orangetoughguy

The ones where they take the insides out and rub it all over like Pine-sol.

"Told you you would be fine," Larry says that with supreme confidence. Hopefully his doubts at the warehouse with Mr. Pink weren't overheard.

He scratches his chin and looks at the ceiling. "We get a car. We get a car and get the hell out of here. Staying in one place on the West Coast wouldn't be a good idea right now."

Hey Camp Crystal Lake is pretty fine this time of year.

As for Mr. Pink, he was genuinely passed out that time so no worries there. Larry's suggestion on the other hand evokes worry and amusement. Does he know what it feels like to have both? His stitches doth protest.

"Ever thought about crossin' the border?" I did. No but really, his expression changes. "They ain't cuffed us to the bed yet, they don't know shit."

Note, he almost said you.

How about Sleep Away Camp?

He's easy with his answers, not worried in the slightest. After all, it's just his fellow criminal, his comrade. Even less to worry about with no nurses or doctors to look out for.

"I have. My Spanish is shit. Helps if you know people. Maybe an acquaintance or two is still in good standing down in Baja. Hard to say the way the cartels run." Though they do have true Mexican food. Speaking of, all the shit they say about hospital food isn't that true. It's not great but nothing worth bitching that much over.

Larry rubs his nose. "They don't need to know. I called it a driveby. It was the best I could think of. Besides, it's LA. Could have been some street trash with something to prove." Being alive and getting away is always the best option.

Death by curling iron is not the way to go.

Freddy doesn't even try to bullshit his way through that one so he lets Larry do all the planning. Oh but when he calls it a driveby he can't hide the slight grin. Lawrence Dimick, victim to a driveby? Maybe in some cop's dream.

"Thanks." He calls LA home, gosh. No need to get into this West Coast vs. East Coast vs. Mid West vs. the South or whatever regional differences. His fingers drum on the covers, craving a cigarette. "I talked to a couple people." This is going somewhere but he's taking it slow.

Ah, the luxury of watching other people experience death that you'll never meet.

"Yeah? I had some Skipper doll tell me something about traveling to different places mysteriously. It didn't make sense. This place is off." And he's no detective. Even if he was, Larry's done enough and deserves to lay low. "Learn anything?"

"How many places you know called the City?" The answer; a lot, but he knows they didn't ride in no damn chopper. Freddy would remember that, well, unless he slept through it.

"Private hospital? Could be unrelated."

He's using the same hand that wants a smoke to gesticulate. Whoever Joe tried to rob could easily have their own underground ties, making Larry's plan the soundest if a third party came to pick them up before the cops did. The very thought gives him reason to run his palm over his face. It's not good but he can't bring himself to tell the guy I can't come with you. He tried to tell Larry, he really did. But Freddy won't cry about it anymore, at least not while they're surrounded by others who could walk in. Some who could walk in with guns. How do they know some doll of a nurse won't come in only to inject the IV with a killer?

"No more than you," he shakes his head, "one a'them asked me my name." He wets his lips.

"There are tons of cities. This has got to be one of them. I don't even know what happened. I remember," he makes a gun out of his hand and mimes shooting in two directions, "that's it. Next I know, we're on the street. Some girl came along."

He doesn't know who. Clearly they got from there to here. Nothing is coming into the foreground as far as clarity is concerned.

"Yeah? Did you give your name or did you stick with John Doe crap?" Yeah, it's crap. Life saving crap. "We should be careful." Word through the grapevine travels fast. Especially if it's bad news. The cops will want em, no shit, and whatever connections Joe was holding could come around.

Jesus Christ, Larry, just shut up and listen.

"It's Freddy."

So no, he didn't use John Doe crap. He couldn't really think to use it then and there, not knowing where he is, not knowing how they got there. It was easier when the LAPD were surrounding the warehouse, at least then they understood the battlefield. This is different. This is the least he can offer to Larry.

"I didn't tell'em shit about you." Like I promised.

"Freddy." Larry figures this must be the real deal in the delivery. Johnny, Paul, Stan...that kind of shit is made up. Freddy not so much. It's different than Fred.Short for Fredrick right? Though forever more he looks like a Freddy. He nods thinking it over, processing.

And he smiles, laying back against the pillows. "I was right about you." Not. A. Cop. If Joe weren't dead or wherever he is, this would be Larry's proof to hold up. Turning him over to the authorities now would be as easy as tying your shoes at this point. "We should stick together until we get things figured out."

The relief he feels just from telling Larry that only fills up once again when the man says he was right about him. Why does he say shit like that? If Freddy were closer he could knock some of that machine shit down on his fucking head. Stop saying that shit. Please. It fucking hurts. For all those thoughts going through his head he keeps his face unchanging, displaying a stoicism so in tune with his own manner to an outsider it's casual.

"Yeah. Good idea," Freddy agrees for reasons he knows Larry doesn't know. He turns his focus to the ceiling as he leans back. "A Dr. Cameron's our girl for a few more hours. We got Eden who's helpin' the night shift cause they're short staffed."

He looks over to Larry. Is he impressed with his information gathering? He should be. Please be impressed.

He says shit like that because he means it. In Larry's head, Freddy is the Cadillac of beginners and should be treated as such. He's seen a few who come in thinking that they're from The Good, The Bad and the Ugly who get done in. Deserving so for not listening, not being perceptive. This kid here, he's something different. Not exactly an old pro, but he's got a head to him. That's something that Larry can appreciate. Brains give you a potential to climb up in the world. And it's so hard to find a good partner and like mind in the business. This last heist may as well have tattooed that notion on Larry.

"They'll be so preoccupied with everything, mothering all over." Which means they could find a pack and smoke it, that's the other medicine needed to make this whole situation better. Larry shakes his head. "Mr. Social Butterfly, working all the right moves. Are either of them actually your type?"

Is this how it works at home with the side smile and James Dean hair fix?

Uh...

It's easier said than done but what he does do is allow Mr. Orange to take over the situation. Freddy would rather talk about the differences between Black Cat and Catwoman. "The type to get me on my back?" He asks, brow arched. Okay that's not such a lie, however he's not going into details and he doubts Larry will too.

"We got a guy too, Peter. He's nice but he's sharp," ie. one to watch out for.

"This is a hospital ain't it? You've got to have your needs taken care of," he answers feigning innocence with a shrug. Hey, if it will get this situation closer to them getting the hell out of Dodge, why not?

Oh, there are men in these parts. "Only three in our neck of the woods?" That could be deceptively reassuring. Another reason to be cautious. "Dr. Cameron, Eden and Peter."

No Larry, you're not allowed to be his pimp.

"Yep. I'm workin' my angles," he gestures to Larry, a single palm cruising through air, dealing with a hard situation the same way he dealt with those sheriffs at the train station. If that had ever really happened. "What are you doin'?" He dares to ask, not because he doubts Larry's usefulness in this situation but just because he can ask.

Not yet then? Hours ago they were as good as dead. What a terrific bounce back to spend time fucking. Even if it doesn't happen, it's great to be alive. Fucking great.

"What am I doin'? Trying to come up with a decent way out. And a story. We had a drive-by, that's all good. If this isn't California, we might get some super friendly folks wanting to know where we're from, what we do for a living? Having a story helps."

Let it be known that Larry didn't say lie. Their story could be based in truth. Not too much though, especially if someone goes knocking on doors wanting details of their whereabouts. Listen to him, who does he think he is? Mr. Pink? Paranoid little piece of shit.

Edited 2010-08-11 00:51 (UTC)

Buy him dinner first, or just give him that cup of jello he's clearly not eating.

"You're sayin' we bend the rules a little," Freddy asks, which is not at all the same as saying they lie. He likes the idea of rule breaking, having already broken some himself whether he acknowledges it or not. "Process server," he suggests with a question mark because he'll defer to Larry's judgment on this one...or it could be a joke. A Freddy joke.

That jello is purple. He can have it if he really wants it. Larry scoots it across the tray.

"There's a time to bend 'em and a time to break 'em." Just like the Byrd's song. A time to kill, passed. A time to heal, processing. A time to get the fuck out and lay low until the coast is clear. He never was good with lyrics.

This kid here, a regular comedian. Larry laughs. "No one would question the nature of a drive-by from there."

Seeing the purple morsel offered he does reach over. It's hard fighting the natural inclination to invade the old man's personal space so why bother fighting? Too bad Freddy actually has to get out of bed to get the treat. Too far, damn. Larry's a fucking tease. He sighs, leaning back into bed.

"I wouldn't," he shakes his head. Imagine that, finding more common ground in the midst of their opposing professions. Not that Larry has any idea about it, does he? "No one ever said what the damn process was," Freddy adds, giving Larry a knowing look, the difference between a lie and petty details. He purses his lips, craving a cigarette with which to make some smoke rings.

That's about as far as the jello is going to go. Unless he throws it. That'll be hard to explain if it hits the wall. Larry picks it up and does a mock throw. Are you a good catch, Freddy?

Right now? He doesn't have any idea. Any kind of too honest behavior is the natural inclination to be honest and lawful. At least anybody with a good mother. "That kind of detail is for the client only. Right?"

Well shit. He can't back down now. Freddy raises his hands like a wide receiver, daring the other man to actually throw it. Put his...food...where his mouth is...or something like that.

"Got it."

Throw the damn thing already.

Larry's a decent pitcher. He keeps his throw reserved. Don't want it all over the place. His jello is Freddy's jello. Especially if it's purple.

He's going for it. He's going for it. Oh it's a fumble. Wait the kid's got a grip on it! He's got it! At the cost of nearly tangling his IV line but the needle hasn't popped out and neither has his jello. Sweet. He swipes his finger around the rim and gives the tip a lick. Grape. No shit, it's purple. Then Freddy can't help but laugh and almost he might just laugh so hard that he cries. Fortunately it doesn't come to that, at least on the outside. Petty details.

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