The Humanity
Fliip
Flip
Flick
From led green eye to led green eye under his pale orange sunglasses, Ricardo Irving stares at it. With a sickly lip curled and a tempest brewing in him at the sight, he scrutinizes it. A ghastly sound escapes his breath as he casts it in question onto his desk. Under slight possession, he watches it land gracelessly atop the fine relished wood...and gags again.
He bites his lip in formal disgust.
How he wants it to ignite and turn into the ash that it is, but the thing has the wit and he loathes it even more. It taps the desk on jagged edges as the creases stretch and it falls on worn ends. The sound is very prickly as it moves and suddenly he has another wish: that it would disappear altogether, but no, the recoiling dance continues…
At its' worst he begins to see an image.
The tiny cricks of paper snapping, the folds overlapping in tight curls, the same ol' sound of a mantis clamping prey together. It bothered him. Suddenly, more than everything about it bothered him.
It took time to recover. To formulate his next move.
Post time and still, he found himself glancing reluctantly to the bill eve so often. This twisted dirty, piece of value... He grimaced. It was a psychological link to his client most definitely. He would remember this fellas name and surely do him in the next time he delivered him defiled cash.
The...next time.
Or better yet…
He cast the phone before fishing it to his ear. Then he dialed a number without looking. It was only a number after all. He had thousands of numbers memorized. What were phone numbers to him?
The call picked up and wordlessly the machine operator transferred him to his silence. Within the first few rings and a final fickle greeting on the other end, he said "see me" and dropped the receiver; both finalizing the call and awakening an idea.
Tomorrow, a stick entered with a dense quirk in his cheekbone. He wore a pale blue suit jacket to conceal his dirty white jeans and wrinkled t-shirt. Upon entering the office, the stick casually requested a reason for his presence.
The oilman thought a bit. A reason...
"…I'd just like to spare some time." He then laid out his well right well rested hand to the furthest center of his desk. Awaiting introduction no longer was the single folded green paper bill. The stick was immediately shot with interest. He stared deep at the undisclosed amount of money.
"Hnh." he said, and eventually gathered the confidence to move. He took the lone seat opposite to the desk and unsoundly moved himself closer for a better view of the money. His neck moved like a turkey between his boss and the…What's this? His buggy eyes wobbled with unease as if to speak. He blinked. A hundred…? A hundred? They widened. A hundred… They glistened.
Then shut in delight. A soft sight escaped him. A hundred and now ecstasy! His spine had hit the climax of luxury. Oh velvet cushion soft heavenly seat! He couldn't help but not think anymore. Oh, very comfy. Very easy to relax in...
Irving began to feel glad about what he said before and even done yesterday. A little foreplay couldn't hurt. Not when the scene was already in mid course. He felt quite giddy even. He absolutely refused to hide this riddling glee floating from his eyes to his teeth.
"D'ya see what I see? Cause it's not too hard for me..." His dealers' attention was slowly drawn from the comfort of his chair. He may have heard but he looked in whole, lost, as if he had just heard the cheshire cat propose vital cryptic information. In resort, he looked back, petulant like a jaded youth and chuckled under his breath to shade the irritation. Irving merely stared back. His sunglasses hid nothing short of a thin lip for a face.
The stick frowned. Looks like he wouldn't be reclining in the kick ass chair like he thought.
"Erm." He placed effort all out in as much concern he could play on. "The dollar…?" He asked. He squatted out of his seat, pulled up his sleeves, cracked a shaky breath and stared.
Irving watched. The fool. He watched him lean his nose to the trash as if to actually sniff it. One hand balanced his broken puppet shoulders and the other rattled its' fingers on his left knee.
The dollar, The dollar…" he drawled. His heart beat for some reason. He dipped his face closer, he squinted, he patted his left knee with his full hand now. Over and over in feeble concentration he searched, but he was well out of time.
But Irving was done. He leaned sideways from his seat and shifted his left well rested arm from its once heavy pocket. A beautiful hollow metal sparkled from exposure.
"Goood eye" He said, and the man froze everywhere but the wavering eyes that shimmered. His epiphany was on time, but too late for his sake.
His loyalty soared for his life. "I'm sorry I'm sorry!"
BANG
Irving was glad.
He was so glad the stick looked up just in time. It was brilliant.
He had sat still, gaping, as if the emotion of shock denied death in those few little seconds the bullet drilled. Then, a blink, and the sucker was limp in the chair, blood nowhere but coated on the hundred dollar bill that had flown right into his sweating face from the wind of the fire. The shredded half flapped gently near his sticky eyeballs.
The devil smacked the reload trigger on his pistol, a quaint fashion of patting himself on the back. He could have been prouder.
" 'Twas a good partnership."
Self approval and praise of his decision was in order. He would be proud of this.
He reached for his phone and dialed two numbers.
A painter and the clean up crew.
END
A/N: A little tame for Irving I guess (and a tad ooc if you think he would hardly go "drama queen" over a crumpled bill. Rather he'd probably eat glass than burn money if given those two options. Haha, but this is supposed to be him when he was rising in the ranks as an evil conning bastard in...some...evil business. So I imagine his insanity was less intact and obsession with money a little modest...but still twisted. Ah well...Irving you need more fics and I stepped up. xD
Anyway, hope you enjoyed the read and feedback is appreciated!