Heists and Vengeance

Thirty Four

Brett

Brett had (luckily) caught some sleep earlier during a particularly boring few hours, but his eyes were now glued to the screen. The vomiting of all the guests fascinated him as much as it revolted him, and seeing the effect of Erin's poisoning made him make a mental note to never get on her bad side. The food poisoning was affecting them at different levels of severity – there were those who felt only a bit of nausea, and those who couldn't move two feet from the toilet bowl without needing to puke again.

Ryder and Lana were in their rooms, earpieces put into place, waiting for Brett to tell them that the corridors were clear – something that probably wouldn't happen for at least thirty more minutes. There were waiters frantically returning food to the kitchen as the catering staff tried to figure out what had gone wrong, cleaners in the halls, and guards guiding guests to their rooms. It was chaos at it's finest, and he felt kind of proud of Erin for achieving it.

He paid a close eye to Carmichael in particular, tracking his movements from the dining room, to the kitchens, and finally to his study, where he'd been for the last twenty-five minutes. On the way there, he'd accidentally walked into a poor young kitchen hand. He'd screamed at her for at least five minutes straight, while the girl cowered in fright. Brett had watched him do so with a deep sense of loathing, loathing which carried through to this moment as he watched the man work.

He seemed to be quietly reading through some paperwork, and Brett would have wondered whether if the poisoning had even affected him if it hadn't been for the bin next to him, which slowly gained more and more puke every few minutes.

Brett watched Carmichael work with a strange sort of fascination – who'd know that someone so evil could seem so normal? He seemed like a regular person – kind even – not the kind you'd expect to have done the things that he did.

Carmichael had been working for ten minutes more with little movement, save for the odd jerk towards the bin, and Brett was about to redirect his focus when-

Carmichael got up abruptly, with the air of someone who'd forgotten something and just realized. He strode towards the door, and flung it open forcefully, and proceeded to head down the corridor, lost in deep thought. He turned a corner and slammed straight into a waiter, who proceeded to drop the tray he was holding.

Brett watched the whole thing with some interest, interest that only increased when the waiter stood and half-turned, giving Brett a clear view of his face. Cole. His breath held, he watched the whole situation play out. He expected Carmichael to start shouting, or at least give Cole some kind of reprimand as he'd done with that girl earlier, as was common with rich pretentious snobs. But instead, upon glancing at Cole's face, Carmichael raised his eyebrows and laughed.

Laughed.

Cole looked slightly nervous, but, not wanting to seem weird, chuckled weakly. The strange scene continued for about a few seconds longer until Carmichael shook his head good-naturedly and clapped him on the back. The gesture seemed so familiar, like he'd done it before, and Cole's expression had relaxed slightly too – clearly he was relieved that he wasn't in trouble.

Carmichael said something that Brett couldn't hear – his computers weren't connected to the microphone – and Cole responded with a laugh and a few words himself. Carmichael froze and nodded, his smile tight. Cole nodded back, and then it was over as quickly as it had started.

As the two men walked their separate ways, Brett leaned back in his (unmade) bed and blew out a long breath. Now...what was that all about?