pinkeffinprofessional

[Too bad there's very little one can do about dying wearing an ugly face. The kid releases the now empty magazine only to drop the gun entirely. What the fuck just happened. What the fuck did he just do.]

Did anybody get hurt...?

[That Freddy's disoriented is fairly obvious but at least he's talking to Larry. Is that blood on the floor? Looks like. He thinks they ought to get Pink to a hospital but part of him says they can't because he's got to bleed to death until Cabot sticks his head in that fuckin' door.]

You shot Mr. Pink. He shot you too. [Which is what he's looking at right now. Don't look to bad. The jacket is fucked. The situation is fucked. And fuck if they're going to put up with any bullshit out of this. It's clear that the man snapped. The way those green eyes look as they pass over everything, it's like he's somewhere else.

Larry stoops to get the gun, it's in his waistband in a flash, empty or not.]

What's going on in your head? We've gotta solve this fast. [So they can move to the Pink problem...and the getaway. Both of those things are useless if Freddy is going to crack again.]

[People nearby are screaming, but it's Pink's voice that rises above the litany]

You fucking-

Shut up and call a hospital!

[His breath is getting ragged as he tries not to scream like a little girl. He is Mr. Fucking Pink, he's a fucking professional, and he's bleeding out on the floor. Fuck if he's going to end up like Mr. Orange, doing this for more than a few minutes.]

[Screw you, weasel! It ain't as easy as it looks now is it! Too bad Freddy's not a mindreader or in any state of mind to argue with Pink about how one deals with a blow to the gut. Fff.]

I don't know. [He admits to Larry with a frown because he does have one foot in the bowling alley and another in a dirty warehouse. The next part he directs at Pink.] Okay.

[And look, it's Freddy who's doing the dialing from his network device for the guy. It's like the kid's on auto pilot, not even bothering with any reaction to his arm wound.]

[You'd think the world revolved around Pink. What a drastically stark contrast of how much sympathy Larry as for the man. Everyone in this confrontation knows how the old man acted. He has reason to believe there might be a reason behind Freddy trying to fill Pink full of bullets. The man welcomes suspicion.

The kid is listening. That's good. Larry feels like the situation is calm enough for him to turn to look at the place where Pink had been laying.

Please God, if you're ever gonna listen to anything don't let the cops come in. Just the EMTs.]

Tell 'em it was an accident. That's what it was, right? [He's begging you, man. Give him something to work with that doesn't say he's lost his mind.]

[Well that's where Pink's world revolves, and considering he's the one bleeding out of his stomach, he's pretty sure he's justified.]

How do you unload a clip into someone on accident, White?

One man down. Shot in the belly. Still alive and conscious.

[His delivery isn't completely calm but his disorientation keeps it from sounding shrill or unintelligible. Pink wouldn't appreciate that at all would they? Freddy gives the bowling alley's location as well.]

They're on their way.

[Freddy looks at the pair, brow furrowing now. He says nothing but the look on his face is readily apparent: What do I do? What did I do?]

What's that, Pink? You want to go in for questioning to file a report? [Get the hint, motherfucker! Larry rakes a hand through his hair. Be cool, be fucking cool because someone has to.]

We're gonna stay here and wait for them to take Mr. Personality to get patched up. Then we're gonna get you home. [Our home. Larry carefully starts to approach even more.]

[Pink isn't a rat, you fucking asshole, but he's in fucking pain and he wants to pistol whip Orange into a bloody pulp of broken bone and skin.]

I'm fucking bleeding and it's like goddamn Romeo and Juliet.

[Can't you fags work out why Orange is such a fucking cunt later?]

[Freddy nods, letting Larry take control of this situation cause letting him do so last time worked out fairly well. Except for the getting shot part. The car ride and care on the ramp were okay. As for Romeo and Juliet the kid turns a sharp glare at Pink, nothing close to his determination to kill a man who wasn't really here but yeah, it's a glare.]

They're gonna take care of you, you'll get a doctor. Tell them it was an accident and I'll get you the best one there.

[Whoa, so many words for a disoriented kid. Things are coming back to him but only in and out, like one moment he's confused, the next he's in efficiency mode. Maybe because the latter is the only thing he can understand right now.]

[Pink should get his eyes checked neither Orange nor White are horny, prepubescent Italians. He doesn't need to bother glaring. Is this how you treat the people who are trying to get you help?

Forget for a second that one of them did it. The point is that it looks like he's not going to again. Larry pats Freddy's shoulder, the uninjured arm. Seeing the beige wrist brace reminds him that the party is over. He'll take it off the first chance he gets. Contact made, he keeps a grip. Amazing how coherent the kid is. What the fuck.]

Hang in there, Pink. Help's on the way. Your gun is away, right? [So that when he approaches with Freddy at his side there won't be two asses on a gurney.]

Edited 2011-01-23 06:20 (UTC)

[Pink's hands shake when he flips the safety and tucks his gun away]

Fuck.

[Said because he's in pain, okay]

Give me a fucking cigarette.

[He has no intention of giving anyone any reason for him to ride on a gurney thanks. Freddy stays disarmed, diffused so to speak though by all technicality the bomb's already gone off, there's just no danger of a secondary blast. Not really.]

Here.

[Freddy offers Pink one of his marlboros, lit just for him. It's hard to tell if he's being completely and apologetically sincere or trying to remain in cruise control. Why no one else has tried to take him down in that bowling alley is a mystery...aside from the threat of being bullet ridden.]

[Larry isn't at ease. Sure it's much better to deal with this fractured calm than gunfire, but bombs can cause dangerous chain reactions. Shit that's been shaken loose can fall, break. All kinds of unpleasantness.]

I can move you to the bench.

[Let's not volunteer Freddy up for anything other than cooperating. The wound can't be that deep if Pink is asking for a smoke. The old man kneels carefully at the weasel's side.]

We need a more complete story. He had an episode, a seizure...something.

[Larry's no good at this, he's a hit and run kind of man. Someone else is good for the brains.]

[He takes a long drag and the cigarette trembles between his thin, weasel lips. He takes it with his shaking hand]

Fuck, fuck, don't move me.

Don't move him. If the medics are comin' over let him stay where he is. Hurts like a bitch to move.

[He's talking from experience, this kid. As for a story...fuck what does someone say to cover this up? Before he can rethink his words they just come out.]

Tell them I'm recovering from opiate addiction. You don't wanna press charges but if anyone comes around I got blood samples to corroborate the story.

Got it. [The kid is after all, a resident expert on the gut wound. There's blood, not as much as what was at the warehouse. Then again Freddy was stuck there for some time. A smoke sounds like a brilliant plan. Chesterfield at is lips, maybe his brains will work better.

Wait a fucking--All he can do is look at Freddy. Does he want to do that? Inhale, exhale.]

Let's not offer up too much from the get go.

I'm not....

[A wince and a pause]

Telling anyone shit until I can fucking bitchslap you myself, you asshole.

[The last bit is directed at Orange. But the unsaid words are we stick together for now.]

[Green eyes flick a look over to the old man then he just nods once, acknowledging maybe providing blood and urine samples is going above and beyond the call of duty. Larry would know better about this kind of thing, the last drug test Freddy took was mere protocol for being a cop. Especially an undercover kind.]

We'll talk about it.

[This Orange promises to Pink even though he already knows the guy means it, the next time they see each other he'll probably get bitchslapped.]

[Maybe? No maybe. It is. They're cops. Or there could be cops because they were out and about listening in on, wanting to check it out. They get addresses for contact. They'd want IDs. Dimick doesn't want it at all.] It was an accident. We want to get his room number ASAP. That's it. Just....look concerned.

[Is that a stretch?]

Okay, okay, whatever.

[He takes a huffing breath]

Got a fake ID....in my wallet but don't give it unless they make you.

You're gonna have to give'em something when you're there.

[Pink probably already knows that anyway. Orange goes in to lift that fake ID from his pocket, quick and sleight of hand. No one but White and Pink himself will know who Mr. Hickles really is.

Whenever the cavalry arrives Freddy here has all the right responses for them, the same ones he learned when he was a cop, communicating with people, perps, EMTs, you learn a lot on the job. His delivery is flawless, comparable to regular thieves and other shifty types because he's dealt with them countless times. It's second nature to Freddy Newendyke. Maybe it's no coincidence there are more cops undercover as criminals than their are criminals undercover as cops. Of course crooked cops are a completely different breed. Freddy Newendyke's not one of those guys...but he did just shoot a place up. Fuck.]

You're gonna be okay. [This he says to Pink. Picking things up from White are we? The question is can anyone roll the weasel onto a gurney without getting bit or scratched?]

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