The Streets of Chicago Part V
Eames', Arthur learned as he leafed through the man's file, had been busy since they last saw each other. University at Oxford, as he'd planned, with a double major in Art History and Theater. His first job post graduation was at The British Museum in London, working under one of the chief painting restorers. He held that job for six years, until the night of an armed robbery. According to his statement, Eames was working late on a Renaissance portrait, and was ambushed by the thieves. They threatened to kill him, and he was forced to hand over the painting. Eames resigned a month later, and then disappeared.
Curiously, the painting that showed up on the black market six months later was a forgery, one so skilled that only the most sophisticated tests could tell. Even odder, a year and a half after that, the authentic painting was fenced, causing a great stir in the underground. The man who hawked the item was known only as The Englishman.
The Englishman was connected to several of the greatest art heists of the modern era, including from the Louvre, the Acropolis, and the Uffizi Gallery. Whether he lifted the art directly or was merely the mastermind behind the theft never was determined. Eight months ago rumor had it that the Englishman was retiring. Six months ago the identity of Reginald Englor surfaced in Paris, nearing Eames' description. He was an independently wealthy gentlemen from England who worked unnecessarily at the Rue de Roi Theatre. Not long ago, he took a trip to Prague.
Of course, only bits of this was in Eames' file. All that it included was his high school and college education, his employment at the British Museum and statement about the robbery, and his new identity as Englor. Because Arthur was the best at what he did, he connected the rest of the dots. It wasn't even really that hard; it made him wonder whether he was just exceptionally smart, or everyone else was exceptionally stupid.
Arthur's stomach rumbled, and he checked his watch. 3:16 am; he'd been working for over ten hours straight. Time for some fuel, and then back to work. He needed to figure out who this “George” person was, and why they wanted to frame Eames.
Framed, if Eames was telling the truth. Eleven years was a long time, and perhaps Arthur didn't truly know Eames anymore, but he hoped he still knew him well enough. Enough to believe that he hadn't become a killer.
Sighing, Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose and stood up. The kitchen was well-stocked, and he grabbed a pre-made ham, cheese, and lettuce with garlic spread sandwich from the fridge. Although he knew how to cook, he didn't often have time to, so a lot of their food could be heated in the microwave or thrown in the oven. Gourmet dinners were reserved for business. The last time he had a home-cooked meal, now that he thought of it, was just before Dom found him. After Eames left …
“Dear,” Ms. Hansen said, leaning over the table and peering at him in concern. “Are you alright? You aren't eating much.” Arthur picked at his food. He knew he should eat, but he just couldn't seem to summon the proper enthusiasm. It was a pity, because Ms. Hansen was an excellent cook. In fact, lately Arthur didn't feel much enthusiasm for anything at all. Even his books weren't enough.
He knew why. He knew it was because last week had been one year to the day since Eames left, and Arthur hadn't received one letter since. He had given up hope on that changing. Eames had gone to London and forgotten about him, just as he'd promised he wouldn't.
He had lost his best friend and he couldn't even confront him about it. Eames hadn't his address before he went, and was going to write it on the first envelope he sent; except it never came. Arthur truly had no idea where Eames was or what he was doing, and it hurt.
Arthur knew Eames was handsome, and charming, and bright enough to do or be whatever he wanted. He knew Eames was probably overwhelmed with all the new people and opportunities right under his nose and begging for a sliver of his attention. The knowledge that Arthur wasn't important enough to him to distract from those things only made Arthur angry.
It also puzzled him, because Eames had never been the sort to break promises; he was unfailingly loyal the whole time Arthur knew him. Or perhaps that was it; perhaps Eames had grown tired of their friendship before he left, and had gone to London to escape him. It was true that Arthur didn't have many friends, and as a result spent most of his time with Eames; but Eames had never complained and always acted glad to have Arthur around.
Half of Arthur just wanted to be angry and sulk, and the other half was going crazy trying to figure out what went wrong. It was probably a bit pathetic and dependent, but his friendship with Eames was the most meaningful relationship in Arthur's life. He didn't want to believe it had all been a lie.
Ariadne had, thankfully, stuck beside him despite his increasing antisocial behavior and black moods. She tried to get him to eat and sleep like a normal human being, and always forgave him when he snapped at her. Ariadne was the only one who knew about Arthur's crush on Eames, and why his abandonment was affecting him so harshly. Their kiss on the New Year before Eames left had been awkward and not terribly pleasant. They had agreed they shouldn't try again.
In the year since Eames' departure, Arthur had lost five pounds he didn't have to begin with and slept about three hours a night. Save for Ari, he spent his time alone, walking and listening to music.
Then Cobb arrived, and Arthur had the chance the start over.