"The only thing that made me sick was remembering how quick you were to return my affections. Really, Sam. I was drugged."
One kiss. One to her, what, five? How does that really do anything? I kissed her to make her believe that I was going to come back. That's all there is to it.
"Why don't you tell me what your excuse is?"
"I worked the situation so I could get out of there alive." I said simply, sitting down comfortably. "If you don't remember, you were a little grabby. I thought that part of you dead. It was a nice change." Especially since I brought it out of her. Gas aside, that was a little nice, even if it was brought on by her being stoned.
"So how's life treating you lately?" A little conversation, it's nice.
"Mr. Howell, could I get you and your wi--"
"Champange to start would be great, thank you Marc." I looked over at the waiter as he came up. I've been here a few times, and they think I'm a married millionaire because I came here posing as one with a mark.
I remember that one because it was hell poisoning the guy, but I still liked the place to come a few times. And even though this would make the fourth time I've been here, they still naturally remember my name.
"I'll get that right away."
Good, you can go now. Stop trying to please the 'rich guy'. I swear I'm not leaving a tip.
"I worked the situation so I could get out of there alive."
"Yeah, you worked it with your tongue."
I remember a lot of kissing, now that I'm letting myself think about it and not trying to discount the whole thing as a hallucination the way I was hoping to. In my state of mind, I made a few pushy moves, kissed him a couple times, suggested a few things. But he did it all back. All of it.
Which would be flattering if I didn't want to kill him so much for it. For other things too. The other things just aren't an issue at the moment, and the kissing is.
Working the situation. He was working a hell of a lot more than the situation.
"If you don't remember, you were a little grabby. I thought that part of you dead. It was a nice change."
"If it was dead, you're the one who killed it baby."
I'm being honest. Never in my life did I have to go as long without sex as I did after we were married. That kind of thing is bad for a woman like me. It could have made me nervous or lowered my self esteem. There could have been long term issues.
But for the most part it just made me extremely sexually frustrated.
"So how's life treating you lately?"
"You could say its had its highs and lows."
I think that about sums it up. Getting high, lowering myself from one exploding building to a close, smaller one.
Yeah, pretty much it.
"Mr. Howell, could I get you and your wi--"
"Champange to start would be great, thank you Marc."
"I'll get that right away."
Does he come here often? Is there a mistress I don't know about who this handsome waiter does? I could threaten him for some answers while I'm here, see what really went on during our marriage.
...Unless Sam is like me, and he takes high profile marks for the occassional last meal before the killing.
Oh big deal. At Giumarello's they think I'm a French pop singing sensation.
And it actually handles most of what I wanted to talk about here. Which is good. But since I'm stuck with not too much time left to finish this, from what I'm hearing, it'd be a really good idea to start looking for some open shots, despite the witnesses.
"So what're we going to do, Car?" I asked finally after I'd let the silence go enough while I watched the dancers on the floor. "I mean, we've got a problem here. You definitely want me dead, and I'm getting less and less concerned about what happens to you."
I looked away from the dancers, looking back to her. "I mean, do we just handle it right here? Shoot it out, see who wins? What?"
That smirk. Why didn't I see more of that smirk before? Was she so into the whole keeping up the act thing that she couldn't have given me a little more of that?
All I ask for is a little extra, y'know? I dealt with the rest of it for three four years, a little bit every once in a while would have been great.
"So what're we going to do, Car? I mean, we've got a problem here. You definitely want me dead, and I'm getting less and less concerned about what happens to you."
Isn't that heartbreaking? My own husband doesn't care about what happens to me. The one person who should want me to be happy and healthy doesn't give a damn. That's just...
Exactly how I feel about him. No, actually, it's more than that. I want him dead. It's not that I don't care. I care too much. I'd like to see this thing through, make Sam pay for making a fool out of me for the four years I wasted on him.
"I mean, do we just handle it right here? Shoot it out, see who wins? What?"
We could do that. I wouldn't mind attempting to kill my husband in the middle of a crowd. I think I would like it. I haven't had that type of challenge in a long time. If I could pull it off, I think I'd deserve some kind of raise for my trouble. For beating the deadline in a creative fashion, things like this are rarely ever done anymore.
Although, I doubt they'd ever let me back in this place. I don't like that part of it.
"Hmm." I smirked at him. "Well that would be a shame. Getting reservation here would probably be a bitch and a half after I killed you."
"Hmm. Well that would be a shame. Getting reservation here would probably be a bitch and a half after I killed you."
She developed a sense of humor. This is new.
"Mmm. Funny."
I really want to kill her. Not just because of the deadline, the whole forty eight hour thing that's going to be up soon, but in general. I really... really want to kill her. I don't think anyone can blame me for wanting to be the one to pull the trigger in all this.
Even if that smirk is hot.
Alright, back on track here. Focus. If I'm going to do this, I need to disarm her. And there's no way to do it sitting like this. Then, glancing over at the dancers, I think of a fun way to get it done.
This should be interesting.
I stood, putting on a pleasant smile and holding a hand out to her. I can be nice a little while longer, and I don't want her getting any hints, regardless of the fact she probably is going to have the same idea in about a second.
I almost laughed as I took his hand and stood up. This is one of the classiest restaurants in Los Angeles, filled with rich, irritating socilalites. And Sam thinks he's going to dance on the floor without absolutely humiliating himself?
I think I'll pretend I don't know him when that happens.
"You don't dance."
Period. As in, his two left feet are really funny, but I can't take him anywhere. Although it wasn't that way in Rio. If I remember correctly that night was just a lot of slow movement and kissing. If I remember correctly. Everything about our marriage has faded a little bit now, even the good memories.
Which doesn't surprise me, considering how few of those there were.
But fine, if Sam thinks he's going to dance, I'll humor him. It could prove to be hilarious.
That whole constantly underestimating thing is really touching. Come on, give me a little credit. Or don't, and I guaruntee you it'll get you killed. Isn't the smart thing supposed to be never to underestimate the enemy?
Remember your training, Car. Unless you really do have that much of a deathwish. In which case, I'm going to be happy to accomidate.
"Just apart of the cover, sweetheart."
I led her out onto the dance floor, and moved my hands to the right places as the music moved to a tango. The other people out here are boring, how the hell do they live like that?
I started moving, making sure I still had the lead while I did so. Dancing really isn't that hard, a lot of guys really overthink it, and then they get nervous, which is what messes them up.
I kept my eyes on her the whole time, half wondering where to start. I'm sure she's hiding something in an interesting place.
Maybe after this she'll finally get that I know what I'm doing more than she thinks I do.
Either that, or she'll still grasp at that other string that says I don't just so she can hold onto her ego.
Huh. I guess you learn something new every day. Recently I learned that my husband works for the enemy and wants to kill me. Him knowing how to dance shouldn't come as much of a shock to me after that one.
Okay. This won't be too bad.
"Was sloth part of your cover too?"
I let him lead, not taking my eyes away from his for a second. He doesn't want to dance, he wants the physical contact involved in dancing. In other words, he wants the knives and the gun, and the bomb. He won't find the last one, I don't care how good he is.
And he was never that good to begin with.
Sam started leading me towards the wall. Before I could think of a move out of it my back was connecting sharply with the glass, and he held me there for the two seconds it took for the situation to piss me off before starting up again.
Then there was the touching, part two.
I used to make him buy me dinner before we got to this part.
And we're just batting a thousand with the humor, aren't we Car? Good to know this is yet another side of you that you repressed during this whole thing.
I just smirked and acted like this wasn't annoying as I fell into the beat, relaxed enough not to let this whole thing screw me up. That's how I work with this kind of thing. Relaxed. She's not going to get me any other way.
I moved her back towards the wall, and my smirk got better as her back went into the glass and some of it broke.
Yeah, don't screw with me, sweetheart. You won't win like you seem to think you will.
Keeping up, I moved her back just enough to get her leg up as I dipped her a bit, and my hand moved up her thigh, finding the knife in the holster she had around it. I whipped it behind me so it'd bury itself in the wall.
One down. I wonder where she's got the rest of it.
I knew he'd get that one. The knife was the easy one. Anyone could have found the knife. I'm not going to give Sam any credit for getting it, not when it was such an easy weapon to pick up on.
So he got one of mine. I'll get his too. I'll get a better one of his in a more interesting place. Suits have pockets, folds, places to sneak things in. I'll make sure nothing gets by me.
That's his hand on my ass, damnit.
I let Sam dip me back and run his hand down as far as he wanted to. He won't find anything there.
Just like I haven't found anything relating to the lower half of my body and Sam in ages.
"Satisfied?"
Is it my turn yet? All this desperate grabbing is getting a little old.
Do we really want to get into that? Because I could go all night giving an answer to that question. You don't even want to try me there.
"Not in years, babe." I said as I brought her back up, keeping the smirk on my face as I continued to move us to the music. I'll go for the rest when I figure out where to try, and I know by now she's going to start searching me.
This'll be the first time we've even remotely come close to touching each other in a way that might be thought of as intimate in a freakin' age.
Did I miss it? Well, that doesn't make a difference, does it? I just need to focus on getting all the weapons off of her, even though now she's going to do to the same to me.
You're not the only one, Sam. I suffered too. I suffered night, after night, after night. Because someone was 'too tired' to have decent sex with his wife. By the time we were worried about it being decent, I'm sure either of us would have settled for it being mediocre.
Unless I was strictly his mark, and Sam wasn't attracted to me at all from the night in Rio on. If that's what it was, having sex with me must have really killed him. Maybe he's just that professional, and he couldn't touch me like this without wanting to vomit. I don't know. Mostly because I don't know him. Not at all.
He isn't a bad dancer.
"Well then." I smirked, gettting a start on my portion of the feeling up and disarming. I ran my hand up along his arm, feeling nothing aside from a muscle I didn't know was there. Then I pulled the low blow, the same way Sam had done with me. I lowered my hand down until it was as low as I needed to be, and moved it forward, feeling along the seam of his crotch, because Sam just would put something there.
I waited for her hand to move somewhere else, half wondering how long it'd take her to find something. There's really only a few places you can hide a gun and get away with it. Same goes for knives.
Not really because it might show through your clothes, that only makes a difference if the situation requires it to. More because you're in danger of getting something important shot off or cut if you make the wrong move.
I know guys that can hide knives anywhere on them. I have no idea how the hell they do it.
... And there's a long forgotten feeling.
I kept my face carefully expressionless as I felt her hand feeling my crotch for something. Yeah, we're not shameless at all today, are we Car.
"That's all Sammy, sweetheart." I turned her, continuing to move without being bothered by what she just did.
I smirked back at him, only letting him move me so far before I moved my hand up again, going to his waistline,his stomach, his chest...nothing there. Obviously, I'm not looking low enough.
"You go on and say that like there was a lot to feel."
I crouched down to search his legs, finding a gun and taking it out. I slide it across the floor and over to the corner of the room before standing up again.
Did he think he was going to get that one by me?
He continued to lead me across the floor, but I was running out of places to look. The only thing I found was a gun. One gun. He had to have more on him than that.
Oh well, he will now.
I managed to get the device out of the waistline of my dress when Sam slammed me into another wall, and pretended to search his pocket while I slipped it in.
I love our technology department. They made that thing almost perfectly flat.
"You go on and say that like there was a lot to feel."
"Cute." I rolled my eyes, and kept going, then watched her drop down to check my legs. I looked over at an elderly couple that was staring at us, and smirked.
Yeah, if only it was like that. But let's let them think it is, anyway.
I waited until Carly took my gun, and was a little glad she didn't find the knife. Maybe I'll end up using that. It'll take a little work to get it out like this though, so I'll have to save it until after we finish this.
And as far as the little bit of agression there... I call it letting off steam. I'm entitled, she's pissing me off. Otherwise, I'll do something that could end up being a bad move because I let getting pissed cloud things.
I realized I didn't have much time on the clock and ran up the stairs, heading for the rest room. I'm glad I took the time to plan the perfect diversion for getting the hell out of here, I don't want to be seen near him when the timer runs out. When I reached the ladies room I warned everyone to evacuate, and started out with them, missing the explosion by seconds.
The alarmed crowds of people pushing and showing their way to the door made it easy for me to get past Sam before he could find me.
I looked back to him once. We made eye contact for a few seconds and I turned my head away and continued out.
Unless someone up there likes him, that'll be the last time I ever see Sam alive. But even if he lives, I know I won this round. His smooth dancing and traces of personality didn't get him anywhere.
I'm the victorious one, that's all there is to it.
One kiss. One to her, what, five? How does that really do anything? I kissed her to make her believe that I was going to come back. That's all there is to it.
"Why don't you tell me what your excuse is?"
"I worked the situation so I could get out of there alive." I said simply, sitting down comfortably. "If you don't remember, you were a little grabby. I thought that part of you dead. It was a nice change." Especially since I brought it out of her. Gas aside, that was a little nice, even if it was brought on by her being stoned.
"So how's life treating you lately?" A little conversation, it's nice.
"Mr. Howell, could I get you and your wi--"
"Champange to start would be great, thank you Marc." I looked over at the waiter as he came up. I've been here a few times, and they think I'm a married millionaire because I came here posing as one with a mark.
I remember that one because it was hell poisoning the guy, but I still liked the place to come a few times. And even though this would make the fourth time I've been here, they still naturally remember my name.
"I'll get that right away."
Good, you can go now. Stop trying to please the 'rich guy'. I swear I'm not leaving a tip.
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"Yeah, you worked it with your tongue."
I remember a lot of kissing, now that I'm letting myself think about it and not trying to discount the whole thing as a hallucination the way I was hoping to. In my state of mind, I made a few pushy moves, kissed him a couple times, suggested a few things. But he did it all back. All of it.
Which would be flattering if I didn't want to kill him so much for it. For other things too. The other things just aren't an issue at the moment, and the kissing is.
Working the situation. He was working a hell of a lot more than the situation.
"If you don't remember, you were a little grabby. I thought that part of you dead. It was a nice change."
"If it was dead, you're the one who killed it baby."
I'm being honest. Never in my life did I have to go as long without sex as I did after we were married. That kind of thing is bad for a woman like me. It could have made me nervous or lowered my self esteem. There could have been long term issues.
But for the most part it just made me extremely sexually frustrated.
"So how's life treating you lately?"
"You could say its had its highs and lows."
I think that about sums it up. Getting high, lowering myself from one exploding building to a close, smaller one.
Yeah, pretty much it.
"Mr. Howell, could I get you and your wi--"
"Champange to start would be great, thank you Marc."
"I'll get that right away."
Does he come here often? Is there a mistress I don't know about who this handsome waiter does? I could threaten him for some answers while I'm here, see what really went on during our marriage.
...Unless Sam is like me, and he takes high profile marks for the occassional last meal before the killing.
Oh big deal. At Giumarello's they think I'm a French pop singing sensation.
Beat that, honey.
"I think you should know. I want a divorce."
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"Sounds like a great idea."
And it actually handles most of what I wanted to talk about here. Which is good. But since I'm stuck with not too much time left to finish this, from what I'm hearing, it'd be a really good idea to start looking for some open shots, despite the witnesses.
"So what're we going to do, Car?" I asked finally after I'd let the silence go enough while I watched the dancers on the floor. "I mean, we've got a problem here. You definitely want me dead, and I'm getting less and less concerned about what happens to you."
I looked away from the dancers, looking back to her. "I mean, do we just handle it right here? Shoot it out, see who wins? What?"
That smirk. Why didn't I see more of that smirk before? Was she so into the whole keeping up the act thing that she couldn't have given me a little more of that?
All I ask for is a little extra, y'know? I dealt with the rest of it for three four years, a little bit every once in a while would have been great.
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Isn't that heartbreaking? My own husband doesn't care about what happens to me. The one person who should want me to be happy and healthy doesn't give a damn. That's just...
Exactly how I feel about him. No, actually, it's more than that. I want him dead. It's not that I don't care. I care too much. I'd like to see this thing through, make Sam pay for making a fool out of me for the four years I wasted on him.
"I mean, do we just handle it right here? Shoot it out, see who wins? What?"
We could do that. I wouldn't mind attempting to kill my husband in the middle of a crowd. I think I would like it. I haven't had that type of challenge in a long time. If I could pull it off, I think I'd deserve some kind of raise for my trouble. For beating the deadline in a creative fashion, things like this are rarely ever done anymore.
Although, I doubt they'd ever let me back in this place. I don't like that part of it.
"Hmm." I smirked at him. "Well that would be a shame. Getting reservation here would probably be a bitch and a half after I killed you."
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She developed a sense of humor. This is new.
"Mmm. Funny."
I really want to kill her. Not just because of the deadline, the whole forty eight hour thing that's going to be up soon, but in general. I really... really want to kill her. I don't think anyone can blame me for wanting to be the one to pull the trigger in all this.
Even if that smirk is hot.
Alright, back on track here. Focus. If I'm going to do this, I need to disarm her. And there's no way to do it sitting like this. Then, glancing over at the dancers, I think of a fun way to get it done.
This should be interesting.
I stood, putting on a pleasant smile and holding a hand out to her. I can be nice a little while longer, and I don't want her getting any hints, regardless of the fact she probably is going to have the same idea in about a second.
"Dance with me."
That's right baby, Sammy dances.
Take that.
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I almost laughed as I took his hand and stood up. This is one of the classiest restaurants in Los Angeles, filled with rich, irritating socilalites. And Sam thinks he's going to dance on the floor without absolutely humiliating himself?
I think I'll pretend I don't know him when that happens.
"You don't dance."
Period. As in, his two left feet are really funny, but I can't take him anywhere. Although it wasn't that way in Rio. If I remember correctly that night was just a lot of slow movement and kissing. If I remember correctly. Everything about our marriage has faded a little bit now, even the good memories.
Which doesn't surprise me, considering how few of those there were.
But fine, if Sam thinks he's going to dance, I'll humor him. It could prove to be hilarious.
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That whole constantly underestimating thing is really touching. Come on, give me a little credit. Or don't, and I guaruntee you it'll get you killed. Isn't the smart thing supposed to be never to underestimate the enemy?
Remember your training, Car. Unless you really do have that much of a deathwish. In which case, I'm going to be happy to accomidate.
"Just apart of the cover, sweetheart."
I led her out onto the dance floor, and moved my hands to the right places as the music moved to a tango. The other people out here are boring, how the hell do they live like that?
I started moving, making sure I still had the lead while I did so. Dancing really isn't that hard, a lot of guys really overthink it, and then they get nervous, which is what messes them up.
I kept my eyes on her the whole time, half wondering where to start. I'm sure she's hiding something in an interesting place.
Maybe after this she'll finally get that I know what I'm doing more than she thinks I do.
Either that, or she'll still grasp at that other string that says I don't just so she can hold onto her ego.
I wouldn't doubt either one.
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Huh. I guess you learn something new every day. Recently I learned that my husband works for the enemy and wants to kill me. Him knowing how to dance shouldn't come as much of a shock to me after that one.
Okay. This won't be too bad.
"Was sloth part of your cover too?"
I let him lead, not taking my eyes away from his for a second. He doesn't want to dance, he wants the physical contact involved in dancing. In other words, he wants the knives and the gun, and the bomb. He won't find the last one, I don't care how good he is.
And he was never that good to begin with.
Sam started leading me towards the wall. Before I could think of a move out of it my back was connecting sharply with the glass, and he held me there for the two seconds it took for the situation to piss me off before starting up again.
Then there was the touching, part two.
I used to make him buy me dinner before we got to this part.
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And we're just batting a thousand with the humor, aren't we Car? Good to know this is yet another side of you that you repressed during this whole thing.
I just smirked and acted like this wasn't annoying as I fell into the beat, relaxed enough not to let this whole thing screw me up. That's how I work with this kind of thing. Relaxed. She's not going to get me any other way.
I moved her back towards the wall, and my smirk got better as her back went into the glass and some of it broke.
Yeah, don't screw with me, sweetheart. You won't win like you seem to think you will.
Keeping up, I moved her back just enough to get her leg up as I dipped her a bit, and my hand moved up her thigh, finding the knife in the holster she had around it. I whipped it behind me so it'd bury itself in the wall.
One down. I wonder where she's got the rest of it.
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So he got one of mine. I'll get his too. I'll get a better one of his in a more interesting place. Suits have pockets, folds, places to sneak things in. I'll make sure nothing gets by me.
That's his hand on my ass, damnit.
I let Sam dip me back and run his hand down as far as he wanted to. He won't find anything there.
Just like I haven't found anything relating to the lower half of my body and Sam in ages.
"Satisfied?"
Is it my turn yet? All this desperate grabbing is getting a little old.
--But that felt a little nice.
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Do we really want to get into that? Because I could go all night giving an answer to that question. You don't even want to try me there.
"Not in years, babe." I said as I brought her back up, keeping the smirk on my face as I continued to move us to the music. I'll go for the rest when I figure out where to try, and I know by now she's going to start searching me.
This'll be the first time we've even remotely come close to touching each other in a way that might be thought of as intimate in a freakin' age.
Did I miss it? Well, that doesn't make a difference, does it? I just need to focus on getting all the weapons off of her, even though now she's going to do to the same to me.
Take your best shot, sweetheart.
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You're not the only one, Sam. I suffered too. I suffered night, after night, after night. Because someone was 'too tired' to have decent sex with his wife. By the time we were worried about it being decent, I'm sure either of us would have settled for it being mediocre.
Unless I was strictly his mark, and Sam wasn't attracted to me at all from the night in Rio on. If that's what it was, having sex with me must have really killed him. Maybe he's just that professional, and he couldn't touch me like this without wanting to vomit. I don't know. Mostly because I don't know him. Not at all.
He isn't a bad dancer.
"Well then." I smirked, gettting a start on my portion of the feeling up and disarming. I ran my hand up along his arm, feeling nothing aside from a muscle I didn't know was there. Then I pulled the low blow, the same way Sam had done with me. I lowered my hand down until it was as low as I needed to be, and moved it forward, feeling along the seam of his crotch, because Sam just would put something there.
But maybe not a gun. That's a little risky.
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Not there, sweetheart, try again.
I waited for her hand to move somewhere else, half wondering how long it'd take her to find something. There's really only a few places you can hide a gun and get away with it. Same goes for knives.
Not really because it might show through your clothes, that only makes a difference if the situation requires it to. More because you're in danger of getting something important shot off or cut if you make the wrong move.
I know guys that can hide knives anywhere on them. I have no idea how the hell they do it.
... And there's a long forgotten feeling.
I kept my face carefully expressionless as I felt her hand feeling my crotch for something. Yeah, we're not shameless at all today, are we Car.
"That's all Sammy, sweetheart." I turned her, continuing to move without being bothered by what she just did.
Or, at least, looking like I wasn't bothered.
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I smirked back at him, only letting him move me so far before I moved my hand up again, going to his waistline,his stomach, his chest...nothing there. Obviously, I'm not looking low enough.
"You go on and say that like there was a lot to feel."
I crouched down to search his legs, finding a gun and taking it out. I slide it across the floor and over to the corner of the room before standing up again.
Did he think he was going to get that one by me?
He continued to lead me across the floor, but I was running out of places to look. The only thing I found was a gun. One gun. He had to have more on him than that.
Oh well, he will now.
I managed to get the device out of the waistline of my dress when Sam slammed me into another wall, and pretended to search his pocket while I slipped it in.
I love our technology department. They made that thing almost perfectly flat.
I should be getting out of here soon.
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"Cute." I rolled my eyes, and kept going, then watched her drop down to check my legs. I looked over at an elderly couple that was staring at us, and smirked.
Yeah, if only it was like that. But let's let them think it is, anyway.
I waited until Carly took my gun, and was a little glad she didn't find the knife. Maybe I'll end up using that. It'll take a little work to get it out like this though, so I'll have to save it until after we finish this.
And as far as the little bit of agression there... I call it letting off steam. I'm entitled, she's pissing me off. Otherwise, I'll do something that could end up being a bad move because I let getting pissed cloud things.
"You done?"
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"In more ways than one."
I realized I didn't have much time on the clock and ran up the stairs, heading for the rest room. I'm glad I took the time to plan the perfect diversion for getting the hell out of here, I don't want to be seen near him when the timer runs out. When I reached the ladies room I warned everyone to evacuate, and started out with them, missing the explosion by seconds.
The alarmed crowds of people pushing and showing their way to the door made it easy for me to get past Sam before he could find me.
I looked back to him once. We made eye contact for a few seconds and I turned my head away and continued out.
Unless someone up there likes him, that'll be the last time I ever see Sam alive. But even if he lives, I know I won this round. His smooth dancing and traces of personality didn't get him anywhere.
I'm the victorious one, that's all there is to it.
And it feels really, really weird.
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