Dorado

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chapter five
  

           Halfway into the second week, Beck was ready to tear out his hair in frustration. Just like he had predicted, they had been worked to the bone, and mostly because Joy couldn’t grasp her character until the sixth or seventh take. Every day had ended well into the night and usually left Beck too exhausted to go KING hunting.

           Thursday, however, was their scheduled day off and Beck used the afternoon to work out. He rode down in the lift wearing only sweats and a wife beater, silently hoping that there would be no one there. It was a little hard finding the room since the lobby was split into two levels. Beck wandered around for a while, following the signs on the wall, until he ended up somewhere in a deep, dark corridor. There was only one set of heavy wooden doors in front of him and he glanced around before pushing them open.

           The sudden bright light made him squint as he slipped in. He stood in the glass buffer zone, rubbing at the corner of his eye while he tried to see if there was anyone already there. To his surprise, the gym was much better equipped than he’d expected.

           There were TVs placed all along the wall but as Beck watched the reporter’s mouth move, no sound came out. He walked down the length of the room, picking out machines he would use before he came to a stop in front of the treadmills. Picking one at random, he stepped onto the belt and frowned at the miniature TV that was built into thing. He peeked into the small bins beside it, hoping to find a remote but settled for reaching over and switching the screen off. It was still early in the afternoon, so Beck began with a slow jog and his mind began to drift.

           He had picked up running shortly after Samantha was killed. After hours of lying awake with restless energy, he’d simply gotten up and left for a walk. His feet took him in circles, up the street and paused in front of the wire fence. Beck stood there for hours, hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at the mounds of rubble. They must have disconnected all of the electricity because at one point Beck found himself leaning against the fence, his hand gripping the wire tightly. He stepped back and looked down at the dark lines that had been rubbed off onto his skin. He rubbed two fingers together and it smeared in a creamy texture.

           Ash.

           Beck started scrubbing furiously at the black lines but they only smeared, covering more of his skin until his palms were evenly coated in grey. His feet took a few steps away and suddenly they were flying over pavement. He ran endlessly, not stopping for a drink or a rest. When he finally rounded the corner of Mather’s Media, he braced himself against the white marble walls and vomited what little breakfast he had managed to take in that morning. Exhausted, he slid down to a crouch, his hands leaving a dark trail.

           It was like he was running from his problems, escaping everything that haunted him on a daily basis.

           “Beck…”

           His feet pounded hard on the belt. Beck could still hear her calling for him.

           “Beck?”

           He clenched his eyes shut tighter, wheezing slightly. Maybe this was his way of punishing himself, hearing her voice every time he tri-

           “Beck!”

           Beck’s eyes shot open with a jolt and he missed a step. The belt continued moving under him, pulling his feet with it.

           Oh Shi-! He flung his arms out, hoping to catch the edge but his fingers failed to catch any purchase on the smooth plastic. Goodbye, cruel world, it was brief but-

           But warms arms wrapped around his middle and pulled him away from the murderous treadmill. He leaned back into the hard chest, heart still racing.

           “Are you all right?” a deep, familiar voice rumbled into his hair. Beck nodded and got to his feet with Jonathan’s help.

           “Sorry about that,” the older man said, his scrutinizing gaze running over Beck as though to pick out injuries.

           Beck rubbed his shoulder self-consciously. “It’s not your fault,” he muttered. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

           There was a pregnant pause and Beck could feel his cheeks start to burn under Jonathan’s inspection. “Thanks,” he added and slung his towel over his shoulder.

           “Sure thing,” the man gave him a pat on the arm. “Don’t get killed, now.” He nodded, backing away. Jonathan gave him a small smile before stepping onto the treadmill next to the one Beck had just vacated.

           I’m an idiot. Beck sat down on the bench by the weights. Why don’t you try and make things more awkward than they already are? He sighed and picked up a pair of dumbbells.

           Just don’t think about it, he decided, but in no time he found his eyes gravitating towards Jonathan. It was only the two of them in the room and the older man was running with his back to Beck, seemingly absorbed in his exercise. His basketball shorts rode up to reveal gently tanned thighs.

           Beck stared at the man’s legs before turning to look at his own. About the same, he mused, ignoring the fact that Jonathan’s legs were longer than his. Feeling slightly better, Beck returned to lifting the weights with a renewed vigor.

           He was almost through his second set when a shadow fell over him.

           “Hey,” Jonathan said, dropping down onto the bench next to Beck.

           He nodded back, lifting the weights in each hand a few more times before replacing them on the rack. A thin layer of sweat made the cloth of his tank cling to him and he rubbed the towel over the back of his neck. “Hey,” he finally returned.

           Jonathan crunched the water bottle in his hand a few times. “Would you mind sparring with me? I mean, I usually do it with Mason but that twat’s slow as fuck today.”

           Beck contemplated the request, scrubbing the towel through his hair. “Uh…maybe that’s not a good idea.”

           “Why not?” The man grinned. “I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

           He snorted. “Please. I’ll have you on your back screaming ‘mercy’ without breaking a sweat.”

           Jonathan’s face flushed an interesting red and he cleared his throat. “So is that a yes?” he asked, running a hand over his through his short brown hair.

           Beck shrugged. “Sure,” he agreed and followed a grinning Jonathan to the small, raised platform by the windows.

           “Upper body or whole?” Beck asked, toeing off his trainers and peeling away his socks. He ducked under the ropes, feet tingling as they came in contact with the cold plastic surface. Hopping from foot to foot to get his circulation going, he watched Jonathan roll his shoulders and stretch. The plastic mat was comfortably firm under his weight and he cracked his knuckles, satisfied.

           “I think we can go all out,” Jonathan sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Ready?”

           Beck nodded and fell into a loose stance, watching as Jonathan did the same. They circled each other slowly, neither making the first move.

           Finally, Jonathan shot forward, fist aimed at his chin. Beck neatly sidestepped him and ducked low, gripping both hands around the front of Jonathan’s knee and pulling. The older man flew forward with a shout, landing heavily on his side. He kicked out a foot, catching Beck in the back and sending his sprawling across the mat. The plastic rubbed uncomfortably against his skin and left behind a sharp burn. Beck rolled to the side and shot to his feet but Jonathan landed a blow to his cheek. He stumbled backwards and the man crowded into his space, lifting his fist. Beck managed to throw his arm up at the last second, deflecting the hit and grabbing Jonathan’s upper arm as he stumbled by, twisting it sharply behind his back and up. He thumped the heel of his palm against the man’s back, but his shorter height put him at a disadvantage as he had to strike upwards and thus his hit had significantly less force. Jonathan spun with the strike, dislodging his arm and mimicked the maneuver. Beck hissed under his breath as his shoulder strained painfully when Jonathan twisted his arm. He hooked one leg behind the older man’s knee and the other to push off the ground, using the momentum to bring them crashing backwards as he simultaneously relieved the pressure on his shoulder. They landed heavily, with Beck on top, and the man gave a pitiful groan. Concerned, Beck rolled off and turned to face him, only to find the man curled up and cupping his groin.

           “Oh, shit, I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying for a crotch shot. Are you all right?” Beck worried, kneeling over the man. Jonathan stilled when Beck hovered over him and cracked open one eye.

           “Yeah.” With a sudden smirk he launched himself at Beck and they rolled for a few feet, a tangled mess of arms and legs.

           The came to a stop at the edge of the sweat-slicked platform, with Jonathan straddling Beck’s waist and pinning his arms above his head.

           “You-you cheated!” Beck panted, trying to catch his breath. “That was a total bluff!”

           Jonathan chuckled and flicked the tip of Beck’s nose. “Now, now, Beck,” he said in a patronizing voice. “Anything can happen. You shouldn’t be so trusting; it’ll get you hurt.”

           He huffed angrily and tried to wriggle his way out from under the man. “It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t fight dirty. Let me up already.”

           The older man looked uncomfortable with his squirming and shifted sideways but didn’t release Beck’s arms. “That was hardly dirty,” Jonathan argued. “I’d say a kick to the cro-.”

           “What are you guys doing?” an incredulous voice sounded. Beck turned his head sideways and started when he realized Mason’s face was only inches from his. The wide blue gaze was like a punch to his gut and he stiffened before looking back at Jonathan.

           The man looked between the two of them before standing and offering a hand to him. Beck ignored it, opting instead to roll onto his knees and push himself up.

           “If you’ll excuse me,” he said in a tight voice. He ducked under the rope without waiting for a response and tried not to run on his way out of the room.

  
&
  

           “What a dick,” Mason grumbled under his breath as he watched the door swing shut behind Beck. Jonathan frowned and stepped over the ropes before jumping to the ground.

           “Don’t say that,” he protested, slinging his towel over his shoulder. “You probably just scared him.”

           Mason rolled his eyes. “If he was scared, at most he’d maybe scream like a little girl for a few moments and then get over it. He didn’t have to run out of here like I was diseased.”

           “Lord knows you might be.”

           He glared at Jonathan. “What?”

           The older man gave him an innocent look. “Hm? I didn’t say anything.”

           Picking up his water bottle, he snorted. “Yeah, right. Want to get going?”

           Jonathan gave him a strange stare. “I thought you were going to exercise.”

           “I did, while you were groping Mr. Sticks-Up-My-Arse,” he pushed the doors open and stepped out into the dark hallway.

           “I wasn’t groping him,” Jonathan huffed, brushing by. They stumbled through the barely lit hallway, stopping in front of the lifts.

           Mason shrugged. “All right; humping.”

           His friend rolled his eyes before stepping into the small metal cage and pressing the small rounded three. Showers were a short affair and they wandered down to the dining hall a little after six.

           “I don’t get why you try to hang around him so much,” Mason complained as the waiter placed two bottles of beer in front of them. “He acts like an uptight snot most of the time.”

           Jonathan took a small sip. “I think he’s kind of nice. He’s just..misunderstood.” Mason scoffed. “At least he’s not an actual asshole like you.”

           “Me? An asshole?” He gave Jonathan a haughty look. “You need to have your eyes checked.”

           “I’d rather not,” the man muttered into his bottle. “Don’t need to see what you actually look like. Have you read your file yet?”

           He opened his mouth to answer but the waiter returned with their entrees. “Of course,” he said when the man finally left after cracking an insane amount of pepper onto their pasta. “

           “What do you think the potential is?” Jonathan stabbed his fork through a few pieces of fusilli.

           “Of what? Finding MH-6?” Mason swallowed a mouthful of the curly pasta. “Hey, this stuff’s not bad.”

           Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Stick to the topic.” He took another sip of his beer.

           “I don’t know,” Mason sighed, spearing a quartered piece of cherry tomato. “They don’t extend out of the States, but I’m pretty sure we’re baiting them into it. If none of this goes right, they might take Europe, too.”

           “I agree. Your father is making a pretty risky move with this. You know that team that raided the pharmaceuticals building? They almost didn’t make it out. Security caught them at the last second and managed to shoot down about a third of the team.”

           Mason frowned, swallowing another mouthful of pasta. “I heard. Father was up the entire night screaming his head off into the phone, trying to figure out if they got out with the ‘products’ all right. I’d move out of the fucking place if he wasn’t so set on having me inherit everything.”

           “And your file?” the man asked for the umpteenth time.

           He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, my file. It doesn’t say much. He’s convinced that MH-6 agents are mixed into the crew here with us. I’m supposed to weed them out and either turn them in to the agency or kill them myself. As paranoid as the idea sounds, I kind of believe it. I’ve sent out a few scouts to keep an eye on who comes and goes around here; hopefully they’ll be able to pull out a few good tips.”

           “Decent start.” Jonathan pushed his empty plate away. “Scouts are good, but don’t go running off on your own after every plausible tip like last time,” he said with a pointed glance. “Your father hired me to keep you safe for a reason.”

           Mason drained the last of his beer. “Yeah, to protect me when I was six. You’d think you could trust me to be on my own after twenty-three years of baby-sitting. Besides, old man, I think I’ll have to start protecting you soon. You run slower than me!”

           “That was once,” Jonathan said. “And I’m hardly an ‘old man’.”

           “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that when you hit on Beck.” He burst out laughing. “I swear the guy is younger than me!”

  
&
  

           Beck huddled further into the seat, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Without a bright, hot sun overhead, the winter cold was intensified. He peeked out the window again.

           To make things even worse, he couldn’t really on the car’s air system for heat. Beck gave the dashboard a longing gaze. The rental wasn’t the same as his own car, but it was usable so he had no complaints other than the seats were as hard as rock.

           They feel like they’re carved from stone. Beck shifted uncomfortably, sliding a little lower. Even if the windows were tinted, he didn’t want to risk being seen. That in itself hardly seemed like an issue, because in the six and a half hours he’d been in the car, only a handful of people had actually walked by. He always hated going on these stake-outs; sitting motionless for hours was not something he was good at. Beck turned his eyes toward the large building. It was a red brick building that stood out among the more modern marble and stone style of neighboring buildings, but maybe it’s old-style nostalgia paid off because it was one of the few still standing. Even in the dark Beck could make out the ominously charred sides of the building. There were six floors, not particularly impressive for such a large bank corporation, and the top level was still lit.

           Beck pressed his fingers to his lips, breathing slowly over them to return some feeling into his hands. Every curtain was drawn, but he could still see a silhouette moving through the room. That same silhouette had been up there for what Beck could only assume hours longer than he had spent hiding in the small rental across the street.

           Just as Beck contemplated leaving for the night, a limo passed by slowly, it’s tinted windows gleaming brightly in the moonlight. Beck ducked down as it did, counting slowly to five before he peeked back out over the dashboard. The limo, only slightly longer than an average car, had pulled to a stop in front of the bank and only inches away from Beck’s hiding place. He glanced back up at the building’s windows, alarmed to find them dark. There was movement below, however, where a figure draped in a long dark coat stepped out from the heavy wooden doors. A car door slammed, making Beck twitch reflexively as the driver bound up the steps to lock the doors, his cap perched at a precarious angle on his head. The other man approached the limo in controlled and smooth strides and Beck took the moment to take in his features.

           Victor Macias looked nothing like the man in the photo George had shown him. The curly, dark locks, not unlike Beck’s, brushed against the man’s forehead as the wind played gently with his hair. His equally dark eyes were deep set and severe when they scanned the area around the car. A thin goatee outlined the man’s lips, accenting his angular jaw and Beck caught sight of a small glint in the Victor’s earlobe before he disappeared into the limo. The rear lights burned bright before the limo started forward. Beck waited for it to reach the end of the block before turning over the engine of his rental. The small monster purred to life and he edged slowly away from the curb, following behind the limo at a reasonable distance.

           It was hard keeping track of the other car since streetlights were few and far apart. More than once the only guide he had was the acid red brake lights. He drove carefully, stopping the car in the shadows of buildings while allowing the limo to continue further ahead, making sure he never drove close enough to be within two streets of the limo but not so far away that he lost his targets.

           Which is exactly what he did. After nearly forty-five minutes of labyrinth driving, the limo pulled to a stop in front of a small clothing shop. Beck did the same, turning off the engine a street away and watched. The driver emerged from the front and dashed to the front door, where he seemed to knock rather urgently. Beck glanced back to the limo but he couldn’t see the banker through the smokey windows. The shop door swung open and the driver was handed two white boxes from an unseen figure. Before Beck could catch a glimpse, the door closed and the driver was back at the limo, slipping into the front with the packages. The car jerked quickly forward and disappeared from view.

           “Fuck!” Beck fumbled with the keys for a few precious seconds before he turned them. He cruised forward, mindful of the rubble on the street since he left his headlights off. There was no easier way to alert someone of his presence than with blinding lights. Turning the corner, he realized the limo was no longer on the same street. Beck drove to the intersection and looked both ways.

           Shit, where could they have gone this fast? He kept moving forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the red lights before the limo got too far away. Every street looked exactly like the last: cold, dark and empty. Maybe I should give up. I’m already lost.

           Beck turned one last corner and glanced into the rearview mirror and nearly drove off the road in shock. The limo was riding dangerously close to his tail and seemed completely indifferent to whether or not it was seen.

           How long have they been following me? He felt a stir of fear in his gut but it was almost immediately encompassed by anger. Anger at himself for being so easily caught. Beck slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and the car shot forward in a burst of dust. When he looked back up the limo was growing smaller and smaller behind him. They weren’t even trying to chase him; all they had wanted to do was let him know that they knew he was following them. His fingers clenched tightly around the steering wheel as he jerked the car into another sharp turn. He could see the banker’s mocking smile in his head, looking down at him as though he were just another incompetent fool to be knocked off the board. I’ll show him what true terror is.

           He just had to find his way back to the hotel first.

  
  

           He could have sworn he was only in bed for twenty measly seconds before the alarm dragged him back from the land of nod.

           Beck shuffled into the supermarket with his camera balanced on his shoulder. Every part of his body screamed with exhaustion but he ignored them, focused instead on making his feet move one in front of the other.

           One step, two step. One step, two step. One ste-

           “You don’t look very well.” Beck gave Jonathan a blank stare, having lost count. Late nights never affected him much, but he had spent a great chunk of the early morning trying to find his way back to the hotel. He could only be angry at himself as he had been poorly prepared; he hadn’t even thought to bring a city map, although the ones that he would have been able to find would probably all be outdated and inaccurate.

           Jonathan reached for the camera and he relinquished it gratefully. “Didn’t sleep well,” he mumbled. The older man made a sympathetic noise as they walked down the aisle. Beck eyed the puffed bags, tempted by their promise of sugar and fat even though he knew they were only props filled with air. He sighed heavily, poking a few as they passed.

           “Whoa, someone looks like shit,” Mason said in almost genuine surprise. He was standing by his own mounted camera and seemed relatively refreshed and energized.

           “I look nothing like you,” Beck snapped in return. He was dead tired and seeing the man look so... chipper did nothing for his mood. Mason raised his hands in defense and edged away. “Just saying the truth.”

           Beck pushed by. “Keep it to yourself,” he muttered, stalking past the frozen dinners. Jonathan trailed behind him, chuckling.

           “You are quite the fireball when you’re angry,” he commented, holding the camera loosely in one hand while Beck set up his mount.

           He sighed, clicking a leg into place. “I’m sorry,” Beck took the camera from Jonathan. “I don’t mean to be so rude to you or Mason.”

           “I don’t mind,” the older man said, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets. “And I’m pretty sure Mason’s glad to have another person to bitch at.”

           Beck cracked a smile at that and Jonathan gave him a pat on the shoulder. “There you go. I’ll talk to you later.” He gave him a small grin before turning down the aisle not a moment too soon.

           “Places!” Cynthia called out and everyone scattered in a rush. Beck popped off the lens cap and tucked it into his back jean pocket for later. A young woman edged into view and as he adjusted the clarity he realized she was clutching a small black board. “Action!”

           The woman held up the board and clapped the slates together rather weakly before darting away.

           Jonathan was making his down the shop aisle, pausing every now and then to pick up an item that caught his eye. He picked up a can of soup and turned it about in his hand with a contemplative look before dropping it into his hand-basket.

           Beck tracked his movement slowly, careful not to jerk even though his mind was clouded with thoughts of sleep. Nice, wonderful sleep. His mind felt dull as Joy came into view.

           Jonathan looked up from a bag of crisps and his eyes fell on Joy, who stood a little ways down on the other side of the aisle. He watched her in surprise but quickly smoothed his expression over with a nonchalant smirk as he pretended to browse, edging closer and closer.

           She tucked a strand of wavy hair behind her ear, too absorbed in her shopping to notice him approach.

           “Hey,” he called out and her head shot up quickly. There was a loud clatter and then several hollow clangs. Joy cringed at the sharp noise.

           “Cut! Someone replace those cans,” Cynthia called, a hint of weariness in her neutral tone. Beck couldn’t blame her; it certainly seemed like a prelude to many takes. Jonathan returned to his original position as the cans were returned to their place, stopping a few times himself to remove items from his basket and set them back with the others.

           “Let’s try this again: action!”

           He browsed through the stock with a hand scratching at his jaw. Bending back slightly, he glanced through the selection of canned soup before plucking one from the shelf. Satisfied with his choice, Jonathan moved further along the aisle and prodded bags of crisps with a curious finger. None seemed appetizing, so he continued on his journey, glancing up briefly only to find himself transfixed. Joy stood just across from him, separated by a metal frame. She didn’t seem to notice Jonathan, however, and was preoccupied with brightly colored bag of candy.

           “Hi,” he said, the plastic bags crinkling as he leaned in slightly. There was a pregnant pause where she continued to stare at the package in her hands, seemingly unaware of his presence. Jonathan watched her for a moment, confused, and a flash of irritation briefly flickered across his expression.

           “Hello?” He tried a little louder and she jumped in surprise, the bag of candy falling from her grip.

           “Cut!”

           Jonathan rolled his eyes in exasperation and stalked back to his starting place. Beck had to stifle a laugh at the expression of annoyance clearly shown on the older man’s face.

           “Slater, you’re filming, all right? So try and stay focused; there’s not much else going on,” Cynthia admonished, pinching the bridge of her nose. A small wave of laughter came from the crew and Joy colored.

           “Third take. Action!”

           Jonathan’s expression slid easily from irritated to casual and relaxed as he sauntered past the food. For the third time, he picked up the same cans and bags with the same curious expression before he came to a stop in front of Joy.

           “Hey,” he breathed, and she actually glanced up with an appropriate look of surprise.

           Beck could almost feel the relief rolling off of Cynthia. He grinned to himself. Wait for it…

           “Hi,” Joy returned shyly, leaning forward. It was almost perfect until a lock of her hair got caught in the wire framing and she jerked back with a grimace of pain. She had underestimated the frame’s grip on her hair because she pulled back too strongly and wobbled dangerously on her heels before disappearing behind the shelf with a crash. Even Beck cringed at the sound.

           Jonathan, however, glared at the space where she had just been standing. “Cut!” he barked out in a frustrated voice and dropped his hand-basket, which fell onto its side and cans of mushroom soup and chicken rice rolled away. They all watched silently as he stormed away.”

           “Cut,” Cynthia repeated in a dry voice. “Let’s take ten, people.” Beck paused the recording and stepped over the wires, trying not to laugh. If anything, Joy’s lack of general ability had brightened his day. He traced Jonathan’s steps to the end of the aisle and found him standing alone at the island counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Beck sidled up beside the frowning man, working hard to keep a smile off of his face.

           He plucked a paper cup from the stand wordlessly and reached for the coffee pot, waiting for Jonathan to start.

           “That incompetent woman,” he growled, fingers clenched tight around his cup. “How can she need to have three takes just for a simple ‘hello’? Utterly useless! Whoever managed casting is terrible at it.”

           Beck refrained from commenting that whoever managed casting had also hired Jonathan.

           “If she continues to do this, Cynthia will need to either replace her or find a new actor.” They both knew it was an empty promise, but Jonathan plowed on. “The fact that we’ve only been shooting simple scenes for the past three weeks is scaring me! Imagine the trouble we’ll have after this. Unbelievable,” he scoffed into his coffee.

           Beck looked up at the ceiling in mock-contemplation as he stirred his coffee. “You could kill her,” he suggested. “Wrap her body in garbage bags and throw it into the ocean, weighed down by rocks. Cynthia can always give Mason a wig and hire him instead.” He took a sip of coffee.

           Jonathan stared at him in shock before he burst out laughing. A few other members turned to stare and he slapped a hand over his mouth and doubled over, his shoulders shaking.

           “You’re a funny kid, Beck,” he said once he’d calmed down. He straightened and turned to lean his back against the counter. “Thanks for that. I think I might have strangled her if you hadn’t.”

           He frowned in disappointment. “If you had said that earlier, I would have kept my distance.” Jonathan began laughing again, the coffee in his hand sloshing gently over the sides of the cup.

           “Please, stop before I manage to burn myself,” he protested, picking up some napkins to wipe his hands. Dropping the soiled paper into the garbage chute, Jonathan turned to Beck with a warm smile. “You do look dead on your feet. Too much fun at night, I guess?”

           Beck chuckled and shook his head, turning instead to watch the rest of the crew interact. His gaze fell on Joy and Mason. Or is it JoyMason, considering the woman has plastered herself onto him.

           His smile fell as he looked on in mild distaste. Joy had one hand on Mason’s arm and another touching his short blonde hair. Irritation welled up in him as she pressed against his chest and laughed carelessly. And the man was simply accepting her blatant passes in public!

           Jonathan followed his gaze and snorted, taking a gulp of coffee. “Regardless of her looks, I can feel nothing for that man but pity.”