Chapter 17
"Hey, Nate. The mark's heading out, you guys ready yet?"
"No, we need more time. Stall him, Hardison, best you can."
The hacker was parked in a lot across the street from the mark's favourite Thai place. It was common knowledge that he ate there every Tuesday between 12:30 and 1:45, but to be safe, Hardison and Eliot had been told to keep an eye on him. And thank God too, because here they were at 1:15 watching the mark as he paid his bill.
Hardison was franticly thinking of a way to keep him busy, testing out a few of his more... questionable accents as he went. There was a reason that the hacker stayed in the van for most missions, he just wasn't good at the on-the-fly grifts like the rest of them. Good thing he wasn't the only team member available.
It looked like the hacker had come up with something when Eliot suddenly pulled the van door open. "Wait, I got this. You stay here in case this doesn't work."
"Eliot, what're you doing?"
The hitter didn't respond, just slowly wheeled himself toward the mark's car. He purposely sped up his breathing and splashed some cold water into his hair to make it look like sweat was pouring from his face. A grunt every now and then finished the look.
"Hey, asshole. You blind or somethin'?" he panted angrily. He let his voice falter on the last word just to sell it a bit more.
The man turned around, ready to shout at whoever dared to call him an asshole. When he did look, however, all he could find was a very exhausted-looking guy in a wheelchair.
"What?"
"I said, you blind or somethin'? You're parked in a handicapped zone." The hitter pointed to the sign that clearly indicated that the space was for handicapped parking only. "Had to push myself from three blocks away because some dickhead can't read a sign."
The mark rolled his eyes, he couldn't see why there was so much need for handicapped spaces. Most of the time they got left empty, so, so what if he used them from time to time? And why should some wheelchair user get to park up close to the store anyway? It's not like he's got to walk anywhere. Looking at him, this one could probably do with the exercise anyway.
How he wished he could say what he was thinking, but no, instead he said, "Sorry man, I didn't mean..."
"Nu-uh," Eliot interrupted. "Don't give me the 'it was just a mistake' bull. You knew what you were doing. Taking up a space that I need, because you're too lazy to walk from the other lot over there. Man, I got a little girl waiting at home that won't be getting her cuddle tonight because my arms are too tired." (Just ignore the fact that his upper body was about twice the mark's size and consisted almost entirely of muscle) "People like you man, make me sick."
The mark hadn't managed to get a single word in his defence. Which given that he was a very successful but highly corrupted lawyer, was a pretty mean feat on Eliot's behalf. Partner that with the thumbs up he got from the rest of the crew as they exited the building, today was another win for the hitter.
Eliot waved the man off, letting him scuttle back to his car. He then rolled the very short distance, back to Lucile.
"Hey El, that was awesome. Not even Sophie has managed to make him that speechless." They shared their custom handshake before Hardison could help his friend get settled into the van.
The hitter laughed to himself, thinking back on the guy's face as he scolded him. "Surprisingly, I'm more intimidating in the chair. It's probably the societal judgment that scares them."
"Yeah, you never know who may be sneaking nearby, ready with a camera." The hacker tapped his front pocket, indicating the small button cam fixed into place. "This is gonna get so many hits on YouTube."
.
.
.
"So, Eliot. What would you like to talk about today?"
The hitter had known this question would be asked, and he'd thought long and hard about his answer. He'd been keeping up with his journal entries, rereading them before bed so he could get a better understanding of himself. Something he wrote about a week ago had been playing on his mind but he wasn't sure whether to bring it up or not. He didn't like people seeing him broken, whether that be bones or his heart. So, the idea of sharing his broken mind with someone was quite daunting, to say the least. But in the end, he decided he needed to know.
Eliot wasn't very well spoken at the best of times; his actions often did most of the speaking for him. He didn't know how he wanted to phrase his concerns, so instead, he just showed the doctor what he'd written and hoped it would do all the explaining.
Dr Levine took a moment to read the passage a couple of times. In his journal, the patient had managed to locate some problems he'd been having, but if what she interpreted was correct, he hadn't found the cause or solution as of yet.
"So, you've noticed a problem you have with self-appreciation. Is that correct?" The hitter nodded, it sounded like what he'd written about, if a bit more clinical. "You don't feel that the accomplishments you have made are worth much?"
"Yeah... I mean I think that I should feel good about 'em, but I don't."
The doctor began to make notes in the hitter's file. He hated it when people wrote down what he said, took him right the way back to his days in the army. Mandatory syce evals they called them, how he passed as many as he did, Eliot had no idea.
"How do you feel?" It was such a simple question, with a not-so-simple answer. Because Eliot was never really sure how he felt. He'd spent too long pushing down his emotions, that now he wasn't sure what was coming up.
"That I should be doin' more, I guess. Like my best is never good enough."
The last few cons had gone off without a hitch, mostly due to Eliot's quick thinking and detailed plans. But he can't help but wonder what more he could've done. The team wouldn't have needed that quick bit of improv if he'd made a contingency plan in the first place. Parker wouldn't be taking judo lessons from him if Eliot could still do his job, and wouldn't they be better coming from someone who could stand up and show her the steps? Even when a mission runs perfectly, his mind still asks him, why can't you do that every time?
"Did these feelings come after the accident, or is this something you dealt with for a while?"
The doctor's question brought him back into the room, but only for a brief moment...
.
Spencer was just thirteen years old and already an experienced worker in his daddy's shop. Ever since his mama and brother had died in a car accident a little over two years ago, the young boy had been working to fill the gaps.
Waking up at 5:30 am, Spencer would start his day by making him and his dad breakfast before the elder left for work. Then he would get himself ready for school, which included preparing a packed lunch, and started walking the 2.6 miles he trekked every day. Their house was pretty far out, so the bus wouldn't come close enough to pick him up. He used to get a ride from his mama, but now he was alone in the mornings, so walking was his only option.
School wasn't so bad. He had plenty of friends and his grades were pretty good. Mrs Harris said he could do a lot better if he worked harder at his homework, but he just didn't have the time.
Afterschool was for working. His daddy couldn't run the shop by himself, and they couldn't afford to hire someone extra. That left Spencer doing everything he could to make things better... to make things right.
"BOY," his daddy shouted from behind the counter. Spencer was too small to work there, so he helped keep the storeroom tidy instead. "I need a box of ten-inch nails for this customer. Don't keep 'em waitin'."
The teen knew where everything was in this hole-in-the-wall shop, right down to the very last crosshead screw. That's why, when he heard his daddy calling for the ten-inch nails, his heart ached and his body shuddered. Those nails were kept on the very top shelf, far out of the young boy's reach. Even with a step ladder, Spencer fell a couple inches too short to grab them.
He walked out into the main shop, his head held low because he knew what was coming.
"Dad, I can't reach 'em, could you come grab 'em for me?"
Some days, his daddy would just sigh, muttering under his breath about the useless boy as he did his job for him. Other times he would tell him to his face, he didn't give a damn whether the customers could hear. This was a small town in Oklahoma, people knew how to raise their sons 'round these parts. None of this mollycoddling your sons until they can't help themselves any longer, the boys needed discipline and a strong work ethic.
That day though, things escalated.
He didn't know why the older man got so mad, maybe a bill was due or his team fumbled a pass or something. But there was a reason that that day stuck in the man's (now known as Eliot Spencer) head.
"Do I have to think for you as well now, boy? Just use your brain for once and get the step ladder."
"But it's..." Spencer tried to explain that he was still too short even with the ladder but his father wasn't hearing it.
"Don't you dare backchat me, boy. Just do as your told and be quiet about it."
There was no talking to his daddy when he used that tone of voice, even if he was technically in the right. Instead, the teen nodded his head and jogged back to the store room.
Even with the step ladder, and stepping on the very end of his tiptoes, Spencer just couldn't reach. He needed to come up with some other way, something that could extend his arm or lift him just a touch higher. The ladder had wheels on the bottom so he couldn't balance it on the boxes he found, and they didn't have any of those grabber tools that the supermarket had. He was running out of ideas, the fear of having to return to his daddy empty-handed creeping up on him when he saw something that just might work.
The ceiling had a thick pipe running across it with just enough of a gap to feed something through. Fashioning a make-shift harness out of some cords and rope, Spencer fixed it to another rope that he tied in a loop ready to throw. The PE teachers at school did always say he had perfect aim, and that day just proved it with his straight shot through the hole. Taking the end that wasn't attached to him, the teen managed to pull himself up until he was level with the top shelf.
When he came back into the shop, his daddy was still talking to the customer, never once thinking to come check on what was taking so long.
"About damn time, boy. What do ya think you're playin' at?" His face turned red as he handed the fleeing customer his purchase. "Well, explain yourself."
"I tried to tell ya I couldn't reach the top shelf even with the ladder. So, I..."
"It ain't my fault your too short. When your brother was your age, he could reach that shelf just fine." His daddy only ever mentioned Eliot these days when he wanted to shame the younger boy. In his daddy's eyes, Spencer was always going to be too small, too stupid, and too much of a waste of space. "It's about time you grew up some."
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Dr Levine had listened to her patient as he talked about his childhood. She could see now where most of his problems started. Now, not all of his troubles could be chalked up to his father and the way he was raised. But so often our childhoods can have ripple effects that contribute to the decisions we make later in life. Mr Krane was most likely making choices based on his fear of failure and need to go above and beyond for anyone he respected. Now it was up to her, to explain this to a man who still felt uncomfortable with the idea of therapy.
"Eliot, firstly I want you to know how brave it was to open up about this." The patient scoffed, yes, he was still fighting this, like every other part of his life. How had Dr Davis described it?... A man trapped in war. "I understand that for you the idea of talking things though is a slightly novel concept. But this will help in the long run."
Eliot was starting to get a little uncomfortable. Even though he was distracted telling his story, he could still see the doctor making a ton of notes. How much could she possibly learn from one little tale? And now she was going to tell him just how broken he was, and there probably wasn't anything she could do to fix it. Maybe ignorance truly is bliss.
"Eliot, I believe your childhood, particularly your relationship with your father, has conditioned you in a way that has caused you to see yourself in a dimmer view. It may mean that you become overcritical of your work, or strive harder to please people, even if it cost you something in the process. Do you think that an accurate description of yourself, Eliot?"
It wasn't too far off, he could admit. But he thought that came from his time in the army. The need for perfection because mistakes got people killed. That drive to go one step further, because think of all those people you could save.
"It does... But is that a bad thing? I mean doing my best all the time ain't goin' to harm anyone."
Dr. Levine looked up for a moment, making sure to have direct eye contact with her patient. "No one except yourself, Eliot." She closed her notes, wanting to have no distractions while she gave the man some guidance. "You mentioned in your journal that you no longer feel good about your accomplishments, and if what we discovered today is true, you've actually felt this way for a long time. This could have led you to seek out more challenging roles for yourself to find that feeling once again. Do you find yourself pushing your body past its limits on occasion, just to finish a task or do a little extra, not because you want to, but because you need to?"
You mean like, going three days without sleep so you can guard your squad. Or, hiding broken ribs so you can still work your role on a con.
"Maybe... Yeah, I guess."
.
.
.
It was a new day, a new con, and Eliot was excited for another chance to prove himself.
This time he had a main part in the production, instead of the background role or standing on the sidelines, so he needed to keep his head in the game and remember the lines Nate had given to him.
However, his mind seemed distracted and he couldn't help thinking about What Dr. Levine had told him.
Nothing she said made any sense to the hitter, and the more he thought about it the harder he found it to understand. Because, what's wrong with striving for your best and going above and beyond to achieve it, wasn't that what he was supposed to do?
According to his therapist, Eliot needed to focus on seeing what he'd achieved during the day without delving into what he hadn't, but what would that do for him? He didn't have time to go over everything and see the good in it, he had a team to protect and a job to do.
"Right El, we're coming round the corner so get into position."
The hitter shook away his thoughts of therapy, he needed a clear head for the mission. The voice coming from his com was Sophie who was about ten seconds away with their newest mark on her arm.
"I'm ready."
As the mark rounded the corner he was suddenly swarmed by a flock of reporters, all of them raving about his latest venture into the property market. He acted bashful as he talked directly into one of the cameras, no one would know that he was the one to leak everything to the press. The man just loved publicity, his goal was to have his face in every magazine and his voice blaring out on every TV. Lucky for him, team leverage also had that goal in mind.
"Hey, Mr Rickson. You remember me?" Probably not, as this is the first time we've met. But you do have a file in your office that says I worked for you on your dodgy construction site, and that my spine got crushed thanks to a support beam made out of improper materials. The exact same story as our client, who'd been tricked into signing a non-disclosure agreement after a measly $8000 payout. "You're the reason I'm in this chair and I want the money I'm entitled to."
The reporters grew silent as they watched the scene unfold. A hat and bandages meant the hitter could stay hidden, whilst the slimy CEO got all the publicity he could ever dream of.
How do you like the cameras now?