log post II

[orangetoughguy]

third person narrative, action bracket spam, anything goes
log post I | log post II | log post III

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[orangetoughguy]

[Flush!

There goes all the cocaine. The $20 he's still keeping. Sure dollars don't count for much in this world but they can always give it back as a friendly gesture or exchange currency or keep it with the diamonds for the day they return. Nobody takes payment in diamonds in LA, nobody. Not fair equal trade payment anyway.]

[whitetwoguns]

[The door hits the tile when he pushes it open. For a moment he almost says the kid's name, his real name, out loud. Coherent brain activity is at an all time low. He doesn't see Freddy out in the open of the bathroom down the hall.

Maybe he chose another one. Fuck.]

...kid?

[orangetoughguy]

[Larry's voice surprises him--nearly startles him because he's handling drugs. It's a habit okay? A floppy blonde head pops out of the larger handicap stall. Everyone knows it's not really this big to fit a wheelchair.]

Yeah?

[Who else would be calling him 'kid'?] Everything okay?

[whitetwoguns]

[He's there in two steps holding the door open and looking around. The toilet. The floor. The kid. His hands.]

It's gone?

[orangetoughguy]

[Okay. So the battle's not over yet is it? Green eyes look straight at brown ones as he points to the toilet bowl.]

Gone. I still got this though.

[He holds up the bill and it's clean as a whistle. Sorry Larry. No actually he's not sorry at all.]

[whitetwoguns]

[Slowly nodding he lets it sink in. Even though he doesn't have the shakes---it's been that long, he feels like there's something unsettled on the inside. Brown eyes are looking right on back.]

Are you sure?

[They say all money has a little bit on it. So what. Dimick, are you desperate enough to lick a twenty dollar bill in a men's room?]

[orangetoughguy]

Yeah, I'm sure.

[Nice try. He pockets that bill ahead of time.] Let me know if that guy wants it back, cause it's my tip for covering your shift with you if he doesn't.

[Ball's in Dimick's court if he wants to lie and say the guy does.]

[whitetwoguns]

I don't think he would.

[Swallow. More nodding.]

Let's head home. I'm done.

[He almost was able to shake it all off. Almost. That's how many times he's had to say no? Fucking shit. Larry heads for the door, not sure of what else to say when he came on in here.]

[orangetoughguy]

Wait.

[Freddy reaches out to grab Larry by the wrist, wanting to pull him back into the mens room. He's getting one of those paper towels now to soak it with cold water then wring it. The old man needs it on his forehead.]

[whitetwoguns]

[He's so damn wrapped up in the drain of his thoughts that the touch physically startles him. Just Freddy.]

Shit it isn't---[like he feels sick. He does. More words try to hit the air in the same chord. It's all untrue.]

Fuck. [Larry's shoulders shake in a rueful laugh that doesn't make a sound either. He's grinning though, grinning like the fool he is. One more twist of the corner of his mouth and it's a sneer.]

I'm sorry.

[orangetoughguy]

[He's not bleeding to death on a ramp or anything but Freddy's patting and rubbing away at his forehead before he balls up the paper and tosses it.]

It's okay, Larry. You did good. Nobody thinks you gotta get through this like you're fucking untouchable, okay?

[The kid means it, fucking sincere.]

[whitetwoguns]

[Damn. He didn't know his skin was so hot. The wet paper towel feels better than it should. Larry tilts his head this way and that after a few dabs to best enjoy it before it's thrown away.]

Okay.

[Freddy Newendyke, his own personal hero.]

I'm trying. Believe me.

[Please. Two more seconds and he could have tried to get into the stall and get the coke.]

[orangetoughguy]

I believe you, baby.

[They're in a mens room in a casino that's have a crazy party farther out. What's the likelihood of someone coming in now? Probably not. So the kid wraps his arms around Larry for a tight squeeze.]

[whitetwoguns]

[Chances are if anyone did they're wasted enough to think it's two fellas and a bad trip rather than two love birds. Big arms go around Freddy.]

I needed that.

[Belief, intervening flappy hands and the whole damn deal.]

Take me home.

[Escorted by Christie.]

[orangetoughguy]

[He can be a superhero too, see? These flappy hands give firm pats to those thicker arms. Mr. White's not a small man, that's for sure, but even the hardest toughest guys need a little help sometimes, and Freddy certainly is little. Just don't ever call him that.]

I got a helmet with your name on it.