Chapter 10: Spilled Coffee
Arthur and Eames both look towards the newcomer. Taking advantage of their distraction, the bulky man lunged forward, knocking Eames back into the counter, simultaneously savagely reaching for and twisting his gun hand. Eames' Heckler & Koch clattered out of his grip, sliding across the slick floors.
Arthur tracked the man's progress down the sight of his Glock. I could shoot him, but what if the bullet over penetrated? And that woman might have a weapon, I can't ignore her. And so the fight began, with Arthur training his gun on the woman while still eyeing the two men.
Eames fought the way he lived – smoothly, offensively, and willing to take risks. The man was his opposite – he threw punches sparingly, probably hoping to tire Eames out. Good luck with that,Arthur thought. If Eames can take down five Nigerian arms dealers in the heat of Mombasa, he's not going to tire quickly in downtown London.
The man threw another swift punch, making contact with Eames' guard. Eames took the opportunity to reach down, knocking the man's gun out of his waistband. Arthur wasn't sure why the man hadn't reached for the firearm earlier, but he didn't dwell on it – he had bigger problems. Arthur saw the woman in his peripheral vision, immobile under the threat of his gun.
With his Glock still targeting her chest, Arthur ran over to her, strategies running through his mind in quick succession. Eames will just have to defend himself for a minute.
Arthur barreled into the woman, catching her by surprise. His body railed against the buttons on her peacoat, his Glock pressing against her sternum. She rolled with their momentum as Arthur tackled her. An experienced fighter, then.Arthur was prepared for combat – if the man wasn't deterred by a gun, she wouldn't be either. But the woman didn't try to injure him further as they rolled, her impractical heels tangling with his legs.
Slightly miscalculating the takedown because of his wounded torso, Arthur ended up on the bottom of the two, gun squished between his ribs and her torso. Never a good place to be. He kept a steady grip on her back with one hand, his Glock pressing against her ribcage with the other. He locked his legs behind her head. Arthur felt his chest and shoulder straining, but pushed through the pain, focused. Tightening his form, Arthur slipped his gun out from between them, positioning for a triangle choke. I don't want to kill her yet. We need information, not a scene.
The woman didn't react with blind panic that usually occurred under the threat of asphyxia. She simply looked down at him, her gaze steely - but not hostile. "I em not dee threat!" She shouted to him, barely audible over Eddie's incoherent yelling and the crashes of the fight echoing behind them. "I just vant to talk! Go help your freeind!"
Arthur was too experienced, or perhaps jaded, to believe her. She'll kill me as soon as I let her out of this.Making to a decision, Arthur constricted his hold, her arm caught on between his legs and chest while his legs locked around her head like a vice. She was unconscious within seconds, her body falling limp on top of him.
Nothing if not efficient, Arthur pushed away from her lifeless body, smoothly rolling to his feet. His Glock was back in his hand, and he could feel something warm blooming across his back. Ignoring it, he swung back behind the counter, noting Eddie's shell-shocked form on the stool.
Eames, similar to what Arthur had done with the woman, was trying to subdue the man. But the stranger in the green shirt seemed much less compliant than his counterpart, fighting back hard. Although he seems reluctant to place a killing blow, Arthur noted.
Arthur rummaged around over the counters, wondering why Eames was not using his arsenal of weapons. But he realized Eames was without his jacket, his silk shirt shining like blood under the café lights. Odd, Arthur thought. I wonder what happen… can't overanalyze now.Hearing the woman's groans, Arthur shoved his Glock back into his waistband. I'll help you in a second, Eames, just let me take care of this. Arthur scooped up a green apron from behind the counter, and snagged the white towel Eddie had thrown down earlier off the floor.
Arthur was just rising back to his full height when the struggle between Eames and the man turned desperate, their bodies careening backwards over the counter. As they flipped, the two men sent empty cups flying, as well as knocking over the row of coffee pots sitting on a burner. Coffee spilled everywhere, creating a steaming tsunami that rushed straight towards Arthur. He immediately jumped back from the spray, but was unable to avoid the shower of liquid. Arthur cried out as the scalding coffee splashed across his left arm, staining his white shirt.
Shirt and skin still steaming, Arthur ran back to the disoriented woman, hearing the thumps behind him as Eames continued fighting with his formidable opponent. Arthur shoved the towel in the woman's mouth, dodging her kicking form. He was just tying the woman's hands together when Eddie finally moved, flying off from his position on the stool. Looking around wildly, Eddie gave once last glance to Eames before fleeing back into the depths of the shop. Arthur cursed silently. He better not call emergency services. Arthur finished binding the woman's hands with the green apron, completing the bind by knotting the apron to one of the legs of the tables. Arthur, angry he didn't think to do it earlier, locked the front door of the coffee shop, prohibiting wayward customers from entering. He then looked up, taking in the scene of disarray.
Eames and the man were standing up once more, both sporting an array of dripping cuts. Arthur whipped his head around to see how he could help, but didn't see Eames' jacket or his weapons anywhere in sight. If I shoot, I'll attract bystanders, and then police officers. Can we chance that? Better just take the man out together.
Arthur ran over, skidding sideways across the wet floor, so focused on assessing the fight that he forgot about the puddles of coffee. Eames' back was to Arthur, and the blond man was swinging to parry Eames' uppercut. Taking the blow to the jaw, the man twisted to grab a wooden cutting board. He swung the object, aiming for Eames' temple. Eames managed to catch the block of wood with a resounding smack, only to have his face snap backwards from the man's left-handed cross. Staggering, Eames' hands scrabbled for purchase over the counter, searching for a similar projectile. Arthur, seeing an opportunity to help, slid one of the half-spilled coffee pots towards him. Eames' grip closed around the handle, jerking the pot forward. Coffee splashed all over the man's face and he screamed loudly, flailing. Dropping the pot, Eames immediately raising his guard back up, oblivious to Arthur's arrival behind him.
Seeing his opening, Arthur dove forward, past Eames, grabbing one of the man's arms while dodging his fierce kick to the leg. Eames threw a hook to the side of the man's head, momentarily stunning him. Arthur, still retaining a grip on the man's arm, twisted it back in a restraining manner, and steadied his Glock. The man struggled, knocking his head back in a last ditch attempt at a head-butt Arthur. Arthur tried to dodge the blow, but was too slow, taking the force of his skull to his injured shoulder.
Arthur heard an inhuman howl of pain echo throughout the café, and realized it was him.
Somehow, someway, through the pain Arthur's fingers still closed around the flesh of the man's wrist. Still partially blinded by red hot agony, Arthur managed a front kick into the man's back. They fell forward together towards Eames, Arthur fighting to retain his dominant position. He pressed his Glock into the man's head, and the man finally stilled somewhat, realizing it was all over.
Eames quickly piled on top of the man as well, forcing his head deeper into the puddle of lukewarm coffee staining the floor. He took the Glock out of Arthur's hand. "Arthur. Arthur, I got him! Move back!" Arthur's vision was still clearing. He barely even realized he was still holding the man in a submission hold. At Eames' command, Arthur fell back. He meant to rock onto his heels, but continued to fall back, the air escaping him in a whoosh. Edging back in an awkward crawl, Arthur rested his head against the counter, his hair becoming covered in the sticky coffee staining it. Arthur grimaced, holding his injured shoulder with a bloody hand – bloody? When did that happen? – and let himself take a brief respite. But something niggled at the back of Arthur's mind, something he couldn't ignore – the woman and Eddie.
Arthur suppressed a groan, staggering unsteadily to his feet. He stretched, stepping over Eames' crouched form as he zip-tied together the man's hands and feet. Where did the zip ties come from?Arthur decided he didn't particularly care, continuing to make his way over to where the woman sat, fettered to the table.
Arthur's socks squished with excess liquid as he squatted down next to her. The woman looked indignant, her dark skin flushed with outrage, her brown eyes glinting. If looks could kill, I would be dead.
Arthur glanced over, making sure the front blinds were still firmly drawn – one thing that went right, at least. Arthur untied her bonds from where they connected with the table. Still keeping the knot tight that connected her hands, he dragged the bound woman. Ignoring her kicking and struggling, he slid her along the floor, to where he remembered the toilets to be. Throwing her inside the room, Arthur shut the door, wedging a chair in front of the handle. Hopefully that will keep her occupied for a while.
Arthur strode back further into the hallway, to where he remembered the stock room to be. Absentmindedly, he reached for his Glock, but did a double-take when his hand brushed upon empty air. Where… oh, that's right, Eames' has it. It wasn't a big deal – Eddie had barely managed to run off from his seat, never mind join in on the fighting. Arthur didn't need a gun to calm him down. I'd like to think I have slightly more people skills than that.
Arthur crept into the stock room, taking in the aging array of wooden shelves and stacked products. Condensed milk, boxes of tea bags, and rows and rows of coffee beans were neatly ordered and labeled along the shelves. Arthur checked the first aisle, and upon no sign of Eddie, strode over to the next one. He rounded the corner – and then promptly had a gun leveled at him.
So it's going to be this kind of day, Arthur thought wearily.
Eddie sat, huddled, at the end of the aisle. Eames' missing suit jacket sat in a slumped pile next to him, liner up. The array of weapons was spread out prominently; looking menacing even to Arthur's veteran eyes. Eddie clutched the .22 that had been secured in a side pocket. His hands shook as he pointed the barrel at Arthur, but he aimed it nonetheless.
"Hello, Eddie," Arthur said, deliberately calm, hands going skyward. "I'm going to walk towards you now."
"No!" Eddie shouted, waving the weapon, causing Arthur to flatten himself sideways, wary of discharge. "Just – just leave me alone! I don't know what's going on. I'd like you to leave."
Typical English manners,Arthur thought, trying not to let his mirth show on his face. Anywhere else, I'd get wild profanities.
"Alright, Eddie, I'll leave. But I want to help you," - here Arthur inched forward a few centimeters – "because you helped me when I was in trouble." Eddie looked uncertain, his pupils blown wide behind his glasses, his pale button up damp with sweat. "So," Arthur walked forward even more, his footsteps echoing in the small room. Eddie's chest was heaving. "Let me help you." Arthur reached forward, gently grasping the gun in one of his sweaty hands, lowering it quickly. He eased the .22 out of Eddie's shaking hand, turning on the safety. Arthur slipped it into his waistband.
Arthur hated wasting time, but wanted to make sure Eddie wouldn't do something rash as soon as he rejoined Eames. He sat next to Eddie with a sigh. He was unsure what they, being Eames and Arthur, would have to do to keep Eddie from turning this into a bigger mess, but Arthur figured they could deal with that later. "Better?" Arthur asked from his position next to the other man on the floor.
"Not really, E- mate," Eddie mumbled. "I don't even know what your real name is, and I've seen more guns today than I've seen in my entire life."
"My real name is Arthur." Arthur flashed him a guilty smile, reaching over to snag Eames' jacket. "Sorry about that whole mess," Arthur forced out. "I wouldn't have lied to you if it wasn't immediately necessary."
"I'm still not convinced your relationship with that other man is healthy, Arthur." Eddie said. Arthur sighed deeply. Why couldn't this man give him a break?"But," Eddie continued, "I know you must have larger issues to deal with at the moment. I didn't know what else I could do, so I radioed for backup using a device in this jacket. I didn't think you would want authorities to be called."
"What did you do?" Arthur could barely control his tone as he snapped to his feet, stress flooding back into him. He snatched up Eames' jacket, hastily searching for mysterious device Eddie had spoken about.
"Right here, calm down, here mate." Eddie reached his other hand out to Arthur, proffering a device that looked suspiciously like a two-way radio. Upon closer inspection, Arthur recognized it as one of the newer models used for communication within military circles.
Arthur hadn't known Eames was carrying the device, but he supposed it made sense. Although brash, Arthur knew Eames wasn't unintelligent, and would plan for disaster, bombs planted in the café or not. I wish he had told me about this earlier. "Eddie," Arthur began, his voice deliberately calm. "What did you do with the radio?"
Eddie mimed pressing a button with his hand. "I just pressed the control that said 'call', Arthur."
Arthur could feel a migraine beginning at the edges of his vision.
"And what did you say?" Arthur asked, between gritted teeth.
"I didn't!" Eddie seemed suddenly proud of himself, smiling at Arthur from the floor. "I tapped out the signal for 'SOS' that my pa taught me while camping. I thought it was the bee knees back then, so I remembered it."
"You used Morse Code?" Arthur asked, feeling something tighten in his already sore stomach.
"Sure, mate, if that's what it's called. I could never be arsed to learn the technical term."
Arthur stared at him.
He could imagine what Eddie saw in front of him right now – Arthur's bruises were tinted greenish-purple on his cheekbones, not to mention the healing jagged gash on one side, and his dirtied and stained white shirt. His burned pink skin peeked out underneath the ruined shirt, and his black hair was crusted in clumps sticky with coffee. Arthur's hand that held Eames' jacket was bloody, and his posture was stiff, a byproduct of his day – too long with too little rest.
What Arthur couldn't imagine was the implications of Eddie's possibly received signal. With any other coworkers, Arthur could safely laugh off the faux pas and leave this stock room with faith no one would pay mind to the absurd gesture.
But the people in the dreamsharing world were not your average coworkers, especially ones who aligned themselves with Arthur and Eames. They were serious, often former military, and fiercely loyal.
Enough that they would track down a distress signal to a café in the middle of London.
Arthur stood there in front of Eddie, these thoughts raced through his mind, implications settling in. Eames' suit jacket felt heavy in his hand.
Without another word, Arthur turned and left Eddie among the coffee containers.
Sprinting back to the front of the shop, Arthur rapidly scanned the area, seeing nothing out of place. The tilted chair was still in place in front of the bathroom door, and the same chairs and tables lay knocked over, remnants of the fight. The only difference was that Eames had dragged the man out from behind the coffee-stained counter, and secured his zip-tied body to one of the support beams by the front of the shop. Eames was standing in front of the man, a kitchen knife held in his right hand. Even from the back, Arthur recognized the familiar set of Eames' shoulders within his tattered shirt. And as he moved closer, Arthur saw the clenched jaw. There was only one conclusion Arthur could come to - Eames was supremely ticked off.
Arthur walked next to Eames' side, taking in the beat-up man on the floor. There was no gag over his mouth, and blood spattered the ground around him. Eames was definitely… talking to this man, to say the least.
"What have you found out, Eames?" Arthur asked, wiping his bloody hand across his sticky forehead. We're going to have fun getting out of here undetected, Arthur thought, taking in the various stains and smears that littered both their clothes, along with their disheveled appearances. Eames said something quietly in response, too quiet for Arthur to hear. "What did you say, Mr. Eames?" Arthur questioned, moving marginally closer.Maybe he was more injured than I thought.
"I said; he was here to kidnap you." Eames growled. The man flinched back as Eames twirled the knife in his hand. "He heard the fight between that arse owner and I." Eames looked over to Arthur, grave. "He thought I was you because that man called you Eames, repeatedly. He was supposed to take you back to Colin Jansen, where I presume you would have been tortured extensively and then murdered, in that order."
It wasn't like Eames to be this severe, they were both used to threats; that's all the dreamsharing world was. It was something they both dealt with daily, crazy hypnotists or not. "So what do we do with him?" Arthur asked. He would question Eames' about his abnormal behavior later.
"I was thinking -"
But Arthur didn't get to hear exactly what Eames was thinking, because that's when the front door was kicked open. Literally.