I got a few. [Wait a sec while he stubs out his smoke. While looking away it is easier to say...] I actually didn't take much of a look. Maybe over breakfast.
[After some sleep and a clear head.]
That's the main goal. Start from the bottom and work our way back to the top.
[Pat, pat on him.]
I have some money put away. We can get it tomorrow. It'll help, that's for sure.
[Maybe one more night in a low grade motel before more clothes and better accommodations. Larry rubs his heavy brown eyes.]
You think you'll need to check in with a clinic within the next four days?
[To check his healing process. He can tell that Freddy's energy is still low. He's not the ghost bleeding out on the ramp but that doesn't mean he is race ready. They have to keep moving. Otherwise the old man would insist that they take a week or two to allow the kid a full chance at recuperating.
Even though they should be listening to the radio or watching TV, Larry can't bring himself to. Not yet. Right back to the bygone year. Same old shit. Besides, who wants to hear what they're saying about either of them if the story goes this far south. He still stares blankly at the television as he makes himself more comfortable on the bed.]
[As a police officer he'd do the same but insist he's fine and let the onus be on his partner to drag him in. None of that now, Newendyke.]
I don't want an infection, not out here. [With no state of the art City General to fix it.] Good money?
[What makes money 'good' is open to interpretation. Freddy asks, going backwards in Larry's words. He's already comfortable in bed, as comfortable as he can be, and watches the old man make himself at home on the same mattress. Nothing doing, nothing they haven't been doing for three whole fucking years.]
I don't want you with an infection. You got nothing to amputate there.
[All those vitals at his torso and middle. Infection would be a nightmare, as though death isn't to be considered. Oh it is. Now more than ever. Here you die. That's it. No rejuvenation, no restart like a video game.
Would death take them to the City again? Larry doesn't want to find out. The cleaner they used for the sheets--hey at least they clean here--reminds him of a hospital. Sanitary and stifling.]
Good money. [He repeats.] Cash. No bank involved. Things I kept stowed away.
[The old man had wanted to retreat south after the heist. Now would be a lousy time to try and find the places he was scouting to live. They were more toward Baja anyway.]
[Freddy asks, less interested in the money itself, how much he has, and more interested in a time when Larry was on the move without Freddy. Long before they met perhaps. It's better than talking about anything else related to the here and now, at least while they have the down time. No need for logistics, no need for immediate action, just talking.]
I wanna say it's been only a year. Time goes so fucking fast. I wouldn't be surprised if it was two. A blink or two and it's flown by.
[Their time in the City for example. He settles on the bed and studies the ceiling a moment thoughtfully.]
I got a good feeling it's still where I left it. [The money he means of course.] Some things just don't fucking change. Not down here. That's part of why I like it.
[Loving and in good humor, he holds it together long enough to give a stern look before laughing.]
That diner is two miles out of Four Corners. Not Chinatown. I got money all over because I never know where I'm gonna be. The plan was to pull it all together before heading over.
[His plan alone.]
Some people can't go up to an ATM and get cash out.
[Holding back when they're partners with equal shares goes right against the way of things. Larry tries to comb Freddy's hair just like he tries to smooth over that doubt.]
Just in case I'll write em down so if anything happens, you'll know where to start looking.
[Providing again, sharing too. A link between them that's more than blood. Not quite that L word.]
Y'got plenty, man. Don't fret a second. Pulling it together is the bitch.
[The kid doesn't protest the hair combing. It feels soothing, comfortable, nice heavy paw on his head.]
Thanks for sharing.
[Freddy remarks as if he couldn't possibly fathom continuing some kind of partnership in their situation. What he really can't fathom is having to start looking alone. What's the point of all that money? What's the point of all that money for an MIA cop? What's the point of all that money with no high roller to enjoy it?
[About sharing. About their partnership. It's so much easier to swallow that way. Feeling as worn as he does with all his own doubts it is simple to call it that. Simplicity is what they need because they can't get a hospital that will house Freddy safety and their next step are what it's about.]
[Freddy replies right away without much thought. It just feels automatic but most of all right. His caramel green eyes aren't really looking at him but he means it, Larry can tell, can't he? Can't blame the kid for feeling worried, out of control, but he does not regret Lawrence Dimick, Mr. White.]
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orangetoughguy) wrote2010-08-06 11:39 pm
no subject
[After some sleep and a clear head.]
That's the main goal. Start from the bottom and work our way back to the top.
[Pat, pat on him.]
I have some money put away. We can get it tomorrow. It'll help, that's for sure.
[Maybe one more night in a low grade motel before more clothes and better accommodations. Larry rubs his heavy brown eyes.]
You think you'll need to check in with a clinic within the next four days?
[To check his healing process. He can tell that Freddy's energy is still low. He's not the ghost bleeding out on the ramp but that doesn't mean he is race ready. They have to keep moving. Otherwise the old man would insist that they take a week or two to allow the kid a full chance at recuperating.
Even though they should be listening to the radio or watching TV, Larry can't bring himself to. Not yet. Right back to the bygone year. Same old shit. Besides, who wants to hear what they're saying about either of them if the story goes this far south. He still stares blankly at the television as he makes himself more comfortable on the bed.]
no subject
[As a police officer he'd do the same but insist he's fine and let the onus be on his partner to drag him in. None of that now, Newendyke.]
I don't want an infection, not out here. [With no state of the art City General to fix it.] Good money?
[What makes money 'good' is open to interpretation. Freddy asks, going backwards in Larry's words. He's already comfortable in bed, as comfortable as he can be, and watches the old man make himself at home on the same mattress. Nothing doing, nothing they haven't been doing for three whole fucking years.]
no subject
[All those vitals at his torso and middle. Infection would be a nightmare, as though death isn't to be considered. Oh it is. Now more than ever. Here you die. That's it. No rejuvenation, no restart like a video game.
Would death take them to the City again? Larry doesn't want to find out. The cleaner they used for the sheets--hey at least they clean here--reminds him of a hospital. Sanitary and stifling.]
Good money. [He repeats.] Cash. No bank involved. Things I kept stowed away.
[The old man had wanted to retreat south after the heist. Now would be a lousy time to try and find the places he was scouting to live. They were more toward Baja anyway.]
no subject
[Freddy asks, less interested in the money itself, how much he has, and more interested in a time when Larry was on the move without Freddy. Long before they met perhaps. It's better than talking about anything else related to the here and now, at least while they have the down time. No need for logistics, no need for immediate action, just talking.]
no subject
[Their time in the City for example. He settles on the bed and studies the ceiling a moment thoughtfully.]
I got a good feeling it's still where I left it. [The money he means of course.] Some things just don't fucking change. Not down here. That's part of why I like it.
no subject
[It's a joke, Dimmy, because talking about the passing of time and how their time there has now passed is just a little hard.]
no subject
[Loving and in good humor, he holds it together long enough to give a stern look before laughing.]
That diner is two miles out of Four Corners. Not Chinatown. I got money all over because I never know where I'm gonna be. The plan was to pull it all together before heading over.
[His plan alone.]
Some people can't go up to an ATM and get cash out.
no subject
Just checking.
[Of course Larry's prepared for all sorts of situations, Freddy wouldn't expect any less of him.]
So there's always gonna be some place I don't really know about until we get there huh?
no subject
[Holding back when they're partners with equal shares goes right against the way of things. Larry tries to comb Freddy's hair just like he tries to smooth over that doubt.]
Just in case I'll write em down so if anything happens, you'll know where to start looking.
[Providing again, sharing too. A link between them that's more than blood. Not quite that L word.]
Y'got plenty, man. Don't fret a second. Pulling it together is the bitch.
no subject
Thanks for sharing.
[Freddy remarks as if he couldn't possibly fathom continuing some kind of partnership in their situation. What he really can't fathom is having to start looking alone. What's the point of all that money? What's the point of all that money for an MIA cop? What's the point of all that money with no high roller to enjoy it?
no subject
[About sharing. About their partnership. It's so much easier to swallow that way. Feeling as worn as he does with all his own doubts it is simple to call it that. Simplicity is what they need because they can't get a hospital that will house Freddy safety and their next step are what it's about.]
You'll be okay.
[More okay then a guy shot in the gut ever was.]
Stick with me, you won't regret it.
no subject
[Freddy replies right away without much thought. It just feels automatic but most of all right. His caramel green eyes aren't really looking at him but he means it, Larry can tell, can't he? Can't blame the kid for feeling worried, out of control, but he does not regret Lawrence Dimick, Mr. White.]