failure on all counts
Oh my god, I posted last in SEPTEMBER? This is absurd. I'm very sorry everyone.
Eames the Liar Part 9 is here, and we're getting close to the end now. I anticipate only two more chapters or so, and I'm going to have to return to the old speed of updates, because I'm doing National Novel Writing Month and I will not have this hanging over me while I'm pounding away at that. So expect this to be all wrapped up by Halloween, hopefully sooner.
PLEASE BE AWARE: In addition to the usual violence and language warnings, this chapter also opens with some brief but very nonconsensual sexual content. It's over fast but still may be triggering for some people so please proceed with care!!
New readers start here.
“You know what’s funny,” he whispers into my ear, which is fortunately still attached to me in spite of my idiot mouth. I’m hanging by a thread, still by my wrists technically, and there’s blood soaking through my nice fucking shirt, all of the wounds infuriatingly minor and they still hurt like a bitch and I’m having trouble staying focused. “What’s funny is how I’m using old methods of extraction on a modern extractor. Nothing like the classics, eh?” He smirks to himself. “Not that I’m extracting anything, of course.”
And he isn’t. He hasn’t asked me any questions. This is torture for the hell of it.
“Yeah, that’s hilarious,” I mutter.
“Well, it’s ironic, isn’t it?” he says. His fingers wander up the spidery trail that has made its way down my arm onto my chest, like a river on a map, colored all in red. He looks at it, and at me, and I wish he wouldn’t.
“Doing all right?” he asks with an insufferable façade of politeness.
“Oh yeah, just dandy,” I say.
He looks at me a moment longer before winding an arm around my waist and leaning in a lot closer than I am comfortable with.
“Don’t be like that,” he says.
“What are you doing,” I say, trying to lean away from him in my limited radius without hurting myself further. This is impossible.
“Listen,” he says. “Your friends will be here soon. And this room, well, I’m afraid it just isn’t fit for company. But I gotta have something to show for it. I hope you don’t mind.”
My blood is smeared on his clothes now. Eames is going to kill him.
“Eames is going to kill you,” I tell him.
Johnny cocks his head back, making a big show of thinking about it. “No,” he says. “All things considered, I don’t think he will.”
I wonder who knows Eames better; Johnny or me.
Johnny’s breath is hot on my neck now.
“I can see what he likes about you,” he murmurs, whispery and hypnotic.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I say, knowing he won’t, and I can’t believe I am actually in this situation now.
Johnny doesn’t do any such thing, instead keeping one arm wrapped tight around my waist, the other brushing against the line of my trousers, threatening to reach in. He glances up at me and slowly bites down between my neck and my shoulder. I flinch and he does reach in, and I’m frozen because I don’t know what to do, because I’m afraid of him. He rubs at me, smirking against my skin, and I am wondering how much of myself I can pull together because he’s right there, his guard is down, if I can just fucking-
The sudden knock on the door saves what is left of my dignity, saves me from having to do something incredibly stupid. Johnny laughs at me softly, licks at me once, and drifts away. I am hanging there, numb and angry, cold with sweat.
He opens the door with a flourish, and behind it is some enormous guy with an assault rifle. This just gets better and better.
Johnny converses with Assault Rifle for a few seconds in low tones, then turns to me.
“Your friends have arrived,” he says cheerfully. “Excuse me for a moment, can’t keep them waiting. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”
He slips his sunglasses back on, smiles with a mouth full of teeth and goes, locking the door behind him, and I don’t know what has happened or what Eames is planning, but the way he throws a smirk at his looming henchman makes me very worried about it.
But Eames isn’t planning anything, and he doesn’t like that. He and Kent are here solely on the assurance that Archy still carries enough weight with Johnny that he’ll be able to both keep them from any real harm and maintain enough control of the situation that they’re going to come out on top, which Eames is doubting more and more as this situation progresses. He didn’t have much of a solution otherwise and he wasn’t about to just sit around and wait for Johnny to kill me, but Archy is the only one of them who’s presently armed and there are about eight ways this could go straight to hell.
And the first thing that throws him is, just as Johnny calculated, the blood all over his shirt as he strolls in alone. Eames’s whole body tightens at the sight of it, and from behind him Archy sees it and he mutters, “Steady, boy, steady.” Eames swallows the reflexive desire to jab his elbow into Archy’s sternum.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” says Johnny. “You’re a little late to the party, but they do always say that’s better than never.”
“Whose blood is that, Johnny?” says Eames in the calmest voice he can muster, which, on account of how ragingly apocalyptically furious he is, is pretty fucking calm.
“Oh, this?” Johnny looks down at himself in exaggerated surprise. “Yes, I’m very sorry about that, I didn’t have time to change.” He looks up at Eames and he smiles thinly. “Don’t you recognize it?” he says.
Eames starts walking, and Archy pushes past Kent in a really valiant effort to tackle him before he gets there, but Eames shoves him back off, and Johnny actually lets him get about a foot away before he lowers his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose.
There’s a shot, and Eames flinches, which is understandable, Archy flinches, which is stupid, and Kent flinches, because he’s never been shot before and he doesn’t quite know it’s happened at first. Somewhere between the strangled yell and hitting the floor he figures it out.
Eames turns around sharply and Archy is sort of frozen in place, staring at the writhing mess on the floor beside him. He looks up at Eames with an expression he seems to hope is impenetrable.
Johnny steps up next to Eames and actually dares to put a hand on his shoulder. “Now, that was a warning shot,” he says. “You behave yourself or it’ll get worse.”
Eames doesn’t want to move, as if taking any steps back bring him further away from me, but Archy can’t afford to break character any more than he already has and someone has to attend to Kent, so Eames gives in and rushes back and kneels down over the crumpled architect. He’ll live, but he won’t enjoy it for the next several hours: he’s been shot through the shoulder, fucking painful but he’s all right as long as nothing else happens to him. And that of course is exactly Johnny’s point.
Eames strips down to his undershirt and gingerly dresses the wound as best he can, muttering things like “You’re gonna be all right” while Kent manages amazingly to pull himself together and stare reproachfully at Archy, and over all this, Johnny is saying “So here’s how it’s gonna be. You don’t want to get your architect shot and I don’t want to incapacitate him any more than I have to. This room is surrounded by gunmen and they’re ready to do whatever needs doing. So let’s all cooperate and everybody’ll get what he wants. How’s that sound to everyone?”
Eames stands up, helping Kent to his feet. “I need some assurance that Arthur is all right,” he says.
“You have it on my honor that he is perfectly fine,” says Johnny.
“Perhaps we should just show him, Johnny,” suggests Archy in his best diplomatic voice.
Johnny glances at Archy. “Oh, Archy,” he says. “Sorry, I forgot you were standing there. You can go wait in the antechamber, this doesn’t much concern you. I’ll deal with you in a moment.”
Archy stands still for a moment, not sure what to do. It is everything Eames can do not to look slowly at him.
“What do you mean?” says Archy, smiling like this is a joke. “Johnny, I went to all this trouble to get them here, let’s get down to business.”
“I can’t agree more,” says Johnny. “But the business I have with them is no longer the business I have with you, if you get what I’m saying. And I’m not really inviting you to wait, Arch. I’m telling you. All right?”
Still, Archy does not move. “Johnny-” he says with some effort.
Enormous Man With Assault Rifle appears out of the corridor behind him and strikes him heavily on the back of the head with the butt of the weapon. Archy goes down, and while Eames knows he’s more fucked than ever, he can’t help but enjoy watching, just a little.
Johnny steps closer to Archy. “Archy,” he says. “You gotta understand. I had high hopes for you. You’ve been good to me a long time. But that time is ending. How can I ever trust you again, Archy, when this whole thing was set in motion by you?” He reaches Archy and squats down, looking him in the eye. Even does him the honor of taking off his shades. “You wanted to know if I was planning something,” he says. “Something big.”
Archy doesn’t say anything.
“Well, I am,” says Johnny. “And wouldn’t you know it, your clever efforts to get at what it might be have only helped me along. But I don’t like the way you did it, Archy. And I’m not stupid, and I know that as soon as my back was turned you’d stab something else deep into it. And so, let’s just call it quits while we’re ahead, shall we?”
Archy opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Johnny smiles and stands back up. Assault Rifle pulls Archy up onto his knees. Kent is gripping Eames’s arm now, Eames isn’t sure from his own torment or from the conviction that they’re about to witness an execution, but Eames can only watch the situation unfold, just as the dread and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck unfolds in his stomach.
“It’s almost Shakespearean, in’t it,” says Johnny thoughtfully. “You, practically my uncle an’ all. Killed my dad, tried to take over my empire. And now you get your comeuppance, don’t you?”
“You didn’t seem to mind my offing your father at the time, Johnny,” says Archy coldly.
“Well of course I didn’t; I’m making a bloody metaphor, you prat,” says Johnny. “You get the whole Hamlet thing, right? Me the eponymous Prince, you Claudius, yeah?” He sighs and abruptly he turns away. “Never mind. Too highbrow for you, Uncle Arch.” With a dismissive wave he says “Take him to the waiting room. Rosencrantz, Guildenstern. Come along.”
It takes Eames and Kent a moment to figure out Johnny is referring to them. Archy is yanked back up to his feet, promptly frisked and unceremoniously shuffled out of the room, looking over his shoulder at Eames with an expression that actually is impenetrable, unintentionally this time. Johnny turns around and beckons for them to follow.
“Let’s go,” he says. “I’ve got a proposition for you. Concerns the Fortinbras of our little fable. Play along and you just may come out all right.”
There isn’t anything else they can do, so they follow him, Eames supporting Kent’s weight as he hobbles along. Eames throws a wary glance at the direction in which Archy has been dragged, knowing the significance of it, able to guess at just how fucked they are right now.
However, in making this assessment, there are two factors Eames has not taken into account: The first is that Archy is at least somewhat competent in the matter of getting people where he wants them; the second is that Yusuf is not stupid, nor does he make a habit of taking anything remotely resembling an unnecessary risk. Eames knows Archy has instructed Yusuf how to get in the building undetected-an outer door which is routinely unguarded. In the average break-in, this point of entry offers not much assistance, being that it leads into a locked room, which is why Yusuf was A) safe there and B) going to wait until One Two showed up to let him loose upon the building. If Yusuf had any particular problems with the plan (and he did, starting with part B onward), they paled in comparison to his reaction when he heard the lock turning and it wasn’t One Two. One good thing about Archy is he manages to keep his head even in the worst of times, prompting him to talk audibly to his escort at the risk of being hit again. When he is shoved and locked into the room, Yusuf is crouched behind the very worn sofa, trying not to hyperventilate.
Archy picks himself up and straightens himself out with a self-righteous grunt. Then he says, “Well you can come out now.”
Yusuf does, and stares at him.
“What the fucking hell are you doing here?” he hisses. “What’s happened?”
Archy sighs and regards the sofa with extreme suspicion before giving into the pain and exhaustion of having been struck and manhandled, and he sits gingerly. “Kent’s been shot,” he says. “Not fatally, but Johnny’s got them both eating out of his hand for it. He called my bluff.”
Yusuf stares at him, then comes around to the front of the sofa and stares at him some more. Archy glares up at him.
“Stop,” he says.
“Sorry,” says Yusuf. “I’m just trying to remember the word for this situation. Oh right. You miserable fucking cunt.”
“There’s no need for that,” says Archy defensively.
“No, I daresay there’s no need for any of this,” says Yusuf. “And yet here we are. What the hell have you gotten us into?!”
“It’s no worse that what you’d have gotten yourselves into,” he says wearily, “I assure you.”
“This is fantastic,” says Yusuf. “So what now? What do you brilliantly suggest for this wildly surprising turn of events?”
“Would you get yourself under control?” snaps Archy.
“I’m not the one who’s royally fucked up twice now,” says Yusuf. “Christ, this is why I never go into the field.”
Archy looks up at him, managing immense disdain in spite of everything. “You’re not in the field,” he says. “No one is asleep. You’re just locked in a room. Stop complaining.”
“I beg to differ,” says Yusuf. “Outside this room are guns with real bullets that will actually kill me. I’d much prefer to be in someone’s head right now. This is more of the fucking field than I ever needed.”
Archy stands up suddenly, which doesn’t feel terrific but he holds himself together impressively. “For fuck’s sake, Yusuf, shut the hell up,” he says. “You’re acting like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. No one wants to be Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.”
Yusuf is subdued more by what he sees as a completely unwarranted Hamlet metaphor than by anything else. His eyes narrow, wondering just how roughly Archy has been mistreated.
Impatiently, Archy explains, “They die at the end,” as if this will clarify matters.
“Yes,” says Yusuf, “that is generally the one thing that is widely known of them. Are you quite all right?”
“Never mind,” says Archy. “Look. Your part of the plan is still in motion. It’s gotten trickier but it’s still the best bet we have. You need to keep it together.”
“Fuck you,” says Yusuf. “It was a stupid plan to begin with. Your future is completely up in the air right now, I don’t even see why-”
“This is not about me, you ass,” says Archy. “Your friends are in there and god knows what Johnny wants from them. As they say in America, man the fuck up.”
Yusuf glares at Archy, but he backs down, because no one does want to be Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, if that’s what people are saying nowadays.
“Fine,” he says. “So, what now?”
“Now,” says Archy calmly, sitting back down with as much dignity as he can summon, “we wait.”
“Now, no one wants to be Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,” says Johnny, “and fortunately, you can be upgraded with almost no effort on your part. No one has to die at the end who didn’t have it coming, everybody wins. Right?”
Eames and Kent have been taken into a smaller room where Kent has been allowed to sit down and they have both been offered the opportunity to cautiously decline a drink. Eames stands near Kent with his arms folded, his eyes tracking the smears of red painted across Johnny’s shirt, the rest of the room blurring into a dim, desaturated mass.
“So, how about it,” says Johnny. “One last job together, for old time’s sake. Clear out all that bad history. And then you’re all free to go. You can be top billed players, then, say, Laertes, and…” he squints at Kent, “…Osric. How’s that sound?”
Back before he was part of the Wild Bunch, Eames led a very brief and very not-discussed life as a young actor. He’s been Laertes before, but Johnny doesn’t need to know that. He lifts his head.
“What about Arthur?” he says.
“Oh, you can take Ophelia with you too,” says Johnny generously. “She’s all yours. But you understand my need for collateral. We’ll take her out of the pond and dry her off for you once things are all squared away, and not a moment sooner.”
Eames doesn’t like this. Eames has no reason to trust Johnny, still has no idea what is even being talked about. But he doesn’t say anything. When he wants to, Eames is good at not saying anything.
“I’ll take that as an okay,” says Johnny. “Now, you’ve heard much talk of some big project I’m working on. Archy doesn’t like it because Archy doesn’t know what it is. And as a matter of fact, it rather concerns you. Quite lucky that you happened along, really.”
Eames frowns. “What are you talking about?” he says.
Johnny smiles.
One Two opens the door and is extremely startled to see Archy there. Yusuf stands up.
“About fucking time,” he says.
“What the hell’s going on out there?” demands One Two. “Everybody’s on edge. Johnny’s got half the staff wandering around with enormous fuck-off guns. What are you doing here?” This to Archy, who rolls his eyes.
“Things aren’t going well,” he says. “I am open to suggestions.”
One Two hesitates, because suggestions have never been his strong suit. “Um,” he says.
“Look, if you can get me out of here we can bluff our way back to Johnny. You’ll need to pass it off like he sent for me. But we’ve got to get Yusuf out of here, and we have to do both things at once. Understand?”
One Two nods, then hesitantly hands Yusuf his keys.
“You have got to be kidding,” says Yusuf.
“This is the best I can do,” says One Two. “The hallway just outside here isn’t too covered right now, and once you get down a ways there’s a whole line of locked doors. Bob’s friend is behind one of them. Maybe you can find him, all right?”
Yusuf is dubious, but there seems to be nothing more outlandishly wrong with this idea than what is already on the surface. So he begrudgingly accepts the keys. “I don’t suppose the rooms are numbered, are they?” he says.
One Two shrugs.
“Of course,” says Yusuf. “That would just be so convenient.”
“Look, just stay out of sight,” says Archy. “We’ll go out first, you follow if it’s clear.”
One Two and Archy get out with surprising ease, and Yusuf shortly finds himself wandering through a dark corridor with his heart in his throat and his hands sweating. He hates everyone for getting him into this right now.
He’s in the process of listening with an ear pressed to each of the various doors, hoping for any evidence of an unhappy occupant, when he starts to hear something in the distance, like footsteps possibly coming towards him.
“Fuck this,” he says under his breath and he fumbles for the key to the door directly in front of him. He finds it on the third try and opens it as quietly as he can.
“You can’t be serious,” Eames is saying. “You’re making this up.”
“Au contraire, mon ami,” says Johnny with no trace of the appropriate accent.
Yusuf shuts the door very carefully behind him. The room is dark, stuffy, and he has the distinct feeling he’s not alone. There’s a soft glow coming from somewhere within, from something that strikes him as familiar, but he’s too flustered to think straight and it isn’t enough to illuminate anything. He gropes for a light switch, terrified of what he’s about to find.
“No,” says Eames. “No. Absolutely not. I will not.”
“That isn’t going to end well for you, I’m afraid,” says Johnny with a sympathetic shrug.
Yusuf finds the light, and it takes him a moment to understand what he’s looking at. The light was coming from the PASIV device which is on a table in the middle of the room, but it’s the person it’s hooked up to that is giving him trouble.
“Fuck you,” says Eames, perhaps a bit rashly. “I don’t want any part of this.”
“Wait, what is the problem?” says Kent, completely lost. “Who the hell is Mr. Saito?”
Yusuf stares, but can’t convince himself he’s hallucinating. Eventually he pulls himself together and examines the machine. Saito has been unconscious for going on three days.
As gently as he can while swearing under his breath, Yusuf removes the needle. It takes Saito several moments to wake up, and when he does, he doesn’t feel any better for it.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” says Yusuf.
Saito blinks at him. “What are you doing here?” is all he has to say for himself.
Johnny shrugs. “Kent, is it?” he says. “I had them shoot your left shoulder because I thought it was a safe bet you’re a right-arm man. Did I get it right?”
Reluctantly, Kent nods.
“Good,” says Johnny.” There’s paper, pen, armed guard outside. Start designing something, doesn’t have to be too complicated. Your basic extraction job.” He looks at Eames. “You, come with me,” he says. “You need some convincing.”
Continues here
Eames the Liar Part 9 is here, and we're getting close to the end now. I anticipate only two more chapters or so, and I'm going to have to return to the old speed of updates, because I'm doing National Novel Writing Month and I will not have this hanging over me while I'm pounding away at that. So expect this to be all wrapped up by Halloween, hopefully sooner.
PLEASE BE AWARE: In addition to the usual violence and language warnings, this chapter also opens with some brief but very nonconsensual sexual content. It's over fast but still may be triggering for some people so please proceed with care!!
New readers start here.
“You know what’s funny,” he whispers into my ear, which is fortunately still attached to me in spite of my idiot mouth. I’m hanging by a thread, still by my wrists technically, and there’s blood soaking through my nice fucking shirt, all of the wounds infuriatingly minor and they still hurt like a bitch and I’m having trouble staying focused. “What’s funny is how I’m using old methods of extraction on a modern extractor. Nothing like the classics, eh?” He smirks to himself. “Not that I’m extracting anything, of course.”
And he isn’t. He hasn’t asked me any questions. This is torture for the hell of it.
“Yeah, that’s hilarious,” I mutter.
“Well, it’s ironic, isn’t it?” he says. His fingers wander up the spidery trail that has made its way down my arm onto my chest, like a river on a map, colored all in red. He looks at it, and at me, and I wish he wouldn’t.
“Doing all right?” he asks with an insufferable façade of politeness.
“Oh yeah, just dandy,” I say.
He looks at me a moment longer before winding an arm around my waist and leaning in a lot closer than I am comfortable with.
“Don’t be like that,” he says.
“What are you doing,” I say, trying to lean away from him in my limited radius without hurting myself further. This is impossible.
“Listen,” he says. “Your friends will be here soon. And this room, well, I’m afraid it just isn’t fit for company. But I gotta have something to show for it. I hope you don’t mind.”
My blood is smeared on his clothes now. Eames is going to kill him.
“Eames is going to kill you,” I tell him.
Johnny cocks his head back, making a big show of thinking about it. “No,” he says. “All things considered, I don’t think he will.”
I wonder who knows Eames better; Johnny or me.
Johnny’s breath is hot on my neck now.
“I can see what he likes about you,” he murmurs, whispery and hypnotic.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I say, knowing he won’t, and I can’t believe I am actually in this situation now.
Johnny doesn’t do any such thing, instead keeping one arm wrapped tight around my waist, the other brushing against the line of my trousers, threatening to reach in. He glances up at me and slowly bites down between my neck and my shoulder. I flinch and he does reach in, and I’m frozen because I don’t know what to do, because I’m afraid of him. He rubs at me, smirking against my skin, and I am wondering how much of myself I can pull together because he’s right there, his guard is down, if I can just fucking-
The sudden knock on the door saves what is left of my dignity, saves me from having to do something incredibly stupid. Johnny laughs at me softly, licks at me once, and drifts away. I am hanging there, numb and angry, cold with sweat.
He opens the door with a flourish, and behind it is some enormous guy with an assault rifle. This just gets better and better.
Johnny converses with Assault Rifle for a few seconds in low tones, then turns to me.
“Your friends have arrived,” he says cheerfully. “Excuse me for a moment, can’t keep them waiting. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”
He slips his sunglasses back on, smiles with a mouth full of teeth and goes, locking the door behind him, and I don’t know what has happened or what Eames is planning, but the way he throws a smirk at his looming henchman makes me very worried about it.
But Eames isn’t planning anything, and he doesn’t like that. He and Kent are here solely on the assurance that Archy still carries enough weight with Johnny that he’ll be able to both keep them from any real harm and maintain enough control of the situation that they’re going to come out on top, which Eames is doubting more and more as this situation progresses. He didn’t have much of a solution otherwise and he wasn’t about to just sit around and wait for Johnny to kill me, but Archy is the only one of them who’s presently armed and there are about eight ways this could go straight to hell.
And the first thing that throws him is, just as Johnny calculated, the blood all over his shirt as he strolls in alone. Eames’s whole body tightens at the sight of it, and from behind him Archy sees it and he mutters, “Steady, boy, steady.” Eames swallows the reflexive desire to jab his elbow into Archy’s sternum.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” says Johnny. “You’re a little late to the party, but they do always say that’s better than never.”
“Whose blood is that, Johnny?” says Eames in the calmest voice he can muster, which, on account of how ragingly apocalyptically furious he is, is pretty fucking calm.
“Oh, this?” Johnny looks down at himself in exaggerated surprise. “Yes, I’m very sorry about that, I didn’t have time to change.” He looks up at Eames and he smiles thinly. “Don’t you recognize it?” he says.
Eames starts walking, and Archy pushes past Kent in a really valiant effort to tackle him before he gets there, but Eames shoves him back off, and Johnny actually lets him get about a foot away before he lowers his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose.
There’s a shot, and Eames flinches, which is understandable, Archy flinches, which is stupid, and Kent flinches, because he’s never been shot before and he doesn’t quite know it’s happened at first. Somewhere between the strangled yell and hitting the floor he figures it out.
Eames turns around sharply and Archy is sort of frozen in place, staring at the writhing mess on the floor beside him. He looks up at Eames with an expression he seems to hope is impenetrable.
Johnny steps up next to Eames and actually dares to put a hand on his shoulder. “Now, that was a warning shot,” he says. “You behave yourself or it’ll get worse.”
Eames doesn’t want to move, as if taking any steps back bring him further away from me, but Archy can’t afford to break character any more than he already has and someone has to attend to Kent, so Eames gives in and rushes back and kneels down over the crumpled architect. He’ll live, but he won’t enjoy it for the next several hours: he’s been shot through the shoulder, fucking painful but he’s all right as long as nothing else happens to him. And that of course is exactly Johnny’s point.
Eames strips down to his undershirt and gingerly dresses the wound as best he can, muttering things like “You’re gonna be all right” while Kent manages amazingly to pull himself together and stare reproachfully at Archy, and over all this, Johnny is saying “So here’s how it’s gonna be. You don’t want to get your architect shot and I don’t want to incapacitate him any more than I have to. This room is surrounded by gunmen and they’re ready to do whatever needs doing. So let’s all cooperate and everybody’ll get what he wants. How’s that sound to everyone?”
Eames stands up, helping Kent to his feet. “I need some assurance that Arthur is all right,” he says.
“You have it on my honor that he is perfectly fine,” says Johnny.
“Perhaps we should just show him, Johnny,” suggests Archy in his best diplomatic voice.
Johnny glances at Archy. “Oh, Archy,” he says. “Sorry, I forgot you were standing there. You can go wait in the antechamber, this doesn’t much concern you. I’ll deal with you in a moment.”
Archy stands still for a moment, not sure what to do. It is everything Eames can do not to look slowly at him.
“What do you mean?” says Archy, smiling like this is a joke. “Johnny, I went to all this trouble to get them here, let’s get down to business.”
“I can’t agree more,” says Johnny. “But the business I have with them is no longer the business I have with you, if you get what I’m saying. And I’m not really inviting you to wait, Arch. I’m telling you. All right?”
Still, Archy does not move. “Johnny-” he says with some effort.
Enormous Man With Assault Rifle appears out of the corridor behind him and strikes him heavily on the back of the head with the butt of the weapon. Archy goes down, and while Eames knows he’s more fucked than ever, he can’t help but enjoy watching, just a little.
Johnny steps closer to Archy. “Archy,” he says. “You gotta understand. I had high hopes for you. You’ve been good to me a long time. But that time is ending. How can I ever trust you again, Archy, when this whole thing was set in motion by you?” He reaches Archy and squats down, looking him in the eye. Even does him the honor of taking off his shades. “You wanted to know if I was planning something,” he says. “Something big.”
Archy doesn’t say anything.
“Well, I am,” says Johnny. “And wouldn’t you know it, your clever efforts to get at what it might be have only helped me along. But I don’t like the way you did it, Archy. And I’m not stupid, and I know that as soon as my back was turned you’d stab something else deep into it. And so, let’s just call it quits while we’re ahead, shall we?”
Archy opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Johnny smiles and stands back up. Assault Rifle pulls Archy up onto his knees. Kent is gripping Eames’s arm now, Eames isn’t sure from his own torment or from the conviction that they’re about to witness an execution, but Eames can only watch the situation unfold, just as the dread and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck unfolds in his stomach.
“It’s almost Shakespearean, in’t it,” says Johnny thoughtfully. “You, practically my uncle an’ all. Killed my dad, tried to take over my empire. And now you get your comeuppance, don’t you?”
“You didn’t seem to mind my offing your father at the time, Johnny,” says Archy coldly.
“Well of course I didn’t; I’m making a bloody metaphor, you prat,” says Johnny. “You get the whole Hamlet thing, right? Me the eponymous Prince, you Claudius, yeah?” He sighs and abruptly he turns away. “Never mind. Too highbrow for you, Uncle Arch.” With a dismissive wave he says “Take him to the waiting room. Rosencrantz, Guildenstern. Come along.”
It takes Eames and Kent a moment to figure out Johnny is referring to them. Archy is yanked back up to his feet, promptly frisked and unceremoniously shuffled out of the room, looking over his shoulder at Eames with an expression that actually is impenetrable, unintentionally this time. Johnny turns around and beckons for them to follow.
“Let’s go,” he says. “I’ve got a proposition for you. Concerns the Fortinbras of our little fable. Play along and you just may come out all right.”
There isn’t anything else they can do, so they follow him, Eames supporting Kent’s weight as he hobbles along. Eames throws a wary glance at the direction in which Archy has been dragged, knowing the significance of it, able to guess at just how fucked they are right now.
However, in making this assessment, there are two factors Eames has not taken into account: The first is that Archy is at least somewhat competent in the matter of getting people where he wants them; the second is that Yusuf is not stupid, nor does he make a habit of taking anything remotely resembling an unnecessary risk. Eames knows Archy has instructed Yusuf how to get in the building undetected-an outer door which is routinely unguarded. In the average break-in, this point of entry offers not much assistance, being that it leads into a locked room, which is why Yusuf was A) safe there and B) going to wait until One Two showed up to let him loose upon the building. If Yusuf had any particular problems with the plan (and he did, starting with part B onward), they paled in comparison to his reaction when he heard the lock turning and it wasn’t One Two. One good thing about Archy is he manages to keep his head even in the worst of times, prompting him to talk audibly to his escort at the risk of being hit again. When he is shoved and locked into the room, Yusuf is crouched behind the very worn sofa, trying not to hyperventilate.
Archy picks himself up and straightens himself out with a self-righteous grunt. Then he says, “Well you can come out now.”
Yusuf does, and stares at him.
“What the fucking hell are you doing here?” he hisses. “What’s happened?”
Archy sighs and regards the sofa with extreme suspicion before giving into the pain and exhaustion of having been struck and manhandled, and he sits gingerly. “Kent’s been shot,” he says. “Not fatally, but Johnny’s got them both eating out of his hand for it. He called my bluff.”
Yusuf stares at him, then comes around to the front of the sofa and stares at him some more. Archy glares up at him.
“Stop,” he says.
“Sorry,” says Yusuf. “I’m just trying to remember the word for this situation. Oh right. You miserable fucking cunt.”
“There’s no need for that,” says Archy defensively.
“No, I daresay there’s no need for any of this,” says Yusuf. “And yet here we are. What the hell have you gotten us into?!”
“It’s no worse that what you’d have gotten yourselves into,” he says wearily, “I assure you.”
“This is fantastic,” says Yusuf. “So what now? What do you brilliantly suggest for this wildly surprising turn of events?”
“Would you get yourself under control?” snaps Archy.
“I’m not the one who’s royally fucked up twice now,” says Yusuf. “Christ, this is why I never go into the field.”
Archy looks up at him, managing immense disdain in spite of everything. “You’re not in the field,” he says. “No one is asleep. You’re just locked in a room. Stop complaining.”
“I beg to differ,” says Yusuf. “Outside this room are guns with real bullets that will actually kill me. I’d much prefer to be in someone’s head right now. This is more of the fucking field than I ever needed.”
Archy stands up suddenly, which doesn’t feel terrific but he holds himself together impressively. “For fuck’s sake, Yusuf, shut the hell up,” he says. “You’re acting like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. No one wants to be Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.”
Yusuf is subdued more by what he sees as a completely unwarranted Hamlet metaphor than by anything else. His eyes narrow, wondering just how roughly Archy has been mistreated.
Impatiently, Archy explains, “They die at the end,” as if this will clarify matters.
“Yes,” says Yusuf, “that is generally the one thing that is widely known of them. Are you quite all right?”
“Never mind,” says Archy. “Look. Your part of the plan is still in motion. It’s gotten trickier but it’s still the best bet we have. You need to keep it together.”
“Fuck you,” says Yusuf. “It was a stupid plan to begin with. Your future is completely up in the air right now, I don’t even see why-”
“This is not about me, you ass,” says Archy. “Your friends are in there and god knows what Johnny wants from them. As they say in America, man the fuck up.”
Yusuf glares at Archy, but he backs down, because no one does want to be Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, if that’s what people are saying nowadays.
“Fine,” he says. “So, what now?”
“Now,” says Archy calmly, sitting back down with as much dignity as he can summon, “we wait.”
“Now, no one wants to be Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,” says Johnny, “and fortunately, you can be upgraded with almost no effort on your part. No one has to die at the end who didn’t have it coming, everybody wins. Right?”
Eames and Kent have been taken into a smaller room where Kent has been allowed to sit down and they have both been offered the opportunity to cautiously decline a drink. Eames stands near Kent with his arms folded, his eyes tracking the smears of red painted across Johnny’s shirt, the rest of the room blurring into a dim, desaturated mass.
“So, how about it,” says Johnny. “One last job together, for old time’s sake. Clear out all that bad history. And then you’re all free to go. You can be top billed players, then, say, Laertes, and…” he squints at Kent, “…Osric. How’s that sound?”
Back before he was part of the Wild Bunch, Eames led a very brief and very not-discussed life as a young actor. He’s been Laertes before, but Johnny doesn’t need to know that. He lifts his head.
“What about Arthur?” he says.
“Oh, you can take Ophelia with you too,” says Johnny generously. “She’s all yours. But you understand my need for collateral. We’ll take her out of the pond and dry her off for you once things are all squared away, and not a moment sooner.”
Eames doesn’t like this. Eames has no reason to trust Johnny, still has no idea what is even being talked about. But he doesn’t say anything. When he wants to, Eames is good at not saying anything.
“I’ll take that as an okay,” says Johnny. “Now, you’ve heard much talk of some big project I’m working on. Archy doesn’t like it because Archy doesn’t know what it is. And as a matter of fact, it rather concerns you. Quite lucky that you happened along, really.”
Eames frowns. “What are you talking about?” he says.
Johnny smiles.
One Two opens the door and is extremely startled to see Archy there. Yusuf stands up.
“About fucking time,” he says.
“What the hell’s going on out there?” demands One Two. “Everybody’s on edge. Johnny’s got half the staff wandering around with enormous fuck-off guns. What are you doing here?” This to Archy, who rolls his eyes.
“Things aren’t going well,” he says. “I am open to suggestions.”
One Two hesitates, because suggestions have never been his strong suit. “Um,” he says.
“Look, if you can get me out of here we can bluff our way back to Johnny. You’ll need to pass it off like he sent for me. But we’ve got to get Yusuf out of here, and we have to do both things at once. Understand?”
One Two nods, then hesitantly hands Yusuf his keys.
“You have got to be kidding,” says Yusuf.
“This is the best I can do,” says One Two. “The hallway just outside here isn’t too covered right now, and once you get down a ways there’s a whole line of locked doors. Bob’s friend is behind one of them. Maybe you can find him, all right?”
Yusuf is dubious, but there seems to be nothing more outlandishly wrong with this idea than what is already on the surface. So he begrudgingly accepts the keys. “I don’t suppose the rooms are numbered, are they?” he says.
One Two shrugs.
“Of course,” says Yusuf. “That would just be so convenient.”
“Look, just stay out of sight,” says Archy. “We’ll go out first, you follow if it’s clear.”
One Two and Archy get out with surprising ease, and Yusuf shortly finds himself wandering through a dark corridor with his heart in his throat and his hands sweating. He hates everyone for getting him into this right now.
He’s in the process of listening with an ear pressed to each of the various doors, hoping for any evidence of an unhappy occupant, when he starts to hear something in the distance, like footsteps possibly coming towards him.
“Fuck this,” he says under his breath and he fumbles for the key to the door directly in front of him. He finds it on the third try and opens it as quietly as he can.
“You can’t be serious,” Eames is saying. “You’re making this up.”
“Au contraire, mon ami,” says Johnny with no trace of the appropriate accent.
Yusuf shuts the door very carefully behind him. The room is dark, stuffy, and he has the distinct feeling he’s not alone. There’s a soft glow coming from somewhere within, from something that strikes him as familiar, but he’s too flustered to think straight and it isn’t enough to illuminate anything. He gropes for a light switch, terrified of what he’s about to find.
“No,” says Eames. “No. Absolutely not. I will not.”
“That isn’t going to end well for you, I’m afraid,” says Johnny with a sympathetic shrug.
Yusuf finds the light, and it takes him a moment to understand what he’s looking at. The light was coming from the PASIV device which is on a table in the middle of the room, but it’s the person it’s hooked up to that is giving him trouble.
“Fuck you,” says Eames, perhaps a bit rashly. “I don’t want any part of this.”
“Wait, what is the problem?” says Kent, completely lost. “Who the hell is Mr. Saito?”
Yusuf stares, but can’t convince himself he’s hallucinating. Eventually he pulls himself together and examines the machine. Saito has been unconscious for going on three days.
As gently as he can while swearing under his breath, Yusuf removes the needle. It takes Saito several moments to wake up, and when he does, he doesn’t feel any better for it.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” says Yusuf.
Saito blinks at him. “What are you doing here?” is all he has to say for himself.
Johnny shrugs. “Kent, is it?” he says. “I had them shoot your left shoulder because I thought it was a safe bet you’re a right-arm man. Did I get it right?”
Reluctantly, Kent nods.
“Good,” says Johnny.” There’s paper, pen, armed guard outside. Start designing something, doesn’t have to be too complicated. Your basic extraction job.” He looks at Eames. “You, come with me,” he says. “You need some convincing.”
Continues here