Author's Note: Thanks for all the kind reviews, I hope you enjoy this next bit! Sorry if things are a little slow right now, I think they'll get more exciting soon c:
Ariadne decided not to tell Arthur about Eames' phone call until they were in a more private place. As he had slept most of the flight, she had had ample time to rehearse exactly how she was going to break the news to her partner; he would not be thrilled that they were financing Eames' visit, and perhaps even less thrilled that Eames was visiting at all. But the forger had not asked for money in the year since they had parted ways, and something in the serious tone of his voice as he had mentioned trouble made her believe him.
It was also a suspicious coincidence, Ariadne thought, that he had called in the same week as another of their former team members had died.
Arthur did not wake up until the plane landed in New York. He and Ariadne disembarked, gathered up their luggage and found a taxi to their rented studio relatively silently.
As they rattled up to the 8th floor of their new building, the small elevator groaning and clanging unsettlingly as it ascended, Ariadne finally spoke.
"So, guess who's coming to New York to visit us?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow, glancing at Ariadne while barely moving his head.
"Eames!" she said with false cheeriness, plastering a sardonic grin on her face.
"What?" Arthur momentarily lost his usual composure, staring wide-eyed at Ariadne. "Why - when did you hear this?" He stammered.
The doors to the lift opened noisily and Ariadne yanked at her luggage.
"He called while you were sleeping on the plane." She decided to omit the financial bit for now; perhaps she could sneakily make her way to a Western Union tomorrow. "He has some news to share with us, apparently."
Arthur exited the elevator carrying his suitcases, a look of bewilderment and dread on his face. "What sort of news?"
They made their way down the bleak hallway, which was poorly lit and had dingy, faux-Victorian wallpaper peeling from it. There was the slightly acidic smell of urine.
"He didn't say, but it sounded important." She stopped outside their door and looked at Arthur with a slight frown. "Don't you miss any of them at all?"
Arthur seemed a little flustered at the question, but he responded in his usual business-like tone.
"Sure I do. Just not him."
He opened the door to their new abode with an antiquated key. He had managed to get for them a fairly large studio apartment on a three-month lease from some university students on summer vacation. The building was in a somewhat seedy area of Brooklyn, with a scenic view of the side of another building. But it had come well furnished with beds and kitchen appliances.
"Well I missed him," Ariadne said as she laid her suitcase alongside what would be her bed.
Arthur felt a snippet of jealousy slice at his stomach, but he ignored it.
"I suppose he wanted us to pay for his plane ticket here then?" He asked somewhat haughtily.
Ariadne looked at him with bewilderment. "How did you-?"
"I've known Eames much longer than you have," he said.
Eames lounged in a plush leather chair, trying to mimic casual relaxation while his heart was beating crazily against his ribcage. Shortly after his conversation with the kid in the café, whom he had given the slip easily, the forger had called some of his contacts and managed to get some details about the $3 million job. He had been given the phone number of a man named Tamamoto, who was apparently the financier. Shortly after he had arranged a meeting with the Japanese businessman in a strangely swank house in northern Johannesburg, though whose house it was Eames had no idea. He had been greeted by a burly thug in sunglasses, and had been led into the dimly lit living room where he sat presently.
He wasn't sure what was making him so nervous exactly. He was not a jumpy person usually, and it took quite a bit to shake him from his sometimes detrimentally good humor. But the words, "Guy named Dom Cobb," echoed through his thoughts and disturbed him profoundly. He was not stupid, though he lacked some traditional education; it hadn't taken him long to put two and two together and figure out which corporation was offering the job. But what he couldn't figure out was why Saito's company suspected Cobb at all. They had come back from limbo unharmed; nothing during the inception job should have led the CEO to off himself. Perhaps what was making him anxious was the worry that if they knew Cobb had been on the job, they would know he, Eames, had been there too.
And they didn't seem to like people who had been on the job.
He sipped at the pungent tea he had been offered and made a face, just as Tamamoto entered, flanked by three stooges and a young, rat-like assistant.
"Welcome, Mr. Porter," the businessman said in a deep, slightly accented voice. Eames, who had naturally given a fake name, leaned out of his chair clumsily to shake the man's hand.
"A pleasure," he said.
Tamamoto sat in the chair opposite Eames while his ensemble stood behind him. He was younger than Saito by a few years, short and thin with spiked black hair that somehow managed to look professional. He seemed to be of a different generation than Saito, and Eames suspected that Tamamoto's generation put less value on things like honor or integrity.
"So Mr. Porter, I have heard in town that you are a very skilled extractor," Eames shrugged modestly. Of course the people Tamamoto had heard of Porter from had all been expertly manipulated by Eames, who had forged an entirely new persona at record speed, in just two days.
"I assume you've heard the gist of the offer I am willing to make?"
"I have," Eames said. "But this Cobb fellow, anyone in my line of work has heard of him. He's the best extractor out there. How do you expect us to infiltrate the dreams of the man who practically invented the infiltration of dreams? He knows all the tricks."
"Well you'll have to make up some new ones then," Tamamoto smiled. "I assumed from your reputation that you are more than capable of this."
"'Course I am," Eames said. "But it'll take time. I need to know exactly when you're planning on getting this done." He hoped he wasn't being too obvious, that as soon as he knew precisely when Tamamoto was planning the strike he would warn Cobb, but the Tamamoto didn't seem to even hear him.
"I have also learned something else about you, Mr. Porter," the businessman leaned in closer, and Eames was suddenly aware that the three thugs had repositioned themselves behind him.
"That you go by some other names. No one can be blamed for that. But imagine my surprise when I found one of them was familiar?"
One of the goons placed his gorilla hands on Eames' shoulders, pushing down with all his considerable weight so that Eames could not move. He winced.
"Your associate here is getting a bit handsy, how do you say 'I don't swing that way,' in Japanese?"
"Mr. Eames," Tamamoto said, and Eames' stomach dropped miserably. "I don't know why you came here today, but I could not be more delighted. If you truly were looking for the job, then congratulations: you have it. I imagine your presence in Cobb's dream would arouse no suspicions, and I'm sure you know a few tricks of his."
Eames struggled against the massive bulk of the crony, but suddenly his arms were pinned behind his back and he was forced to sit still.
"I won't do it," he said, his voice sounding harsher than usual.
"You will if you value your life, Mr. Eames. Oh, and allow me to introduce you to your first team member," he smiled, and from the other room came the wiry man from the café, looking supremely smug.
"He was so eager to work with you, he told me about you himself."
"Oh fuck you, kid," Eames said in whiny exasperation.
"I'll see you tomorrow to discuss the finer points of the job, Mr. Eames," Tamamoto said, and with that Eames was hauled up by two goons and dragged out of the living room, trying all the way to figure out how he was going to escape.