Chapter 3: A Bitter Reunion

"You have a visitor."

Finally.

He'd known that this would happen. He didn't want to look up, but his curiosity got the better of him. Standing in the doorway behind the nurse was the unmistakeable figure of Holdaway, looking as out of place as a cartoon character against the pastel hospital backdrop. He was wearing his favourite denim vest and a Lakers t-shirt.

"How ya doin', Freddy." The older man dropped into a bedside chair and his eyes immediately shifted to the patient's freshly-bandaged arms. "Long time no see, man. I heard you got yourself into a bit of trouble and decided to pay you a little visit."

Freddy pointedly turned his head away from his friend and listened to the nurse close the door behind her. Yes, he was in a bit of trouble. They were still giving him Styrofoam trays and plastic cutlery, and pumping him full of anti-depressants – but at least they had taken off the restraints. Because he was safer now.

"You ain't gonna tell me shit, are you?" said Holdaway, not wasting any time. "So lemme guess. You got some fucked-up crazy idea that it was your fault the job went straight to hell, right? So you act like some coward bitch and try to take the easy way out?"

"Fuck you, Jim," said Freddy to the wall. "You don't know what I went through, all right?"

There was a clatter as Holdaway pushed back the chair and stood up. "Yeah? Well fuck you too, you gutless prick! I was goin' undercover when you were still sucking on your mama's fat titties!"

The door opened and the nurse poked her head in, looking scandalized, but hastily withdrew at the look on Holdaway's face. The interruption seemed to have calmed him down, however, and he sank back into the chair.

Holdaway fumbled out a cigarette, completely ignoring the "No Smoking" stickers on the wall, and after a couple of puffs he spoke again: "Fine, I admit I don't know everything that happened inside the warehouse. Shit, Newendyke, nobody does. But the last thing we want is for you to kill yourself, man. Damn." Freddy stared resolutely at a water stain on the ceiling right above him. "You listenin' to me? The doctors told us most people wake up after two, maybe four weeks, and after that we may as well compost you for a vegetable. You were in that coma for two fucking months. You can't quit on us now, kiddo."

Freddy swallowed. "I won't," he promised quietly. The water stain looked like a seal on a ball. Balancing. Performing. At least it got applause. With an effort he pushed away these dark thoughts. His medication must be wearing off.

He heard the other man let out a deep sigh, and glanced over at him. Holdaway was staring at his bandaged arms again. "Man, what were you thinking?" he burst out.

That was not a question Freddy could answer, not yet. He had been thinking many things. Too many things. True, he had used his dinner knife with near-surgical precision, but his mind had been bursting with images. The woman he had killed, for one. An earless Marvin Nash. Mr. Whi– Larry, it was Larry. The carnage in the jewellery store. Two cops riddled with bullets from a couple of Magnum handguns. Mr. Blonde flourishing a lighter. How 'bout some fire, scarecrow?

"Hey. Snap out of it, man." Freddy turned his head to look at Holdaway. "You wanna smoke?"

Freddy gave a grateful smile. "Thanks. Motherfuckers won't let me, in here." He pushed himself up to a sitting position as Holdaway dug out a fresh cigarette and a lighter. The first drag steadied his hands and calmed his nerves.

"You're not ready to talk, and that's fine, compadre. We can save the questions." The older man gestured expressively with his hands. "But you gotta have a few questions of your own, you know? I mean after sleepin' for two months of your life…"

Painful focus. Trying to recall the events of his last few moments of consciousness without dwelling on emotion. In emotion lay the danger. Picture the warehouse. What exactly had happened? Where was everybody? Mr. Blonde sprawled by the door. Joe and Nice Guy Eddie motionless and bleeding. Larry groaning in pain on the floor nearby. And…

"What happened to Mr. Pink?"

Holdaway cocked his head to the side. "Mister who?"

"One of the robbers," Freddy clarified. Holdaway was looking at him warily. "Funny-lookin' guy, buggy eyes, kinda young…"

His friend's expression cleared. "Oh, him. Arrested outside the warehouse." Holdaway tapped ash onto Freddy's bedside table. "He's been taken to county, never to breathe free air again. Shot a couple cops escaping the store, and one died in hospital. Tough luck for the little prick."

Freddy nodded. It was strangely comforting to know that not all of the thieves had died on his account. "And what about the diamonds?"

"All accounted for." Holdaway grinned, showing every one of his white teeth. "Your Mr. Pink had 'em packed up real nice in a big black bag. Karina's was mighty happy to get 'em back. Saved 'em a bunch of legal work and shit."

Freddy couldn't suppress a bitter smile. "I bet they were. And what about their employees, huh? How'd they fucking feel about that?" He checked himself, noticing that he had raised his voice.

"Don't kick yourself in the ass." Holdaway clapped him on the shoulder, but he shrugged him away.

"I fucked up, Jim," he confessed, looking the older man straight in the eye. "I fucked up real bad. It was my job to make sure everything went according to order – your own motherfucking words."

Holdaway leaned forward in his chair, looking as serious as Freddy had ever seen him. "Listen to me, my man," he said slowly. "I coached you, right? And you say you fucked up? That's an insult to my training. Freddy, every so often things fuck themselves up, and we can't stop 'em. It's like trying to jump in front of a motherfuckin' seven-forty-seven. You won't tell me what happened, that's okay, but I know you didn't fuck up on purpose. That's complete bullshit, man. You did what you thought was right. You get me?"

Freddy shook his head, but not because he disagreed. "It was a fucking bloodbath." He raised his cigarette to his lips with trembling fingers.

The older man was quiet for a while. "Listen up, kid," he said gently, which was unusual for him. "The last thing I want is for you to describe what happened before you're ready." His glanced again at the bandaged arms. "But you know you'll need to make a statement soon, right?"

Freddy nodded. "I know."

Holdaway looked at him intently, as if evaluating him in some sort of way. Freddy stared blandly back. He decided to ask Holdaway what he wasn't telling him – but then the door opened and the nurse walked in. An older bitch, distinctly unimpressed by Freddy's attempts at charm, unmoved by his heated strings of profanity, and tough as nails. She stopped short in horror and exclaimed over the smoking, and Holdaway was bundled out of the room with frightening efficiency.

With both his friend and his cigarette taken away by fucking Nurse Ratched, Freddy was left alone with his thoughts. Dark thoughts. No relief, no distractions.

A/N: Freddy's last name doesn't appear in the movie credits, so I went with the script spelling "Newendyke" instead of the imdb credits' spelling "Newandyke". The original script seems more canonical, to me. Oh, and the bit where Freddy says Holdaway told him his job was to make sure everything goes according to order – that's from a deleted scene, where Holdaway tells Freddy they can't see the inside of the warehouse.

Reviews are welcome!