This is my first ever shot at writing fan fiction, so I apologise in advance for any evidence of my inexperience. I thought it would be interesting to explore the relationship shared between Mr Numbers and Mr Wrench, so that is indeed what I set about doing. I welcome any advice and criticism :)
"There ya go, hun." The waitress placed the black coffee on the table before trotting off to another customer. Mr Wrench fixed his gaze on the cup, watching the liquid sway from side to side as the continuous flow of steam was broken up, like little smoke signals.
After a moment of this bleak insensibility, he coiled his flaccid fingers around the drink. It was intensely hot – enough to nearly burn him – but he took no notice of the pain. With the bitterly cold Minnesota temperatures paired with his dazed state, not much could penetrate his fortress of indifference. He brought the coffee up to his lips when it all flooded in.
All in one go, the agonising pain that he had ignored for too long made itself known, penetrating like a dagger into his core. He had stubbornly shut out the feelings of misery and loss that came with the murder of his partner, Mr Numbers. It had only been a couple of days ago – they had ambushed Malvo as planned and their job was about to be carried out. That was until Numbers' throat was slit and he was left to bleed out like a worthless goat.
His friend, his partner in crime; the only person he could ever communicate with. One wrong move followed by a blade to the throat and he was gone. How easily it happened.
He should have ended Malvo when he still had the chance. Nobody murders his friend and is let off free of charge. No, if Malvo thinks he's seen the end of this, he's got another thing coming. Mercy will not be spared the next time they cross paths.
Wrench was abruptly lured out of his chain of thoughts when something in the corner of his eye demanded his attention. Orange. That ridiculous, garish shade of orange was moving across the diner and into a booth directly in front of him. Nygaard.
He placed his cup back down on the table, gently in order to make no sound regardless of the fact that the clatter of dishes and jabbering of customers would have drowned it out anyway. He took time to observe Lester, who was utterly oblivious to this predator's glare locked on the back of his head. After waiting for Lester to finish ordering, Wrench got up from his perch in one swift motion, strolled across and swung himself down into the seat opposite Lester.
"Oh jeez!" In an instant, Lester's eyes were a sea of blind panic as he took a sharp intake of breath.
"Listen, I'm not your guy. I thought we cleared this up right before you were gonna drop me into a frozen lake." Lester was trying to compose himself by lowering his voice, but he was squirming in his seat as a small child would.
Wrench merely sat motionless, watching intently as his prey wriggled around in subdued terror. He glanced at the counter and saw the waitress disappear into the kitchen. Seeing this as a signal, he stood and seized Lester's arm, half dragging him out of his seat.
"Oh, now, can't we just – uh" Lester was struggling to maintain a calm tone of voice as he was lead out of the diner and around the shop corner into an alleyway.
Once out of sight, Lester was thrown against the wall and held up by his collar. He let out a squeak as he held his hands up in drastic defence.
"I'm not your guy, I'm not your guy okay? Just let me go; I didn't do nothing."
Wrench could feel Lester's quickening pulse and erratic breaths under his clamp-like grasp. What a pathetic sight this was; a grown man in a pitiful fit to save his own life. He reached into his jacket pocket, revealing a hunter blade and holding it up to Lester's throat, who responded with a small cry.
"I didn't – I didn't do nothing; I wasn't involved with Hess, okay?"
But you were! Wrench's growls echoed through his mind, resonating through his skull but there was only an outward silence.
You had dealings with Malvo, the very Malvo that murdered my friend.
He pressed the knife harder against Lester's neck, very nearly cutting into the flesh.
Lester could only stand, suspended from his offender's grasp as he waited, defenceless and petrified for his fate. His squirms and groans were no act to seek the criminal's pity – this was just Lester, unable to channel any kind of rationality in times of danger.
Wrench looked into the hollow pools of Lester's eyes and secured his grasp on the handle, preparing to sever the pulsating veins that ran down his neck. Lester's eyes were glued shut as he winced at the expected agony.
They only opened again when Lester felt the grip on his neck loosen and the blade removed from its fatal position. He saw the killer's face, no longer an image of lethal resolution. In the single second it had taken for all the anguish of Numbers' death to flood into his entire being, it now drained out completely, leaving him in his original state – lacking meaning and substance once more. His whole body faltered as his arms fell limp to his side.
What's the point? He glanced at Lester – whose beady eyes reflected his absolute confusion – one last time before releasing him completely and walking back down the alleyway. As he stepped out into the sunlight, Lester's unsteady breaths got lost in the arctic winds enveloping the landscape.