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r_vecchioRay has ten minutes.
Ten minutes to slip out of the precinct, get the deed done and slip back in again before anybody notices. He figures that’s more than enough time.
Giving Dewey a cocky wink, he heads towards the back fire exit, sticking his head in the break room along the way so people will assume he's gone for a coffee. Within a couple of minutes, he's standing in the middle of the parking lot, wind tugging at him from all directions.
He'd promised himself he'd do this a long, long time ago. All he's got to do is close his eyes, remember what it was like and all those feelings come rushing back, the anger, the hurt, the frustration. And yeah, this specific event might not seem like such a big deal anymore but he feels like he owes it to…her, or himself. Or maybe he just wants to get back at the big, fucking universe that screwed up yet another potentially great thing in a person’s life. And this is just some cracked up way of doing it. Besides, a snitch is a snitch, right? Doesn’t matter if he might actually like the guy, this is long overdue.
This, this, Ray thinks, as he slides between the vehicles, head bowed, keys jangling between his fingers, will make him feel better. He spots Dewey’s motor-pool excuse for a car and makes his way around it, seemingly surveying it from all angles. He stops at the trunk, tossing his keys in the air and snatching them back into his fist.
The high screech of metal on metal reaches Ray’s ears before being whisked away by the breeze. He keeps walking, casual gait reflecting an air of innocence, noise sharp and shrill until he nears the drivers side door.
Looking down, his eyebrows rise in exaggerated surprise.
“Whoops.”
The scratch stretches almost the entire length of the car and Ray tips his head in contemplation. He would’ve liked it to have run deeper than that but he hasn’t got time to have another go. Ten minutes is all he has and there’s no way he wants to miss what he’s got planned after this.
Turning away, the wind picks up again and pushes him back towards the precinct. A small smile graces his lips, although there’s no touch of maliciousness about it. Just satisfaction. And closure.
He drops his keys back in his pocket, knocks the fire exit open with a hip and slips back inside.
Ten minutes to slip out of the precinct, get the deed done and slip back in again before anybody notices. He figures that’s more than enough time.
Giving Dewey a cocky wink, he heads towards the back fire exit, sticking his head in the break room along the way so people will assume he's gone for a coffee. Within a couple of minutes, he's standing in the middle of the parking lot, wind tugging at him from all directions.
He'd promised himself he'd do this a long, long time ago. All he's got to do is close his eyes, remember what it was like and all those feelings come rushing back, the anger, the hurt, the frustration. And yeah, this specific event might not seem like such a big deal anymore but he feels like he owes it to…her, or himself. Or maybe he just wants to get back at the big, fucking universe that screwed up yet another potentially great thing in a person’s life. And this is just some cracked up way of doing it. Besides, a snitch is a snitch, right? Doesn’t matter if he might actually like the guy, this is long overdue.
This, this, Ray thinks, as he slides between the vehicles, head bowed, keys jangling between his fingers, will make him feel better. He spots Dewey’s motor-pool excuse for a car and makes his way around it, seemingly surveying it from all angles. He stops at the trunk, tossing his keys in the air and snatching them back into his fist.
The high screech of metal on metal reaches Ray’s ears before being whisked away by the breeze. He keeps walking, casual gait reflecting an air of innocence, noise sharp and shrill until he nears the drivers side door.
Looking down, his eyebrows rise in exaggerated surprise.
“Whoops.”
The scratch stretches almost the entire length of the car and Ray tips his head in contemplation. He would’ve liked it to have run deeper than that but he hasn’t got time to have another go. Ten minutes is all he has and there’s no way he wants to miss what he’s got planned after this.
Turning away, the wind picks up again and pushes him back towards the precinct. A small smile graces his lips, although there’s no touch of maliciousness about it. Just satisfaction. And closure.
He drops his keys back in his pocket, knocks the fire exit open with a hip and slips back inside.
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Do you ever stop talking about that pile of rust you call a car?
Date: 2007-04-10 03:36 pm (UTC)Re: Do you ever stop talking about that pile of rust you call a car?
Date: 2007-04-10 04:44 pm (UTC)Re: Do you ever stop talking about that pile of rust you call a car?
Date: 2007-04-13 03:18 pm (UTC)Re: Do you ever stop talking about that pile of rust you call a car?
Date: 2007-04-16 08:05 pm (UTC)