The Benedict Job: a different perspective by InSilva

Disclaimer: Rusty and Danny not mine, darn it! Hope you enjoy.

Chapter Four: Morning

Rusty woke to the unmistakable smell of bacon cooking. He stretched then pushed himself up on one elbow and looked over at the kitchen. Danny was showered and dressed and busy with the frying pan. The table already had toast on it.

"I didn't know Martha Stewart was your cellmate," Rusty yawned as he padded over.

Danny looked at him.

"What did you have in mind for breakfast?" he asked.

"There's some-"

"No."

"Or-"

"Definitely not."

Wordlessly, Rusty reached into a cupboard and produced a box of Poptarts.

"Not a chance," said Danny firmly, serving up two plates and pushing one of them Rusty's way together with a coffee.

Sighing, Rusty put the Poptarts down and sat at the table.

"When did you become my-"

"So long ago, I can't remember. I'm surprised your teeth don't itch," Danny said, waving a fork at Rusty.

"Four years and all you can do is criticise my diet?" replied Rusty, running his tongue experimentally over his front teeth even so.

"Thank god it was only four years. Any longer and…" Danny shook his head in mock despair.

"I'm only humouring you because you just got out," Rusty said, biting into the bacon. "Don't think this is going to last."

Danny just grinned and Rusty found himself grinning back. Four years - no, more like seventeen years melted away. This was the euphoric feeling he used to get in the early days when they were starting out and were busy setting their own rules, playing their own game, making this world their own. For the first time in a long time, he felt right.

They ate in silence for a moment and then Danny cast an appraising glance around the apartment and pursed his lips.

Want to tell me about Bruce?

"Want to tell me about Tess?" Rusty shot back.

"I asked first."

For a capricious heartbeat, Rusty considered not answering or offering up wild fabrication but denying or lying to Danny was like misleading himself. Pointless.

"Party four months ago," he explained. "Bruce was busy telling anyone who'd listen he was off to Asia at the end of the week. Picked up his address-"

"From his wallet?"

Of course.

"Just wanted to be clear."

"Once he'd gone abroad, I came here ready to be an unexpected nephew. Turns out Bruce often has male friends stay when he's away so they let me in without the third degree." Rusty shrugged and took a sip of coffee. "Who was I to disillusion them?"

"Who indeed? When's Bruce back?"

Rusty gave another shrug.

"No one knows. Could walk through that door any minute."

Danny's eyes flicked to the door and back again.

"Don't worry, if he comes back I'll be fine," Rusty reassured him. "As long as I can still outrun you."

Danny chuckled.

"Your turn," Rusty said quietly.

The smile faded from Danny's face and his gaze dropped to the piece of toast in his hand.

"She didn't speak to me for four years," he said slowly. "She didn't call, she didn't write. The day I got out, the divorce papers arrived. Seems she's not the forgiving kind."

I'm-

Thanks.

"Does it hurt?" Danny went on. "It hurts. Can I cope? I'm coping. The job will help." He took a mouthful of coffee. "OK, first things first..."

Rusty didn't need the end of that sentence. Reuben. Without Reuben, there would not be a job.

"I'll book flights," he offered.

The mid-morning flight to Vegas lasted a little over an hour. Leaving Danny to charm an upgrade out of the stewardesses, Rusty disappeared into himself, oblivious to anything except how to make the impossible possible.

They hit the airport Starbucks before the lunchtime rush and found a quiet table at the back of the room with a supply of coffee.

"So…?" Danny asked.

"Got some people in mind."

He didn't want to share just yet and he knew Danny didn't expect him to. Names came later: too early and you jinxed the job.

Danny nodded.

"Think I've got an inside man lined up," he said, equally cautious. "And when I was tracking you down last night, I heard someone else was around who might be useful."

He drained his coffee.

"I'll leave you to it," he announced. "I'll go and sort out transport."

"Nothing too-"

"Would I?"

As he left, Rusty flipped open his cell phone and punched in a number.

"Virgil?"

"It's Turk."

In the background, he heard "Did they want me? They wanted to speak to me, right? Give me the phone."

"Get away from the-"

The line went dead. Rusty sighed and redialled. He got the busy tone four times before he got through. This time, he waited for Turk to announce himself.

"It's Rusty."

"Rusty!" Turk sounded delighted. "Tell me you need us."

("Rusty's calling? What does he want?")

"Are you at a loose end?"

"You have no idea. Six months at home and counting."

("Has he got a job? Let me talk to-")

"I may have something. I'll be in touch." Rusty rang off hurriedly before the brothers' verbal squabbling turned physical. The Malloys were reliable, effective and they were people you could work with: the only drawback was the difficulty they had working with each other.

He dialled another number.

"Hello?" a wary voice answered.

"Livingston?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Rusty."

"I don't know anyone by that name," the voice said quickly and hung up.

Nonplussed, Rusty stared at the phone then tried again.

"Hello?"

"Livingston?"

"Who is this?"

"It's not Rusty," Rusty hazarded.

Livingston sighed.

"What you up to anyway?" Rusty was curious. "Running with the Feds again?"

"Will you be careful?" Livingston hissed. "This line may not be clean."

It was Rusty's turn to sigh. Livingston was a mix of brilliance and anxiety and occasionally the one got in the way of the other.

"Can you at least tell me what part of the country you're in?"

There was a silence. Then, in a hurried gabble, "I'm working freelance in Santa Monica, if you must know."

"No kidding," Rusty was pleasantly surprised to find him so close to home.

"What do you want?"

"Sorry, Livingston, who knows who's listening? I'll be in touch."

Hanging up, he continued to run through his mental notes. Munitions, grease man….more calls to make. He started dialling.

Danny found them a convertible to borrow from long-term parking and Rusty drove them out through the Vegas boulevards towards the outskirts of the city.

The air in Vegas hit them dry and hard, whipping across their faces as they drove. It was as familiar and welcoming as an old friend who hadn't seen you in a while, a friend that perhaps you owed a little money to, a friend that maybe you wanted to play a few hands of cards with, just to pass the time, just to see if you could win your money back.

Rusty breathed in deeply. It smelt like home.