Fic: The man who had none of the luck 2/6
Part 2
Arthur - Hong Kong: 28th August, 4.23am
They left the hotel room at exactly 23 minutes past 4, local time, approximately five minutes after emerging from the shared dream by Arthur's watch, despite Eames' best attempts to delay them with strategically placed groping, and about two and a half hours before their mark would wake up from his drug induced slumber, depending on the vagaries of the man in question's particular biochemistry and metabolism. He briefly glanced at the corpulent figure on the hotel bed as he locked the room behind them and revised his estimate down to 2 hours given the body mass involved and the dosage used.
He resisted glancing at the man at his side, something that took more willpower than he was willing to admit, and turned to head casually down the plush carpet of the luxurious hotel that the mark was staying in, PASIV a comforting weight in the briefcase at his side.
He didn't even get a step before a all too familiar hand grabbed his arm and pulled him into a searing kiss. He suppressed, with almost more effort than he'd care to admit, the near overwhelming desire to melt into the kiss, instead pulling back with a disapproving frown, “Not now!” he hissed through gritted teeth. He glanced around. The corridor was empty and the hotel room door was in a CCTV blind-spot. He'd made sure of it. Even so, they couldn't risk been seen together, not this soon after a job, and certainly not like this.
Eames just grinned mockingly at him before leaning forward and breathing into his ear, “Really darling, you need to relax more. I'll see you at the airport.” He then sauntered casually off down the hallway, weaving as if drunk and looking for all the world like he'd just snuck out of a hotel room after a one-night stand, instead of an evening of pulling out all the sordid little secrets of a corrupt banker with a penchant for smacking around hookers.
Clenching his fists so hard he almost drew blood, Arthur took one breath, then two, getting himself back under control. He straightened his tie, and walked calmly down the other direction down the hotel hallway, his mind occupied with plotting the many and varied ways he could extract his revenge on the insufferable forger who had somehow managed to worm his way far too completely into his life.
++++
He saw him again five hours later at the airport, whilst absent mindedly browsing the duty free, waiting for his flight to be called. They always separated after a job, taking different flights to separate locations. It would be a minimum of two weeks before they contacted each other again. In part because it was safer this way, too many near misses of being seen together had made that lesson obvious. More than that though was a need for each of them to regain their own individuality, their own identities from the almost terrifying intimacy they tended to fall into when working closely together on a job for weeks or months at a time. For each of them to have their own space to breath.
But before they went their separate ways, there was always this, a near ritual by now developed over too long sharing each others beds and even longer sharing each others dreams.
Arthur studiously avoided making any movement as Eames brushed past him in the shop, in a gesture that to an outsiders view would have been nothing more than an accidental touch in a too-crowded airport. He also avoided doing more than glancing in the forgers direction, noting which toilets he was heading towards before calming picking up the copy of The Economist he'd been browsing and taking it to the counter, snagging a bottle of mineral water on the way.
Five minutes later, after carefully pulling the 'Facilities closed, Cleaning in Progress' sign across the bathroom entrance, he was being dragged into one of the stalls and was being drawn into a passionate and relentless kiss. This time he did give into temptation, returning it with equal ferocity, pushing the other man further into the stall. There was no words during the moments that followed, only frantic tearing at clothes, muffled groans and the sound of flesh against flesh.
After, though, as they carefully pulled their clothes back into place to avoid arousing suspicion there was the same quiet conversation as always.
“Where to now, love?” Arthur glared slightly at the term of endearment but didn't comment. It was an inflection of speech nothing more, no matter how much he'd like for it to be otherwise.
“Singapore, for a couple of days, to tidy up. I'll wire the rest of your pay to the usual address.”
Eames nodded at that. They'd always tried to keep their business and personal separate, at least when it came to money. They were too professional to do otherwise. “I'll be in London for a couple of weeks, got a job lined up but shouldn't take long.”
“Extraction?” Arthur asked sharply. Not, he reminded himself, that he had any exclusive claims on Eames' skill as a forger, but somehow the idea of the man going to into dreams without him stung more than he'd be willing to admit.
“Why, Arthur, if I didn't know better I'd say you were jealous.” And damn him for having that knowing smirk on his face, the one that made him want to hit him and kiss him in equal measure. “It's a favour for a friend. His crew specialise in pulling the long con, and need another person to make up the numbers. Don't worry love, this is just a bit part, should be a piece of cake.”
“Good.” He nodded as if that was settled. He started picking up his Economist, now slightly stained. He looked at it for a moment, considering if it was salvageable, before reluctantly wrapping it up in a carrier bag to be disposed of later.
“Cobb called with a job last night, he wants us in Paris by the beginning of October. You still have the key to the apartment?” He doesn't look at Eames when he makes the offer, as if his answer wasn't important to him. Shouldn't be important to him.
“Not that a little thing like a lock has ever stopped me before,” he drawled amused, but then continued quickly, as if maybe he had seen what Arthur had been trying to hide, “but for the sake of avoiding scandalising the neighbours, I'll use your key. We can just scandalise them in other ways later on.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he said it, sending a jolt of lust straight through the point man like nothing else had.
It made the parting all that more harder, as he was certain that Eames, infuriating, obnoxious Eames had fully intended. Steeling himself, he leaned down and pressed a brief kiss on his lips before, in a fit of mischievous impulse leaning down the whisper in his ear, “Remember that apartment has a balcony, if we play it right we could scandalise the whole street.” He turned to leave savouring the look on the other man's face all the way onto the flight.
+++++
Singapore: 28th August, 10.15pm
He was being followed, again.
He'd first spotted them at the airport, it would have been difficult not to, they weren't exactly subtle about it. Two of them, Caucasian, large,muscled and in cheap suits and with the slight bulge under their jackets that indicated that whatever else they were, they were most definitely armed. Feigning lack of awareness he casually studied the train timetable before heading down the steps to the platform, just as a busy shuttle train pulled into the station. As his tail tried to push through the deluge of humanity trying to get in the shortest space of time from the train to the airport, Arthur ducked further down the platform heading back up in the elevators further down, before ducking into the first taxi he could find.
Somehow, however, between his hotel and the meet point with his client, or between meeting with his client and heading back towards the hotel, he'd managed to pick up the tail again. No, definitely after he'd met with the client, he would have spotted them otherwise. He wondered briefly if Mr Lo Tang had sold him out, but pushed the thought from his mind as something to deal with after he'd gotten rid of his unwelcome company.
He cursed briefly the impulse which had led him to decide to walk back to his hotel, rather than take a cab. The evening had been pleasant and warm and the area, although not a tourist district, was distinctly in one of the nicer parts of town. He was regretting the choice now. Although if they'd found him here, chances are his hotel was compromised too. He'd have to abandon the bags he'd left back at the hotel, shame, he quite liked those suits. Although his best were, for the most part, spread between his flats in Paris or Los Angeles, with few distinct examples that had somehow found their way to Manchester. He was only glad however that he'd already sent the PASIV by secure transport to Paris.
He counted four of them in total, the two from the airport and two more who, by the looks of them, could have been their clones. Ruthlessly suppressing the urge to run, because frankly, the last thing you want to do when you realise you have a tail is draw attention to the fact you know. All that really does is loose you the element of surprise. It was number two on Arthur's list of What Not To Do When You Have a Tail. He tried to teach Cobb the rules, but they never stuck. He'd tried to teach Eames too, but found that not only was the forger more than familiar with them, he had a couple of new ones to add to the list.
Instead he ducked into a corner bar, picking up his pace as soon as he was off the street to weave his way through the patrons and out the other exit into a side-street. Not, of course an alleyway, never an alleyway, but a smaller connecting street between two larger main streets.
He could hear the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching the side door he'd just exited the bar from. Two pairs. He smiled grimly, they were almost making this too easy.
He was on top of them before they'd even exited the door, taking full advantage of their surprise. He grabbed the arm of the first one out, pulling him forwards, as a jab to the throat and a knee in the gut left the man crawling on the floor gasping for breath. His friend was more alert however, moving to side to deflect Arthur's roundhouse and catching him with a glancing blow to the head. The point man saw stars for a moment and that was all the opportunity the other man, let's call him goon number 2, needed to grab him from behind and use his superior size pin his arms down, clearly waiting for his friend, let's call him goon number 1, to stop puking his guts up and join back in the fight.
That was not something Arthur was particularly inclined to allow. Allowing himself to go slack, he waiting till his captor shift to get a better grip before stamping down hard on his instep and, as he came forward in pain, ramming his head back as hard as he could, catching him firmly on the nose. As the arms holding him loosened, their owner groaning in pain, he pushed back, ramming goon #2 into the wall for good measure, the man's hitting brick work with a sickening crunch.
Arthur could feel the blood from the other man's broken nose dripping down his neck, even as the same slowly slid down the wall into oblivion. He winced briefly at the thought of what the blood was doing to his suite, one of his best suits, before turning his attention to ensuring that goon #1, just about recovering from his initial assault reconsidered his options of rejoining the fight.
Barely having time to catch his breath, he heard more footsteps coming his way, four pairs this time and the absurd thought, popped into his head that maybe they were like the mythical Hydra, for every one he took down, two more would come in their place. Biting back a laugh, he started heading away from the two, hopefully only unconscious bodies at his feet, toward the main thoroughfare running parallel to the street he'd previously left, stopping only long enough to appropriate one of the guns the men had so thoughtfully provided for him.
The street was heaving with people, the cities affluent residents out for a night of entertainment at one of the many bars, clubs and restaurants lining its sides. Arthur pushed into the crowd, hoping that he could loose his pursuers in the throng, or at the very least slow them down by the sheer mass of people. It might have worked too, except for the amount of noise and disturbance they were making pushing through the crowd after him, apart from the small knot of police further up who's attention was starting to be drawn towards the exclamations and anger from the crowd at being barged through like this.
Arthur wasn't so naïve as to imagine that being picked up by the police at this moment, in this country, with blood on his collar and a stolen gun in his waistband was in any way a good thing, or even a better alternative to being caught by his unsubtle but, it would appear, oh so persistent tail. Instead he ducked into the nearest restaurant before the police could figure out exactly who the others were chasing and decided to take his chances away from the watching eye of the law.
He briefly thought then discarded the idea of trying to mingle in with the other patrons and hope his pursuers wouldn't spot him. After all it was never good idea to try and blend in when you were the wrong age, gender or ethnicity as absolutely everyone else around you, number 8 on the list, and somehow he had wandered into a restaurant where he was two for three. Pushing past the startled Maitre d' he headed instead further in, hoping against hope there was another exit out the back.
There was unfortunately it was through the kitchen. Rule number 4, never try running through kitchens, they are filled with knives, hot things and very angry people who know how to use both. Even so, it was better than the alternative and the alternative was closing fast. Even as he was weaving his way of pans of hot oil and shouting apologies in a bastardised mix of English, French and Cantonese, he nonetheless noticed a movement out the corner of his eye. Grabbing the nearest knife, and thankfully access to sharp things worked both ways, he threw it across the kitchen back towards the door he'd just come from. It wasn't a particularly elegant or accurate throw, kitchen knives not known for their aerodynamics, but it was good enough to send the gun clattering out of the suited figures hand. And then he was out the back door and in the fresh air of freedom.
In the change in atmosphere between the alleyway out back and the kitchen, he almost missed the man who'd been clearly sent round the back to make sure he didn't do just this. Almost, but not quite, missed the two by four descending towards him. He managed to twist out the way just in time, ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulder as something sharp dug in despite the glancing blow. Then he was grabbing his assailants arm and a sharp crack sounded as he twisted it, something, somewhere clearly breaking. Arthur was running again before he even hit the ground.
++++
In the end they caught him. He would like to have blamed it on bad luck, but really the only thing he could think of as he turned the corner of the small backstreet he had ducked down was that the wall facing him was the perfect mocking illustration of number one on his list of What Not To Do When Loosing a Tail. 'Never run down an alleyway in a city you don't know, it always ends up dead ends and tears'.
Turning he could see the shapes of four figures entering the alleyway behind them. He took a sense of satisfaction that one of them was holding his arm at a distinctly odd angle. He did a mental calculation on the odds and smiled grimly. The fact that only one of them had thus far pulled a gun, and then only with questionable intentions to use it, probably meant that they at least wanted him alive. If he went for his own weapon then the odds are he would be leaving this alleyway in a coffin and he could think of much more dignified ways to die.
If Eames had been here, he probably would have made a suitable quip about 'being able to talk this over', but he wasn't and none of the men in front of him looked like their were in a talking mood. Still he wasn't going to make it easy for them. Grabbing the nearest heavy object he could find, a large piece of wood from what had once been a packing crate, he braced himself and waiting for them to make their first move.
The first one who came at him collapsed half a second later from a vicious blow to the knee, but the next one had already moved in and the blow to the side of his head send him staggering. He lashed out and heard with satisfaction another cry of pain. But then there were too many of them, with feet and fists everywhere and Arthur's world soon descended into a litany of hurt and pain. It was clear that alive didn't necessarily mean unhurt, and its clear they were extracting their revenge for their two colleagues lying in the side street and the chase he'd led them on before they caught up to him. Eventually, a gun butt to the side of his head sent him into blissful unconsciousness.
Part 3
Arthur - Hong Kong: 28th August, 4.23am
They left the hotel room at exactly 23 minutes past 4, local time, approximately five minutes after emerging from the shared dream by Arthur's watch, despite Eames' best attempts to delay them with strategically placed groping, and about two and a half hours before their mark would wake up from his drug induced slumber, depending on the vagaries of the man in question's particular biochemistry and metabolism. He briefly glanced at the corpulent figure on the hotel bed as he locked the room behind them and revised his estimate down to 2 hours given the body mass involved and the dosage used.
He resisted glancing at the man at his side, something that took more willpower than he was willing to admit, and turned to head casually down the plush carpet of the luxurious hotel that the mark was staying in, PASIV a comforting weight in the briefcase at his side.
He didn't even get a step before a all too familiar hand grabbed his arm and pulled him into a searing kiss. He suppressed, with almost more effort than he'd care to admit, the near overwhelming desire to melt into the kiss, instead pulling back with a disapproving frown, “Not now!” he hissed through gritted teeth. He glanced around. The corridor was empty and the hotel room door was in a CCTV blind-spot. He'd made sure of it. Even so, they couldn't risk been seen together, not this soon after a job, and certainly not like this.
Eames just grinned mockingly at him before leaning forward and breathing into his ear, “Really darling, you need to relax more. I'll see you at the airport.” He then sauntered casually off down the hallway, weaving as if drunk and looking for all the world like he'd just snuck out of a hotel room after a one-night stand, instead of an evening of pulling out all the sordid little secrets of a corrupt banker with a penchant for smacking around hookers.
Clenching his fists so hard he almost drew blood, Arthur took one breath, then two, getting himself back under control. He straightened his tie, and walked calmly down the other direction down the hotel hallway, his mind occupied with plotting the many and varied ways he could extract his revenge on the insufferable forger who had somehow managed to worm his way far too completely into his life.
++++
He saw him again five hours later at the airport, whilst absent mindedly browsing the duty free, waiting for his flight to be called. They always separated after a job, taking different flights to separate locations. It would be a minimum of two weeks before they contacted each other again. In part because it was safer this way, too many near misses of being seen together had made that lesson obvious. More than that though was a need for each of them to regain their own individuality, their own identities from the almost terrifying intimacy they tended to fall into when working closely together on a job for weeks or months at a time. For each of them to have their own space to breath.
But before they went their separate ways, there was always this, a near ritual by now developed over too long sharing each others beds and even longer sharing each others dreams.
Arthur studiously avoided making any movement as Eames brushed past him in the shop, in a gesture that to an outsiders view would have been nothing more than an accidental touch in a too-crowded airport. He also avoided doing more than glancing in the forgers direction, noting which toilets he was heading towards before calming picking up the copy of The Economist he'd been browsing and taking it to the counter, snagging a bottle of mineral water on the way.
Five minutes later, after carefully pulling the 'Facilities closed, Cleaning in Progress' sign across the bathroom entrance, he was being dragged into one of the stalls and was being drawn into a passionate and relentless kiss. This time he did give into temptation, returning it with equal ferocity, pushing the other man further into the stall. There was no words during the moments that followed, only frantic tearing at clothes, muffled groans and the sound of flesh against flesh.
After, though, as they carefully pulled their clothes back into place to avoid arousing suspicion there was the same quiet conversation as always.
“Where to now, love?” Arthur glared slightly at the term of endearment but didn't comment. It was an inflection of speech nothing more, no matter how much he'd like for it to be otherwise.
“Singapore, for a couple of days, to tidy up. I'll wire the rest of your pay to the usual address.”
Eames nodded at that. They'd always tried to keep their business and personal separate, at least when it came to money. They were too professional to do otherwise. “I'll be in London for a couple of weeks, got a job lined up but shouldn't take long.”
“Extraction?” Arthur asked sharply. Not, he reminded himself, that he had any exclusive claims on Eames' skill as a forger, but somehow the idea of the man going to into dreams without him stung more than he'd be willing to admit.
“Why, Arthur, if I didn't know better I'd say you were jealous.” And damn him for having that knowing smirk on his face, the one that made him want to hit him and kiss him in equal measure. “It's a favour for a friend. His crew specialise in pulling the long con, and need another person to make up the numbers. Don't worry love, this is just a bit part, should be a piece of cake.”
“Good.” He nodded as if that was settled. He started picking up his Economist, now slightly stained. He looked at it for a moment, considering if it was salvageable, before reluctantly wrapping it up in a carrier bag to be disposed of later.
“Cobb called with a job last night, he wants us in Paris by the beginning of October. You still have the key to the apartment?” He doesn't look at Eames when he makes the offer, as if his answer wasn't important to him. Shouldn't be important to him.
“Not that a little thing like a lock has ever stopped me before,” he drawled amused, but then continued quickly, as if maybe he had seen what Arthur had been trying to hide, “but for the sake of avoiding scandalising the neighbours, I'll use your key. We can just scandalise them in other ways later on.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he said it, sending a jolt of lust straight through the point man like nothing else had.
It made the parting all that more harder, as he was certain that Eames, infuriating, obnoxious Eames had fully intended. Steeling himself, he leaned down and pressed a brief kiss on his lips before, in a fit of mischievous impulse leaning down the whisper in his ear, “Remember that apartment has a balcony, if we play it right we could scandalise the whole street.” He turned to leave savouring the look on the other man's face all the way onto the flight.
+++++
Singapore: 28th August, 10.15pm
He was being followed, again.
He'd first spotted them at the airport, it would have been difficult not to, they weren't exactly subtle about it. Two of them, Caucasian, large,muscled and in cheap suits and with the slight bulge under their jackets that indicated that whatever else they were, they were most definitely armed. Feigning lack of awareness he casually studied the train timetable before heading down the steps to the platform, just as a busy shuttle train pulled into the station. As his tail tried to push through the deluge of humanity trying to get in the shortest space of time from the train to the airport, Arthur ducked further down the platform heading back up in the elevators further down, before ducking into the first taxi he could find.
Somehow, however, between his hotel and the meet point with his client, or between meeting with his client and heading back towards the hotel, he'd managed to pick up the tail again. No, definitely after he'd met with the client, he would have spotted them otherwise. He wondered briefly if Mr Lo Tang had sold him out, but pushed the thought from his mind as something to deal with after he'd gotten rid of his unwelcome company.
He cursed briefly the impulse which had led him to decide to walk back to his hotel, rather than take a cab. The evening had been pleasant and warm and the area, although not a tourist district, was distinctly in one of the nicer parts of town. He was regretting the choice now. Although if they'd found him here, chances are his hotel was compromised too. He'd have to abandon the bags he'd left back at the hotel, shame, he quite liked those suits. Although his best were, for the most part, spread between his flats in Paris or Los Angeles, with few distinct examples that had somehow found their way to Manchester. He was only glad however that he'd already sent the PASIV by secure transport to Paris.
He counted four of them in total, the two from the airport and two more who, by the looks of them, could have been their clones. Ruthlessly suppressing the urge to run, because frankly, the last thing you want to do when you realise you have a tail is draw attention to the fact you know. All that really does is loose you the element of surprise. It was number two on Arthur's list of What Not To Do When You Have a Tail. He tried to teach Cobb the rules, but they never stuck. He'd tried to teach Eames too, but found that not only was the forger more than familiar with them, he had a couple of new ones to add to the list.
Instead he ducked into a corner bar, picking up his pace as soon as he was off the street to weave his way through the patrons and out the other exit into a side-street. Not, of course an alleyway, never an alleyway, but a smaller connecting street between two larger main streets.
He could hear the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching the side door he'd just exited the bar from. Two pairs. He smiled grimly, they were almost making this too easy.
He was on top of them before they'd even exited the door, taking full advantage of their surprise. He grabbed the arm of the first one out, pulling him forwards, as a jab to the throat and a knee in the gut left the man crawling on the floor gasping for breath. His friend was more alert however, moving to side to deflect Arthur's roundhouse and catching him with a glancing blow to the head. The point man saw stars for a moment and that was all the opportunity the other man, let's call him goon number 2, needed to grab him from behind and use his superior size pin his arms down, clearly waiting for his friend, let's call him goon number 1, to stop puking his guts up and join back in the fight.
That was not something Arthur was particularly inclined to allow. Allowing himself to go slack, he waiting till his captor shift to get a better grip before stamping down hard on his instep and, as he came forward in pain, ramming his head back as hard as he could, catching him firmly on the nose. As the arms holding him loosened, their owner groaning in pain, he pushed back, ramming goon #2 into the wall for good measure, the man's hitting brick work with a sickening crunch.
Arthur could feel the blood from the other man's broken nose dripping down his neck, even as the same slowly slid down the wall into oblivion. He winced briefly at the thought of what the blood was doing to his suite, one of his best suits, before turning his attention to ensuring that goon #1, just about recovering from his initial assault reconsidered his options of rejoining the fight.
Barely having time to catch his breath, he heard more footsteps coming his way, four pairs this time and the absurd thought, popped into his head that maybe they were like the mythical Hydra, for every one he took down, two more would come in their place. Biting back a laugh, he started heading away from the two, hopefully only unconscious bodies at his feet, toward the main thoroughfare running parallel to the street he'd previously left, stopping only long enough to appropriate one of the guns the men had so thoughtfully provided for him.
The street was heaving with people, the cities affluent residents out for a night of entertainment at one of the many bars, clubs and restaurants lining its sides. Arthur pushed into the crowd, hoping that he could loose his pursuers in the throng, or at the very least slow them down by the sheer mass of people. It might have worked too, except for the amount of noise and disturbance they were making pushing through the crowd after him, apart from the small knot of police further up who's attention was starting to be drawn towards the exclamations and anger from the crowd at being barged through like this.
Arthur wasn't so naïve as to imagine that being picked up by the police at this moment, in this country, with blood on his collar and a stolen gun in his waistband was in any way a good thing, or even a better alternative to being caught by his unsubtle but, it would appear, oh so persistent tail. Instead he ducked into the nearest restaurant before the police could figure out exactly who the others were chasing and decided to take his chances away from the watching eye of the law.
He briefly thought then discarded the idea of trying to mingle in with the other patrons and hope his pursuers wouldn't spot him. After all it was never good idea to try and blend in when you were the wrong age, gender or ethnicity as absolutely everyone else around you, number 8 on the list, and somehow he had wandered into a restaurant where he was two for three. Pushing past the startled Maitre d' he headed instead further in, hoping against hope there was another exit out the back.
There was unfortunately it was through the kitchen. Rule number 4, never try running through kitchens, they are filled with knives, hot things and very angry people who know how to use both. Even so, it was better than the alternative and the alternative was closing fast. Even as he was weaving his way of pans of hot oil and shouting apologies in a bastardised mix of English, French and Cantonese, he nonetheless noticed a movement out the corner of his eye. Grabbing the nearest knife, and thankfully access to sharp things worked both ways, he threw it across the kitchen back towards the door he'd just come from. It wasn't a particularly elegant or accurate throw, kitchen knives not known for their aerodynamics, but it was good enough to send the gun clattering out of the suited figures hand. And then he was out the back door and in the fresh air of freedom.
In the change in atmosphere between the alleyway out back and the kitchen, he almost missed the man who'd been clearly sent round the back to make sure he didn't do just this. Almost, but not quite, missed the two by four descending towards him. He managed to twist out the way just in time, ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulder as something sharp dug in despite the glancing blow. Then he was grabbing his assailants arm and a sharp crack sounded as he twisted it, something, somewhere clearly breaking. Arthur was running again before he even hit the ground.
++++
In the end they caught him. He would like to have blamed it on bad luck, but really the only thing he could think of as he turned the corner of the small backstreet he had ducked down was that the wall facing him was the perfect mocking illustration of number one on his list of What Not To Do When Loosing a Tail. 'Never run down an alleyway in a city you don't know, it always ends up dead ends and tears'.
Turning he could see the shapes of four figures entering the alleyway behind them. He took a sense of satisfaction that one of them was holding his arm at a distinctly odd angle. He did a mental calculation on the odds and smiled grimly. The fact that only one of them had thus far pulled a gun, and then only with questionable intentions to use it, probably meant that they at least wanted him alive. If he went for his own weapon then the odds are he would be leaving this alleyway in a coffin and he could think of much more dignified ways to die.
If Eames had been here, he probably would have made a suitable quip about 'being able to talk this over', but he wasn't and none of the men in front of him looked like their were in a talking mood. Still he wasn't going to make it easy for them. Grabbing the nearest heavy object he could find, a large piece of wood from what had once been a packing crate, he braced himself and waiting for them to make their first move.
The first one who came at him collapsed half a second later from a vicious blow to the knee, but the next one had already moved in and the blow to the side of his head send him staggering. He lashed out and heard with satisfaction another cry of pain. But then there were too many of them, with feet and fists everywhere and Arthur's world soon descended into a litany of hurt and pain. It was clear that alive didn't necessarily mean unhurt, and its clear they were extracting their revenge for their two colleagues lying in the side street and the chase he'd led them on before they caught up to him. Eventually, a gun butt to the side of his head sent him into blissful unconsciousness.
Part 3