Inception/Brick - Burn (part 1 of 3)
Title: Burn
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception, crossover with Brick
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Laura Dannon, Emily Kostitch, the Brain, Kara
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:language, character death, currently un-betaed
Summary: Arthur stood there in complete silence before crouching down and running a hand over his hair, releasing a few strands into his eyes. “Brain was right,” he said, right as Eames thought he was going to have to leave or throw up or both because of the smell. “Someone’s trying to send me a message.”
Burn
Part One
"To another extraction well done," Eames offered, lifting his beer in Arthur's direction.
"No thanks to Astor," Arthur mumbled but smirked a little while he clinked his bottle to Eames's. "Good thinking back there."
Eames shrugged as if to say it wasn't anything but the smile on his face revealed the contrary. "Never going to work with that bloke again though. Thanks for coming out."
Arthur shrugged, swigging out of his bottle. "After that, I needed a drink. You just happened to offer."
"Ouch, rejected," Eames said, laughing. "Here I thought I was going to get you drunk and get into your trousers."
"So, where are you headed after this? Mombasa?"
Eames shrugged again and took a long gulp from the bottle. "Don't know. I don't have another job lined up yet. You?"
"No jobs yet. Was thinking of heading stateside again, but I might stick around Paris a little longer, visit Ariadne. She graduates next year."
"I might tag along then. I've been curious to hear how she is."
"As far as I know, she's taken a few jobs in dreamsharing but only on the more legal side of the law," Arthur said, setting down his bottle and digging in his pocket.
"She never struck me as the 'play it safe' type of bird, but I suppose after her first job she might want to take it easy-Something wrong?"
Arthur was staring at his cell phone that was buzzing in his hand. His expression was blank, but he made no moves to answer it. It eventually went silent.
After about a minute, the phone buzzed to life again, and Arthur waited four rings before picking up. He tilted the phone to his ear but said nothing.
The bar he and Eames had stopped to drink at was mostly empty, and their back corner table was just small and cramped enough for Eames to listen in. He leaned in close, despite Arthur elbowing him in the ribs, curious.
There was just silence on the other end of the line for several seconds.
And then…
"Brendan?"
"How did you get this number?" Arthur asked, voice toneless.
"It is you, isn't it? I thought I'd never manage to find you. It took three days of searching and prodding all of my sources that were so inclined. It's nice to see you finally got yourself a phone, otherwise I never would have found you." The man on the other line was speaking loudly as if trying to make sure he was being heard. The connection wasn't great.
Eames raised an eyebrow, but Arthur said nothing to him about it. "If anyone could find this number, I should expect it to be you, Brain," he said, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. "You sound the same, at least."
"I can barely hear you."
"I'm in France. It's a miracle you got through. Now, I think I know you pretty well, so I'm sure that you wouldn't have gone through so much trouble for nothing more than a friendly chat. What's the wire?"
"I came across some information back here in San Clemente. I thought you might be interested to hear it considering your previous history and the significance of the time."
"Significance? History?" Arthur questioned, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the table.
"A Miss Laura Dannon?"
Arthur went silent for several moments.
"Surely you remember her, right?" the man on the other side of the line, Brain apparently, said.
"I remember," Arthur said. "What about her?"
"She's missing."
Another moment of silence.
"And?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows and drumming the fingers of his free hand on the tabletop.
"She went missing about two days ago. I had heard that she was behind the eight ball, that things weren't going well for her, and of course that's not surprising, but it's the date that made me seek you out."
Arthur nodded, seeming to recognize such a date. "I know. You think it's just a coincidence?"
"Possible. Likely, even… but considering your history with her, I thought that there might be some sort of hidden message here."
"I'll catch the first flight out and see to a few things," Arthur said then. "I don't know if anything's related, and I don't much care, but because you went to the trouble I suppose I can at least take a look."
"You don't care?"
"It's not my business."
"What if it is your business?
"Then I'll see to it. I'll see you by tomorrow."
He hung up.
He looked at Eames.
"Who's Laura?" Eames asked, smiling.
"No one you should be concerned about and not anyone that I am," Arthur said, getting up and downing the rest of his beer before slipping back into his jacket.
"Who's Brain?" Eames continued, leaving money on the table and following Arthur out of the bar.
"An old friend of mine from high school that I probably owe a million favors to," Arthur replied, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets and ducking under the rain.
"Who's Brendan?" Eames asked then.
Arthur smiled a little at that, slowing his pace. "Brendan? Brendan's me."
"But-"
"Arthur's my middle name. Didn't you know?"
Eames gaped for a moment too long, and by the time he realized it, Arthur was already halfway across the street. He ran to catch up. "No, I most certainly did not know. I didn't necessarily think Arthur was your real name, but-"
"I don't have many aliases, Eames. Arthur's just a non-threatening name. It makes it easy to catch people off guard, I guess. Plus, the name Brendan had a little history back in my hometown, so before I started going global, I used Arthur instead."
"Were you a little punk when you were young?" Eames teased. "Did you spike your hair and wear a leather jacket and smoke pot behind the school?"
"No, no, no, and no," Arthur said with a roll of his eyes as he slipped inside the lobby of the hotel to grab his things. "I was usually by myself. I did shake things up a little once in a while though."
"Can I come watch you shake things up again?"
"I don't think this is going to lead to anything," Arthur sighed, pressing the button on the elevator. "I'm just going to quell Brain's suspicions. He has the tendency to think everything is connected to something. That's the problem with knowing too much. They don't call him the Brain for nothing."
"That sounds a lot like you, darling. So, are you going to let me come or not?"
"You can go wherever you please, Eames. I don't control what you do."
Eames kept the you have no idea to himself.
Arthur called in a favor from Saito to get a flight out from Paris that night and was in California by the next afternoon. Eames had joined in the fun for kicks, not to mention he wanted to learn more about this other side of Arthur. The point man had been a secretive little prick from the day Eames had met him, and (not that he'd been looking all that hard) he couldn't find a single piece of information on him… mostly because he didn't trust that Arthur was his real name and didn't know his last name. Leave it to the man who could find any piece of information on anyone to know how to cover his tracks.
Arthur had even hinted to Eames that he might know Eames's first name, and that was enough blackmail to keep Eames on his best behavior for the entirety of the last job.
Eames knew he acted differently when he was back home, how he stood a little straighter in front of his mum and generally watched his language. He wouldn't feel as obligated to dress up as he did at work (Arthur would probably claim that Eames didn't know what dressing up was, but Eames was convinced that Arthur just didn't understand his particular style). Also, his family thought he was a dentist.
Arthur was a different person here too, in the absolute strangest and most unexpected way. The straight-backed point man that normally oozed self-assurance and wisdom and really good looks (actually that might have just been Eames seeing that) seemed to shrink the moment he stepped into town. He curled into himself, hunched, with his hands buried deeply in his pockets. It was as if all that confidence had been ripped out from under him and the only thing he wanted to do was disappear... or perhaps it wasn't a loss of confidence but a desire to not be noticed… Eames couldn't tell, but it was bizarre regardless and didn't really fit with the stylish suits and slicked hair.
They met the one called the Brain outside a library, near a pay phone. He was a skinny, blondish nerd with thick horn-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in jeans and a gray corduroy coat and was leaning against the wall somewhat stiffly. "Well, well," he said as Arthur approached.
"Where are you eating lunch nowadays?" Arthur asked with a grin.
"Not Paris," he replied and held out his hand to shake Arthur's. "Wow, look at you. I don't even recognize you."
Arthur returned his handshake, "and you haven't even changed at all."
The Brain laughed, and he was much quieter in person than he was on the phone, probably because he was sure Arthur could hear him now.
"Who's this?" the Brain asked, reaching out to shake Eames's hand too.
"Eames. He's a friend of mine. We eat lunch together."
Eames shook the Brain's hand, trying to understand the language that he and Arthur seemed to have. It must have been a high school thing. Eames's schools had had their fair share of teenage slang and secret language to get under the radar of the teachers too.
He was still wondering whether "eat lunch" signified work or arguing or friendliness or flirting when the two of them started talking.
"So, what's the rumble about?" Arthur asked, glancing over his shoulder as if he was being watched. "Laura's gone missing, and I'm assuming that the bulls are aware?"
"No, not exactly," the Brain replied, adjusting his glasses and crossing his arms over his chest. "Laura wasn't exactly doing too well after she got put under glass. Even when she got out thanks to her parent's nickels and dimes her reputation had been pretty much destroyed. She hovered around a couple of different circles for a while, working her way down. She moved away but recently came back. She came and found me where I worked and waited for me. She asked about you."
"Really," Arthur said colorlessly.
"No lie. She wanted to know if I'd heard from you since you left. I told her I hadn't. The next day, she turns up missing. She didn't really have any friends or family around here anymore, so no one's actually reported anything, but word gets around pretty quickly here, in case you forgot."
"I haven't forgotten. How was she when you saw her?"
"Are you asking because you care or because you think it might have some kind of significance?"
Arthur didn't answer. Eames was beginning to feel left out, so he lit a cigarette.
"Well, either way," the Brain continued with a shrug, "she didn't look too good. She looked like she might have been back on the snow. Rumor has it she's been on and off it for years."
Arthur nodded vaguely. "All right… I'll see what I can see. That number you called me was yours, right?"
"It was."
"Keep your phone on you. I'll call you if or when I dig something up. Keep your specs on and let me know if you come across anything else."
The Brain nodded and moved away from the wall. "I'll catch up with you later then."
"Nice seeing you."
Arthur turned to walk away, and all Eames could do was follow, but the Brain stopped him just once more. "Brendan."
Arthur turned back, sighing through his nose. "Yeah?"
"Be careful. I know how wrapped up you got last time something like this happened. You almost didn't come out clean from that one… Hell, you almost didn't come out from that one at all. I called you because I thought that it would catch up to you eventually, and I wanted you to be aware in case this is about you somehow so the droppers wouldn't get you unexpectedly. I don't want you to drown in this."
"I'm only checking things out as a favor to you, Brain. Laura doesn't mean anything to me. She probably took too much and pulled the Dutch act. That's all."
"Then why would she be looking for you?"
"Ever since I got her put under glass, I'm sure she's been wanting to get her hands on me."
"You're sure that's all?"
Arthur hesitated. "We'll see."
Arthur asked around town for information, but no one seemed to know anything… or if they did, they weren't talking. Arthur seemed to be growing bored with the whole thing after only a couple of hours, and Eames had grown bored long before then. "So, what's the story with this Laura girl anyway?" Eames asked.
Arthur had led them both to a place he referred to as the Coffee and Pie and ordered them such. He stared out the window, chewing, and said, "I can't really talk about it."
"Ex-girlfriend?"
"No."
"Well, why was she looking for you? You said you put her under glass. What does that mean?"
"Prison," Arthur snorted. "Because of my information, the bulls found a brick of heroin in her locker. She was still there when I skipped town. Maybe she's out looking for revenge or something, but I don't know. The last thing she needs is an explanation. She already knows everything." Arthur sipped at his coffee.
"What did she do?"
"Don't worry about it. I'm just gonna find her. That's all this is. After that, I cut my ties again and get the hell out of here."
"Well, whatever she did before, are you sure this doesn't have anything to do with that? When'd you last see her?"
"Years ago… right before she got put under glass. I was still in high school then… She knows everything. I caught her on everything, and she walked out of my life. There's really no reason for her to come after me now," he looked down into his coffee and fell silent.
"Arthur?" Eames questioned.
Arthur's fork clanged to his plate. "Fuck," he whispered and stood.
Eames followed Arthur to a sewage tunnel, and they smelled it before they saw it.
There, face down in the water was the decomposing body of a girl.
Arthur stood there in complete silence before crouching down and running a hand over his hair, releasing a few strands into his eyes. "Brain was right," he said, right as Eames thought he was going to have to leave or throw up or both because of the smell. "Someone's trying to send me a message."
Eames pulled out his pocket square and pressed it to his mouth and nose. "Clearly. What message would that be?"
Arthur shook his head, standing. "I don't know… but this isn't just about Laura… this is about what happened… This…. This is…"
"Shouldn't we alert the authorities? Not that I'm a fan of the authorities, but…"
"No. Not yet. If the bulls know then whoever did this knows I know."
"So, you're just going to leave her here?" Eames asked, but the question was needless because Arthur was already trudging across the thin stream of nasty water toward her. He took her underneath her arms and lifted.
She was blue, and her neck was marked with dark handprints. She must have been beautiful in life, Eames thought, with the long honey brown hair and long eyelashes. It was nothing more than a shame. She was so young.
Arthur stared down at her face, looking nearly regretful, and then he looked up at Eames and swallowed hard.
"You should at least say something respectful," Eames offered, "if she's not going to be put to peace properly, at least."
Arthur seemed to agree and turned, carrying her into the tunnel. As he walked, his oxfords clacking against the concrete, he began to speak, slowly, languidly, like molasses being poured:
"Observe his flame, that placid dame, the moon's celestial highness; There's not a trace upon her face of diffidence or shyness: She borrows light that, through the night, mankind may all acclaim her… and truth to tell, she lights up well, so I… for one… don't blame her…"
It really was a shame.
The hotel room Arthur booked was nice but not too terribly posh and fancy that Eames felt out of place… Though, honestly, it was hard for Eames to feel anything but creeped out after being so close to a corpse and watching Arthur stash it in the tunnel as easily as if he had done it before. Sure, he'd seen dead bodies before and even seen people leave them or stash them in not so graceful or respectful positions, but this was different… This was the body of a young woman who seemed innocent enough (though what little Arthur had told him led in the direction of the contrary)… and she was basically lying face down in a sewer for God's sake! And…
It was Arthur.
Arthur could be cold and ruthless when it seemed the best course of action, but he never came across as someone who would not be gagged by the smell of death, even when it was all over their hands. The girl must have done him some terrible wrong, Eames thought, for him to care so little about her, and yet… He'd looked just a little regretful. It was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reaction, definitely, and Arthur's emotions had always been subtle, but Eames had seen it.
He wanted to know more, but Arthur wasn't spilling.
Eames huffed from where he was sprawled on his bed and looked over at the bathroom door. Arthur was in the shower and had been for some time. Eames imagined he himself would probably clean with steel wool after carrying a decomposing dead body around.
I wonder if they were lovers, Eames thought idly, and the thought did make him tingle with a twinge of jealousy. He'd been pretty barmy over Arthur for a while now,, not that he'd done that on purpose. He'd come to the realization about three jobs ago when he realized he was trying to get a rise out of Arthur for more than just their typical fun and games. He actually got giddy (like a bloody school girl!) when he could get a smile and a flash of dimples wrung out of him or when his eyes would glimmer just a little brighter when Eames said something smart. He didn't just want to impress Arthur for the sake of showing off anymore. When a job was over, he didn't want to separate from Arthur because he actually missed that little smartass grin or furrowed brow, and that was why he'd invited him for a drink in Paris. He'd told himself he'd get up the guts to ask Arthur to take a chance on him, but of course he'd lost his nerve before Arthur had even agreed to come.
"Oh, bugger," Eames grumbled, rolling onto his stomach. He was really tired of the schoolboy crush. He thought that maybe he needed to get laid to get over it, but unfortunately, the only one in his immediate vicinity was Arthur… or, Brendan, as it were. It also annoyed him how little he actually knew about Arthur and how much Arthur allegedly knew about him. There was a little part of him, a niggling little worry that believed Arthur knew about his feelings and was fucking with him out of pure, cruel enjoyment. If Arthur could hide a body of someone he knew without so much as a startled expression and recite poetry from memory while doing so, then why wouldn't he be able to screw with Eames's feelings?
Eames needed to get out of his head before he got to a point he'd ultimately regret. Thankfully, Arthur came out of the bathroom then, rubbing his hair with a towel.
"Didn't know you owned a pair of jeans," Eames said with a smirk, rolling back onto his back and then propping himself up against the headboard of his bed.
Arthur slung the towel down off of his head and onto his shoulders before making a move to dig in his suitcase. "Sure do. I actually have three pairs of jeans," he said teasingly, but he sounded worn out. He tugged a gray t-shirt out from the bottom of his bag and pulled it over his head. There was a faded navy design of what looked to be Bruce Lee on the front.
"You all right?" Eames asked.
Arthur removed a silver case from the second pocket of his suitcase and squinted at Eames. "Why?"
"I was just wondering, since this Laura girl and all…"
"She's dead. I can do nothing for her. I couldn't do anything for her when she was alive either." He removed a pair of glasses from the case and slipped them on, adjusting them on his nose until he was satisfied. "I don't care about her, but I do care about who's trying to contact me and what they want."
"If I may pry, how was throwing a body of a girl you used to know but don't care about into a storm drain any sort of message to you?"
Arthur licked his lips and adjusted his glasses again as he padded across the room and slid his feet back into his oxfords. "It's personal," he mumbled, swinging open the door. "I'll be back later. I've got to go meet the Brain. You can shower if you like. I'll bring back Chinese food."
Eames decided to keep it to himself that he was disappointed for being left out. Clearly, Arthur was not willing to talk to him about whatever had taken place way back when, so it wasn't that surprising that he was being kept out of the loop now… not that Eames could understand half of what they said to each other anyway.
Still, as soon as the door clicked shut, Eames went digging through Arthur's things as meticulously as he possibly could. He wanted something. Anything, really. He would have been satisfied with even the barest of a hint because he couldn't stop thinking about the young, blue corpse in the water, honey strands of hair splayed out around her like a halo. Eames didn't even know her, and he cared a little (he was a softy at heart)… but Arthur had proclaimed to not give a shit even though they clearly had a history. If anyone should have wished death on the other, Eames would have thought that this Laura girl had the reason to be angry. Arthur had apparently gotten her locked up and sullied her reputation (whatever that had been). What did she do? What could she possibly have done?
Eames didn't find anything but clothes and toiletries.
He buried his disappointment and flopped down on the mattress and sighed heavily.
The next thing he knew, he was waking up to a dark, quiet room. There was Chinese food on the table by the window and an Arthur-shaped lump in the other bed. Eames rubbed his eyes and stared at the clock and discovered it was two in the morning.
He grumbled and rolled out of bed. He turned on the lamp at the table, the light only dimly illuminating the room so as not to wake Arthur, and dug into what was left of the Chinese food. It seemed that Arthur had only picked at it. It was pretty good even though it was cold.
When he was done he went to turn off the light but paused when he looked back and saw Arthur sprawled under the comforter, lean arm stretched out across the mattress. His eyes were rolling beneath his eyelids, his lips twitching just slightly.
A nightmare…
Eames couldn't help himself. He reached out and stroked soft brown curls off of his forehead. He was sweating just a little, Eames noticed and traced his fingers down over his cheekbone. He knuckle brushed against his lip, and that was when Arthur's eyelids started to flutter so Eames turned back to the Chinese food.
"Ah… Eames?" Arthur croaked, blinking sleep out of his eyes.
"Just having a bit of supper," Eames assured him, closing up the empty box of fried rice. "Go back to sleep, love."
"I was dreaming," Arthur mumbled, head falling back to the pillow. "I don't… normally do that anymore…"
"Was it a nice dream?" Eames asked.
"No… It was about… Emily…"
"Who?"
Arthur made a few unintelligible noises and drifted off.
Well, Eames had told himself he'd be satisfied with a hint.
Eames crawled back into bed and stared at the back of Arthur's head. As an afterthought, he got up, grabbed Arthur's phone and wrote down the Brain's number. Maybe if he could decipher some of the Brain's code-talk, the Brain could tell him what he wanted to know… or at least who Emily was.
The next morning, Arthur was already gone.
Eames waited around for a good three to four hours before he started to get worried and another hour and a half before he finally decided to try to call Arthur.
He didn't pick up. In fact, the phone went straight to voicemail.
Eames was glad he'd written down the Brain's number.
I'll just call him and ask to talk to Arthur… ah… Brendan, Eames told himself as he dialed. Surely Arthur was with him. He didn't have any reason to be worried. Arthur was just keeping him out of the loop again. Surely that was all. Surely.
"Hello?"
"This the Brain?" Eames asked, trying to sound casual and not nervous.
"Who's asking?"
"Eames. Ar-Brendan's friend from yesterday. I need to talk to him."
"He's not with me."
Eames fell silent.
Arthur wasn't with the Brain.
Where was he if he wasn't with the Brain?
"Is he in a jam?" the Brain asked.
"I don't know where he is," Eames admitted. "He didn't leave a note, he won't answer his mobile, nothing. I thought he was with you."
"I haven't spoken to him since last night. You're tooting the wrong ringer here. This could be bad."
Silence passed between them.
"He told me to keep underneath. He told me about what you saw… Where are you now?" the Brain finally said, breaking the hush.
"I'm back at the hotel room. I've been here all day waiting for him. All of his bags are still here, so he didn't up and skip town."
"Do you remember how to get where we met yesterday?"
"I think so…"
"Meet me there in an hour. I'll do a little snooping and see what comes up. If Brendan's in a jam, we're going to have to come up with something. Keep your phone on you in case he rings you up. I'll do the same."
The Brain hung up, and Eames waited some more for a phone call that didn't come. Forty-five minutes later, he slipped into his coat and went to meet the Brain.
The Brain was gray when Eames, dressed in jeans and a brown v-neck shirt, got there. "Nothing?" Eames asked when he approached.
The Brain shook his head. "I can't get through to him. Nobody I've asked has seen him. This is bad. This is really bad…" he shook his head. "The only thing I can think of to do right now is to keep asking around. Someone had to see him."
"Listen, I don't know how he was when you knew him," Eames started, and he realized that his fear had boiled into frustration, "but Arthur-Brendan is not some pushover little Nancy Boy. He never leaves home without a gun, and I've seen him fight his way through five blokes the size of tanks without so much as getting dust on his lapels. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that he's suddenly so incapacitated that he can't reach a phone."
The Brain took a step back, pressing his back against the wall, and Eames realized that he'd sort of charged the poor guy. He stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets sheepishly. The Brain adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "I never said that he was incapacitated. Brendan wasn't a patsy back in high school either. He didn't exactly pack iron back then, but he could fight. I don't think he's tied up in someone's trunk or whatever, but I am thinking that he might be on the run. Maybe someone sniffed out that he's back in town. Maybe the wrong person did."
Eames shook his head, scrubbing his face with his palm. "All right, how deep does this go? I can't very well help get Arthur out of whatever jam he's in if I don't know what the bloody hell is going on. If you want my help, you're going to have to tell me what happened and what this is all about."
Brain slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground. He folded his legs and scratched his head and sighed before saying, "he didn't tell you much then. That's typical Brendan. He's always been a loner. I thought it was really goofy that he even brought you with him. He must really like you."
Eames blinked and tried not to appear shocked. He'd always assumed Arthur more tolerated him than anything. To think that Arthur liked him, actually liked him, really liked him… That little schoolboy crush side of Eames got a little giddy again. He swallowed it down though.
"Well, what's the story? Who's Emily?"
"He mentioned Emily?"
"He was half asleep, but yes," Eames nodded and took a seat next to the Brain. "He had a nightmare about her."
Brain sighed through his nose, leaning his head back against the wall. "Well, the story goes like this, or at least what I know of it does. Em was Brendan's girl for a little while, but after this big blow-up, and I won't go into details -it's too messy, over a guy called Jerr, Em dumped him. A few months later, she's apparently going through some stuff, calls him in a panic, says something about a bad brick, something about the Pin and Tug. Brendan tracks her down only for her to tell him that it's nothing and to leave her alone. Next day, he finds her dead in a sewage tunnel.
"So, anyway, Brendan decides to get to the bottom of it. He still loves Em, you know? This is where I don't know much. He didn't really keep me informed, but it leads him to the kingpin himself of the dope rats. Brendan worked his way into the Pin's group after getting his ass handed to him a few times, and things got real hot after the Pin's guy Tugger killed Em's latest squeeze Dode… er… he was a dope rat, not too smart, apparently saw Brendan stash Em's body and thought he killed her… but yeah, things got real hot, and he had me call the bulls. He got out but it was a massacre down at the Pin's joint. Some were put under glass and others were put underground. I really don't know what all went down, but apparently it was Laura who caused all of it. Laura snatched up the bad brick. The bulls found it in her locker."
"So, why kill her? Why this way?"
"Apparently somebody wants Brendan chilled off or locked up. I'm wondering if it could be Tug or the Pin. At least one of them didn't walk out of that din alive, but Dode's already dead, Em's already dead, Laura's dead… Kara would probably have the ability but not the motive. She's more caught up in her own interests, always has been."
"Kara?"
"An ex-girlfriend of Brendan's. He dated her when he was a freshman. She's a conniving little dame, uses people for all their worth, keeps them as pets. I haven't kept tabs on her, but I think she's in town still. Last I knew she was working in a restaurant and trying to be a real actress ever since her face made an appearance on a certain adult video online."
"Maybe she knows something," Eames suggested hopelessly. "Jesus, are all of Arthur's ex-girlfriends this insane?"
"Brendan never really did have good taste in women… He'd fall in love with anyone who'd give him the time of day."
"That doesn't sound like the man I know," Eames admitted, digging a cigarette out of his pocket. He vaguely remembered telling Arthur that he was going to quit smoking when he'd given him a somewhat disapproving look. Arthur had shook his head and said something about not really caring about that. It still made him feel guilty every time he lost the battle, so for the moment he left it unlit, dangling from his lips.
"I don't know… the only one he was really serious about was Em. He was obsessed with her. He did absolutely everything he could to keep her safe but also to keep her to himself. She didn't take too well to that."
"Clingy also isn't a word I'd use to describe Arthur."
The Brain stood up and offered to help Eames to his feet. Eames took it. "Clingy isn't exactly how I'd put it. Brendan didn't love anything else in this entire world… except for Em."
"This is serious," Eames whispered.
"Could be. I'll see if I can find Kara, and I'll keep in touch with you. It's probably better if we don't meet out in the open in case whoever's after Brendan knows about us. You're probably safe right now, but everyone knows who Brendan's go-to guy around here is."
"Fine, you'll be my point man, and I'll do all of the dirty work," Eames agreed, nodding.
"You… are looking out for Brendan, right?"
Eames looked at the Brain as if he was crazy (and he was a little bit). "Pardon?"
"I don't know you. I just wanted to be sure you're not trying to grift me or him. Maybe we haven't talked in a long time, but I still consider Brendan my pal. I'll always feel that way. I'm just looking out for him."
Eames could understand that, he supposed, but there was a part of him that was still annoyed by it. "I don't have papers to vouch for my loyalty, but if you'll take me at my word I can say that there is no one on this planet that I am more loyal to than your friend."
Eames thought that maybe that might have been a little much, and he was even more horrified by how true the statement was…
The Brain raised his eyebrows at him.
Eames lit up the cigarette, hoping for it to take the edge off. "It's true," he mumbled. "My loyalty isn't easy to come by either, so don't take me for a fool."
The Brain sighed, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. "Well, then… I guess I should tell you not to drown in this either considering the -err … strength of your feelings, Eames."
"Oh, bollocks, is it really that obvious?" Eames whined, feeling his face droop.
The Brain just shook his head and started walking away, mumbling, "Is Brendan really such a prize? I'll never understand sensual people. Nothing but trouble is what it is. Nothing but trouble."
Eames couldn't really disagree.
Eames wandered around town with his eyes on constant patrol for Arthur, waiting for the Brain to get back to him. Eames had never been much of a sleuth or spy, but he had the fortunate advantage that no one knew who he was and that, with that information, Eames could be anyone he needed to be. The great thing about learning how to forge in dreams is that in reality, he could still sort of do it. Sure, he couldn't change himself into a blonde bombshell or a gray-haired business man, but he could imitate any accent, and with the right outfit or posture could be nearly unrecognizable. It was quite the convenient ability when he needed to get someone to trust him.
He couldn't help but get the feeling he was going to need that.
After finishing off his pack of cigarettes, buying a new pack, and working his way through two more cigarettes, the Brain finally called.
"Hello?" Eames asked, and he sounded much more strung out than he'd wanted to. "Have you heard from Arthur?"
"Nix," the Brain replied, "and my sources aren't singing. However, I did tighten a few screws until one guy tipped his mitt and told me where Kara is. Apparently she's waitressing down at a dump of a bar downtown called The Glass Key. I'll text directions to you, if you'd like to snoop a bit. It's not too far from your hotel, so maybe somebody saw Brendan there."
"I'll see what I can do," Eames replied. "Keep me informed."
"As long as you do the same," the Brain replied and hung up. A few minutes later, Eames received a poorly typed text message with an address. Arthur had never been good at text messaging either. Eames had watched Arthur get riled up over the very concept, heard him complain how ridiculous it was to complicate something as simple as a phone call. Eames would mostly contact him through text because of it… Eames wished that the memory didn't currently make him a little sad.
Eames took a chance and texted to Arthur's number three question marks.
The Glass Key was a dump but in the best way, at least in Eames's opinion. It was old and ramshackle, and the sign was crooked, but inside it was warm and friendly. It was clearly the hang-out place for the down on their luck people who still wanted to believe they had some semblance of class. Eames knew Arthur would appreciate the jazz singer.
"There's a somebody I'm longing to see, I hope that he turns out to be…" the lady caroled from her spot on the piano, "someone to watch over me…"
Eames straightened his jacket and buttoned it closed, walked up to the bar and leaned forward, plastering on a smile and an American accent similar to Arthur's, "Hey, barkeep. I'm looking for someone. Is Kara here?"
"Hold on just a sec," the bartender said, voice as gruff as his exterior. He slipped away and Eames drummed his fingers on the bar until he came back.
A woman slid onto the barstool next to him, and Eames was instantly under her spell.
"Hi," she greeted, smiling through pouty lips and arching a brow. "You wanted to chat with me?"
Kara was gorgeous. With long dark hair, caramel skin, and eyes that just seemed to know everything, Eames couldn't help but go a little slack jawed. She crossed one leg over the other with a fluid motion, and he couldn't help but watch as if it was being done in slow motion.
"Yes," Eames said and managed to hold character. "I'm looking for someone. I was hoping…"
She ran her fingers through her hair, combing it behind her ear. "Me? I had heard that there was a producer in town. I sent my resume, but I never thought that…"
"I'm not a producer," Eames said. "I'm not even in the entertainment industry, and I'm not looking for you."
All the beautiful charm seemed to melt off of her instantly. "Oh," she said, and the spell had been broken. "Then, what do you want? If you just want to buy me a drink, I'm not interested."
Eames was floored by the change in demeanor and by the ability that he'd been swept up in her act in the first place. He couldn't understand how she hadn't made it as an actress with that amount of ability, to sweep up one of the world's best forgers… Hell, if she was a forger, she'd give him a run for his money, he'd bet.
He made a conscious effort not to be caught off guard again.
"I'm not out to get you a drink, I'm not here to get in your trousers, and I don't want to make you famous, though I will give you credit for being quite skilled," Eames said, dropping his own act. "To be honest, this could be a wild goose chase, but you're the only source I currently have."
"What-I… Who are you?"
"No one you would know, but I'm looking for someone we both know. Brendan."
She raised her perfectly tweezed eyebrows and smirked. "Brendan?" She lingered on both syllables of the word, tasting them as if they were delicious with a bad aftertaste. "I thought that might have been him."
"So you saw him then?"
She shrugged. "Maybe for a second. I didn't talk to him, if that's what you're thinking." She leaned forward, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. "Are you his friend? Or are you his enemy?" She tilted her head, grinning, and Eames felt his heart pitter-patter for a moment. He tried not to look this Medusa directly in the eyes. "Either way, friend or enemy, it's clear that you're hunting him…"
"When and where did you see him?" Eames asked, swallowing thickly.
"Now… why should I offer this information to you, Mr. Stranger?" she asked and laid a hand on his thigh. "What's in it for me?"
Eames exhaled slowly in frustration. "What do you want?"
"What are you offering?" she asked, nearly pressing her mouth to his ear. "Perhaps money?... or maybe, you'll give me a piece of this Brendan you're trying to get your hands on?"
Eames didn't know what she meant by it, but he shoved her off of him immediately. "I'm not going to play games with you. If you don't tell me, I'll find him on my own."
She snorted, and Eames couldn't help but wonder why she seemed to be so used to being pushed around. "Well," she said, uncrossing her legs and then crossing them the other way, "you're no daisy, are you, baby?"
"I am not your baby. Where did you see him, and when?"
"Fine, fine, no need to throw an ing-bing, Gee," she said, frowning. "Not that it'll be worth anything now, but I saw him this morning. I was working at my other job, the little diner two blocks from here, and he came in and asked to use the phone. He didn't even dial. He just walked up to the phone, lifted it off the hook, and put it back. These guys came in then, and he left through the side door. Maybe they were chasing him, but they didn't make a big fuss into going after him."
Eames sighed, running a hand over his hair. "Thank you."
"Word of warning, baby," she said, standing up and pressing a finger to his lips. "If you're dealing with Brendan Frye, you'll probably find some things that you don't want to. If you see him, tell him I said hello. I'd love for him to come and… see me again." She winked and sauntered off.
Eames called the Brain on his way out and headed for the diner to see if he could pick up a trail.
Of course, there was no trail. Even if there had been, he'd known it would have gone cold by then. He went inside to find the place empty save the cook and a waitress, both of which were sitting and smoking. They gave Eames a look of disapproval when he came in, but he just waved them off, signaling he didn't need anything and took a seat at the other end of the bar area, lighting up his own cigarette.
He looked at the pay phone. Arthur had been there that morning, standing with his hand on the receiver… and now he was gone… Eames wondered if Arthur was going to call him, and then he wondered why he wouldn't just use his cell phone.
He exhaled a puff of smoke, leaning his cheek on his fist and checked his cell phone. "No messages, no missed calls…" he grumbled and shoved it back into his pocket.
…and then his pocket buzzed.
Eames groaned and pulled it back out, expecting a phone call from the Brain and only hoped that he had more information. "Hello?" he asked tiredly.
There was a long moment of silence, and then, "Eames."
Eames choked on the smoke of his cigarette. "Arthur!" he shouted, cigarette falling to the counter. "Bleeding Christ, I've been trying to-"
"Eames," Arthur said again, more forcefully. Eames shut up. "Eames, listen," Arthur continued, and he sounded out of breath. "Whoever's after me got wind that I'm in town. He's got lots of goons out hunting me down, and I've eluded them so far… Mostly… but I… I uh… Look, maybe you should get out of town. If they find out that you came here with me, they'll be sniffing your trail too, and-"
"No, no, you are not going to send me away, Arthur, not now. I have been bloody searching for you all fucking day, and you are going to tell me where you are, and I'm going to come get you, and we're going to figure out what the hell is going on!"
"Eames, no, this-this is bigger than I thought it was. I don't know who's in cahoots with who or what people walking down the street know my face, but whoever's doing this has a lot of manpower, and they're not fine upstanding guys, clearly. They fight dirty, and I think it might be a drug circle, possibly run by the kingpin. This is bad, Eames, and you need to get the hell out before it gets you put underground."
"Arthur-"
"I can't… I-I have to go."
"What happened to your phone?"
"I have to go, they can track your phone. Dust out-"
"Arthur, tell me where you are! I'll grab a taxi and be there in no time! Please!"
"I can't-I-FUCK-"
Eames thought he heard the sound of breaking glass, but when he shouted Arthur's name, he knew it was for naught because the line had gone dead.
He hoped the line was the only thing that had died.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception, crossover with Brick
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Laura Dannon, Emily Kostitch, the Brain, Kara
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:language, character death, currently un-betaed
Summary: Arthur stood there in complete silence before crouching down and running a hand over his hair, releasing a few strands into his eyes. “Brain was right,” he said, right as Eames thought he was going to have to leave or throw up or both because of the smell. “Someone’s trying to send me a message.”
Burn
Part One
"To another extraction well done," Eames offered, lifting his beer in Arthur's direction.
"No thanks to Astor," Arthur mumbled but smirked a little while he clinked his bottle to Eames's. "Good thinking back there."
Eames shrugged as if to say it wasn't anything but the smile on his face revealed the contrary. "Never going to work with that bloke again though. Thanks for coming out."
Arthur shrugged, swigging out of his bottle. "After that, I needed a drink. You just happened to offer."
"Ouch, rejected," Eames said, laughing. "Here I thought I was going to get you drunk and get into your trousers."
"So, where are you headed after this? Mombasa?"
Eames shrugged again and took a long gulp from the bottle. "Don't know. I don't have another job lined up yet. You?"
"No jobs yet. Was thinking of heading stateside again, but I might stick around Paris a little longer, visit Ariadne. She graduates next year."
"I might tag along then. I've been curious to hear how she is."
"As far as I know, she's taken a few jobs in dreamsharing but only on the more legal side of the law," Arthur said, setting down his bottle and digging in his pocket.
"She never struck me as the 'play it safe' type of bird, but I suppose after her first job she might want to take it easy-Something wrong?"
Arthur was staring at his cell phone that was buzzing in his hand. His expression was blank, but he made no moves to answer it. It eventually went silent.
After about a minute, the phone buzzed to life again, and Arthur waited four rings before picking up. He tilted the phone to his ear but said nothing.
The bar he and Eames had stopped to drink at was mostly empty, and their back corner table was just small and cramped enough for Eames to listen in. He leaned in close, despite Arthur elbowing him in the ribs, curious.
There was just silence on the other end of the line for several seconds.
And then…
"Brendan?"
"How did you get this number?" Arthur asked, voice toneless.
"It is you, isn't it? I thought I'd never manage to find you. It took three days of searching and prodding all of my sources that were so inclined. It's nice to see you finally got yourself a phone, otherwise I never would have found you." The man on the other line was speaking loudly as if trying to make sure he was being heard. The connection wasn't great.
Eames raised an eyebrow, but Arthur said nothing to him about it. "If anyone could find this number, I should expect it to be you, Brain," he said, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. "You sound the same, at least."
"I can barely hear you."
"I'm in France. It's a miracle you got through. Now, I think I know you pretty well, so I'm sure that you wouldn't have gone through so much trouble for nothing more than a friendly chat. What's the wire?"
"I came across some information back here in San Clemente. I thought you might be interested to hear it considering your previous history and the significance of the time."
"Significance? History?" Arthur questioned, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the table.
"A Miss Laura Dannon?"
Arthur went silent for several moments.
"Surely you remember her, right?" the man on the other side of the line, Brain apparently, said.
"I remember," Arthur said. "What about her?"
"She's missing."
Another moment of silence.
"And?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows and drumming the fingers of his free hand on the tabletop.
"She went missing about two days ago. I had heard that she was behind the eight ball, that things weren't going well for her, and of course that's not surprising, but it's the date that made me seek you out."
Arthur nodded, seeming to recognize such a date. "I know. You think it's just a coincidence?"
"Possible. Likely, even… but considering your history with her, I thought that there might be some sort of hidden message here."
"I'll catch the first flight out and see to a few things," Arthur said then. "I don't know if anything's related, and I don't much care, but because you went to the trouble I suppose I can at least take a look."
"You don't care?"
"It's not my business."
"What if it is your business?
"Then I'll see to it. I'll see you by tomorrow."
He hung up.
He looked at Eames.
"Who's Laura?" Eames asked, smiling.
"No one you should be concerned about and not anyone that I am," Arthur said, getting up and downing the rest of his beer before slipping back into his jacket.
"Who's Brain?" Eames continued, leaving money on the table and following Arthur out of the bar.
"An old friend of mine from high school that I probably owe a million favors to," Arthur replied, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets and ducking under the rain.
"Who's Brendan?" Eames asked then.
Arthur smiled a little at that, slowing his pace. "Brendan? Brendan's me."
"But-"
"Arthur's my middle name. Didn't you know?"
Eames gaped for a moment too long, and by the time he realized it, Arthur was already halfway across the street. He ran to catch up. "No, I most certainly did not know. I didn't necessarily think Arthur was your real name, but-"
"I don't have many aliases, Eames. Arthur's just a non-threatening name. It makes it easy to catch people off guard, I guess. Plus, the name Brendan had a little history back in my hometown, so before I started going global, I used Arthur instead."
"Were you a little punk when you were young?" Eames teased. "Did you spike your hair and wear a leather jacket and smoke pot behind the school?"
"No, no, no, and no," Arthur said with a roll of his eyes as he slipped inside the lobby of the hotel to grab his things. "I was usually by myself. I did shake things up a little once in a while though."
"Can I come watch you shake things up again?"
"I don't think this is going to lead to anything," Arthur sighed, pressing the button on the elevator. "I'm just going to quell Brain's suspicions. He has the tendency to think everything is connected to something. That's the problem with knowing too much. They don't call him the Brain for nothing."
"That sounds a lot like you, darling. So, are you going to let me come or not?"
"You can go wherever you please, Eames. I don't control what you do."
Eames kept the you have no idea to himself.
Arthur called in a favor from Saito to get a flight out from Paris that night and was in California by the next afternoon. Eames had joined in the fun for kicks, not to mention he wanted to learn more about this other side of Arthur. The point man had been a secretive little prick from the day Eames had met him, and (not that he'd been looking all that hard) he couldn't find a single piece of information on him… mostly because he didn't trust that Arthur was his real name and didn't know his last name. Leave it to the man who could find any piece of information on anyone to know how to cover his tracks.
Arthur had even hinted to Eames that he might know Eames's first name, and that was enough blackmail to keep Eames on his best behavior for the entirety of the last job.
Eames knew he acted differently when he was back home, how he stood a little straighter in front of his mum and generally watched his language. He wouldn't feel as obligated to dress up as he did at work (Arthur would probably claim that Eames didn't know what dressing up was, but Eames was convinced that Arthur just didn't understand his particular style). Also, his family thought he was a dentist.
Arthur was a different person here too, in the absolute strangest and most unexpected way. The straight-backed point man that normally oozed self-assurance and wisdom and really good looks (actually that might have just been Eames seeing that) seemed to shrink the moment he stepped into town. He curled into himself, hunched, with his hands buried deeply in his pockets. It was as if all that confidence had been ripped out from under him and the only thing he wanted to do was disappear... or perhaps it wasn't a loss of confidence but a desire to not be noticed… Eames couldn't tell, but it was bizarre regardless and didn't really fit with the stylish suits and slicked hair.
They met the one called the Brain outside a library, near a pay phone. He was a skinny, blondish nerd with thick horn-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in jeans and a gray corduroy coat and was leaning against the wall somewhat stiffly. "Well, well," he said as Arthur approached.
"Where are you eating lunch nowadays?" Arthur asked with a grin.
"Not Paris," he replied and held out his hand to shake Arthur's. "Wow, look at you. I don't even recognize you."
Arthur returned his handshake, "and you haven't even changed at all."
The Brain laughed, and he was much quieter in person than he was on the phone, probably because he was sure Arthur could hear him now.
"Who's this?" the Brain asked, reaching out to shake Eames's hand too.
"Eames. He's a friend of mine. We eat lunch together."
Eames shook the Brain's hand, trying to understand the language that he and Arthur seemed to have. It must have been a high school thing. Eames's schools had had their fair share of teenage slang and secret language to get under the radar of the teachers too.
He was still wondering whether "eat lunch" signified work or arguing or friendliness or flirting when the two of them started talking.
"So, what's the rumble about?" Arthur asked, glancing over his shoulder as if he was being watched. "Laura's gone missing, and I'm assuming that the bulls are aware?"
"No, not exactly," the Brain replied, adjusting his glasses and crossing his arms over his chest. "Laura wasn't exactly doing too well after she got put under glass. Even when she got out thanks to her parent's nickels and dimes her reputation had been pretty much destroyed. She hovered around a couple of different circles for a while, working her way down. She moved away but recently came back. She came and found me where I worked and waited for me. She asked about you."
"Really," Arthur said colorlessly.
"No lie. She wanted to know if I'd heard from you since you left. I told her I hadn't. The next day, she turns up missing. She didn't really have any friends or family around here anymore, so no one's actually reported anything, but word gets around pretty quickly here, in case you forgot."
"I haven't forgotten. How was she when you saw her?"
"Are you asking because you care or because you think it might have some kind of significance?"
Arthur didn't answer. Eames was beginning to feel left out, so he lit a cigarette.
"Well, either way," the Brain continued with a shrug, "she didn't look too good. She looked like she might have been back on the snow. Rumor has it she's been on and off it for years."
Arthur nodded vaguely. "All right… I'll see what I can see. That number you called me was yours, right?"
"It was."
"Keep your phone on you. I'll call you if or when I dig something up. Keep your specs on and let me know if you come across anything else."
The Brain nodded and moved away from the wall. "I'll catch up with you later then."
"Nice seeing you."
Arthur turned to walk away, and all Eames could do was follow, but the Brain stopped him just once more. "Brendan."
Arthur turned back, sighing through his nose. "Yeah?"
"Be careful. I know how wrapped up you got last time something like this happened. You almost didn't come out clean from that one… Hell, you almost didn't come out from that one at all. I called you because I thought that it would catch up to you eventually, and I wanted you to be aware in case this is about you somehow so the droppers wouldn't get you unexpectedly. I don't want you to drown in this."
"I'm only checking things out as a favor to you, Brain. Laura doesn't mean anything to me. She probably took too much and pulled the Dutch act. That's all."
"Then why would she be looking for you?"
"Ever since I got her put under glass, I'm sure she's been wanting to get her hands on me."
"You're sure that's all?"
Arthur hesitated. "We'll see."
Arthur asked around town for information, but no one seemed to know anything… or if they did, they weren't talking. Arthur seemed to be growing bored with the whole thing after only a couple of hours, and Eames had grown bored long before then. "So, what's the story with this Laura girl anyway?" Eames asked.
Arthur had led them both to a place he referred to as the Coffee and Pie and ordered them such. He stared out the window, chewing, and said, "I can't really talk about it."
"Ex-girlfriend?"
"No."
"Well, why was she looking for you? You said you put her under glass. What does that mean?"
"Prison," Arthur snorted. "Because of my information, the bulls found a brick of heroin in her locker. She was still there when I skipped town. Maybe she's out looking for revenge or something, but I don't know. The last thing she needs is an explanation. She already knows everything." Arthur sipped at his coffee.
"What did she do?"
"Don't worry about it. I'm just gonna find her. That's all this is. After that, I cut my ties again and get the hell out of here."
"Well, whatever she did before, are you sure this doesn't have anything to do with that? When'd you last see her?"
"Years ago… right before she got put under glass. I was still in high school then… She knows everything. I caught her on everything, and she walked out of my life. There's really no reason for her to come after me now," he looked down into his coffee and fell silent.
"Arthur?" Eames questioned.
Arthur's fork clanged to his plate. "Fuck," he whispered and stood.
Eames followed Arthur to a sewage tunnel, and they smelled it before they saw it.
There, face down in the water was the decomposing body of a girl.
Arthur stood there in complete silence before crouching down and running a hand over his hair, releasing a few strands into his eyes. "Brain was right," he said, right as Eames thought he was going to have to leave or throw up or both because of the smell. "Someone's trying to send me a message."
Eames pulled out his pocket square and pressed it to his mouth and nose. "Clearly. What message would that be?"
Arthur shook his head, standing. "I don't know… but this isn't just about Laura… this is about what happened… This…. This is…"
"Shouldn't we alert the authorities? Not that I'm a fan of the authorities, but…"
"No. Not yet. If the bulls know then whoever did this knows I know."
"So, you're just going to leave her here?" Eames asked, but the question was needless because Arthur was already trudging across the thin stream of nasty water toward her. He took her underneath her arms and lifted.
She was blue, and her neck was marked with dark handprints. She must have been beautiful in life, Eames thought, with the long honey brown hair and long eyelashes. It was nothing more than a shame. She was so young.
Arthur stared down at her face, looking nearly regretful, and then he looked up at Eames and swallowed hard.
"You should at least say something respectful," Eames offered, "if she's not going to be put to peace properly, at least."
Arthur seemed to agree and turned, carrying her into the tunnel. As he walked, his oxfords clacking against the concrete, he began to speak, slowly, languidly, like molasses being poured:
"Observe his flame, that placid dame, the moon's celestial highness; There's not a trace upon her face of diffidence or shyness: She borrows light that, through the night, mankind may all acclaim her… and truth to tell, she lights up well, so I… for one… don't blame her…"
It really was a shame.
The hotel room Arthur booked was nice but not too terribly posh and fancy that Eames felt out of place… Though, honestly, it was hard for Eames to feel anything but creeped out after being so close to a corpse and watching Arthur stash it in the tunnel as easily as if he had done it before. Sure, he'd seen dead bodies before and even seen people leave them or stash them in not so graceful or respectful positions, but this was different… This was the body of a young woman who seemed innocent enough (though what little Arthur had told him led in the direction of the contrary)… and she was basically lying face down in a sewer for God's sake! And…
It was Arthur.
Arthur could be cold and ruthless when it seemed the best course of action, but he never came across as someone who would not be gagged by the smell of death, even when it was all over their hands. The girl must have done him some terrible wrong, Eames thought, for him to care so little about her, and yet… He'd looked just a little regretful. It was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reaction, definitely, and Arthur's emotions had always been subtle, but Eames had seen it.
He wanted to know more, but Arthur wasn't spilling.
Eames huffed from where he was sprawled on his bed and looked over at the bathroom door. Arthur was in the shower and had been for some time. Eames imagined he himself would probably clean with steel wool after carrying a decomposing dead body around.
I wonder if they were lovers, Eames thought idly, and the thought did make him tingle with a twinge of jealousy. He'd been pretty barmy over Arthur for a while now,, not that he'd done that on purpose. He'd come to the realization about three jobs ago when he realized he was trying to get a rise out of Arthur for more than just their typical fun and games. He actually got giddy (like a bloody school girl!) when he could get a smile and a flash of dimples wrung out of him or when his eyes would glimmer just a little brighter when Eames said something smart. He didn't just want to impress Arthur for the sake of showing off anymore. When a job was over, he didn't want to separate from Arthur because he actually missed that little smartass grin or furrowed brow, and that was why he'd invited him for a drink in Paris. He'd told himself he'd get up the guts to ask Arthur to take a chance on him, but of course he'd lost his nerve before Arthur had even agreed to come.
"Oh, bugger," Eames grumbled, rolling onto his stomach. He was really tired of the schoolboy crush. He thought that maybe he needed to get laid to get over it, but unfortunately, the only one in his immediate vicinity was Arthur… or, Brendan, as it were. It also annoyed him how little he actually knew about Arthur and how much Arthur allegedly knew about him. There was a little part of him, a niggling little worry that believed Arthur knew about his feelings and was fucking with him out of pure, cruel enjoyment. If Arthur could hide a body of someone he knew without so much as a startled expression and recite poetry from memory while doing so, then why wouldn't he be able to screw with Eames's feelings?
Eames needed to get out of his head before he got to a point he'd ultimately regret. Thankfully, Arthur came out of the bathroom then, rubbing his hair with a towel.
"Didn't know you owned a pair of jeans," Eames said with a smirk, rolling back onto his back and then propping himself up against the headboard of his bed.
Arthur slung the towel down off of his head and onto his shoulders before making a move to dig in his suitcase. "Sure do. I actually have three pairs of jeans," he said teasingly, but he sounded worn out. He tugged a gray t-shirt out from the bottom of his bag and pulled it over his head. There was a faded navy design of what looked to be Bruce Lee on the front.
"You all right?" Eames asked.
Arthur removed a silver case from the second pocket of his suitcase and squinted at Eames. "Why?"
"I was just wondering, since this Laura girl and all…"
"She's dead. I can do nothing for her. I couldn't do anything for her when she was alive either." He removed a pair of glasses from the case and slipped them on, adjusting them on his nose until he was satisfied. "I don't care about her, but I do care about who's trying to contact me and what they want."
"If I may pry, how was throwing a body of a girl you used to know but don't care about into a storm drain any sort of message to you?"
Arthur licked his lips and adjusted his glasses again as he padded across the room and slid his feet back into his oxfords. "It's personal," he mumbled, swinging open the door. "I'll be back later. I've got to go meet the Brain. You can shower if you like. I'll bring back Chinese food."
Eames decided to keep it to himself that he was disappointed for being left out. Clearly, Arthur was not willing to talk to him about whatever had taken place way back when, so it wasn't that surprising that he was being kept out of the loop now… not that Eames could understand half of what they said to each other anyway.
Still, as soon as the door clicked shut, Eames went digging through Arthur's things as meticulously as he possibly could. He wanted something. Anything, really. He would have been satisfied with even the barest of a hint because he couldn't stop thinking about the young, blue corpse in the water, honey strands of hair splayed out around her like a halo. Eames didn't even know her, and he cared a little (he was a softy at heart)… but Arthur had proclaimed to not give a shit even though they clearly had a history. If anyone should have wished death on the other, Eames would have thought that this Laura girl had the reason to be angry. Arthur had apparently gotten her locked up and sullied her reputation (whatever that had been). What did she do? What could she possibly have done?
Eames didn't find anything but clothes and toiletries.
He buried his disappointment and flopped down on the mattress and sighed heavily.
The next thing he knew, he was waking up to a dark, quiet room. There was Chinese food on the table by the window and an Arthur-shaped lump in the other bed. Eames rubbed his eyes and stared at the clock and discovered it was two in the morning.
He grumbled and rolled out of bed. He turned on the lamp at the table, the light only dimly illuminating the room so as not to wake Arthur, and dug into what was left of the Chinese food. It seemed that Arthur had only picked at it. It was pretty good even though it was cold.
When he was done he went to turn off the light but paused when he looked back and saw Arthur sprawled under the comforter, lean arm stretched out across the mattress. His eyes were rolling beneath his eyelids, his lips twitching just slightly.
A nightmare…
Eames couldn't help himself. He reached out and stroked soft brown curls off of his forehead. He was sweating just a little, Eames noticed and traced his fingers down over his cheekbone. He knuckle brushed against his lip, and that was when Arthur's eyelids started to flutter so Eames turned back to the Chinese food.
"Ah… Eames?" Arthur croaked, blinking sleep out of his eyes.
"Just having a bit of supper," Eames assured him, closing up the empty box of fried rice. "Go back to sleep, love."
"I was dreaming," Arthur mumbled, head falling back to the pillow. "I don't… normally do that anymore…"
"Was it a nice dream?" Eames asked.
"No… It was about… Emily…"
"Who?"
Arthur made a few unintelligible noises and drifted off.
Well, Eames had told himself he'd be satisfied with a hint.
Eames crawled back into bed and stared at the back of Arthur's head. As an afterthought, he got up, grabbed Arthur's phone and wrote down the Brain's number. Maybe if he could decipher some of the Brain's code-talk, the Brain could tell him what he wanted to know… or at least who Emily was.
The next morning, Arthur was already gone.
Eames waited around for a good three to four hours before he started to get worried and another hour and a half before he finally decided to try to call Arthur.
He didn't pick up. In fact, the phone went straight to voicemail.
Eames was glad he'd written down the Brain's number.
I'll just call him and ask to talk to Arthur… ah… Brendan, Eames told himself as he dialed. Surely Arthur was with him. He didn't have any reason to be worried. Arthur was just keeping him out of the loop again. Surely that was all. Surely.
"Hello?"
"This the Brain?" Eames asked, trying to sound casual and not nervous.
"Who's asking?"
"Eames. Ar-Brendan's friend from yesterday. I need to talk to him."
"He's not with me."
Eames fell silent.
Arthur wasn't with the Brain.
Where was he if he wasn't with the Brain?
"Is he in a jam?" the Brain asked.
"I don't know where he is," Eames admitted. "He didn't leave a note, he won't answer his mobile, nothing. I thought he was with you."
"I haven't spoken to him since last night. You're tooting the wrong ringer here. This could be bad."
Silence passed between them.
"He told me to keep underneath. He told me about what you saw… Where are you now?" the Brain finally said, breaking the hush.
"I'm back at the hotel room. I've been here all day waiting for him. All of his bags are still here, so he didn't up and skip town."
"Do you remember how to get where we met yesterday?"
"I think so…"
"Meet me there in an hour. I'll do a little snooping and see what comes up. If Brendan's in a jam, we're going to have to come up with something. Keep your phone on you in case he rings you up. I'll do the same."
The Brain hung up, and Eames waited some more for a phone call that didn't come. Forty-five minutes later, he slipped into his coat and went to meet the Brain.
The Brain was gray when Eames, dressed in jeans and a brown v-neck shirt, got there. "Nothing?" Eames asked when he approached.
The Brain shook his head. "I can't get through to him. Nobody I've asked has seen him. This is bad. This is really bad…" he shook his head. "The only thing I can think of to do right now is to keep asking around. Someone had to see him."
"Listen, I don't know how he was when you knew him," Eames started, and he realized that his fear had boiled into frustration, "but Arthur-Brendan is not some pushover little Nancy Boy. He never leaves home without a gun, and I've seen him fight his way through five blokes the size of tanks without so much as getting dust on his lapels. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that he's suddenly so incapacitated that he can't reach a phone."
The Brain took a step back, pressing his back against the wall, and Eames realized that he'd sort of charged the poor guy. He stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets sheepishly. The Brain adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "I never said that he was incapacitated. Brendan wasn't a patsy back in high school either. He didn't exactly pack iron back then, but he could fight. I don't think he's tied up in someone's trunk or whatever, but I am thinking that he might be on the run. Maybe someone sniffed out that he's back in town. Maybe the wrong person did."
Eames shook his head, scrubbing his face with his palm. "All right, how deep does this go? I can't very well help get Arthur out of whatever jam he's in if I don't know what the bloody hell is going on. If you want my help, you're going to have to tell me what happened and what this is all about."
Brain slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground. He folded his legs and scratched his head and sighed before saying, "he didn't tell you much then. That's typical Brendan. He's always been a loner. I thought it was really goofy that he even brought you with him. He must really like you."
Eames blinked and tried not to appear shocked. He'd always assumed Arthur more tolerated him than anything. To think that Arthur liked him, actually liked him, really liked him… That little schoolboy crush side of Eames got a little giddy again. He swallowed it down though.
"Well, what's the story? Who's Emily?"
"He mentioned Emily?"
"He was half asleep, but yes," Eames nodded and took a seat next to the Brain. "He had a nightmare about her."
Brain sighed through his nose, leaning his head back against the wall. "Well, the story goes like this, or at least what I know of it does. Em was Brendan's girl for a little while, but after this big blow-up, and I won't go into details -it's too messy, over a guy called Jerr, Em dumped him. A few months later, she's apparently going through some stuff, calls him in a panic, says something about a bad brick, something about the Pin and Tug. Brendan tracks her down only for her to tell him that it's nothing and to leave her alone. Next day, he finds her dead in a sewage tunnel.
"So, anyway, Brendan decides to get to the bottom of it. He still loves Em, you know? This is where I don't know much. He didn't really keep me informed, but it leads him to the kingpin himself of the dope rats. Brendan worked his way into the Pin's group after getting his ass handed to him a few times, and things got real hot after the Pin's guy Tugger killed Em's latest squeeze Dode… er… he was a dope rat, not too smart, apparently saw Brendan stash Em's body and thought he killed her… but yeah, things got real hot, and he had me call the bulls. He got out but it was a massacre down at the Pin's joint. Some were put under glass and others were put underground. I really don't know what all went down, but apparently it was Laura who caused all of it. Laura snatched up the bad brick. The bulls found it in her locker."
"So, why kill her? Why this way?"
"Apparently somebody wants Brendan chilled off or locked up. I'm wondering if it could be Tug or the Pin. At least one of them didn't walk out of that din alive, but Dode's already dead, Em's already dead, Laura's dead… Kara would probably have the ability but not the motive. She's more caught up in her own interests, always has been."
"Kara?"
"An ex-girlfriend of Brendan's. He dated her when he was a freshman. She's a conniving little dame, uses people for all their worth, keeps them as pets. I haven't kept tabs on her, but I think she's in town still. Last I knew she was working in a restaurant and trying to be a real actress ever since her face made an appearance on a certain adult video online."
"Maybe she knows something," Eames suggested hopelessly. "Jesus, are all of Arthur's ex-girlfriends this insane?"
"Brendan never really did have good taste in women… He'd fall in love with anyone who'd give him the time of day."
"That doesn't sound like the man I know," Eames admitted, digging a cigarette out of his pocket. He vaguely remembered telling Arthur that he was going to quit smoking when he'd given him a somewhat disapproving look. Arthur had shook his head and said something about not really caring about that. It still made him feel guilty every time he lost the battle, so for the moment he left it unlit, dangling from his lips.
"I don't know… the only one he was really serious about was Em. He was obsessed with her. He did absolutely everything he could to keep her safe but also to keep her to himself. She didn't take too well to that."
"Clingy also isn't a word I'd use to describe Arthur."
The Brain stood up and offered to help Eames to his feet. Eames took it. "Clingy isn't exactly how I'd put it. Brendan didn't love anything else in this entire world… except for Em."
"This is serious," Eames whispered.
"Could be. I'll see if I can find Kara, and I'll keep in touch with you. It's probably better if we don't meet out in the open in case whoever's after Brendan knows about us. You're probably safe right now, but everyone knows who Brendan's go-to guy around here is."
"Fine, you'll be my point man, and I'll do all of the dirty work," Eames agreed, nodding.
"You… are looking out for Brendan, right?"
Eames looked at the Brain as if he was crazy (and he was a little bit). "Pardon?"
"I don't know you. I just wanted to be sure you're not trying to grift me or him. Maybe we haven't talked in a long time, but I still consider Brendan my pal. I'll always feel that way. I'm just looking out for him."
Eames could understand that, he supposed, but there was a part of him that was still annoyed by it. "I don't have papers to vouch for my loyalty, but if you'll take me at my word I can say that there is no one on this planet that I am more loyal to than your friend."
Eames thought that maybe that might have been a little much, and he was even more horrified by how true the statement was…
The Brain raised his eyebrows at him.
Eames lit up the cigarette, hoping for it to take the edge off. "It's true," he mumbled. "My loyalty isn't easy to come by either, so don't take me for a fool."
The Brain sighed, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. "Well, then… I guess I should tell you not to drown in this either considering the -err … strength of your feelings, Eames."
"Oh, bollocks, is it really that obvious?" Eames whined, feeling his face droop.
The Brain just shook his head and started walking away, mumbling, "Is Brendan really such a prize? I'll never understand sensual people. Nothing but trouble is what it is. Nothing but trouble."
Eames couldn't really disagree.
Eames wandered around town with his eyes on constant patrol for Arthur, waiting for the Brain to get back to him. Eames had never been much of a sleuth or spy, but he had the fortunate advantage that no one knew who he was and that, with that information, Eames could be anyone he needed to be. The great thing about learning how to forge in dreams is that in reality, he could still sort of do it. Sure, he couldn't change himself into a blonde bombshell or a gray-haired business man, but he could imitate any accent, and with the right outfit or posture could be nearly unrecognizable. It was quite the convenient ability when he needed to get someone to trust him.
He couldn't help but get the feeling he was going to need that.
After finishing off his pack of cigarettes, buying a new pack, and working his way through two more cigarettes, the Brain finally called.
"Hello?" Eames asked, and he sounded much more strung out than he'd wanted to. "Have you heard from Arthur?"
"Nix," the Brain replied, "and my sources aren't singing. However, I did tighten a few screws until one guy tipped his mitt and told me where Kara is. Apparently she's waitressing down at a dump of a bar downtown called The Glass Key. I'll text directions to you, if you'd like to snoop a bit. It's not too far from your hotel, so maybe somebody saw Brendan there."
"I'll see what I can do," Eames replied. "Keep me informed."
"As long as you do the same," the Brain replied and hung up. A few minutes later, Eames received a poorly typed text message with an address. Arthur had never been good at text messaging either. Eames had watched Arthur get riled up over the very concept, heard him complain how ridiculous it was to complicate something as simple as a phone call. Eames would mostly contact him through text because of it… Eames wished that the memory didn't currently make him a little sad.
Eames took a chance and texted to Arthur's number three question marks.
The Glass Key was a dump but in the best way, at least in Eames's opinion. It was old and ramshackle, and the sign was crooked, but inside it was warm and friendly. It was clearly the hang-out place for the down on their luck people who still wanted to believe they had some semblance of class. Eames knew Arthur would appreciate the jazz singer.
"There's a somebody I'm longing to see, I hope that he turns out to be…" the lady caroled from her spot on the piano, "someone to watch over me…"
Eames straightened his jacket and buttoned it closed, walked up to the bar and leaned forward, plastering on a smile and an American accent similar to Arthur's, "Hey, barkeep. I'm looking for someone. Is Kara here?"
"Hold on just a sec," the bartender said, voice as gruff as his exterior. He slipped away and Eames drummed his fingers on the bar until he came back.
A woman slid onto the barstool next to him, and Eames was instantly under her spell.
"Hi," she greeted, smiling through pouty lips and arching a brow. "You wanted to chat with me?"
Kara was gorgeous. With long dark hair, caramel skin, and eyes that just seemed to know everything, Eames couldn't help but go a little slack jawed. She crossed one leg over the other with a fluid motion, and he couldn't help but watch as if it was being done in slow motion.
"Yes," Eames said and managed to hold character. "I'm looking for someone. I was hoping…"
She ran her fingers through her hair, combing it behind her ear. "Me? I had heard that there was a producer in town. I sent my resume, but I never thought that…"
"I'm not a producer," Eames said. "I'm not even in the entertainment industry, and I'm not looking for you."
All the beautiful charm seemed to melt off of her instantly. "Oh," she said, and the spell had been broken. "Then, what do you want? If you just want to buy me a drink, I'm not interested."
Eames was floored by the change in demeanor and by the ability that he'd been swept up in her act in the first place. He couldn't understand how she hadn't made it as an actress with that amount of ability, to sweep up one of the world's best forgers… Hell, if she was a forger, she'd give him a run for his money, he'd bet.
He made a conscious effort not to be caught off guard again.
"I'm not out to get you a drink, I'm not here to get in your trousers, and I don't want to make you famous, though I will give you credit for being quite skilled," Eames said, dropping his own act. "To be honest, this could be a wild goose chase, but you're the only source I currently have."
"What-I… Who are you?"
"No one you would know, but I'm looking for someone we both know. Brendan."
She raised her perfectly tweezed eyebrows and smirked. "Brendan?" She lingered on both syllables of the word, tasting them as if they were delicious with a bad aftertaste. "I thought that might have been him."
"So you saw him then?"
She shrugged. "Maybe for a second. I didn't talk to him, if that's what you're thinking." She leaned forward, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. "Are you his friend? Or are you his enemy?" She tilted her head, grinning, and Eames felt his heart pitter-patter for a moment. He tried not to look this Medusa directly in the eyes. "Either way, friend or enemy, it's clear that you're hunting him…"
"When and where did you see him?" Eames asked, swallowing thickly.
"Now… why should I offer this information to you, Mr. Stranger?" she asked and laid a hand on his thigh. "What's in it for me?"
Eames exhaled slowly in frustration. "What do you want?"
"What are you offering?" she asked, nearly pressing her mouth to his ear. "Perhaps money?... or maybe, you'll give me a piece of this Brendan you're trying to get your hands on?"
Eames didn't know what she meant by it, but he shoved her off of him immediately. "I'm not going to play games with you. If you don't tell me, I'll find him on my own."
She snorted, and Eames couldn't help but wonder why she seemed to be so used to being pushed around. "Well," she said, uncrossing her legs and then crossing them the other way, "you're no daisy, are you, baby?"
"I am not your baby. Where did you see him, and when?"
"Fine, fine, no need to throw an ing-bing, Gee," she said, frowning. "Not that it'll be worth anything now, but I saw him this morning. I was working at my other job, the little diner two blocks from here, and he came in and asked to use the phone. He didn't even dial. He just walked up to the phone, lifted it off the hook, and put it back. These guys came in then, and he left through the side door. Maybe they were chasing him, but they didn't make a big fuss into going after him."
Eames sighed, running a hand over his hair. "Thank you."
"Word of warning, baby," she said, standing up and pressing a finger to his lips. "If you're dealing with Brendan Frye, you'll probably find some things that you don't want to. If you see him, tell him I said hello. I'd love for him to come and… see me again." She winked and sauntered off.
Eames called the Brain on his way out and headed for the diner to see if he could pick up a trail.
Of course, there was no trail. Even if there had been, he'd known it would have gone cold by then. He went inside to find the place empty save the cook and a waitress, both of which were sitting and smoking. They gave Eames a look of disapproval when he came in, but he just waved them off, signaling he didn't need anything and took a seat at the other end of the bar area, lighting up his own cigarette.
He looked at the pay phone. Arthur had been there that morning, standing with his hand on the receiver… and now he was gone… Eames wondered if Arthur was going to call him, and then he wondered why he wouldn't just use his cell phone.
He exhaled a puff of smoke, leaning his cheek on his fist and checked his cell phone. "No messages, no missed calls…" he grumbled and shoved it back into his pocket.
…and then his pocket buzzed.
Eames groaned and pulled it back out, expecting a phone call from the Brain and only hoped that he had more information. "Hello?" he asked tiredly.
There was a long moment of silence, and then, "Eames."
Eames choked on the smoke of his cigarette. "Arthur!" he shouted, cigarette falling to the counter. "Bleeding Christ, I've been trying to-"
"Eames," Arthur said again, more forcefully. Eames shut up. "Eames, listen," Arthur continued, and he sounded out of breath. "Whoever's after me got wind that I'm in town. He's got lots of goons out hunting me down, and I've eluded them so far… Mostly… but I… I uh… Look, maybe you should get out of town. If they find out that you came here with me, they'll be sniffing your trail too, and-"
"No, no, you are not going to send me away, Arthur, not now. I have been bloody searching for you all fucking day, and you are going to tell me where you are, and I'm going to come get you, and we're going to figure out what the hell is going on!"
"Eames, no, this-this is bigger than I thought it was. I don't know who's in cahoots with who or what people walking down the street know my face, but whoever's doing this has a lot of manpower, and they're not fine upstanding guys, clearly. They fight dirty, and I think it might be a drug circle, possibly run by the kingpin. This is bad, Eames, and you need to get the hell out before it gets you put underground."
"Arthur-"
"I can't… I-I have to go."
"What happened to your phone?"
"I have to go, they can track your phone. Dust out-"
"Arthur, tell me where you are! I'll grab a taxi and be there in no time! Please!"
"I can't-I-FUCK-"
Eames thought he heard the sound of breaking glass, but when he shouted Arthur's name, he knew it was for naught because the line had gone dead.
He hoped the line was the only thing that had died.