Blood and Bullets

"And you want us to pluck that thorn," the blond one of the pair
said. Slighter in frame and shorter, he seemed more of a kid than a young man
but the tone he used quickly disabused Nigel Fontaine of that notion.

"You came highly recommended," Nigel said smoothly. "Are you
telling me you cannot rid me of my problem?"

The blond smirked. "We can." The smirk faded and his greenish-grey
eyes met Nigel's blue. "Once you pay half up front, of course."

"Of course," Nigel echoed, as if he hired assassins all the time.

The older of the two young men had a bad feeling about this, men with the breeding
and money the name "Fontaine" afforded them usually did not use the
services of people such as Obsidian and Quicksilver. They either had the resources
in house or if desperate enough, offed their "problems" themselves.
And, as below the radar as the assassins for hire were, those who traveled in
certain circles knew of their reputation for specializing in kills others had
failed in making.

In other circles the two had another rep that Obsidian had done his best in
quashing but like old wives' tales, there was no way of stopping them once they
spread.

Quicksilver wasn't so worried about the rumors that followed them around after
one particular job that had turned out… messy. "Those who believe,
believe anyway. Those who don't, don't," he'd said simply. "And those
who don't want to believe are all too willing to turn to the first easy explanation
they can cling to. Besides," the full, sensual lips curled into an almost
evil smile, "we can always kill them, Cammie."

Obsidian aka Cam Dumoutier wouldn't have expected any other answer from his
partner in crime, business and in bed, Quicksilver, otherwise known as Balint
Razvan. As a Gypsy, Balint had dealt with rumor and legends for as long as he
could remember, so they didn't phase him in the least. Nothing phased that boy
as long as there was a lot of green involved.

Like killing this Mad Dog. "Why us?" Cam asked their potential client.
"Why not use someone in your employ already?"

"Simple, he knows we're the best," Balint replied. His voice projected
pure confidence but Cam didn't miss the turbulence brewing in his lover's eyes.
Or the warning to shut up.

Cam threw him a look back. Someone has to be thinking with something more
than their wallet, dumbass!

All this was lost on Nigel Fontaine but then again, it wasn't meant for his
eyes. But apparently something was because he was staring at Cam in a way that
gave him the creeps and not only because of the weird longing radiating from
the man. Not like it mattered because the guy was not only too old for Cam,
he felt no attraction whatsoever to Fontaine. Yet there was something strangely
impersonal about the longing, not the "I want to fuck you" vibe Cam
would have expected.

Ignore it. It would be better just to ignore it; then he could pretend the
pink elephant didn't exist. "What is your time frame?" he asked Fontaine
instead.

He smiled politely, his eyebrows knitted with puzzlement. "Pardon?"

"To kill Lengel, Mr. Fontaine," Balint purred, instantly smoothing
any ruffled feathers. That's why he was the contact person for their partnership.
Balint was such a smooth talker; he could sell umbrellas in the desert. Once
a con man, always a con man. "How long do we have to remove him from the
land of the living?"

"Ah." Fontaine nodded. "Seven days."

Longer than they usually got. Shit, this guy had no idea what the fuck he was
doing. And Balint could smell a sucker a meter away.. "Well, seven days
is only a week. Starting tonight, well, that's not very much time." His
smile widened, all charm and guile. Now it was time for the sale. "But
since you seem like a decent guy, we'll do it in a week. For an extra hundred
credits."

Hundred credits was cheap for the Gypsy boy, Cam was surprised he didn't ask
for a thousand. Then again, they were getting twenty five for this job, with
half up front.

Fontaine seemed to think about it for a moment, then he smiled a little. "You've
got a deal gentlemen." He shook hands with both young men, then he was
suddenly silent. As if he was trying to work up the guts to say something and
the way he was looking at Cam, gave him an idea of what it was about. "You
remind me of someone," Fontaine said slowly. "Someone you could be
the brother of." He laughed. "Actually, with how old she must be now,
you'd be her son."

Cam instantly felt his stomach drop. He wasn't a tenth as good a bullshitter
as Balint was but he'd be damned if he'd let the guy see his sudden uneasiness.
"I've got that generic look," Cam told him, not quite lying but not
telling the truth either. "Lots of people tell me I look familiar."
Now that was an outright lie.

"No," Fontaine replied, stroking his chin in thought, "you definitely
resemble her. A woman I was in love with a long time ago. Pamela."

Cam's stomach was now plummeting straight to his feet. Why should he be surprised?
Money would easily associate with other money. "Back to Mad Dog,"
he said, trying to steer the conversation somewhere else. "Where are his
haunts? Do you have any of the other information we've requested?"

Fontaine would not be dissuaded or distracted easily. "Quicksilver has
that information," he murmured, "but you see, Mad Dog had stolen Pamela
away from me as well as the woman he's stolen from me now. You can see why your
resemblance to her is quite ironic, Obsidian."

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! Of all the clients they had to have! And goddamn, son
of a bitch, Cam was curious, wanted to know about Pamela. A woman whose name
Cam was very familiar with as he'd heard it from his grandmother non stop for
the first eleven years of his life, until he took off in disgust. Cam understood
how people from money acted from experience.. And there were definite traits,
definite features of his, ugh, family. He never used the name, distanced himself
the fuck away from them, but there was no fucking way they were having this
conversation. "Coincidences are funny things, sir."

"Indeed they are, only, you also look like the young man who managed to
confound both me and Mad Dog." Fontaine smiled. "You have his eyes.
Dark brown and predatory. The eyes of a killer." He let out a genuine laugh.
"You could very well be the offspring of both of them."

His? Cam's ears perked up. "I can't imagine that anyone could hold a candle
to a handsome man like you," he said, falling back into the cadences and
polite flattery that he'd learned a long time ago but hadn't used since he left.
Cam ignored the daggers Balint was looking at him, the boy was still pissed
that Cam hadn't revealed that part of his lineage. Then again, considering what
Balint had hidden from Cam until he had no choice, he couldn't say shit.

Fontaine had a different smile for Cam now. A smile that said Cam had just
given himself away. Fuck it all! "This is ironic," the man remarked.
"You could easily be Pamela and Yves' son."

Cam's grandmother had praised her daughter to the moon and sky and back. The
daughter who died in childbirth. Died giving birth to Cam. But he'd heard nothing
but bad things about his father. A man who had dared go way above his station.
A man his grandmother had paid to get out of Dodge. A man who Cam knew almost
nothing about except for one of the traits he knew he definitely had inherited.
"I am," he said softly.

The storm in Balint's hazel eyes had now become a full blown hurricane. (Have
you lost your fucking mind?) he growled in Nightspeech, not taking the breath
necessary for a Breather like Nigel Fontaine to hear him.(Stop it.)

Speech a non Breather like Cam heard just fine even though he wished that wasn't
the case. But he didn't want their client to hear this argument and that won
over his dislike of anything that broke his illusion that he was just a regular
guy. That illusion had been blasted to hell the moment he found the truth out
about Balint. And himself. So he used Nightspeech as well. (No fucking way,)
Cam retorted. (I want to hear what he knows.)

(What he thinks he knows,) Balint corrected. (And if he thinks he knows that,
what's to stop him from taking your mama's death and tying it to you? And if
he knows about your daddy, Cameron, it's a small jump for him to tie him to
it as well. And if he exhumes the body--)

Cam stared at the boy he'd been in business with for the past four years. (I
don't think he'd make those kind of connections. Besides, he's not about to
dig up the body of the woman he loved.)

(He's a man obsessed, Cam,) Balint replied quietly. (Look how far he went to
find you.)

He wanted to say that it was a coincidence, that Fontaine had brought them
here for a routine hit but as soon as the words left Balint's lips, Cam knew
Balint was right. But Cam also knew something else. (Don't worry,) he said with
certainty. (He won't get anywhere near her tomb.)

Balint gave him a dubious look. (Really?)

(Really. Grandmother, er, I mean, Claire Hathaway would never allow the public
scrutiny of her dirty laundry and Hathaway easily trumps Fontaine.)

Balint's eyes narrowed. (It figures you'd know something like that. Deep inside
you still have that superior moneyed attitude.)

(And deep inside you never lost that everyone else is prey attitude, Balint,
so I guess that makes us even.) And it shut Balint up for the time being.

If Fontaine was suspicious of the silence he didn't show it. He just said,
"I had a suspicion but wasn't sure until you walked into the room. Cameron,
is it? Heir of Lady Claire Hathaway?"

Balint had enough. "Mr. Fontaine," he said coolly, his gaze locked
on the older man's, "did you hire us because you want us to snuff your
competition or because you used to bed Cam's mother and you're feeling nostalgic?"
Cam idly wondered if Fontaine felt the warning in Balint's words.

Fontaine laughed. "Does it matter? For the amount of money I'm shelling
out, you could be cleaning my windows. I'm buying your services, Quicksilver
and Obsidian."

That was something Cam didn't miss and was all too happy to get away from.
The sense of entitlement that just because they had money, they could own whoever
didn't. And the feeling that just because Cam's father was beneath them, so
was Cam.

But he didn't voice that anger because he knew it would be wasted. People like
Fontaine didn't understand or care. Instead he just asked, "You know my
father?"

Fontaine frowned. "Know?"

Cam bit back the curse rising to his lips and tried again. "I never met
my father," he clarified. "I know nothing about him."

"And you think I do? I didn't associate with the young man, Obsidian,"
Fontaine sniffed, the last word being said with more than a little sarcasm.

"What does any of this have to do with this job you want us to do, Mr.
Fontaine?" Balint suddenly asked softly, wanting to stop this conversation
in its tracks.

Cam recognized the tone and the look in his eyes. His partner's next move would
be to stop it the easy way. But once he did that, the man would be useless to
Cam because he'd forget everything he did know. That wasn't happening. (Don't
you fucking dare nudge him, Balint!)

(And don't YOU fucking dare blow this! It's easy money, Cameron. Good, easy
money. I don't care if he fucked your father. Change the subject or I
won't even bother to nudge his will with mine. I'll kill him the moment he leaves
the restaurant.)

Cam knew Balint was dead serious but his desire to know about his father was
stronger than Balint's threat. '"If you didn't know my father, how do you
know I look like him?" Cam pressed.

"Because you do," Fontaine snapped impatiently, then seemed to remember
his manners and not only regained his composure, he gave Cam an smug smile that
made Cam want to kill the man. "In fact, I'm beginning to think you're
more like that no account drifter than Pamela."

"Then you do know what he was like!" Cam announced triumphantly.

"Yes," Balint murmured, leaning across the table, "tell us,
sir." His gaze sharpened in focus as he locked eyes with Fontaine and the
other man's face slackened, as his voice dropped, "What do you know
about Yves Dumoutier?"

Oh for - "Balint!" he hissed furiously, knowing that Fontaine's will
was now under Balint's control. "Didn't I tell you not to fuck around like
that?"

(You did,) Balint agreed, (but he wouldn't have told you what you wanted to
know if I didn't nudge him into it.)

And Cam had to admit, Balint was absolutely right. (Okay,) he sighed, knowing
that Balint was doing it for himself as much as for Cam but altruism was not
in Balint's personality. It was more than he could have expected from the Gypsy
boy but

Balint smirked and his voice grew even more persuasive, his suggestion even
more specific, making it impossible for Fontaine to do anything but obey it.
"Tell me what you know about Yves Dumoutier."

Fontaine's voice was now a monotone. "He was no good."

"What else do you know about him?" Balint asked patiently.

"Not much," Fontaine continued in that same robotic, unemotional
tone. "He just suddenly appeared one night."

"Yet he stole your precious Pamela from two men who clearly had more
money and class to offer her," Balint said, his eyes narrowing in concentration
as he nudged Fontaine again. "How, Mr. Fontaine?"



The last question had been meant to push buttons and push buttons it did, bringing
out the feelings the well bred man had kept repressed for all this time. "I
don't know! He was handsome enough, even on the pretty side, we'd have thought
he'd have been more interested in me or even Mad Dog," he snickered.

(I think I preferred it when he was being politely snarky,) Cam muttered.

Balint ignored him, only having a few more moments until the hypnotic state
he put their client into wore off. "Why didn't you both stop him? Or
at least get him killed like you're hiring us to do to Mad Dog?"

"Against that barbarian? You must be joking," Fontaine retorted with
more than a hint of fear in his eyes.

Barbarian. Savage. Wild. Bestial. Feral. Not human.

Fuck.

Balint had to be thinking the same thing because he was starting to look tired
which meant he'd nudged Fontaine yet again and it was starting to weaken him.
The sudden smell of blood assaulted Cam's nostrils and he realized that it was
trickling from the older man's nose. Balint's nudges were having a damaging
effect on Fontaine's brain. One more could kill him but each nudge only lasted
for a brief time and Cam had so much he wanted to know. There had to be a better
way of doing this. (Ask him if that was why Yves was paid off to leave. Because
they were too scared of him to do anything else.)

But Balint had something else in mind. "Did Yves Dumoutier kill Pamela
Hathaway?" he demanded, grayish-green eyes fixed on the crimson dripping
down to Fontaine's chin.

"I believe he was paid a nice sum of money to go elsewhere," Fontaine
replied, his eyes getting clearer and less foggy. Yeah that was right. Balint
could nudge several times but each time would last less time and this one was
already about to wear off.

But not before Balint could ask one more thing. "How did Pamela die?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me!"

"I don't know!" Fontaine repeated. "Perhaps the man infected
her with some sexually transmitted disease before he left in such a hurry."

It was good the guy was regaining his free will. If he'd said any more, Cam
would have smacked him upside the head. Yeah, that's all he would do, purposely
forgetting any other options that were suddenly popping into his head.

But he stopped breathing through his nose because the scent was more tempting
to him than anything being served in this restaurant.

Fontaine abruptly blinked. Balint's control of him was gone. "I apologize
gentlemen," he told them, the façade of civility back in place,
"I don't seem to be feeling well, this evening." He fished a handkerchief
from his suit jacket pocket, wiping his bloody nose almost absently. Perhaps
he did suffer some brain damage after all. What a shame.

"That's alright," Balint said smoothly, flashing a charming smile
that soothed. "We were just about to leave anyway. But if you want us to
do this job, Mr. Fontaine, you need to pay half of our fee up front. Now."

"Yes of course," Fontaine reached into another jacket pocket and
pulled out an envelope that he handed to Balint. "It's all there. Just
as we discussed."

It had to be in cash. Neither Cam or Balint could risk having an account at
a bank. Besides, cash didn't bounce. "I trust you," Balint reassured
him but opened the envelope and counted the money anyway. "The other half
when we bring you proof of our services rendered."

The other guy nodded dismissively, as if he couldn't wait to get out of there.
"It's been a pleasure doing business with you both," he said quickly
and signaled for the check.

The waiter came and shook his head at the two boys. "Neither of you touched
a crumb," he remarked about the full plates of food in front of them. Then
he turned to Fontaine. "Sir, I cannot in all good conscience charge you
for meals uneaten. Please have your meal with our compliments."

Fontaine looked at Cam and Balint. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"Positive," Balint answered, as usual, telling a half truth. He rose
from his chair and Cam was not far behind him. "See you in seven days,"
he said before he and Cam left the restaurant.

Cam couldn't help feeling dejected, he'd never really cared about his father
or that he knew nothing about him but now that he could have found out, he felt
like he'd been cheated somehow. But that wasn't the only reason he was feeling
so crappy and he knew it. He shivered, frost icing his veins. Cam knew he'd
get warm eventually but it would only last so long before he was cold again.

Balint feeling the same way wasn't helping matters in the least. (We can always
take the next one who leaves the restaurant,) he suggested helpfully.

(Oh yeah,) Cam snorted, (and while we're at it why don't we throw the body
into the dumpster in the back and make it real easy for them to identify us.
Shit Balint, you have any other brilliant ideas?)

(Hard to think on an empty stomach,) Balint muttered, laying his head on Cam's
shoulder. Then he smiled as if he had a secret. (He's still alive, baby,) he
said out of the blue, as if Cam would know what the fuck he was talking about.

Cam rolled his eyes. (I don't have the patience for this, dumbass.) Then he
sighed, knowing that his lover wouldn't give him any peace until he gave in.
(Alright, who is still alive?)

(Your daddy.)

Cam immediately pushed Balint's head off his shoulder and cupped his face in
Cam's hands, forcing him to look Cam in the eye.. If it had been anyone other
than the Gypsy he'd had have thought they were bullshitting. But this was Balint
and as much of a con man as he could be, he'd never fuck with Cam's head about
something he found this important. Besides, Balint had certain Gifts that made
his knowledge not as unbelievable as it should have been. (Did you Farsee this?)

(Nah.) Balint grinned. (I read him.)

Knowing Balint was a better telepath than Cam was easier to handle than hearing
about it but he pushed aside his feelings of uneasiness. However….

(If you were gonna read him the whole time then why did you bother with messing
with his will?)

(Cammie,) Balint chided as if Cam should have known better, (I wouldn't have
been able to get his shields down enough to get into his head if I hadn't shoved
his will aside.)

And Cam had to admit, he was probably right. (How did Fontaine know Yves was
still alive? I'd think he'd have had nothing to do with him.)

(All in good time, Cam-Cam.) The grin on Balint's face faded. (Let's get some
dinner, then I'll tell you more, okay?)

As much as he hated to admit it, Balint's suggestion was the best one Cam had
heard all night.