Chapter 10: Pillow Talk
"What time is it?"
Freddy rolled over and looked at the clock on the bedside table. "Just after eight."
"Did you have dinner yet? Do you want me to cook something?"
Freddy put his arm around Irene, and she nestled her head into his shoulder. "I'm fine." He watched as she lightly stroked the scars on his belly. One on the right side of the abdomen, and another on the right of his chest, courtesy of an innocent woman and Joe Cabot. Then there was the scar on his right cheek, a farewell shot from Larry. Rest in peace, Larry.And the self-inflicted slashes on his forearms. And finally another bullet wound in his left foot, thanks to Mr. Blonde. Freddy idly wondered how in the space of a few months he could have gone from being a normal-looking guy to someone resembling a piece of butchered meat.
Susan had actually liked the scars, telling from their one wild night in his car. And Irene hadn't minded them, although the ones on his arms had given her pause. Freddy no longer rolled up his sleeves like he used to whenever he went out. It saved him the weird looks and the motherfucking do-gooders who timidly asked if he needed some help. Irene hadn't asked him about it, thank god.
Their affair had been going on for a week now, and he was making it a habit of dropping by Irene's house after work. They didn't talk about Marvin anymore, but there was an understanding between them, an awareness of the pain they were both going through. Their relationship was based on shared compassion, and the desire for tenderness and comfort. There was no real love between them by any stretch of the imagination, but their mutual attraction was strong.
"I should go soon," Freddy said gently.
Irene nodded. "All right." She slid out of the bed and flipped on the radio. Freddy watched, amused, as she began to dress, retrieving her clothes from around the room and dancing in a bizarre sort of reverse-striptease.
"I knew a guy who danced to the radio," he remarked, propping himself up on his elbow to better watch.
Irene glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I shot him."
She frowned, pausing in the act of buttoning her blouse. "Jesus. That's a little extreme."
Freddy rolled his eyes. "I didn't shoot him because he was dancing to the radio." He didn't dare tell her that it had been Vega.
"Well thank god." With a final grin she bopped out of the room, and soon Freddy could hear her rummaging around in the kitchen for a post-coital snack. He let out a deep sigh and grabbed his jeans and shirt.
As he dressed, Freddy thought about tomorrow's job. He'd been assigned to surveillance, which was simultaneously one of the most boring and frustrating things to do. In the movies it was exciting, sure, but really you were just sitting there listening to other people talk about shit. And Ferchetti wouldn't even let him in the same building as Vega, so if something did miraculously happen he'd just have to watch and listen to it all unfold, helpless to act.
But Andrews would be going undercover again, and it would be most dangerous for him, poor kid. He remembered having his own second thoughts, going over the job with Holdaway on the roof of his apartment. It had been a sunny day, but with a nice breeze.
"We got men set up a block away from the warehouse rendezvous. They have complete visibility of the exterior so when Cabot shows up, we'll see him."
"What's your visibility of the interior?" Gesturing at the hand-drawn map.
A quiet laugh from the older man crouching beside him. "Shit, we can't see shit on the inside, man."
"Oh man…" Rising panic. Getting to his feet and turning away. He's gotta be fucking kidding me. If something happens–
"We can't take the risk of getting' any closer for fear they'll spot us."
Pointing savagely at the map. "This is bullshit, Jim. I got all the fuckin' danger of havin' you guys in my back pocket and none of the fuckin' safety." Pacing in a slow circle, head down, silently cursing at the shitty situation. Cold sweat just thinking about it.
A long sigh from Holdaway, the man passing a hand over his face. "What's the matter, Newendyke? Job too tough for you, man?"
Too – what? Shock. Anger. Stopping in his tracks, staring at Holdaway and wondering at his fucking nerve. What did he just fucking say?
"Nobody lied to you, man. You knew we were gonna hang back until Cabot showed up."
That fucking prick, how dare he! "Oh, this is fuckin' great." Bitter sarcasm. "I get no fuckin' protection from you whatsoever, but I do get attitude!" Voice rising, control slipping, nerves on edge, suppressing fear with rage.
Holdaway getting up and ripping the map to pieces. "Since when does a fuckin' undercover cop have fuckin' protection, Freddy?" he yells, hurling the crumpled paper at Freddy's face.
Yes, he'd had second thoughts about the job. Andrews was without a doubt having them too. And while the rookie was probably in the middle of a full-fledged panic attack, here he was, rolling in the hay with the kid's best friend's widow.
With that sobering thought, Freddy strolled into the kitchen to find Irene eating out of a box of Count Chocula. "Shouldn't that be for Derek?" he asked, reaching over her shoulder anyway to grab a handful of cereal for himself.
"You should talk, mister I-eat-Captain-Crunch-for-dinner. Besides, why should only Derek get to eat this? Children's cereals are always more interesting."
"In what way?" It was nice to chat about nothing.
"Oh, the catchy names, the colorful boxes, the shapes and colors and flavors… the interesting mascots." She tapped the grinning cartoon vampire on the box. "See? Superior in every way to boring old adult cereals – except in sugar content."
"I would say they were superior especially in sugar content." He planted a chocolaty goodbye kiss on the side of her neck and she purred.
On his way out Freddy stopped by Derek's playpen. "Hey buddy," he said quietly. The kid smiled and gurgled at him, holding out his arms. Freddy obediently picked him up and tickled him under his drooly chin. He liked little Derek and Derek liked him, but it was a bit disturbing holding a kid who showed such a marked resemblance to Marvin. Same dark hair, same eyes. Those eyes that were laughing at him now had once been widened in terror facing down a man with a lighter.
He heard Irene coming out of the kitchen, and carefully put Derek back in his playpen. Irene reached out and straightened his shirt, holding onto the collar to pull him in for another long kiss. Irene was a damn good kisser. He wondered if she'd kissed Marvin that way, then felt shitty for thinking it. What was wrong with him?
"Are you coming tomorrow?" she asked when they came up for air.
Freddy glanced away. "Tomorrow I'm goin' on the job. We're gonna try to apprehend the entire gang, and things could get messy. I'll see you on Saturday, though, all right?"
Irene looked up at him. "Be careful," she said with a tremor in her voice. Freddy knew what she was thinking. Marvin had been on the job when his life had been taken. Of course, there was no way Irene's relationship with Freddy could compare to the importance of a husband, but she had already lost someone in the line of duty. It would be cruel if she had to go through that again.
"I'll be okay," he said with a reassuring smile. Shit, he'd be on fucking surveillance in the building across the road.
As Freddy drove home his thoughts returned to Andrews. He'd gone over the job with the younger guy earlier that week. They'd been sitting in the bleachers of an empty little league baseball diamond. Holdaway was going to meet them, but for some reason they had both shown up early.
The rookie had been near-frantic with worry, something that he managed to hide every time Holdaway was in the vicinity. In order to calm him down, Freddy had gone over the job with him. And it worked: Andrews' breathing had slowed and he'd managed to focus, answering questions about the placement of the other cops around the office, when they would move in, who would be doing what job, all that shit. It was only after their little question-and-answer session was over that Freddy realized Larry had done the exact same thing with him.
Actually, that wasn't quite right. Larry hadn't been trying to calm him down, because he'd sure as hell not been in a fucking panic like Andrews was. Or maybe some of Freddy's real nervousness had bled through his self-assured exterior, and Larry had been reacting to that. In any case, Freddy's goal – other than talking with a fucking cool professional thief about his job – had been to establish a rapport.
Upon their first meeting he'd known that this man was a friendly, approachable guy. Holdaway had stressed the importance of gaining the robbers' trust, and the loyalty of at least one of the crooks in case he came under suspicion. Hell, Lawrence Dimick had been the perfect target. He'd responded well to the commode story, and the fact that he was Joe's buddy meant that he wouldn't be afraid to stand up to the motherfucking head honcho himself on his behalf. And having Larry on his side really meant something, as he'd found out. None of the guys would mouth off against the protégé of a respected old-timer like Larry.
Freddy pulled into the parking lot behind his apartment building and turned off the ignition. He wished to fucking god that Larry's loyalty hadn't been put to the test. Joe wouldn't have suspected him if the job hadn't fucked up like it did. Shit, it all came back to Vega, every single motherfucking time. And tomorrow he'd have to just sit and watch while other people mightapprehend him. This time of all times, when he had a chance to end this once and for all. But shit, Holdaway would skin him alive, and Ferchetti would be next in line. And he definitely didn't want to put the kid Andrews in any fucking danger.
With a muttered curse, Freddy got out of his car and slammed the door. He would find out everything tomorrow.
A/N: The flashback conversation between Freddy and Holdaway is taken from the deleted scene called "No Protection". Reviews are welcome! (Thanks for the correction, SASSAFRAS! Love your comments.)