orangetoughguy | log post II

[Aaaaand he sits down.]

What're you doing here? Thought you'd be goin' out.

[With friends. Larry looks him over, leaning a little.]

Going out huh? With who, you got any ideas?

[Leading questions even as the kid relaxes on his side of the couch.]

[Sniff, sniff. He smells good.]

I dunno. A friend. Maybe Saya. I thought maybe you'd find Pink an' me. We did shots.

[Freddy refrains from leaning back or knocking Larry's face aside.]

You and Pink? Bullshit.

[Not really. The kid can believe it, he's just biding his time.]

[His head tilts to one side.]

What? ...Oh.

[A snap of the finger and a point.]

You're still mad.

..........

[This quick observation only makes Freddy Newendyke madder. Now it's his turn to point.]

You were spying on me.

[It's too sudden for him to try and hide his reaction.]

No, no. Not you.

[Truthfully! He wags a big paw to dismiss this statement in case of there being any doubt.]

Him. I don't trust him. Not one bit.

[Well, at least Larry isn't denying it. That's some comfort.]

I can't believe you were spying on me. Him. Me. Whatever, fuck.

How come? S'his fault. I dunno why yet but I got a feelin'.

[The old man is reaching to grip the kid's arm to get a solid hold on him.]

He's got a look to him.

[More like, the way he looks at him.]

[A feeling? Oh now he has to know and because Larry's drunk he doubts the old man will mince words.]

What kind of feeling. What kind of look. [At least he's not shrugging that paw off.]

That motherfucker wants you.

[Oh good. He's missed that.]

Come on. You're not blind.

[Squeeze that arm.]

[What? What? His expression turns a bit screwball because Freddy doesn't have 100% conviction that the motherfucker doesn't want him.]

That's fuckin' bullshit, Larry. If he wanted me I think I'd know.

Oh yeah?

[Okay. Fine. So Larry's got no solid proof, but it's a good damn hunch. Besides, those looks are telling. For now he shakes his head at the kid's resistance.]

He's trying to play it cool. Tryin'. I can see though. Who's idea was it to not tell me?

What makes you such a fucking expert? [Wait why are they arguing over who's right and who's wrong? Freddy reorients his argument.] Why were you spying on me anyway? What a jackass thing to do--

[Whose idea was... Green eyes are staring.] Not tell you what.

I know what I saw. You don't like greens. [Yeah. So he calls vegetable greens.] And where the fuck were you with him?

[Really right now he cannot remember what it was called. It was a irregular name.]

Not to tell you--me that you were talking like it wasn't really therapy.

That's a load of crap, I don't hate greens, I eat'em.

[Wait wait this is about Larry spying not how Freddy spends his lunches. Ugh. The kid shakes his head.]

Because you're taking it so fucking well right?

Hate and don't like aren't the same thing.

[Like a lotta other things funny enough. Larry leans trying to make better eye contact.]

Only cuz you didn't tell me. I like knowin' shit about you. And-and you have to go talking to someone who doesn't even know you or me. There's nothing wrong with you.

You know I kinda thought the fact he doesn't know you or me or anything else [About Freddy Newendyke.] would please you.

[Spoken with a mild amount of sarcasm. Christ even in his slightly drunken haze the kid can't help but feel warmed by the sentiment. It's nice Larry thinks nothing's wrong with him, but sometimes he thinks he could piss in the old man's coffee and he wouldn't hold much against him...for long.]

Shit it didn't start out like that either, I just needed some help for my fuckin' memory, Larry. How the hell am I supposed to be any good to you if I can't sort out my own fuckin' head. [He frowns, then tries to look angry again.] Sure as hell doesn't change anything about you fucking spying. You don't trust me?

Kinda. But see, fuck, he probably's jumping to all kinds of conclusions. I don't like that. No one but you [pointing to the kid] and me [pointing to himself] can judge anything we do.

[Pissing in his coffee would not go quietly at all. But come on, the kid was bleeding. Fucking dying. Here he is right now. Why the fuck are they arguing.]

I coulda helped!

[Who knows how. This trust thing, that's what reminds the old man that he's pissed too.]

You need to ask that?

[Larry's trying to stand but gives up. Instead he leans away.]

I could ask the very same. I'm trying to tell you things, ask you things. You keep gettin' mad.

You couldn't help cause you're part of it, Larry. You don't fuckin' get it, fuck's sake. I live a fuckin' double life every goddamn day, in and out in and fucking out people think I'm a crook people think I got somethin' to hide. People who can't know I'm a cop.

[He emphasizes the word just for Lawrence Dimick, to remind him what Freddy Newendyke is.]

When my head went out the damn window I started forgettin' what's what. I just, I didn't know what I fuckin' needed. [Here he waves a hand at the old man.] You, you always know exactly what you want, you want fucking answers, you want me to tell you I'm seeing a shrink like I don't need one, like I'm just fine in some charming fucked up way.

Get this through your fucking head, I never had to live like this before.

[It hurts to hear this. Because it's apparent the kid is in turmoil, it's apparent that Larry can't do anything about it. And yes, it's true it's is fault too.]

Yeah? Well. Me neither.

[Which isn't exactly a response either. Different issue too.]

What am I supposed to do? Oh wait. Can't ask no fucking questions.

[Okay he's on his way or at least trying. Larry almost falls into the coffee table. Nice save.]

[What? Okay the kid's on his feet too, eyes less caramel and more sour apple. He points, waves his hand, all kinds of gesticulating.]

Fuck you and your fucking questions, Larry! You don't tell me shit. Am I supposed to believe me and all this is all you fuckin' need? That you kicking the shit out of me once got the brass out of your system? Do you think my family's a bunch of characters in a cute story where the grass is fucking greener than yours?

[It's not fair to keep raging at an intoxicated man.]

I don't know what I should say. I'm goin' with it. Ever think that? I tell you when I think of it, when I'm asked. Sharing don't come naturally. I ask so you can ask too.

[Both palms open he's holding them out to the open air. He's really got nothing in the face of this. His mind's not working like it should. This shouldn't be so hard to say his piece. They get each other. Or at least they usually.]

I don't know! I don't fucking know why you are how you are or how I am the way I am. I don't...I don't know.

[He blinks and doesn't feel good on the inside at fucking all. Larry takes a step back.]

All I know is what feels right. Now it isn't quite it. I don't fucking know.

[Again he shakes his head but instantly regrets it.]

Yeah I got the gist of that.

[More sarcasm he'll regret later. The kid shakes his head.] If you don't know and I don't know then we're both royally fucked.

[Once upon a time he knew he liked entertaining the idea of leaving California for good at Mr. White's side. Now that he's had time to live away from California he knows that idea's probably best as entertainment. Hell Freddy doesn't know for sure. It's hard when you're not even on planet Earth. At least if they were there they'd have some hard clues as to whether they'd be running from the mafia or US marshals.]

You spied on me cause you can't handle me thinking outside a box you didn't help make.

We were fucked at the warehouse. Right here's a walk in the fucking park. No more bodies to put down for you right here.

[No friends are standing in his way. No Joe. No cops. Nobody but themselves now. Larry's not sure of he's part of the problem or the solution anymore. Hell, he's confused as to what the problem is at all. The kid needs to get his head cleared, fine. But Larry can't be a part of that because he helped get it screwed up then, huh? What did he do? Can't it go back to Black Magic Woman. No. The kid is a cop. Things don't ever quit being complicated.

He's going to the kitchen, not away not out. Just...thirsty. Which isn't a good idea. The fridge swings open only to be slammed shut as he answers to this box business that won't die.]

I didn't spy on you. I wanted to take a look at the piece of shit that you're trusting. If you get hurt--I'll fucking kill him.

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orangetoughguy - 2011-03-18 08:03 (UTC) - Expand

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whitetwoguns - 2011-03-18 08:09 (UTC) - Expand