Author's Note: I almost wrote Arthur's Note, no lie. Anyway thanks everyone for the very kind reviews and support! This is probably the last all-Eames-all-the-time chapter, for a while at least!
The card was exactly where he had said, Eames knew this.
It was dark and he was lying on the makeshift cot Tamamoto had provided him in the small closet which served as his cell. He had not heard a sound from the other rooms in over an hour, and it was time for him to make his dramatic escape.
There was no window in the closet, obviously, but there were several tools which his captors had foolishly left behind, the best being a coat hanger. It had been tucked back in a corner, difficult to see, but thankfully a thin metal one.
Eames snapped it gruffly, and managed to file it down into a sharp point with the heel of his shoe. He had started his career as a lock picker, a talented and misguided youth. Slowly, with precision Eames managed to undo the various tumbles, thanking with all his being the antiquity of South African locks.
The door swung open, but he grabbed at the handle quickly before the hinges could squeak. With much lighter steps than he looked capable of, Eames crept through the hall, pausing without breath whenever he heard the slightest sound.
At the end of the hallway, Eames peered around the corner to see the living room, where one of the large stooges was standing still, his back to Eames. The front door was located at the other end of the living room, to the left of the stooge, and it would be painfully obvious if Eames tried to get out that way. He would have to pull a classic groom-on-wedding-day move and sneak out the bathroom window.
He crept into the first floor bathroom, to the right of the bedroom his closet had been in, closing the door just enough to hide him in the semi-darkness. If the door was entirely closed they would know someone had come by. Trying very hard not to clink the porcelain, Eames crept on top of the toilet, opening the window silently. A breeze came by, and to Eames' horror it caused an empty toilet paper roll to clatter to the floor.
Realistically it had made very little sound, but to Eames it felt as though he had just screamed bloody Mary. He was frozen, one leg on the toilet tank and the other rooted to the floor, waiting with baited breath for the slightest hint of movement in the other room.
No sound came.
Exhaling with silent relief, Eames continued his treacherous climb up the toilet, eyeing the narrow window above, wishing for once that he were built like Arthur. It would be a tight fit.
He realized as he stuck his head out the window that his shoulders would not fit straight on. He would have to pivot, but his legs would not fit in a couching position, and the window was not tall enough for him to stand. The solution was to stick one leg out the window first, then straddle the sill very painfully while he got his head and torso out. Once he had gotten to this position, he realized he had no way of getting his other leg out, as the one outside the window could not reach the ground below and there was nothing to stand on or hold on to. The only way to leave was to throw himself sideways onto the ground and hope his trapped leg would follow quietly.
He fell about eight feet to the soft earth outside, making an insufferable ruckus. Inside the house, he thought he heard raised voices, but he did not wait around to listen. Though his body ached with the impact and he felt as though his ankle was twisted, he took off with surprising speed into the dark streets of Johannesburg.
Thirteen hours later, Eames was in the airport waiting for his plane to New York City. He was pleasantly surprised that he had not yet been found by Tamamoto's gang and hog tied in the back of a limo. He had waited outside the Western Union for five hours for it to open, starting at every sound in the night, but ultimately retrieving his five hundred dollars unscathed. He had immediately rushed to the airport via taxi, and bought the first plane ticket to the big apple, which unfortunately was not first class.
His cell phone had been taken by Tamamoto, but luckily he had erased Cobb's number from it long ago, acquiescing to his former partner's request. He was further comforted by the fact that no real names were in his contact list, but instead nicknames which he found hilarious. Arthur for instance was Rod U. Pass.
With a payphone, Eames called Mr. Pass presently.
"Hello?" Arthur's voice sounded groggy; if Eames had been any good at math he would have realized he was calling the point man at 2am his time.
"Arthur, darling!" Eames said cheerily. "I just wanted to thank you for the generous loan, and inform you that I will be leaving South Africa in about an hour."
"Eames?" Arthur yelled in surprise. The forger thought he heard Ariadne mumble in the background.
"Not interrupting you two am I?" He asked cheekily.
"What? No!" Arthur said hastily. "Where the hell have you been? It's been five days since we sent the money!"
"Has it?" Eames hadn't really had a good grasp on time while he was holed up in Tamamoto's villa. "Goodness, I am sorry dear. I have good news and bad news for you though, but I'm afraid it will have to wait till we can talk in person."
"You know, mystique doesn't suit you, Eames," Arthur said grumpily.
"Mystique is part of the business, love," Eames replied jauntily. "And speaking of the business of love, you and Ariadne-"
Arthur hung up.