Revelations
Jan. 15th, 2010 06:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thanksrainmanPreviously.
“I know who you are.”
The situation that Gus thought he had a grip on has once again completely gotten away from him. He’s not sure why he’s in the front seat of an old station wagon that he KNOWS he’s seen before, and why this supposed detective put him there.
“Okay, uhm, bear with me,” he says, holding his hands up slightly. “In case you didn’t know, I had a pretty bad knock on the head. So, humour me when I ask what the hell is going on?”
Penelope casts him a very brief glance as she backs the station wagon out of the parking space.
“I hate you,” she says flatly. “And you should know that I’m only doing this for the sake of my daughter.”
“Your da—what?” Never get in the car with strangers. It’s the first words of advice every parent gives their children. “Lady, I don’t even know you!”
“No, but you knew my husband. Charlie Wood.”
She doesn’t watch him, her attention focused on the road as pieces begin to slowly fall into place.
“So, I’m not under arrest,” he says sickly. And suddenly, he almost wishes that were the case.
“No,” Penelope says, exasperated. “Believe it or not, but that is the last thing I want right now.”
Gus tries to figure this out, but fails. “Do I have to remind you?” he hisses. “Let’s try this one step at a time, okay? Because I’m having a real hard time following.”
Penelope quickly turns sharply off the road, stopping in a small car park. “Mister Mitchell, unless you want to go back to prison, I’d suggest you get the hell out of my car.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but for a few long moments, can’t think of anything to say. Eventually, he settles on, “How?”
Penelope begins digging through her purse. “I told you,” she says, not looking up at him. “I know who you are, and what you’ve done. But, on the off chance that you did wake up, I was able to...” she stalls, as though fighting with herself to continue. “I was able to take care of certain things.”
Gus isn’t exactly the sort to believe in the random charity of strangers; random charity of cops even less. “Why?” he asks, not sure that he wants to know.
“Like I said,” Penelope says, shoving a thick envelope into his hands. “For my daughter.”
The bag was full of toys.
Gus can’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe it,” he marvels.
“Get out of my car,” Penelope demands again.
“That sneaky son of a bitch,” Gus says.
“Now.”
He jumps slightly at her tone, and it’s only now that he’s realised that the car park they’ve stopped in is in front of a small Greyhound station.
“You’re kidding?” he asks, indignantly. “Where the hell am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t care,” Penelope says. “I don’t want to see you in Deschutes County ever again. I don’t want to see you in Oregon again. I’d run you out of the entire Northwest, but I’m feeling generous. Now out.”
He falters slightly for a few seconds before raising one of his hands slightly. “I can’t... really...”
Sighing, Penelope leans over him and pushes his door open, watching in silence as he struggles to get to his feet. Struggling to keep hold of both the envelope and the cane, which still feels foreign to his hand, he watches as she quickly pulls away, leaving him with very little choices for his next move.
“I know who you are.”
The situation that Gus thought he had a grip on has once again completely gotten away from him. He’s not sure why he’s in the front seat of an old station wagon that he KNOWS he’s seen before, and why this supposed detective put him there.
“Okay, uhm, bear with me,” he says, holding his hands up slightly. “In case you didn’t know, I had a pretty bad knock on the head. So, humour me when I ask what the hell is going on?”
Penelope casts him a very brief glance as she backs the station wagon out of the parking space.
“I hate you,” she says flatly. “And you should know that I’m only doing this for the sake of my daughter.”
“Your da—what?” Never get in the car with strangers. It’s the first words of advice every parent gives their children. “Lady, I don’t even know you!”
“No, but you knew my husband. Charlie Wood.”
She doesn’t watch him, her attention focused on the road as pieces begin to slowly fall into place.
“So, I’m not under arrest,” he says sickly. And suddenly, he almost wishes that were the case.
“No,” Penelope says, exasperated. “Believe it or not, but that is the last thing I want right now.”
Gus tries to figure this out, but fails. “Do I have to remind you?” he hisses. “Let’s try this one step at a time, okay? Because I’m having a real hard time following.”
Penelope quickly turns sharply off the road, stopping in a small car park. “Mister Mitchell, unless you want to go back to prison, I’d suggest you get the hell out of my car.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but for a few long moments, can’t think of anything to say. Eventually, he settles on, “How?”
Penelope begins digging through her purse. “I told you,” she says, not looking up at him. “I know who you are, and what you’ve done. But, on the off chance that you did wake up, I was able to...” she stalls, as though fighting with herself to continue. “I was able to take care of certain things.”
Gus isn’t exactly the sort to believe in the random charity of strangers; random charity of cops even less. “Why?” he asks, not sure that he wants to know.
“Like I said,” Penelope says, shoving a thick envelope into his hands. “For my daughter.”
The bag was full of toys.
Gus can’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe it,” he marvels.
“Get out of my car,” Penelope demands again.
“That sneaky son of a bitch,” Gus says.
“Now.”
He jumps slightly at her tone, and it’s only now that he’s realised that the car park they’ve stopped in is in front of a small Greyhound station.
“You’re kidding?” he asks, indignantly. “Where the hell am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t care,” Penelope says. “I don’t want to see you in Deschutes County ever again. I don’t want to see you in Oregon again. I’d run you out of the entire Northwest, but I’m feeling generous. Now out.”
He falters slightly for a few seconds before raising one of his hands slightly. “I can’t... really...”
Sighing, Penelope leans over him and pushes his door open, watching in silence as he struggles to get to his feet. Struggling to keep hold of both the envelope and the cane, which still feels foreign to his hand, he watches as she quickly pulls away, leaving him with very little choices for his next move.
