Prompt: Slice of Life
Words: 487
Now, excuse me while I go to take a shower after completing another journey into that sleazeball's mind.
He was going to murder Phelps.
That sick fuck deserved it, with how he was smirking at him, not that Roy could really tell whether he was, as his back was to him, but still, he just knew. He thought it would have been a nice gesture to allow Phelps to handle something precious, but he stood corrected. Fuck those two overdosed Negroes, and fuck Colmyer. Colmyer could have just left the case alone, but no, he had to pick at it, and now this casualty was a result.
"I think you might be overreacting, Roy," Cole observed.
Roy's fist clenched at that. Overreacting?! Oh, that was the last straw! Didn't Phelps have any sense of common decency? Oh wait, no he didn't, considering he was porking a junkie whore on the sly.
Roy whipped around so quickly that he almost lost his footing. With a gasp, he reached out with one hand to grasp onto his car for support, his bent legs splayed out at odd angles. He gritted his teeth for a moment in pain. Phelps, an eyebrow raised, held out a hand to him.
Glaring at him, Roy pushed himself to a standing position. Phelps dropped his hand as Earle pointed at the white scratch that carved into the once-glossy paintjob of the convertible. "Don't you have any respect for private property?"
Cole held up his hands with a sympathetic expression. "Roy, I'm sorry. I'll pay for it if you want me to."
"Oh, you're going to pay more than that," Roy declared, stepping out a leg and protectively positioning himself in front of his vehicle, "As of right now, you've just lost your driving privileges."
Cole opened his mouth to say something, but Roy cut him off. "I don't want to hear it. Considering the fact that you don't know the sidewalk from the road, I'm doing Hollywood a favor." Jabbing his thumb over his shoulder, he ordered, "Get in."
Cole's eyes narrowed, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He'd get over it. "Roy, I'll gladly—"
"Keep your damn money, and get in," Roy demanded. He'd pay for it himself, if he had to. Allowing Cole to do it would just make a repeat offender out of him, as it would be an easy forgiveness.
With a shrug, Cole relaxed, and started forward to open the door, Roy's eyes fixed upon him. "What do you think I'm going to do, drive off without you?" Phelps joked.
"At this point, I'm more compelled to expect you to run me over," Roy returned dryly.
As Phelps climbed in, and shut the door behind him, Earle wasn't sure as to whether the smirk he caught was harmless, or actually signifying that Cole's hand had been caught in the cookie jar. He could never tell with those busted GI-types, and it nonetheless sent shivers down his spine as he walked to the driver's side door.