White's insides nearly freeze. Maybe that's where Ferchetti had messed up, maybe he'd been too familiar with the ways of the criminal mind, too easily slipping into the detective's habit of covering every inch. "Well I figure," The lie comes easy, as much a relief as the breeze through the curtains. "Nice big house, nice neighborhood, cheap ass flea market shit on the walls? Kujo over here wearing a rusty ass chain insteada something studded with rhinestones? New money. Maybe even drug money. Anything of value, it's gonna be hidden."

But then again, he's being too smart. There's a pause between Orange and White and, for a second, Larry actually doubts himself. He can't be too incompetent, or else they won't be able to rely on him for the big heist. He can't be too good, either, or they'll suspect something's up. If Larry's weakness wasn't compassion, it'd be ego. Holdaway was right; Larry needed to stop showing off.

White shrugs like he couldn't give a fuck. "Unless it's just that you already picked the place clean."

Orange grins, "I'm glad you'd think so, but nah. I suppose the car's the only thing we're going to net this time around, unless you're in the market for a new pet." He claps White's shoulder and earns a playful shove, the dog letting out a few nervous half-yelps at the semi-violence. "Lookit you! Such a good nanny," Orange coos, peeling the baggy of treats from his pocket before upending them on the carpet.

They leave the house unlocked and breezy and maybe even a little cleaner than they found it. The keys weren't a match, though, so Orange had to hot-wire their getaway mobile while White pried the garage door open. He approached the passenger side dusting his hands, knocking against the window. Orange struggled up into view, clearly annoyed, and rolled his eyes before punching at the door lock.

White slid into the seat, whistling low at that new car smell. New money, and not even a revolver taped under the dash. Orange got the car started with an asthmatic cough of the engine, sliding upright. He drove like he walked, slumped in the chair with an arm thrown out over the wheel, glancing up at the rearview instead of twisting in his seat to check the road.

White figured there was a need for conversation between them, but he wasn't about to babble on about bullshit. Never did like small talk, unless he was flirting with someone, and hey wasn't that a great idea. He chuckled out at the passing road, arm hanging out of the open widow.

"What's funny?"

"Dangerous ideas; sometimes I get 'em in my head and it's a trip just to consider."

"Oh yeah? Thinking about what you would have called that dog, if you'd taken her home?"

"Something dainty and misleading, like Tutu."

Orange cracks a wide grin and White feels like he can relax. "You familiar with Donny's Garage?"

"Nope."

"Chop shop. We might get a little shit for the transaction, but I wanna make sure the price is fair. New cars, man they're hardest to ply off 'cos the insurance companies get a right bug up their collective asses. Donny don't usually do new cars." Orange trails off suggestively. "I wanna see you convince him otherwise."

"What, like a salesman?" White's stomach had gone cold. He might end up hurting somebody after all.

"No, like a badass motherfucker. Like Baretta."