milliways_sawyer | Recent Entries

Sawyer walks in the door balancing a small stack of paper carefully in one hand and carrying a bag of groceries in the other.

... and immediately trips over Duke. The dog and the man glare at each other as if the other is to blame.

Sawyer's sitting on the couch reading the TV Guide (and deciding whether or not to watch Party of Five reruns) while Duke and Peony nap on his legs.

It's a hard life.

He lies in the bed trying to catch his breath. His shoulder isn't throbbing now, but that's mostly the endorphines working. Sawyer smiles and glances over at Claire. "Best medicine I know."

Memories vaguely invade his dreams.

... the raft.

... getting shot

... waking up on the beach.

... finding new survivors.

... walking.

... collapsing.

He thinks he's heard Jack's voice occasionally. Kate's, too. That doesn't make sense, though. They aren't on his side of the island. Or he isn't on their side of the island. He can't remember which.

Sawyer's feverish. He might be dying. Somehow he knows this.

He sees a door in his dreams. He reaches out and pushes it open and steps through. Anywhere is better than here...

1. It's significant to note that the majority of Sawyer's friends (actual friends) in the bar are female. This is a fairly new, and positive, development for him. He never had too many friends, but those he did have were always mostly male. He's always been able to attract females to him, but he's also had some serious woman issues that kept him from being able to let them close enough to become friends.

2. Sawyer will be a VERY indulgent father when his child comes along. As much as he makes comments to folks like Michael about taking a harder stand with their kids, he'll do anything not to be like his own father. Also, this daughter will be the first real, actual family he's had since his parents died; he'll do anything he can to make sure she loves him ( make sure she won't end up leaving him, too).

3. Sawyer's decrease in occurences of self-destructive troublemaking in the bar can most likely be attributed to his growing self-esteem -- real self-esteem, not the fake bravado.

4. Sawyer will pay off his tab one day. Just... not any time soon. :D

That's all off the top of my head. Ask some questions, and you might find out more.

Sawyer sits stretched out on his bed smoking. He normally doesn't smoke in his bedroom because the smell permeates everything there (and stays), but he does allow himself the occasional cigarette there now and then.

Jin has been ushered out of the room and his bedroll kicked under the bed. The room has been cleaned and one of the nightstands converted to small table. There's a bottle of wine and a serving plate holding a fancy French chicken dish he can't remember the name of. Sawyer has shaved, showered, and dressed.

Now comes the waiting.

Even as he stands there on the raft with Jin, Michael, and Walt, Sawyer is surprised to have come across a boat this quick. He isn't too worried about it, though; as far as he's concerned, it still didn't come quick enough.

As the small boat pulls up, Michael yells across to the bearded man manning the floodlight. "Oh, man, are we glad to see you."

"What's going on? What are you folks doing this far out here?"

" Hey, we were on a plane. The plane crashed. We've been on an island for a month..."

Sawyer lets the conversation drone in his ear as he looks over the boat that will be their salvation. A small, suspicious voice in his mind asks what such a small boat is doing this far out at sea, but he quickly pushes that thought away.

Until he sees the bearded man suddenly sober and say, "Only, the thing is, we're gonna have to take the boy."

Obviously thrown, Michael asks, "What? What'd you say?"

"The boy. We're gonna have to take him."

"Hey, what the hell is going on here? Who are you people?"

"Just give us the boy."

Sawyer watches as two other men on the boat stand and start walking toward their raft. Quietly, he reaches around for the pistol he has stashed in his waistband as Michael puts a protective hand on Walt and defiantly says, "I'm not giving you anybody."

"Well, all right then." The bearded man smiles -- or grimaces -- and kills the floodlights. As quickly as he can, Sawyer whips out the pistol and aims.

Not quickly enough, though. He feels the bullet hit his shoulder, then the cold shock of sea water. He's vaguely aware another body following after him and wonders whether it's Jin or Michael... and whether they're alive or not. It doesn't matter now, though. He's got to focus on finding the surface, fighting the force that's pulling him down deeper and deeper into the water...

He has to get off this island. HAS to. Get away from that fucking door to that fucking bar. So, Sawyer does something he usually wouldn't.

He agrees to pitch in and work.

He offers to help Michael with his raft in return for being on-board when it leaves. He offers whatever supplies he has in his stash to see it happen. He even helps rebuild when the first raft is burned.

Because he has to get off this island.

Away from the two of them.

Velcro Fly -- ZZ Top

Eri,

Heading out of the bar for a while. Try not to trash the room too bad while I'm gone. I don't know if you need it, but here's a key to the room.

Sawyer

Enclosed is a small silver key.

Sawyer spent a very long time this morning watching Claire sleep and thinking about the past couple of weeks. About how she stayed with him the entire time he was sick. About how she'd gone out of her way to make his birthday special based solely on a comment or two he'd made a couple of months ago.

About how much he loved her.

About how she worried about life in the bar. About how she wanted a normal life with him. About the possibility of him providing that normal life for her.

That's why, when she wakes up today, she'll find him gone and a note left beside her on his pillow.

Claire,

You look tired, so I ain't going to wake you. I've got some business to take care of outside the bar, and I'll be gone a couple of days. I'll be back soon, though. I promise.

Sawyer

Sawyer walks into the office flanked by two of Durand's men. In his hand is the briefcase he'd left with, returning twice as heavy. He sets it on the desk and smiles. "There you go, chief. A little over five hundred grand."

Durand pops the locks on the briefcase and inspects the contents. "Good. Very good."

Sawyer nods silently for a moment, then says, "Well, I reckon that's it. I'll find my own way out." He turns to walk out, anxious to get back to Claire. It had been a long month.

Durand calls out behind him. "Not so fast. I've changed my mind."

He stops and speaks without turning around. "Twenty percent was the deal. That's what you got."

"Yes, but I've decided I want the rest of it, too."

"Fuck you."

Before he can do anything else, Sawyer feels a searing pain in his thigh as one of Durand's men shoots him in the leg. He cries out and drops to the ground.

"You will tell me where the rest of the money is," Durand says as he steps around from behind his desk,.

"You kill me, and you won't know where I hid it," Sawyer spits.

"Oh, we won't kill you. Yet."

***

He sits in the same small chair he had the first time he visited this office. This time, though, he is tied there.

And the fingers on his left hand are broken.

As are his jaw and probably a couple of ribs.

His left eye is swelled shut, and the bullet wound in his right thigh is leaking blood all over the floor.

Mr. Tattoo is standing over him wielding a ball-peen hammer. "Let's try this one more time, trailer trash. Where's the money?"

Sawyer just shakes his head. He'd given up on trying to speak.

"That's a shame," his tormentor sighs. "Hope you won't be needing those big toes."

About that time, the office door opens, and another of Durand's men walks in with a large gym bag. "Look what I found outside, boss." Sawyer's heart sinks.

They found the money.

Durand laughs. "You hid it outside the front door of my store?!?" The truth is, Sawyer hadn't had time to hide it somewhere safe. He was planning on squaring up with Durand and heading immediately back to the bar.

"So, we don't need him alive no more, right, boss?"

"No. But don't kill him," he says to the thug who had been drawing his gun. "I got a better idea. Cleaner. Load him into one of the trucks."

***

Sawyer tries to brace himself as the delivery truck comes to a halt, but he isn't quite up to the effort and clenches his teeth in pain as he tumbles onto his side. A couple of seconds later, the side door opens, and Durand steps in with his man.

"Since I'm a nice guy, I'm giving you a chance. It isn't much of a chance, but it's better than a bullet to the skull. See, the way I hear it, there's all kinds of nasty folks that live around here. People disappear, and nobody asks any questions. Maybe that'll be you."

Mr. Tattoo grabs Sawyer and tosses him unceremoniously out onto the sidewalk, and the tires squeal as the truck pulls away.

Trying his best not to pass out from the pain and blood loss, it takes Sawyer a few minutes to realize where they left him.

Rue Royale. A few yards away from Richard and Amadeo's home.

Despite the jaw, Sawyer laughs.

Sawyer sits in the restaurant waiting for her to arrive. This is their fifth dinner date in the past three weeks, and Evelyn is ready to run away and marry him.

Which means it's time to set the hook.

He smiles and stands as he sees her approach the table. As he walks around to pull out the chair for you, he says, "I was starting to wonder if you was gonna stand me up, sweetheart."

She giggles (an annoyingly high-pitched giggle) and replies, "I had to wait for John to leave. He's meeting some friends for a drink."

"And he didn't mind you not going?"

Her face darkens a little. "He never minds. He's probably meeting his whore there. I bet they're --" She breaks off and smiles as she finally notices the briefcase he's set beside him. "Never mind. It's not important. Soon, you and I will be far from here, far from John and his little plaything."

Sawyer smiles reassuringly. "You bet we will, honey. Sipping mai tais on our own little island paradise."

Her eyes slide over to the briefcase again. "What's that?"

"This," he says as he taps the case, "is how we're going to afford that island paradise."

He breaks into the spiel he knows so well, tells her about the imaginary oil mining operation in the Gulf of Mexico, the government-sponsored fund that kicks in and triples your money in two weeks. This is their chance, he tells her.

She sits quietly for a couple of minutes, and Sawyer starts to worry that maybe the past month's worth of work is about to get up and walk away. Then, "How much do you have there?"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand. It's all I could scrounge up."

She smiles at him. "What if I could get you more?"

Bingo.

Sawyer sits at the bar watching the men and women around him chat. The party is invitation-only, but he'd managed to find a way in. He always does.

The bartender is a chatty old fellow who apparently has worked these parties for years. "That guy over there, he's Theodore Millens. He made millions selling candy, of all things. And those two, they're the O'Keefes. They're loaded..."

Sawyer chuckles. Virtually everyone here was "loaded". That's why he was here. To do this right, to set Claire and himself up for good, he needed a mark with some serious money. He was going to have to be more careful this time around. The richer the mark, the more likely they'll be to get the police to investigate. The best thing would be to find a woman who had independent access to the money (something few of these men would allow) and just keep the husband out of it. Fear of people judging her "affair" would keep her from taking too much action once the deal was done.

He scans the room while the bartender chatters on until his eyes rest on his prey -- a tall blond scowling at a group of men across the room, one of whom is undoubtedly her neglectful husband. She's just old enough not to be the belle of the ball anymore, young enough to still be vain about her looks. Perfect.

Sawyer grabs his whiskey and walks over to her table. "Evenin', sweetheart."

Sang Rouge Winery sits on one of the less-traveled streets of New Orleans. Pretty much the only people who know it exists are real wine enthusiasts... and folks who are more concerned with the business that takes place in the office upstairs. It's into that office that Sawyer walks now.

Adrien Durand sits behind a dark cherry desk in a high-backed chair. The desk is too neat, too orderly, to have ever been used for actual work. Sawyer suspects he just has it for effect.

One of Durand's men, a bald gorilla with the word Verde tattooed at the base of his neck, walks over to give Sawyer his second pat down in the last five minutes. It's not like he had a gun to bring even if he'd wanted to; Jaina hadn't given back the one she borrowed yet.

Grunting as if he was slightly annoyed at not finding anything, Mr. Tattoo steps back over to stand by his boss's right hand, and Durand gestures for Sawyer to sit in the small chair in front of his desk. "I understand you have a business proposition for me..."

Forty minutes later, he walks out of the winery with a briefcase containing a quarter of a million dollars. Sawyer knows he could just skip town with Durand's money (and the 20% cut of the con that he'd demanded), just run back to the bar and hide out, and there'd be nothing the Frenchman could do about it despite all his threats. But, if Claire was wanting to come back here to live anytime soon, it wouldn't be smart to go making enemies.

Anyway, the hard part was done. He had the seed money.

Now, it was time for the fun part.

This isn't his world, so this isn't the Karnes he knew... but he's similar enough to the lowlife from Sawyer's world to make it work. He's still a junkie who can't remember half the time if he actually knows you or not. He still wears those ugly-ass polyester suits ("They're vintage, man!") anytime he's out making a deal.

And, he still manages to be a man with connections, and Sawyer needs seed money for this con to work.

It's for that very important last reason that Sawyer is sitting in this bar that has the audacity to have the words "Best Food In Louisiana" blazing in neon outside. It's for that significant last reason that he's ignoring the combined odors of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and more bodily fluids than he cares to think about. It's for that oh-so-crucial last reason that he's stifling any comments about the equally nauseating bright orange shirt the other man is wearing with that baby blue suit.

Because he needs that folded slip of paper Karnes is sliding across the table to him. The paper with the name of a man who might be willing to fund the con.

Sawyer flips the note open with his thumb and reads the name and phone number printed there.

A nod, and he stands to go. He can't wait to get out of this dive that smells just as strongly of piss as it does of beer. Just a couple more weeks and a little luck, and he'll never have to walk into one of these places again.

A faceless man dancing with Sawyer's mother -- no, James' mother. Hole in her head.
Then drowned in desire, our souls on fire
Blood on her face.
I lead the way to the funeral pyre
Blood everywhere.
And without a thought of the consequence
Sawyer dancing with Claire. They look remarkably similar, don't you think?
I gave in to my decadence
So much blood on the tiled floor. It makes everything so slick.
One slip, and down the hole we fall
How are they not slipping?
It seems to take no time at all
He's going to slip and fall any minute, he just knows it.
A momentary lapse of reason
Everybody's watching. They're waiting for him to fall. Why do they have to watch?
That binds a life for life
He'll slip and pull Claire down with him.
A small regret, you won't forget
Gotta focus on his steps. One, two. One, two.
There'll be no sleep in here tonight
Can't slip. Can't fall.

Current Mood: delirious

Sawyer's walking down the hall to his room, his newly-acquired tube of lotion in his crusty, green right hand. He has to stop after every couple of doors to rest, catch his breath. It's during one of these stops that he realizes that his skin isn't just crusty.

It's scaly.

Like, lizard scales scaly.

He groans and slides down the wall to a sitting position. Resting is nice.

He sits outside by the lake, flipping an old battered fifty-cent piece.

Flip. Flip.

You don't see them much anymore. It's a good coin for flipping, though, which is why he's hung on to it for so long.

His mind keeps drifting back to the previous night, and the card game. And particularly to how easy it had been. Just a little time, a little chatter, and he walked away with the guy's money.

If he's honest with himself, that's why he'd stayed in the con game so long. He got into it out of necessity; he'd stayed in it because the money was... well, so easy. If you were good.

And Sawyer was damn good.

Flip.

A little time in New Orleans, a little chatter, and he could come back with enough to set himself and Claire up for a long, long time. Nobody'd come looking for him here. Easy money.

Problem is, would Claire stay with him if he did?

Flip.

What if she never knew? If he was lucky, he could be out and back without really raising any suspicion.

But, how would he explain where the money came from?

Flip.

He could lie. He was good at that. And, really, he'd be doing her a favor. She wouldn't have to be burdened with the knowledge of what he'd done, and they could live happily ever after with that kind of money, right?

But, what if...?

Flip.

He snatches the coin out of the air and slaps it on the back of his left hand. Heads.

He grunts quietly. "Reckon that settles it." Sawyer pockets the coin and walks back inside.