Warning. Unpleasant themes. Again. Sorry.
At some point he'd passed out. They hadn't stopped.
He'd come round to the sound of grunting above him and a rough hand forcing his head down on the floor. The concrete and the friction were tearing up his face. He thought he was in the storage room beneath the kitchen, but he wouldn't swear to it. Couldn't remember how he'd got there but there was blood in his eyes and pain everywhere. With an effort he forced his elbow back sharply, trying to hit something, someone, and started struggling again, desperate to throw his attacker off. It did nothing. It was like he had no strength, like there was nothing there.
"Fighting's good. I like that." The words were whispered impossibly in his ear and he recognised the voice, and he recognised the feeling of the hands squeezing his hips. Felding. "I can fight too. Want to try?"
And then there were fists and a different kind of pain for a while and he felt something crack inside his chest and it still didn't stop.
"I thought he'd have large hands." Carson sounded pleased and Rusty managed to lift his head long enough to look at the man. He was sitting just in front of Rusty, casually spinning a pencil between his fingers. When he saw Rusty looking he smiled gently at him. "They're all ashamed of you, Robert. Can't you see why?
There was blood in his mouth and he couldn't speak, but Carson was an FBI agent. If he could just ask for help . . . Carson smiled again and reached out and took his hand. "I like you, Robert. Such a pity." And he could see it coming and he tried to grab his hand back but Carson was just too strong and Rusty was just too weak and the pencil stabbed through him again, and this time Carson just didn't stop, and he could feel it as the pencil went right the way through his hand and scraped into the concrete below. And it hurt so much, and there was a pencil sticking through his hand, and he could see just by looking that it was never going to heal, and he wanted to scream, but Felding was there and he knew what happened if he made too much noise.
"Please," he whispered instead.
Carson smiled and leaned forwards, his face hideously close to Rusty's. "He doesn't care about you," he said softly and he looked over to where Danny stood next to Linus. They were laughing together and wouldn't even look his way. Linus was holding the balloons that they'd got to cover the camera. He'd wondered what had happened to them.
And then Danny did look over to him, and there was a sudden agony in his shoulder as Felding sunk his teeth in as hard as possible, and there was no emotion in Danny's eyes. None at all. But then he must have managed to make some sort of noise, some sort of plea because suddenly Danny's face was twisted with disgust in a way that Rusty had never seen before. "Have you looked in the mirror recently?"
Rusty hadn't.
"Can't expect you to be on the top of your game," Danny went on.
Rusty wasn't.
"Pathetic." Carson offered cheerfully and Danny agreed.
Felding wasn't there anymore and that meant that Rusty should get up, should try to run while he could, but it hurt so much and there was so much blood and he just couldn't move. His head sunk back down onto the concrete. "Danny," he whispered and his voice might have been pleading and it might have been whining but either way he hated it.
And then - miraculously, if he was inclined to believe in that sort of thing - there was a hand, stroking his hair. Tenderly. Lovingly. "Go to hell in your own way." And this time it didn't sound bitter. This time it sounded like absolution. Like permission.
He tried to look up, to see if Danny really meant it, but somehow the hand travelled lower and the caress got rougher, and it wasn't Danny anymore. "Come on. You know you like it really." And there was the usual amusement in Moffatt's voice, and Rusty started struggling, desperate to get away, even as he felt Moffatt kneeling on his legs, and he knew that he was trapped and he felt Moffatt forcing his arms behind his back and he knew what was coming next . . .
"Rusty." Linus sounded concerned. Rusty twisted his head round. The kid didn't look concerned. He looked bored.
"Rusty." And he'd said that without moving his lips.
He frowned, because this didn't make sense, and Linus said his name again and someone was shaking his arm and suddenly the grey concrete prison faded, and he was lying on a sofa with Linus and Yen staring down at him.
Right. Not prison. He managed to relax a little and flexed his hand. It still worked. And everything else had stopped hurting. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood. This was real. Los Angeles. Lenny Karowitz. The other Benny and his wedding ring. He'd been checking the plans for a good way into Lenny's room. (Air ducts. Bathroom.) Must have fallen asleep. He hadn't meant to; if he slept then he dreamt. He hadn't found a way to escape that.
Linus and Yen looked frightened. Keeping his breathing under rigid control he smiled up at them. "What?" He really hoped that he hadn't been talking in his sleep or anything that would be too difficult to explain.
"You were having a nightmare. We couldn't wake you." And Linus' voice was shaking more than his had.
He shrugged and ignored the fact that he was trembling. "Don't remember."
Linus looked sceptical. Yen flat out called him a liar.
He smiled some more and stood up, stretching. For a terrible, long moment he was afraid his legs weren't going to hold him. "Anyone else hungry?"
"Rusty." Linus sounded hesitant. More than usual. "Are you okay?"
The look that Yen gave him was almost funny. Seemed like he wasn't the only one who thought that was a stupid question.
"I'm fine. Going to take a shower." He headed towards the bathroom and ignored the less-than-bilingual argument that was breaking out behind him.
He kept the water slightly hotter than he could bear and scrubbed at his skin with his fingernails but he still didn't come clean.
Linus tried to concentrate on what was going on at the table. The trouble with that was he already knew how they were going to fall; Rusty was dealing and they'd spent the afternoon memorising the pattern. Apparently Rusty didn't like too many uncontrolled variables. Although there had, just once, been the slightest hint of something in his eyes, and Linus wondered if maybe he found cards relaxing. He was beginning to suspect that would be a good thing.
He kept thinking back to the nightmare that they'd eventually managed to wake Rusty out of that morning. It had taken . . . a long time. Too long a time. After Yen had come and got him, and he'd seen Rusty hunched up on the sofa, as though he was trying to make himself as small as possible, and he'd never seen so much pain on anyone's face. For a couple of seconds he'd just stood there with no idea what to do. Then he'd tried calling Rusty's name, and that had just made Rusty turn away and screw his eyes up tighter. And when he'd reached out and tried to shake him awake, Rusty had flinched away from his hand as if burned him. Even when he'd opened his eyes he'd sat staring blankly ahead of him for long enough that Linus had been left hysterically wondering what the hell they were supposed to do if he didn't snap out of it. And then he'd simply smiled up at them and it had been as if he thought that they would just forget about it if he acted normal enough. And the act had been frighteningly good. Far too good, actually.
Looking across the table – casually, because no matter what he was scared of, they were still in the middle of a job – he studied Rusty. Or at least he tried to. But the thing was, Rusty was pretending to play a part for him while really playing a part for Lenny, and if Linus was right and he was playing a part all the time, then he wasn't even sure that he knew what to look for. There was probably someone real there somewhere, but Linus didn't know where to begin. And in the meantime Rusty was relaxed and smiling and there was no sign that Linus could see that this wasn't genuine happiness.
Biting back a sigh he signalled Trista, one of the waitresses stationed round the wall and leered at her when she came over. "Another drink, darling. And have one yourself."
"Certainly, sir," she said with a demure smile and she sashayed off to the bar.
Swinging back round to the table he grinned dopily. "That's some girl there," he slurred.
The two extras they'd recruited looked irritated. Rusty laughed slightly and nodded, and Lenny simpered ingratiatingly at him. "Going to do something about it?" he asked, with a suggestive gesture. "Nice piece of tail."
Linus carefully kept the disgust out of his eyes and reminded himself that Lenny would go along with anything that he said at this stage. That was the point. As far as Lenny was concerned, he and Rusty were out to keep Linus happy and keep him winning so that he'd be happy to stick more money in the pot. Still. From what Trista had said, Lenny didn't keep his comments just to times when he was pulling a con. "Wait and see, pal, wait and see," he said with a grin and threw in another hundred. "What've you got."
He made a show of looking round the table at each hand. "What, I win again?" he asked delightedly.
"Idiots luck," one extra muttered.
"I am no idiot," he declared, waving his arms and very nearly banging into Trista, returning with his drink. Club soda and lime. Looked like alcohol and wasn't. "This, this is skill." He drained the glass and beamed up at Trista. "Thanks, darling."
"Well, you're certainly having a lucky streak," Rusty smiled at him across the table. "Care to up the stakes?"
And at this point, drunk, and with a tidy pile of brand new cash in front of him, he was supposed to feel like nothing could possibly go wrong. "Sure," he grinned. Nothing would go wrong.
Yen dragged himself up the ventilation shaft and wondered exactly how it was that Rusty and Linus got to hang around in the VIP room of an exclusive club playing poker while he pulled himself through what felt like miles of cramped and dusty tunnels. There was definitely something wrong with this arrangement and he was going to waste no words telling them so on the drive back. In fact he was already rehearsing the speech in his head. Too bad it would be lost on Linus. The man didn't know how to listen.
Now Rusty knew how to listen. And he knew how to talk. Unfortunately it seemed as though he wasn't planning on doing either for his own benefit. And Yen hadn't known him for long, but he liked him, and he wanted to yell and explain the many, many ways in which Rusty was an idiot. But he'd tried doing that when he'd first realised that Rusty had started smoking and Rusty had smiled and listened to every word and there'd been ice behind his eyes. Apparently it wasn't Yen that should be calling Rusty an idiot. Maybe he'd try yelling at Danny instead. Or Saul. Or Reuben. Maybe he'd just write out a list.
Finally he found himself at the right opening and he carefully unscrewed the ventilation cover and caught it before it fell. Squeezing through the opening took a bit of effort, and his shoulders were probably going to hurt for a day or so, but he was in the room and that was the main thing. Well. He was in the bathroom. Which had a much bigger tub than the one downstairs. Maybe he should tell Rusty. Get him to complain to the management. Get some of their money back. That is, if they were actually paying. That point had been a little unclear.
With a shake of his head he padded out into the main room. Now, if he was a trophy box, where would he be? Not quite a needle in a haystack; thanks to Rusty he had a very clear description. Little wooden box with a carving of an elephant on top. Ugly. Somewhere in the room.
At least he had plenty of time to search. The poker game was likely to last a while. Checking his gloves, he got to work.
He started by rifling through the nightstand, but the only thing of any interest there was a magazine with half the pages bent back. Curiously he picked it up and gazed at the picture it fell open to. After a few minutes he held it upside down. Then he turned his head to one side and squinted. No. He still couldn't see quite how it worked. Shaking himself he quickly replaced it and went to check somewhere else.
The room safe was hanging open and there was absolutely nothing in there. Either this guy wasn't afraid of burglars or someone had got there before him. Which would be amusing, though he doubted that Linus for one would see the funny side. Rusty might.
The wardrobe held a few genuine fashion disasters, but nothing that came even close to being what Rusty had described. It occurred to him that they were working on intelligence that was more than four years old and he swore softly to himself.
With a grimace he sat down on the sofa. Those were the obvious places checked. Then he saw the newspapers spread out over the coffee table. And the lump beneath them. He reached beneath and pulled out the wooden box. Oh. Never discount the idea that something's even more obvious than you'd think.
He flipped the lid open and was confronted with a range of jewellery and trinkets. Shrugging he tipped them all out on the table and sorted through the rings. The other Benny had described it to them in what had seemed like excruciating detail. Gold. Thick. Expensive. Engraved with a soppy message. And currently in his hand. He smiled and slipped it into his pocket. Then he picked up a Rolex and looked at it thoughtfully. Well. Why not? He tried it on and gazed at his wrist admiringly. Now that was stylish.
As he headed back to the bathroom and the ventilation shaft he wondered if Rusty and Linus were getting on as well.
They were nearly done, which was just as well as Rusty was honestly getting more than a little bored of Lenny smirking at him every time he thought that Linus couldn't see.
Still, all of Linus' money was on the table now, and rather more importantly, all of Lenny's money was as well. According to the enquiries he'd made this should be enough to wipe Lenny out. For a few weeks, anyway. That was the problem with people like Lenny; they always, always bounced back.
Last hand was playing out. Just Linus and Lenny. And that meant they'd be back in the Bellagio before the night was out and hopefully he'd be able to get some sleep before having to smile and lie to anyone else. He leaned back and watched.
"Full House. Tens over Fives," Lenny was, naturally, triumphant as he reached for the money. Helped to think you couldn't lose.
"Wait, wait, wait," Linus laid his cards down with a flourish. "Queens over Threes. I win, I think."
Lenny stared at Linus' cards, and honestly the rampant disbelief wasn't in the least bit subtle. As Linus started scooping up the money and chattering excitedly about the night he'd had, Lenny turned to glare at Rusty.
He was ready. Staring at the cards and his hands as if he just couldn't understand what had happened. As if his fingers had slipped and he'd dealt Linus a Queen instead of a Jack. As if he could.
"You asshole," Lenny hissed quietly. "You stupid, stupid asshole."
"I don't . . . " He shook his head and stared wide-eyed at Lenny. "I never . . . what happened?"
"I'll tell you what happened." And Lenny's voice was raised, and the bouncer on the door took a couple of steps forwards. "You're washed up. You spent too long in prison peddling your ass for cigarettes."
He only froze for a fraction of a second, he'd swear. But he did freeze and it took him so much to force himself to believe that it was just an insult with nothing behind it.
"Hey, come on, there's no call for that," Linus interrupted. And that wasn't the plan. The kid was supposed to shut up and get out. "I won, fair and square. Why don't I buy you a drink, sort of make it up?"
Not the plan. "This is none of your fucking business, boy." He turned on Linus, quick and furious and he was relieved when Linus took a quick step back before he grabbed the money and left. One problem solved.
Lenny was grinning. "What, did I touch a nerve or something?" he asked. Rusty sighed, drew his fist back and hit him. The bouncer didn't grab him until a second after Lenny's nose broke.
He didn't struggle as he was dragged through the bar, Lenny's muffled and bitter complaints echoing behind him. Once they were outside he looked up at the bouncer and shook his head. "Karl, you were supposed to grab me before I hit him."
Karl smiled almost apologetically. "Sorry Rusty. But if I don't get to hit him, I wanted someone to."
That was actually understandable. He pulled out a bundle of notes and slipped it into Karl's pockets. "Next time, stick to the plan," he said, but he was looking at Linus. Trouble was, Linus was looking at him. And he really didn't like that expression.
At least the kid waited until Karl stepped back inside before he bit his lip and quietly said "Rusty – " in the sort of tone that was obviously building up to a serious conversation.
" – No," he interrupted, immediately and firmly. "Whatever it is, the answer is no."
But Linus was still looking at him with wide eyes, and he was Bobby and Molly's kid and he'd been taught by Danny. What he knew about giving up could probably be written on a postage stamp. "Just, you know, if you ever need to talk . . . " he trailed off and Rusty glared at him. Just a little.
"I don't," he said. He was clear on that. "And whatever you're thinking, I don't want you talking to anyone else about it. Okay?"
"Okay," Linus promised hesitantly and with a mental groan Rusty realised that he was lying.
"Come on," he sighed. "Let's find Yen and head back."
Yen would be telling Livingston about the nightmare. And Linus would be telling God-knows-who about God-knows-what.
Oh well. One more bridge to burn when he came to it.
Well, at least it was a quick update, right?