Chase The Night | Reservoir Dogs

viii. Tough Love

Holdaway sighed and kicked up some loose gravel, resting his hands on his hips. "The whole fucking idea behind this operation is to catch Cabot red-handed, alright? We bust these hired hands, we ain't accomplished shit. Yeah, it's a risk lettin' 'em go through with the heist. But Cabot's jobs are clean." He stood next to Freddy, trying to ease some of his worries as best as he could. "We have men surrounding the perimeter. We could replace the employees with cops, but we run the risk of tippin' 'em off."

"Well I know that's out," Freddy shrugged. "'Cause they know the faces of who works what shift."

"It's 'cause they're professionals, man. We're professionals," Holdaway threw his arm around Freddy's neck, his voice gentle as he walked him off the roof. "It's a risk. But it's a calculated risk, okay?"

     [ vii . iii ]

It had been three days since Sandy and Freddy had last exchanged words. The tension was notable even to Mr. White, who kept one or the other busy to lessen the awkwardness. Sandy leaned in the backseat, her feet propped onto the console just far enough to not brush past Freddy's elbow, but close enough to establish she was certainly not going to be the one to move out of the way. Freddy refused to look behind him, stopping himself when she flicked her cigarette lighter loudly.

Mr. White cleared his throat and continued. "Mr. Blonde and Mr. Blue?"

"Crowd control. They handle customers and employees."

Sandy stared out the window and pretended Freddy didn't exist. The person in the sideview mirror was just an illusion.

In a way, he was giving her the same treatment, but he told himself it was only because she was the one who started it. He'd never really been cut off by a woman after intoxicated sex; that was always his role. This time was different though—they knew each other now. And he liked her.

The more he thought about it, the more he found himself second-guessing what had happened that night. Maybe she was just like this when she was sober—maybe he only liked stoner Sandy.

Her sudden coldness towards him hurt, but he'd never admit it. He just told himself she was being annoying. And he decided he'd just annoy her back until she caved.

Mr. White stared out the windshield, his eyes darting to the woman walking across the street. "That girl's ass?"

"Sittin' right here on my dick."

He knew what he said; he knew why he said it. And he didn't regret it—if anything he hoped maybe it'd clear the air a bit. Larry was laughing, so what was the hurt?

When he looked up in the rearview, Sandy was still staring out the window, brooding even worse than before—if that was even possible. Chuckling, he finally turned around to talk to her.

"What?" He assumed she knew he was joking and would at least give him something positive—a smirk, a scoff, a trademark Sandy eye roll—anything. Instead she continued looking out into the parking lot and let her own crass words roll out.

"I can't believe I let you fuck me."

Mr. White laughed even harder, leaning over in his seat to catch his breath. Freddy smirked and continued playing it all off as a joke, going in to place his hand gently on her leg. In her indignance, she jerked away from him and crossed her legs in the backseat, unintentionally kicking herself in the knee as she did so.

He gave it one last shot and leaned on the console, glancing back at her and laughing. "Hey, I'm just playing!"

Sandy could feel her cheeks burning. Her jaw was tight as she finally dared to look him in the eyes, gritting out, "yeah, you're real fuckin' funny."

Freddy very quickly stopped laughing and turned away, looking at his lap. Neither of them were put at ease by Larry's cackling, which only stopped when he wiped his eyes and got himself together.

"Oh god," He sighed and let out one last chuckle. "Myself and Mr. Pink?"

At this point Sandy had mentally checked out. She knew the plan already, and there wasn't much for her to question. All she had to do was step on the gas after all was said and done. And have sex with Freddy. But that part was already over with.

His voice was starting to get under her skin. So was White's. But he wasn't the one she slept with after banging out half a gram.

"I'm hungry. Let's get a taco."

Sandy slid her legs over the edge of the seat and leaned forward. "Can you take me home?"

"You don't want anything?" Mr. White asked, glancing in the rearview as he turned the key in the ignition.

She crossed her arms and looked away. "Not hungry."

"Suit yourself."

The entire car ride would've been deadly silent if it weren't for Mr. White pushing some trivial conversation onto Freddy, who was now as despondent as Sandy was bitter. Fortunately for her, she only lived a few blocks away and didn't have to put up with the uncomfortable proximity much longer. Larry slowed in front of the building, pulling to a steady stop.

"This one, right?"

She responded with not much more than a grunt and threw herself out of the car. In this small window of opportunity, Freddy leaned back and mustered the confidence to speak.

"I'll see y—"

The slam of the car's back door finished his sentence. He let out a disappointed sigh as she stormed into the apartment, sliding down in his seat a little. Mr. White watched her swing the door closed behind her before looking at Freddy purposefully.

"You fucked her?"

"Yeah," Freddy shrugged, slumping with his head against the window.

"Hey, we should get you a trophy," he chuckled and put the car into gear.

The ghost of a smile crossed Freddy's face, fearing he'd look pathetic if he kept pining over her in front of White. Sensing his distress, Larry put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You still hungry?"

Freddy took the carton of cigarettes from his breast pocket and nodded, sitting up a little straighter as he tried to forget it.