Hitman 2/3 V/E

[chase65]

Title: Hitman

Fandom: Entourage

Author: chase65

Rating: PG

Pairing: V/E

Warnings: See Author's note

Disclaimer: I've been negotiating with Ari, but he is one tough s.o.b.,

so as of yet none of the boys belong to me.

Word Count: 11,000+

Feedback: Greatly appreciated


One Year Later

“Can you come inside for a minute?”

The first thing Eric Murphy instructed Vincent Chase to do upon returning to Los Angeles twelve months ago was set up a meeting with his business manager.  Before their paths crossed, Chase's agent had already dropped him, but personal appearance fees spent just same as any other money so there had been no problem with his business manager, yet.  Murphy's initial surveillance had clearly indicated however that, that day would be sooner rather than later. Vincent Chase needed to be on that page.

"Listen to everything he tells you. Write things down if you need to. And get copies of all of your statements."

After the meeting he'd picked Vince up and driven to Long Beach. Chase was still enough of a draw on a slow paparazzi day to draw attention. His business manager's office was located on Robertson in the heart of Beverly Hills. Chase would have been an easy sighting, worthy of snapping some shots and maybe following for a little while to see what reality star he might have been hooking up with.  If not much effort was involved. The chances that they would drive forty five minutes out of LA for a photo op were pretty slim. It had been and still was important that their documentable contact was kept to a minimum.

On the nearly empty patio of Stefano’s Pizza in Shoreline Village, he went over the state of Vince's financial health with him again.  And then explained that it was no longer acceptable for him not to have a fixed address. The days of surfing his brother's couch, crashing with either his dealer or his countless pickups were over.  Murphy maneuvered his landlady into working with the actor.  She no longer showed property, but a couple of strategic inquiries about available property when he dropped off his rent check prompted her to offer. Apparently, Vincent Chase’s appeal was multi-generational. She’d found him a modest Craftsman in Los Feliz. Eric had only ever seen it in pictures.

Vince's hand jittered on the car door handle.

"Can you come in?"

With a practiced eye, Murphy scanned the street for undesirables. Found none.

“For a few minutes, yeah.”

There had been a party. Murphy did not attend parties unless there was a contract involved. The noisy confused drunkenness made great cover and he’d fulfilled his share of contracts at parties. Tonight’s get together had not been contract related, but it had been about business.

He'd known Chase was going to be there. They had talked about it. Several of the attendees had a less than six degree separation from the director of Vince’s new project. Bars and parties had essentially been eliminated from the actor’s agenda in the last months, but he’d been invited by his director. They hadn't attended together. Turtle, as he'd come to know the guy with the hats and a bizarre shoe obsession, had driven Vince. Johnny Chase, Vince's brother had also been at the party, but when Vince was ready to go neither of them could be found.  He’d thought he was gonna have to have another talk with Turtle, but he would find that this was all Vince.

Standing in Vince’s living room, he marveled at the size of the flat screen. It dominated a space that was fairly simply furnished with two plush, dark brown fabric covered couches and a huge oak cabinet filled with DVDs and video games.

“Here you go.”   He took the chilled, opened beer from Vince and waited.

“Let’s toast,” Vince said holding his own bottle aloft.  “To the start of principal photography.”  Their bottles clanked. Eric touched his first alcohol of the night to his mouth. He expected Vince to do the same, but Vince set his bottle on the coffee table and started speaking instead.

"Why were you talking to Amanda Daniels tonight? Every time I turned around you had your mouth to her ear."

The matter of fact tone was at odds with grass colored eyes that had darkened to forest. The beer bottle faltered in Murphy’s hand. He’d been blindsided.

When the two of them touched down in Los Angeles twelve months ago, he’d expected a fight.  Even though the territory was brand new to Murphy, it stood to reason that once he was no longer isolated from what was familiar, Chase would try and put distance between them. A threat to involve the police was fully expected.

There had been no threat. There hadn’t been much of anything, but somber acceptance. On the Fulton Air tarmac, before he put Chase in a cab, the actor had asked him simply, “What do you want me to do now?”  The list Murphy had spent the flight fine tuning exchanged hands.

“I’ll call you in two days to talk about that. Stay out of the clubs, get some sleep.”  He’d expected resistance over some of the to dos at the top of the list, especially the second one - start jogging three mornings a week. But nothing had manifest until now.

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For the five years Murphy had lived in his building and for years before as his initial surveillance revealed,  a two tone cream and maroon chauffeured Bentley always pulled up to the front of his building sharply at ten a.m. each Sunday morning.

Each time, it deposited an elderly gentleman dressed to the nines at his landlady’s front door.  He’d compiled a file on the man, the same way he’d compiled one on all of his neighbors and people who delivered regularly to the building before becoming a tenant.  The information gathered had been a good read, but not especially relevant until he chose not to put a bullet in Vincent Chase.

The first night back from Costa Rica, he reviewed the information in his file for the man, Bob Ryan. He paid particular attention to the black and white photos of Ryan with mobster, Sam Giancana.

The first Sunday back from Costa Rica, he made it a point to be in his building’s courtyard as the Bentley made its usual stop.  He’d addressed the old man by name, mentioned a scene from one of his more obscure, but critically acclaimed  films as a favorite which caused the producer to light up and say,

”Lemme tell you about the time me, Peckinpah and Borgnine shut down the Formosa.”

Ten minutes later Murphy was sitting on his landlady’s patio, listening to a story about how she and Bob almost burned down Paramount while having sex on a closed set. He listened and waited.  Bob Ryan reminded him of some of the regulars from the bar. Loyal, talked a lot of shit. So much so that you didn’t notice the things they kept under their hat.

In his early Hollywood days, Ryan had worked as both a talent manager and an agent.  His landlady had been one of his clients. Vincent Chase needed those services. And Murphy needed someone he could keep an eye on. Someone, who understands Cosa Nostra ways.

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Swallowing against an unfamiliar twist of uncertainty in the pit of his stomach, Murphy set his beer down carefully on the table beside Vince‘s.

“What’s the problem, Vince?”

“Amanda Daniels.”

“It’s on the list.”

“It’s not on the list.”

“It is.”

Vince jammed his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.  Opening it to the bill section he pulled out a well creased piece of paper, unfolded it. Scanned through it.

“Get a rep with a spine, means Amanda Daniels.”

“Yeah, right now. That’s exactly what it means.”

“What about Bob?”

“Bob has served his purpose.”

Vince flung the wallet on the table nearly knocking over his beer. Flopping down on the couch he crossed long arms over his chest and glared at Murphy.

“I don’t like her.”

“You’re being childish.”

“Everything is fine the way it is. This is fine.”

“You agreed to abide by the list.”

“I didn’t agree to her.”

Murphy stared hard at Vince whose face was flushed red, his lips pressed into a fine tight line.  It gratified him to see the passion, even if it was misdirected. Things were going well."

A well-received, against type guest star appearance on HBO’s In Treatment as a man battling pedophilic tendencies put him on Rodrigo Garcia’s radar. That in turn got him an audition for the character driven film Garcia was producing about a young father dealing with the onset of mental illness. Those bookings combined had prompted a serious uptick in the quality and numbers of scripts earmarked for Vincent Chase.

Murphy had to admit he’d allowed himself to be lulled. The lack of any real resistance eleven months ago left him inadequately prepared to defend his meeting with Daniels.

"Stop pouting."

"You're being an asshole."

“You agreed to this. Amanda Daniels would be great for you.”

“You sure she wouldn’t be great for you? The way you were up on her all night.”

“This is about business.”

“It didn’t look like business.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is ridiculous.”

"It's not ridiculous. You killed for me."

They had never talked specifics about what Murphy had done to his client. Those words had never been spoken out loud. It suddenly occurred to him that Vince might be wearing a wire. It shook him.

"You think I did that Vincent?”

“You ever turn on a client like that before, Murphy.”

Swallowing hard, Murphy tried to shake off a creeping fury that was threatening to overtake him.

“Take off your shirt.”

“What?”

“Your shirt, take it off now.”

The lanky body unfolded from the couch in a fluid motion. The t-shirt came off and was angrily flung to the couch.  Blue eyes traveled the exposed skin intently.

“Turn around. Hold your arms up.” Murphy commanded low and hard.

“What the fuck man,” Vince asked as he turned his back.  “What is wrong with you?”

“Pull down your pants.”  Vince turned to face Murphy again, a slight smile on his face.

“I’ll pull down mine, if you pull down yours.”

“Are you wearing a wire?”

The quick fire play of emotion across Vince’s face gave him the answer.

“Really?” Vince’s voice had a tone he hadn’t heard before. Incredulity mixed with supreme anger, overlaid with a fine sheen of hurt.

“The only reason you can think of for me to ask you to come in, is because I’m setting you up? The night before something I worked really hard to get.”

“Amanda Daniels is good agent. There’s no reason for you to object to her.”

“I have no reason to trust her. You and I are tied together by blood. That means something. You did that. I don’t want her.”

“This has nothing to do with whether or not you want her. This is about business.”

"Fine, you want to be all about business?  That first day you said that I didn't have to prostitute myself so that means I don't let other people do that either. Right? You don't get to pimp me out. I decide who represents me. If Amanda Daniels is on the table, I'll be a no show tomorrow morning. I will walk."

"You’ll get sued. You'll be in breach of your contract."

"Is that worse than being an accessory to murder?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Besides a serious case of purple balls, not a goddamn thing."

"Is that what this is about? You need to get your rocks off? You tense about tomorrow?  I was hoping the party would mellow you out, but I guess you’ll just have to be extra sweet to your hand.”

Long legs sprawled as Vince’s slim fingers flicked open the top button of his jeans.

“Or you could take your pants off.”

Murphy stared hard into jade eyes that stared right back. There was the anger, a disturbing vulnerability and no fear. The reason for the unreasonable objection seemed to clarify. For the first time in their unlikely partnership, he wished for cunning in the other man’s eyes. It was easier to defend against.

“What the fuck? This is why your brother and Turtle were suddenly m.i.a tonight?”

“You should go.”

“Vince, wait a minute, let me just -.”

Drawing his knees together with an almost audible snap, Vince hunched forward on the couch.

“I want to look at my sides before I go to bed. After all tomorrow is a big day, right? I get to be a goddamn movie star.”

“Vince?”

“Seriously Murphy, get out.”

And because it was supposed to be about the work, Murphy clamped down on anything else he might have said and showed himself out. On the sidewalk, he didn’t bother pausing long enough to check the street.  Bee-lining for his car, he slammed inside and peeled away from the curb.

Murphy intended to head home and run through his own pre-job checklist.  Tonight was supposed to have been simple. Talk to Amanda Daniels, wish Vince well, then prepare and pack for his own job.  That was what he needed to focus on. He had a contract in Seattle. It began the next day and he was ticketed for the first flight of the day.

The intention was to take Franklin to Highland with a shot through the Cahuenga Pass for home. Instead, he found his car dipping down to Sunset seemingly of its own volition. Making a right onto Sunset, he headed for the beach.

He loved the water. The crescendo of the waves smoothed over the edges of everything, evened it out. Vincent Chase had suddenly become an edge. It was no one’s fault, except his own. Like Fulton Air and his house, Vincent Chase had been an investment, but he'd made the mistake of going into it without being sure what the yield he was expecting.  The initial thrill had been watching his suggestions bear fruit. With Vincent Chase, his skill with efficient planning and follow through was a living thing. His contractual work gave him a sense of satisfaction, but watching the Chase transformation struck a deeper cord.  He rarely thought of him as a kid now.

The image of Chase, legs open in invitation flashed in his mind’s eye.  Murphy didn’t self-delude, couldn’t in his line of work, so he closed his eyes and allowed himself to see.

He hadn't really thought about it, what he liked, which way he swung. It was dangerous for him to relate to people in that way. His associations with other men were essentially marked by detachment. They were either contractor or contractee. Watching men was his job. When he’d worked at the bar, there had been a couple girls, because that was what you did. Those encounters had been fumbled, sweaty and mostly one-sided. He simply unzipped his jeans and got blown.

But Vincent Chase was something else entirely. As fucked up as it was, he’d spent more time with his ex-mark than he had any other person in the last eight years. The contact with his family was sporadic at best and he had no close friends.

He let himself see three days a week, for a year, running up the rocky, dusty incline on the Fuller side of Runyon Canyon so the d-girls, d-boys, assistants, et al could Facebook and Twitter and gossip in line at the Coffee Bean that Vincent Chase had gone from a inveterate nightcrawler to a avid daywalker.  He let himself see what he hadn’t allowed himself to see in those moments because it was business.  Vincent Chase’s t-shirt free skin glistening in the sun beneath a fine sheen of sweat. Green eyes brightened and face flushed by exertion. Beautiful.

He let himself see Vincent Chase, shirtless, in board shorts, sitting by the pool at Bob Ryan’s estate fulfilling the list requirement that he read five scripts a week.  He saw Vince succinctly explain to both he and Bob over a sun-kissed lunch, the weaknesses of one of hottest scripts making the rounds, then grin like a mischievous boy and say, “I wouldn’t do this project even if they were willing to give me an audition.”  Self-deprecating.

Available. He let himself see once more the invitation of almost an hour ago. He let himself see the possibility that Vincent Chase was the way he swung.

Murphy pulled out his cell, dialed.  It rang for a long time before Vince finally picked up. There was no greeting. There was only the sound of the other man breathing.

"What do you want Vince?"

"I think I need you to be there tomorrow," came the quiet reply.

Murphy swallowed hard.

"You don't Vince, you really don’t. You’ve come a long way since that night. You just needed a wake-up call.  You just needed a push in the right direction.”

That was greeted with a prolonged sigh.

"I been thinking about a lot of shit lately. I don't think it's that random. I think it’s you."

“I have obligations the same as you do. I can’t.”

More breathing.

"You should go to sleep. It's late."

"I won't let that woman represent me."

"Yeah, I know. Get some sleep."

"G'night."

"Night."

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The next morning, Murphy found himself parked across the street from Vince's place watching Turtle load up the car.  He wished that he could say that there had been some sort of internal debate, some sort of pros and cons list about making this visit. There hadn't been. Typically, he purchased more than one set of round trip tickets when he traveled for work and the Seattle job was no exception. After hanging up with Vince, he'd driven a few more miles up PCH to get his head together. It hadn’t worked out quite as he hoped. Once home, he printed the boarding pass for the flight that allowed him enough time to go to Los Feliz before hitting the airport, without hesitation or second thought.

Turtle caught sight of Murphy just as he finished loading the Nintendo Wii and a duffle into the back of Vince’s black SUV. He gave a little half wave before climbing into the driver's side. There were still occasions when Murphy wanted to put his foot in Turtle's ass, but one of the few things Vince had been insistent about from the beginning of their association was that Turtle was his friend, a real friend.

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As a result, Murphy had decided the best way to handle the Turtle situation was to put it to the test.  Turtle hadn't been hard to find since he hung out at most of the same places where Vince hung out.  Murphy had only waited a few minutes on Ivar before he saw the unmistakable cap and round silhouette walking up the street with a couple of other guys in caps and chains.

"Hey man, got a sec?"

"Yeah, what's up kid, you need something?"

"I do."  Murphy inclined his head slightly to include the short alley a few feet behind him. Turtle peeled away from the other two and followed Murphy a couple steps in.

"I don't want an audience."  Turtle shrugged at him and turned to walk away.

It's about Vincent Chase." There was a moment’s hesitation. "Guys, I’ll meet you inside." Both men gave Eric the once over before nodding at Turtle and walking away.  His apparent discretion on behalf of Vincent Chase lifted Murphy’s estimation of him slightly, but they hadn't gotten to the hard part yet.

"What about Vince?"

"When's the last time Vince had a job?"

The man’s face lit up as he pushed up on the bill of his cap.

"You want him for your club? We just did this thing at -"

"Not an appearance, but a job. An acting job. When’s the last time Vincent Chase had an acting job? Does he even have an agent?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Who the fuck are you? You're supposed to be his boy, have his back? Am I right? That's how it works. How long do you think he's gonna be able to keep getting these checks? How long do you expect to ride this gravy train?"

"He's gettin' paid. It's not my fault if he gets hypnotized by pussy and doesn't return his agent's phone calls.  I told him he ought to get a fine honey to do that shit. Just ‘cause it's work doesn't mean it has to be unpleasant."

"No, it doesn't have to be unpleasant."

“You queer for Vinnie?"

"I'm not the one with my hand deep enough in his pocket to give him a handjob."

"You jumped up son of a bitch."

"Truth hurts. Things are about to change Turtle. You either change with them or -"

Murphy stepped back and shrugged.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm the guy that's gonna get your friend back on track. If he is your friend, you'll get on board."

Turtle had gotten on board.

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"You coming with,” Turtle asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

"No, I just need to speak to Vince for a minute.  Do I have time?"

Turtle checked his watch and gave Murphy the thumbs up. "You got about ten minutes, then we gotta bounce."

The smile that greeted Murphy as he stepped through Vince's front door was electric. He held his hand up as if to ward off the enthusiastic flow of words he saw on the tip of the other man's tongue.

"I'm not going with you to the set this morning."  The wattage of the smile dimmed considerably and he faltered in his stride towards Murphy.

"I can't not go, the way you can't, not go to work this morning. I just, I came by because I needed to tell you something.”

“Okaay, this doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it’s good.”

“What’s up?”

“When this arrangement was made, there was no time frame.”

“There was the list.”

“Yeah, the list. This is a good time for us to make a break.”

“There are still things on the list.”

“Your mother, Johnny, Turtle, nothing will happen to them. You never have to set foot in Runyon Canyon or put on a running shoe again. Your life is your own.”

“I -, Can’t we, can’t we talk about this?”

“You’re free Vince what else is there to talk about? Enjoy the shoot.”  As he turned to head for the door long fingers clasped his elbow.

“I want to talk to you about this.”

A horn blast cut through the air.

“You don’t have time.”

“Murphy.”

“You won’t want to once you really think about it.”

“But it’s my choice?”

“Yeah, it’s your choice. If you still want to talk to me in six weeks call me.

"You won’t ignore the call?”

"No, I won’t ignore that call."

Six Weeks Later

chase65.livejournal.com/20874.html