orangetoughguy | log post II

[Look away you son of a bitch. That's what Lawrence Dimick is trying to exude. He's got nothin' to be ashamed of. Really, Mr. St. Lewis isn't so impressive a specimen on his own. Likely not prone to street brawls. Probably does some new age hippie dippy exercising to supplement all of that no meat, all natural food shit. That can keep a man fit but prepare him for combat? Larry'd wager not. Then again, soft hands means he doesn't work with them even for hobbies. And if he does then probably uses some kind of a lotion.]

The bird isn't picky.

[No. No he has no fucking clue what a rombuttang or whatever the fuck it's called is. That smile the dick is wearing sharpens the already aggressive possessiveness that Larry's trying to downplay. That man is smiling at Freddy Newendyke as though he is telling him a commode story. What could he thinking of comforting with his cock?

Cool it. Cool it. Not like the kid is letting the man undress him or talk dirty. He's trying to find Sam. Chances are he didn't even want them to meet up at Brian's pad. Strike that meet up at all.

All for the love of that bird.]

We'd appreciate it.

[Brian is a fag with his colored boho lights, fancy complicatedly named fruits and nude statues.]

[This is to you, you working class brute, "you have to be with toucans, meat will make him sick." True toucan facts. "I'm sorry I can't do more," he shakes his head at Freddy, "but I'll do my best. I can keep the lights on all night." Playing up the nice guy thing which he is at times, just not to Larry. This much is obvious. Maybe the old man is onto something after all. The kid hadn't caught a single whiff of it until now. Then again it could just be the size of Lawrence Dimick's massive cock threatening another man's unit. That's the way it goes, or something. Anyway, this is still about Sam.]

It's cool, thanks man.

[Freddy nods, genuinely appreciating any help he can get for the toucan. Green eyes aren't making too big of a show darting between the men but they're darting, he's noting, he's smelling. Right, time for them to go.] We're gonna keep lookin' on foot. Give me a call if anything comes up.

[Another nod, the kid's talking like a regular detective. The better to avoid a cock fight. "Next time let's share a drink," Brian adds, looking at both men, especially at you, Lawrence Dimick, "White."]

That's a given ain't it?

[Smart ass. That's a hurdle that the working class brute has to thrown himself over. No swear words, no unnecessary words from there. Give the fucker credit, Freddy please. It's hard to not take a crack. Brian is pouring it on thick and sweet. He may as well be vomiting maple nonfat no trees harmed syrup. Brazen this.]

Thanks. I'll keep that in mind.

[No names. A mister would denote respect. A first name alone would be too familiar. Then just the last name well. Fuck it all. Larry doesn't want to keep it anymore direct than that. They did their part for the bird here.

Since Freddy came first, he'll leave first. Then Larry will follow with his massive cock and balls.]

[.....Right. Another nod, a wave of that tambourine, and the kid's scooting on out of there. He looks over his shoulder only to make sure there's a bear following without leaving a blood trail. Not that he thinks Larry would deliberately wreck Brian, kick him on the way out on the other hand...

Said Brian just smiles for the two, door open then closing shut softly behind them. That Lawrence Dimick is a troublemaker, pissing all over the short one without provocation. Who does he think he is? Uneducated jealous possessive violent misery maker.]

See, that was okay.

[Freddy says to Larry once they've passed the fifth and fourth floors. Talk about an oblivious foxhound, or maybe he's just in denial about his own desirableness.]

[Out the door he goes happily. Good riddance you fucking piece of shit. The old bear lifts a paw to wave behind him. His shades were on the whole time. So his pokerface might be legible. He doesn't give a fuck right now. An over protective, suspicious friend. Oh well.

Don't doubt Brian St. Lewis that this mans piss is all over him. The kid notices and doesn't care. Hah.]

Right.

[That's all he'll say. Why stir the waters even more. Sam is still missing. Larry has to tell himself that though he'd like very much to take a hold of the kid awhile and appreciate what they got.]

[.....Right. Well it's true the kid doesn't care at all because Larry treats him real nice, not smothering nor neglectful. Most importantly he just doesn't see it when someone else has interest in him, most of the time. Freddy clears his throat then tucks the tambourine under his arm to get a cigarette out.]

Where else can we go?

[He's thinking, thinking, pet shops are probably closed for the day, restaurants and gardens still open though. But again, cats. Sam and cats don't mix. Cats...Pink has a cat...]

[A paw comes up to pat Freddy on the back to satisfy his need to touch him in some way. That's about all he'll get tonight. And that's fine. Fucking won't bring the bird back. Brian St. Lewis you've met your match in Lawrence Dimick because he is the one who takes care of this hound. Now it's a tough one.

A smoke would be a good idea right now.]

Any place else you went with him? Any stores?

[He'll light the kid's cigarette. Anything to make it a little easier.]

Did you tell anyone about his special talent?

[Even in passing. This isn't an accusation.]

I can think of one diamond hoarder.

No, I didn't tell anybody.

[A shake of his head before he takes that light graciously. Pull then puff puff. Freddy would be in hotter water had he told anyone that fucking lie. The fact that he told only Larry though, doesn't that make it worse? Shut the fuck Newendyke and just think like the cop you are. Think. Think Pink.]

Pink.

[He doesn't even say why, just the man's name alone connotes manipulation and underhandedness. Okay not all the time, the guy's not so bad but Sam's been there too once, and the bitch cat didn't take a liking to him. At all. Freddy's never known Sam to want to pick a fight however he's no toucan expert either. One never knows.] Come on.

[It's always a trip to be in this apartment at this doorstep. So much happened in this place. Larry honestly believes that it's been ruined by Pink living there. And that cat. This will be visit number two for Sam.

And for Freddy. The old man steals himself before lifting a paw to knock.]

You want to go in too?

[Orange is the boss man.]

[Pink isn't really expecting company, so when the cat hisses and takes off for the top of the fridge, he stares at the door for a good long second before he saunters over and looks in the peephole.]

What the fuck are you guys doing here?

[No, he hasn't opened the door yet. But then they haven't officially knocked.]

[Hey fuck you too, cat. And Freddy can't even see the fleabag yet. He looks at Larry then nods to the door.]

I need some help.

[That's right, 'I', let Pink think Orange is in dire straits, that White's only along for the ride (likely story, the weasel seems to know a lot more than he lets on). Also, for Larry this means yes, I'm going in too.]

[For that retort Larry knocks hard again.]

Just open the fuck up. Open Sesame.

[Good because the stink. Fuck it may be coming out right now. The moral support however wordless would be great.]

[There's nothing stinking in this apartment. He may be a criminal but he's not a dirty one. He undoes the chain and opens the door]

Help with what?

[He doesn't have his gun. Mistake.]

[Before explaining what he needs help with Freddy makes his way through the door, forcing himself in if necessary. See, he knows if he tells the guy up front what he needs help with there's a chance he'll shut him out lightning quick. No need to get violent now. This is definitely a different approach from the bohemian fuck's apartment.]

Where's your cat?

[There is a stink. It's the stink of cat. Other peoples would call it a smell. Hardly detectable after a few moments. This old man's sensitive. But Pink knew that.

He was about to ask that question, Freddy. And he's very grateful of it. It makes him feel more at ease.]

We'll talk inside. Come on.

[Cat or no cat. The sooner it's over the sooner they can leave. That must be something they all can agree on.]

What?

On the fridge.

[He turns to look at the cat, who looks annoyed, baleful, and suspicious. Also not full of toucan]

What the fuck is this about?

[Regardless of whoever came in last, somehow that door gets shut and locked. It's not just criminal habit either, if Sam is around, he doesn't want the toucan hopping out over a cat attack. Now then, smoke smoke. Freddy turns to look at Larry, sort of taking the lead except not, it's only because he's the one feeling most guilty over Sam's troubles.]

Your cat hates my toucan.

[He points his cigarette at the beast on top of the fridge. Yeah, good going Orange, that's real specific.]

[Okay... that isn't the angle that Larry would have started on. Larry rubs his forehead and puts his hands on his hips looking around. No sign of feathers or fruit.]

About that one...[Should he ask? Should Freddy ask? Aw man. Cat smell all over. Pink just lets it go anywhere. That fuck.] The bird I mean.

[Maybe if Pink sweats or gets too worked up they can safely assume he's involved. Okay. Strike that. More worked up than the standard.]

[It has a litterbox and it's very finicky, damn it. At least it doesn't eat diamonds]

Did you seriously come over here to tell me that?

[Shut. Up. Weasel.

Okay okay, just keep calm and carry on. Don't let him see you sweat. The sooner Pink knows Orange has no leg to stand on the easier it is for him to have the upper hand. This about Sam though you dumbass, not pride. But maintaining some level ground better ensures Pink's cooperation. Right? Shit stop holding a dialogue with yourself, Newendyke. Freddy looks over at Larry, a brief but unsure look, before he points his cigarette at Pink.]

Do you ever let your cat out? So he can fuck around in an alley or whatever?

We got reason to believe you got somethin' of ours.

[Not the apartment. And keeping the upper hand as well. This is your help kid. Larry walks around the couch. The place isn't that big. And really, the bird would not allow himself to be put somewhere. ...Alive that is. But what's Pink got against birds? He's got the cat. Birds are superior.]

Maybe the cats involved. All we wanna know is where you and that.

[The cat.]

Were all day today.

[What.]

Of course I let my fucking cat out and...

[What are you doing. Pink stares because this is fucking bizarre]

I was here. What the fuck is going on?

[He tips his head Larry's way.] What he said.

[There are some situations in which schoolyard tactics can't be avoided. Even though he's a short (for a white male) one he steps up to Pink like he's taller, like Sam is perched on top of him to give him the extra height he needs, beady eyes and big bill and all.]

My bird's missing. Your cat's been out. Do the math.

[No guns out yet though, actually Freddy here has a tambourine holstered at the small of his back so if he jingles a little, well. Yeah.]

[That was more direct than Larry was hoping. He doesn't want to think that Pink will laugh it off. But...there's a big ol' chance. Larry crosses his arms and stands closer still at a distance. The short shit's back up is in the room so maybe the answer will be slightly different.]

Like I said, tell us what we wanna know.

[Good cop in a bad mood, bad crook in good faith hoping that they can leave ASAP. That fucking cat, man. Shit.]

When did the cat go out? When did it come back?

[Silence]

Are you asking if my cat ate your fucking bird?

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