Authors Notes: A new character is introduced in this chapter. He's an original character, I'm afraid but don't you all go shitting your pants all at once on me. Give him a chance. He's acting as an enemy of Wesker as well as a man who's behavior is a little too similar for comfort for the man…
Thanks for baring with the story for as long as you all have. ;)
Part 10: Miles to the Recsew
As Claire caught up with her brother Chris on all the unhappy luck she'd been having back in their unfortunately named hometown, Wesker decided that staying any longer would have been prying and followed Doctor Hamilton from the room back out into the hallway.
Closing the door behind him, Wesker didn't quite listen to the good doctor tell him to meet him in his office for a quick fixer-upper regarding his arm as soon as was convenient for him. He was instead mulling over how honestly quite relieved he was that Claire had chosen to leave out her suicide attempt in her little life recap; Chris could be a hysterical handful in the best of moods but to learn about how Wesker had found her… The intense perfume of cinnamon and cherries wafting up from that bathwater… he'd never be able to enjoy a fresh bag of cinnamon donuts ever again and those were his favorite treat. Not to mention that there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Chris would somehow twist the whole debacle into somehow being Wesker's fault or something…
Irons looked up from the men's magazine he was pretending to read rather than simply ogling at the models draped over sports cars and gave a soft grunt of recognition before returning to his 'studies'.
"Vickers left a little while ago. Said he had some business to attend to." He snorted to himself. "Probably off buying himself some panty-liners and lipstick or something."
"Oh, I get it." Wesker replied sarcastically down at the greasy little man. "It's because he's a mild mannered and dear-hearted sort of fellow and those are typically items associated with being female. How very clever of you, Sir."
"Bite me, Bert."
Wesker sighed. "I suppose I'd better call for transportation then…" He made his way over to the wall mounted payphone opposite Chief Irons.
"Don't even think about reverse charging the R.P.D." Came Irons' voice from behind him just as Wesker's good hand touched the receiver. He sighed yet again; that had been his plan, alright. Couldn't Irons let him have at least a little bit of fun at his expense?
Rummaging around in his pocket for loose change, Wesker jammed whatever it was he pulled out into the box, not really paying attention to how much he had paid and waited patiently as the tone that sounded when the phone rang on the other end issued forth for a number of seconds, then;
"R.P.D .ST.A.R.S what's your emergency?"
The voice was oddly familiar but it wasn't one of his team...
"Who is this?" Enquired Wesker.
"Sir, it's rather ill-mannered to answer a question with another question and I believe it was I who asked first." That voice… It was someone on the Umbrella payroll, he was sure of it… but who? The deep rumbling quality to those silken words was screaming at something in the back of his mind. He knew this man…
Wesker tried again. "This is Albert Wesker and I'll have you know that you have no right to be so curt for the R.P.D S.T.A.R.S belong to me, sir."
"Hmph…" Wesker could almost hear the smirk. "Apparently someone higher up the chain of command in 'you know what' didn't agree with that and decided to split the workload. My name is Miles A Recsew but you surely remember me, don't you Albert?"
It's him… …
"I do." Wesker murmured through thoroughly gritted teeth. They'd worked together on a project to investigate a mysterious plant mutation occurring in and around the Raccoon forest…
…and then he had stolen all of Albert's collaborative research into the mysterious hyper-regenerative effects of the herbs in the Arklay Mountains and had published the findings under his name alone. Wesker had to be physically restrained by several armed men when he spied the green leather botany book lying around in the Mansion study, otherwise it would have flown straight out of the nearest window – regardless of whether that window had been open at the time or not…
"'They've' signed me up to manage the Bravo Team." Miles continued, making reference to their mutual shady employers. They were both smart enough not to make any specific reference to Umbrella over the phone. You never knew who could be listening in…. "Even one such as yourself can't do everything alone after all, Albert." His old friend and current enemy told him. The serial backstabbing bastard had a cheek… He was why Wesker had such trust issues in the first place.
"Congratulations." Said Wesker. He of course didn't mean it. He had been holding out hope that some sort of experimental virus had taken him out at some point in his career and that's why Albert hadn't heard from Miles in a few years.
"I look forward to working with you again, old friend." Wesker felt his good manners strained to their very limit. Miles wasn't like Irons who could be ridiculed into ceasing to bait him, oh no. If Miles Recsew saw any anger or loss of emotional control on your part it simply meant to him that he was winning…
…and Albert Wesker despised losing.
"At any rate," Wesker went on, feeling he was about to regret every last word that was going to come out of his mouth. "I am in need of assistance. I was involved in a traffic accident on the outskirts of the city and I require another vehicle to return to my lodgings."
"S.T.A.R.S isn't your personal taxi service, Albert."
Wesker clenched his fist tightly around the receiver.
"S.T.A.R.S is whatever I say it is, Miles."
"Hm. Very well. I'll come to pick you up personally." And he hung up before Wesker had a chance to object.
Or tell him where he was calling from.
It appeared Miles was already up to his dirty old tricks, having apparently intentionally caused the conversation to drag in order to trace the call. Wesker had to be careful; it wasn't armature hour when you were dealing with Mister Recsew and his little display of phone-tapping was a warning to Wesker that he was about to take up a very dangerous partner indeed…
Still, Recsew would surely be quite surprised to see Wesker had a plus one with him that wasn't Birkin for once…
Claire left her brothers hospital room and entered the corridor just as Wesker was resetting the receiver. Irons somehow didn't notice her despite being right next to the door the girl had come through, so engrossed in his dirty magazine was he. Without so much as a plesant greeting to Wesker, she immediately looked about for Brad.
"Hey, where's…?" Behind Claire's eyes, Wesker could see her putting 2 and 2 together. Glowering over at him, she yelled: "You didn't say something to upset Brad, did you Wesker?"
Evidentially she had come up with 5…
Before Wesker could interject, Irons rose up from his leather armchair, throwing the magazine on a disorganized pile of its kin on the coffee table opposite him.
"Vickers had some important business to attend to so I allowed him to leave. It wouldn't be right to force him to stay during his break if he's needed elsewhere." He said to the young woman.
"That's so understanding of you!" She beamed back at him.
Irons grinned an oily grin. "Yes, it is rather, isn't it dear?"-
-"I don't believe a word of it myself." Came a voice from the stairwell that caught them all by complete surprise.
There stood a man with short jet-black hair styled so that one half was slicked back in a firmly gelled hold and the other half tempered forward into small curled bangs about his right temple. His arms were folded about himself with a condescending smirk on his full lips and one thick eyebrow cocked in amusement.
"Miles Recsew…" Spoke up Wesker. "How is this appearance possible? I literally just finished talking with you in the S.T.A.R.S office!"
"What the hell kind of a name is 'Recsew'?" Claire commented aloud.
Miles chuckled at the both of them. "I'm told the name is Eastern European in origin, though I haven't been able to find anyone else with that peculiar surname." He then turned to Wesker. "And as for your question, I knew that you would call in on S.T.A.R.S to try and get a lift after you visited your male Redfield and to that end, I asked the receptionist of the R.P.D to transfer the call to the lobby of Raccoon General Hospital." He smoothed back his slick-side with one hand clothed in a black leather fingerless-glove. "You're as predictable as you've always been, Albert."
Wesker angrily shook his head. "There's no way you could have known I would go to the Hospital first and not go straight to the R.P.D."
"Before you left to pick up the lovely female Redfield, I had a small tracking device placed on that ridiculously huge SUV you unquestionably use to compensate for certain physical inadequacy on your part." Explained Miles with an impish glimmer in his emerald green eyes. Clearly he loved it when a plan came together like this and treasured it all the more if he got to wind up Albert Wesker in the process. "It veered off of the road about an hour or two ago whereas Mister Vickers car –that I've also bugged by the way- continued on its merry way with two passengers in addition." He shot a genuine smile at Claire. "Speaking of the crash, it's rather sweet the way you tried to comfort my old friend with a hug and all that but he does rather hate to be touched… Try to rely on just using your words in future."
Claire shook her head in sheer disbelief, unable to put into words her flabbergasted amazement at the gross invasion into her privacy this total stranger had inflicted upon her. Miles simply chortled warmly at Claire's horror.
"Don't worry 'Dear Heart'." He said, using the treasured moniker Claire's father had given her that Wesker was so fond of corrupting for his own perverse amusement during the 'bugged' car ride over. "I don't believe in spreading the things I've heard about you all around about the town like some sort of gossipy little school girl." His kindly smile abruptly transformed into a wolfish grin. "No offense of course, what with you being a naughty little school girl and all but"-
-"That tares it!" Claire suddenly screamed causing all three of the men to start in their places as she proceeded to violently kick the small square-shaped coffee table infront of Irons that had the pile of magazines on it and sent them flying into the air like brightly coloured laminated confetti. The table itself flew at great speed straight at Miles but the stunned man managed to swat it aside before it struck him square in the face thanks to his finely honed reflexes and it crashed down the flight of stairs behind him.
Claire continued to yell at the shocked men. "I am so completely sick to my back teeth of all you perverted old guys constantly trying to get me to show some sign that I have some kind of messed up daddy issue vibe towards the lot of you! Well I don't!"
"You tell 'em, sis!" Came Chris's muffled voice from his hospital room.
"Shut up, Chris!" Called back Claire. "I can handle this!"
"I didn't say you couldn't…" Chris muttered to himself, the sound barely audible through the door.
She returned her attention to the outburst at hand, pointing one slender finger angrily at each of the flabbergasted gentlemen in turn.
"And as for my taste in men, you're all too old. Like, really too old." Claire folded her arms crossly. "If you must know, I don't date older guys. Back before I moved to that hell hole of a town I live in I dated a few older guys and they were either too annoying and fuddy-duddy or too possessive and bossy, trying to stop me from biking or going out drinking with my friends all the time." Claire smiled warmly, her eyes taking on a glassy quality all of a sudden. "Younger guys still know how to have a good time and live their lives so that's where I go to looking for a taste of the 'vie da loca'." Claire sighed, feeling as though great weight had finally been lifted from her chest.
She snapped her attentions onto Miles, who almost recoiled out of alarm at the hard intensity that replaced the dreamy quality in the wild young woman's crystal blue eyes. "I guess Wesker called you to take us back to his place, am I right?" The man swallowed heavily and nodded his reply. "Well let's go, then. The Doc wants to keep Chris in overnight to survey that head wound of his incase he hit himself a bit too hard and Wesker said fixing his arm won't take long."
Claire stormed towards an alarmed Mister Recsew but at the last second, he remembered just exactly where he standing and jumped out of the way of the angry young woman, allowing her to pass by him and back down the stairs to the lobby.
The three men regarded one another in stunned silence for several moments, the only sound in the corridor; barely stifled laughter issuing forth from Chris Redfield's room.
Finally Irons piped up;
"And to think I thought the male Redfield was a handful..." He chuckled and shook his head. "I think we had a lucky escape in hiring him when there's a young woman like that running about my peaceful little town..." He leant forward in his chair and picked up one of the errant magazines Claire had knocked to the ground, dusting it off and opening it up once again.
Miles smirked at Wesker, some dangerous and fantastic plan brewing behind sharp jade eyes. Wesker in turn grinned back at Miles and offered him an approving nod. They both had a rather wicked idea…