postbox: october 2005 (1/1)
Title: Postbox [October 2005 1/1]
Author: sionnach_ayame & stardoll
Fandom/Pairing: Inception | Pre-Inception, Pre-Slash -- ULTIMATELY Arthur/Eames
Approx. Word Count: 3305
Disclaimer: Inception? Not ours.
Rating: PG
Summary: The Duo works their very first job in Hyannis, Massachusetts.
Eames' Player: stardoll
Arthur's Player: sionnach_ayame
[this part] Occurs: October 2005
<< September 2005
- - -
DATE: October 2nd, 2005
TIME: 6:45 p.m.
LOCATION John F. Kennedy International Airport
SCENE: ARTHUR DELAHEY checks Arrivals/Departures for the time in which EDWARD EAMES will arrive at JOHN F. KENNEDY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. As far as he is aware, EAMES' flight is not due until approximately 6:50 p.m. He quickly scans through the arrivals list and locates the flight EAMES will arrive on; the board says EAMES had already arrived fifteen minutes ago.
ARTHUR knows it is going to be a challenge to try and find EAMES amongst the throng of travelers. He scans the crowd to see if he can find the familiar shape of his friend-slash-business partner. Hastily, ARTHUR removes his cellphone from his pocket and pulls up EAMES' number; neither of them have officially exchanged numbers but he knows that EAMES has already obtained ARTHUR'S through his 'sources'. He presses CALL.
(BEGIN TRANSCRIPT)
EDWARD EAMES: I just got off the plane, darling. So hold your horses.
ARTHUR DELAHEY: Forgive me - the arrivals board said you had arrived earlier than planned. (EAMES snorts) I was afraid that you might be let loose on the American public.
EAMES: And that would be a pity because? Perhaps I WANT to be unleashed upon unsuspecting Americans?
DELAHEY: God help them, I don't think they're prepared for that. (EAMES laughs) So where are you? Customs?
EAMES: Past that. My flight was early, so I’ve already finished that nonsense. Why else would I be talking to you?
DELAHEY: Because you're notorious for doing what you shouldn't be doing?
EAMES: Hmm, true. (PAUSE) So, where can I find you?
DELAHEY: I suppose that depends - have you gotten your baggage yet?
EAMES: No, I suppose you can meet me at the carousel then, yeah?
DELAHEY: I'll meet you there.
EAMES: Hey, are you hungry -
DELAHEY: - m starving. What are you hungry for? (PAUSE) I know airplane food can leave a lot to be desired.
EAMES: You're telling me. All I've had were whiskey doubles. (ARTHUR coughs) You live in New York, you tell me: what would you recommend?
DELAHEY: Hm, well. How adventurous do you want to be?
EAMES: Adventurous is my middle name, dear.
DELAHEY: - should have figured. Well I know a good place that serves amazing curry. Of course, there's New York style pizza and hot dogs -
EAMES: Greasy sounds amazing right now. (LONG PAUSE) Are you up for it? 'Cause something needs to soak up all this booze. (ARTHUR coughs again) And then maybe we can talk business. Security. That sort of thing.
DELAHEY: It would be much easier to talk about business and security when you're not drunk -
EAMES: Darling, they don't let drunks on planes -
DELAHEY: So pizza works. (PAUSE) I think I see you now, so I'm hanging up. See you in a few.
(END TRANSCRIPT)
- - -
- - -
As soon as he had received the letter, he had hopped the first flight to JFK, where he was accompanied with a screaming toddler, her exhausted young mother, and a cranky elderly couple. The flight was miserable, customs was a pain, and his luggage was lost - all for this job.
This job.
"In a crisps factory?" Eames asked eyebrow arched as he shook his head slowly.
Arthur stepped out of his kitchen and into the spacious living room with a couple of plates and a handful of napkins. "Hey, not just any chip factory - this is the Cape Cod Potato Chip Factory." He quirked his lips up in amusement; no, there wasn't anything special about this chip factory when compared to other chip factories. One couldn't be too picky when selecting a trial job - especially when one was expected to carry out extraction for the first time at a corporate level. "For a first job, it could be worse," he added as an afterthought.
"Oh, well if this is the Cape Cod Potato Chip Factory..." Eames said, waving his hands animatedly. "Why didn't you say so earlier? This absolutely changes everything!" Rising from his spot on the sofa, he strode to meet Arthur halfway and extended his hands, silently offering to take half of what he was carrying. Arthur frowned.
"I wasn't sure you couldn't handle it if I told you any earlier," Arthur said dryly. He half-heartedly asked Eames if he wanted anything to drink: “Soda, water, whiskey, wine...” At the prospect of alcohol, Eames smiled devilishly.
"Whiskey you say?" he asked, his voice sing-song. When the other man narrowed his gaze at him, he quickly corrected himself. "But water is fine, thanks. No ice." Unceremoniously, Arthur hastily dumped the plates and napkins into Eames' waiting hands.
"You can take those and I'll get you that water." He said, after giving Eames a look.
Minutes later, he returned with two glasses of water - one with ice and one without. "They want to know if the man they suspect has been stealing money from the company is actually the culprit," he said, framing the job.
"Money?" Eames asked, glancing up from his complicated arrangement of napkins and plates on Arthur's glass-top coffee table. "Good, for a moment there I thought we were going to knick Lay's secret crisp recipe for the owner of Cape Cod. Money makes the job marginally more interesting." Deciding it better to ignore the coffee table, he stepped toward Arthur and reached for his water. Before raising the glass to his lips asked, "How long has this particular employee been taking money, you think?"
Arthur sat down on the couch and opened up the pizza box in front of them. "For starters, they're two different styles of potato chips - I doubt Cape Cod would want to give up their 'homemade, kettle-cooked' formula for something as 'lackluster' as Lays." Not that he had a problem with Lay's potato chips, but he enjoyed chips with a little more crunch. He picked up a plate and took out a slice of pizza. "According to Donald Price - our client - he first noticed money disappearing from the home office four months ago. My guess is that it has been happening for a little longer than that, possibly up to six months ago."
"Crisps are crisps, Arthur," Eames said despairingly, shaking his head. He eyed the gloriously greasy mess before him and reached for a large slice of pizza. "Tell me, do we have an ID on our thief? Or does this Mr. Price expect us to sift through his employees until we find the bastard? I don't know about you, but I'm rather certain that we don't think we have enough somnacin for the latter."
"You're right - we don't have enough somnacin for all of his employees. Luckily, Mr. Price gave us the ID of our suspected thief and has agreed to help us when it comes to sedating the man." Arthur folded his slice of pizza in half before taking a bite. He closed his eyes as he took in the flavors. Delicious.
"Then it sounds like we have all our ducks in a row," Eames said, smiling. "When do we start?"
“We can start as soon as you sleep off your jet lag. Then, I’ll start researching and we can start planning and building the level. I’ll be on point and you can take extractor. Work for you?”
Eames smiled.
- - -
DATE:Tuesday - October 11th, 2005
LOCATION: Hotel Room - Hyannis, MA
The last week had been spent doing extra research ("you can't do too much research for situations like this") while simultaneously planning and running mock trials. Arthur wanted to make sure everything was perfect and ready to go for the Price Job. The way he saw it, you could never be too careful with something new like extraction; he had wanted to make sure they wouldn't be stepping into a death trap.
It turned out their Mark had a particular fascination for film noir; the setting, costumes, and aura of the genre was a particular selling point for their Mark, a Mr. Harding. In order to make the mark feel at ease, they set the entire one level dream up in a film noir setting. The dream was a simple one level with an interrogation room, where Eames would be set up with Harding. Arthur would be keeping guard behind the relative safety of a two way glass mirror.
They had their plans and back up plans; all that they had left was the actual job to do.
"Are you ready?" Arthur asked as the two were getting ready to leave their hotel for the chip factory.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Eames said. He shot Arthur a cocky grin. "I believe you've done most of the work already; all that's left is extracting what we need from our dear Mr. Harding. Which, I assume, shouldn't be too terribly difficult." Adjusting the cuffs of his silk shirt, he added with a frown: "can't use deadly force on this one, hm?"
Eames had a point - there wasn't much left to do but the extraction. It should be an easy in and out job. "Then let's get going,” Arthur said with a curt nod.
- - -
The interrogation room was small and lit by a naked bulb that dangled from a thin wire threaded through the ceiling. In the center of the room was a square aluminum table which had been bolted to the floor, and flagged on either ends by aluminum chairs. Three of the walls were gray and unassuming, while the fourth - a one-way mirror - glittered ominously in the din of the room.
Sitting directly across from the one-way mirror, finger anxiously drumming on the cool metal, was Mr. Harding. He narrowed his eyes at his captor, a man clad in black with fedora tipped over one eye.
"You have no right! I don't even know why I'm here!" Mr. Harding barked as his knee jackhammered and his fingers continued to tap on the cool metal.
"Really?" the interrogator asked coolly. "No idea what-so-ever? Come now, those of clean conscious are rarely if never called in. Why would I waste my time on you if you have no reason to be in that seat?" He reached into the inner breast pocket of his trench and retrieved a slender metallic cigarette case. It clicked open and he extended the container to Mr. Harding. "For your nerves?"
Mr. Harding shook his head and looked around the room; his eyes darted toward the two way mirror as he continued to drum the pads of his fingers on the metal table. "That's not true," he narrowed his eyes at the investigator. "I could be here for a various number of reasons." He started to shake his head at the offer of a cigarette, but ended up taking one anyway.
"Guilty conscious?" the interrogator asked. He returned the case to his interior pocket before taking a seat across from Mr. Harding. Folding his hands on top of the aluminum table, he leaned forward and smiled. "Allow me to help you narrow this down. Your employer...can you tell me about the kind of person he is?" He leaned back into his seat and laced his fingers behind his head. "Seems like a pompous asshole to me, but I could be wrong."
Mr. Harding narrowed his eyes at the interrogator upon his accusation. "Donald Price is one of the best employers I've had, so yes - you would be wrong. Don't I get a lawyer or a phone call?"
Ignoring Mr. Harding's request, the interrogator arched an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked in response. "Well, he seems awfully convinced that one of his own employees is pilfering money under the table and rather than investigating the matter further, he almost relishes in the idea of finding and firing the first employee he suspects." Smiling, the man in black added: "which, I'm sure you know nothing about, am I right?"
Mr. Harding was silent and silently glared at the other man. "What are you talking about? You don't - he doesn't honestly think I'm the one doing that does he?"
The interrogator smiled coyly.
"You tell me. You said yourself you could be here for a miscellany of reasons. To assume you are biting the hand that feeds you isn't too far-fetched."
"I'll have you know that I would never do anything like that!" Mr. Harding snapped. "I'm not that kind of person!" He paused. He lowered his gaze to the tabletop; it all came together.
"But...I know who is."
Unclasping his hands, the interrogator leaned forward and with his thumb, he nudged the brim of his fedora back so it no longer obscured one eye. He leaned forward to close the space between himself and Mr. Harding and folded his hands.
"Who?"
“Dominique Hardgrove.”
Leaning back, the interrogator smiled slyly.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Harding. I'll be sure that you're compensated handsomely."
- - -
DATE: Tuesday - October 11th, 2005
LOCATION: Alberto's Ristorante - Hyannis, MA
Arthur returned to the table; he had excused himself earlier to take a phone call from their client. As he slipped back into his seat, he casually said, "she was fired...I think this would call for a celebratory drink," and then went on to mention how the money would be wired into the duo's bank accounts first thing the next morning. ("That should keep the creditors at bay," Eames had muttered under his breath.) The pay wasn't much, but it was their first job and they did end up with both the monetary compensation and a complementary box of Cape Cod Potato Chips as a personal thank you.
Eames chuckled at Arthur's nonchalance.
"Glad that her sacking is grounds for celebration.”
"It's not but considering it was the first job we pulled together and it was successful, I would say that is a cause for celebration - wouldn't you?” Eames shrugged.
“Only if you say so,” he said as he fiddled with the ever-so-slightly frayed end of his cloth napkin. Turning his gray eyes to Arthur, he asked, "what next?" Arthur shifted in his seat, lifted his glass up off the table, and took a sip of water. Watching Eames toy with his napkin, he quirked his lips in amusement.
"We eat, go back to hotel and return to New York tomorrow," he said, deliberately making sure to answer his partner's question as literally as possible. Eames rolled his eyes; Arthur responded by smiling sweetly. "As for the job front, well, we obviously wait until we get word of another job. If you find something, let me know and if I find something, I'll be sure to let you know."
Eames released his grip on the napkin and turned his attention back to Arthur with a smile. "Right. So, what's your poison?"
"I think today calls for scotch. You?"
"Well, if that's how you're going to be then I'll resort to my old fallback." Pouting, he added, "I would have hoped you would have wanted to split a bottle of wine with me, seeing as this is a nice Italian restaurant, but..."
"We can split a bottle of wine,” Arthur said hurriedly. Eames chuckled, then nudged his menu toward the center of the table.
“Only giving you a hard time, darling.”
“Obviously!” Eames grinned. Pressing open palms into the table, he leaned his torso in, better closing the gap between him and Arthur.
“So, about this partnership of ours...how is it going to work out, exactly?” he asked, voice low. “You know, for future reference?"
At Eames' question, Arthur quickly became the one to fiddle with his napkin nervously. It was only only a few minutes that he had come up with a response. "If you find a job, you have the choice to take it or not. You hardly need my permission. However, if you decide to, then you handle all contact with the client. I'll do further research only once you let me know what you know of the job and of the client." As far as he was concerned, the two of them were both independent men who were more than capable of making their own decisions. They hardly needed the others' permission about whether or not they should take a job. "I'm all ears if you have other ideas. "
"Sounds fair enough. What about...and this may be just me...but what about pseudonyms? Because we both know going about as Arthur Delahey and Edward Eames is a great way to get ourselves killed, or at least discovered," Eames said, lowering his voice further to ensure that only the two of them would be included in the conversation. "Dummy bank accounts, fake documentation, that sort of thing. How does that sound?" He began to smile. "Since we both know how important security is in work like this."
Arthur smiled. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought around the same lines. "Good point. I agree - we would certainly need all of that and more at some point in time." Arthur lowered his voice as well to match the one Eames used. "You wouldn't know anyone who could forge paperwork, would you?" Eames feigned shock.
"Darling, you already know the BEST," he said, pointing at himself.
Arthur raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Oh? How much experience do you have, Mr. Eames?" He couldn't help but tease. Eames beamed.
"Well, my initial foray into forgery earned me eight months...but I learned from that!" Winking, he added, "You don't think I got into the States using my real name, do you?"
"...eight months? Christ, I would really hope you learned from that," Arthur said dryly. Quickly changing the subject, he asked, “what name did you use?" If Eames could get into the United States without using his real name, that was certainly a good sign of the man's skill.
"William Webb," he said. He watched Arthur arch his brows, and as a response he shrugged and said, "I have a thing for alliteration. So, can you put your trust in me, or shall we look for another forger who may not be as wonderful as I am?"
Arthur chuckled and nodded his head. "Or as modest? No. And, we wouldn't be in this partnership if I didn't trust you. So, you'll do," he said with a grin.
“So you do trust me?”
“Why wouldn't I?” Arthur arched a brow. “You...haven't given me any reason to NOT trust you,” he said slowly. Reaching into his breast pocket, Eames removed a leather billfold and waved it in the pointman's face. Arthur balked.
“GIVE THAT BACK!”
“Would you consider me the best?”
“IF YOU GIVE THAT BACK!” Arthur barked, springing over the table for his wallet. “Jesus fucking Christ, how did you do that?”
“Tsk tsk, dear...a magician never reveals his secrets.”
- - -
- - -
- - -
To: Arthur Delahey < arthurdelahey@gmail.com >From: Edward Eames < e.eames80@gmail.com >Date: Oct 22, 2005Subject: ARTHURSIX MONTHS OF CRISPS ARRIVED ON MY DOORSTEP.
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH ALL OF THEM.
To: Edward Eames From: Arthur Delahey Date: Oct 22, 2005Subject: Re: ARTHUREames,
I'm glad they arrived within a good time frame and weren't delayed for too long.
I do believe chips are meant to be eaten. They are quite good.
-A
To: Arthur Delahey < arthurdelahey@gmail.com >From: Edward Eames < e.eames80@gmail.com >Date: Oct 22, 2005Subject: Re: ARTHURHas anyone ever told you to your face that you are actually quite condensending?
To: Edward Eames From: Arthur Delahey Date: Oct 22, 2005Subject: Re: ARTHUREames,
Not yet but I'm sure it's only a matter of time.
You're welcome, by the way, for the chips.
-A
Holidays 2005: 1/3 >>
Author: sionnach_ayame & stardoll
Fandom/Pairing: Inception | Pre-Inception, Pre-Slash -- ULTIMATELY Arthur/Eames
Approx. Word Count: 3305
Disclaimer: Inception? Not ours.
Rating: PG
Summary: The Duo works their very first job in Hyannis, Massachusetts.
Eames' Player: stardoll
Arthur's Player: sionnach_ayame
[this part] Occurs: October 2005
<< September 2005
- - -
DATE: October 2nd, 2005
TIME: 6:45 p.m.
LOCATION John F. Kennedy International Airport
SCENE: ARTHUR DELAHEY checks Arrivals/Departures for the time in which EDWARD EAMES will arrive at JOHN F. KENNEDY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. As far as he is aware, EAMES' flight is not due until approximately 6:50 p.m. He quickly scans through the arrivals list and locates the flight EAMES will arrive on; the board says EAMES had already arrived fifteen minutes ago.
ARTHUR knows it is going to be a challenge to try and find EAMES amongst the throng of travelers. He scans the crowd to see if he can find the familiar shape of his friend-slash-business partner. Hastily, ARTHUR removes his cellphone from his pocket and pulls up EAMES' number; neither of them have officially exchanged numbers but he knows that EAMES has already obtained ARTHUR'S through his 'sources'. He presses CALL.
(BEGIN TRANSCRIPT)
EDWARD EAMES: I just got off the plane, darling. So hold your horses.
ARTHUR DELAHEY: Forgive me - the arrivals board said you had arrived earlier than planned. (EAMES snorts) I was afraid that you might be let loose on the American public.
EAMES: And that would be a pity because? Perhaps I WANT to be unleashed upon unsuspecting Americans?
DELAHEY: God help them, I don't think they're prepared for that. (EAMES laughs) So where are you? Customs?
EAMES: Past that. My flight was early, so I’ve already finished that nonsense. Why else would I be talking to you?
DELAHEY: Because you're notorious for doing what you shouldn't be doing?
EAMES: Hmm, true. (PAUSE) So, where can I find you?
DELAHEY: I suppose that depends - have you gotten your baggage yet?
EAMES: No, I suppose you can meet me at the carousel then, yeah?
DELAHEY: I'll meet you there.
EAMES: Hey, are you hungry -
DELAHEY: - m starving. What are you hungry for? (PAUSE) I know airplane food can leave a lot to be desired.
EAMES: You're telling me. All I've had were whiskey doubles. (ARTHUR coughs) You live in New York, you tell me: what would you recommend?
DELAHEY: Hm, well. How adventurous do you want to be?
EAMES: Adventurous is my middle name, dear.
DELAHEY: - should have figured. Well I know a good place that serves amazing curry. Of course, there's New York style pizza and hot dogs -
EAMES: Greasy sounds amazing right now. (LONG PAUSE) Are you up for it? 'Cause something needs to soak up all this booze. (ARTHUR coughs again) And then maybe we can talk business. Security. That sort of thing.
DELAHEY: It would be much easier to talk about business and security when you're not drunk -
EAMES: Darling, they don't let drunks on planes -
DELAHEY: So pizza works. (PAUSE) I think I see you now, so I'm hanging up. See you in a few.
(END TRANSCRIPT)
- - -
- - -
As soon as he had received the letter, he had hopped the first flight to JFK, where he was accompanied with a screaming toddler, her exhausted young mother, and a cranky elderly couple. The flight was miserable, customs was a pain, and his luggage was lost - all for this job.
This job.
"In a crisps factory?" Eames asked eyebrow arched as he shook his head slowly.
Arthur stepped out of his kitchen and into the spacious living room with a couple of plates and a handful of napkins. "Hey, not just any chip factory - this is the Cape Cod Potato Chip Factory." He quirked his lips up in amusement; no, there wasn't anything special about this chip factory when compared to other chip factories. One couldn't be too picky when selecting a trial job - especially when one was expected to carry out extraction for the first time at a corporate level. "For a first job, it could be worse," he added as an afterthought.
"Oh, well if this is the Cape Cod Potato Chip Factory..." Eames said, waving his hands animatedly. "Why didn't you say so earlier? This absolutely changes everything!" Rising from his spot on the sofa, he strode to meet Arthur halfway and extended his hands, silently offering to take half of what he was carrying. Arthur frowned.
"I wasn't sure you couldn't handle it if I told you any earlier," Arthur said dryly. He half-heartedly asked Eames if he wanted anything to drink: “Soda, water, whiskey, wine...” At the prospect of alcohol, Eames smiled devilishly.
"Whiskey you say?" he asked, his voice sing-song. When the other man narrowed his gaze at him, he quickly corrected himself. "But water is fine, thanks. No ice." Unceremoniously, Arthur hastily dumped the plates and napkins into Eames' waiting hands.
"You can take those and I'll get you that water." He said, after giving Eames a look.
Minutes later, he returned with two glasses of water - one with ice and one without. "They want to know if the man they suspect has been stealing money from the company is actually the culprit," he said, framing the job.
"Money?" Eames asked, glancing up from his complicated arrangement of napkins and plates on Arthur's glass-top coffee table. "Good, for a moment there I thought we were going to knick Lay's secret crisp recipe for the owner of Cape Cod. Money makes the job marginally more interesting." Deciding it better to ignore the coffee table, he stepped toward Arthur and reached for his water. Before raising the glass to his lips asked, "How long has this particular employee been taking money, you think?"
Arthur sat down on the couch and opened up the pizza box in front of them. "For starters, they're two different styles of potato chips - I doubt Cape Cod would want to give up their 'homemade, kettle-cooked' formula for something as 'lackluster' as Lays." Not that he had a problem with Lay's potato chips, but he enjoyed chips with a little more crunch. He picked up a plate and took out a slice of pizza. "According to Donald Price - our client - he first noticed money disappearing from the home office four months ago. My guess is that it has been happening for a little longer than that, possibly up to six months ago."
"Crisps are crisps, Arthur," Eames said despairingly, shaking his head. He eyed the gloriously greasy mess before him and reached for a large slice of pizza. "Tell me, do we have an ID on our thief? Or does this Mr. Price expect us to sift through his employees until we find the bastard? I don't know about you, but I'm rather certain that we don't think we have enough somnacin for the latter."
"You're right - we don't have enough somnacin for all of his employees. Luckily, Mr. Price gave us the ID of our suspected thief and has agreed to help us when it comes to sedating the man." Arthur folded his slice of pizza in half before taking a bite. He closed his eyes as he took in the flavors. Delicious.
"Then it sounds like we have all our ducks in a row," Eames said, smiling. "When do we start?"
“We can start as soon as you sleep off your jet lag. Then, I’ll start researching and we can start planning and building the level. I’ll be on point and you can take extractor. Work for you?”
Eames smiled.
- - -
DATE:Tuesday - October 11th, 2005
LOCATION: Hotel Room - Hyannis, MA
The last week had been spent doing extra research ("you can't do too much research for situations like this") while simultaneously planning and running mock trials. Arthur wanted to make sure everything was perfect and ready to go for the Price Job. The way he saw it, you could never be too careful with something new like extraction; he had wanted to make sure they wouldn't be stepping into a death trap.
It turned out their Mark had a particular fascination for film noir; the setting, costumes, and aura of the genre was a particular selling point for their Mark, a Mr. Harding. In order to make the mark feel at ease, they set the entire one level dream up in a film noir setting. The dream was a simple one level with an interrogation room, where Eames would be set up with Harding. Arthur would be keeping guard behind the relative safety of a two way glass mirror.
They had their plans and back up plans; all that they had left was the actual job to do.
"Are you ready?" Arthur asked as the two were getting ready to leave their hotel for the chip factory.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Eames said. He shot Arthur a cocky grin. "I believe you've done most of the work already; all that's left is extracting what we need from our dear Mr. Harding. Which, I assume, shouldn't be too terribly difficult." Adjusting the cuffs of his silk shirt, he added with a frown: "can't use deadly force on this one, hm?"
Eames had a point - there wasn't much left to do but the extraction. It should be an easy in and out job. "Then let's get going,” Arthur said with a curt nod.
- - -
The interrogation room was small and lit by a naked bulb that dangled from a thin wire threaded through the ceiling. In the center of the room was a square aluminum table which had been bolted to the floor, and flagged on either ends by aluminum chairs. Three of the walls were gray and unassuming, while the fourth - a one-way mirror - glittered ominously in the din of the room.
Sitting directly across from the one-way mirror, finger anxiously drumming on the cool metal, was Mr. Harding. He narrowed his eyes at his captor, a man clad in black with fedora tipped over one eye.
"You have no right! I don't even know why I'm here!" Mr. Harding barked as his knee jackhammered and his fingers continued to tap on the cool metal.
"Really?" the interrogator asked coolly. "No idea what-so-ever? Come now, those of clean conscious are rarely if never called in. Why would I waste my time on you if you have no reason to be in that seat?" He reached into the inner breast pocket of his trench and retrieved a slender metallic cigarette case. It clicked open and he extended the container to Mr. Harding. "For your nerves?"
Mr. Harding shook his head and looked around the room; his eyes darted toward the two way mirror as he continued to drum the pads of his fingers on the metal table. "That's not true," he narrowed his eyes at the investigator. "I could be here for a various number of reasons." He started to shake his head at the offer of a cigarette, but ended up taking one anyway.
"Guilty conscious?" the interrogator asked. He returned the case to his interior pocket before taking a seat across from Mr. Harding. Folding his hands on top of the aluminum table, he leaned forward and smiled. "Allow me to help you narrow this down. Your employer...can you tell me about the kind of person he is?" He leaned back into his seat and laced his fingers behind his head. "Seems like a pompous asshole to me, but I could be wrong."
Mr. Harding narrowed his eyes at the interrogator upon his accusation. "Donald Price is one of the best employers I've had, so yes - you would be wrong. Don't I get a lawyer or a phone call?"
Ignoring Mr. Harding's request, the interrogator arched an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked in response. "Well, he seems awfully convinced that one of his own employees is pilfering money under the table and rather than investigating the matter further, he almost relishes in the idea of finding and firing the first employee he suspects." Smiling, the man in black added: "which, I'm sure you know nothing about, am I right?"
Mr. Harding was silent and silently glared at the other man. "What are you talking about? You don't - he doesn't honestly think I'm the one doing that does he?"
The interrogator smiled coyly.
"You tell me. You said yourself you could be here for a miscellany of reasons. To assume you are biting the hand that feeds you isn't too far-fetched."
"I'll have you know that I would never do anything like that!" Mr. Harding snapped. "I'm not that kind of person!" He paused. He lowered his gaze to the tabletop; it all came together.
"But...I know who is."
Unclasping his hands, the interrogator leaned forward and with his thumb, he nudged the brim of his fedora back so it no longer obscured one eye. He leaned forward to close the space between himself and Mr. Harding and folded his hands.
"Who?"
“Dominique Hardgrove.”
Leaning back, the interrogator smiled slyly.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Harding. I'll be sure that you're compensated handsomely."
- - -
DATE: Tuesday - October 11th, 2005
LOCATION: Alberto's Ristorante - Hyannis, MA
Arthur returned to the table; he had excused himself earlier to take a phone call from their client. As he slipped back into his seat, he casually said, "she was fired...I think this would call for a celebratory drink," and then went on to mention how the money would be wired into the duo's bank accounts first thing the next morning. ("That should keep the creditors at bay," Eames had muttered under his breath.) The pay wasn't much, but it was their first job and they did end up with both the monetary compensation and a complementary box of Cape Cod Potato Chips as a personal thank you.
Eames chuckled at Arthur's nonchalance.
"Glad that her sacking is grounds for celebration.”
"It's not but considering it was the first job we pulled together and it was successful, I would say that is a cause for celebration - wouldn't you?” Eames shrugged.
“Only if you say so,” he said as he fiddled with the ever-so-slightly frayed end of his cloth napkin. Turning his gray eyes to Arthur, he asked, "what next?" Arthur shifted in his seat, lifted his glass up off the table, and took a sip of water. Watching Eames toy with his napkin, he quirked his lips in amusement.
"We eat, go back to hotel and return to New York tomorrow," he said, deliberately making sure to answer his partner's question as literally as possible. Eames rolled his eyes; Arthur responded by smiling sweetly. "As for the job front, well, we obviously wait until we get word of another job. If you find something, let me know and if I find something, I'll be sure to let you know."
Eames released his grip on the napkin and turned his attention back to Arthur with a smile. "Right. So, what's your poison?"
"I think today calls for scotch. You?"
"Well, if that's how you're going to be then I'll resort to my old fallback." Pouting, he added, "I would have hoped you would have wanted to split a bottle of wine with me, seeing as this is a nice Italian restaurant, but..."
"We can split a bottle of wine,” Arthur said hurriedly. Eames chuckled, then nudged his menu toward the center of the table.
“Only giving you a hard time, darling.”
“Obviously!” Eames grinned. Pressing open palms into the table, he leaned his torso in, better closing the gap between him and Arthur.
“So, about this partnership of ours...how is it going to work out, exactly?” he asked, voice low. “You know, for future reference?"
At Eames' question, Arthur quickly became the one to fiddle with his napkin nervously. It was only only a few minutes that he had come up with a response. "If you find a job, you have the choice to take it or not. You hardly need my permission. However, if you decide to, then you handle all contact with the client. I'll do further research only once you let me know what you know of the job and of the client." As far as he was concerned, the two of them were both independent men who were more than capable of making their own decisions. They hardly needed the others' permission about whether or not they should take a job. "I'm all ears if you have other ideas. "
"Sounds fair enough. What about...and this may be just me...but what about pseudonyms? Because we both know going about as Arthur Delahey and Edward Eames is a great way to get ourselves killed, or at least discovered," Eames said, lowering his voice further to ensure that only the two of them would be included in the conversation. "Dummy bank accounts, fake documentation, that sort of thing. How does that sound?" He began to smile. "Since we both know how important security is in work like this."
Arthur smiled. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought around the same lines. "Good point. I agree - we would certainly need all of that and more at some point in time." Arthur lowered his voice as well to match the one Eames used. "You wouldn't know anyone who could forge paperwork, would you?" Eames feigned shock.
"Darling, you already know the BEST," he said, pointing at himself.
Arthur raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Oh? How much experience do you have, Mr. Eames?" He couldn't help but tease. Eames beamed.
"Well, my initial foray into forgery earned me eight months...but I learned from that!" Winking, he added, "You don't think I got into the States using my real name, do you?"
"...eight months? Christ, I would really hope you learned from that," Arthur said dryly. Quickly changing the subject, he asked, “what name did you use?" If Eames could get into the United States without using his real name, that was certainly a good sign of the man's skill.
"William Webb," he said. He watched Arthur arch his brows, and as a response he shrugged and said, "I have a thing for alliteration. So, can you put your trust in me, or shall we look for another forger who may not be as wonderful as I am?"
Arthur chuckled and nodded his head. "Or as modest? No. And, we wouldn't be in this partnership if I didn't trust you. So, you'll do," he said with a grin.
“So you do trust me?”
“Why wouldn't I?” Arthur arched a brow. “You...haven't given me any reason to NOT trust you,” he said slowly. Reaching into his breast pocket, Eames removed a leather billfold and waved it in the pointman's face. Arthur balked.
“GIVE THAT BACK!”
“Would you consider me the best?”
“IF YOU GIVE THAT BACK!” Arthur barked, springing over the table for his wallet. “Jesus fucking Christ, how did you do that?”
“Tsk tsk, dear...a magician never reveals his secrets.”
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To: Arthur Delahey < arthurdelahey@gmail.com >From: Edward Eames < e.eames80@gmail.com >Date: Oct 22, 2005Subject: ARTHURSIX MONTHS OF CRISPS ARRIVED ON MY DOORSTEP.
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH ALL OF THEM.
To: Edward Eames From: Arthur Delahey Date: Oct 22, 2005Subject: Re: ARTHUREames,
I'm glad they arrived within a good time frame and weren't delayed for too long.
I do believe chips are meant to be eaten. They are quite good.
-A
To: Arthur Delahey < arthurdelahey@gmail.com >From: Edward Eames < e.eames80@gmail.com >Date: Oct 22, 2005Subject: Re: ARTHURHas anyone ever told you to your face that you are actually quite condensending?
To: Edward Eames From: Arthur Delahey Date: Oct 22, 2005Subject: Re: ARTHUREames,
Not yet but I'm sure it's only a matter of time.
You're welcome, by the way, for the chips.
-A
Holidays 2005: 1/3 >>