Bonnie does her best, bent over a dying man in the backseat of an old Impala. He's been gut shot and that's real bad, but they have time yet to save him. "You put all that thought into getting a vehicle with a big-ass backseat," she says, peeling cotton and bullet fragments out of this kid's torn skin, "but you didn't bring scissors?"
The older gangster hovering over the kid had helped Bonnie tear the kids shirt away after Bonnie had given the skinny gangster and Joe Cabot's son the okay to move him into the car. She has her bag of supplies and extra what-nots propped up in the back window and reaches in blindly for a bottle of saline. "Somebody stab a hole in this." She shakes in the gap between the two front seats. She doesn't see who takes it, Cabot Jr. or the Hovering Man, but she gets back near instantly. Good, it's nice they know who's boss right now. She aims the leaking hole in the bottle at the leaking hole in the kid and squeezes. Blood, bloodclots, pus, and schmutz come bubbling out. The wound is clean and pouring out pink from the kid before the bottle is empty. That's good, real good.
His insides are a mess, but Bonnie has seen worse. Some of the tension drains out of her- she knows he's gonna be just fine. She gets needle and thread from her bag, takes no time to get the thick thread through the eye, and starts to sew the kid up as best she can considering they're going down side streets at high speeds.
"I've done what I can." She looks up the kid up and down and then sits back into the seat, bringing his legs into her lap. She pats his knee and prays for him.
Mr. Orange still isn't awake when they rendevouz with Joe. Mr. Wolf is there and that's a good sign- he doesn't say anything except to offer Bonnie a ride home. She accepts and Joe gives Mr. White the news.
Mr. White is gonna drive the now stable Mr. Orange into the valley where a mob doctor will clean him up. He has to go alone and Mr. White is completely fine with that. He worked this job with assholes and he'll be glad to be rid of them. He'll be downright happy when Mr. Orange wakes up and they can be alone together again.
It's hot and there are flies buzzing against the screen door of the low, flat topped adobe where Mr. White hovers uselessly. Of course he wants the very best Orange, but he's been around long enough to know beggars can't be choosers in this game. He's satisfied that the doctor washed his hands first.
He helps himself to cold water from a cooler and sits on a plastic chair that would stick to skin in this heat. He removes his tie and unbuttons the top of his shirt. There isn't much a breeze but he can feel a difference on his chest. Damn, it is hot.
He settles back to think about the future.
The doctor comes back and suggests that Mr. White takes Mr. Orange and gets the fuck out of here. He recommends a motel about hour south that doesn't ask questions. Mr. White doesn't thank him. He takes the still unconscious Orange and hefts him back into the car.
The sun is going down- the sky is streaked in pink, orange, and that southern Californian toxic green. It's beautiful but White hardly notices. He drives like a madman in this lawless desert, half his attention on the silent, pale beauty beside him.
FILL 1/?: Orange/White: Freddy's Saved
The older gangster hovering over the kid had helped Bonnie tear the kids shirt away after Bonnie had given the skinny gangster and Joe Cabot's son the okay to move him into the car. She has her bag of supplies and extra what-nots propped up in the back window and reaches in blindly for a bottle of saline. "Somebody stab a hole in this." She shakes in the gap between the two front seats. She doesn't see who takes it, Cabot Jr. or the Hovering Man, but she gets back near instantly. Good, it's nice they know who's boss right now. She aims the leaking hole in the bottle at the leaking hole in the kid and squeezes. Blood, bloodclots, pus, and schmutz come bubbling out. The wound is clean and pouring out pink from the kid before the bottle is empty. That's good, real good.
His insides are a mess, but Bonnie has seen worse. Some of the tension drains out of her- she knows he's gonna be just fine. She gets needle and thread from her bag, takes no time to get the thick thread through the eye, and starts to sew the kid up as best she can considering they're going down side streets at high speeds.
"I've done what I can." She looks up the kid up and down and then sits back into the seat, bringing his legs into her lap. She pats his knee and prays for him.
Mr. Orange still isn't awake when they rendevouz with Joe. Mr. Wolf is there and that's a good sign- he doesn't say anything except to offer Bonnie a ride home. She accepts and Joe gives Mr. White the news.
Mr. White is gonna drive the now stable Mr. Orange into the valley where a mob doctor will clean him up. He has to go alone and Mr. White is completely fine with that. He worked this job with assholes and he'll be glad to be rid of them. He'll be downright happy when Mr. Orange wakes up and they can be alone together again.
It's hot and there are flies buzzing against the screen door of the low, flat topped adobe where Mr. White hovers uselessly. Of course he wants the very best Orange, but he's been around long enough to know beggars can't be choosers in this game. He's satisfied that the doctor washed his hands first.
He helps himself to cold water from a cooler and sits on a plastic chair that would stick to skin in this heat. He removes his tie and unbuttons the top of his shirt. There isn't much a breeze but he can feel a difference on his chest. Damn, it is hot.
He settles back to think about the future.
The doctor comes back and suggests that Mr. White takes Mr. Orange and gets the fuck out of here. He recommends a motel about hour south that doesn't ask questions. Mr. White doesn't thank him. He takes the still unconscious Orange and hefts him back into the car.
The sun is going down- the sky is streaked in pink, orange, and that southern Californian toxic green. It's beautiful but White hardly notices. He drives like a madman in this lawless desert, half his attention on the silent, pale beauty beside him.