst possible request, but the man is certain that if he doesn't comply then this nutter will tear him to pieces. So he drops to his knees and starts choking it down. The big fellow starts moaning and gripping his hair, screaming at him, 'Faster! Faster you dirty whore, come on then!'

  "So the man sucks faster. But it still isn't good enough. His assailant keeps crying, 'Faster! Faster!' and he can barely keep up the pace. He feels like he's going to choke to death before it's over, but still the cries keep coming, 'Suck faster! Like you mean it you asshole, faster! Hurry it up!' At last the man can't take it anymore. He pulls off, gasping for air and at his wit's end and asks, 'Why? Why has it got to be so bloody fast?!' The behemoth looks confused, then scowls down at him and asks, 'What are you, new in town or something? Because the Black Knight will be here any minute!'"

  The table around him erupted in laughter, Scott nearly choking on his beer and even Sterling offering up a throaty, unpleasant chortle. Gabler, of course, remained unaffected. He simply watched his col
leagues without interest and waited for the game to continue.

  "That's pretty fucking good!" Sheridan laughed. "Shit. The Black Knight, Christ. Where'd you hear that one?"

  "Don't recall; I've picked up ones like that from all over. Men my size don't tend to get out of the world's seedier pubs alive if they haven't got at least a few good jokes in their arsenal."

  Sheridan put out his cigarette and shook his head. "You're alright, kid. Not the little pampered bitch I was expecting."

  "Always nice to hear."

  "It's your turn," Gabler's smooth voice interrupted, eyes on Emery.

  Emery's smile faded and he looked down at his cards. "Right, sorry. Um…all in, I suppose." He nonchalantly brushed all of his chips into the center pot and leaned back.

  Sheridan glared hard at Emery for a moment before relenting, dropping his cards and waving a hand. "Fuck. Alright, I fold."

  All eyes went to Gabler, who was still calm as ever.

  "Well? He's callin' you out, Gabler," Sheridan prodded.

  "Yes, and he's bluffing," Gabler stated primly.

  Fascinated, Sheridan looked between them. "Yeah? How do you know?"

  "Some people are easier to see through than they think," he replied. "I'll bet."

  Emery tapped his finger for a moment and nodded. He waited patiently as Gabler threw in his chips and turned over his cards for the table to see.

  "Three of a kind," Sheridan remarked. "Okay Eaton. Show us what you got."

  Emery flipped his hand over to reveal a pair of queens.

  Sheridan cackled, gripping Gabler's shoulder and pushing on him mockingly. "A full fucking house. Yeah, sure, that's some bluff alright!"

  Gabler regarded Emery with a strange look somewhere between confusion and contempt, but it wasn't as pronounced as before.

  "What can I say?" Emery didn't smile this time, still staring at Gabler. "Some people don't need seeing through."