"That was a cruel thing you did, Mr. Mercer," Cutler said with a smile. "I didn't do a thing," Mercer replied as he leaned against a column and peeled his apple in one continuous bit of green skin. "You are a wicked man, Mr. Mercer, and I am beginning to doubt your plausible deniability," Beckett said cheekily to his administrative assassin. Mercer humphed and said nothing.
Curious sounds came louder from the hall as their visitor was alternately dragged and shoved towards her destination; grunting, stamping feet, and a body colliding into walls. There was a violent scuffled before the door with a frightful crash – no doubt one of the vases on the console table near the door – and Beckett winced at the sound; he hated it when his things were broken.
The door flew open and a chained and enraged whore was manhandled into the room by Lt. Greitzer. Her blonde hair was all a-tumble from being grabbed and the side of her face swelled red beneath her gag. "Lord Beckett, I have brought you the harlot," Greitzer stated as he continued to thrust her in the direction of Cutler's desk. "My goodness, Lt., why is the poor creature gagged?" Beckett asked innocently.
"She bit me," Greitzer replied, his voice full of spleen. "Indeed?" Beckett queried rhetorically and flashed Mercer a knowing look. "If I am to have my information, Lt., then the gag must come off," Beckett stated and Greitzer looked resigned to possibly losing a finger to the vicious whore as he removed her gag. She stomped on his feet and tried to kick him in the bollocks before he was able to remove the gag and step away.
As soon as the gag was removed, the woman turned around and spat. Blood and a tooth shot out of her mouth and flung itself on Cutler Beckett's desk. The tooth bounced and rolled before coming to a bloody stop. Beckett looked down at the thing and shuttered slightly. "This whoreson knocked out me tooth!" the whore screamed, blood and spittle flying from her mouth as she gabbed a finger at Greitzer as he strode out the door.
"Well, you did bite him, Miss..?" Cutler inquired as he stared at the tooth on his desk, vacillating between ruining a perfectly good handkerchief to pick it up and dispose of it or continuing to let it gleam on his desk until Mr. Mercer could take care of it. "Giselle," the whore spat as she approached the desk and plucked the molar off the polished mahogany surface. Beckett blinked and Mercer paused in peeling his apple.
Giselle pulled out her swollen check by giving herself a fish hook and angling the molar into the bleeding abscess from which it sprang. When she found a way to make it fit she pushed it into her jaw and then clenched her teeth. Beckett's eyes widened as she groaned, turned shock white, and trembled at the pain of forcing the roots of the tooth back into place. Mercer returned his attention to his apple.
Beckett looked back at Mercer, who paid him no mind, when Giselle's knees buckled and she sank to the floor. Cutler stood up and leaned over his desk to peer at her. "Some brandy might be in order, Sir," Mercer said and did not stop peeling his apple to get the decanter. Cutler went to the side board and poured himself a glass of brandy in addition to the one for his guest. When he turned about she was right behind him.
"Miss Giselle," Cutler said as he thrust a crystal glass into her open hand. Her other hand held her swollen jaw and she did not thank Beckett as she downed his brandy like it was rum. She smacked her lips and Beckett directed her back to the desk before she helped herself to his brandy. Cutler briefly thought of getting her a chair, but digressed when he realized she was unused to such fine treatment.
"Now, Miss Giselle, you have some information," Cutler stated as he sat back in his chair behind his desk. The whore swayed before him, a feverish tinge taking over her skin and a slight sweat shimmering on her brow as the brandy tingled its way into her tooth socket. She held out her glass to him for another drink. "Ah, ah, ah," Beckett admonished as his wagged his finger before her, "tell me what you know and I might consider another."
"Jack Sparrow is puttin' together a large crew – any man he can get 'is hands on. He's lookin' for somethin', he is. Somethin' big. You wasn't the first to come lookin' for 'im. That fine young lad came lookin' for 'im, but he didn't come back wit' Jack," Giselle explained. "Then I heard he had parted wit' the lad ta settle 'is debt wit' Davy Jones, but now Jack is lookin' for a way to git the lad back and thumb 'is nose at Jones."
"Hmmm, yes, that certainly sounds like Sparrow," Cutler murmured to himself. The whore continued, "See, he owes Jones for 'is ship. The Pearl was brought back up from the deep for Jack's own soul. Now 'tis time to pay up and Jack wants to worm 'is way out. He's goin' to find a way to kill Jones; a dead man can't collect." Giselle held out her glass again. Becket ignored her and drummed his fingers on his desk.
Cutler Becket had burned that ship down to the bottom of the ocean and here Jack was thumbing his nose at him doing the impossible again. Selling his own soul to raise that ship and then backing out of the bargain once he had what he wanted. It infuriated Cutler and suddenly his bitterness was just as sharp as it had been in Africa, sharp as the smell of burning flesh and leaving a bad taste in his mouth.
"But that's Jack for ye, can't trust 'im, he'd sell 'is own mother jus' like he sold me an' Scarlett," the whore mused. Beckett took a moment to reflect over why her words had suddenly jolted him. He looked at her more closely and asked, "What did you say?" Giselle frowned at him, "Ye can't trust Jack." "After that, when you said he 'sold you' – what do you mean?"
The whore thrust out her glass and Beckett frowned at her. Giselle pouted and jiggled he glass a bit. Cutler cocked a brow and warned, "You are trying my patience." She harrumphed and the chains from her wrists jangled. "Jack owed the Gov'nor money, but didn't 'ave it to pay 'im back. Told me he was goin' to marry me, make me respectable and the like. Turns out 'e said the same thin' to Scarlett; bastard."
"Governor Swann?" Cutler interjected. "Gov'nor of Tortuga," Giselle explained, "the Gov'nor always gits 'is cut, he's not one to cross, aye? So, me and Scarlett dress in our Sunday clothes and we don't know we're both waitin' for Jack. Turns out there's no weddin'. Jack sold us both as Brides of Tortuga to pay the Gov'nor and we was to be auctioned off like niggers."
"Interesting, interesting," Cutler muttered as he stroked his bottom lip with his finger. It should not surprise him that Jack was a hypocrite. Sparrow had no qualms over slavery when it suited him. Beckett was going to enjoy that little tidbit of information when he threw it into Sparrow's face. His mind drifted into another world, a world filled with rage and a million blood-soaked apologies.
Standing up, he went to the sideboard and picked up the decanter of brandy and removed the stopper. Giselle had sauntered up silently behind him once again and he when he turned around he took back the glass and handed her the decanter. The whore looked up at him a trifle shocked at his generosity. "Believe me, my dear, when I say you have earned it." She grinned at him, blood staining her teeth, and guzzled the decanter dry.
Cutler Beckett gave Mr. Mercer a side long glance. The curled, green skin of the apple spiraled from the tip of his knife and he locked eyes with the other man as he bit into the glistening, white, skinless fruit. Beckett smiled dreamily. Mercer licked a bit of the juice that had squirted from the apple from the corner of his mouth. Turning the apple a bit, he took another crisp bite.
Giselle clinked the empty decanter on the sideboard and swayed like a flower in the wind as she held out her wrists. "Take 'em off," she said. Mr. Mercer nodded at Beckett and took another bite of the apple. Cutler moved back towards the desk and released the spring to a hidden drawer and drew out a key. It was a master key that could unlock anything the EITC held in its possession.
The manacles sprung from her wrists and she let the chains drop to the floor. She licked the raw flesh of her wrists and he eyes sparkled from the receding pain and the brandy creeping through her blood. Mr. Mercer was suddenly there, his hand that held the knife pressing to the small of her back and guiding her towards the door. She stumbled drunkenly and she was passed over the threshold to the guard to be escorted out.
Giselle leaned heavily on the guard and pressed her breasts against his forearm. She was not as drunk as she looked. Giggling at him, Giselle felt him up for the size of his purse; she was still a whore after all. A girl needed to work and there was no time like the present. Lt. Greitzer passed them in the lobby and sneered; Giselle looked back over her shoulder and winked at him. Take that, ya wanker, she thought.
"We could use a girl like her," Mr. Mercer said after he closed the door. "Whatever do you mean, Mr. Mercer?" Becket replied absentmindedly as he played with the green skin of the apple, making it bounce and twirl from his fingers. He loved the spirals of color and fragrance, but never had the patience to learn how to make them, so he had stolen Mercer's since he was a lad.
"She's a gutter whore, but she can move without those chains making a sound when she wants and she's an ear we can keep pressed to the ground," Mercer elaborated. "Certainly, she has her uses," Beckett agreed, "Do as you please, but do tell me how you got her to bite Lt. Greitzer's cock." Mercer grinned, "I told her to close her eyes and think of Jack Sparrow."