Fic: A Father's Promise
A Father's Promise
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Disclaimer: Fiction based on fictional characters.
Summary: Arthur is dead and Eames seeks out to avenge his death.
Author's Notes: Alright, can someone please teach me how to write a sex scene? Anyone? I feel like this is crippling me as writer-the inability to write hot, filthy gay porn and I am so ready to write hot, filthy gay porn so please help me, pretty please.
A Father's Promise IV
Eames stood by the floor length window of the London flat of James Peterson and watched his body fall six stories to the concrete ground. Eames took one more swig of the whiskey before tossing it out the window, willing it to crash upon Peterson's bloodied body. Damn son of bitch called Arthur a whore and Eames could care less if he had any pertinent information about Arthur's death, he'd find the information elsewhere. Eames waved at Peterson- a sadistic smile graced his face- as he shut the window and crossed the stained concrete floor to leave the apartment. Downstairs, Yusuf waited for him and to say Eames was surprised would be a lie. Ever since Eames pardoned Yusuf seventy hours ago, Yusuf suddenly became Eames' shadow, following him everywhere.
"What are you doing here now?!" Eames barked at his former friend. "Don't make me regret not crushing your skull to a pulp."
"I have something that might be of interest for you, Eames," Yusuf told him.
Eames turned around abruptly and glared at Yusuf. He took three steps forward and Yusuf backed away one step, but caught himself on the second step, stilling himself.
"Not here. I booked a room at the Alexandra Hotel not too far from here. Or if you prefer we can go to your place."
"I sold the damn place a month ago with the intention of moving to New York to be with Arthur."
Yusuf didn't know what to say to Eames. He merely nodded and waited for Eames to join him in steps. They walked the three blocks in silence to the hotel. When they arrived at his room, Eames stalked the refrigerator in the kitchenette and cracked open a bottle of Heineken and spat out the alcohol.
"This tastes like shit."
"I know. Nothing like the hard liquor you're so used to," Yusuf responded.
"So, what do you have that I'm interested in?"
Yusuf patted the armrest of the couch. Eames took the cue and sat down. Yusuf plopped down next to him and flipped open his laptop. He turned it on and clicked on a url that he had bookmarked. He pressed the play button on the screen and rose to his feet to settle in the armchair across from Eames.
"It's the missing video," Yusuf began then paused to take a deep sigh, "of Arthur's death. It's a little grainy. You can't really see the face of the killer, but with your military background in reconnaissance, I think you might be able to track down the video to its original owner."
Eames nodded and whispered his thanks, closing the laptop. He knew every detail surrounding Arthur's death from the police reports; he didn't need to see it. He ripped the cord from the wall, snuck the laptop under the protection of his trench coat, and left the hotel room.
"Thank you," Eames muttered, again.
"No problem. I hope you'll find your peace," Yusuf replied, turning around to find Eames gone. "So Arthur may finally rest in peace," Yusuf added.
Yusuf was right about Eames tracking down the source of the video. Although reconnaissance experience or not, Eames would have tracked down the son of bitch regardless. The latest development in Arthur's murder brought Eames back to the US, specifically the town of Dayton in Nevada. He stalked the amateur porn distributor, Frank Lawrence, from his run down office right above the only Chinese restaurant in town to his apartment. Lawrence barely had the opportunity to hang up his coat when Eames barged in, wielding a hunting knife. Lawrence attempted to flee, but Eames was much too quick. In no time, Eames had Lawrence's arms twisted behind his back and the knife pressed against his neck.
"Don't fuckin' move or I'll slit your throat," Eames threatened.
Lawrence nodded. Eames set the knife down on the end table and whipped out the twined rope to bind Lawrence's wrists behind his back. Once Lawrence was bounded, Eames shoved him onto his couch. He flipped open his laptop and showed Lawrence the video he had uploaded onto a website notoriously known for snuff porn.
"Speak now. You have two minutes to tell me everything about this video."
"If I tell you, will you let me go?"
Eames laughed out loud. He leaned closer until his breath was within inches of Lawrence's ear. "If I were you, I wouldn't waste any more precious seconds bargaining. Now, tell me what you know about this video or I'll cut you open like the star of your latest video."
"I...I don't know," Lawrence stuttered, cowering away from Eames toward the end of the couch. "Some guy sold it to me over the internet and promised that I'll make more money than I would in an entire year. And he was right. After I uploaded the video to the site, the membership to my website skyrocketed. I've been getting thousands of hits every hour. And many of the members wanted an actual hard copy of the video, too."
Eames shook his head in disgust as he clenched his fists on the sides. "Name."
"What's his fuckin' name?!" Eames charged at Lawrence, grabbing the collar of his shirt. Lawrence's eyes widen in terror. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. "One last time, what's his fuckin' name?"
"I don't remember," Lawrence finally admitted.
"What do you mean? You don't fuckin' remember his name."
"Look, I deal with so many clients on a daily basis. I can't possibly remember every one of them."
"Try harder!" Eames yelled, wrapping his hand around Lawrence's neck.
Lawrence shrieked- flailing on the couch, trying to knock Eames off the couch. Eames successfully pinned him down to the couch, immobilizing him. Through labored breaths, he managed to tell Eames that if Eames let him go, he could go through his bank statement for the transaction detail. Eames reluctantly let Lawrence go.
"What bank?" Eames asked.
"I'm not giving you my bank information," Lawrence countered.
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice here, my friend."
Lawrence relented and dictated to Eames the information he needed to access his bank account. Lawrence was a busy entrepreneur, buying and selling hardcore porn in the hundreds everyday. Despite the congested list of transactions, one name caught Eames' attention more than any of them. Nash, but it couldn't be. Last he heard, Nash was crippled when Cobol broke every bone in his legs and hips. Nash couldn't possibly be Arthur's killer, but he may very well be the architect of Arthur's demise. Eames shut down the laptop and stood up. He fired a shot at the laptop and then turned around to glare down at Lawrence. When Lawrence saw the upturn of Eames' wrist with the gun in his hand, he started to beg.
"Please, don't kill me. Please." When no amount of begging seemed to faze Eames, Lawrence resorted to yelling instead. "Fuck you! We had a deal. I tell you everything and you let me go."
"I said I won't cut you, but I never said anything about shooting you," Eames replied. He raised the gun and fired one shot in between Lawrence's eyes. "This is for exploiting his death, you sick fuck!"
Eames tucked his gun back in his jacket and strolled out of Lawrence's apartment, locking it behind him. Multiple calls were coming in- all of which he ignored. He didn't have time to answer any phone calls. He had an old friend to visit before the new dawn.
Eames drove at speeds upwards to a hundred miles per hour with no rest other than the occasional bathroom breaks, still Eames was too late. In contrast to Arthur's brownstone apartment the day he was murdered, there were telling signs of an intruder all over Nash's one story bungalow house in Long Beach. Nash's wheelchair lay hazardously on the front lawn. The sidelight was broken. The front door was opened ajar. The couch was flipped upside down. The lamps were shattered on the floor. Newspapers were scattered about the floor. Eames followed the path of destruction to Nash's bedroom; a window broken through which his laptop was thrown. Nash was nowhere to be found. Upon a closer look, Eames noticed the bathroom door had been busted open. He pushed open the door quietly. Lying in his own blood in the bathtub was Nash. He was cradling a bloody wound in his stomach and right thigh. He was slowly bleeding to death. Eames smiled delightfully as he kneeled down beside the bathtub.
"Tell me who wanted to shut you up and I'll end your suffering."
Other than his labored breathing, Nash remained unresponsive. To draw Nash's attention, Eames reached into the wound in his stomach and pushed his finger inside. He twisted his finger inside deeper and deeper until suddenly Nash opened his eyes wide. He grabbed a hold of Eames' wrist and stilled it. With his other hand, Nash dipped his finger in the pool of blood. He managed to trace the letters C, O, B, B with his blood before giving Eames the finger. Eames laughed out loud and as promised fired one single bullet right between Nash's eyes. He turned on the shower and let the hot water pound against Nash's body, washing away the blood.
On his way to his car, Eames kicked away Nash's wheelchair to the curb and climbed into his car. When his cell phone rang, again, Eames answered. It was Winters with new information.
"Any developments that I haven't already figured out yet?" Eames said into the receiver.
"The DNA results are back," she told him. "Does the name Dominick Cobb sound familiar to you at all?"
"No, not all," Eames said as he exited Interstate 710 onto Highway 1 along the California Coast towards Malibu, where Cobb had relocated his children to.
Closing Notes: To read all my fics including this one and other Inception Slash stories, visit Aphrodite's Labyrinth. There you'll also find stories inspired by the sparkly boys of 'Nsync like the classic, "A Tale of Two of Boybands", first archived here a decade ago, and some stories inspired by my current muse, Jason Castro. For a complete collection of Jason Castro slash, vist my author's page at Castrofics.