let's just focus on not dying for now
Eames the Liar: Part 7
Still rated R for continuing (perhaps worsening?) profanity, increasingly direct references to events from RocknRolla and... well Johnny Quid is just a scary bastard. Let's leave it at that.
New readers start here.
As of right now there are five things Eames has to worry about, and one thing he doesn’t.
First is how this turn of events affects the alleged death of one of his friends. Was Johnny telling the truth about One Two or just guessing? The possibility of One Two being alive is wonderful-the torture of getting Mumbles back and having him snatched away again makes it even more complicated than it already was.
Second is, Johnny knows everything. Johnny knew what we were up to from minute one, the moment I stupidly, stupidly went ahead with our stupid, stupid plan and showed him the PASIV device; Johnny knew to prepare a disguise and play us at our own game, and the lucky fucker just happened to go as someone Eames knew and trusted. Or, and Eames knows he cannot rule this out, Archy was in on it from the start and Johnny was expecting him. But of course even if that isn’t the case Eames has just very gracefully outed Archy’s involvement in the matter, which means Archy’s fucked, and we’re fucked doubly.
Third, Johnny knows who I am.
Fourth, I am at present completely unaware of this development and also getting inexplicably busy with someone which he can only assume I know full well is Johnny Quid’s subconscious reflection of who he used to be.
Fifth is probably something about poor Kent playing the sitting duck upstairs, but Eames’s heart is never in business and he’s somewhat irresponsibly mostly concerned about one and four.
Sixth is Johnny’s arm against his throat, the rest of Johnny pressing against him, way too close, way too strong, and Eames wonders in the back of his mind if he could take Johnny in a fight but Johnny is still Johnny Quid, which means when he talks, people tend to shut the fuck up and listen.
Johnny is saying: “So: bit of a crossroads, then! Where do we go from here, I wonder? Hmm.” He makes a big show of considering it, then snaps his fingers and says, “I’ve got it. A little trip down memory lane. I know you and your inept bunch of unrulies were always three steps out of the loop, but is there a chance, do you think, that you remember the significance of this?” And here he reaches into a pocket with his free hand, and withdraws a pencil.
Eames stares at it. The sixth thing on Eames’s list is now shifting to yes, he did hear about that time where supposedly-dead former-rocker tiny skinny half-starved junkie Johnny Quid stabbed an enormous fuck-off bouncer within an inch of his life with a blunt wooden pencil, and there it is in Johnny’s hand.
Johnny nods knowingly, and eases off Eames a little, in the interest of conversation. “Curious thing, dreaming. When I first went into it I thought there’d be this whole stipulation about dying in the Matrix means you die in real life and all, but as it turns out, just a handy wake-up call. So if you’re in this to hurt, it’s gotta be something relatively nonlethal, don’t it?” He smiles, and it’s a little detached and a lot terrifying. “And this whole personal object concept, what do you call it, the totem? Very nice. So I think, this is personal. And it doesn’t kill people, Pretty Bob. But it fucking hurts.”
Johnny is drifting. Eames is afraid to breathe, like being under the eye of a predator.
“Lenny stabbed me with a pencil once,” says Johnny a little dreamily, his gaze wandering for just a moment, back in a flash as he is tight upon Eames once more. “He was an horrible old sod and I have you and your friends to thank for getting him out of my life. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.”
Eames is thinking, maybe if I don’t move, he will go into a Bond villain monologue and I can make my daring escape.
Johnny is doing no such things, his eyes nowhere but Eames. “But you’ve become a bit of a problem, Bobby-boy. Snooping about in my brain and all. Not very polite.”
Eames can feel the dull lead point of the pencil brush along the skin of his throat.
“Tell me what Archy is after,” says Johnny, whimsy gone, filled up with dark, frightening Zen resolve.
The thing Eames doesn’t have to worry about, although he doesn’t know it just now, is the fourth thing, because when I draw away from the kiss I’m still trying to get my head around, my stomach lurches down like when you’re at the top of a rollercoaster about to go over the edge, and then my whole body seizes up in the myoclonic seizure, tripping over something when you’re just about asleep.
I’m awake.
It’s about as disorienting as you might expect, followed immediately thereupon by the coarse demand of “And just who the fuck are you?”
I blink up into the face of some guy I don’t know, some guy with a thick accent and a big, intimidating shape. He is straddling my chair, which he has tipped completely onto its back, and he’s gripping my shoulders.
“What-” I blurt gracelessly, and I look around myself. Eames and Johnny are asleep beside me, the machine still humming. Kent is gone. Archy is gone. Both Kent and Archy left me alone with this huge angry stranger.
“I asked you a question, mate,” he says, and lifts me up out of the chair and places me unceremoniously on my feet. I’m still not quite balanced, and it’s ironically fortunate that he’s got my collar in his fist, as it becomes the only thing holding me up.
“Who are you?” I ask, overwhelmed by the situation.
This is the wrong thing to say.
He grunts heavily and hits me in the face, and just like that I am on the floor. I am a fairly capable fighter, but he has the element of extreme surprise, and he is built like the roughest brawler I’ve ever had to go up against, so the odds are stacked slightly against me. This is my defense when I say I am pretty useless when he drags me up to my feet, gets both my arms behind me and basically manhandles me down a long corridor, away from Eames and Johnny.
“Wait, wait!” I say, struggling to get a hand free. “There’s some kind of mistake. I was giving Mr. Quid a demonstration-”
“Save it,” he growls. “Do you think I’m stupid or something?”
Okay, fine. “What did you do with Kent?”
“That little poof who was in there with you?” he says with a laugh. “Told him to fuck off, he fucked right off. You need some better friends, mate.”
So Kent is okay. Kent is okay and Kent knows where Yusuf is, and Yusuf is miles more competent, and that, at least, is something.
But that is the extent of the knowledge I gain, because then I’m on the floor again, this time in a small, windowless room which seems, really terrifyingly, to be some kind of holding cell.
I scramble to my feet and actually land a good punch on this guy’s chin, but he nails me right back and sends me sprawling again, and the door slams and the lock clicks into place. I stare at it for a moment, gingerly massaging my jaw, checking my lip for blood, and a quick glance around reassures me that I am not going anywhere.
My new friend is, though: he hurries back down the corridor into the room he’s just dragged me from, where he takes a moment to survey the setup dubiously, before carefully sitting down in my chair. He picks up the needle and regards it with great suspicion before slipping it, wincing, into his arm.
Johnny sniffs. Eames stands against the wall where Johnny has left him, untouched for the time being, watching Johnny’s every move stiffly. Eames hasn’t answered any questions and Johnny hasn’t followed through on the threat of pencil-violence, but knowing Johnny that could come at literally any moment.
“This procedure is lasting longer than five minutes,” he says, “isn’t it?”
Eames finally finds his voice and says, “It is five minutes. In real time.” This is not true. He and I arranged it to last longer just to be sure, and when Johnny turns to him and grins he knows Johnny has figured that out.
“Liar,” he says. “Better at it than your friend, but still not good enough.”
Eames is doing everything he can to hold himself together. “Look,” he says. “Archy wanted us in here because he was concerned for your wellbeing. It’s not about betrayal.”
Johnny gives a short, barking laugh. “Bollocks,” he says. “Stop treating me like I’m stupid, Bob.”
“Stop calling me that,” says Eames quietly.
Johnny looks at him placidly. He fingers his pencil. “So how long are we stuck here for?” he asks. He turns to the window and looks out, frowning thoughtfully. “Or should we just shoot ourselves and get it over with?”
Eames doesn’t answer. Eames is watching Johnny as he looks out the window, down towards where I was.
“Your friend appears to have fucked off,” he says.
He’s trying to draw Eames out. Eames resists.
Johnny smiles vacantly, still gazing out. “I want you to know I am sorry, Bob,” he says. “About what happened. I never meant for the job to go like it did. But you gotta understand, I’ve been pulling myself up by me own bootstraps since Lenny went, and sacrifices have to be made here and there. Can’t make an omelet and all that.” He smiles a little wider, Eames sees it in the reflection of the window pane, and he ducks his head down, fingering the pencil. “But it looks like what’s gone is gone.”
Eames isn’t quite sure what is happening, but he knows it’s insane. He is pretty sure he just jumped Johnny Quid from behind and slammed him as hard as he could in the back of the head with a Louboutin, but now he’s a man again and he’s running the fuck away from the building, so who the hell knows? Jesus Christ Jesus Christ. Where the fuck is Arthur?
Yeah, where the fuck am I?
“Shit,” he says to himself. “Shit!”
And then, from behind him, because half a dozen totally unfair mind-blowing surprises apparently isn’t enough for one dream: “Bob?”
He stops. He turns. He sees, and he refuses to believe.
“How the fuck did you follow me down that fast?” he snaps, ready to use the next object he can conjure as another bludgeon, even though Johnny is apparently made of iron.
One Two, however, just looks modestly bewildered. “I’m sorry?” he says.
Eames isn’t ready to give into it, not twice in a row. “Come the fuck on, Johnny,” he says. “This is just in bad taste.”
One Two is now looking a little concerned. “Why… d’ye think I’m Johnny?” he says. He looks around. “Is this supposed to be a dream? Are you just confused about who I am, like what happens in dreams? Is that it?” He looks back at Eames. “I don’t really know how this works,” he says apologetically.
Eames doesn’t know what to do. For a moment he just stares. Then, tiredly, afraid to give in to the incredible relief fighting its way to the surface, he says, “One Two?”
One Two looks pleased. “That’s right,” he says. “Though we should be careful, Johnny is somewhere around here, I think.”
“One Two, what the fuck,” says Eames, and because he didn’t do it with Mumbles, and it’s just as well because it wasn’t Mumbles, but he finds himself regretting it anyway, he steps forward and has himself a hug. One Two is immediately uncomfortable: it’s One Two, all right.
“You, uh… you all right?” he says, patting Eames’s back awkwardly.
“Thought you were dead,” murmurs Eames.
One Two manages to extricate himself. “Well, Christ, Bobby-boy, I thought you were dead,” he says. “Where’ve you been all this time? You couldn’t have dropped a line, or anything?”
“I’ve been busy,” says Eames. “Look, what are you doing here? Johnny’s seriously fucked us over, this is not a good place to be.”
“I was curious,” says One Two. “Never been inside one of these before. So could I fly, if I thought about it hard enough?”
Eames rubs the bridge of his nose. This is not happening. “That’s not how it works,” he says. “Look, I’m serious about this, okay? Where did you come from?”
One Two doesn’t have a really adequate response for this, so he shrugs and evades it with practiced ineptitude. “Look, I just saw you were hooked up with Johnny and some random prick, and I thought-”
“That random prick is my partner,” says Eames. “We are trying to do a job. Archy hired us to extract from Johnny, you do know what that means, don’t you?”
One Two has been frozen since the word “partner,” but Eames is distracted watching for Johnny and misses it entirely. “Uh-” he says. “Sort of. Archy hired you?”
“Yes,” says Eames impatiently. “Only it’s not going particularly well on account of Johnny has done dream-sharing before and knows what the hell he’s doing and what the hell we’re trying to do. So I’m starting to think Archy fucked us over, or if he didn’t, he’s going to kill us. Unless of course Johnny kills us first.”
One Two is frowning and nodding as if he understands, which Eames is pretty sure he doesn’t (which he doesn’t). “So, this partner of yours,” he says. “You trust him?”
Eames sighs irritably. “Yes, of course I trust him, One Two,” he says. “I’ve been working with him for years. I’m in love him.”
If he was being completely honest with himself, he’d know that he added this last bit in a strange, subconscious effort to make One Two jealous. If One Two was being completely honest with himself, he’d admit that strangely, subconsciously, it worked.
“I see,” says One Two. “Of course you are.”
Eames gives him a look, and neither of them know exactly how to proceed. One Two is not used to this Bob, when the Bob he knew was so comparatively quiet and easygoing, so willing to follow and be led. Eames isn’t sure he’s used to it either.
“I thought he was one of Johnny’s mates,” he says.
Eames narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?” he says. “How did you even-”
This, however, is as far as he gets, because he blinks and One Two is gone.
Justice is pretty sweet, is what I would think to myself if I was aware that at this moment, One Two’s chair has been hurled to the side and he’s sprawling on the floor, awake and deeply confused, and the first thing he hears is “And what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!”
One Two turns over and gapes up from the floor, his all-too-brief handle on the situation now completely gone. “Yusuf-!”
Yusuf has no patience for bullshit reunions. Kent burst into the pub saying something frantic about a crazed Scotsman threatening him with grievous bodily harm, and Yusuf was pretty sure he knew who it was, and now that he sees he’s right, he is not fucking around. “Where’s Arthur?”
“I-” says One Two, stopping himself short when he figures out Arthur = I’m in love with him = some random prick, and then, wanting to avoid this line of discussion as much as possible, gestures unhelpfully to Eames and says “You should wake him, things aren’t going smoothly. If he and Johnny wake up at the same time you’re in it.”
“You’re in it if I don’t get some fucking answers,” says Yusuf threateningly, and One Two has never seen Yusuf this way, and he’s beginning to realize that once again he is in way over his head. “Tell me where Arthur is.”
“I-I don’t know any Arthur,” says One Two in a barely-concealed panic. “Look, you’ve gotta wake Bob up, or this is going to get ugly very fast.”
“Oh for fuck’s-you better not have screwed this all up, mate,” says Yusuf wrathfully, checking the counter on the machine. Eames is due to wake up momentarily, Johnny shortly after. Everything’s going according to plan, except everything.
“Hey, I’m doin’ you a favor!” protests One Two, getting to his feet. “I can cover with the boss, just get out of here.”
“The-” Yusuf turns on him and stares in wide-eyed, open judgment. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
Eames chooses this moment to come to. He sits up straight, faster than one usually does upon re-entry into the Earth’s atmosphere, and Yusuf helps him up with a hand on his arm.
“How’d it go?” he asks, hoping for something, anything divergent from what One Two’s been on about.
“Pear-shaped,” says Eames curtly. “Johnny’s a forger. A fucking forger. Completely pulled the wool over.”
“Fantastic,” says Yusuf, and he sets about detaching Johnny from the machine, bringing the countdown to mere minutes before the extra sedative wears off. “You know One Two’s working for him now? Also, Arthur’s missing.”
Whatever Eames has had to put up with for the past relative ten minutes, this is going too far. “What?!” He rounds on One Two, who flinches and looks as guilty as sin. “Where is he? Where the fuck is he?”
One Two is saved, however, by the belated return of Archy, who cuts through the developing chaos with “What the hell is going on here?” Everyone turns to look at him, and he glares back reproachfully and says, “I leave for five minutes and it’s like a bomb went off.”
“Archy,” says Eames, turning and storming up to him. “Did you set us up? Is that what this is?”
Archy, to his great credit, is taken aback. “I don’t-what are you talking about?” He turns his sharp stare on One Two. “One Two, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Eames has had it. He grabs Archy by the shoulders and actually shakes him a little. “I’m talking about Johnny Quid your boss being a fucking forger, you fucking twat! As in in on the business! As in knows what you just tried to do!”
In any other universe this assault would have warranted the famous Archy slap; but in this case Eames has been pretty openly wronged and he is mad as hell and not gonna take it anymore, so Archy just stands there and absorbs this somewhat unwillingly. “…Well, that’s just grand,” he says with long-suffering resignation.
“I’ll say it’s grand,” says Eames, the fury showing no signs of slowing down. “And fuck you for not telling me about One Two, as well.”
“Eames, we haven’t got time,” says Yusuf, a nervous eye on Johnny. “We’ve gotta go, now.”
Eames waves Yusuf off and points accusingly at One Two. “Look, he’s done something with Arthur,” he says.
“Eames, come on!” Yusuf is pulling his arm now, and Eames allows himself to be pulled away from Archy, who is staring at him unblinkingly, and away from One Two, who is watching the ordeal and cringing noticeably.
“You find Arthur,” says Eames threateningly. “Find him!”
Yusuf pulls him out into the hallway and they’re off, Yusuf telling Eames repeatedly to just shut up and walk as fast as he can without running or hitting something.
There is a decent pause while Archy looks passively at the space Eames and Yusuf used to inhabit, and One Two looks at the floor. He feels Archy’s gaze slowly turn onto him, but he doesn’t move, not even as Archy approaches him with slow, even steps. Finally, when Archy has stopped within arm’s length, he chances looking up.
Archy backhands him so hard his head turns completely to one side, the slap echoing throughout the big room. One Two grunts heavily, but doesn’t argue; Archy was not moving on with the day without getting to slap someone, and One Two knew he was probably the best candidate.
“Fix this,” says Archy, dangerously serious.
“I don’t know h-” begins the put-upon One Two, but he flinches as Archy takes another threatening step forward.
“Fuck your don’t know how,” snarls Archy. “Fix it!”
“Ahh…” says Johnny from behind them, and they turn and watch him stretching languorously. “Nothing like shooting meself in the head to get out of a nice catnap.” He sits up and looks at them. “Well hello, Uncle Archy.”
There is a moment of frozen panic from both Archy and One Two, broken by Archy stepping forward with a quickly uttered, “Look, Johnny, I can explain-”
“Explain and I’ll cut your balls off,” says Johnny, getting to his feet. “Bring them to me and we’ll call it even.”
At this, Archy looks at One Two. He doesn’t know what One Two did with me, or why he did it, but at this point he doesn’t care if it means they have something to pacify Johnny. One Two, to his credit, was about ready to avoid mentioning me at all and wait for the opportune moment to set me free; however this doesn’t really count for much as Archy gives him a look that could injure a man and he crumples under the pressure.
“We’ve, uh…” he says, fidgeting. “We’ve already got one of them, in the back room.”
Johnny brightens. “Oh, jolly good. I feel like a bit of fun. Take me to him.” He turns on Archy, switching off the good mood like a light. “You. Your balls are on the line, and if you don’t want the rest of your vessel not to mention career to join them in about point-five seconds, you get out of my sight and deliver me some fucking mind-raping thieves.” He pulls back and offers Archy a cold little smile. “Shoulda known you’d always go Brutus on me, Arch. Where’s the trust? If there’s something you want to know that badly, I’ll always just tell you.”
Archy isn’t sure what to do here, and he’s about as fucked as he possibly can be, so he decides to just go for it. “…Are you planning something I don’t know about?”
“Archyyy.” Johnny laughs and pats Archy on the back. “I’m always planning something you don’t know about. Show some initiative, you might just get in on it this time.” And he pulls away and makes a light swatting gesture, waiting patiently. “Go on, then. Be a good boy. Scarper.”
Archy hesitates, glaring at Johnny, glaring at One Two, glaring at the situation. Archy is fucked. Archy does not approve of being fucked. It is not in his nature and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it, but it’s going to be good. At some point.
He stalks off, leaving One Two alone with Johnny. Johnny holds out a hand, inviting One Two to lead the way, which One Two does, begrudgingly. He is pretty sure Bob is going to kill him.
“Nice to see an old face, in’t it, One Two?” says Johnny. “I can only assume you let him get off Scot-free because, well. You gotta have your principles, right?”
One Two hates working for Johnny. It’s a long story, and he is at present composing various speeches in his head for how to tell it to Eames, how to best explain how he got into this situation, because he has to admit that at this point, yeah, it looks pretty bad.
“You ever been inside a dream before, One Two?” says Johnny, strolling along casually behind him.
“No, sir.”
“Don’t ‘sir’ me, you thick Scotch bastard,” says Johnny. “You know what it’s like gettin’ people wandering around inside your subconscious? It’s a violation, that’s what. Someday I’m sure you’ll understand.”
Mercifully for One Two, they reach the room where I am being kept, where I have been making a solid effort to pick the lock with a piece of wire for the past several minutes. I hear them outside and freeze in place, perhaps stupidly. This is what I hear:
“Look, don’t hurt him too much, all right? He seems important to Bob.”
“Important to Bob, is he? Shoulda thought of that before you knocked him out and dragged him into my playroom, eh, big guy?”
A pause, during which I can only assume the big one (what is that, Irish? Eames can never let go about my bad ear for accents) is realizing yeah, maybe he should have thought about that. Fucker.
“Run along now, Mr. Two,” is what Johnny says next. And, terrifyingly pleasant, he says, “Be grateful I’m in a good mood today!”
There’s a little pause while “Mr. Two” gets busy leaving me in the hands of a psychotic man who somehow seems to have gained the upper hand. I do not think about maybe getting away from the door, which opens inward-I’m frozen wondering what the hell has happened to Eames.
The door opens with a sharp crack, and I am thrown back onto the floor, muffled curses and blood trickling out from under my hand, and I look up and there’s Johnny standing over me, just smiling and smiling. Behind him the door swings heavily shut with a resounding, dooming thud.
He takes off his stupid sunglasses, folds them and slips them neatly into an interior pocket. “Hi,” he says.
Continues here.
Still rated R for continuing (perhaps worsening?) profanity, increasingly direct references to events from RocknRolla and... well Johnny Quid is just a scary bastard. Let's leave it at that.
New readers start here.
As of right now there are five things Eames has to worry about, and one thing he doesn’t.
First is how this turn of events affects the alleged death of one of his friends. Was Johnny telling the truth about One Two or just guessing? The possibility of One Two being alive is wonderful-the torture of getting Mumbles back and having him snatched away again makes it even more complicated than it already was.
Second is, Johnny knows everything. Johnny knew what we were up to from minute one, the moment I stupidly, stupidly went ahead with our stupid, stupid plan and showed him the PASIV device; Johnny knew to prepare a disguise and play us at our own game, and the lucky fucker just happened to go as someone Eames knew and trusted. Or, and Eames knows he cannot rule this out, Archy was in on it from the start and Johnny was expecting him. But of course even if that isn’t the case Eames has just very gracefully outed Archy’s involvement in the matter, which means Archy’s fucked, and we’re fucked doubly.
Third, Johnny knows who I am.
Fourth, I am at present completely unaware of this development and also getting inexplicably busy with someone which he can only assume I know full well is Johnny Quid’s subconscious reflection of who he used to be.
Fifth is probably something about poor Kent playing the sitting duck upstairs, but Eames’s heart is never in business and he’s somewhat irresponsibly mostly concerned about one and four.
Sixth is Johnny’s arm against his throat, the rest of Johnny pressing against him, way too close, way too strong, and Eames wonders in the back of his mind if he could take Johnny in a fight but Johnny is still Johnny Quid, which means when he talks, people tend to shut the fuck up and listen.
Johnny is saying: “So: bit of a crossroads, then! Where do we go from here, I wonder? Hmm.” He makes a big show of considering it, then snaps his fingers and says, “I’ve got it. A little trip down memory lane. I know you and your inept bunch of unrulies were always three steps out of the loop, but is there a chance, do you think, that you remember the significance of this?” And here he reaches into a pocket with his free hand, and withdraws a pencil.
Eames stares at it. The sixth thing on Eames’s list is now shifting to yes, he did hear about that time where supposedly-dead former-rocker tiny skinny half-starved junkie Johnny Quid stabbed an enormous fuck-off bouncer within an inch of his life with a blunt wooden pencil, and there it is in Johnny’s hand.
Johnny nods knowingly, and eases off Eames a little, in the interest of conversation. “Curious thing, dreaming. When I first went into it I thought there’d be this whole stipulation about dying in the Matrix means you die in real life and all, but as it turns out, just a handy wake-up call. So if you’re in this to hurt, it’s gotta be something relatively nonlethal, don’t it?” He smiles, and it’s a little detached and a lot terrifying. “And this whole personal object concept, what do you call it, the totem? Very nice. So I think, this is personal. And it doesn’t kill people, Pretty Bob. But it fucking hurts.”
Johnny is drifting. Eames is afraid to breathe, like being under the eye of a predator.
“Lenny stabbed me with a pencil once,” says Johnny a little dreamily, his gaze wandering for just a moment, back in a flash as he is tight upon Eames once more. “He was an horrible old sod and I have you and your friends to thank for getting him out of my life. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.”
Eames is thinking, maybe if I don’t move, he will go into a Bond villain monologue and I can make my daring escape.
Johnny is doing no such things, his eyes nowhere but Eames. “But you’ve become a bit of a problem, Bobby-boy. Snooping about in my brain and all. Not very polite.”
Eames can feel the dull lead point of the pencil brush along the skin of his throat.
“Tell me what Archy is after,” says Johnny, whimsy gone, filled up with dark, frightening Zen resolve.
The thing Eames doesn’t have to worry about, although he doesn’t know it just now, is the fourth thing, because when I draw away from the kiss I’m still trying to get my head around, my stomach lurches down like when you’re at the top of a rollercoaster about to go over the edge, and then my whole body seizes up in the myoclonic seizure, tripping over something when you’re just about asleep.
I’m awake.
It’s about as disorienting as you might expect, followed immediately thereupon by the coarse demand of “And just who the fuck are you?”
I blink up into the face of some guy I don’t know, some guy with a thick accent and a big, intimidating shape. He is straddling my chair, which he has tipped completely onto its back, and he’s gripping my shoulders.
“What-” I blurt gracelessly, and I look around myself. Eames and Johnny are asleep beside me, the machine still humming. Kent is gone. Archy is gone. Both Kent and Archy left me alone with this huge angry stranger.
“I asked you a question, mate,” he says, and lifts me up out of the chair and places me unceremoniously on my feet. I’m still not quite balanced, and it’s ironically fortunate that he’s got my collar in his fist, as it becomes the only thing holding me up.
“Who are you?” I ask, overwhelmed by the situation.
This is the wrong thing to say.
He grunts heavily and hits me in the face, and just like that I am on the floor. I am a fairly capable fighter, but he has the element of extreme surprise, and he is built like the roughest brawler I’ve ever had to go up against, so the odds are stacked slightly against me. This is my defense when I say I am pretty useless when he drags me up to my feet, gets both my arms behind me and basically manhandles me down a long corridor, away from Eames and Johnny.
“Wait, wait!” I say, struggling to get a hand free. “There’s some kind of mistake. I was giving Mr. Quid a demonstration-”
“Save it,” he growls. “Do you think I’m stupid or something?”
Okay, fine. “What did you do with Kent?”
“That little poof who was in there with you?” he says with a laugh. “Told him to fuck off, he fucked right off. You need some better friends, mate.”
So Kent is okay. Kent is okay and Kent knows where Yusuf is, and Yusuf is miles more competent, and that, at least, is something.
But that is the extent of the knowledge I gain, because then I’m on the floor again, this time in a small, windowless room which seems, really terrifyingly, to be some kind of holding cell.
I scramble to my feet and actually land a good punch on this guy’s chin, but he nails me right back and sends me sprawling again, and the door slams and the lock clicks into place. I stare at it for a moment, gingerly massaging my jaw, checking my lip for blood, and a quick glance around reassures me that I am not going anywhere.
My new friend is, though: he hurries back down the corridor into the room he’s just dragged me from, where he takes a moment to survey the setup dubiously, before carefully sitting down in my chair. He picks up the needle and regards it with great suspicion before slipping it, wincing, into his arm.
Johnny sniffs. Eames stands against the wall where Johnny has left him, untouched for the time being, watching Johnny’s every move stiffly. Eames hasn’t answered any questions and Johnny hasn’t followed through on the threat of pencil-violence, but knowing Johnny that could come at literally any moment.
“This procedure is lasting longer than five minutes,” he says, “isn’t it?”
Eames finally finds his voice and says, “It is five minutes. In real time.” This is not true. He and I arranged it to last longer just to be sure, and when Johnny turns to him and grins he knows Johnny has figured that out.
“Liar,” he says. “Better at it than your friend, but still not good enough.”
Eames is doing everything he can to hold himself together. “Look,” he says. “Archy wanted us in here because he was concerned for your wellbeing. It’s not about betrayal.”
Johnny gives a short, barking laugh. “Bollocks,” he says. “Stop treating me like I’m stupid, Bob.”
“Stop calling me that,” says Eames quietly.
Johnny looks at him placidly. He fingers his pencil. “So how long are we stuck here for?” he asks. He turns to the window and looks out, frowning thoughtfully. “Or should we just shoot ourselves and get it over with?”
Eames doesn’t answer. Eames is watching Johnny as he looks out the window, down towards where I was.
“Your friend appears to have fucked off,” he says.
He’s trying to draw Eames out. Eames resists.
Johnny smiles vacantly, still gazing out. “I want you to know I am sorry, Bob,” he says. “About what happened. I never meant for the job to go like it did. But you gotta understand, I’ve been pulling myself up by me own bootstraps since Lenny went, and sacrifices have to be made here and there. Can’t make an omelet and all that.” He smiles a little wider, Eames sees it in the reflection of the window pane, and he ducks his head down, fingering the pencil. “But it looks like what’s gone is gone.”
Eames isn’t quite sure what is happening, but he knows it’s insane. He is pretty sure he just jumped Johnny Quid from behind and slammed him as hard as he could in the back of the head with a Louboutin, but now he’s a man again and he’s running the fuck away from the building, so who the hell knows? Jesus Christ Jesus Christ. Where the fuck is Arthur?
Yeah, where the fuck am I?
“Shit,” he says to himself. “Shit!”
And then, from behind him, because half a dozen totally unfair mind-blowing surprises apparently isn’t enough for one dream: “Bob?”
He stops. He turns. He sees, and he refuses to believe.
“How the fuck did you follow me down that fast?” he snaps, ready to use the next object he can conjure as another bludgeon, even though Johnny is apparently made of iron.
One Two, however, just looks modestly bewildered. “I’m sorry?” he says.
Eames isn’t ready to give into it, not twice in a row. “Come the fuck on, Johnny,” he says. “This is just in bad taste.”
One Two is now looking a little concerned. “Why… d’ye think I’m Johnny?” he says. He looks around. “Is this supposed to be a dream? Are you just confused about who I am, like what happens in dreams? Is that it?” He looks back at Eames. “I don’t really know how this works,” he says apologetically.
Eames doesn’t know what to do. For a moment he just stares. Then, tiredly, afraid to give in to the incredible relief fighting its way to the surface, he says, “One Two?”
One Two looks pleased. “That’s right,” he says. “Though we should be careful, Johnny is somewhere around here, I think.”
“One Two, what the fuck,” says Eames, and because he didn’t do it with Mumbles, and it’s just as well because it wasn’t Mumbles, but he finds himself regretting it anyway, he steps forward and has himself a hug. One Two is immediately uncomfortable: it’s One Two, all right.
“You, uh… you all right?” he says, patting Eames’s back awkwardly.
“Thought you were dead,” murmurs Eames.
One Two manages to extricate himself. “Well, Christ, Bobby-boy, I thought you were dead,” he says. “Where’ve you been all this time? You couldn’t have dropped a line, or anything?”
“I’ve been busy,” says Eames. “Look, what are you doing here? Johnny’s seriously fucked us over, this is not a good place to be.”
“I was curious,” says One Two. “Never been inside one of these before. So could I fly, if I thought about it hard enough?”
Eames rubs the bridge of his nose. This is not happening. “That’s not how it works,” he says. “Look, I’m serious about this, okay? Where did you come from?”
One Two doesn’t have a really adequate response for this, so he shrugs and evades it with practiced ineptitude. “Look, I just saw you were hooked up with Johnny and some random prick, and I thought-”
“That random prick is my partner,” says Eames. “We are trying to do a job. Archy hired us to extract from Johnny, you do know what that means, don’t you?”
One Two has been frozen since the word “partner,” but Eames is distracted watching for Johnny and misses it entirely. “Uh-” he says. “Sort of. Archy hired you?”
“Yes,” says Eames impatiently. “Only it’s not going particularly well on account of Johnny has done dream-sharing before and knows what the hell he’s doing and what the hell we’re trying to do. So I’m starting to think Archy fucked us over, or if he didn’t, he’s going to kill us. Unless of course Johnny kills us first.”
One Two is frowning and nodding as if he understands, which Eames is pretty sure he doesn’t (which he doesn’t). “So, this partner of yours,” he says. “You trust him?”
Eames sighs irritably. “Yes, of course I trust him, One Two,” he says. “I’ve been working with him for years. I’m in love him.”
If he was being completely honest with himself, he’d know that he added this last bit in a strange, subconscious effort to make One Two jealous. If One Two was being completely honest with himself, he’d admit that strangely, subconsciously, it worked.
“I see,” says One Two. “Of course you are.”
Eames gives him a look, and neither of them know exactly how to proceed. One Two is not used to this Bob, when the Bob he knew was so comparatively quiet and easygoing, so willing to follow and be led. Eames isn’t sure he’s used to it either.
“I thought he was one of Johnny’s mates,” he says.
Eames narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?” he says. “How did you even-”
This, however, is as far as he gets, because he blinks and One Two is gone.
Justice is pretty sweet, is what I would think to myself if I was aware that at this moment, One Two’s chair has been hurled to the side and he’s sprawling on the floor, awake and deeply confused, and the first thing he hears is “And what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!”
One Two turns over and gapes up from the floor, his all-too-brief handle on the situation now completely gone. “Yusuf-!”
Yusuf has no patience for bullshit reunions. Kent burst into the pub saying something frantic about a crazed Scotsman threatening him with grievous bodily harm, and Yusuf was pretty sure he knew who it was, and now that he sees he’s right, he is not fucking around. “Where’s Arthur?”
“I-” says One Two, stopping himself short when he figures out Arthur = I’m in love with him = some random prick, and then, wanting to avoid this line of discussion as much as possible, gestures unhelpfully to Eames and says “You should wake him, things aren’t going smoothly. If he and Johnny wake up at the same time you’re in it.”
“You’re in it if I don’t get some fucking answers,” says Yusuf threateningly, and One Two has never seen Yusuf this way, and he’s beginning to realize that once again he is in way over his head. “Tell me where Arthur is.”
“I-I don’t know any Arthur,” says One Two in a barely-concealed panic. “Look, you’ve gotta wake Bob up, or this is going to get ugly very fast.”
“Oh for fuck’s-you better not have screwed this all up, mate,” says Yusuf wrathfully, checking the counter on the machine. Eames is due to wake up momentarily, Johnny shortly after. Everything’s going according to plan, except everything.
“Hey, I’m doin’ you a favor!” protests One Two, getting to his feet. “I can cover with the boss, just get out of here.”
“The-” Yusuf turns on him and stares in wide-eyed, open judgment. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
Eames chooses this moment to come to. He sits up straight, faster than one usually does upon re-entry into the Earth’s atmosphere, and Yusuf helps him up with a hand on his arm.
“How’d it go?” he asks, hoping for something, anything divergent from what One Two’s been on about.
“Pear-shaped,” says Eames curtly. “Johnny’s a forger. A fucking forger. Completely pulled the wool over.”
“Fantastic,” says Yusuf, and he sets about detaching Johnny from the machine, bringing the countdown to mere minutes before the extra sedative wears off. “You know One Two’s working for him now? Also, Arthur’s missing.”
Whatever Eames has had to put up with for the past relative ten minutes, this is going too far. “What?!” He rounds on One Two, who flinches and looks as guilty as sin. “Where is he? Where the fuck is he?”
One Two is saved, however, by the belated return of Archy, who cuts through the developing chaos with “What the hell is going on here?” Everyone turns to look at him, and he glares back reproachfully and says, “I leave for five minutes and it’s like a bomb went off.”
“Archy,” says Eames, turning and storming up to him. “Did you set us up? Is that what this is?”
Archy, to his great credit, is taken aback. “I don’t-what are you talking about?” He turns his sharp stare on One Two. “One Two, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Eames has had it. He grabs Archy by the shoulders and actually shakes him a little. “I’m talking about Johnny Quid your boss being a fucking forger, you fucking twat! As in in on the business! As in knows what you just tried to do!”
In any other universe this assault would have warranted the famous Archy slap; but in this case Eames has been pretty openly wronged and he is mad as hell and not gonna take it anymore, so Archy just stands there and absorbs this somewhat unwillingly. “…Well, that’s just grand,” he says with long-suffering resignation.
“I’ll say it’s grand,” says Eames, the fury showing no signs of slowing down. “And fuck you for not telling me about One Two, as well.”
“Eames, we haven’t got time,” says Yusuf, a nervous eye on Johnny. “We’ve gotta go, now.”
Eames waves Yusuf off and points accusingly at One Two. “Look, he’s done something with Arthur,” he says.
“Eames, come on!” Yusuf is pulling his arm now, and Eames allows himself to be pulled away from Archy, who is staring at him unblinkingly, and away from One Two, who is watching the ordeal and cringing noticeably.
“You find Arthur,” says Eames threateningly. “Find him!”
Yusuf pulls him out into the hallway and they’re off, Yusuf telling Eames repeatedly to just shut up and walk as fast as he can without running or hitting something.
There is a decent pause while Archy looks passively at the space Eames and Yusuf used to inhabit, and One Two looks at the floor. He feels Archy’s gaze slowly turn onto him, but he doesn’t move, not even as Archy approaches him with slow, even steps. Finally, when Archy has stopped within arm’s length, he chances looking up.
Archy backhands him so hard his head turns completely to one side, the slap echoing throughout the big room. One Two grunts heavily, but doesn’t argue; Archy was not moving on with the day without getting to slap someone, and One Two knew he was probably the best candidate.
“Fix this,” says Archy, dangerously serious.
“I don’t know h-” begins the put-upon One Two, but he flinches as Archy takes another threatening step forward.
“Fuck your don’t know how,” snarls Archy. “Fix it!”
“Ahh…” says Johnny from behind them, and they turn and watch him stretching languorously. “Nothing like shooting meself in the head to get out of a nice catnap.” He sits up and looks at them. “Well hello, Uncle Archy.”
There is a moment of frozen panic from both Archy and One Two, broken by Archy stepping forward with a quickly uttered, “Look, Johnny, I can explain-”
“Explain and I’ll cut your balls off,” says Johnny, getting to his feet. “Bring them to me and we’ll call it even.”
At this, Archy looks at One Two. He doesn’t know what One Two did with me, or why he did it, but at this point he doesn’t care if it means they have something to pacify Johnny. One Two, to his credit, was about ready to avoid mentioning me at all and wait for the opportune moment to set me free; however this doesn’t really count for much as Archy gives him a look that could injure a man and he crumples under the pressure.
“We’ve, uh…” he says, fidgeting. “We’ve already got one of them, in the back room.”
Johnny brightens. “Oh, jolly good. I feel like a bit of fun. Take me to him.” He turns on Archy, switching off the good mood like a light. “You. Your balls are on the line, and if you don’t want the rest of your vessel not to mention career to join them in about point-five seconds, you get out of my sight and deliver me some fucking mind-raping thieves.” He pulls back and offers Archy a cold little smile. “Shoulda known you’d always go Brutus on me, Arch. Where’s the trust? If there’s something you want to know that badly, I’ll always just tell you.”
Archy isn’t sure what to do here, and he’s about as fucked as he possibly can be, so he decides to just go for it. “…Are you planning something I don’t know about?”
“Archyyy.” Johnny laughs and pats Archy on the back. “I’m always planning something you don’t know about. Show some initiative, you might just get in on it this time.” And he pulls away and makes a light swatting gesture, waiting patiently. “Go on, then. Be a good boy. Scarper.”
Archy hesitates, glaring at Johnny, glaring at One Two, glaring at the situation. Archy is fucked. Archy does not approve of being fucked. It is not in his nature and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it, but it’s going to be good. At some point.
He stalks off, leaving One Two alone with Johnny. Johnny holds out a hand, inviting One Two to lead the way, which One Two does, begrudgingly. He is pretty sure Bob is going to kill him.
“Nice to see an old face, in’t it, One Two?” says Johnny. “I can only assume you let him get off Scot-free because, well. You gotta have your principles, right?”
One Two hates working for Johnny. It’s a long story, and he is at present composing various speeches in his head for how to tell it to Eames, how to best explain how he got into this situation, because he has to admit that at this point, yeah, it looks pretty bad.
“You ever been inside a dream before, One Two?” says Johnny, strolling along casually behind him.
“No, sir.”
“Don’t ‘sir’ me, you thick Scotch bastard,” says Johnny. “You know what it’s like gettin’ people wandering around inside your subconscious? It’s a violation, that’s what. Someday I’m sure you’ll understand.”
Mercifully for One Two, they reach the room where I am being kept, where I have been making a solid effort to pick the lock with a piece of wire for the past several minutes. I hear them outside and freeze in place, perhaps stupidly. This is what I hear:
“Look, don’t hurt him too much, all right? He seems important to Bob.”
“Important to Bob, is he? Shoulda thought of that before you knocked him out and dragged him into my playroom, eh, big guy?”
A pause, during which I can only assume the big one (what is that, Irish? Eames can never let go about my bad ear for accents) is realizing yeah, maybe he should have thought about that. Fucker.
“Run along now, Mr. Two,” is what Johnny says next. And, terrifyingly pleasant, he says, “Be grateful I’m in a good mood today!”
There’s a little pause while “Mr. Two” gets busy leaving me in the hands of a psychotic man who somehow seems to have gained the upper hand. I do not think about maybe getting away from the door, which opens inward-I’m frozen wondering what the hell has happened to Eames.
The door opens with a sharp crack, and I am thrown back onto the floor, muffled curses and blood trickling out from under my hand, and I look up and there’s Johnny standing over me, just smiling and smiling. Behind him the door swings heavily shut with a resounding, dooming thud.
He takes off his stupid sunglasses, folds them and slips them neatly into an interior pocket. “Hi,” he says.
Continues here.