pinkeffinprofessional

what the fuck are you talking about

we were fucking set up, you don't see how being partners before the job makes a difference?

for fuck's sake i didn't know any of you guys when i got called in

[Mr. White and The Kid kind of just happened. No lie.]

but now you are

just checking

yeah so chill the fuck out columbo

from the guy with a green lantern fetish?

it's not a fetish

where's my ring

Where I left it.

give it to me

i tried. you didn't take it

take it off your damn cat and give it to me

he went wandering

[Yeah, to the kitchen, maybe.]

son of a bitch

you find him, ring's all yours

[Who the fuck doesn't like bowling? Not Lawrence Dimick. He adjusts the Velcro on the wrist brace he got just for the occasion. No, he doesn't own a ball or pair of shoes...yet. Now that he knows there are lanes, decent lanes, within the City that is more than likely to change. The three of them, Pink, Orange and White got a nice deal for a lane and all the necessary rentals along with it. Though it looks like Larry's in a league of his own when it comes to the scoreboard. There's time for catch-up still. As much as it thrills him to hear the clatter of pins against polished wood, he's got an ulterior motive. Mr. White needs an extra pair of eyes. He leans a little closer to Mr. Pink.]

You haven't noticed anything off.

[There are enough noises in the alley, but he still keeps his voice down. As to who he is talking about, it takes a small head tilt.]

[Pink is wearing an ugly ass orange and green bowling shirt; purchase whereabouts unknown, but it looks vaguely thrift-store chic. He bounces his leg up and down and watches White clean up, and it's both unsurprising and a moment of scoff.

Who the fuck knew?

But when White asks, he looks over at Orange, a quick glance, and shrugs.]

Do I look like a fucking detective to you?

[What a joke; but it's said with levity, really.]

[If we're going to talk about braces and bowling shirts, have a kid decked out in fitted jeans and a simple white tank under his blue flannel shirt which is open under an equally open leather jacket. Chic something or other aside, black chucks that are starting to look a little ratty give his kid status away. While Larry and Pink talk he's trying to make sense of the scoring. It's not that he doesn't know how it works, he just doesn't believe Larry, Lawrence Dimick, Mr. White, is in the lead.

Just because he's the same age as the classic American bowling alley doesn't mean he ought to be blazing by his younger company. For serious.]

Keep your mouth shut.

[Orange points at Pink from where he's standing because honestly, heckling? A pain in the ass. Ball acquired, he's ready to roll that thing down and try to catch up. He doesn't hear what they're saying, not with the music in this joint.]

[Is that Alicia Bridges letting everyone know how much she loves the night life? Yes, yes it is. Lucky them. They're blasting old time hits. And the kid has an ear for it. The old man is wearing his typical duds, a Hawaiian shirt with ocean blue and cranberry colored flowers. His jacket is draped over one of the brightly colored plastic seats. It's not so cold in here.]

If you could take a guess. [Really look, that's what Mr. White is trying to ask you, Pink.] I think somethin' is goin' on. I dunno what. It's been going on for days.

[And we're not talking about gutter balls of the sport or status persuasion.]

[Pink kind of picks up on that, even through Alicia wailing.]

Well he sure loves the night life more.

[Meaning he's starting to deal in bricks, that's new. He seems....harder, somehow]

[Surely they allow smoking in here cause Freddy takes a drag for knocking out seven of those ten pins. He exhales in their direction as a way of showing off how fucking cool that was, jerks. Not that the kid's gonna do a song and dance number (unless he gets a spare). Now he'll go for the second ball and if it takes out the rest he might just sing with Alicia after all.]

He talk to you about it?

[He knows about that taste. All too fucking well in fact. What he doesn't say is that while he has a hankering, he's lacking the know-how or the sense to stop. It can't just be Larry seeing this shit.

Out of the corner of his eye, brown eyes study that man as he moves for the next go at those pins.]

I'm only getting wind of shit as he wants it to happen. [Larry snaps his fingers.] Moment's notice he wants to get to work. [The only work their types are supposed to know how.] That ain't him. Not usually.

[Pink watches the kid for a minute and shrugs, and leans over as if he's commenting on Orange's form]

Has me moving some shit. Didn't want to cut you in. Seems strange to me, he likes you.

[It's weird. He turns to Orange real quick]

Gonna dance for us?

[Thank Christ Freddy's still focused on rolling that ball down the lane to hear Pink squeal on the deal they cut. Bastard. Lookie here though, three of those pins go down, prompting Freddy to turn around, plant his hand in the crook of his cigarette arm, then lift. Bite that.]

It's all a matter of time, my man.

[This he imparts to Larry as he goes to have a seat, and drink his beer, and tap his ash. All they need now is a couple bowling lane ladies to complete the picture.]

What? Since when?

[Color him all shades of surprised. This was not something he was expecting. Larry was assuming there'd be some kind of a purchase history between Freddy and Pink. Pushing shit? Nope. Why would he still want more money? Was he out of his mind? Oh fuck. The pot from that one girl he was talking about. Sneaky son of a bitch. Mr. White rubs his face and wills the anger and the twisting dagger of hurt to the back burner.]

I didn't know.

[For the dance? Nope. At least he can't interpret it that way right now. Larry waves off this boast.]

I haven't gone yet.

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