orangetoughguy | log post II

[Sure the kid can get under his skin but Larry would never think to gun him down especially for the diamonds. The man doesn't even want them. And how could he think to put bullets in him with what they got?

Though it doesn't take long to recall that in a fit of rage Mr. White about kicked Freddy's ribcage in.]

Shit.

[This time it isn't a word flung out in frustration. It rolls out as a sigh, a reluctant acceptance. Flipping the visor back up he puts his hand on Freddy's. It all makes it feel like a sink hole is forming in his chest and all the bullshit is sucked in to keep falling forever in a state of being collected, not beginning or ending.]

I'd never say shit like that.

[What if someone would have heard? They'd be as good as dead.]

I know man.

[He nods, genuine and sincere. Yes Larry kicked his fucking ribs in but that was Lawrence Dimick in a rage. This one...this guy was practically cold-blooded. Stoic. He's never seen Larry like that except for a second when the man gunned down cops like it was nothing. Then White just as easily slipped right back into being a protector, taking Orange along and guiding them both to safety...or inevitable doom as it were. He's nuanced like that. The man he met in the supermarket, that man never once crossed Freddy's path so directly.

Maybe the kid just wants to believe no part of that man exists in him anymore.]

Let's go up, we gotta check out your head. [Another nod and puff of his cigarette. Freddy turns his hands over and up to give Larry's a firm squeeze in the darkness.]

[No doubt in Larry's head at all that whatever that was that wore his face was intent on killing Freddy. If he hadn't been there even with the throbbing head, it's a given what would have transpired. The kid deserves credit where it is due but...damn. That kind of shark approach is not meant for Freddy.]

And get you your chocolate.

[That sounds good right now. A guy can spike that with Jack Daniels or whatever else they got. Lock the car all around. Larry gives it a few times over to make sure there's no mars of them being followed.

It'll be like checking under the bed and in the closet. Sure, may not be anything there but may as well rule it out personally. ]

I might just heat up some liquor.

[He jokes but it's half-hearted. He'll be taking the hot chocolate as is unless a shot of baileys might do in it. Where Larry thinks about how someone who looked like him planned to kill the kid, Freddy here thinks about how he's had to watch the old man die twice. What the fuck is wrong with this city? After the lock and lookover he leads the way through a side entrance, minimizing their presence in the lobby to just a couple seconds before they can reach the elevator. No stairs, it hurts.]

[The ideal combination ends up to be three parts hot chocolate one part booze. Some kind of a sweeter white Russian.]

Here.

[Larry passes a glass to Freddy, insisting he be the one taking the load off on the couch. He'll get to his head in a second. Slowly, he sits on the coffee table across from the other man, holding the mug between two paws.]

About all of that...

[The shit that was spewed in the alleyway without a care...]

Thanks.

[Freddy nods, taking the cup of hot good stuff as he stretches along the couch. Laying down feels so fucking good after tonight's stressful surprise. His side is hurting less but the pain isn't gone. However the kid's mind focuses on other things right away when Larry brings up 'all that'. He knows what all that is.]

You don't have to say anything, Larry.

No.

[Hard and a bit too abrupt. He shakes his head.]

No, Freddy.

[More conversational, he's looking at the swirling into the air from the warm mug.]

I do. I want to tell you without a doubt as angry as I can get, I'd never ever do you that wrong.

[Killing him, robbing him, going after him like that in public.]

[Those hard abrupt responses make Freddy silence himself for the moment. He hasn't sipped his hot chocolate yet. So Larry needs to say it all even though he must know the kid won't hold it against him, right?]

I know, Larry.

[He promised him once too, but more than that Freddy has faith in him.]

[In the pause, trying to gather his thoughts he takes a sip.]

Do you?

[His jaw tightens as he swallows.] I didn't know what I was running to or what hit me upside the head all I knew was that I was going and hoping to get there in time.

[It scared the shit out of me.]

And whatever that mother fucker was, saying what he did in public endangering us all. [The very thought makes him sneer.]

I do and I'm listening.

[So say your peace, Lawrence Dimick. He's not trying to get it over with either, it's a genuine window of opportunity for Larry to say what he wants to say because by all right he deserves to say it. Freddy doesn't feel like he has any right to pry, not about Alabama or Bobby or whatever else that fuckhead said. Larry would never call him a cop in public. Never.]

He fuckin' scared the shit out of me, I didn't know what he did to you.

Just. [Larry makes a pistol of his hand and points at the wound.] Think he said somethings.

[He wets his lips.] About being old, useless....fucking stupid.

[There's so much brewing in his head and heart. He's not some killing machine. Freddy should know, Larry should not have to feel like it is in jeopardy... but there is no doubt in his head that man that wore his face would have killed anyway he could. Guns, no guns it wouldn't have mattered if it was in private or right there in the store. And everything was lethal in his hands. That other Mr. White was using affection, past and present as a weapon. Seldom does he ever breath her name let alone his.]

I know he said a lotta things that were wrong.

[Mug down. It's starting to come together in clumps. Whatever works. How many times has the kid asked for little pieces, no matter where they'll come from?]

He was talking about...people. Things. [Spit. It. Out.] You're better to me than Bama or Bobby.

[Brown eyes look at him laying there not fucking dying, but not sitting easy.]

[Freddy takes a slow tentative sip of his chocolate russian brew. Not bad really, but he's not completely focused on the good taste either. Sam untucks from his corner to hop over towards the pair, curious because animals are adept at sensing things. Instead of perching by Freddy, the bird perches near Larry, looking from him then to the kid then back again. What's wrong, e-ee-e-e-ee-e-e-e.]

Whoever they are, they gotta be important to you too, Larry. I don't gotta be better than anyone...

[But it's sure as hell nice to hear. Does that make Freddy a selfish little bastard? An emotional vampire? He shouldn't care, he has no entitlement to how Larry compartmentalizes his past. It's not your fucking business, Newendyke.]

[The old man keeps on looking to the kid, he can't look back or away.]

Bama...Alabama. You know her. [Larry leans forward and reaches out to touch a paw to his knee. Sorry, Sam. All of his attention is focused elsewhere.] Bobby was about one of the best friends I ever had. And...

[A bitter smile perches precariously on his mouth a moment.] Bobby was one of the best men I'd ever known. We were friends. I wanted more.

[WELL THEN. That's okay Sam rubs that massive colorful beak against the soft furniture.]

...I'm sorry. [What a trite thing to say, Newendyke. Well what else can he say? It's in the past and it's not uncommon for people to hold up other people against people from the past. That's human nature. Freddy's not supposed to get curious, get jealous.] Before her?

[What was he like? Did he love baseball?]

Uh huh.

[Now he'll take a sip. It feels a little more comfortable. Is it wrong that he intended to hide Bobby from Freddy? There was always the nagging notion of giving too much away about the men before, about the automatic comparisons. To be honest, this is more intimate than the old man ever dared to dream. Deeper than anything he had with Paul in jail. Paul was scum and Bobby was truly just a friend.]

Met in high school. We kept on crossing paths.... Friends though, nothin' more in the end.

[For this Larry gets a faint smile out of Freddy.]

That's a long time. [He nods, considering his own thoughts for a moment, before he finally asks, because Freddy wants to know as much as Larry wants to tell.] What happened to him?

After the first go through the joint I thought I was hot shit. Baptized by fire or something. Bobby warned me. I was doing stupid shit, runnin' around. Thought I could handle anything, everything. Pushed my luck at every turn. With him too. He put up with my shit, looking the other way when he didn't agree.

[Another sip from the hot spiked chocolate.]

[Sam flaps over to sit with Freddy now, nosing his way into a little narrow space where a toucan can roost warmly next to his favorite human. The kid doesn't protest and idly pets the bird on the head, but his focus is still completely on Larry.]

Sounds like some kinda guy.

[Another sip. He means it too, someone who can stay friends with another for so long, through all the good times and all the bullshit, especially serious shit like the joint and whatever else Lawrence Dimick has done. Things he may not be proud of.]

Nothin' on you.

[Who is ballsy, funny and sure can take his knocks. Freddy's seen him in so many shades of fucked up and still is hanging on. Big, thick fingers thread together after setting the mug down.]

I want you to understand that.

Larry. I've seen you shoot and get shot for me. [No way around saying it, it needs to be said. He places his hand over the old man's.] I want you to understand you don't gotta--[Come on Newendyke, you know it's right.] You don't gotta tell me I'm the best out of everyone.

[Funny because secretly that's something the kid's always selfishly wanted, to be put on a pedestal or labeled the one that got away, to be somebody to someone. Now though, after all this time with Lawrence Dimick, he just wants to be the guy he fell in love with. What a fucking fool for love you are, Newendyke.]

[No? What? Maybe now wasn't the right time for this kind of a conversation. That can be respected. All the stress. The pain that Freddy's enduring. What does that kind of talk matter, really. There is no Alabama or Bobby here. No Joe. No Eddie. No kidnapped cop.

The old man feels something like that feather head snuggling close striving for attention from those hands.]

Baby, I love you.

[What else can he say? Now those hands want to hold him, touch him, appreciate that both of them are alive.]

[Feathery head, big beak, comfortable right where he is and thus making it impossible for Freddy to get up and pull Larry into his arms without crushing the toucan. Maybe that's Sam's plan, maybe Sam's just a dumb bird who doesn't know better.]

I fuckin' love you, Larry.

[So instead he squeezes that paw, hard and firm. Almost too hard and slightly shaking.] You can have a thousand Bobbys and Bamas, it don't change a thing.

[Seeing the old man die twice (Three times? Does the gunshot he suffered when they came here count?) really fucking gets to him.]

[That damn bird. Is Sam able to feel meaningful looks in the same way that he deals them out? He's got one right now however short. Since he can't hold him or go into his arms Larry lifts his hands to his mouth to kiss before leaning forward.]

One Freddy.

[All this man needs. And Freddy needs one Dimick. The other two...not so hot.]

One Larry. Good enough from there.

[E-ee-e-ee-e-e-e-e. What? Oh. The toucan stares at Lawrence Dimick for a few beats before beating it. Hop hop flap flap. Up to perch on the back edge of the couch instead, fff.]

Good enough for me, man.

[He presses his fingers to that mouth before freeing his other hand to pull Larry towards himself. Freddy utters with conviction and fear.] I don't wanna see you down like that again, you stupid son of a bitch.

[That's what he thought. Get a move on little bird. This bear is being pulled. Larry lays however he can with the kid, half on the couch not putting anymore weight than he has to on Freddy.]

You won't.

[Not in his book. The city is never going to ask what he thinks. Until that day he can only offer up his word.]

I'm right here, cowboy. I'm right fucking here.

[Lips touch his forehead. His paws touch against his stomach.]

Are you still hurting?

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orangetoughguy - 2011-05-20 07:35 (UTC) - Expand

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