Rerun, Revenge
Title: Rerun, Revenge
Rating: PG
Characters: Sawyer, Jack, Jacob, mentions of John
Word Count: 931
Spoilers: Through S5 finale
Summary: Sawyer gets surprise information between cons.
Author’s Notes: For
invisiblelove at lostsquee 's Luau. Some Jack and Sawyer interaction, post island reset. Makes more sense if read as a sequel to Unmake, Remake. Posted here for archive.
“If my foot gets run over one more time...” Sawyer cursed under his breath. Of course the day he'd decided to live it up a little in a nice hotel, he'd ended up in the middle of a cripple convention. He gripped the handle of his luggage a little tighter, visualizing the cash inside, and taking consolation from another job well done.
Narrowly avoiding another wheelchair, Sawyer'd begun contemplating investing some of his hard won capital in steel-toed boots when he was knocked flat by a man in a business suit, papers flying out from his briefcase in every direction.
“I'm so sorry! Are you alright?” He looked over at Sawyer as he haphazardly tried to stuff the papers back where they belonged.
“Yeah. Better to be knocked over than run down, I suppose.” Scowling, Sawyer got back to his feet, holding a couple of the papers in one hand. Consolation prize, he told himself, walking away and leaving the man to his task.
Sawyer took the elevator nearly to the top and walked down the hall to his room as quickly as he could without giving the impression he was in an actual hurry. He unlocked the door and tossed his suitcase on the bed.
“Probably some fundraiser for the hobble James Ford foundation,” he told the empty room as he sat down at the desk to go over his latest acquisition.
It looked something like a police report, or judging from the letterhead, maybe from a fancy private detective agency.
Name: Anthony Cooper
Occupation: Retired
Family: John Locke - son
Known Aliases: Ted MacLaren, Adam Seward, Louis Jackson, Tom Sawyer
Last Known Residence: Tustin, California
“What?” Sawyer's eyes darted back and froze. Tom Sawyer. There was no way...
He flipped through the pages frantically-kidney transplant, the attempted murder of his own son, past arrests and not many convictions. On the second to last page a photo had been pasted onto the back, and Sawyer memorized the face of an old man. After all this time, he'd found him. Someone had anyway, Sawyer only had part of the report.
“The rest of it's got to be with briefcase guy,” he mused. He'd call them, ask if he could return something to their man at the hotel. If things got violent later, well, he'd made more than one fast escape. Sawyer turned back to the front page to look at the letterhead.
Service Sobek Inc.
(481) 516-2342
Sawyer managed to sweet talk the lady on the phone into setting up a meeting for the two men at the hotel bar in about a hour. He got there a half hour early and glared at anyone that walked (or wheeled) in his direction. At an hour on the dot the man Sawyer was waiting for approached his booth.
“So what's your name, jack?” He tried to look as disinterested in the answer as he could manage.
“That is my name...Jack. Jack Shephard,” he radiated barely suppressed amusement as he slid in to the opposite seat. “They called me and said you had something I'd lost?”
“Yeah, about that. You bring the rest of those papers with you?” Sawyer leaned forward, impatient with waiting.
“I just finished arguing with the guy I delivered them to. I told him we could get replacements sent, but he wasn't listening to anything I tried to tell him,” Jack shook his head ruefully. “I'm just a courier, getting mad at me won't help anything.”
Sawyer could feel a vein in his forehead throbbing, he tried to keep his voice level, “Well, why don't you tell me who you handed them off to? I'll go complete the collection.”
“Sorry, it's supposed to be confidential. So if you could just--” Jack was grabbed and pulled roughly forward until they were nose to nose over the table.
“You listen here, buddy. I want a name and a room number now, or I'm gonna make you wish you were never born,” Sawyer said, and meant it.
Jack didn't seem to feel threatened however--in fact he broke out into hysterical laughter. Unnerved, Sawyer let go, tossing him backwards into his seat.
“J-John L-Locke, ha-ha-ha-ha, r-room one o-oh e-eight, ha-ha-ha...” Jack was nearly in tears, but he couldn't stop. Sawyer walked away disgusted, but hoped the front desk could send him to the right place.
“It's not really that funny,” a contradictorily amused voice said from behind Jack.
“If he'd said anything else--” Jack gasped, still shaking with laughter.
“Rum and coke, minus the rum,” Jacob sat down across from Jack, slid a glass over to him, then placed one in front of himself.
“P-probably for the best,” Jack took a breath and steadied himself before taking a drink.
“Had an interesting day, I see,” Jacob sipped his drink, watching Jack closely.
“Yeah. I knew it would be harder than usual, seeing them both. I knew they would be different, John especially.” Jack massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingers, remembering the stubborn man stuck in a wheelchair, “He's still infuriating, just in a different way. I hope they don't kill each other.”
“Maybe they will, maybe they won't. You know how it goes,” he said mildly.
“It depends. Like in Atlanta when you told me to find that girl on Peachtree. Do you know how many Peachtree's there are in Atlanta?” Jack complained.
Jacob nodded, “Seventy-one.”
Jack only sighed. “Nevermind.”