|
"Dirty Job"Written By: ExecutiveShrimp Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, it belongs
to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. Written for pleasure not
profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Violence, angst, Lemons, Limes Pairings: 1x2x1 Summary: Duo is a masterful pickpocket and skilled but small-time con artist who always chooses to play it safe. When his best friend owes the wrong people a lot of money, Duo get pulled into a high-stakes plot to rob thirty-something billionaire Heero Yuy. The only way to succeed and save his friend is to push his own boundaries and get way too involved.
"Dirty Job" Chapter Two The gates hung crooked on their hinges and were bowed
inward, leaving the distinct shape of the nose of a large vehicle
used to force the gates open. The chain-link of the fence rattled
in the summer-storm wind. The left gate scratched along the concrete
floor as it moved back and forth as much as the wind could sway it.
Old leaves that had fallen seasons ago when the trees lining the perimeter
shed in preparation of winter, dragged along the ground and betrayed
small, circular patterns in the winds as they danced around the open
space of the courtyard. The warehouse itself looked as neglected as the grounds
surrounding it. Most of the windows of the façade had been
broken, the walls had been vandalized by kids misspelling curse words
and misquoting lyrics to explicit rap-songs. The metal window frames
and the drain pipes were rusted to a point beyond recognition; they
had more resemblance to something salvaged from a sunken ship than
anything else. Above the door were barely legible words that read:
OSCAR BROTHERS SOAP COMPANY. But the clean, fresh smell of the products
that were once stored there was long gone, replaced by the foul smell
of an open sewer somewhere nearby and the blanket of smog drifting
down from the network of elevated highways – the rushing of traffic
was still audible. To all the industrial area would seem as abandoned as
an urban landscape could possibly be. The condemned building was suitable
for man nor soap, it appeared the promised land for nothing other
than rabid animals and tetanus infections. Still, as soon as Duo stepped through the open gates, a bulky man appeared from the shadows and approached him with a languid pace. He was shaven, his bald head tattooed with spider-webs
and gang-signs, he had dark sweat stains on the front of his once-white
shirt and under his armpits as well. As the distance between them
decreased Duo could hear his deep, rasping breaths. Rabid animals indeed, he thought to himself. Not in
the least intimidated by the man's large frame which, if anything,
made him cumbersome and sluggish, he walked right up to him. The man inhaled with a nasty wheeze as he stopped in
front of the intruder and appraised him. "Lost your way, tourist?"
He spat. He stuffed his big hands into the pockets of his black jeans. "I need to talk to Tsubarov," Duo declared
defiantly. "As if he would waste his time on you." "I'm pretty sure he is expecting me, actually,"
He argued. "Do you really want to risk disappointing your boss
by not letting me in?" The man just stared back at him, perhaps thinking it
over. "What's the problem? Surely I'm not a security
risk. What harm could I possibly do?" He grumbled under his breath and then flicked away the
cigarette – barely more than the butt – that he had been
rolling between his lips disinterestedly. "Spread 'em,"
He ordered gruffly. "What?" The buffed-up male impatiently grabbed both Duo's arms
and spread them wide. He kicked his foot against the inside of Duo's
ankle. "Legs too." As Duo complied the man quickly frisked him, running
his big hands along his arms, patting his sides and back and gripping
his legs from the thighs down to the ankles. "You've got a tender
grip there, my friend," The long-haired man ground out sarcastically,
wincing as his muscles were painfully kneaded. The man pulled a silver Zippo lighter from Duo's sock.
Straightening up he quirked a bushy eyebrow at him before giving it
back to him, since it was obviously not a threat. "Pickpockets man, they're the worst." Duo
flashed him a grin. "Come on." He started towards the entry of
the seemingly abandoned building. He knelt down to tuck his lighter back into his sock,
then scampered after his guide, who was waiting for him by the door,
holding it open for him. "Thank you, Milord," He jested as he walked
past him. The man replied dryly: "Milady." He mock-laughed. "Ah, braid-jokes. Those never
get old." He pulled the plait of long hair over his shoulder
and absent-mindedly toyed with the feathery end. He couldn't deny
anxiety fluttered in his stomach as he walked further into the darkness,
pausing only to let the guard take the lead and blindly guide him
down a corridor. He didn't think Tsubarov would hurt him, mostly because
he suspected the man was smart enough to realize that he wasn't going
to see a penny from J.J. – let alone one hundred and twenty-five
thousand dollars – if he killed his mentor; because ultimately
Duo was the one tasked with coming up with the money. J.J., on his
own, could only fail. Still, in spite of this relative security he
was aware that many people walked into this building and never walked
out. Once Tsubarov loses his patience, he cares more for the thrill
of watching someone die than finally getting his money. He was led up a flight of stairs, meanwhile his guide
awarded him a private, non-verbal tour, pointing at bullet holes in
the walls and dried bloodstains on the floor. "Is this all part of the evil-lair-experience?"
Duo deadpanned, making a face when he noticed a dead rat stuck in
a patch of mold. "I'm just letting you know how far others got,
trying to escape." "Thank you. It's inspiring." He turned around and smirked at the guest. "Here
we go, Milady." He pushed the double doors at the end of the
hallway open and led the way inside. Duo felt his stomach turn as he stepped onto the grated
floor of the walkway that led into the main space of the warehouse.
Beneath his feet he could see a twenty-five foot drop to the concrete
floor below. They followed the walkway that crossed right through
the open space. There were still some odd old crates labeled 'SOAP'
stacked on top of each other in the corners. Finally they reached
a staircase that took them down to the warehouse floor. The tall windows
were intact but had mold and moss growing on them, creating a play
of irregular shapes of yellow light and dark shadows on the floor.
A handful of people – pale and suspicious looking – eyed
the newcomers. Against the back wall was a large chair, elevated on
a podium constructed of crates. Seated in the make-shift throne was
an older man of slight, practically frail built, dressed in an oversized
suit of fine material meant to compensate for his lacking physique,
with stuffed shoulders and excess fabric. Beady eyes set deep into
a wrinkly face focused on his guest. "He insisted on seeing you, said you might be expecting
him, sir. He is unarmed," Announced the broad-shouldered escort. "Unarmed?" The older man shifted in his seat,
interested in the visit. "Duo, you disappoint me. I thought surely
you would have learned by now how dangerous I am." "I don't do guns. I prefer a more personal approach,"
Replied Duo glibly. Tsubarov cackled. "Duo, you are not impressing
me with this routine." He waved his hand to dismiss the guard
that had led his guest inside, sending him back to his post at the
front door. He balled his fists but hid them in the deep pockets
of his loose jeans. He looked around at the men surrounding him, drug-dealers
and henchmen. They were grinning at him. Tsubarov continued to chuckle breathlessly. "Are
you going to make me suffer the formality of asking you why you are
here?" "Maybe I should ask you why you are here.
This place is a dump. Normally you are shacked up some place fit for
royalty. Are you finally admitting that this is where you belong,
between the other filth of this town?" Tsubarov inhaled deeply through his nose in dismay at Duo's defiant attitude. "The police made a good effort at shutting down operations," He explained. "This 'shack' is only a temporary fix. My lawyers got the DA to drop the charges against me, it won't be long until they give up on their most recent, futile investigation and release the mansion." He snapped his fingers at one of the men who rushed to bring him a thick binder from a table across the room. "But you are here to discuss business of an entirely different kind, are you not?" He mumbled around the cigarette. He unceremoniously
leafed through the pages until coming to an abrupt stop. "What's that?" He smirked. "It's my big book of names. Just like
Santa's book, this has the names of all the little boys and girls
who have been good and who have been naughty. J.J.'s name always turns
up in the naughty section, isn't that fascinating?" Duo shrugged. "Is there a special subsection labeled
'Stupid'? That's where I have him filed." The drug-lord laughed heartily. "There is indeed
a 'Stupid'-section. You are in there too." The other men joined their boss in laughter. Tsubarov leaned forward in his seat. "Duo, do you
really think this Devil-may-care attitude of yours towards J.J. is
going to fool me? You love that little imp and you would do anything
to keep him safe." He tapped the book. "There isn't a debt
in here that J.J. has paid back himself. I know who I am supposed
to keep an eye on when the dimwit owes me money." He winked at
the guest of honor. "Don't leave town, mister Maxwell. It would
not be in your best interest." The group laughed again at the veiled threat. With raised voice Duo interrupted the laughter: "How
long have you given him to pay you back?" He smirked. "I've given the deadline a lot of thought.
Obviously a couple of street rats like you can't come up with an amount
like the one J.J. owes just like that. I've surprised myself with
my own generosity towards the two of you. Normally a debt has to be
paid within a week or two – you know I am an impatient man. But
I could not resist the poetic irony of setting the deadline on the
first Monday of September: Labor day." More mocking snickers echoed through the empty hall. The American felt his hands and forehead were starting
to sweat. "Labor day? That's five weeks from now!' "It's as reasonable as I can possible be." "What's reasonable about asking someone to pay
that kind of money within a five week period?! How are we supposed
to pull this off?" "I don't know," Tsubarov mocked, shrugging
his shoulders. "Work really hard?" The sarcastic remark
was received by the crowd with a collective guffaw. Duo clenched his jaw. "Please, if you want your
money, you have to give us more time." "Duo, Duo, Duo…" He waved his finger
back and forth. "You know better than to ask for an extension.
A good boss gives his employees strict deadlines to keep up work-productivity." "What happens if we don't make it?" "Then the price goes up as I see fit. Until…" Duo swallowed. He already knew the answer, but still
he asked: "Until?" "Until I grow bored of playing games with you two
and I have J.J. killed and make sure that you can watch." His
lips curved in an evil smile. "I could very well be doing you
a favor, letting you watch. You might enjoy it, after all the trouble
this silly boy has caused you. And of course once your dear little
brother is dead, I will need someone to replace him on my staff." "This isn't fair! You know damn well half of J.J.'s
debt belongs to Komarov!" Tsubarov sighed, growing tired of entertaining his guest.
"Komarov swore on his mother's grave that J.J. is to blame. How
am I not supposed to take his word for it, his mother was my beloved
sister after all." "Please-" "Don't beg!" Tsubarov barked with booming
voice, which also made his subordinates uneasy. "There is nothing
quite so disgusting as seeing a grown man beg. This is business, Duo." "I never wanted to get into business with you,"
The American seethed. "Then you should have kept a shorter leash on your
idiot baby brother!" He nodded at two of his men. "Get this
rat out of here." Duo glared at the men as they approached him. When they
reached for his arms he pushed one of them away. "I can fucking
walk myself out, thank you very much." The men looked to their boss for direction. He waved his hand dismissively. "Let him go. He'll
find his way back on his own." Duo eyed the lot of them, pushing one away who was still
too close to him to his liking. Then he started back towards the exit. "Don't drag your feet Duo," Tsubarov ridiculed
as the long haired man made his way up the stairs. "Remember,
you don't have much time to spare." He turned around and spat at him: "I'm not going
to give you the satisfaction of killing him." The drug-lord sneered: "Good. Give me the satisfaction
of your money. It's all the same to me." Blood and money is all he cares about, Duo heard himself
say in a faded memory. His blood – his family – and
the blood of his enemies sprayed on the walls. Trembling with a combination
of rage, frustration and fear he got out of there with a hurried pace.
He sucked in breaths through his nose once he burst through the front
door. The air inside the building had been stale and stifling, it
had started to feel suffocating. "Hey, Milady!" He spun around and spotted the guard hiding behind a
pillar. He froze as the man approached him, who knew what kind of
orders his boss might have called it as soon as Duo had left the 'conference
room'. The man demonstratively put a cigarette between his
smirking lips. "Give me a light?" He clenched his jaw. "Sure." He bent over
to retrieve the lighter from his sock and tossed it to the man. He caught it but rather than lighting his smoke he toyed
with it idly. "You owe the big boss some money?" "What's it to you?" Duo shot back. He smiled broadly, revealing yellowed and missing teeth
and red, irritated gums, likely the result of a serious meth habit.
He finally lit his cigarette and stepped forward to hand the lighter
back to the owner. When Duo reached for his lighter the man grabbed
his wrist strongly and wouldn't let go, even as Duo struggled. "I'll
give you a head start. I'll give you fifty bucks if you suck me off." The long-haired man was let go of and he staggered backwards. He let out an ill chortle that provoked a wheezing cough. Not wasting any time Duo headed for the gates with large,
fast strides. He heard the man call after him: "Come on! I think
I made you a pretty generous offer!" Even though he didn't want
to give the man the pleasure of seeing he had had an effect on him,
Duo started to run and when he heard laughter echo on the courtyard
he ran faster and he didn't stop until the burning muscles of his
thighs required him to. Meanwhile, uptown, buildings of glass and steel were
erected at a murderous pace; national and international enterprises
settling headquarters and satellite offices where ground, workers
and building contracts were cheap and easy to come by. Every new building
aimed to be a little higher than the previous; stand a little taller,
stand a little more proudly. Fat cats having a pissing contest, dripping
on the blue collar of the common man without even the courtesy of
calling it rain. These guys spent one hundred and twenty-five thousand
dollars on diamond watches, aged cognac and streamlined cars that
can't get over a fucking speed bump. They spent it frivolously with
complete disregard for the fact that people get killed over that kind
of money. Some obese asshole bursting out of the seams of his Italian
suit could pay the debt J.J. owed Tsubarov from their spoiled kid's
pocket money! Even at that distance he could see them glimmer, the
towers that cast long shadows on the city. Duo grumbled under his breath as he stomped the last
few blocks home. It's so unfair! He thought to himself. He rounded
the corner into his street. A few steps removed from the front door
of his building he stopped and groaned. Seated on the doorstep was the hunched over, slim frame
of Jared Jensen, staring intently at a deck of cards he held as his
bony hands practiced a trick – and failed. The younger man seemed
to become aware of the cold stare and looked over. He jumped up when
he spotted his brother a few feet away and pocketed the deck of cards.
"Hey man! How did it go?" His tone of voice was hopeful,
which made Duo want to throttle him. He could instantly tell he was high. He dug his keys
out of his pocket and approached the door. "Dude, don't keep me in suspense!" J.J. followed
him inside, nearly bumping into his brother's taller frame when the
older man stopped abruptly and spun around to face him. "What were you expecting?!" Duo demanded and
then continued down the hall and up the stairs to his studio apartment. "Look man, Tsubarov likes you. I thought that if
you went over he would be willing to give us a little while to come
up with the money. Seriously now, what did he say? What is the deadline?" Duo snorted and threw his gaze up at the moldy ceiling.
"Tsubarov doesn't like me," He emphasized, "He
likes playing games with me. Besides… Jesus Christ… He doesn't
like anybody enough to sway him to be merciful." He pushed the
door open and threw his bundle of keys on the kitchen counter. He
started pacing back and forth in the living room, anxious and restless. "So, what? He gave us the regular week? Two weeks?"
J.J. eyed the older man curiously. Duo rubbed his temples, overwhelmed by a sudden, sharp
headache. "We have until Labor day." "Labor day?" J.J. repeated positively. "That's
like two months from now." He paused and stared at him incredulously. "It's
five weeks from now, idiot." He frowned dumbly. "Is it August already?" The American man bit his lower lip as he felt it start
to quiver, he was so frustrated he was on the verge of tears. "Well, five weeks is way more than he usually gives,"
He reasoned with an upbeat tone. "I think we can work with this." A dark laugh erupted out of Duo. "Oh, really? When
did you start making twenty-five thousand dollars a week and why didn't
you tell me?" "If you put it that way…" The other replied
meekly, slumping his shoulders. "How else am I supposed to put it, little brother?"
He spat, waving his arms around himself angrily. "We have five
weeks to get one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. That boils
down to twenty-five a week. Think! For Christ's sake." J.J. let out a deep breath and opened the refrigerator
door to fetch a bottle of beer. "You're really high strung,"
He observed quietly. Duo crossed the room in three large paces and snatched
the beer out of his hand. "J.J., I swear to God. You better start
taking this seriously or Tsubarov is going to have to get in line
if he wants to kill you." He stabbed at his chest with his accusing,
pointed index finger. "Yes!" "Okay, then let's be serious! You and I both know
how to fix this." Duo raised his eyebrows and shot back sarcastically:
"Oh, do we? Pray tell." "Your little boyfriend-" "Ex-boyfriend," Duo corrected habitually. He rolled his eyes. "Your little ex-boyfriend is
the trusted brother of a loan shark. He could get you the money." "You want to pay off one debt by making another?" J.J. shrugged. "You could work out a reasonable
payment-plan with him, based on your history together." "Fuck you!" Duo exclaimed, pinching the bridge
of his nose between his fingers as the headache throbbed. He moved
over to the ratty couch and dropped down on it, propping his feet
up on the armrest of the other end. He took a swig from the bottle
of beer he had taken from J.J. "You know I'm right." The tall man took a deep, calming breath through his
nose and closed his eyes. Flatly, he asked: "You want me to go
see my ex, who broke my heart, to beg him to pay off our debt to Tsubarov?" "What other option do we have? Unless you
started making twenty-five thousand dollars a week and didn't tell
me about it." Duo cracked one eye open. "I hate you, J.J."
He sat up with a groan and finished the beer. The thin young man lowered himself down to sit on the
coffee table. "You don't mean that…" "You're right. I don't." He chewed the inside
of his cheek. In a whisper he added morosely: "But I should." J.J. smiled. His teeth were yellow and filthy yet it
was still a smile that could melt Duo's heart. "We're going to
be okay. We're going to make it. We always do, big brother. Just you
and me." "Yeah? Or just me, more often than not." J.J. leaned forward to embrace his brother. "I
know, I'm sorry you always have to save me. But you know how grateful
I am. And from now on it's going to be different. I promise." "Don't make any promises you can't keep." "I promise, it is going to be different,"
J.J. repeated solemnly. He huffed. "It is going to be different,"
Duo asserted. "I can't keep doing this J.J. This is the last
time." How many times had he said that over the past few years?
He wondered inwardly. In spite of his threats and in spite of his
ever-recurring determination to let J.J. take responsibility for his
own mistakes, he knew he would always be there for the younger man.
It was his duty as the 'big brother'. He hated seeing what J.J. had
become, but still he wouldn't be able to stand losing him. Seeing
the once vibrant and clever young man waste away under the influence
of alcohol and a variety of drugs was a relentless source of pain,
but he had to keep doing the best he could. He had to keep fighting
for him. After all, Duo Maxwell doesn't make any promises he can't
keep. He sighed. "Go home J.J. Get some rest. Sleep off
whatever it is you're on." "I'm clean!" The younger one argued, with
wide, blood-shot eyes. "Don't fucking dare lie to me right now, Jared!" "Fine. I'll go sleep it off." He chuckled
sheepishly. "Oops, shouldn't make any promises I can't keep."
He got up and started towards the door. He threw a glance over his
shoulder. "You're going to talk to your boyfriend, right?" "Ex-boyfriend…" Duo ran a hand through
his hair. "He has a name, you know?" J.J. nodded. "That's right. 'Motherfucking Asshole'."
He smiled innocently at Duo's frown. "What? That's what you always
call him." He pulled the door shut behind him. He slumped in his seat, feeling exhausted and deflated.
He doubted if asking for another loan could really solve their problem.
Nothing in life was ever that simple. Nothing in his life, at least. He lingered on the couch, staring at the damp stain
on the wall in front of him. The quickly downed beer agitated his
already nervous stomach. He hated begging other people for help, he
wasn't like that - he may not have had much, but he had his pride
– to do it twice in one day made his skin crawl, especially since
he didn't like these people; he didn't want to see these people; he
always made an active effort to avoid these very people. Somehow,
going to see his ex-lover frightened him much more than visiting the
infamous drug-lord. Tsubarov could harm him, torture him, kill him
even, but Duo knew nothing hurt as much as the stab to the heart that
leaves blood nor scar and only someone who knew him well could exploit
the weaknesses in his armor to deliver a blow like that. The last time he had seen him the man had been loitering
outside in his car, over six months ago. He didn't like being faced
with him then, he would like it even less this time. Since usual office hours didn't apply to loan sharks,
he showered, dressed and had dinner and took a nap on the couch before
he decided to head out when the hour approached midnight. Dressed
in his best clothes that were supposed to make him feel safe and invincible,
like he was clad in a suit of armor, he walked six blocks to arrive
at an unpresumptuous, commonplace bar with an Irish theme called SHAMROCK.
The fraudulent business that took place there was oafishly hinted
at in the name. The bar was nothing more than a front for the unlawful
way in which the owners made their living; loaning dimwits cash, demanding
steep interests and penalizing late payments with beatings and progressively
serious maiming. All in a day's work. Duo knew a lot of people with missing fingers or one
ear. He pushed the squeaking door open, effectively making
himself one of the dimwits. For most people getting in debt with these guys wasn't
much worse than owing Tsubarov money, but J.J. was right – even
a broken clock is correct two times a day – the personal connection
he shared with a partner in the business could help him negotiate
a lenient pay-off-schedule. There were only two other 'patrons' present, they nursed
strong drinks, paying no attention to him. Duo started towards the bar, his movements slowing,
his steps getting shorter as he approached, until he came to a halt
in the middle of the space and he just stared with a pained expression. The bartender was a beautiful man. His white dress-shirt
appeared luminous in the shadowy bar. His slicked back, raven black
hair shone in the cool, blue light coming in through the door to the
backroom. His sharp features were stern and focused as he tasked himself
with cleaning the bar, taking his job so seriously, even though it
was a sham. Duo knew he always looked like that – so zeroed-in
on whatever he was doing, like nothing else existed around him –
even during sex. It had been the most incredible feeling, to have
a person stare into his eyes like that. That intense gaze found him all of a sudden and he stared
back with the slightest expression of surprise on his exotic features. The American took a deep breath and moved forward, taking
a seat at the bar. The bartender quietly fixed him a drink; vodka sour,
his usual. As he handed it to him he remarked neutrally: "I didn't
think I would ever see you again. I fact, I was sure you never wanted
to see my face again." Duo took a big swig and made a face. "Trust me,
WuFei, I'm not here because I want to be," He said with strained
voice. He nodded at the open backdoor. He could hear bits and pieces
of a muffled conversation in Chinese. "How's the family business
going?" "Couldn't tell you. I try to stay out of it as
much as possible lately. I'm just the bartender now." "Hn." Duo put a cigarette between his lips
and struggled with his zippo to light it. "So when you came home
that one time with your shirt all red… You're telling me now
that was cranberry juice from mixing cranberry martinis?" "I don't do that anymore. Getting my shirt stained,
that is." WuFei exhaled through his nose and reached across the
bar, stealing the unlit cigarette and discarding it in the trash.
"When did you start smoking again?" "Some things just require more than one of those
stupid patches." The bartender cocked his head. "You started smoking
again because of me?" There was a hint of guilt in his voice
only Duo could recognize. Duo retrieved a new cigarette and succeeded in lighting
it, warning the bartender with a dangerous glare when he attempted
to take it from him again. "Don't flatter yourself. Ask me why
I am here." He snorted and put his hands on his hips. "Fine.
Why are you here?" He inquired dryly. "I need to borrow some cash." The Asian male narrowed his eyes at him, he knew Duo wouldn't normally make the mistake of getting into the water with the sharks. "Why?" He demanded, although he must already
have a strong inkling. Duo took another drink, trying to keep his demeanor
casual, pretend that his palms weren't sweaty and that he wasn't nervously
jiggling his foot. "J.J. is in trouble." "J.J. is always in trouble," Was the unimpressed,
matter-of-fact reply. He picked up a glass and started polishing it
with the cloth in his hand. He shook his head, feeling his braid brush across his
back. "This time it's serious. He's in 'Tsubarov-trouble'." The recoil was nearly imperceptible. A concerned scowl formed on his forehead. "That is serious." He hesitated, then probed casually: "How much do you need?" Duo let out a shaky breath before admitting in a hushed
whisper: "One twenty-five." The bartender laughed, assuming it to be a joke. "There is nothing funny about this," Duo glared
at his former lover. The man fell silent, embarrassed at the misunderstanding.
"Apparently not." He waited for the man to make him an offer, or call
the others, who were in the backroom, so he could mediate a deal,
but WuFei remained quiet and pensively stared at the glass in his
hand. Growing impatient and increasingly sick with nerves, Duo pressed:
"So can you get me the money?" He blinked and carefully put away the glass. Stalling,
the bartender poured a fresh vodka sour. "No." Duo felt his heart clench as the realization started
to claw at him that he had been right in assuming it wouldn't be as
easy as J.J. made it sound. "No?" WuFei avoided eye-contact. "Come on man! You owe me!" Burst Duo, slamming
his balled fists down on the surface of the bar. The raven-haired man leaned forward and hissed: "I
owe you an apology. I do not owe you money." Duo scoffed. "I'm not asking you to do me any favors.
It's strictly business!" WuFei reiterated: "I can't lend you that kind of
money." In a sheer state of desperation he demanded: "Why
the fuck not?" "Because I know you, Duo. You won't be able to
pay it back." He sat back in his seat and stared at his ex incredulously.
"Jesus, what the fuck is this? Did I accidentally walk into the
American National Bank? I didn't realize I had to bring my employment
records and impeccable bank statements! You're a fucking loan shark
for God's sake!" "I'm not the loan shark, my… 'associates'
are. Like I said, I'm just here to pour the drinks now." At the
roll of Duo's eyes he explained: "I know you, Duo. You're a smart
guy but you spend your life scraping at the bottom of the barrel,
you never take big jobs, you won't be able to pay it back. You might
not be in 'Tsubarov-trouble' at that point, but you will be in trouble."
He glanced at the backdoor again. "I'm doing you a favor by refusing
you this loan. Trust me." With almost uncharacteristically gentle
eyes he added: "I may not have loved you the way you wanted me
to, but I do care for you. I have your best interests at heart. I
don't want to see you getting hurt." With past hurts scratched at and made raw and exposed
again Duo lashed out. "Fuck that! Fuck you! You think you can
ease your own guilt by protecting me? Well, guess what, you are not
doing me any favors. Tsubarov is going to kill J.J. if he doesn't
get his money back! But you're standing there, all noble, denying
me this loan because you don't want to hurt me? How do you
think I'd feel if they off J.J.?" "I know you love him like he's your little brother
and you feel you have to protect him. But it has gone too far. You've
let this kid ruin your life. I'm not going to let you stick out your
neck again for him, because you can't see it, but he's not worth it.
He is not worth sacrificing your life for, Duo. He's selfish and childish
and wasting-" "I do love him like he is my baby brother,"
Interrupted Duo furiously. "And I promised A.J. I would protect
him like he really was. Unlike you, I don't break my promises." WuFei pointed a finger at him. "I don't either.
Don't accuse me of breaking promises because I never promised you
anything! I told you exactly what I could and could not offer you
and you said you accepted that." "Yeah, I did! I did. And then we dated and we fucked and we laughed our asses off and we moved in together! Excuse me for thinking – after two fucking years – that the 'could' and 'could-nots' had changed by then." He brought the cigarette to his lips with shaking fingers. "You play house with me and then you expect me
not to be shell-shocked and furious when you come home one day and
tell me it's over? Because of a conversation we had years ago about
your 'emotional unavailability'? How is Sally doing, by the
way?" The black eyes glistened with suppressed tears at the
emotional outburst of his former lover. "She's doing well. She's
three months pregnant." A stab. Right in the heart. Duo chuckled bitterly. Emotionally
unavailable my ass. "Congratulations." WuFei nodded. He ran a hand through his long bangs. "It's because
of her, isn't it? You're 'just the bartender now' for her, right?" He nodded once more. Duo cleared his throat and dropped the cigarette butt
into his drink. "Well, mister bartender, I'd like to talk to
your 'associates' now, about that loan." "I'm sorry, Duo," Replied the Asian man. "Even
if I would allow you to ruin your life for this fuck-up kid, there
is no point in talking to my associates. We can't swing that kind
of money. This is a family business like any other; small time. Like
you are small time. At best we could loan you a fraction of the amount
you owe, but you know Tsubarov, he never goes for payments in installments.
He'll just consider it interest and you would still owe him the full
one twenty-five." Duo bowed his head forward. He struggled with tears
that threatened to spill. He had already left himself more vulnerable
and exposed than he was comfortable with, he didn't want WuFei to
see him cry as well. "I'm sorry, Duo. I know how much you love him." "Yeah," He croaked in reply. "It's a
habit of mine. Loving the wrong people." WuFei cast his glance sideways and clenched his jaw.
He should his head then wondered blandly: "So what are you going
to do about this mess with J.J.?" Duo sighed. "I can't let them kill him. Maybe we
could run?" He shook his head at his own suggestion. Even though
they had nothing of importance tying them to this God forsaken city,
they had nowhere else to go either and Tsubarov would love to have
his men hunt them down. Playing hide and seek with the Russian gang
for the rest of their lives was not something either of them had the
finances for. "I'll ask around. See if there is something going
down that you could get in on. What is your deadline?" "Labor Day." He cursed under his breath. "It's
hopeless. Isn't it?" WuFei pursed his lips. "I'll ask around,"
He repeated, rather than confirming Duo's worst fears. "Don't bother," Duo said defeated. He knew
there was no way there was a big enough job going on in the short
amount of time that they had that they could still cash in on. "There
is only one thing I can do. Find someone else to lend the money from." "I really don't think that is a good idea." Duo shrugged. "Tough luck. I'm all out of good
ideas." He nodded at his glass in front of him, his cigarette
butt floating in the liquid. "How much do I owe you?" "It's on the house." "Thanks." He hoisted himself out of the barstool
and dragged his feet towards the exit, feeling WuFei's pitiful gaze
burning holes in his back. He found his way back home feeling drained and discouraged.
In the darkness of his studio apartment he noticed the red, blinking
light of his answering machine. He lowered himself down onto the floor,
leaning his back against the side of the bed and took the apparatus
into his lap. "You have… one… new message. Play…
new message." Following the beep J.J.'s breathy chuckle crackled through
the line. "Hey, bro. I'm just calling… Just checking…
Did you talk to the Motherfucking Asshole yet? Anyway, let me know
about whatever payment plan you figured out with those guys. Seriously,
I'm gonna help you pay it back. I swear to God. I really appreciate
this, dude…You are going to Heaven for sure," Another chuckle.
"I love you, man. Bye." "To delete message… press-" "Fuck!" He grabbed the machine, pulled the
chord out of the socket and threw the thing at the wall, silencing
the mechanical voice. If only he could crawl in bed, hide and let fate take
its course – it was about all he had energy for. But despite the young man's rampant stupidity that always
got them into trouble, he couldn't let him go, no matter how much
he wished he could. J.J. was the only family he had. When Jared's
actual brother, Andrew Jensen, the only friend Duo had ever known,
died, Duo inherited the responsibilities of taking care of the kid,
who was only ten years old at that point. When he promised Andrew
to keep the rambunctious boy safe he didn't suspect he would grow
to be such a self-destructive young man, but he could never blame
him for his behavior, after losing his big brother the way he had. He resented the dawning realization that he had disappointed
Andrew – or A.J. as he was always called. He felt like a complete
failure for letting his friend down like that. Little Jared had been
A.J.'s priority – struggling to provide for his younger brother
was what drove him to criminal endeavors to begin with – but
he was kind enough to take the adolescent Duo Maxwell under his wing
as well. He showed him how to be a survivor in a world where everybody
wants to see you become a failure and victimize you for financial
profit or personal gain. If it hadn't been for A.J.'s help, Duo was
certain he would have ended up dead in a gutter long ago. He always
wondered what A.J.'s fate would have been if he hadn't stepped in
that day when he saw those gang bangers harassing a homeless kid with
a messy braid. Perhaps if he had walked a different path he wouldn't
have come across a dead end and J.J. wouldn't have been this messed-up
kid. Perhaps a brighter future had been sacrificed for the sake of
a scrawny street rat. And look at that street rat now, Duo thought sorely.
What a self-made-man! What an inspiring success-story! Early thirties
going on early grave, with nothing to show for his life. He couldn't fault J.J. for being a screw-up, that would
be hypocritical. When life has dealt you a piss-poor hand, you have
been given no choice but to cheat, it's as simple as that. That's
what A.J. always said. J.J. was just trying to make it work, living
by his biological big brother's philosophy that was passed on to him
via his adoptive big brother. He was no different from Duo but for
the fact that it didn't work out for him. They weren't different at
all, Duo knew, although he'd be damned to admit that to J.J. The only
difference between them was the difference between bad luck and worse
luck. He had to save him. He was just a kid! A.J. had entrusted
him with his life. He didn't return J.J.'s call and he couldn't face him
either. If he rang the doorbell and Duo happened to be home –
which he hardly ever was -, he pretended not to be. First, he had
to line up a solution to the problem, he couldn't even stand the thought
of having to look J.J. in the eyes and admit to him that he had failed. Unfortunately, it wasn't easy finding someone who could
loan him such a tidy sum. Most seedy people he managed to come into
contact with actually worked for the widespread Russian gang. They
couldn't loan him the money because he would be paying Tsubarov back
with his own Goddamn money. Others were just punk-ass small-timers
– not unlike Duo himself, in that regard – trolling the
street corners. They were eager to do business with him until they
laughed at him once he divulged how much he needed. Not even if he
would loan small amounts from each and every one of them would the
total sum be enough. Not even close. As he made his way from one end of the city to the other,
he rolled promising looking targets along the way, realizing more
and more every day that he had no choice but to scrounge up as much
money as possible that way, because the idea of a solve-all-problems-loan
was falling through; falling like a ton of bricks in his gut. The
pay-off was always disappointing - how could it not be, considering
the pricetag hanging over his head? His desperation drove him to bold
acts, which, in a two week span, almost got him caught three times.
He never took risks like that, but he was left with no choice. He
had vomited in an abandoned alley after escaping one of his marks
who caught on he was being rolled. The enraged man chased him for
four blocks until Duo finally managed to shake him, but not before
the surprisingly spry older fellow had nearly caught him, grabbing
the sleeve of the pickpocket's jacket. To get away Duo had to pull
so hard the fabric ripped. In that moment he was confronted with a
brief flash of himself in handcuffs, being escorted to jail. He wasn't
too concerned about his own freedom anymore, but what was to become
of J.J. without him to help him? He came home and shook his ruined jacket off his shoulder
– he could hardly afford to invest in a new one. They had looked
at him oddly when he showed up at the bank looking all disheveled.
Duo knelt on the floor and pulled up the floorboard under which his
secret emergency stash was hidden. He counted the money and added
it to the full amount he had withdrawn from the bank, which had been
less than his initial estimate. It all added up to fifteen thousand
dollars – if he rounded up generously. He knew he could get about
thirty thousand total from the loan sharks he had talked to and perhaps
he could convince WuFei to let him do business with his 'associates'
for about the same amount. He sat back with a defeated sigh. Even in the best case
scenario he would still be short something in the vicinity of fifty
thousand dollars, with only three weeks – no, less than three
weeks – left to bridge the gap. Not enough time. If he knew how
to earn that amount of money in three weeks' time both his and J.J.'s
life would have looked very different and they wouldn't be in this
mess. He flinched severely at an unexpected knock on his apartment
door. "Bro, it's me. Let me in." Sounded J.J.'s
muffled voice. "Your neighbor let me up," He explained.
"She's hot bro, why didn't you ever introduce us?" He chuckled,
then rifled his fist on the locked door again. "Come on, man,
I know you're in there." With a groan he pushed himself up from the floor, not
bothering to hide the money. Normally he would worry about J.J. stealing
some cash, but that wasn't much of a concern now, he intended to spend
every penny to keep the young man alive anyway. He unlocked the door
and stepped aside to let the visitor in. "Seriously bro, why didn't you tell me your neighbor
is so fucking hot?" Duo shook his head. "She's a prostitute." J.J. shrugged. "So?" "She's a tranny prostitute." His face paled, which would have been comical if their
predicament had been different. "Yikes. He did a good job though,
seriously couldn't tell." With a roll of his eyes Duo corrected: "You shouldn't
refer to her as 'he'." He frowned. "And what the fuck do
you mean you couldn't tell? She has an Adam's apple the size of a
baseball." "Didn't notice," J.J. brushed off casually
and installed himself on the couch. "So you've been hiding from
me…" He stated. "I needed some time. Without you nagging and yapping
in my ear all the Goddamn time." "Right. And how has that been working out for you?" Duo turned his back to him, occupying himself by getting
a drink. "Fine. I have everything under control." "Really?" "Yeah. WuFei is going to get me that loan and then…"
He sighed. "Everything will be fine." "Huh… That's not what he said." The older man spun around. "What? Who?" "The 'Motherfucking Asshole' – or I guess
it's just 'WuFei' now?" "It's more succinct," He replied dryly. "Well, anyway, he told me that his guys weren't
going to give you the loan." He grinned, as if the consequences
of that stated fact weren't incredibly grave, just bemused at having
caught his brother in a lie. "Yeah? What else did he say to you?" "That I'm ruining your life," He quipped. Duo snorted and took he drink. "He always way terribly
observant," He deadpanned. He approached the couch and lowered
himself down onto the cushions with a sigh. He leaned his head back
and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't make eye-contact as he said:
"I'm sorry J.J., I tried everything. I don't know what to do." "Don't give up now!" J.J. playfully punched him in the stomach, blissfully ignorant of the punishment that hung over both their heads. "WuFei told me he had been asking around if anyone
was pulling a job we could get in on." He furrowed his brows and tilted his head to look at
his little brother in surprise. "He found something?" "Nope." Duo grunted. "Than what the fuck are you so upbeat
about?" He shook his head and looked away. "Never mind.
You're fucking high again." "I am high, but that's not why I am so 'upbeat'.
Well, not only why." He adjusted in his seat, turning his body
to face Duo. "I found us a job." Duo chuckled grimly. "This will be good." "WuFei came looking for me because apparently you
hadn't been answering your phone or returning his calls-" "I'm experiencing technical difficulties with my
answering machine." J.J. continued unfazed: "He had been asking around,
but he couldn't find anything short notice. But it was important to
him to let you know that he tried… oh and to let you know I'm
fucking up your life, of course." "Of course." "But I was thinking to myself: Of course he can't
fucking find any jobs! He's out of the game, he doesn't know what
is going on anymore! And people don't trust him anymore now that he
is practically a reformed man. So I hit the clubs -" "It's where you do your best work." Was the
sarcastic interjection. "Will you stop interrupting me?" J.J. insisted
before continuing: "So I hit the clubs, started talking to some
guys and… well… I found something. Something big." Duo rubbed his tired eyes. "Does it seem too good
to be true?" "Yeah, it's like a fucking miracle!" "Then it is too good to be true." J.J. jumped up from the couch and exclaimed angrily:
"Why do you always have to be so Goddamn cynical and condescending!
I'm not a kid anymore!" Mood swings. Great, thought Duo. "If you're not
a kid anymore, than you take the fucking job and pay off that debt
your-fucking-self!" "I can't!" He plopped back down on the couch
with an exasperated sigh. "They need someone like you!" "Someone like me?" He mirrored skeptically. "A conman. I don't know. That mind-voodoo thing
you do; knowing what people are thinking and what they want. That's
what the job still needs. And this guy said that if I could find him
someone like that, someone who doesn't have a criminal record, than
I could join the team as well. And you've got to be one of the only
guys I know that has never been arrested, much less convicted of anything." Duo sighed and buried his face in his hand. "I
don't do big jobs," He mumbled routinely. He had always avoided
the risk, to the point where he had started to doubt if he could even
pull it off. "Not even when my life is at stake?" J.J.
challenged. The long-haired man looked up, bit his lip and then
inquired reluctantly, resigning to his fate: "So what's the job?" J.J.'s face formed a relieved smile. He reached into his pocket and produced a business card with a just a name and a cellphone number on it. He held it out to his big brother and announced excitedly: "You should talk to this guy."
|
