"Good, good," Brett remarked, leaving a healthy foot between them. "Just wanted to make sure we were still on the same page; reading from the same book."
"Strange analogy considering I have a hard time believing you can even read," Hutch snipped back.
Brett smiled, the right corner of his mouth stretching significantly higher than the left. "Ah, now there's the boy I know. It's always the dumbest people who have the smartest mouths. You might want to start correcting that before you find yourself with a permanent problem."
"The only problem I'm having, is you," Hutch remarked, crossing his arms to stop himself from punching Brett. Even without the empty glass in his hand, he knew that Casimir still expected him to keep his better instincts under control, until it was necessary to follow them. "Just tell me what you want, so we can both get back to what remains of our nights."
"Right now, what I want is no witnesses."
"It's like you're reading my fucking mind."
"Watch your tone with me," Brett threatened, his smile having faded into something far more sinister in nature. "It's a new year, Jules. Let's start off on a better foot. I want to do business with Salvador. You already work for him. And in case you forgot, I can ruin whatever this little job of yours is and send you right back to that shit hole box you call a house with your bitch of a mother, if you don't figure out how to get me in your boss' good graces. Get me a meeting. Simple enough, right?"
"I already told you; I will do what I can, but the choice is ultimately his. Nothing you say or threaten is going to change that."
"And I think, you aren't using that sick little brain of yours to its fullest potential. We're family, Jules. My success, if you play your part, could be your success. Think of it like us being the father and son you've always wanted. Use your newfound position and find me something that I can use to convince Salvador to talk with me. Do that, and I'll consider making you a real Barstow. Just like you were always meant to be. Not a bad exchange, if you ask me."
"I didn't ask. And I'm not interested."
Brett shook his head. "Never fail to disappoint, Jules. You can keep up this defiant persona if it makes you feel better about yourself, but we both know what you're really made of. So, try not to be as worthless as you've always been. There's a bigger picture here, and I'm still hoping you can see it in time, so we can stop playing these stupid little games. Now, I'll expect to hear from you, or him, within the next two weeks. If I don't, well, consequences, Jules. There will be consequences." He was smirking as he turned and began to walk away, before throwing his hand up over his shoulder giving a slight wave, as he called back to him, "And Happy new year, kid. Looking forward to our next conversation."
Hutch took a breath and rolled his eyes as he headed for the elevator. Brett sounded like some half-baked mafia boss with no understanding of what was really going on. Even if he thought his threats carried weight, by tomorrow they would be meaningless. And even if they weren't, it wasn't Casimir he needed to talk to, it was Celina, and that was never going to happen.
"How could you not even know that much? Idiot," he muttered to himself, as he waited for the elevator to return.
When it arrived, he got on alone, everyone else preferring to wait, wanting to go down instead of up. Hutch was done, and wanted nothing more than to sleep, allowing the agitation of the evening to fade into obscurity.
Arriving at the penthouse, he turned on only the most necessary of lights, and cleaned up the living room, folding the blanket Clara had used, picking up his jewelry case, and washing out his glass, leaving it to dry on the counter rack.
The work, although miniscule, helped ease his mind some, but if not for the snow and his dislike of heights, he would have been running back and forth along the deck outside until he was too exhausted to move, not that he wasn't tired enough already to sleep.
He was efficient in his nighttime routine, and was in bed with his tuxedo packed away, and his shoes and jewelry back in their boxes, before anyone else had returned.
The following morning, it was obvious he was the first one awake, and he wasn't certain when anyone else had managed to find their way home. Showered and dressed, Hutch started the coffee maker, before heading down to the ground floor and making his way to the bakery in the building next door.
Buying a variety of muffins and bagels, he returned to the penthouse to find Casimir awake and enjoying a cup of coffee, while relaxing on the couch.
"You really don't sleep much, do you?" Hutch questioned, taking off his shoes and coat, as Casimir replied with a grunt.
"Morning run?" he asked, having finally swallowed his coffee.
"Walk, to the bakery actually," he replied, pulling a warm muffin out of the paper bag he was holding and dropping it over Casimir's shoulder. "Would have baked a batch myself, but ingredients here are a bit scarce, at the moment."
"No doubt yours would have been better," Casimir remarked, taking the muffin from him. "But I'm certain these will do."
"Grabbed a half dozen bagels also. Wasn't sure what everyone else would like this morning."
"I imagine they will just be happy that there's food. Normally, they have to wait until we're ready to leave for home and make a stop by the kitchen to grab whatever the chef packed up for us, so they can grab something on the go."
Placing the bag on the counter, he grabbed a muffin and coffee for himself and joined Casimir on the couch.
"And you have something to say about my sleeping habits," Casimir scoffed. "At least I slept. You look like you just pulled an all-nighter."
"Oh good. I look exactly how I feel. No need for anyone to wonder."
"Eat your muffin and go back to bed."
"Is that an order?" Hutch questioned as he tore the top off his muffin.
"Recommendation."
"Good. Then I can choose to ignore it," he remarked, popping the muffin top in his mouth. "Despite how I look, I did manage to get some sleep."
"Yes, just not well or sound," Casimir retorted before finishing his coffee and setting his mug onto the table.
"Exactly," Hutch agreed. "Too much on my mind last night. Damn thing just wouldn't settle down, and there's no place to run around here."
"Observation deck."
"No place, I want to run around here," he remarked, pointing down, "like someplace closer to the ground. Where it's safe."
Casimir chuckled, swallowing back a mouthful of muffin. "You said yesterday that you wanted to talk. I suspect now's a good time. The rest won't be up for a few hours yet, and maybe once we're through, you'll take my recommendation."
"Anything's possible," Hutch replied, before taking another bit of his food. When he had finished, he turned to Casimir. "I have a question first."
"I'm listening."
"Be honest with me. Is there anything I could tell you about my past that would cause you to stop helping me?"
"A couple, I suppose. But you'd have be talking something incredibly horrendous, like perverse and inappropriate behaviors with minors, and despite what we've done, I know you don't fall into that particular category of criminal. So, I'm going to go out on a limb and say, 'no.' And if that is what you were going to tell me…"
"It's not. No. Nope. Nothing like that."
Casimir smirked and chuckled as Hutch ground his face into the palm of his hands.
"We've been through too much Hutch. I doubt you could say anything that would surprise me at this point."
He groaned as he sat up. "What are you willing to bet on that?"
"A new car, of your choosing, after you get your license, of course. And I'll even pay for a year's worth of insurance and give you a credit card for gas."
"Let me pick out the color too?"
"I'll have it special ordered, just for you. But keep in mind, sports cars are expensive to maintain, upkeep, and insure. Not to mention the price of gas these days, so do try and choose something reasonable."
"You're serious?" Hutch questioned, having expected him to know he was being sarcastic.
"Yes. I know you, Hutch. Whatever Brett is hanging over your head can't possibly be worse than anything we did together on Illimev. And if I'm not going to hold murder and treason against you, I'm going to assume underage drinking, possibly drug dealing, and, or, petty theft, is going to be easily ignorable. There is nothing you could possibly say that would surprise me."
"My mother's a stripper," Hutch blurted out with a deadpan stare.
Casimir blinked, opening, and closing his mouth, before tilting his head, and saying, "Turns out, I stand corrected."