pinkeffinprofessional

[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.

[Pink looks up]

Before the horrorshow.

[He means when Orange got high on shit and played that fucking game at his suggestion]

Go, man, everyone with eyes can see you'll win this shit.

[He played that game some more and he fucking...almost finished it okay? Not without Larry's help of course. Speaking of him, the kid notices a particular look in his eye but he has no energy to argue with him about anything in public, not tonight. Shouldn't the old man feel grateful for that? Anyway Freddy gestures for Larry to get a move on, brace and all. How do they know that thing doesn't have some kind of power booster in it? Or a fucking special magnet?]

It's one game, you gotta play more to get a real idea of who's fuckin' champ and who ain't.

[This he says to Pink just as...the downbeat everyone knows starts. The night life turns into the balmy days of summer...in the rain. But only if you like pina colada. The jukebox hooked up to the sound system has a lot in common with K-Billy's playlist.]

[They're gonna have a long talk later. It's one thing to want to go and pull jobs but at least he's got the sense to make it into a conversation, well, that's only after he had to learn. What the fuck is he supposed to do with this? What if Freddy hooked a nasty piece of street trash that traced back to the apartment? All of these thoughts directly combat his efforts to keep in the moment, they're having fun being all buddy, buddy. And for certain any in depth conversation should not be in front of the third wheel.

Pink earned himself dinner. Like any kept informant he may as well see benefits for this knowledge.]

So you already are up for game two?

[Larry stretches, one arm, then the other as he stands and readies for his turn. His ball is already waiting outside of the rotating machine.]

[Pink is losing magnificently, because bowling is not Texas Hold 'em and he's not even that good at that.]

Yeah yeah, get the shit ready.

[Although he'd kick ass at a game of Blackjack. He counts cards.]

I'm going to change the fucking music because this no one likes long walks in the rain.

[He saunters to the jukebox and cues up the next song, getting in front of an old lady who wanted to play the smooth sounds of Barry Manilow next.

Guys just be glad 'Africa' wasn't a choice on the song selection]

[Yeah, he's gonna say it.] Don't pick a shitty one.

[Africa, Rosanna, Jessie's Girl, whatever you queue up better not be Madonna is all. That'd be near nostalgic at this point. In the meantime the kid gets his device out because the scoreboard is both magnificent and a shame. Mr. White's far ahead of them both...but who's gonna know the top score is his when it's labeled anything but White, Tim Strawn, or BJ? Er, wait, is he Bear? Hm.]

What's up with you?

[He asks Larry when Pink is out of earshot.] You've been lookin' at me funny all night. [And not in the way he can feel his clothes peeling off either.]

His taste is okay. He was into K-Billy's show.

[And that is something they all can agree on. Larry could care less what comes up. Everything's taken a back seat. And for the record, it's a poorly constructed pun about where he's fun. If they put BJ and the Bear, yes that's the bear, Claire could come on in.]

We'll talk about it later. [Until then, don't be such a tight ass old man. That's what he tells himself. Cutting the bullshit first, clothing peeling later.

Now that it's his turn, he's got a little space. Ball in hand, watch the man do some magic. Larry approaches the red line pulls back aaaand oh, well. That would be what they call a strike.]

[He heads back after his song, queued up to play after the shit song about nothing anyone actually gives a shit about when he hears the strike. Pre-fucking-dictable.]

Shit, I should just throw in the fucking towel.

Oh come on are you gonna play that game?

[Yeah he fucking said it though not in a cruel or too sarcastic tone. It's only that after the last couple days he feels some straight forward talking would be beneficial to their partnership. Later though, fine, not while the third wheel is rolling around.

Hell that was a strike. Fucking predictable.]

It's not like we're playin' for money.

[Er. Are they? They aren't right? Freddy shrugs once, channeling Super Cool and waits for Pink to get a move on.]

I ain't playing. [Larry returns from his strike, walking close to Freddy to at least say it directly to the man. His eyes transmit all of the seriousness that his tone doesn't. Let him piss and moan, but this is not going to go down in front of Pink. They've been doing great so far in keeping all the important details out of the man's knowledge. For fuck's sake let them keep it up.] Later.

[Taking a seat, he looks from one man to the other.] We can still play for cash. The show's not over. I'm in. [He smiles broadly because it is something worth smiling about. Of course he's in.]

Show us what you got, Pink.

I don't have the fucking cash to lose to either of you.

[This is such a lie.

Pink shrugs and goes for it - rolling a decent round, but nothing stellar or breath-taking.]

[Okay. That shuts the kid up right and proper though it doesn't stop him from huffing on the inside. Okay. They'll talk about it later because Larry keeps his word. As long as this isn't going to be about how Freddy needs to abide by a special set of rules until he's 'ready' to run with the big boys.]

Yeah sure, who doesn't wanna when they're so damn good. [Ffff. He's back in his super cool persona, just shooting the shit with the guys. As for Pink having no money, they could play for a round at the bar.] A round of brews sound fair to you?

[He looks over at Pink whose skill is on par with his own (or maybe worse, hmmmm). With the Escape full and gone there's a momentary pause of musical silence taken over by the sounds of the lanes. Bowling balls rolling and pins knocking over drown out the first bars of the next song in the queue but it's an obvious build up.]

Or next round on the juke? [Casual question, this, as he taps his cigarette out in a tray.]

[The old man spreads his hands.] What? Can you blame me? [Skill gets rewards. That's how the math works. He didn't make it that way. It's just so.] I wouldn't turn down a cold one. You can afford that right? That and rent?

[How does Pink even get by? Maybe they'll never know. Is that weasel of a man gonna come on back so they can finish their conversation? Come on, Pink. There might be more than one good dinner in it for you. Until then the build up keeps coming. Lyrics aren't far away at all.]

Oh say. I think I know this one. Fuck, what's the name of that group? That's the problem with one hit wonders.

A round sounds okay. I got enough for rent.

[He turns his head at the music]

Kind of how I feel sometimes with the clowns in this place. It's Stealer's Wheel.

Beer's decent enough for a cheap bastard like you....

[....What? He looks at Larry then at Pink. Larry. Pink. He's looking at Pink real hard now like he's trying to remember something. There's something about this song, about this situation. A situation they got into where for a time the kid had to be left alone with one hostage and a mad man. That weasel's no rockabilly prison tough guy, but he put the song on. If he put it on then he's the man who has to go down. Freddy gets up on his feet, hand going for the firearm at the small of his back. Mr. Orange is fast and doesn't even flinch when he squeezes off the first round. Then a second. And a third. Watch out a fourth is coming in no time.]

You look like you shop at Goodwill though, Mr. Pink. [Fuck someone had to say it. Larry's proud enough of himself to laugh at his own joke. His head is turned to get the full effect of how the man's gonna take it, cheap bastard is asking for hits like that.

The song flows as they do. In his peripheral he sees Freddy approach again, and like a magnet he draws Larry's attention. And holy shit this was not what was expected.]

What--[and like that, before any questions are completely formed gunfire? Jesus fucking Christ! The sight strikes him dumb for too many vital seconds.]

[It moves too fast for Pink to respond, at first, and he collapses, one bullet nasty and painful in him. Getting shot in the gut really is a fucking bitch.]

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! You fucking - FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

[Look there's just no manly way to do this, okay? His own hand goes for his gun at the same time that he dives behind the ball return, and turning to aim back at the shithead asshole]

[People are screaming everywhere now, running for cover just like this coward here whom Freddy pursues with the seriousness of a nuclear war. Green eyes are brighter, more vivid. He squeezes off another set of rounds, hitting the ball return until--]

Fuck!

[He takes a graze to his arm, bullet tearing into leather, shirt, and skin before he makes a dive for cover behind the nearest table. If he can reach. That didn't happen, that is not the memory associated with this song. The song is still playing too.]

Put the gun down! [Pink? Orange? Both of them! He's dividing his attention between the two. Fuck. Larry's done cowering. He's the one who's still in one piece. A quick glance at Pink sees tat he's gonna need some help ASAP.] Don't fucking move from this spot. [In case if he had any bright ideas to trench crawl or fuck all if Larry knows how that brain of Pink's works.] Don't you fucking dare shoot or you'll wish you were dead.

[Clear enough for you? It better be. The old man has his hands more than filled. That chump needs medical attention. God only knows what the fuck Freddy needs. Whatever it may be, Larry's got to try. He's walking in the opposite direction of the other alley patrons. Shit is there anyone left in here anymore? The machines are humming, the song is still playing loudly. What the hell is going on? Mr. White isn't sure if he too should draw a gun, he's got no intention of returning fire.]

Come out, Orange. No one's gonna do anymore shooting. You're the boss. Come on out, let's talk. You and me. Pink can't go no-where. See, you got him good. That what you wanted?

Fuck-

[Pink hears White and drops the gun as he grabs his own belly in pain. Dropping the gun because White is in charge and Orange likes him and even though he wants to shoot Orange in the head, his stomach fucking hurts]

You fucking asshole!

[His voice modulates in pitch as he breathes, scuttling further behind the ball return, grabbing his gun with a bloodstained hand just in case]

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