You're Almost Dead Read online

  Sheridan was clearly very much amused by the heckling of his cohort, grinning as he commented, "Careful now, Eaton. You don't wanna be on this guy's bad side."

  "That ship's well beyond the horizon," Emery said under his breath and pushed his cards back towards the deck to begin again.

  It was an hour or so later when the game finally ended. By that point Emery was exactly zero dollars richer than when he started and Sterling reaped most of the winnings. This seemed to greatly annoy Sheridan, who ended the game swiftly with claims of boredom and wandered away after ordering Gabler to return Emery to his room. "We'll do it again sometime, Eaton," Sheridan assured in parting. "If you don't piss me off, I think I could get used to you."

  The words were genial enough, but Emery could still sense a clear thread of cautioning there as Gabler gripped him by the arm and pulled him away. When he was back in his room he turned to his warden and held up his wrists. "Any chance I could keep the use of my arms tonight?"

  Gabler didn't respond other than to cuff his hands together once more.

  Emery frowned. "Didn't think so."

  "I don't find you charming," Gabler decided.

  That seemed like an odd thing to say. Emery blinked, lowering his arms. "Oh. Sorry to hear that."

  "I don't find you funny and I don't find you clever. I find you very, very stupid. Because if you are in fact telling the truth then you're in real trouble. As much better than the alternative as it sounds, being in Sheridan's good graces is not in your best interest."

  Emery bit his cheek curiously and wondered where this was coming from. It sounded like a legitimate warning, free of the intimidation tactics this man was so adept at delivering. "Why not? Isn't he less likely to kill me this way?"

  "No," Gabler denied. "He's far more likely to kill you now. He's just less likely to do it on purpose."

  Emery furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry but I don't understand."

  "Then just take my word for it."

  At that Gabler left the room and Emery sat down once more on his bed, wondering what to do with that advice, if anything at all.

  CHAPTER 6

  Over the next two days, five million more pounds were deposited into Sheridan's hands, raising the total gain to fifteen million. It was at this point that he was obviously beginning to see the disadvantages to the size of Hunter Eaton's increments. They had been holding onto Emery for a week's time now and had only achieved ten percent of their end goal. Then, on the next drop several days later, Hunter Eaton claimed it would be another week before he could get any more. That's when things first started to take a turn.

  Kurt watched as Sheridan paced back and forth before him. "We've got twenty million pounds now," Kurt reminded. "There's no reason to continue this."

  "Yeah, you already said that," Sheridan snapped, rubbing his chin with a fist as he walked. "And it's a shit idea. I mean what's this guy gonna think? What are we supposed to say? 'Oh, gosh Eaton, we didn't realize it would be so tough to pay us off. Why don't we just call it even, huh? We wouldn't wanna put you out'. You're fuckin' kiddin' me. I don't half-ass a job, Kurt, and I've never known you to do it either."

  "Then what is it you suggest we do?"

  Sheridan shook his head, thinking for a moment. "I don't know. Go get the kid. Let's have a talk with him."

  Kurt didn't bother commenting on the absurdity of including their captive in this discussion, so he simply obeyed, heading up the stairs and returning moments later with Emery in tow. Emery looked between the four men and sat down where he was directed to, eyes falling to Sheridan, who was leaning up against the table around which the other men sat. Sheridan issued a gesture that made it clear he wanted Emery's handcuffs off and Kurt removed them. "We've got a problem, Eaton."

  Kurt watched as Emery narrowed his eyes. "What problem? Aren't you getting paid?"

  "Yeah, but step-daddy is takin' his sweet time. Five million every few days doesn't get us up to speed fast enough as it is, and now he wants us to wait another week."

  Emery breathed out, evidently a little surprised by this news. "But then…well there must be some sort of problem transferring funds."

  "Or 'e thinks we're soft," Sterling suggested with a sneer. "That we 'aven't got the stones to do what we said we'd do."

  Sheridan mulled over this with malice in his features. He looked back to Emery. "What do you think, kid? You know him best. Is he calling our bluff?"

  Emery bit his lip, scanning the floor for a moment before shaking his head. "He might be, but I don't think so. He's just being careful about moving his dirty money around. I honestly don't know where exactly all of it's coming from, but he's likely got it stashed in all sorts of places. Offshore banks, alias accounts, things like that."

  Sheridan sank down into a chair, rubbing his head. "Okay. Sure. Is there a way to make him less careful?"

  "I'm…not sure."

  There was a long silence while Sheridan continued to rub his head, eyes distant. It was unlike him not to be speaking his mind, so Kurt knew that whatever he had to say next would be a game changer. He was not disappointed. "Gabler here thinks we should just take what we've got and send you back home."

  "What?" Emery blanched, shooting Kurt a look of dread. Suddenly the previously collected Emery was pure anxiety. "No, no, I—you can't do that. He'll deliver more, I know he will. Just…listen, listen to me, I'll think of something."

  "Look, kid, it's not like I want to. Believe me, a hundred and fifty sounds a lot better than twenty. It's just that I can't sit around for years waiting for this to happen, 'cause right now it's becoming like pulling teeth just to get a lousy five out of him."

  Emery looked contemplative for a moment and Kurt saw something suddenly click in his head. All at once he was calm again. He looked up, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together between his knees. "Now there's a thought."

  "What?" Sheridan asked.

  "I just realized…if there's any way to make him stop dragging his feet, it's to make good on one of your threats."

  Sheridan huffed. "And what? Cut your tongue out? Are you volunteering?"

  "I'm rather attached to that, thanks," Emery dismissed. "I'm thinking something that I'd miss a little less. Something that won't disfigure me, but is plenty horrifying enough to show him that you mean business."

  "And that is?"

  "Give him one of my teeth."

  Sheridan reeled back, grimacing at the idea. "Shit. You want us to yank a tooth out of your skull?"

  "Sends a pretty clear message, don't you think?"

  "…You continue to impress me, Eaton." Sheridan sat back for a moment, rubbing his chin with a thumb.

  Kurt couldn't believe that he was hearing this. Emery couldn't be serious. Who flippantly suggests something like that? Was he really so committed to running away from home that he'd offer up an opportunity like that to people like them? This was precisely the sort of thing he had warned Emery about, but apparently that had fallen on deaf ears.

  "Scott," Sheridan called.

  Scott looked over apprehensively. "What?"

  "How many years were you a med student?"

  "One and a half," Scott answered automatically, then suddenly threw up his hands. "Fuck no. I can't do that."

  "I'll bet you a million pounds that you can."

  "No, no way. I was never a goddamn orthodontist—I don't know how to do that kind of shit. Are we seriously considering this?" he looked around the room in disbelief.

  "Surely not," Kurt interjected at last. "It would be foolish."

  "Why?" Sheridan demanded. "He ain't gonna die from pulling a tooth. Shit, I've had three pulled."

  "Under anesthesia. With sanitary tools. By professionals," Scott protested.

  Sheridan swiped a hand at him. "He's tough, he can take it."

  Scott made a humorless laugh and turned his chair fully towards Sheridan. "Hey, this isn't a matter of how much it would hurt—" he met Emery's eyes for a moment, "—which is a lot, by the way
—it's a matter of blood loss and infection. Do you have the supplies to treat that? 'Cause I sure don't. Not here."

  "We can get some antibiotics easy. I know a guy."

  "This is too much of a liability. You could kill him," said Kurt.

  "It'll be fine," Emery spoke up. Kurt gave him a dubious look. "Really, I've got a high pain tolerance. You can take this useless bloody wisdom tooth," he tapped his lower jaw, "and be doing me a favor in the process."

  "And if you die?" Kurt repeated, unconvinced.

  Emery shrugged. "It's not very likely. But if I do, I suppose it'll be my own fault."

  "Sounds like he knows the risks," said Sheridan. "Sterling? You wanna weigh in?"

  "I'll pull it out myself if it'll stop all the bickering," Sterling offered.

  "I'm not doing it," Scott announced.

  Sheridan turned to him irritably. "Well it's happening whether you pussy out or not. I'm getting this goddamn job done one way or another and so far the most helpful one of you assholes is the fucker we kidnapped. But yeah, you sit this one out, Scott. Sure, I mean the kid has the best chance of making it out okay if you do it, but if you're really too scared, I'll just have Sterling do it. And he'll probably just beat the hell out of him until one falls out."

  Scott shook his head. "That's fucking ridiculous."

  "Come on, didn't you take the Hippocratic Oath?"

  "No. I didn't fucking graduate. And anyway, if I did, this would be breaking it. I'm pretty sure that pulling a goddamn tooth out of someone's head for purposes of ransom qualifies as harm."

  Emery suddenly looked a little less sure, giving a sidelong glance to Sterling before looking back to Scott. "Um, if it's anything to you, I'm sure I'd much prefer your method to his."

  Scott let out an aggravated growl and folded his arms tightly. "To hell with all of you. How do I always get roped into this shit?"

  "Does that mean you'll do it?" asked Sheridan.

  Scott gave an accusatory glare towards Kurt, which he interpreted as resentment for not speaking up on his behalf, and shook his head. "I…fuck. It has to be done exactly like I say. No exceptions."

  "Sure thing, Scotty, sure thing. Just tell us what we need."

  "Pliers. Some gauze. Salt, acetaminophen, amoxicillin, and some fucking mush he can choke down for the next week because he won't be fucking chewing."

  "Great. Gabler, Sterling," Sheridan snapped his fingers. "Go and get the shit on his list. Eaton, come sit at the table and let's prep you for this shit show."

  "Prep him how?" Kurt heard himself ask. He watched as Emery slowly followed his orders, rising and locking eyes momentarily with him as he moved towards the table. Sheridan had wandered off, but returned from a storage cupboard with a bottle of amber liquid and a couple of glasses. He set the bottle of whiskey in front of Emery and clacked a glass beside it.

  Sheridan sat in a chair across from him and sighed, gesturing towards the drink. "What the hell, I'm a nice guy. This is gonna hurt like a bitch. Might as well not remember it."

  Emery visibly gulped and took the bottle by the neck.

  * * *

  "I can't believe I'm fucking doing this," Scott muttered for the hundredth time as he violently scrubbed the head of a pair of pliers.

  "So you've said," Kurt replied. He looked down as the plier head was thrust towards him.

  "And thanks, by the goddamn way, for jumping in there to try and talk some sense into them. You're a real pal."

  Kurt didn't look at him, eyes fixed on Emery across the room. "Perhaps I've finally learned that the more Sheridan is challenged, the more likely he is to stick to his guns. You know him. He's always out for blood. Just because he likes the boy doesn't mean he won't still get it."

  "Eaton's the one who suggested it. They're both fucking nuts. This is the last time I'm doing this type of shit, I don't care how much it's for."

  "You're well within your rights," Kurt assented. "What is it you need done?"

  Scott waved him off. "Just…go get him ready. Is he shitfaced enough yet?"

  Kurt went over to see. Emery still sat at the table. A large amount of the bottle had disappeared and he was swallowing the last quarter of his current glass, wincing as he put it down. He looked up hazily at Kurt, cheeks red. "It's not my drink, whiskey," he said.

  "How much have you had?"

  Emery thought for a moment, looking at his glass and trying to count on one hand before shaking his head and refilling it. "I dunno. Better have another."

  Kurt shook his head. "Stand up." Emery pushed away from the table, struggling out of his chair. The instant he was upright he lost his balance and Kurt caught him by the arm just as fast. "Seems as though you've had enough," Kurt decided.

  "Okay."

  Emery followed him crookedly to a workbench that lay in the corner, freshly cleaned of dust and cobwebs. He managed to climb on top of it without any assistance and sat there dangling his legs with his palms on the edge as he looked at out across the room.

  "You shouldn't have given him that," Kurt said to Sheridan. "If he gets sick in the middle of this it won't be pretty."

  Sheridan raised his eyebrows from where he stood nearby with a package of gauze in hand. "You want him to do this sober? Hell, and people say I'm vindictive."

  "Don' worry about me," Emery slurred. "I've 'ad worse."

  "See? He's a champ," Sheridan pointed out before turning away.

  Kurt looked back to Emery with defeated patience. "Will you be here while it happens?" Emery asked.

  Kurt couldn't fathom how Emery could possibly gain any comfort from that fact, but he nodded anyway. He wasn't sure why—he didn't care much about comforting him. He just wanted this insane thing over and done with.

  Scott came over, gesturing towards Sterling reluctantly. "Hold him down. I'll try and do this quick so get that gauze ready."

  Sterling snatched Emery by the collar and flattened him on the bench, leaning one elbow on his chest and forcibly stilling his head with an iron grip around his jaw. Emery jolted for a minute in shock before relaxing. Kurt was on the same side of the bench and put his arm over Emery's legs to immobilize him further.

  Scott cracked his neck and let out a shaky breath. "Okay." He leaned down, opening Emery's mouth and working the pliers in. After a moment he stopped, having secured them around the desired tooth. "Hold him hard."

  Sterling tightened his grip enough to make Emery bark in pain, but that was quickly overshadowed when Scott started pulling. Kurt was strangely disturbed as he watched Emery give an aborted thrash, his hands clamping down on the sides of the table until his knuckles were white. He was clearly trying not to scream, but that ended in failure. He cut it off quickly and twitched like mad under Sterling's grip. Kurt wasn't sure how long this was supposed to last. Scott was probably taking his time in order to be careful, as he had presumably never performed an extraction before, and it was sickening to watch.

  Blood began gurgling from the sides of Emery's mouth. He writhed in agony, choking out another scream and starting to cough. Kurt wasn't sure what possessed him, but he reached out and gripped Emery's wrist in a futile attempt to bring him calm. Emery's hand twisted around and snatched Kurt's wrist in turn hard enough to bruise the skin.

  It was a few excruciating seconds later when Scott pulled off suddenly, a crimson tooth in the grip of his pliers. Sterling and Kurt let go and Emery rolled to his side instantly, hacking a stream of blood onto the floor beneath them and gasping for air.

  "Fuck. I-I'm sorry man, fuck," Scott said numbly as he stared at the blood.

  Kurt moved up and put a hand on Emery's arm to pull him back into position. "Victor."

  Scott shook out of his trance and snatched the gauze out of Sheridan's hands, who was staring on at the scene indifferently. "Okay, get his mouth open. Hey, kid, open your mouth. Let me clean it up."

  "Bloody fuck that hurts!" Emery shouted with a strangled, intoxicated laugh.

  Kurt pried his mouth open roughly wi
th a thumb and forefinger and Scott stuffed a wad of gauze into the wound. Emery clumsily held a hand to his face and cradled his jaw.

  Sheridan had taken the discarded pliers, staring at the tooth in front of his face with a sneer of disgust. "Now that's gruesome. This'll get a rise outta that cheap bastard for sure."

  "Pull another if it doesn't," Emery garbled around the gauze in his mouth, blood dribbling down his chin. Kurt spared a disquieted glance as Emery gave another pitiful laugh. "And another, and another, and another…"

  * * *

  It was about an hour later when the mess was cleaned up. Emery sat at the table with blood soaked gauze all around him and an icepack held to his face, drinking down yet another glass of whiskey to fight the pangs of sobriety pain had forced on him, Kurt supposed. Perhaps he just wanted to drown out them metallic tang. Either way he decided not to interfere.

  Sheridan saw Kurt staring and slapped his shoulder as he came by, sitting next to him in a chair. "Ah, let him drink. He fuckin' earned it." Sheridan leaned back and opened a beer that had seemed to materialize from nowhere. He took a swig and rested an ankle on the top of his opposite knee. "So, you still think he's full of shit?"

  "Entirely," Kurt replied. He then sighed in concession. "But he isn't lying. I see that now."

  "I knew you'd come around. All this time and you still don't trust me when I say I know what I'm doing."

  "I'm still not convinced that this is a good idea. I'm rather certain that if we tell Hunter Eaton that his son is dead, we stand a good chance of being hunted down and slaughtered."

  "It's like Scott said: he'll never be able to trace us and the kid's the only one with any knowledge as to who we are. The four of us'll never have any goddamn reason to see each other again, so no one will connect us. And do you really think a corporate socialite has the balls or the know how to organize some kind of worldwide man hunt?"

  "One whose true wealth allegedly comes from illicit conduct?" Kurt looked over. "It's possible."

  "I'll give you that one," Sheridan chuckled. "But Christ, I mean I'm not gettin' any younger. We're talking about the kind of money that people dream of in their most fucked up fantasies here. I don't know about you, but I kinda like the idea of having everything taken care of for me as long as I live. Enough to die for it." He took another drink before adding, "And definitely enough to kill for it."