I don't own Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, even though that'd be fantastic. Any other characters you recognize, I don't own, either. This story has officially been disclaimed.
And on a more random note, the song I listened to while writing most of this was "Renegades of Funk," by Rage Against the Machine. I'm not sure if it really has anything to do with the story, or if it'll be enhanced by the song or something, but it's pretty awesome. I figured I'd just give it a shout-out, as well.
I don't really know how to start this. I mean, it's not like it's too out of the ordinary compared to everything else we've gone to. The only real thing that's different is that Perry decided to be a little shit and leave without me. So now I'm stuck at this party by myself, all because Perry "had a case." That's his excuse for everything, no matter what.
Oh, Harry, your dad died? The funeral's when? Oh, damn it, I've got a case that day. Sorry, pal.
How the hell did you end up in the hospital, dipshit? Am I gonna visit you? Uh, no. I've gotta take over the case that you just fucked up. I'll send you…flowers or something.
I roll my eyes and try to find the car Perry left for me. I don't see why we couldn't have taken two goddamn cars, especially if he already had his plans for tonight, but no, spring it on Harry ten seconds before you leave, Perry. Nice. He says it's supposed to blend in, which is basically another way of saying it's a piece of shit. Buy hey, I'm not compl—okay, maybe I am.
The car's a black Toyota, definitely with its fair share of miles. He had it parked under a tree, which just creeps me the hell out. I mean seriously, who the hell wants to voluntarily drive in a car parked under a sketchy tree?
I jerk open the door and pull the keys out of my pocket. I feel like someone seriously just punched me in the face for no apparent reason, but that might just be the drugs talking again. Yay, Demerol! As I shift the car into reverse and then drive, I have the sudden urge to shoot Perry for having an actual job. He's leaving me alone too much; at least earlier he used to drag me along. That was way more interesting than this shit I've got now. My mental rant against Perry freezes as I realize that I wouldn't have an in to all these fancy parties with free food and shit, so I withdraw my shooting wish and/or thoughts.
Suddenly, I can feel a gun pressed against the back of my head. I bite my lip as I glance into the rear view mirror and see three guys in the backseat. How I didn't notice them earlier, I have no idea.
"Fuck me," I mutter.
"Not interested," one of them answers. "Keep driving, pal."
Okay, so, I dunno if any of you guys have ever driven while at gunpoint, but it's not an experience I'd recommend. While I'm driving, one of the guys sprawls out, almost kicks me in the face, and eventually ends up in the front seat next to me.
"How're you doing, Lockhart?"
"Could be better." I wonder how he knows my name, but now doesn't seem to be a good time to ask questions.
He chuckles. "Just relax, kid. We're not in your car, we don't have guns, you're just driving home…" He tries to make his voice sound calm and dreamy.
"Uh, bullshit." I call him on it. As I do so, the guy behind me smacks the gun against my skull. "Je-sus!"
"Take this right."
I take that right.
"Can I, uh, see if there are any tissues in my pocket?"
"Why?"
Why? Come on. "I have a cold." I fake a sniff and try to make my coughing sound disgusting, like it's filled with shit this bastard doesn't want on him.
He rolls his eyes. "Fine. I'm giving you ten seconds."
I drop one hand from the wheel and dig into my pocket, my fingers forcing my cell phone open. Perry's basically the only person I've called for the past few months—there are a few Harmonies thrown in there, but who's counting?—so I hit SEND and wait.
"Nothing," I tell him when my hand comes up tissue-less.
"Boo hoo for you."
Okay, movie buffs. Remember the whole "Finger on the nose, finger pointed at me" thing Perry pulled during the good old Christmas season? This guy's "Boo hoo for you" might have just surpassed Perry's move on the gayness scale, according to your one and only narrator, Harry Lockhart.
I can hear mumbling in the backseat, and I'm praying that Perry's listening and not being an ass by hanging up right away.
"So, fellas." I make my voice obnoxiously loud so Perry can hear. "Where we headed?"
"It's Van Shrike, not Van Winkle, dipshit," one of them snaps at the other.
"Wait, what?" I ask. "Van Shrike?"
A tiny voice goes off in my pocket. I fidget around to try and muffle it even more.
"Shut up," the guy in the passenger seat tells me.
"Just asking," I answer, acting insulted. I've gotten damn good at that, if I do say so myself. "Is that where we're going? To Perry Van Shrike's house?" Catch the emphasis, please, Perry.
"Why the hell would we go there?"
"I have no idea. You guys are supposed to have a handle on things."
"Shut up, Mr. Lockhart." Ooh, courtesy. Hot damn.
I can hear a gasp from behind me, and my stomach sinks. "His phone!" he yelps. "His phone is sticking out of his fucking pocket!"
This causes quite the uproar; I'm smacked in the head again, and before I know it, the guy in the passenger seat is lunging across me, trying to get at my pocket.
"Hey, hey, hey!" I yell, hoping Perry's hung up and left the house—or something of the sort—by now. "What the hell are you doing?" I swerve and veer toward a telephone pole while trying to keep him away from my pants.
His eyes connect with mine and he gives me a cold stare. "Pull over," he growls.
Needless to say—but for some reason I'm saying it anyway—I pull over. I'm expecting, oh, I don't know, maybe another smack by that guy's gun or something, and am prepared to make a seating change when the guy in the passenger seat gets out and walks toward my side of the car, but what actually happens is the last thing I was expecting. That other guy in the back who called Van Shrike, Van Winkle, he grabs me by the shoulders and jerks me backward. On impulse, I start to fight him, but this guy is literally steroid-driven, and he's got me in the backseat before I can blink. I make an attempt to pull myself free, just to say that I did, but he pulls me back and pins my arms to my sides, his free hand clamped over my mouth.
The guy in the front seat grabbed my phone sometime in the last minute, and is now searching through it. "You little fucker," he mutters, his face illuminated by the screen. I stare at him, wondering at the same time if it would have any effect on the guy holding me if I bit his palm. That's probably just asking to be knocked out, so I decide against it.
"Did he call anyone?" the guy with the gun asks, eyeing my warily. Like I'm gonna attack you now, dude; I can barely breathe.
"I don't know." I can feel my jaw drop under the guy's hand. How the hell can he not tell?
"He must have," the guy holding me insists. He twists me around to face him. "Did you call anybody?" I can't believe this.
"No, he did." The driving guy's voice is low and upset. "The little prick did." The guy with the gun immediately presses his weapon of choice against the side of my head, and we're driving again.
"We can't panic," the driver tells his pals. "We've got him, we're leaving, there's no way he can get away. So just, screw his cell phone calls." He turns around and faces me. "Nice try, kid." I resist the urge to roll my eyes, and it's tough, trust me.
"Who's next?" gun guy wants to know.
The guy holding me stares at him. "You think I can check right now?"
I wouldn't mind.
"I've got my hands full here, you dumb shit."
Oh, thanks.
He kicks the papers gun guy's way with a sullen, "Look it up yourself."
The papers shuffle near my ear, and I try to read what's on them. It sucks that my peripheral vision has gone to hell as of right now.
"Stark."
a/n: Okay, as of right now, this is a Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang/Iron Man crossover. Woot! I don't know why I decided on this, I think the idea of one RDJ character meeting another was just too interesting/cool for me to resist. So, apologies if it's kind of weird/bad. Just seeing if it'll work out. So, feedback's more than welcome :). Thanks for reading!