Disclaimer 1: I own nothing to do with Ocean's 11
Disclaimer 2: The title of this piece is taken from an Emily Dickinson poem I'm rather partial to. First verse of which is
Death is a Dialogue between
The Spirit and the Dust.
"Dissolve" says Death—The Spirit "Sir
I have another Trust"—
Disclaimer 3: Look. I have the attention span of a magpie in a jewellers, okay? Apparently expecting me to finish . . . well, anything, really . . . is just a little unrealistic without five other things being started in the meantime. But I swear, this was meant to be a oneshot.
Disclaimer 4: InSilva's read it and wants more. Therefore it's her fault.
Disclaimer 5: Obviously the fact that it's her fault in no way prevents me from being more grateful for the help and support than I can ever say. And in other news, this little author's note has gone on long enough.
Rusty put the phone down just a little more forcefully than was strictly necessary. Well, that had been unexpected. He didn't even understand how it had started. One minute he'd been saying to Danny that this job would have been easier with two people, next minute they'd found themselves in a minefield of accusation and misunderstanding that they'd never known before. And he hadn't meant to imply that Danny should abandon everything - should abandon Tess - every time Rusty got bored and wanted to wander across the country, and he was almost certain that Danny hadn't meant to imply that Rusty was lost without him and jealous of Tess. But that was where they'd ended up, and Rusty certainly had meant to suggest that maybe Danny hadn't missed him at all this past month, and that maybe he wouldn't bother joining Danny at the Met tomorrow, even if Danny did really have a plan this time. And that had been all about the hurting. Certainly it wasn't like he was planning on hanging around Havana for any length of time. He rubbed at his lip. God, they'd been so busy arguing, he hadn't even told Danny he'd left the country. Hadn't told him about chasing Manoso and about the bank-vault-that-wasn't in Miami and the briefcases in the safe in Havana.
He sighed and stared round the hotel room. This was stupid and this was unheard of, and this wasn't going to last. He wasn't going to let it. He hadn't meant any of it. They hadn't meant any of it. They weren't like that and never had been. Two days, and he'd be sitting eating pizza with Danny, and he'd tell him all about the look on Manoso's face when he opened the briefcase and Danny would laugh and tell him that this time - this time - they'd actually manage to walk out of the museum with the Vermeer and he'd pretend he didn't believe a word of it, right up until the point where he did.
In the meantime; he'd call Danny back. If they were going to be stupid, there was no point in being stupid alone.
That was the moment when he heard someone kicking the door in.
Danny stared down at the phone in angry disbelief. It didn't ring. Oh, come on. Rusty couldn't have been serious about that. Well, not for any more than a couple of minutes, anyway. And Rusty had been calling him from a landline, not his cell, and the number was blocked and the cell was out of service or something, and Danny really needed to apologise, or at least let Rusty know he was sorry. He'd overreacted. He was an idiot. But it hadn't just been a couple of weeks this time, it had been a full month, and Danny had been a little more bored and a little more alone than he felt happy admitting.
Finally acknowledging that Rusty wasn't going to ring back, he walked back through to the living room. Tess looked up from her book and frowned at him.
"Danny? What's wrong?" she asked.
Huh. He hadn't thought it was that obvious. "Had a fight with Rusty," he admitted, sitting down heavily on the sofa.
There was a pause. "Really?" She sounded incredulous, and he almost smiled. He didn't think she'd ever heard of them fighting before.
"It was stupid," he told her, sighing. "I don't even know what it was about, but he didn't ring back, and now I don't know if he's planning on meeting me on tomorrow." It was possible. If Rusty was angry enough, he might stay away.
"He wouldn't punish you like that," Tess said definitely.
No. Probably he wouldn't. Probably. "But he might find something better to do," he suggested, gloomily. He sighed. "I think I might head over and see him tonight. Surprise him when he gets in.
Tess looked genuinely regretful. "We're having dinner with Richard Walling tonight, remember?"
Oh. Yes. The potential client for the gallery. The one Tess was under orders to schmooze. He'd promised to go along to the restaurant and help out with his more legitimate skills. "I'd forgotten," he said, apologetically.
"I really need your help, Danny." She smiled, wonderingly. "I've never known anyone who can lay on the charm like you and not sound too corny."
Oh, wait just a minute here. "I don't sound in the slightest bit 'corny'," he told her, indignation in his voice.
She smiled, teasingly. "I bought a new dress for tonight," she offered. "As a special incentive."
Danny raised an eyebrow. "Is this the sort of dress that's going to make it difficult for us to get through dinner?"
She shrugged, nonchalantly. "We may have to skip dessert."
He could feel the smile spread across his face. "I love you," he told her.
"Of course you do," Tess said, matter of factly. "You'd be lost without me."
He followed her to the bedroom, ready to get changed. He'd see Rusty in the morning. That was time enough.
It was kind of funny. If you had a sense of humour that was warped in all the right directions. One minute he'd been worried about arguing with Danny, the next his room was filled with men carrying guns; all looking far too pleased to see him. And they were led by the right hand – albeit three times removed – of the man that he'd just stolen a lot of money from. No one was here to help him and there was a good chance he was about to die in a particularly miserable hotel room. And he was still worried about arguing with Danny.
Ernesto kicked at his suitcase. "Going somewhere, my friend?" he grinned. "You are surprised to see us, yes?"
Rusty smiled back. "Well, I didn't think I'd ordered, any room service," he agreed. He also hadn't thought he'd been made.
"You are going to come with us," Ernesto told him.
Rusty thought about the lobby and the street outside and considered the opportunities. "Do I have a choice?"
"No." Ernesto shook his head and casually concealed his gun under his coat. "This will be aimed at you all the time. If you try anything they will be scraping you off the walls and my wrist will be slapped."
They wanted him alive. Well, he wanted him alive. It was nice to have some common ground. He nodded understandingly. "I would hate for you to have to shoot a hole in your coat." Any chance, any opportunity – he'd seize it with both hands.
Ernesto grinned some more. "You are a funny guy. For a yuma."
He'd had worst epitaphs in his time.
The dinner had been excruciating. Richard Walling had thought he was a real good ol' boy. Mrs Walling had thought he was a real sweetheart. The steak had been overdone and the walnut financier had not amused him as much as the name suggested. The only upside had been that Tess' dress had been full of promise.
He'd checked his phone an indecent number of times during dinner. Had checked whether anyone had called the house as soon as they'd got back. Tess had sighed, but she'd understood.
Rusty hadn't called back. And, honestly, Danny was feeling more than a little angry about that.
He wanted to explain, in great detail, that stubbornness wasn't always a virtue.
There had been an opportunity. He remembered that. As soon as they got out the hotel, there'd been an opportunity, and he'd seized it, and he'd ran, and now he was lying on his side, on the ground, his arms and legs were tied together behind his back, and his head hurt. Evidently he'd been something less than successful.
He opened his eyes. Dark room. Small dark room. One single rectangle of light. He squinted his eyes. Doorway. Doorway to the outside; that was moonlight. Either it had been a long trip or he'd been out for a while. Actually, probably both. And Ernesto and two of his friends were lounging in the doorway.
"Ah, yuma, you're awake," Ernesto called out genially. "I was afraid we would have to leave you without saying goodbye. Señor Manoso will want to deal with you personally, you understand. He is not so keen on people stealing from him, I fear, and he likes to make sure that is clearly understood. And so far, no one has ever made the same mistake twice."
"Difficult from beyond the grave," Rusty rasped out.
"My friend, in this world, all things are possible," Ernesto told him seriously and Rusty decided to let that one slide. "Unfortunately we have not yet been able to contact Señor Manoso. He is a busy man, you understand, and you are the very least of his problems. And so we must leave you for now. But never fear! We shall return, and Señor Manoso will show you the error of your ways."
Rusty knew what Manoso normally showed people who had displeased him. And, often, it involved a handy selection of power tools. But Manoso was long gone.
"Adios, yuma," Ernesto said cheerfully, "Feel free to scream and shout all you want. No one will hear."
The door was closed and he was left in total darkness.
They didn't know. Rusty realised that now. They didn't know that their boss had left the country hurriedly, in order to spend more time with his remaining money. And as soon as they found out, they'd follow. And that meant . . . he bit his lip.
Manoso wasn't going to come back. Not just for Rusty, no matter how much he'd stolen. Too many people were holding Manoso responsible for the con and he would never risk his own skin like that. And that meant that there was a strong probability that there weren't going to be any chainsaws in his future.
But that left him here. Alone. In the dark. With no one coming for him. With no one who knew where he was.
Oh, he was fucked.
Danny lay in the darkness, Tess' warmth pressed close to him, and he brooded quietly.
What was this? What was going on? Suddenly they had an argument and there was radio silence and Rusty was talking about avoiding him? What were they, teenagers?
Of course he'd missed Rusty. Of course he had. Hell, that was why he'd called, why he'd suggested they try for the Met again. A month, and he'd been lonely.
He was the one who'd changed things. But it had been nearly three years now. And he understood that Rusty wasn't comfortable staying in any one place too long. But it had been a month. And he'd been lonely
It would serve Rusty right if Danny didn't turn up tomorrow either.
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