The walk home from work is nothing, Brown's apartment is more or less right over the shop, but Freddy makes an excuse to take a walk round the block pretty much every day after they're done. He rarely has any real plans, but it makes him feel less like he's treading water, stuck in the bubble of Brown's influence. Getting used to the man's grating personality is a piece of piss, but never giving himself a break would be torture.
At first he kept winding up at the porno theatre, till the same three films that they show on loop had been permanently fixed to the inside of his head. They don't even work as jack off material any more, so perfectly does he have them down by rote memory. The building still forms a crucial landmark on his after work strolls though, and though the precise line up changes from day to day, he's sure he could pick any one of the girls who hang around outside out of a lineup if that's what it came to.
Police cars roll through this part of town real slow, just like they did in Harlem. Unlike in Harlem, they rarely stop round here. This is a mostly white district, they got no problem with people going about their business. They pass the cinema and the girls looking for work and they don't so much as slow down. Freddy keeps running through scenarios in his head in which he works up the courage to go tell them about the weird logs Brown keeps in the back of the shop.
And they either don't care, and nothing changes. Or they do care, and Freddy loses his livelihood and has to work his ass off to prove he's not an accomplice. There ain't no winning. After school specials sold him a very rose tinted version of the world growing up.
"Evening sailor, is tonight the night?" Laughs one of the regulars, a leggy redhead who's ten years too old to still be properly attractive but still seems to think she's in her prime.
Freddy forces out a laugh and avoids her eyes, the same as ever. "Nah, I'm good thanks."
"Well you change your mind, sugar, and you come running right back to me."
"Will do." Freddy speeds up, very conscious of the half dozen pairs of eyes all fixed on him.
"I think you got the wrong end of the stick there, Candi. He don't pay out for pussy, pussy pays out for him." A drawling lilt cuts across the evening, silencing the traffic and the vague noises coming from inside the cinema and the sounds of bickering couples pouring in from up above as husbands get home and start having choice words for their wives. All of it drowns in the roaring pressing up against Freddy's ear drums. He wants to run, but his feet have him turning back, just to be sure his mind's mot playing tricks on him when he hears that voice.
Sport is standing just inside the door of the cinema, wearing his black and white cowboy hat, a baby blue jumper that looks like it's made of mohair and a string of shells clinging to his neck. He smiles lopsided at Freddy and pushes off the wall. "Hey, fancy seeing you here."
"How did you find me?" Freddy wishes he could get the tightness out of his voice. He can feel his shoulders bundling up around his ears, like making himself look any smaller than he already is will lead to anything short of trouble.
Sport laughs and pushes past hookers and pedestrians to reach him. He moves to set a hand on his shoulder and Freddy finds it in his feet to step out of the way. "C'mon, sweet boy. Can't we just enjoy this chance meeting?"
"You don't work out this side of town."
"You don't know shit about where I work." Sport assures him, ever so quietly. "But you're right, you know. I shouldn't lie to you, you're too special for that. My girls Lilo and Samantha told me they'd been seeing you round here. You working down at Wacko Comics?"
Freddy imagines wired being threaded through his gums, the screws tightening till he couldn't say shit if he wanted to.
Sport looks down at him with concern that could be real, his smile clicking into a register that can only be described as sad. he shakes his head and shuffles ever so slightly into Freddy's personal space. "Baby, that's not a good place for you. The Cabot's run that joint and they've got a rat so far into the operation they couldn't skip the trap if they tried. That comic shop is going down along with everything else they run and I would hate to see you go down with it. You got options, you pretty boy. Lemme help you. Lemme take care of you."
"The shop ain't owned by the Cabot's." Freddy protests.
"God." Sport's eyes haven't left his face, practically begging Freddy to look him in the eyes. "You got so much hope. That's good, that's real good. I love that about you. You gotta trust me though, kid, I know these streets better than you do. Come home with me, I'll get you set up real nice. You and Iris could see each other every day, you could be real teen sweethearts."
Sport's fingers ghost over Freddy's cheek and something electric and dangerous sparks in his gut. A strand of hair is pushed out of his face and Freddy can barely breathe.
"I gotta go." He mumbles, backing up slowly, then quick, as his feet remember what they're supposed to do for him.
Sport graces him with one last sad smile before Freddy manages to properly turn tail and run. "I'll see you soon, baby. I'm gonna get to you, so you play hard to get for as long as you need."
Re: Sport/Orange - shady skeevey stuff - 9b/?
At first he kept winding up at the porno theatre, till the same three films that they show on loop had been permanently fixed to the inside of his head. They don't even work as jack off material any more, so perfectly does he have them down by rote memory. The building still forms a crucial landmark on his after work strolls though, and though the precise line up changes from day to day, he's sure he could pick any one of the girls who hang around outside out of a lineup if that's what it came to.
Police cars roll through this part of town real slow, just like they did in Harlem. Unlike in Harlem, they rarely stop round here. This is a mostly white district, they got no problem with people going about their business. They pass the cinema and the girls looking for work and they don't so much as slow down. Freddy keeps running through scenarios in his head in which he works up the courage to go tell them about the weird logs Brown keeps in the back of the shop.
And they either don't care, and nothing changes. Or they do care, and Freddy loses his livelihood and has to work his ass off to prove he's not an accomplice. There ain't no winning. After school specials sold him a very rose tinted version of the world growing up.
"Evening sailor, is tonight the night?" Laughs one of the regulars, a leggy redhead who's ten years too old to still be properly attractive but still seems to think she's in her prime.
Freddy forces out a laugh and avoids her eyes, the same as ever. "Nah, I'm good thanks."
"Well you change your mind, sugar, and you come running right back to me."
"Will do." Freddy speeds up, very conscious of the half dozen pairs of eyes all fixed on him.
"I think you got the wrong end of the stick there, Candi. He don't pay out for pussy, pussy pays out for him." A drawling lilt cuts across the evening, silencing the traffic and the vague noises coming from inside the cinema and the sounds of bickering couples pouring in from up above as husbands get home and start having choice words for their wives. All of it drowns in the roaring pressing up against Freddy's ear drums. He wants to run, but his feet have him turning back, just to be sure his mind's mot playing tricks on him when he hears that voice.
Sport is standing just inside the door of the cinema, wearing his black and white cowboy hat, a baby blue jumper that looks like it's made of mohair and a string of shells clinging to his neck. He smiles lopsided at Freddy and pushes off the wall. "Hey, fancy seeing you here."
"How did you find me?" Freddy wishes he could get the tightness out of his voice. He can feel his shoulders bundling up around his ears, like making himself look any smaller than he already is will lead to anything short of trouble.
Sport laughs and pushes past hookers and pedestrians to reach him. He moves to set a hand on his shoulder and Freddy finds it in his feet to step out of the way. "C'mon, sweet boy. Can't we just enjoy this chance meeting?"
"You don't work out this side of town."
"You don't know shit about where I work." Sport assures him, ever so quietly. "But you're right, you know. I shouldn't lie to you, you're too special for that. My girls Lilo and Samantha told me they'd been seeing you round here. You working down at Wacko Comics?"
Freddy imagines wired being threaded through his gums, the screws tightening till he couldn't say shit if he wanted to.
Sport looks down at him with concern that could be real, his smile clicking into a register that can only be described as sad. he shakes his head and shuffles ever so slightly into Freddy's personal space. "Baby, that's not a good place for you. The Cabot's run that joint and they've got a rat so far into the operation they couldn't skip the trap if they tried. That comic shop is going down along with everything else they run and I would hate to see you go down with it. You got options, you pretty boy. Lemme help you. Lemme take care of you."
"The shop ain't owned by the Cabot's." Freddy protests.
"God." Sport's eyes haven't left his face, practically begging Freddy to look him in the eyes. "You got so much hope. That's good, that's real good. I love that about you. You gotta trust me though, kid, I know these streets better than you do. Come home with me, I'll get you set up real nice. You and Iris could see each other every day, you could be real teen sweethearts."
Sport's fingers ghost over Freddy's cheek and something electric and dangerous sparks in his gut. A strand of hair is pushed out of his face and Freddy can barely breathe.
"I gotta go." He mumbles, backing up slowly, then quick, as his feet remember what they're supposed to do for him.
Sport graces him with one last sad smile before Freddy manages to properly turn tail and run. "I'll see you soon, baby. I'm gonna get to you, so you play hard to get for as long as you need."