[part one] Heartbreak Hotel | Joe/Nick | ADULT
title: Heartbreak Hotel
author:
liz_hollis and thisissirius
pairing: Joe/Nick
rating: ADULT. there is PORN in here, people.
word count: 28,059
warnings: KEVIN SADNESS, YOU GUYS. I mean it. Sex, drugs and ROCK AND ROLL. Everything that goes along with being a CRIMINAL.
summary: "Fuck!" Joe shouts, throwing himself into the Mustang, slamming the door and sliding down in the seat, his eyes wide and his face shining with sweat and adrenaline. "Fuck! Let's go, Nicky! Fucking go!"
disclaimer: none of these characters belong to us. we use them merely to torment them. THIS IS BIG FAT LIES, basically.
notes; this whole thing was inspired by DCMFTC because i didn't like it, Liz did and she as determined to GET me to like it by writing comment!fic based on PISTOL ON THE DASH. then nick became this BADASS person who KILLED and joe was his only tie to the REAL WORLD, grounding him and making him realise there is more than this life. ENJOY.
Heartbreak Hotel
"Fuck!" Joe shouts, throwing himself into the Mustang, slamming the door and sliding down in the seat, his eyes wide and his face shining with sweat and adrenaline. "Fuck! Let's go, Nicky! Fucking go!"
Nick slams his heavy boot down onto the pedal, presses it to the floor and the smell of burning rubber fills the car as the tires squeal and they peel out. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel and his heart is hammering out of his chest, but he forces himself to keep his eyes on the road and drive. The speedometer creeps towards 100 mph, and Joe cranes his neck around the leather seat, his eyes wild, looking for flashing lights.
"Fuck," he mutters one more time, and pulls the little black pistol out of the pocket of his leather jacket, fumbling with it in his sweaty hands until he finally manages to pull out the cartridge and a rain of silver bullets clatter onto the floor.
Nick's eyes slide up to the rear view mirror and take in the curve of Joe's hip, his wide eyes trained on his pistol, slick fingers sliding over the cool metal. He can see the headlights of the cars trailing the Mustang, throwing light over Joe and giving his head a halo of yellow. "Shit," he says, shifting the car into gear, "we've got company."
Joe cranes over the back of the seat and Nick concentrates on the road, pulling onto the highway and amongst the late night traffic. "You had to get noticed," he growls through gritted teeth.
"I'm sorry, okay," Joe snaps, flopping back into the seat, his brows drawn together with worry, his fingers clenched around the handle of the gun. "Look, you weren't in there. The guy already knew. Somebody ratted us out, Nicky. We were made before I even got in there."
Nick hits the heel of his hand as hard as he can against the steering wheel, rage bubbling in his chest, and jerks the wheel, cutting off one of the tails and slipping through a rapidly closing space between two cars. He turns the car to head into one of the underpass tunnels, pressing the accelerator down even more, the roar of the engine loud in their ears.
"Fucking Zac, I knew he was a narc!" Nick shouts. Joe looks white and shocky, pressed against the door. "Gimme the gun, Joe. Put the bullets back in, we might need 'em." His face is grim. Joe stares at Nick for a moment longer, then cuts his eyes to the gun. He shakily puts the bullets back in, one by one, and locking eyes with Nick once more, cocks the gun. Nick holds out his hand for it, and Joe hesitates for only a second before he hands it over.
"Did you at least get the take, Joe?" Nick is white-faced and thrumming with barely controlled fury.
Joe debates lying, knowing what the look in Nick's eyes means; he's not looking forward to a potential shoot-out and that's always what Nick's got in mind. He's learnt to tread the fine line between nonchalance and anger with Nick, but other people rarely do. Zac's betrayal will cut deep and Joe's going to be the one riding the danger. "I was made, Nick, or did you not hear that part?"
He's not stupid, the only way to fight Nick's anger is with anger of his own. Nick hates being placated or pitied.
Nick catches his eye in the mirror and growls under his breath, throwing Joe against the door again as he takes a sharp left, cars and houses rushing by as Nick takes the suburban route. Nick's got the pistol cradled in his right hand, guiding the steering wheel with his left. "Shit," Nick says again, and Joe thinks it's sums up their situation perfectly.
Nick punches the roof of the car with his fist, the one that has the gun in it, and Joe feels a spasm of fear run through him.
"Come on, Nick. Shooting a hole in the roof of the car is not going to help us here," he warns. Nick's glare is murderous, but Joe knows Nick, knows him in and out, and he can bring him back from the edge. He watches as Nick bites back his rage, fights back the urge to go straight to Zac's shithole apartment and kill him right now. The only indication of this internal struggle on Nick's face is a crease between his eyebrows. This is why people are afraid of Nick, Joe thinks.
Nick takes a deep breath, blows it out, and says tightly, "Okay. Safe house. Selena's?" Nick has been weaving through side streets, taking sharp turns and blowing through stop signs. A 'Slow. Children Playing' sign flashes past the window. Joe glances over his shoulder again. The tail is gone. For now. Nick is right, they need to find someplace to lay low until they can figure out a plan.
"No," Joe shakes his head. "We've been there too recently. Let's go to Henrie's."
Nick nods and takes the next left. He knows the way to Henrie's almost by memory alone and kicks it into third, drifting down the street like he owns the road. He keeps half his attention on the road and half on Joe, who's settling back into his seat now he doesn't have the threat of sharp turns throwing him against the car door. This whole trip was a waste and Nick hates it when things don't go to plan; it means lost time and the threat of capture or recognition. The last thing he and Joe need is for their faces to be plastered all over city streets and shop windows.
"We'll fix this, Joe." He says it matter of fact, knowing that they will fix this. Nick Jonas has never lost before and Efron is going to pay for this.
Joe nods. "I'm sorry, man. I know we needed that diamond."
Nick cranes his head from side to side, sharp cracking noises coming from his neck. "It- wasn't your fault, Joe. Just-- back me up tomorrow, okay?" Joe knows what's going to go down tomorrow, and it won't be pretty. Payback is not Joe's thing, especially the kind that Nick is thinking of delivering. But he'd never let Nick go it alone. He'll be there.
Nick cuts the headlights as he swings the car into the dark alley behind Henrie's little one-story house. He cuts the engine, and they sit there for a silent minute, listening to the ticking sounds of the engine cooling off. Joe's ears are pricked for the sound of other tires on the gravel. Nothing. Nick tucks the gun in his jacket pocket, finger still wrapped around the trigger, checks the mirrors, and nods.
"Let's go."
It takes three minutes of steady pounding before Henrie yanks open the door, red eyed, baggy sweatpants slung low, a half-naked girl peeking over his shoulder and the heavy sweet smell of marijuana drifting out from the open door.
"Jonas," Henrie says, eyes flicking from Nick to Joe. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Nick raises an eyebrow. It's been a long time since they've been here, switching safe houses every time, but Henrie still owes him and Nick's never going to let him forget it. "We need to crash here for a night. We ran into trouble on a job."
"Fuck that," Henrie snaps, trying to slide in front of Nick. The girl's eyes widen and she retreats back into the bedroom coming out a second later with a t-shirt two sizes too big. "The last time you were here, I had the heat on my house for three days."
"Shame," Joe says, shutting the door behind him. "Nick lost the tail, Dave, nobody knows we're even here."
"They won't know we're here, either." Nick's eyes hold a warning.
"You couldn't go to Selena's?" Henrie says, deliberately ignoring the implied malice in Nick's statement. When they don't answer his question, he frowns. He's bigger than the two of them and even stoned he could have Joe on the floor in five seconds. Nick's pissed, though, after losing the job and being ratted out and having to deal with the guilt over blaming Joe for something out of his control, and he doesn't care. "What the fuck went wrong this time?"
Joe watches nervously as Nick's jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into slits. Henrie may be bigger than the both of them, but Nick is just plain dangerous. Joe touches a soothing hand to the small of Nick's back, sliding under his leather jacket, scratching a fingernail against the sweaty fabric of Nick's t-shirt.
"Dave. I think you better just let us in, okay?" Joe suggests, and Henrie flicks his eyes to Nick again and relents, looking extremely unhappy about it.
"Fine. I'm not going down for you dicks, though, so keep your shit together, huh?" he snaps, and steps back out of their way.
"Don't worry about it," Nick's voice is knifelike. He slides out of his jacket, tossing it among the empty beer bottles, takeout containers and packs of rolling papers on the couch. He perches on the arm of the sofa and runs a hand through his hair, leaving it on end. Joe finds a relatively clean looking chair and collapses in it, rubbing his face with his hands. Henrie stays standing, arms folded, resentment written all through the lines of his body.
"Hey Henrie," Nick asks after a minute, his voice even and controlled. "You ever work with a Zac Efron?"
Henrie's lip curls. "Hey, sweetheart. Go into the other room, okay?"
The blonde shrugs lightly and disappears from sight as Henrie snatches a half-rolled joint from the table and sits on the couch. He doesn't make eye contact with Nick or Joe, just concentrates on what he's doing. "Yeah. Twice, and twice is enough. The guy's a rat." He pauses and looks up, his calculating gaze sweeping over Nick's face. "Whatever you're thinking, Jonas, don't do it. The guy's a rat but he's got friends in places that could make it awkward for you to get around."
Henrie isn't stupid. He knows that Nick's dangerous, has seen what he can do when pushed to the edge, but he doesn't think even the two Jonas boys can pull this shit off. "If something goes down with Zefron, you better pray to god his boys don't find out."
Nick leans back against the couch, and links his fingers together behind his head, thinking.
"He's got a girl, right?" Nick muses speculatively. Joe's head jerks up. He doesn't like the sound of this. Henrie is already shaking his head, lifting the joint to his lips, licking the paper and twisting it with an expert flick of his fingers.
"No way in hell, Jonas. The girl is mad protected. You'll never get to her." Henrie lights up the joint, inhales deep and blows a big cloud of smoke out in Nick's face. Nick just squints. Henrie holds the joint out to Nick, but Nick just raises his eyebrows, his arms still folded across his chest. "No?" Henrie asks, offering it next to Joe. "How about Danger over here?" Joe shakes his head, his mouth dry enough already.
Nick leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "This is what's gonna go down, Henrie. Zefron fucked us over. He owes me a take, a big one. And he's gonna get it for us. And check this out... you're gonna help us get Zefron."
Henrie's on his feet before Nick's even finished speaking. "No fucking way," Henrie paces the floor, looking angrily at Nick and jabbing a finger at him. "I said I'd let you crash here, but I ain't getting involved in a job. Last time didn't end up so hot for me and you're fucking crazy enough to get us all killed."
Joe was watching Nick's face, but he bristled at Henrie's words. "Shut up, Henrie, and listen to the fucking plan."
"If that plan involves Baby V in any way then I'm not touching it. Nothing you do is going to convince me. I'm done with riding dirty."
"As opposed to sitting dirty and shagging every piece of ass that comes your way?"
Joe winces, knowing that tone of voice and knowing exactly what Nick's packing in his jacket. He tries to warn Henrie off. Nick's pissed enough that he just might do something stupid. It's been a long time since Joe's had to be the voice of reason.
"Fuck you, Jonas! You don't know shit about me. Who the fuck are you? I'm not doing shit for you!"
Henrie throws the still lit joint at Nick's face, and Joe sees it coming before it happens, is launched off the chair and reaching for Nick as soon as he sees the glowing ember hit Nick's shirt and spit sparks. But Joe isn't fast enough.
Nick is up off the couch in a flash, his fist swinging so fast Joe barely sees it, and then Henrie's on the floor, his split lip dripping blood. Nick is shaking out his hand, his eyes wide and fever bright. Joe throws his arm around Nick's neck, pulling him back against Joe's chest and whispers into his ear, "Nick. Nicholas. Hey, listen to me. Dave will get on board. We just need to make a plan, okay. He won't be any use to us if he's all fucked up, right? Right, Nick?"
Nick nods, breathing hard. "Right. Shit. Sorry, Joe."
"Sorry, Joe?!" Henrie whines from the floor, spitting blood. "You're brother is one crazy motherfucker, you know that, Joey?" Joe doesn't say anything, but offers Henrie a hand up, and after looking at it for a moment, Henrie takes it.
"Look, Dave. Why don't we all just get some sleep, huh? We'll talk about it tomorrow." Joe looks back and forth between Nick and Henrie, hoping desperately he can defuse this situation. He really doesn't feel like dealing with a bloodbath tonight.
Henrie stares at Nick for a few moments longer, Nick refusing to break his gaze, and finally pulls his eyes away to Joe. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. You guys are sleeping in the fucking basement." And Henrie walks out of the room.
Nick's practically vibrating, his knuckles red and painful. He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck," he says, voice low.
Joe could say something stupid like you gotta keep it together, Nicky but he knows better. Instead he rests his hand on the back of Nick's neck, the skin hot under his fingertips. "He screwed us over, Nick, I know that but you gotta keep it under control. If you lose it like that tomorrow, it won't matter what our plan is. We'll never pull it off." He holds his breath, knowing that Nick's been formulating a plan from the moment they stepped through the door. He doesn't care what it is, or what it will involve. He has to have Nick's back or everything goes to hell; it's just the way it is.
"I know. I know. You're right. I-I'm cool." Nick mumbles, and he sounds a little calmer, a little more like the controlled Nick Jonas that Joe is used to.
"All right man," Joe says, and kneads the tight muscles in Nick's shoulders a couple times before taking his hand and leading him toward the basement steps. "Let's just get some rest."
They stretch out on the makeshift pallet of grimy, moth-eaten blankets. The cold of the concrete floor seeps through the thin blankets into bone. Joe bunches up his jacket and shoves it under his head. Nick is lying stock still, staring intently at the ceiling. Joe knows the details of the plan for tomorrow are working themselves out in his head. Who they need to contact, how much money it's going to take, how much firepower they're going to need.
Joe finds himself twisting his silver ring nervously around and around on his finger, the cold metal warming under his touch. Nick has an identical ring. He had them both made for himself and Joe after their first successful breaker.
"So," Joe ventures. "What is the plan, Nick?"
Nick looks over at him, his eyes shadowed and inscrutable in the dark basement. "Well, we did learn one thing from Henrie, useless as he is."
"And what would that be?"
"He knows Zefron's girl. Baby V." A sharp smile cuts across Nick's face. "And I'd put a lot of money on him knowing where she is, too."
"You wanna take Baby V?"
It's a dangerous plan, even for Nick. Joe's only ever understood the need for revenge once and he hadn't even thought twice about it back then. Being ratted out isn't as big a thing for Joe as it is for Nick. He doesn't want to go to jail, quite the opposite, but he's been burned enough to know that the only person he can trust in the world implicitly is Nick. Nick's always been big on loyalty, though, especially from friends and associates.
Working with Zefron had been a one time thing. He'd owed K- a friend of theirs- a favour and they had cashed in, aware that he knew people they didn't and it made their target a lot easier to hit. Neither of them had expected Zefron to turn, not with the rest of his little 'gang' almost as big on loyalty as Nick. Joe wonders what they'd do if they found out their big shot leader was a rat.
"Once we have her, it's not going to be long before he's going to come for her," Joe warns. "He won't be alone, Nick, and there's only going to be two of us. Well, three if Henrie doesn't pussy out, and we can't take them on like that." He raises an eyebrow. "You're crazy," he says, tone layered with as much affection as he's allowed to give, "but I don't think your rage will carry you that far."
"We won't have to take them on, Joe. That's the plan. I mean, I want to. I want to kill him." Nick cracks his knuckles one by one. "But I'm not stupid. I'm not crazy enough to try and take him down on my own."
"Our own," Joe corrects him automatically. Nick looks over at him, and the expression on his face is almost soft for a second. His hand closes around the back of Joe's neck, shakes him gently, affectionately.
Nick pretty much takes for granted Joe's blind loyalty, takes for granted the fact that Joe will stand by him, no matter what. But every now and then, something Joe says or does will hit it home for him, hammer home the realization of Joe's absolute devotion through all the constant maelstrom of thoughts and plans and anger in Nick's head.
"Nick, listen. I have an idea. Look, it's highly likely that we aren't the only people who would be righteously pissed off to find out that Efron is a dirty rat." Joe's not much of a planner, he usually leaves that stuff up to Nick, but this time...
"I know." Nick grins. "You got it, Joe. That's gotta be it. We're gonna turn Zef's whole gang on him. They'll tear him to pieces when they find out he's a snitch. We need Baby V to get them all in one place. If we have Baby V, Efron will send every man he has."
Joe feels an immense wave of relief wash over him. Nick's got a plan, a real plan, and Joe thinks it might not end up getting them killed. Nick looks Joe up and down appraisingly.
"You feel like making a visit tomorrow morning?"
"I'm in. I think the two of us can talk Henrie into helping us with this plan," Joe said, sliding back against the blankets. With two perfectly good chairs upstairs, Henrie is going to pay for making them sleep on the floor, and involving him in this plan is the perfect payback.
They fall into a silence for a moment and then Joe shifts, quickly and gently, towards Nick. It's easier to fall asleep knowing he can hear the sound of Nick breathing, watching the rise and fall of his chest. They've had so many close calls; there've been so many times he's thought Nick would leave, that something would happen, that everytime they get out alive and in one piece is a good day.
Nick doesn't always see it that way but Joe's working on it.
He can feel the butt of the gun digging into his ribs. It's more uncomfortable than painful, but Joe doesn't move or ask Nick to take it out. It's a reminder, of sorts, that there's danger everywhere and they're better off facing it together.
"Think we can get that gear he cost us? Or is that asking too much?" Joe asks with a grin, resting his forehead against Nick's shoulder. It's not often that Nick lets him into his space, but he's grateful for anything.
"Oh, we're getting it, Joe. Zef's gonna get it for us, because when his boys turn on him and try to rip him apart, we'll be the only people standing in the way." Nick sounds pleased now, the frightening lack of control and anger of an hour ago dissolved with the resolution of a workable plan.
Joe rubs his nose against the soft weave of Nick's t-shirt, smelling sweat and blood and gunmetal. The plan is still risky, it could go so wrong, but Joe's feels better knowing they're going in with a trick up their sleeve rather than charging in, guns blazing. Nick turns his head, looks down at Joe, and does something he's never done before. He lifts a finger and touches it to Joe's forehead, his cheek, his lips.
"Don't worry, Joe. I'm not gonna let that little rat shit ruin your rep." Joe snorts and Nick looks surprised. Nick's mind works in the strangest ways, just different from anyone else. Joe doesn't give a shit about his rep, but Nick wouldn't be able to comprehend that.
Joe reaches slowly, carefully, into Nick's pocket, extricating the gun. Nick makes a jerky movement, like he wants to grab it back. Joe holds it up, above his head, locks eyes with Nick. Nick's face darkens, his mouth a thin line. His hand clamps around Joe's wrist.
"Joe," Nick says, his voice as dark as his face, but Joe just holds the gun there. He hates the way Nick's fingers seem so natural around the butt of the gun, sometimes as if he was born to hold one. It leaves a sour taste in Joe's mouth; he'd always promised his Mom he'd keep Nick out of trouble, and the more time goes on, the deeper they go.
Sometimes he wonders what it would be like if they had normal lives.
Nick's grip tightens, but he's not really fighting. Joe wonders why. If it came down to it, Nick would have no trouble taking the gun back. Joe tears his gaze away from Nick's face and back to the gun. "You ever think about home, Nicky?"
It's a question out of the blue but Joe lets it settle between them, a sharp jolt of real life amongst the adrenaline and fast pace of crime. Nick looks startled, something flickering across his face before it's shuttered again, impassive.
"Home?" Nick says, his mouth shaping the words like its an unfamiliar concept. Joe peers at Nick's face, searching for something; an expression, a sheen in his eyes, a turn to his mouth, anything that is reminiscent of the little boy Joe remembers Nick being, a long time ago. Nick hasn't been that boy for years though. The criminal life had started as something of a whim, but after the nightmare, the absolute nightmare that was their third job, Nick... changed. He's still Joe's baby brother, but there is a very dark, hard edge to him.
"Yeah, Nicky. Home." Joe repeats. Nick shakes his head.
"This is home, Joe."
"What, Henrie's dank-ass basement?" Joe says, sarcasm dripping from the words.
"No. This." Nick gestures widely, encompassing himself and Joe and much more. "This life, you and me and the gun and the take, Joe. That's home."
Joe doesn't know what to say, so he settles for staring at the ceiling. He'd ask another question, one he's been wanting to ask for a long time, but it's a subject they never broach and Joe's aware of Nick's mood right now. He doesn't want to stir things up again when Nick's just starting to relax into something close to ease.
"Right," he says, finally dropping his hand and letting the gun rest on his stomach. "We should sleep."
Nick stares at the side of his face, looking for something. His eyes flick to the gun, the thing that started all of this and he shakes his head slightly, shifting on the crappy blankets until he's on his back. They stay that way, in silence, until Joe can't keep his eyes open. He shifts slightly, his face crushed into Nick's shoulder. He can feel a slight tremor, a thrum of something running hot under Nick's skin. Joe wonders, he wonders, but it's been a long, rough night, and sleep is drawing him in.
When Joe wakes up in the morning, Nick is already up, pacing the basement from end to end and talking on his cell phone in a low, tight voice.
Joe isn't surprised to see the butt of the gun sticking out the back of Nick's jeans when he turns, even though Joe fell asleep with his hand wrapped around it. Nick is just more comfortable in his skin with a gun close at hand.
Joe is shaking out his crumpled jacket, trying to stretch the kinks out of his neck when Nick snaps his phone shut with a muttered "See you at two, then." Joe quirks a questioning eyebrow at him, and Nick tosses Joe his shoes and grins.
"Big Rob is running with us today."
Joe pumps a fist into the air and stomps his boot into the floor. "Fuck yeah! That is going to make things go considerably smoother."
Nick nods. "Yeah, apparently Big Rob had a run-in with Zef last month, and I think he's still holding a little grudge." Joe holds up his hand, and Nick begrudgingly slaps him five.
"Dang, Nick. You're a mac daddy of crime, you know that?"
Nick doesn't even bother to respond to that. He checks his watch, and cuts his eyes to the ceiling. "Let's go wake up Henrie. We've got work to do."
Taking the stairs two at a time, Joe bursts into the hallway. "Yo, Henrie!"
He thinks about just throwing open the door and going into the room but thinks twice. He's only done that once and he'd seen enough to know that he never wanted to do it again. Nick comes up behind him and leans against the living room doorjamb, legs crossed and hands in his pockets, eyes dark sleepy slits above bruise-like shadows. The door to Henrie's room opens and Henrie's head pokes out. His hair is ruffled, sticking up at the back, and the cut on his lip is even more obvious this morning. Joe can see the blonde over Henrie's shoulder, turning in the bed and taking the covers with her.
He's still watching her when Nick jerks him back to reality with a "Joe." It's a warning, a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Joe shrugs lightly and then looks pointedly at Henrie.
"Fuckers," Henrie growls under his breath, but he pushes his way past the both of them and into the living room, dropping down onto the sofa. Nick stays standing but he keeps his left side to Henrie. It's the side with the gun, the butt just visible under the back of his jacket, and Henrie's jaw tightens, the only sign that he's noticed it. "I do what you want me to and then I'm out of there."
"Fair enough," Joe says, shrugging his shoulders. His stomach suddenly rumbles loudly.
Nick and Henrie seem to be having some kind of staring contest, so Joe wanders into the kitchen, pulling open the door of the battered little avocado fridge. He reels back, hand going to his nose, and slams it shut immediately.
"Jesus fucking Christ, dude, that is disgusting!"
Henrie leans over the back of the couch. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Is the state of my kitchen offending your delicate senses?"
"Uh, yes. More than offending. It's murdering my senses. I'll never look at Chinese food the same again."
"My maid quit," Henrie says sarcastically.
Nick catches Joe's eye and jerks his head, indicating for Joe to join him by the sofa, and Joe does. "Henrie. We know you know where Baby V is. We know you know what her protection setup is. We want you to tell us." Nick's voice is smooth and even. This is the Nick that puts together slick teams, the Nick that pulls off impossible grifts, the Nick that gets shit done.
Henrie looks doubtful. "I can't believe you're still thinking of taking Baby V. You'll go down. Fast."
Joe shakes his head. "We've got Big Rob Feggans, Dave. He's out for Zef's blood."
"We don't want to hurt Baby V, if that's what you're pussying around about," Nick cuts in, impatient. "She's just bait, man."
Henrie looks from Nick to Joe, rubbing his forehead. He pulls out a battered pack of Marlboro's and lights one up, taking a deep drag. "Fuck, man. I need some coffee if I'm gonna do this."
Nick smirks at Joe, trimuphant, and Joe rolls his eyes. He never doubted that Nick could get Henrie to join them. He jerks his head at the kitchen. "Well, there's not anything close to resembling food or otherwise in your kitchen cupboards. There's a coffee shop down the street."
"Get dressed, Henrie," Nick says. "It's time we laid down a plan."
Fifteen minutes later, Nick is slouching back in his plastic chair, leg crossed over his knee and fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee. Joe is at the counter, ordering something pink and disgusting that will be sure to piss Nick off. Henrie looks pale against his dark blue shirt, but he's got coffee and he's finally starting to talk.
There's an ash tray on the table, and Henrie's on this third cigarette.
Nick picked a corner booth, well away from prying eyes and ears and he probes Henrie for information, merciless in his quest for the right way to secure Baby V. "How many people are guarding her at any one time?"
"Three," Henrie said, glaring at Nick a little. They've always had a prickly relationship and the punch hasn't helped any. Still, Henrie still owes them and Nick won't let him forget it.
A couple years before, Nick and Joe had bailed Henrie out of a drug deal gone very, very bad. Henrie was a capable dealer, he'd been doing it long enough, but he'd gotten himself into a bad situation with some Russians, and had come very close to losing his right testicle, if not more, before Nick and Joe had saved him.
It had been total chance, really. They were working a casino grift at the time, and were scouting a warehouse location for The Tank- the tech and firewall wiz they work with sometimes- to work from. One of the warehouses Nick had found happened to be the very same warehouse the Russian muscle decided to bring Henrie to for his shakedown. When Nick brought Joe to see it, they pretty much stumbled onto Henrie, pants down and tied to a chair, surrounded by 3 gigantic, tattooed Russians and with a big shiny knife poised at his crotch.
Everyone had frozen for a split second, rather comically in hindsight, Joe thinks, and then Joe had shot Nick a look that clearly said, No man should lose Mr. Righty. Nick had heaved a long-suffering sigh and pulled out his gun and swiftly shot each of the Russian's in both kneecaps before any of them could unholster their guns.
So, Henrie had become one of their safehouses, but he did that for other cons too. So as Nick saw it, he still owed them the big one.
"Three, huh?" Nick twirls a pen between his fingers and huffs a breath out through his nose. "That's nothing. Four against three, plus the element of surprise? You're the biggest fucking pussy, Henrie."
Henrie's glare turns murderous, and he stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray with more force than necessary, grinding the ash into his stained fingertips.
"Oh sure, Jonas. Only three guys armed with Glocks inside an apartment building rigged with more security cameras and alarm systems than the fucking White House, with probably another guy in a car outside the building, and, I don't doubt it for a second, Baby V inside the room with her own gun pointed at the door, just waiting to blow your brains out the second you walk in. No fucking problem at all."
Joe slides into the booth next to Nick, pulling at some kind of magenta colored smoothie through his straw. He laughs. "Yeah, I've seen Baby V's gun. It's actually purple and has sparkles and rhinestones on it. It's awesome. We might need to wear shades to guard against glare." Nick smirks and holds his fist out for Joe to tap.
Joe does so and then loops an arm around the back of Nick's chair. "She's not going to be a threat, Henrie, and neither are Efron's goons. We've gone up against worse and won."
Henrie sneers, flicking the ashtray away from him roughly, sending it sliding across the table. "You mean Nick has. As I see it, you're barely competent in the shooting arena yourself."
Joe tenses and his eyes darken, angry, but Nick's already across the table, a fistful of Henrie's t-shirt in his hand. "Do you want a black eye to go with your split lip?"
He's using the same dangerous tone as before and Joe puts his hand on Nick's neck. "Let him go," he says, keeping his tone neutral. "Don't make a scene here, Nick. Feel free to deck him later." Joe is angry, beyond angry, and Henrie's got to know it was a low blow. Joe doesn't carry the gun; hasn't for a long time and it's not as though he could ever forget why. His hand tightens when Nick doesn't release Henrie straight away. "Nick. We have to plan this thing and we can't do that if you keep pounding Henrie into the ground."
Henrie glares, but Joe's not interested in whatever he's feeling or what he has to say. He just wants Baby V already so that they can pay back Efron. Nick's mad enough already and Joe needs him to channel it on Efron, not Henrie. Henrie isn't worth the effort.
Nick looks over his shoulder, locks eyes with Joe for a moment, and Joe can see the fury and hate and love and hurt for Joe all swirling stormily in his dark eyes. Joe looks at him steadily, silently reminding him that he doesn't need Nick to fight his battles for him, and Nick should know that better than anyone.
Nick's fist clenches even harder in Henrie's shirt, pulls him a little closer, and Joe's heart skips a beat, but then Nick's released him, pushing Henrie back down into his seat with a expression of disgust on his face. They sit back down, and Nick shakes out his shoulders, cracks his neck sharply, and pulls the pen and paper in front of him, all business once more.
"Okay. Here's the plan. Henrie, you're gonna sketch a layout of the building on the paper now. If you fuck us over, I'll kill you." Nick's voice is calm and even, and both Joe and Henrie know he would do it in a second.
Henrie takes the paper and sketches a sloppy diagram. It's a simple enough layout, and even Joe can see about four different ways to get inside.
"Baby V's apartment is here," Henrie jabs the paper with a sweaty fingertip. "The three goons are stationed like this: one outside her door, one at the elevator, and one by the stairwell."
Joe traces the line of the building with his finger. "If there's the possibility of somebody waiting outside in the car, we're better off coming in through this entrance. It backs onto the stairwell and we won't be seen until we want to be seen."
"By which time, the one at the elevator and the one outside her door will be on you," Henrie says, skeptical.
"I didn't say all three of us would come through that entrance. They'd never be stupid enough to stay completely blind to a weakness in their setup. They're going to know about that entrance, and they're going to have a plan on how best to guard it."
Nick regards Joe thoughtfully. This is one area he's content to let Joe lead in, knowing that if anybody is going to spot the flaws and strengths of the plan, it's going to be him. Joe had always been safety conscious, more aware of where everyone in the room is at any given time and how dangerous they are. More so than Nick, who wants a job done and done the quickest way possible, regardless of danger.
"Rob's big enough that they wouldn't dare approach him alone. If he enters from here," Joe traces the passage with his finger, pointing to the end of the corridor, "then he can draw the guy from the stairs. That leaves these two entrances."
Henrie leans across the table. "Which of you guys is going to take the main entrance? Bleu is always stationed outside of her door because he's the only one Efron trusts enough to guard Baby V. He's not going to be taken down easily and definitely not by the likes of you."
"That's why Nick's going in that way," Joe points out slowly. "I can take the side entrance and come in towards the elevator. If Big Rob can draw the other two to him, and I have no doubt he can, then the elevator will be free to take. Especially if you're with him, Henrie."
Grinning, Joe pushed the paper back across the table smugly. "I'm sure all of Efron's goons want to get their hands on you for something you've done. Eagerness to be rid of you would far outweigh any potential danger to Baby V."
"Thanks Joey, thanks a lot," Henrie snaps. "I'm so happy to play your shark chum here." Henrie slumps back against the booth, pushing moodily at his mostly empty coffee mug. Joe rolls his eyes.
"Chill, Dave. We'll have your back."
"If you have ours," Nick adds, straight-backed and jaw still tight.
Joe shrugs. "Just think about why you hate the Zef." Henrie doesn't answer, and Joe doesn't really care. They finish their drinks in silence, Nick planning angles of attack and calculating timing, Joe weighing the likelihood of one of them getting killed today, Henrie sucking down a fourth cigarette.
Finally, Nick snaps the cap back onto the pen, and says, "All right. We need weapons. Bleu is really quick and a sharp shot, so I don't think pistols are going to cut it. We need semi-automatics."
Joe feels a cold thrill shoot down his spine. He doesn't love going into this situation with Nick armed with a semi. It's high risk for a bloodbath. Joe slides his hand onto Nick's arm, a slow, warm touch, and waits for Nick to turn to him. Nick gives him a little nod.
"But remember, we can't kill the guards. We need them alive, we need to get the word out to them about Efron being a rat, we need them in order to force Zef's hand into getting us back our take."
"Shoot to disable, then disarm them and knock them out. Got it?" Nick asks. Henrie nods, looking a little relieved, and Joe kind of agrees with him.
"I know someone," Joe says, when they've lapsed into silence once more. "He has a whole cache of semi's and I think I can convince him to give us some."
Nick frowns. "You've had access to a cache of weapons and you never said anything?"
"Why would I?" Joe's tone is hard, devoid of emotion and Henrie shifts on his chair uncomfortably. "David, why don't you go get us some more coffee?"
Henrie stares at the twenty Joe tosses across the table. "Get your own damned coffee, Jonas."
When Nick glares too, both of them angry, Henrie snaps up the money and grouses out a complaint as he leaves them alone. Joe shifts in his chair, leaning back against the table and not looking at Nick. "I haven't known this guy long, Nick. He's a friend of an acquaintance and I don't even know if I trust him. I wouldn't say anything unless I was sure he would squeal, but not even Demi could get us semi's at such short notice."
He hates that he will be the person supplying Nick with the semi, but he doesn't want anybody else giving his brother untested weaponry; the guy he knows isn't solid, but Joe trusts the word of the person who recommended him.
"Well, I don't think we have a choice here, Joe," Nick reminds him, tapping his finger against the sheet of plans, the inked out intricacies and details of a revenge.
Joe could say We always have a choice, could tell Nick they don't need to pull this elaborate revenge scheme on Efron. He could say Why don't we just move on? But he knows it would be pointless. It's not a choice for Nick. If he gets sold out, the person who did it needs to get taught the lesson that Nick Jonas does not get sold out, not by anyone.
So Joe swallows it down, forces down the fear and nods instead. "Okay. I only met this guy once. His name is Caleb. We have to be careful about how we go about this, Nick, alright?" Joe squeezes Nick's forearm, looks into his eyes and doesn't blink, trying to communicate to Nick how important it is for him to be cautious. "From what I hear about him, Caleb is a drinker and a brawler, and totally unpredictable, so we need to be low-key and careful, otherwise we'll never get the pieces." Joe finishes.
"What models does he have?" Nick asks. Joe sees his fingers twitching, and he knows Nick wishes he was fingering his pistol right now. "I don't want any piece-of-shit Chinese guns that are going to jam when I try to shoot."
"Mostly Glocks, I think."
The one look Joe had gotten at Followill's little personal armory had left him a little unsettled for hours. Semi's weren't all he had. It was like something out of a movie; rows and rows of guns hanging from the wall, boxes of ammunition, Joe even thinks he might have seen a fucking rocket launcher leaning against the wall. It was freaky. But... they need these guns, and Caleb had seemed to take a liking to Joe when they had met. Nick rests an arm along the booth behind Joe's shoulders. There is a definite thrill of cold excitement in his voice when he speaks.
"You got his number, big brother?"
Joe pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, scrolling through the numbers. He hasn't thought about Caleb since the last time they met, an encounter that left an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Joe's stomach. Caleb's interest had had less to do with his affinity for the weapons he was being shown and more about him. Joe doesn't like to think about the look in Caleb's eyes and he doesn't like to think about bringing Nick to the Followill backhouse.
"We're going to have to leave Henrie behind," Joe says, finally. "Caleb won't let us near the merch otherwise. He doesn't trust anyone he hasn't already met."
Nick stares at the back of Henrie's head, lip curling into a sneer. "I'm sure we can find someone to take care of him while we collect the semi's."
Joe rolls his eyes and wonders at the delight Nick takes in torturing anyone who isn't Joe. He's always known about Nick's sadistic streak, manifesting only where necessary but recently, so much more so. It's as if Nick's past the point of caring who he hurts with his words and actions as long as he's getting what he wants.
Even when they reap the rewards, Joe's not sure it's worth the cost of losing Nick, the one he knows is still in there somewhere. Maybe.
Nick taps his shoulder as he scrolls to Caleb's name and brings up the number. His eyes are dark and Joe knows he's thinking ahead, can already see the bloodshed he's going to exact on Zefron.
"Three," Joe says, quietly. "I'm not holding a semi, Nick."
Nick's mouth tightens into a thin line and Joe can tell he's angry. "Joe, we gotta-" Nick starts, but Joe cuts him off, his voice hard and bitter.
"I'm not fucking around, Nicky."
Joe sees a muscle in Nick's jaw clench at the use of the childhood nickname, at the rare assertion of Joe's status as older brother, the tiny amount of power it gives him, if only over himself and not Nick. Joe is usually happy enough to let Nick push him around and overpower him, but if Nick can't understand why Joe refuses to carry a semi-automatic weapon, then Nick is further gone than Joe thought.
Joe opens his hands, presses his palms flat against the table top, pushing away the sense memories, still shockingly vivid, that bubble up and threaten to overtake him. The smell of blood and gunpowder, the ripping feeling of a scream in his throat, the sight of Kevin's wide eyes. He can't deal with this right now.
"If you want me in on this, that's how it's gotta be. I am not carrying a semi." Joe waits, staring at the sticky table surface and his cracked, dirty fingers. He's almost afraid to look at Nick's face. If Nick is going to fight him, if he doesn't understand it, Joe doesn't want to see it. He doesn't want to see Nick lost to him.
When Nick's hand reaches out to rest of top of Joe's, it's such a stark surprise that Joe physically jumps in his seat. His head whips around to look at Nick, and he almost feels like he could cry a little when he sees Nick's eyes, calm and brown and not soft, but something close.
"You don't have to carry," Nick says slowly, carefully. His words are clipped, short but Joe knows it's not from anger but from the desire to not address this thing between them, the memories Joe refuses to acknowledge. They've never spoken about it. The feelings are harsh and sharp and sometimes overwhelming. On the rare occasions when he let's himself remember, it's as if the events happened to somebody else and Joe is watching through their eyes and not his own.
Joe looks at their hands and then back at Nick. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Henrie returning to the table and it's only a matter of time before Nick folds in on himself again, goes back to walking that thin line between life and the potential to get himself killed.
"Don't lose yourself, Nicky," he says it again, knowing that he can only get away with it this once more. "I can't be without you, too."
Nick pulls his hand away and he doesn't say anything; it's not an answer and Joe turns away, tight lipped.
Henrie slips back into his chair and shoves Joe's coffee across the table. "I pocketed the change. I hope you girls had your heart to heart," he sneers. Joe doesn't answer, just hits the call button and climbs out of his chair. He can feel Nick's stare hot on his back but he ignores it, waiting for Caleb to pick up.
After three rings there's a breathy, "Yo?"
Joe doesn't remember Caleb saying yo. Ever. "Caleb?"
"He's here," says the voice and calls for Caleb. "You've got guts, kid. Calling his private number. He's-"
There's a scuffle in the background and then, "Fuck off, Jared." Another pause. "What do you want?"
"I have a favour to ask." It's a long moment before Caleb responds, and Joe suddenly starts to feel like this might be a very bad idea. He can hear Caleb's rough breath on the other end, can almost smell the whiskey on his breath through the phone.
"A favor, huh? And why should I give you a favor, little buddy?" Caleb's voice is wry and graveled.
"Because you know I'm good for it, that's why," he shoots back. "Come on, Followill. Don't play with me, this is urgent shit, man."
Joe hears Caleb light a cigarette, hears the cold snap of the lighter in his hands. "Yeah, alright, Joey. I guess you're good for it. You better be good for it, you know? I'm sure I can figure out a way for you to pay me back."
Joe's stomach curls a little. Caleb makes him nervous and uncomfortable, but it's like Joe's body doesn't know what to do with itself around him. Caleb is a scary fucker, but he's got a rough beauty to him, and the first time they had met, when Caleb backed Joe into a wall and caged him in with his arms, it had taken Joe a minute to clear his head and push him away.
"Yeah, uh huh." Nick's eyes are hot on Joe's back, and he knows Nick is straining to hear every word. "I'm bringing my little brother this time."
"Little Jonas! I've heard things." Caleb sounds interested, maybe excited, and Joe's fists clench again at the thought of putting Nick in Followill's eyeline.
"Yeah, they're all true," Joe snaps.
"All right, all right. Down boy!" Caleb snickers, low and amused. "What are you looking for?"
Joe takes a deep breath and ignores the twisting in his belly. "Gats. Quick draws. Just three."
Calebs hums. "Wow, Jonas. I'm surprised. I didn't think that was your style."
"It's not. But it is my brother's. So--"
"Fine. Come at 11. You fuckin' owe me, little man." The line goes dead.
Joe snaps his phone closed and fights to school his face before turning around. He doesn't need Nick to see his apprehension, even though he'll see it in Joe's eyes, in every line of his body. "We need to be at the backhouse by 11."
Nick nods tightly and he's got that familiar glint in his eye. His love for weapons would make Joe uncomfortable if he didn't know any better, if he didn't remember once feeling it too. Henrie pushes back from the table, kicking his legs up on the chair next to him. "When do we leave?"
"Never," Joe snaps. "You're going to have to stay with Rob."
"Fuck no!" Henrie jabs a finger in his direction. "You wanted me involved with this, Jonas, you're not going to sideline me just when it starts to get interesting."
"Yesterday you were shitting yourself about being forced to come along. What's with the change of heart?" Nick looks bored, itching to be gone already and sick of dealing with Henrie.
Henrie jerks his head in Joe's direction. "It's been a long time since I got my hands on some real merch. You shitheads keep bringing 'round nine's and while I appreciate them as much as the next person in a firefight, there's nothing like handling a semi."
"Not a chance, Henrie," Joe replies perfunctorily. "Caleb won't deal if we show up with a third. Do you realise what I had to do the first time to get into that house?"
Henrie leans his chair back on two legs, smirking nastily. "Hey Joe, I don't need to hear about you sucking dick, okay?"
There's the sound of shattering china, and Henrie jolts and his chair slams back down onto all four legs. Nick has smashed his coffee mug into pieces on the table. His eyes are just narrow slits bright with fury. Joe swivels his head around quickly, looking to see if everyone in the little shop heard. Luckily, the Top 40 Hits cd is playing loud enough and there is enough chatter that the sound blended in, and only a grimy-looking bearded guy with one too many shopping bags stuffed with clothes beside him noticed it happen.
"Nick!" he hisses. Nick ignores him.
"Shut the fuck up, Henrie," Nick says quietly, icily. For once, Henrie shuts up. Joe is getting really tired of keeping Nick from killing him.
"You stay with Rob, Nick and I will go in and get the pieces. You can buy out all three of them after the takedown, if that's what you want."
"Fucking fine." Henrie crosses his arms over his chest, looking sulky. "You guys are huge pains in my ass, you know that?"
"And you're just a real dream, Dave." Joe cocks his head at Nick, asking a silent Ready? Nick nods once, just a jerk of his chin, and they leave the broken coffee mug on the table.
"What the hell did Caleb make you do?" Nick's eyes are narrow, penetrating. Joe grabs the keys from Nick's hand and ignores both the question and the glare Nick throws him. Joe needs to take his mind off of everything and driving will help. Watching Nick and Henrie fight all day is grating on his nerves. Dropping into the driver seat, he slams the door and buckles up, waiting for Nick to do the same.
"Joe," Nick says again, tone hard. He makes it clear he won't be ignored this time.
"It was nothing," Joe snaps, starting the car. He's starting to get tired of being the weak link; Henrie wasn't lying when he said Joe didn't have the same edge Nick did, the thing that made him dangerous. That didn't mean he was a pushover, quite the opposite. Joe's temper could be as bad at Nick's, he was just better at controlling it. "Caleb is Caleb. You'll know the minute we get there what he wants."
Nick stares out of the window but Joe can see the tightness in his jaw.
"You'll get your gear," Joe promises. He doesn't care what he has to do to get it. As long as it's him and not Nick that Caleb's attention is on, Joe can handle it.
They drop Henrie off at Big Rob's house, after Nick makes a quick call letting him know they have babysitting charge for him. Henrie squawks indignantly from the backseat, but they just ignore him as he cusses them out. When Big Rob meets them at the door, Henrie tries to bluster a little, but Big Rob claps a hand on the scruff of his neck and shakes him a little, a little friendly but mostly intimidating, and Henrie shuts up and goes into the house.
Nick waits long enough to see Henrie plop himself down in the middle of Big Rob's sofa and ask if he has any beer, before he turns on his heel and goes back to the car, to Joe waiting, still staring out the driver side window, doing his best to ignore Nick.
"Okay, Joe. Let's do this. Is there anything I need to know before we go into Followill's backhouse?" Joe doesn't even hear him at first, a million miles away, chewing on a torn cuticle. Nick snaps his fingers in front of Joe's face, impatient. "Joe. Come on, get with it."
Joe turns slowly to look at Nick, distant. "Just. Keep your cool. Caleb loves to get a rise out of people. He'll try to throw you off any way he can. And- just- Let me handle him, okay? I can handle him."
Nick looks at Joe for a long minute, his gaze searching and penetrating. "All right. I know you can," he finally responds.
Part Two
author:
liz_hollis and thisissirius
pairing: Joe/Nick
rating: ADULT. there is PORN in here, people.
word count: 28,059
warnings: KEVIN SADNESS, YOU GUYS. I mean it. Sex, drugs and ROCK AND ROLL. Everything that goes along with being a CRIMINAL.
summary: "Fuck!" Joe shouts, throwing himself into the Mustang, slamming the door and sliding down in the seat, his eyes wide and his face shining with sweat and adrenaline. "Fuck! Let's go, Nicky! Fucking go!"
disclaimer: none of these characters belong to us. we use them merely to torment them. THIS IS BIG FAT LIES, basically.
notes; this whole thing was inspired by DCMFTC because i didn't like it, Liz did and she as determined to GET me to like it by writing comment!fic based on PISTOL ON THE DASH. then nick became this BADASS person who KILLED and joe was his only tie to the REAL WORLD, grounding him and making him realise there is more than this life. ENJOY.
Heartbreak Hotel
"Fuck!" Joe shouts, throwing himself into the Mustang, slamming the door and sliding down in the seat, his eyes wide and his face shining with sweat and adrenaline. "Fuck! Let's go, Nicky! Fucking go!"
Nick slams his heavy boot down onto the pedal, presses it to the floor and the smell of burning rubber fills the car as the tires squeal and they peel out. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel and his heart is hammering out of his chest, but he forces himself to keep his eyes on the road and drive. The speedometer creeps towards 100 mph, and Joe cranes his neck around the leather seat, his eyes wild, looking for flashing lights.
"Fuck," he mutters one more time, and pulls the little black pistol out of the pocket of his leather jacket, fumbling with it in his sweaty hands until he finally manages to pull out the cartridge and a rain of silver bullets clatter onto the floor.
Nick's eyes slide up to the rear view mirror and take in the curve of Joe's hip, his wide eyes trained on his pistol, slick fingers sliding over the cool metal. He can see the headlights of the cars trailing the Mustang, throwing light over Joe and giving his head a halo of yellow. "Shit," he says, shifting the car into gear, "we've got company."
Joe cranes over the back of the seat and Nick concentrates on the road, pulling onto the highway and amongst the late night traffic. "You had to get noticed," he growls through gritted teeth.
"I'm sorry, okay," Joe snaps, flopping back into the seat, his brows drawn together with worry, his fingers clenched around the handle of the gun. "Look, you weren't in there. The guy already knew. Somebody ratted us out, Nicky. We were made before I even got in there."
Nick hits the heel of his hand as hard as he can against the steering wheel, rage bubbling in his chest, and jerks the wheel, cutting off one of the tails and slipping through a rapidly closing space between two cars. He turns the car to head into one of the underpass tunnels, pressing the accelerator down even more, the roar of the engine loud in their ears.
"Fucking Zac, I knew he was a narc!" Nick shouts. Joe looks white and shocky, pressed against the door. "Gimme the gun, Joe. Put the bullets back in, we might need 'em." His face is grim. Joe stares at Nick for a moment longer, then cuts his eyes to the gun. He shakily puts the bullets back in, one by one, and locking eyes with Nick once more, cocks the gun. Nick holds out his hand for it, and Joe hesitates for only a second before he hands it over.
"Did you at least get the take, Joe?" Nick is white-faced and thrumming with barely controlled fury.
Joe debates lying, knowing what the look in Nick's eyes means; he's not looking forward to a potential shoot-out and that's always what Nick's got in mind. He's learnt to tread the fine line between nonchalance and anger with Nick, but other people rarely do. Zac's betrayal will cut deep and Joe's going to be the one riding the danger. "I was made, Nick, or did you not hear that part?"
He's not stupid, the only way to fight Nick's anger is with anger of his own. Nick hates being placated or pitied.
Nick catches his eye in the mirror and growls under his breath, throwing Joe against the door again as he takes a sharp left, cars and houses rushing by as Nick takes the suburban route. Nick's got the pistol cradled in his right hand, guiding the steering wheel with his left. "Shit," Nick says again, and Joe thinks it's sums up their situation perfectly.
Nick punches the roof of the car with his fist, the one that has the gun in it, and Joe feels a spasm of fear run through him.
"Come on, Nick. Shooting a hole in the roof of the car is not going to help us here," he warns. Nick's glare is murderous, but Joe knows Nick, knows him in and out, and he can bring him back from the edge. He watches as Nick bites back his rage, fights back the urge to go straight to Zac's shithole apartment and kill him right now. The only indication of this internal struggle on Nick's face is a crease between his eyebrows. This is why people are afraid of Nick, Joe thinks.
Nick takes a deep breath, blows it out, and says tightly, "Okay. Safe house. Selena's?" Nick has been weaving through side streets, taking sharp turns and blowing through stop signs. A 'Slow. Children Playing' sign flashes past the window. Joe glances over his shoulder again. The tail is gone. For now. Nick is right, they need to find someplace to lay low until they can figure out a plan.
"No," Joe shakes his head. "We've been there too recently. Let's go to Henrie's."
Nick nods and takes the next left. He knows the way to Henrie's almost by memory alone and kicks it into third, drifting down the street like he owns the road. He keeps half his attention on the road and half on Joe, who's settling back into his seat now he doesn't have the threat of sharp turns throwing him against the car door. This whole trip was a waste and Nick hates it when things don't go to plan; it means lost time and the threat of capture or recognition. The last thing he and Joe need is for their faces to be plastered all over city streets and shop windows.
"We'll fix this, Joe." He says it matter of fact, knowing that they will fix this. Nick Jonas has never lost before and Efron is going to pay for this.
Joe nods. "I'm sorry, man. I know we needed that diamond."
Nick cranes his head from side to side, sharp cracking noises coming from his neck. "It- wasn't your fault, Joe. Just-- back me up tomorrow, okay?" Joe knows what's going to go down tomorrow, and it won't be pretty. Payback is not Joe's thing, especially the kind that Nick is thinking of delivering. But he'd never let Nick go it alone. He'll be there.
Nick cuts the headlights as he swings the car into the dark alley behind Henrie's little one-story house. He cuts the engine, and they sit there for a silent minute, listening to the ticking sounds of the engine cooling off. Joe's ears are pricked for the sound of other tires on the gravel. Nothing. Nick tucks the gun in his jacket pocket, finger still wrapped around the trigger, checks the mirrors, and nods.
"Let's go."
It takes three minutes of steady pounding before Henrie yanks open the door, red eyed, baggy sweatpants slung low, a half-naked girl peeking over his shoulder and the heavy sweet smell of marijuana drifting out from the open door.
"Jonas," Henrie says, eyes flicking from Nick to Joe. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Nick raises an eyebrow. It's been a long time since they've been here, switching safe houses every time, but Henrie still owes him and Nick's never going to let him forget it. "We need to crash here for a night. We ran into trouble on a job."
"Fuck that," Henrie snaps, trying to slide in front of Nick. The girl's eyes widen and she retreats back into the bedroom coming out a second later with a t-shirt two sizes too big. "The last time you were here, I had the heat on my house for three days."
"Shame," Joe says, shutting the door behind him. "Nick lost the tail, Dave, nobody knows we're even here."
"They won't know we're here, either." Nick's eyes hold a warning.
"You couldn't go to Selena's?" Henrie says, deliberately ignoring the implied malice in Nick's statement. When they don't answer his question, he frowns. He's bigger than the two of them and even stoned he could have Joe on the floor in five seconds. Nick's pissed, though, after losing the job and being ratted out and having to deal with the guilt over blaming Joe for something out of his control, and he doesn't care. "What the fuck went wrong this time?"
Joe watches nervously as Nick's jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into slits. Henrie may be bigger than the both of them, but Nick is just plain dangerous. Joe touches a soothing hand to the small of Nick's back, sliding under his leather jacket, scratching a fingernail against the sweaty fabric of Nick's t-shirt.
"Dave. I think you better just let us in, okay?" Joe suggests, and Henrie flicks his eyes to Nick again and relents, looking extremely unhappy about it.
"Fine. I'm not going down for you dicks, though, so keep your shit together, huh?" he snaps, and steps back out of their way.
"Don't worry about it," Nick's voice is knifelike. He slides out of his jacket, tossing it among the empty beer bottles, takeout containers and packs of rolling papers on the couch. He perches on the arm of the sofa and runs a hand through his hair, leaving it on end. Joe finds a relatively clean looking chair and collapses in it, rubbing his face with his hands. Henrie stays standing, arms folded, resentment written all through the lines of his body.
"Hey Henrie," Nick asks after a minute, his voice even and controlled. "You ever work with a Zac Efron?"
Henrie's lip curls. "Hey, sweetheart. Go into the other room, okay?"
The blonde shrugs lightly and disappears from sight as Henrie snatches a half-rolled joint from the table and sits on the couch. He doesn't make eye contact with Nick or Joe, just concentrates on what he's doing. "Yeah. Twice, and twice is enough. The guy's a rat." He pauses and looks up, his calculating gaze sweeping over Nick's face. "Whatever you're thinking, Jonas, don't do it. The guy's a rat but he's got friends in places that could make it awkward for you to get around."
Henrie isn't stupid. He knows that Nick's dangerous, has seen what he can do when pushed to the edge, but he doesn't think even the two Jonas boys can pull this shit off. "If something goes down with Zefron, you better pray to god his boys don't find out."
Nick leans back against the couch, and links his fingers together behind his head, thinking.
"He's got a girl, right?" Nick muses speculatively. Joe's head jerks up. He doesn't like the sound of this. Henrie is already shaking his head, lifting the joint to his lips, licking the paper and twisting it with an expert flick of his fingers.
"No way in hell, Jonas. The girl is mad protected. You'll never get to her." Henrie lights up the joint, inhales deep and blows a big cloud of smoke out in Nick's face. Nick just squints. Henrie holds the joint out to Nick, but Nick just raises his eyebrows, his arms still folded across his chest. "No?" Henrie asks, offering it next to Joe. "How about Danger over here?" Joe shakes his head, his mouth dry enough already.
Nick leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "This is what's gonna go down, Henrie. Zefron fucked us over. He owes me a take, a big one. And he's gonna get it for us. And check this out... you're gonna help us get Zefron."
Henrie's on his feet before Nick's even finished speaking. "No fucking way," Henrie paces the floor, looking angrily at Nick and jabbing a finger at him. "I said I'd let you crash here, but I ain't getting involved in a job. Last time didn't end up so hot for me and you're fucking crazy enough to get us all killed."
Joe was watching Nick's face, but he bristled at Henrie's words. "Shut up, Henrie, and listen to the fucking plan."
"If that plan involves Baby V in any way then I'm not touching it. Nothing you do is going to convince me. I'm done with riding dirty."
"As opposed to sitting dirty and shagging every piece of ass that comes your way?"
Joe winces, knowing that tone of voice and knowing exactly what Nick's packing in his jacket. He tries to warn Henrie off. Nick's pissed enough that he just might do something stupid. It's been a long time since Joe's had to be the voice of reason.
"Fuck you, Jonas! You don't know shit about me. Who the fuck are you? I'm not doing shit for you!"
Henrie throws the still lit joint at Nick's face, and Joe sees it coming before it happens, is launched off the chair and reaching for Nick as soon as he sees the glowing ember hit Nick's shirt and spit sparks. But Joe isn't fast enough.
Nick is up off the couch in a flash, his fist swinging so fast Joe barely sees it, and then Henrie's on the floor, his split lip dripping blood. Nick is shaking out his hand, his eyes wide and fever bright. Joe throws his arm around Nick's neck, pulling him back against Joe's chest and whispers into his ear, "Nick. Nicholas. Hey, listen to me. Dave will get on board. We just need to make a plan, okay. He won't be any use to us if he's all fucked up, right? Right, Nick?"
Nick nods, breathing hard. "Right. Shit. Sorry, Joe."
"Sorry, Joe?!" Henrie whines from the floor, spitting blood. "You're brother is one crazy motherfucker, you know that, Joey?" Joe doesn't say anything, but offers Henrie a hand up, and after looking at it for a moment, Henrie takes it.
"Look, Dave. Why don't we all just get some sleep, huh? We'll talk about it tomorrow." Joe looks back and forth between Nick and Henrie, hoping desperately he can defuse this situation. He really doesn't feel like dealing with a bloodbath tonight.
Henrie stares at Nick for a few moments longer, Nick refusing to break his gaze, and finally pulls his eyes away to Joe. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. You guys are sleeping in the fucking basement." And Henrie walks out of the room.
Nick's practically vibrating, his knuckles red and painful. He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck," he says, voice low.
Joe could say something stupid like you gotta keep it together, Nicky but he knows better. Instead he rests his hand on the back of Nick's neck, the skin hot under his fingertips. "He screwed us over, Nick, I know that but you gotta keep it under control. If you lose it like that tomorrow, it won't matter what our plan is. We'll never pull it off." He holds his breath, knowing that Nick's been formulating a plan from the moment they stepped through the door. He doesn't care what it is, or what it will involve. He has to have Nick's back or everything goes to hell; it's just the way it is.
"I know. I know. You're right. I-I'm cool." Nick mumbles, and he sounds a little calmer, a little more like the controlled Nick Jonas that Joe is used to.
"All right man," Joe says, and kneads the tight muscles in Nick's shoulders a couple times before taking his hand and leading him toward the basement steps. "Let's just get some rest."
They stretch out on the makeshift pallet of grimy, moth-eaten blankets. The cold of the concrete floor seeps through the thin blankets into bone. Joe bunches up his jacket and shoves it under his head. Nick is lying stock still, staring intently at the ceiling. Joe knows the details of the plan for tomorrow are working themselves out in his head. Who they need to contact, how much money it's going to take, how much firepower they're going to need.
Joe finds himself twisting his silver ring nervously around and around on his finger, the cold metal warming under his touch. Nick has an identical ring. He had them both made for himself and Joe after their first successful breaker.
"So," Joe ventures. "What is the plan, Nick?"
Nick looks over at him, his eyes shadowed and inscrutable in the dark basement. "Well, we did learn one thing from Henrie, useless as he is."
"And what would that be?"
"He knows Zefron's girl. Baby V." A sharp smile cuts across Nick's face. "And I'd put a lot of money on him knowing where she is, too."
"You wanna take Baby V?"
It's a dangerous plan, even for Nick. Joe's only ever understood the need for revenge once and he hadn't even thought twice about it back then. Being ratted out isn't as big a thing for Joe as it is for Nick. He doesn't want to go to jail, quite the opposite, but he's been burned enough to know that the only person he can trust in the world implicitly is Nick. Nick's always been big on loyalty, though, especially from friends and associates.
Working with Zefron had been a one time thing. He'd owed K- a friend of theirs- a favour and they had cashed in, aware that he knew people they didn't and it made their target a lot easier to hit. Neither of them had expected Zefron to turn, not with the rest of his little 'gang' almost as big on loyalty as Nick. Joe wonders what they'd do if they found out their big shot leader was a rat.
"Once we have her, it's not going to be long before he's going to come for her," Joe warns. "He won't be alone, Nick, and there's only going to be two of us. Well, three if Henrie doesn't pussy out, and we can't take them on like that." He raises an eyebrow. "You're crazy," he says, tone layered with as much affection as he's allowed to give, "but I don't think your rage will carry you that far."
"We won't have to take them on, Joe. That's the plan. I mean, I want to. I want to kill him." Nick cracks his knuckles one by one. "But I'm not stupid. I'm not crazy enough to try and take him down on my own."
"Our own," Joe corrects him automatically. Nick looks over at him, and the expression on his face is almost soft for a second. His hand closes around the back of Joe's neck, shakes him gently, affectionately.
Nick pretty much takes for granted Joe's blind loyalty, takes for granted the fact that Joe will stand by him, no matter what. But every now and then, something Joe says or does will hit it home for him, hammer home the realization of Joe's absolute devotion through all the constant maelstrom of thoughts and plans and anger in Nick's head.
"Nick, listen. I have an idea. Look, it's highly likely that we aren't the only people who would be righteously pissed off to find out that Efron is a dirty rat." Joe's not much of a planner, he usually leaves that stuff up to Nick, but this time...
"I know." Nick grins. "You got it, Joe. That's gotta be it. We're gonna turn Zef's whole gang on him. They'll tear him to pieces when they find out he's a snitch. We need Baby V to get them all in one place. If we have Baby V, Efron will send every man he has."
Joe feels an immense wave of relief wash over him. Nick's got a plan, a real plan, and Joe thinks it might not end up getting them killed. Nick looks Joe up and down appraisingly.
"You feel like making a visit tomorrow morning?"
"I'm in. I think the two of us can talk Henrie into helping us with this plan," Joe said, sliding back against the blankets. With two perfectly good chairs upstairs, Henrie is going to pay for making them sleep on the floor, and involving him in this plan is the perfect payback.
They fall into a silence for a moment and then Joe shifts, quickly and gently, towards Nick. It's easier to fall asleep knowing he can hear the sound of Nick breathing, watching the rise and fall of his chest. They've had so many close calls; there've been so many times he's thought Nick would leave, that something would happen, that everytime they get out alive and in one piece is a good day.
Nick doesn't always see it that way but Joe's working on it.
He can feel the butt of the gun digging into his ribs. It's more uncomfortable than painful, but Joe doesn't move or ask Nick to take it out. It's a reminder, of sorts, that there's danger everywhere and they're better off facing it together.
"Think we can get that gear he cost us? Or is that asking too much?" Joe asks with a grin, resting his forehead against Nick's shoulder. It's not often that Nick lets him into his space, but he's grateful for anything.
"Oh, we're getting it, Joe. Zef's gonna get it for us, because when his boys turn on him and try to rip him apart, we'll be the only people standing in the way." Nick sounds pleased now, the frightening lack of control and anger of an hour ago dissolved with the resolution of a workable plan.
Joe rubs his nose against the soft weave of Nick's t-shirt, smelling sweat and blood and gunmetal. The plan is still risky, it could go so wrong, but Joe's feels better knowing they're going in with a trick up their sleeve rather than charging in, guns blazing. Nick turns his head, looks down at Joe, and does something he's never done before. He lifts a finger and touches it to Joe's forehead, his cheek, his lips.
"Don't worry, Joe. I'm not gonna let that little rat shit ruin your rep." Joe snorts and Nick looks surprised. Nick's mind works in the strangest ways, just different from anyone else. Joe doesn't give a shit about his rep, but Nick wouldn't be able to comprehend that.
Joe reaches slowly, carefully, into Nick's pocket, extricating the gun. Nick makes a jerky movement, like he wants to grab it back. Joe holds it up, above his head, locks eyes with Nick. Nick's face darkens, his mouth a thin line. His hand clamps around Joe's wrist.
"Joe," Nick says, his voice as dark as his face, but Joe just holds the gun there. He hates the way Nick's fingers seem so natural around the butt of the gun, sometimes as if he was born to hold one. It leaves a sour taste in Joe's mouth; he'd always promised his Mom he'd keep Nick out of trouble, and the more time goes on, the deeper they go.
Sometimes he wonders what it would be like if they had normal lives.
Nick's grip tightens, but he's not really fighting. Joe wonders why. If it came down to it, Nick would have no trouble taking the gun back. Joe tears his gaze away from Nick's face and back to the gun. "You ever think about home, Nicky?"
It's a question out of the blue but Joe lets it settle between them, a sharp jolt of real life amongst the adrenaline and fast pace of crime. Nick looks startled, something flickering across his face before it's shuttered again, impassive.
"Home?" Nick says, his mouth shaping the words like its an unfamiliar concept. Joe peers at Nick's face, searching for something; an expression, a sheen in his eyes, a turn to his mouth, anything that is reminiscent of the little boy Joe remembers Nick being, a long time ago. Nick hasn't been that boy for years though. The criminal life had started as something of a whim, but after the nightmare, the absolute nightmare that was their third job, Nick... changed. He's still Joe's baby brother, but there is a very dark, hard edge to him.
"Yeah, Nicky. Home." Joe repeats. Nick shakes his head.
"This is home, Joe."
"What, Henrie's dank-ass basement?" Joe says, sarcasm dripping from the words.
"No. This." Nick gestures widely, encompassing himself and Joe and much more. "This life, you and me and the gun and the take, Joe. That's home."
Joe doesn't know what to say, so he settles for staring at the ceiling. He'd ask another question, one he's been wanting to ask for a long time, but it's a subject they never broach and Joe's aware of Nick's mood right now. He doesn't want to stir things up again when Nick's just starting to relax into something close to ease.
"Right," he says, finally dropping his hand and letting the gun rest on his stomach. "We should sleep."
Nick stares at the side of his face, looking for something. His eyes flick to the gun, the thing that started all of this and he shakes his head slightly, shifting on the crappy blankets until he's on his back. They stay that way, in silence, until Joe can't keep his eyes open. He shifts slightly, his face crushed into Nick's shoulder. He can feel a slight tremor, a thrum of something running hot under Nick's skin. Joe wonders, he wonders, but it's been a long, rough night, and sleep is drawing him in.
When Joe wakes up in the morning, Nick is already up, pacing the basement from end to end and talking on his cell phone in a low, tight voice.
Joe isn't surprised to see the butt of the gun sticking out the back of Nick's jeans when he turns, even though Joe fell asleep with his hand wrapped around it. Nick is just more comfortable in his skin with a gun close at hand.
Joe is shaking out his crumpled jacket, trying to stretch the kinks out of his neck when Nick snaps his phone shut with a muttered "See you at two, then." Joe quirks a questioning eyebrow at him, and Nick tosses Joe his shoes and grins.
"Big Rob is running with us today."
Joe pumps a fist into the air and stomps his boot into the floor. "Fuck yeah! That is going to make things go considerably smoother."
Nick nods. "Yeah, apparently Big Rob had a run-in with Zef last month, and I think he's still holding a little grudge." Joe holds up his hand, and Nick begrudgingly slaps him five.
"Dang, Nick. You're a mac daddy of crime, you know that?"
Nick doesn't even bother to respond to that. He checks his watch, and cuts his eyes to the ceiling. "Let's go wake up Henrie. We've got work to do."
Taking the stairs two at a time, Joe bursts into the hallway. "Yo, Henrie!"
He thinks about just throwing open the door and going into the room but thinks twice. He's only done that once and he'd seen enough to know that he never wanted to do it again. Nick comes up behind him and leans against the living room doorjamb, legs crossed and hands in his pockets, eyes dark sleepy slits above bruise-like shadows. The door to Henrie's room opens and Henrie's head pokes out. His hair is ruffled, sticking up at the back, and the cut on his lip is even more obvious this morning. Joe can see the blonde over Henrie's shoulder, turning in the bed and taking the covers with her.
He's still watching her when Nick jerks him back to reality with a "Joe." It's a warning, a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Joe shrugs lightly and then looks pointedly at Henrie.
"Fuckers," Henrie growls under his breath, but he pushes his way past the both of them and into the living room, dropping down onto the sofa. Nick stays standing but he keeps his left side to Henrie. It's the side with the gun, the butt just visible under the back of his jacket, and Henrie's jaw tightens, the only sign that he's noticed it. "I do what you want me to and then I'm out of there."
"Fair enough," Joe says, shrugging his shoulders. His stomach suddenly rumbles loudly.
Nick and Henrie seem to be having some kind of staring contest, so Joe wanders into the kitchen, pulling open the door of the battered little avocado fridge. He reels back, hand going to his nose, and slams it shut immediately.
"Jesus fucking Christ, dude, that is disgusting!"
Henrie leans over the back of the couch. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Is the state of my kitchen offending your delicate senses?"
"Uh, yes. More than offending. It's murdering my senses. I'll never look at Chinese food the same again."
"My maid quit," Henrie says sarcastically.
Nick catches Joe's eye and jerks his head, indicating for Joe to join him by the sofa, and Joe does. "Henrie. We know you know where Baby V is. We know you know what her protection setup is. We want you to tell us." Nick's voice is smooth and even. This is the Nick that puts together slick teams, the Nick that pulls off impossible grifts, the Nick that gets shit done.
Henrie looks doubtful. "I can't believe you're still thinking of taking Baby V. You'll go down. Fast."
Joe shakes his head. "We've got Big Rob Feggans, Dave. He's out for Zef's blood."
"We don't want to hurt Baby V, if that's what you're pussying around about," Nick cuts in, impatient. "She's just bait, man."
Henrie looks from Nick to Joe, rubbing his forehead. He pulls out a battered pack of Marlboro's and lights one up, taking a deep drag. "Fuck, man. I need some coffee if I'm gonna do this."
Nick smirks at Joe, trimuphant, and Joe rolls his eyes. He never doubted that Nick could get Henrie to join them. He jerks his head at the kitchen. "Well, there's not anything close to resembling food or otherwise in your kitchen cupboards. There's a coffee shop down the street."
"Get dressed, Henrie," Nick says. "It's time we laid down a plan."
Fifteen minutes later, Nick is slouching back in his plastic chair, leg crossed over his knee and fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee. Joe is at the counter, ordering something pink and disgusting that will be sure to piss Nick off. Henrie looks pale against his dark blue shirt, but he's got coffee and he's finally starting to talk.
There's an ash tray on the table, and Henrie's on this third cigarette.
Nick picked a corner booth, well away from prying eyes and ears and he probes Henrie for information, merciless in his quest for the right way to secure Baby V. "How many people are guarding her at any one time?"
"Three," Henrie said, glaring at Nick a little. They've always had a prickly relationship and the punch hasn't helped any. Still, Henrie still owes them and Nick won't let him forget it.
A couple years before, Nick and Joe had bailed Henrie out of a drug deal gone very, very bad. Henrie was a capable dealer, he'd been doing it long enough, but he'd gotten himself into a bad situation with some Russians, and had come very close to losing his right testicle, if not more, before Nick and Joe had saved him.
It had been total chance, really. They were working a casino grift at the time, and were scouting a warehouse location for The Tank- the tech and firewall wiz they work with sometimes- to work from. One of the warehouses Nick had found happened to be the very same warehouse the Russian muscle decided to bring Henrie to for his shakedown. When Nick brought Joe to see it, they pretty much stumbled onto Henrie, pants down and tied to a chair, surrounded by 3 gigantic, tattooed Russians and with a big shiny knife poised at his crotch.
Everyone had frozen for a split second, rather comically in hindsight, Joe thinks, and then Joe had shot Nick a look that clearly said, No man should lose Mr. Righty. Nick had heaved a long-suffering sigh and pulled out his gun and swiftly shot each of the Russian's in both kneecaps before any of them could unholster their guns.
So, Henrie had become one of their safehouses, but he did that for other cons too. So as Nick saw it, he still owed them the big one.
"Three, huh?" Nick twirls a pen between his fingers and huffs a breath out through his nose. "That's nothing. Four against three, plus the element of surprise? You're the biggest fucking pussy, Henrie."
Henrie's glare turns murderous, and he stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray with more force than necessary, grinding the ash into his stained fingertips.
"Oh sure, Jonas. Only three guys armed with Glocks inside an apartment building rigged with more security cameras and alarm systems than the fucking White House, with probably another guy in a car outside the building, and, I don't doubt it for a second, Baby V inside the room with her own gun pointed at the door, just waiting to blow your brains out the second you walk in. No fucking problem at all."
Joe slides into the booth next to Nick, pulling at some kind of magenta colored smoothie through his straw. He laughs. "Yeah, I've seen Baby V's gun. It's actually purple and has sparkles and rhinestones on it. It's awesome. We might need to wear shades to guard against glare." Nick smirks and holds his fist out for Joe to tap.
Joe does so and then loops an arm around the back of Nick's chair. "She's not going to be a threat, Henrie, and neither are Efron's goons. We've gone up against worse and won."
Henrie sneers, flicking the ashtray away from him roughly, sending it sliding across the table. "You mean Nick has. As I see it, you're barely competent in the shooting arena yourself."
Joe tenses and his eyes darken, angry, but Nick's already across the table, a fistful of Henrie's t-shirt in his hand. "Do you want a black eye to go with your split lip?"
He's using the same dangerous tone as before and Joe puts his hand on Nick's neck. "Let him go," he says, keeping his tone neutral. "Don't make a scene here, Nick. Feel free to deck him later." Joe is angry, beyond angry, and Henrie's got to know it was a low blow. Joe doesn't carry the gun; hasn't for a long time and it's not as though he could ever forget why. His hand tightens when Nick doesn't release Henrie straight away. "Nick. We have to plan this thing and we can't do that if you keep pounding Henrie into the ground."
Henrie glares, but Joe's not interested in whatever he's feeling or what he has to say. He just wants Baby V already so that they can pay back Efron. Nick's mad enough already and Joe needs him to channel it on Efron, not Henrie. Henrie isn't worth the effort.
Nick looks over his shoulder, locks eyes with Joe for a moment, and Joe can see the fury and hate and love and hurt for Joe all swirling stormily in his dark eyes. Joe looks at him steadily, silently reminding him that he doesn't need Nick to fight his battles for him, and Nick should know that better than anyone.
Nick's fist clenches even harder in Henrie's shirt, pulls him a little closer, and Joe's heart skips a beat, but then Nick's released him, pushing Henrie back down into his seat with a expression of disgust on his face. They sit back down, and Nick shakes out his shoulders, cracks his neck sharply, and pulls the pen and paper in front of him, all business once more.
"Okay. Here's the plan. Henrie, you're gonna sketch a layout of the building on the paper now. If you fuck us over, I'll kill you." Nick's voice is calm and even, and both Joe and Henrie know he would do it in a second.
Henrie takes the paper and sketches a sloppy diagram. It's a simple enough layout, and even Joe can see about four different ways to get inside.
"Baby V's apartment is here," Henrie jabs the paper with a sweaty fingertip. "The three goons are stationed like this: one outside her door, one at the elevator, and one by the stairwell."
Joe traces the line of the building with his finger. "If there's the possibility of somebody waiting outside in the car, we're better off coming in through this entrance. It backs onto the stairwell and we won't be seen until we want to be seen."
"By which time, the one at the elevator and the one outside her door will be on you," Henrie says, skeptical.
"I didn't say all three of us would come through that entrance. They'd never be stupid enough to stay completely blind to a weakness in their setup. They're going to know about that entrance, and they're going to have a plan on how best to guard it."
Nick regards Joe thoughtfully. This is one area he's content to let Joe lead in, knowing that if anybody is going to spot the flaws and strengths of the plan, it's going to be him. Joe had always been safety conscious, more aware of where everyone in the room is at any given time and how dangerous they are. More so than Nick, who wants a job done and done the quickest way possible, regardless of danger.
"Rob's big enough that they wouldn't dare approach him alone. If he enters from here," Joe traces the passage with his finger, pointing to the end of the corridor, "then he can draw the guy from the stairs. That leaves these two entrances."
Henrie leans across the table. "Which of you guys is going to take the main entrance? Bleu is always stationed outside of her door because he's the only one Efron trusts enough to guard Baby V. He's not going to be taken down easily and definitely not by the likes of you."
"That's why Nick's going in that way," Joe points out slowly. "I can take the side entrance and come in towards the elevator. If Big Rob can draw the other two to him, and I have no doubt he can, then the elevator will be free to take. Especially if you're with him, Henrie."
Grinning, Joe pushed the paper back across the table smugly. "I'm sure all of Efron's goons want to get their hands on you for something you've done. Eagerness to be rid of you would far outweigh any potential danger to Baby V."
"Thanks Joey, thanks a lot," Henrie snaps. "I'm so happy to play your shark chum here." Henrie slumps back against the booth, pushing moodily at his mostly empty coffee mug. Joe rolls his eyes.
"Chill, Dave. We'll have your back."
"If you have ours," Nick adds, straight-backed and jaw still tight.
Joe shrugs. "Just think about why you hate the Zef." Henrie doesn't answer, and Joe doesn't really care. They finish their drinks in silence, Nick planning angles of attack and calculating timing, Joe weighing the likelihood of one of them getting killed today, Henrie sucking down a fourth cigarette.
Finally, Nick snaps the cap back onto the pen, and says, "All right. We need weapons. Bleu is really quick and a sharp shot, so I don't think pistols are going to cut it. We need semi-automatics."
Joe feels a cold thrill shoot down his spine. He doesn't love going into this situation with Nick armed with a semi. It's high risk for a bloodbath. Joe slides his hand onto Nick's arm, a slow, warm touch, and waits for Nick to turn to him. Nick gives him a little nod.
"But remember, we can't kill the guards. We need them alive, we need to get the word out to them about Efron being a rat, we need them in order to force Zef's hand into getting us back our take."
"Shoot to disable, then disarm them and knock them out. Got it?" Nick asks. Henrie nods, looking a little relieved, and Joe kind of agrees with him.
"I know someone," Joe says, when they've lapsed into silence once more. "He has a whole cache of semi's and I think I can convince him to give us some."
Nick frowns. "You've had access to a cache of weapons and you never said anything?"
"Why would I?" Joe's tone is hard, devoid of emotion and Henrie shifts on his chair uncomfortably. "David, why don't you go get us some more coffee?"
Henrie stares at the twenty Joe tosses across the table. "Get your own damned coffee, Jonas."
When Nick glares too, both of them angry, Henrie snaps up the money and grouses out a complaint as he leaves them alone. Joe shifts in his chair, leaning back against the table and not looking at Nick. "I haven't known this guy long, Nick. He's a friend of an acquaintance and I don't even know if I trust him. I wouldn't say anything unless I was sure he would squeal, but not even Demi could get us semi's at such short notice."
He hates that he will be the person supplying Nick with the semi, but he doesn't want anybody else giving his brother untested weaponry; the guy he knows isn't solid, but Joe trusts the word of the person who recommended him.
"Well, I don't think we have a choice here, Joe," Nick reminds him, tapping his finger against the sheet of plans, the inked out intricacies and details of a revenge.
Joe could say We always have a choice, could tell Nick they don't need to pull this elaborate revenge scheme on Efron. He could say Why don't we just move on? But he knows it would be pointless. It's not a choice for Nick. If he gets sold out, the person who did it needs to get taught the lesson that Nick Jonas does not get sold out, not by anyone.
So Joe swallows it down, forces down the fear and nods instead. "Okay. I only met this guy once. His name is Caleb. We have to be careful about how we go about this, Nick, alright?" Joe squeezes Nick's forearm, looks into his eyes and doesn't blink, trying to communicate to Nick how important it is for him to be cautious. "From what I hear about him, Caleb is a drinker and a brawler, and totally unpredictable, so we need to be low-key and careful, otherwise we'll never get the pieces." Joe finishes.
"What models does he have?" Nick asks. Joe sees his fingers twitching, and he knows Nick wishes he was fingering his pistol right now. "I don't want any piece-of-shit Chinese guns that are going to jam when I try to shoot."
"Mostly Glocks, I think."
The one look Joe had gotten at Followill's little personal armory had left him a little unsettled for hours. Semi's weren't all he had. It was like something out of a movie; rows and rows of guns hanging from the wall, boxes of ammunition, Joe even thinks he might have seen a fucking rocket launcher leaning against the wall. It was freaky. But... they need these guns, and Caleb had seemed to take a liking to Joe when they had met. Nick rests an arm along the booth behind Joe's shoulders. There is a definite thrill of cold excitement in his voice when he speaks.
"You got his number, big brother?"
Joe pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, scrolling through the numbers. He hasn't thought about Caleb since the last time they met, an encounter that left an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Joe's stomach. Caleb's interest had had less to do with his affinity for the weapons he was being shown and more about him. Joe doesn't like to think about the look in Caleb's eyes and he doesn't like to think about bringing Nick to the Followill backhouse.
"We're going to have to leave Henrie behind," Joe says, finally. "Caleb won't let us near the merch otherwise. He doesn't trust anyone he hasn't already met."
Nick stares at the back of Henrie's head, lip curling into a sneer. "I'm sure we can find someone to take care of him while we collect the semi's."
Joe rolls his eyes and wonders at the delight Nick takes in torturing anyone who isn't Joe. He's always known about Nick's sadistic streak, manifesting only where necessary but recently, so much more so. It's as if Nick's past the point of caring who he hurts with his words and actions as long as he's getting what he wants.
Even when they reap the rewards, Joe's not sure it's worth the cost of losing Nick, the one he knows is still in there somewhere. Maybe.
Nick taps his shoulder as he scrolls to Caleb's name and brings up the number. His eyes are dark and Joe knows he's thinking ahead, can already see the bloodshed he's going to exact on Zefron.
"Three," Joe says, quietly. "I'm not holding a semi, Nick."
Nick's mouth tightens into a thin line and Joe can tell he's angry. "Joe, we gotta-" Nick starts, but Joe cuts him off, his voice hard and bitter.
"I'm not fucking around, Nicky."
Joe sees a muscle in Nick's jaw clench at the use of the childhood nickname, at the rare assertion of Joe's status as older brother, the tiny amount of power it gives him, if only over himself and not Nick. Joe is usually happy enough to let Nick push him around and overpower him, but if Nick can't understand why Joe refuses to carry a semi-automatic weapon, then Nick is further gone than Joe thought.
Joe opens his hands, presses his palms flat against the table top, pushing away the sense memories, still shockingly vivid, that bubble up and threaten to overtake him. The smell of blood and gunpowder, the ripping feeling of a scream in his throat, the sight of Kevin's wide eyes. He can't deal with this right now.
"If you want me in on this, that's how it's gotta be. I am not carrying a semi." Joe waits, staring at the sticky table surface and his cracked, dirty fingers. He's almost afraid to look at Nick's face. If Nick is going to fight him, if he doesn't understand it, Joe doesn't want to see it. He doesn't want to see Nick lost to him.
When Nick's hand reaches out to rest of top of Joe's, it's such a stark surprise that Joe physically jumps in his seat. His head whips around to look at Nick, and he almost feels like he could cry a little when he sees Nick's eyes, calm and brown and not soft, but something close.
"You don't have to carry," Nick says slowly, carefully. His words are clipped, short but Joe knows it's not from anger but from the desire to not address this thing between them, the memories Joe refuses to acknowledge. They've never spoken about it. The feelings are harsh and sharp and sometimes overwhelming. On the rare occasions when he let's himself remember, it's as if the events happened to somebody else and Joe is watching through their eyes and not his own.
Joe looks at their hands and then back at Nick. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Henrie returning to the table and it's only a matter of time before Nick folds in on himself again, goes back to walking that thin line between life and the potential to get himself killed.
"Don't lose yourself, Nicky," he says it again, knowing that he can only get away with it this once more. "I can't be without you, too."
Nick pulls his hand away and he doesn't say anything; it's not an answer and Joe turns away, tight lipped.
Henrie slips back into his chair and shoves Joe's coffee across the table. "I pocketed the change. I hope you girls had your heart to heart," he sneers. Joe doesn't answer, just hits the call button and climbs out of his chair. He can feel Nick's stare hot on his back but he ignores it, waiting for Caleb to pick up.
After three rings there's a breathy, "Yo?"
Joe doesn't remember Caleb saying yo. Ever. "Caleb?"
"He's here," says the voice and calls for Caleb. "You've got guts, kid. Calling his private number. He's-"
There's a scuffle in the background and then, "Fuck off, Jared." Another pause. "What do you want?"
"I have a favour to ask." It's a long moment before Caleb responds, and Joe suddenly starts to feel like this might be a very bad idea. He can hear Caleb's rough breath on the other end, can almost smell the whiskey on his breath through the phone.
"A favor, huh? And why should I give you a favor, little buddy?" Caleb's voice is wry and graveled.
"Because you know I'm good for it, that's why," he shoots back. "Come on, Followill. Don't play with me, this is urgent shit, man."
Joe hears Caleb light a cigarette, hears the cold snap of the lighter in his hands. "Yeah, alright, Joey. I guess you're good for it. You better be good for it, you know? I'm sure I can figure out a way for you to pay me back."
Joe's stomach curls a little. Caleb makes him nervous and uncomfortable, but it's like Joe's body doesn't know what to do with itself around him. Caleb is a scary fucker, but he's got a rough beauty to him, and the first time they had met, when Caleb backed Joe into a wall and caged him in with his arms, it had taken Joe a minute to clear his head and push him away.
"Yeah, uh huh." Nick's eyes are hot on Joe's back, and he knows Nick is straining to hear every word. "I'm bringing my little brother this time."
"Little Jonas! I've heard things." Caleb sounds interested, maybe excited, and Joe's fists clench again at the thought of putting Nick in Followill's eyeline.
"Yeah, they're all true," Joe snaps.
"All right, all right. Down boy!" Caleb snickers, low and amused. "What are you looking for?"
Joe takes a deep breath and ignores the twisting in his belly. "Gats. Quick draws. Just three."
Calebs hums. "Wow, Jonas. I'm surprised. I didn't think that was your style."
"It's not. But it is my brother's. So--"
"Fine. Come at 11. You fuckin' owe me, little man." The line goes dead.
Joe snaps his phone closed and fights to school his face before turning around. He doesn't need Nick to see his apprehension, even though he'll see it in Joe's eyes, in every line of his body. "We need to be at the backhouse by 11."
Nick nods tightly and he's got that familiar glint in his eye. His love for weapons would make Joe uncomfortable if he didn't know any better, if he didn't remember once feeling it too. Henrie pushes back from the table, kicking his legs up on the chair next to him. "When do we leave?"
"Never," Joe snaps. "You're going to have to stay with Rob."
"Fuck no!" Henrie jabs a finger in his direction. "You wanted me involved with this, Jonas, you're not going to sideline me just when it starts to get interesting."
"Yesterday you were shitting yourself about being forced to come along. What's with the change of heart?" Nick looks bored, itching to be gone already and sick of dealing with Henrie.
Henrie jerks his head in Joe's direction. "It's been a long time since I got my hands on some real merch. You shitheads keep bringing 'round nine's and while I appreciate them as much as the next person in a firefight, there's nothing like handling a semi."
"Not a chance, Henrie," Joe replies perfunctorily. "Caleb won't deal if we show up with a third. Do you realise what I had to do the first time to get into that house?"
Henrie leans his chair back on two legs, smirking nastily. "Hey Joe, I don't need to hear about you sucking dick, okay?"
There's the sound of shattering china, and Henrie jolts and his chair slams back down onto all four legs. Nick has smashed his coffee mug into pieces on the table. His eyes are just narrow slits bright with fury. Joe swivels his head around quickly, looking to see if everyone in the little shop heard. Luckily, the Top 40 Hits cd is playing loud enough and there is enough chatter that the sound blended in, and only a grimy-looking bearded guy with one too many shopping bags stuffed with clothes beside him noticed it happen.
"Nick!" he hisses. Nick ignores him.
"Shut the fuck up, Henrie," Nick says quietly, icily. For once, Henrie shuts up. Joe is getting really tired of keeping Nick from killing him.
"You stay with Rob, Nick and I will go in and get the pieces. You can buy out all three of them after the takedown, if that's what you want."
"Fucking fine." Henrie crosses his arms over his chest, looking sulky. "You guys are huge pains in my ass, you know that?"
"And you're just a real dream, Dave." Joe cocks his head at Nick, asking a silent Ready? Nick nods once, just a jerk of his chin, and they leave the broken coffee mug on the table.
"What the hell did Caleb make you do?" Nick's eyes are narrow, penetrating. Joe grabs the keys from Nick's hand and ignores both the question and the glare Nick throws him. Joe needs to take his mind off of everything and driving will help. Watching Nick and Henrie fight all day is grating on his nerves. Dropping into the driver seat, he slams the door and buckles up, waiting for Nick to do the same.
"Joe," Nick says again, tone hard. He makes it clear he won't be ignored this time.
"It was nothing," Joe snaps, starting the car. He's starting to get tired of being the weak link; Henrie wasn't lying when he said Joe didn't have the same edge Nick did, the thing that made him dangerous. That didn't mean he was a pushover, quite the opposite. Joe's temper could be as bad at Nick's, he was just better at controlling it. "Caleb is Caleb. You'll know the minute we get there what he wants."
Nick stares out of the window but Joe can see the tightness in his jaw.
"You'll get your gear," Joe promises. He doesn't care what he has to do to get it. As long as it's him and not Nick that Caleb's attention is on, Joe can handle it.
They drop Henrie off at Big Rob's house, after Nick makes a quick call letting him know they have babysitting charge for him. Henrie squawks indignantly from the backseat, but they just ignore him as he cusses them out. When Big Rob meets them at the door, Henrie tries to bluster a little, but Big Rob claps a hand on the scruff of his neck and shakes him a little, a little friendly but mostly intimidating, and Henrie shuts up and goes into the house.
Nick waits long enough to see Henrie plop himself down in the middle of Big Rob's sofa and ask if he has any beer, before he turns on his heel and goes back to the car, to Joe waiting, still staring out the driver side window, doing his best to ignore Nick.
"Okay, Joe. Let's do this. Is there anything I need to know before we go into Followill's backhouse?" Joe doesn't even hear him at first, a million miles away, chewing on a torn cuticle. Nick snaps his fingers in front of Joe's face, impatient. "Joe. Come on, get with it."
Joe turns slowly to look at Nick, distant. "Just. Keep your cool. Caleb loves to get a rise out of people. He'll try to throw you off any way he can. And- just- Let me handle him, okay? I can handle him."
Nick looks at Joe for a long minute, his gaze searching and penetrating. "All right. I know you can," he finally responds.
Part Two