orangetoughguy | log post II

[Freddy takes his glass.] You don't know that, maybe you didn't get the angle he was working at.

[The kid waves a hand because seriously who wouldn't hit on a smooth motherfucker like this old man? Just look at the way he drinks his wine, smooth as shit. He takes a sip himself, oh wait weren't they supposed to toast?]

[As long as there's still wine in a glass they can still toast.]

Or I'm not his type.

[Not like some floppy haired, soulful eyed sons of bitches.]

To a smart ass and this fucking life we lead.

What kind of type are you?

[He had to ask, sorry old man. But really, what kind huh? Oh okay he can take a break from being a smart ass to toast. Freddy raises his glass and clinks it against Larry's.]

Amen.

[Does this count as saying grace? He gives the old tough guy a soulful eyed son of a bitch smile before sipping.]

Experienced. [Older.] Classic. [Throwback.] Something like that.

[Clink of glass before another sip. What would he do without this smart ass?]

Sure not the same as you.

Like a 1950 Buick Roadmaster Convertible?

[Do you like the sound of that, Lawrence Dimick? Those words coming out of this smart ass mouth? Except he's not being such a smart ass about the car, it's a fucking classic.]

[Man on man. Larry loves it. The car. The man that knows the car.]

Exactly.

[And he'll take another sip savoring the flavor of the wine with this turn of conversation.]

Some people like to ride the hell out of those babies.

[Right?]

Oh yeah, with its top down and a hand on its shift.

[Another sip.] Filling up the backseat. A real fuckin' beauty.

[Worthy mechanic that Freddy is he is able to kick start an engine and keep it hot all through the dining experience.]

Great place, kid.

[The food, the ambiance, all up Larry's alley. Hopefully he had his own enjoyable dinner, right? Right? It wasn't all just to make the old man happy. He'd love for the kid to start on his own love of finer things but would never expect him to give up his sugar packed cereal.]

Thanks, I knew I picked right.

[The kid says with a dash of pride. The old man liked it, it made him happy, therefore he's happy too. On top of that the food itself was delicious and fair for the price point. He's got no complaints. They're on their way home now, a casual walk from where the cab dropped them off. Good halfway mark.]

That cookie shit was fucking amazing.

[Hey Freddy can't be refined all the time. His tie's also loose now.]

[That wildcat bearing arm swings over the kid's shoulder when the taxi rolls out of sight.]

Good, good shit.

[The other paw of his pats his stomach.]

Sure doesn't compare to a normal chocolate chip. Should be called something else.

[Pazookie perhaps? That's interesting enough. The evening is warm, not quite a heatwave. It's a great one for a walk.]

A cookie's a cookie.

[Freddy rationalizes with a shrug of those shoulders and the heavy arm draped across them.]

Good to know you liked it. [The kid underscores this with a pat to the old man's mid-section.]

Now I gotta walk it off.

[Which is exactly what they're doing. He eyes that hand at his belly. Boy all this high living he might have another spare tire. Though they sure get exercise too. Only time can tell.]

Well we [You.] can use the exercise.

[Another pat pat then he tucks his hands into his pockets, Larry's that is, only to pull out a pack of Chesterfields.]

Smoke?

[Like he needs to ask, but he's asking because the nicotine addiction really offsets the notion of exercise and Freddy knows it. After that he'll go for a Marlboro.]

[As long as he can keep up with this kid.]

Fucking mind reader.

[Larry cranes his neck for the Chesterfield put right between his lips.]

Every time I turn around you got a new super power.

[The cigarette bobs up and down as he talks. No, he's not a kiss ass. Not a chance. Just stating the obvious. Yep.]

So. Best of the weekend was that Thor guy.

I just suck it off from the next guy.

[No he's not dirty-minded. Actually wait yes maybe he is or maybe Larry just makes him feel that way. Puff puff, he makes a couple rings after lighting up his own cigarette.]

Best of the weekend was being fucking alive.

Makes sense.

[Zero to gutter. And the old man follows him right there. Smoke rings show more clearly in open night are than the already air of a bar.]

Being here.

[Because it ain't so bad. It's the next best thing.]

Not being undead.

[Larry gets a shiver still thinking about that ugly as sin homeless woman who almost took a chunk out of Freddy.]

What makes you think I'm not undead?

[Call him morbid call him pale, he spent...well less than six years but he certainly followed Larry's trail like a good deputy dog. Anyway the kid flashes a broad grin that shows his teeth, in particular his unusually pointy looking fangs.]

Maybe I'm a different kind of undead.

[Sure he was bitten by some guy who was a vampire for all he knew but experiences like last week's help a man laugh at the small stuff. Without many people on this particular street Freddy feels bold enough to hover his mouth this close to Larry's neck.]

[Pale but freckled, that's what you call a European complexion right?]

What big teeth you have.

[His mouth is pretty big too. Bark and bite ready and able to deal something nasty.]

Guess it ain't smart for me to be talking a long walk at night with you.

[Oh shit. Larry exhales smoke which also happens to expose his neck a little more. The breath on there makes him about break out in goosebumps.]

So that how you're gonna do it? Gain my trust, get close and friendly then drag me into some alley?

Hey I'm not a street mutt. [Nip.] I got a doghouse and I'm draggin' you to it.

[To his 'lair' which happens to be just one more block up.]

[The touch of teeth almost make him drop his cigarette.]

And I bet you haven't even had your shots. You dirty ruthless son of a bitch. You don't care. You're gonna maul me, aren't you?

[Perfect timing.]

But don't you know, I'm not nobody's victim.

I'm foamin' at the mouth for you already.

[Puff. This smoke ring finds itself blown towards the space under Larry's collar.]

Oh yeah? So what's that make you?

[He's hoping for a juicy bone. Freddy presses his hand against the small of Larry's back to get him moving towards the building faster.]

Maybe I should start running.

[His arm is off of Freddy though the old man doesn't take off.]

You could say I gotta thing for monsters. I don't scare easy.

[Would that make him a hunter? That shove gets Larry walking at a faster pace ahead of him. Are they gonna play it like this? Brown eyes look on over his shoulder.]

You can't outrun Fast Freddy.

[Another couple pulls and he's slowing his own pace to give Larry a 'head start'. The plan is to chase him right into the elevator, try to get those doors to close before he slips through, then savage him right in the lift. Though not all the way, some monsters have brains too okay? A flick of that cigarette makes the kid a litterer but no one's around to give him a ticket. Freddy starts advancing.]

Can't blame a guy for trying.

[The half finished Chesterfield meets the pavement and is crushed out by one of those fine Italian loafers. Off he goes. Speed is not on the old man's side. There's their building. Even though Larry wants to turn to look how far away the kid is, he steels himself. That'll only slow him down. Ears open he can hear footsteps. Book it, old man. Pretend this is football and your delaying the tackle.]

[Right through the lobby doors like it's no thing.

The kid is stalking, on the prowl, the guard at the desk just thinks they're weird. Oh yeah there are rumors but an apartment's an apartment and happy tenants make a guard's life easier. Better get that elevator, Dimick, or is he gonna take the stairs?]

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