The Benedict Job: a different perspective by InSilva
Disclaimer: thank you so much to the writers who created these characters. Love borrowing them. Worry slightly about the late fees.
Chapter Twenty-five: Time
Linus had been subdued but professional during the briefing Rusty was giving him. Something was eating at him and he looked like he needed some kind of reassurance.
"S'OK, kid," Rusty told him as he went over his lines with him. "You'll be fine."
"Really?" There was a lot of hope in that word. "I mean I know I'm not Danny-"
"-oh, you're definitely not him," Rusty agreed with a smile.
"He-he's alright with this, isn't he?" Nervous and anxious and not just about the job and suddenly Rusty realised why.
"He's good," Rusty reassured.
Rusty found Danny sitting in his suite, glass of whisky in hand. He pushed the door to and Danny half-turned his head.
"Anyone else miss me?"
"Think I'm the only one who'll come looking."
"How's Linus?"
"Left him discussing Sheldon's wardrobe with Saul. Frank called by and they set up the codeword. And Reuben was busy giving him a potted history of the NGC. Same one he gave us the other night at his place."
Danny nodded to himself and it didn't take a man skilled in reading people and it certainly didn't take a best friend and partner to see that something was preying on Danny's mind.
Rusty wandered over, leaned up against the wardrobe, his arms folded, and waited.
"See, the thing is," Danny began, "it's one thing to make a lift…"
Rusty finished the thought. "…it's another to plant something."
"And to do both…"
"…to Terry Benedict…"
"…is courting trouble." Rusty got it.
The cellphone appeared in Danny's left hand and Rusty watched him as he sat, turning it over and over silently. Sheldon was supposed to plant this after a little heated discussion with Frank backstage. But with the change of plans, there would need to be a change of plan.
Rusty reached out a hand. "I'll-"
The phone disappeared from view.
"No. Not you, Rus." Danny was definite.
Argument rose and died away. Danny meant it, he could tell.
"Well…" There was Linus, there was him, there was Danny, there was… "Saul?" he frowned. He supposed Lyman Zerga could get close enough to…
Danny shook his head and stood up. "We change the target instead."
Change the target? It had to be Benedict. Wasn't like Walsh was the decision-maker. It needed to be Terry Benedict at the other end of the phone. There wasn't anyone else who- Rusty suddenly looked at reluctance and resignation and acceptance and a hundred different things and the answer clicked into place in his head.
"Tess," he said heavily.
"Wanted to see her again anyway," Danny said lightly.
Tess. And if Danny planted the phone on her, when Tess found the phone…
"She'll think…she'll…" Rusty straightened up.
"…she'll know," Danny agreed. "She'll work it out."
"You trust her not to-"
"-yes." Danny was definite again. "She could but she won't."
You're-
-yes.
Discovery and disaster. Images flooded through Rusty's mind. One word and Benedict would have Danny and if he had Danny, there was no way he couldn't get involved and then there'd be the others…all of their plans, all of their safety riding on...
Danny's eyes were on his. Dark, steady, full of belief. Belief in Tess. Asking Rusty to believe in him.
"Ohhh…" Rusty let out a long slow breath and reluctantly, he let the turbulent doubt go. Because Danny never needed to ask.
They stared at each other in silence for a moment and then Rusty walked over and poured himself a whisky.
"I swear you do this to me on purpose."
Danny's eyebrows went up. "I drive you to drink?"
Rusty sat down opposite. "Often," he muttered and took a swig.
Danny checked his watch. "Showtime in-"
"-an hour and a half." Rusty didn't need to check his. "And then…"
"…and then." Danny raised his glass.
Rusty looked at him and the words never needed to be said.
"To whatever," Danny suggested lightly.
"Whatever," Rusty echoed and tipped his whisky in salute.
"Rus."
The relief on Livingston's face as he stepped over the threshold of the Mirador suite was such that Rusty wondered what he'd missed.
"Everyone OK?"
"Yeah. Just that…" Livingston gave a nervous shrug. "I think you should talk to Linus. He's been pacing up and down and I'm a little worried…"
Rusty glanced through the arch to the bar area. Linus could be seen wearing out the floor in front of the couches, nodding to himself and doubtless going over lines in his head.
"I'll give him a pep talk," he promised and he smiled at Livingston. "You want to help?"
"You're looking good, kid," Rusty said, swinging himself up on to a stool and grabbing a handful of nuts off the bar.
It wasn't an empty compliment. Linus had chosen his costume well and the glasses and hairstyle said sobriety, respectability and everything upright and honest and decent.
Linus relaxed fractionally. Alright. Time to give some good advice with just a little play to take the edge off the nerves.
"Where you gonna put your hands?"
He saw the question register with Linus and he clutched his briefcase in front of him.
"No good," Rusty said decisively and Linus gave a small gesture of nervous exasperation and then a hand crept up to his collar.
"Don't touch your tie," Rusty chided, "look at me. OK, I ask you a question - you have to think of the answer - where do you look?"
Linus's eyes dropped to the floor.
"No good," Rusty said again. "You look down, they know you're lying."
Immediately, Linus's eyes travelled up to the ceiling.
"And up, they know you don't know the truth."
Linus closed his eyes and when he opened them again there was a look of mild exasperation and a hint of wild bewilderment.
"Don't use seven words when four will do," Rusty went on. "Don't shift your weight, look always at your mark but don't stare. Be specific but not memorable. Be funny but don't make him laugh. He's got to like you and then forget you the moment you've left his sight. "
Linus's expression grew faintly pained as if his brain had started to melt somehow.
Rusty's voice grew more earnest, more compelling till he knew he had Linus hanging on his every word.
"And for God's sake, whatever you do, don't, under any circumstances-"
"Rus?"
On cue, Livingston's voice floated through from the other room.
"Yeah?" he called back.
"Can you take a look at this?"
"Sure."
And he was off and away, leaving a nonplussed Linus in his wake who was going to work out he'd been had about ten seconds afterwards and who would loosen up accordingly.
His mind busy spinning all the plates of the pinch, the Ella, the everything, Rusty headed for the bedroom. Role call for Saul. He stuck his head round the door and saw Saul, sitting on the bed and for a moment, he looked tired and old and fragile. Vulnerable.
"Saul?"
There was as much of a question as he dared in there. More than too late for Saul not to be alright and yet if he wasn't, if he really didn't… He saw Saul cover the moment with professional pride.
"It's time," Rusty said softly.
Saul gave a curt nod and stood up. He wasn't a quitter any more than Rusty was. Any more than any of them were. Rusty certainly wasn't going to push it. He gave Saul a ghost of a smile and stepped out of the room and back to the insanely busy schedule.
Later and back in the main room and he stood for a moment and let the waves of professionalism and adrenaline and calm and buzz and confidence wash over him.
Right now? Right now, Saul would be with Benedict awaiting the arrival of the emeralds, speaking the Russian with Vladimir and Mikhail that Rusty had coached them in, walking past Frank at the blackjack table… And somewhere in that mix, Danny was going to be obvious and picked up and… And. Right.
He forced his mind back on the timetable. Basher was loading the pinch, quick change for the Malloys, they'd collect the trolley…
Rusty stepped round Yen, winding and rewinding the bandage round his hand and sat down next to Livingston in front of the monitors. He snuck a glance at the man on his right. Livingston was far removed from the nervous, awkward guy that so many people met and wrote off. In front of the machinery, in charge of the technical, the nerves were buried and he was confident and brilliant and perfectly in control.
"Linus ready?" he asked.
"Yeah," Livingston confirmed, picking up Linus on screen. "He's in place."
"Good."
Linus looked as if the adrenaline was winning out over the nerves but his fingers were tapping. Rusty had just decided to have a word when Livingston leaned into the mike with a mischievous expression.
"Deep breaths," Livingston told Linus, "you'll do fine."
"Thank you," came the muttered reply.
"No sweat, you're a natural," Livingston went on. Then added, with perfect timing, "but don't screw up."
The look Linus flashed to the security camera told him exactly what he thought of that and Rusty couldn't stop the grin flashing on to his face. Oh, Livingston had been working with Danny and him way too long. He was picking up far too many bad habits.
The elevator doors opened behind them and the Malloys arrived with room service.
"Who gets the penne?" called Virgil.
"Right here."
Livingston claimed it with almost indecent haste, seizing the plate from Virgil's hands and Rusty was quietly amused. Anyone would think he stole food.
The top of the trolley was cleared, Rusty pulling the tablecloth free with a flourish like a magician and bundling it in his hands. He liked the analogy because forget the white tigers: they were about to weave million dollar magic that Vegas would truly appreciate.
Rusty looked over at Yen. "You ready?"
Yen was. They were. Let the vanishing trick commence.