[What the fuck just happened? What the fuck just happened?? That's not how this happens. Shit you're going delirious, Newendyke, maybe this is the fever dream. Maybe this is your false awakening and you're going to get shot and wake up back in that place you thought was real but wasn't but could be. The kid's cold wet and speechless. His department, his brothers will be here any moment now. Soon he's going to tell the old man he's a cop. But this isn't how that happens. Joe and Eddie Cabot are dead. Two bullets spared.]
[A cheap cassette tape frees them of the burden of trying to find a radio station. The old man leans back in his seat, watching the scenery pass. The destination is obscure, just farther.
A breeze ruffles his hair. Freddy is in charge for the time being, for a moment he shuts his eyes.]
I'm getting a little hungry again.
[For tacos. Or more. No rush. Larry's no backseat driver here so he doesn't try to change up the kid's driving at all.]
[Dusk makes the sky all red and yellow on the outside. On the inside at the bar it is timeless. Larry's rum and coke tastes refreshing. Now and then he looks on over to Freddy to make sure he's still there.
So he was half wrong. It isn't a brothel. They just have whores who know how to find their game.
Just when he's about to comment on the 'football' game on the big, boxy TV something perfumed leans on the bar at his side.]
Oh Papi, why you looking so tired, so sad?
[He clears his throat and throws Freddy a glance as if to say 'I didn't start it!']
[Freddy sure is nursing his drink (soda) all quietly to himself. Minimal conversation. But his senses are alert (as alert as a healing man can be) he's paying attention to the comings and goings in this cantina. Being a (former) cop on the run though he's had the forethought not to sit in the farthest corner facing the door. That would be obvious or something.]
[They can hear the roar of the crowd at the bullfights from the dining area of the restaurant of the hotel. Larry's cigarette burns between his cigarettes as he's counting out the bills and coins.]
I feel like I'm forgetting something somewhere.
[He reaches into his back pocket again. Ahaha. He missed a bill. Now for the breast pocket of his button down.]
[Sleeping on down next to a warm body is a very solid sleep. Even that kind can be disturbed. All it takes is a steady, hard set of knocking. Or at least a steady thudding. It's not going to let up. Larry rouses and it only takes a few fractions of a second to realize where they still are.
What the fuck.
He only spares a few pats to Freddy. Surely he isn't gonna sleep through all the noise.]
[Larry digs for his copy of the key. Since he's got the bag of food (something for the kid) in one hand, it makes him stop and think before he tries to knock. This is 'home' as much as home can be for now. A townhouse, not stifling but sure not the same amount of roomy. It's pretty new still. He comes in and takes his time, fully expecting to still be alone.
The whistling chorus of a Guns N Roses song comes out of his lips.]
One suit. Just one. The rest we should keep casual.
[That's not so hard right? Larry has a few bags in his hand. It's not a high rolling shopping spree. This is a different sort of Dimick. One that is checking price tags and money managing.
The market place is something like a swap meet without an end. Indoor. Outdoor. All sorts of things.]
[Snuff, snuff, snuffling here and there. The leash is also his rope collar. Larry has it wrapped several times around his fist. He should have gone first to Freddy to talk it over. But that would have been a moment too long.
Right through the house and to the other man waiting.]
Sooo. We got something.
[No fucking shit old man. The furry, muscled pup pauses enough to sit and lick his chops. He can smell Freddy from there. The same could probably be said.
Their good buddy Rey is on the big brick of a cellphone he totes.]
[Day one without Mister Dog was harder than the old man imagined. Not hard like it was integrating into their new homeland or realizing that they've had their whole life changed. But hard in a way that he had to stop purposely dropping a chip or two on the floor because no one would be there to eat it.
And he did make it a point to commend those detective skills from the one and only cop he trusts. That's Freddy.]
Hey.
[Said to that brilliant detective.]
What do you feel like eating?
[The old man is sprawled on the couch not quite watching the game show on the tube.]
[Mister Dog is stopping to sniff a fence post. Larry sees the cat before he does. This walk to Marisol's is not that far. Even though he's trying to hurry the dog along they easily could have been there by now.]
How do you think he keeps that much piss in him to go everywhere but not when we need to let him out?
[And the sky is blue. The grass is green. Larry shoves aside some of the mess that's taken up space on their small excuse for a dining room table.]
I got a funny feeling.
[He walks away to the bedroom to get their savings from what is more reliable than a bank. The closet. Mr. Dog thinks something fun is going to happen and half follows.
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orangetoughguy) wrote2010-08-06 11:39 pm
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A breeze ruffles his hair. Freddy is in charge for the time being, for a moment he shuts his eyes.]
I'm getting a little hungry again.
[For tacos. Or more. No rush. Larry's no backseat driver here so he doesn't try to change up the kid's driving at all.]
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So he was half wrong. It isn't a brothel. They just have whores who know how to find their game.
Just when he's about to comment on the 'football' game on the big, boxy TV something perfumed leans on the bar at his side.]
Oh Papi, why you looking so tired, so sad?
[He clears his throat and throws Freddy a glance as if to say 'I didn't start it!']
I'm not neither.
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I feel like I'm forgetting something somewhere.
[He reaches into his back pocket again. Ahaha. He missed a bill. Now for the breast pocket of his button down.]
How 'bout you? Anything helps about now.
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What the fuck.
He only spares a few pats to Freddy. Surely he isn't gonna sleep through all the noise.]
Guns. Where are the guns?
[Oh. Nightstand. Yes.]
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The whistling chorus of a Guns N Roses song comes out of his lips.]
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I dunno why I bother getting the newspaper.
[Just because he can speak Spanish doesn't mean he want to read it.]
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[That's not so hard right? Larry has a few bags in his hand. It's not a high rolling shopping spree. This is a different sort of Dimick. One that is checking price tags and money managing.
The market place is something like a swap meet without an end. Indoor. Outdoor. All sorts of things.]
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[Down town LA. Dirty. Busy. Urban.]
A couple of blocks down too. How much you figure they pay rent, really?
[Only one way to find out. This is the forth they've been in the area.]
They got neon.
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[Snuff, snuff, snuffling here and there. The leash is also his rope collar. Larry has it wrapped several times around his fist. He should have gone first to Freddy to talk it over. But that would have been a moment too long.
Right through the house and to the other man waiting.]
Sooo. We got something.
[No fucking shit old man. The furry, muscled pup pauses enough to sit and lick his chops. He can smell Freddy from there. The same could probably be said.
Their good buddy Rey is on the big brick of a cellphone he totes.]
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And he did make it a point to commend those detective skills from the one and only cop he trusts. That's Freddy.]
Hey.
[Said to that brilliant detective.]
What do you feel like eating?
[The old man is sprawled on the couch not quite watching the game show on the tube.]
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[Mister Dog is stopping to sniff a fence post. Larry sees the cat before he does. This walk to Marisol's is not that far. Even though he's trying to hurry the dog along they easily could have been there by now.]
How do you think he keeps that much piss in him to go everywhere but not when we need to let him out?
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[And the sky is blue. The grass is green. Larry shoves aside some of the mess that's taken up space on their small excuse for a dining room table.]
I got a funny feeling.
[He walks away to the bedroom to get their savings from what is more reliable than a bank. The closet. Mr. Dog thinks something fun is going to happen and half follows.
Yo smaller person. You in on this game? Wag wag.]
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