honeybaby, you know what we got ourselves here? we got ourselves an action plot.
"i'm going to kill him," peter says.
"as much as i agree with your logic there -- and believe me, i do," edmund says, "maybe murder isn't really the best answer."
"really?" peter says. "right now it seems pretty reasonable." he flips open the switchblade in his hand, closes it again.
peter hasn't carried a weapon on a job in -- peter hasn't ever carried a weapon on a job, because that constitutes armed robbery and that's a hell of a lot worse than what they do for a living. it's suddenly striking susan that she hasn't seen him without a knife since he got out of prison.
"what happened in there?" she asks.
peter paces back and forth in the room. the blinds are drawn shut, the door is locked, and edmund is sprawled in a chair by the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. susan sits cross-legged on the bed in her coffee-stained jeans and blouse.
peter shakes his head. "things," he says, "susan, i can't -- i don't want -- god damn it!" he smashes a fist into the wall and susan and edmund both jump.
peter breathes hard through his mouth. "i can't," he says again, soft and broken, and she gets up and goes to him, pulls him into a hug. a moment later edmund's arms around him too, and peter says, "i can't."
after a minute, peter pulls away and goes back to pacing, susan sits back down, and edmund pours three glasses of whiskey and hands them around.
"so aside from murder," he says, "what are our options?"
peter raises his eyebrows. "it's the mafia, ed," he says, sounding calmer. "there aren't exactly a lot of options."
"can we pay him off?" edmund asks, without much hope.
"edmund," peter tells him, "if you ever happened to die at the hands of another man, i wouldn't rest until i'd hunted him down, killed him, killed his familiy, killed his friends, killed his goddamn pets, razed everything he owned, and sowed the earth with salt."
"well, that's very touching, pete," edmund says.
"what about don patriso?" susan asks. "can we get to him?"
"we don't," peter says, "exactly have a lot of leverage."
no subject
"i'm going to kill him," peter says.
"as much as i agree with your logic there -- and believe me, i do," edmund says, "maybe murder isn't really the best answer."
"really?" peter says. "right now it seems pretty reasonable." he flips open the switchblade in his hand, closes it again.
peter hasn't carried a weapon on a job in -- peter hasn't ever carried a weapon on a job, because that constitutes armed robbery and that's a hell of a lot worse than what they do for a living. it's suddenly striking susan that she hasn't seen him without a knife since he got out of prison.
"what happened in there?" she asks.
peter paces back and forth in the room. the blinds are drawn shut, the door is locked, and edmund is sprawled in a chair by the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. susan sits cross-legged on the bed in her coffee-stained jeans and blouse.
peter shakes his head. "things," he says, "susan, i can't -- i don't want -- god damn it!" he smashes a fist into the wall and susan and edmund both jump.
peter breathes hard through his mouth. "i can't," he says again, soft and broken, and she gets up and goes to him, pulls him into a hug. a moment later edmund's arms around him too, and peter says, "i can't."
after a minute, peter pulls away and goes back to pacing, susan sits back down, and edmund pours three glasses of whiskey and hands them around.
"so aside from murder," he says, "what are our options?"
peter raises his eyebrows. "it's the mafia, ed," he says, sounding calmer. "there aren't exactly a lot of options."
"can we pay him off?" edmund asks, without much hope.
"edmund," peter tells him, "if you ever happened to die at the hands of another man, i wouldn't rest until i'd hunted him down, killed him, killed his familiy, killed his friends, killed his goddamn pets, razed everything he owned, and sowed the earth with salt."
"well, that's very touching, pete," edmund says.
"what about don patriso?" susan asks. "can we get to him?"
"we don't," peter says, "exactly have a lot of leverage."