Arrangements

Who: Dutch and Roy
Where: Occam Automotive
When: Late afternoon

It was a rare Friday in the shop for once, and Dutch was grateful for it. Between the good and bad of the city; the fires, the clubs, the boardwalk and more? It was a slowish day; there were no suits dropping off cars with demands that they be ready by Monday, no last-minute deliveries of parts, and they'd actually shipped out the few cars that were due for pickup already. Which was a good thing in Dutch's book, it meant the shop was almost quiet from what he could hear back in his office aside from the odd noise here and there.

If he had to guess, he'd guess that Stevie was still cleaning up his station, that Roy might be puttering around in the bays, and that Pepper would be here soon if she wasn't already to get the garage cleaned up for the weekend. Even that didn't sound great though, something about his night of rest had been far from restful. He knew he'd been dreaming, but about what, who could say? Brooding wasn't helping him to recall, of course, and neither was the remainder of a drink where it sat in front of him, ripples running across its' surface from the steady drum of fingers on his desk. Rising with a groan, Dutch stepped from the office and shut the door behind him, leaving his drink behind. It wasn't like he'd wait too long before he replaced it; the Round always had a seat for him.

Roy was busy putting things away. It usually fell to him when the guys had gotten lazy for their end of things and tools happened to be lying around all over the place. But it was work he could do, and didn't mind so much. Everything had a place, and he liked the organization of it. Maybe it was just putting in order when so much of his life was without it, but either way, that was what he was up to, with a box full of odd tools that had found their way to being misplaced. He nodded to Dutch when he saw him come out of his office in greeting.

"Don't sweat puttin' all those away," Dutch called in greeting as he saw Roy, "It'll give me somethin' to throw at the boys for not packing up right. Damned fools must think I'm made of socket wrenches." He smirked without much humor over that, moving for the hot plates that always had a pot of burnt coffee and pouring himself a cup. Taking his first drink-and-grimace, Dutch leaned back against the workbench with a sigh as he looked around the shop. "Pepper runnin' late today? I'm gettin' too old to push a broom myself," he mused with a faint scowl, patting his overalls down in search of his smokes.

Roy had been going to say that he didn't mind putting them away in the first place, but those words didn't make it out of his mouth when Dutch asked about Pepper. When that happened, he set the box down, his face falling in a really stunningly bad attempt to cover. It flat out didn't work. He hadn't even thought about it, about the fact that Dutch knew her, and she was meant to be working there too, and...it just hadn't filtered through. "I...she's not coming back." he said, voice quiet. Strained.

Dutch wasn't very good with empathy, even worse at it when sober, but even he couldn't miss these cues. Roy rarely guarded his expression like that, or at least in Dutch's experience, so to see him try and fail? Well, it robbed a lot of possible meanings from those few words. "What the hell does that mean?" he growled quietly, "What're you saying, Roy?" He stepped away from the worktable, setting his coffee down hard enough to splash it along his sleeve as he moved for Roy, the search for a cigarette completely forgotten. "Where's Pepper?"

"Missing. But everyone knows what that means." Roy said. "You know that project I worked on for a couple days...just from left over junk around here? That was for her. I...made her a cross." he admitted, finding a seat, and he dropped heavily down into it. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I didn't even think about it. She just...went missing, and I hear that a bunch of guys dragged her out of her place, and that was the last anyone's seen of her." She was a street kid, like him, and when they went missing they generally never did turn up unless it was as a corpse somewhere.

His gut clenched tight, knotting itself as Roy's words hit him. Dutch knew this city, he knew the unbelievable depths of it and how pointlessly cruel it could be. He knew what Roy was saying, and just how likely it was. The street kids stuck together; Pepper and that kid Dodge and all the little beggars that the orphanage didn't have room for. If none of them had seen her? "This fucking city," Dutch muttered to himself, eyes wandering from Roy, down to his feet and across the floor, eventually settling on one of the few cars still in the bays. "This fucking city!" he suddenly roared, taking three long steps over and kicking the sideview mirror right off with a crack.

It didn't make sense, and what was worse? It was a reminder of how pointless it all was, robbing whatever personal satisfaction Dutch had felt over jumping Ian. He'd taken control of his life for one brief moment, just to have it yanked away again by the random cruelty of the bastards around him. And it wasn't even him they'd hit, it was Pepper who'd served as the reminder. "She's a goddamn kid," he mumbled, leaning on the car, "Just a... just a fucking kid." Dutch didn't look back as his hand knuckled up on the car's hood, staring daggers towards his office and thinking of the gun in his desk. "Where was her place?"

Roy flinched when Dutch yelled, and again when he kicked the mirror off of the car. There was a third twitch when he was addressed again. "Under the bridge. There was a place where there were cracks, she could fit in there." he answered, head hung. the part about her being a kid hit him oddly. He knew he thought that about Maddy. But Pepper, he didn't know. Maybe. Maybe they really all were. Maybe he was. He didn't know anymore. He kind of sometimes thought you stopped being a kid when you found out the world sucked, and if that was the case, none of them were.

There had never been any illusions in Dutch's head about kids like Roy or Pepper; they knew what hard times were like. Roy was working here, after all, and this was a place that was a last option for most of his crew. And Pepper? She slept under the Sixth Street Bridge, where what passed for law in this city didn't exist. Did she have any kin? Dutch didn't think so, which just made it all the worse in his mind. Something about this city could make you feel so much more alone... "You need anything done for arrangements for her, say the word," he offered quietly, still not looking back.

"We had a litter service for her. Kind of a funeral. D would be able to show you were we put the cross, but they never found her. She's still technically missing, we just all know different." Roy said. "So there's nothing to arrange. Thank you though. I'm sure she'd appreciate that." he said genuinely. Or, he appreciated it, and he was projecting that Pepper would have.

Would she have appreciated what Dutch had in mind right now? Would it be something Pepper wanted; for him to grab one of the stashed Thompsons from upstairs and go find answers? And did it really matter to Dutch right now, or did he just want to go hurt someone until he stopped feeling powerless? "I'll pay my respects," Dutch confirmed, nodding at the empty space in front of him as his mind tumbled over itself. Nothing happening here made sense or felt stable, and the worst of it was that he'd been here before, a long time ago. It had been the same realization; that a pointless act of violence could upset so much. It had for him, and it had for Roy. "You need a drink? I sure as shit do," he rumbled, turning and moving for the door that led upstairs to his distillery.

Roy looked up, then after a moment, he nodded. "Yeah, actually. Think I do." he said. It wasn't like there'd been a lack of drama in his life for a while now, and he'd never really been able to afford to drink, but that sounded stellar right now. That sounded perfect, even. So he stood, and followed Dutch.

The little stairway was narrow enough that Dutch had a slight sideways turn as he walked up, keys jingling while he plucked one free and unlocked the door. That door was actually well-maintained, heavy, likely fire-resistant even, and beyond it? Well, it smelled like a bar, of course; pressurized tanks and barrels running each side of the room to frame in crates of amber glass bottles. He kept a few basic amenities up here: a tool kit, a pair of stools, and a bound bedroll for the nights when he sampled his own product a bit too heavily. Grabbing a pair of dinged and dented tin cups, Dutch moved to one of the tanks and twisted a spigot, filling both cups with his own version of gin and bringing one to Roy. "To Pepper, yeah?" he suggested, raising his glass in a toast.

Roy looked around when he got inside, attention distracted before Dutch handed him the mug. He took it, and nodded. "To Pepper." he agreed, holding his glass up as well, before he took an experimental drink. Which left him coughing, but he took a second fairly quickly, not used to the burn down his throat, but also not letting that stop him.

Dragging his stool over and sitting near the spigot, Dutch settled in with a slight smile at Roy's cough. He knew his liquor was harsh, and figured Roy didn't drink much. So while it'd normally be funny? Right now it only dented the chaos he was feeling. "It's hittin' me right now that you've never been up here," Dutch mused, finishing his cup and pouring himself another, "I know you helped me load runs for the Round once or twice, so I guess it's about time you got a good look." He gave another humorless smile there, digging out his cigarettes and keeping one held in his lips without lighting it. Up here? It'd just be a quick way to blow yourself up, and Dutch wasn't looking to die like his last name was Bartelucci. "I ever tell you I knew your old man?" he asked, somewhat abruptly.

Roy shook his head, sitting down on the floor where he could comfortably look up at Dutch, and he still had a view of the place. He was looking around more, getting a better lay of the place. It was interesting, and his tinkering mind was already working out what everything did, or how he could possibly improve it. But when his father was mentioned, Dutch had his attention again. "When did you know him?" he asked.

"Must be about... eight or nine years back now," Dutch mused, "We ran into each other enough that we got to talking, had a drink or two over time." I got rid of his guns after work, gave him clean rides to use. He smiled tightly, shaking his head at the memory of how many people he'd known in this horrible life who were just good people stuck doing horrible things. "Fine man, your pa," he complimented, "Never ran out of things to say 'bout you and yours, neither. Lucky I'm such a charmer or he would've skipped most of those drinks we shared."

Roy was paying avid attention. "He talked about us?" he asked. "I never knew much about him, I guess. He wasn't around that much. There was just...me and the rest of the kids. Then he just...stopped coming around. Do you know what happened to him? Or what kind of...of 'debt' he owed?" he asked, not sure if he should even be asking, but he was.

In a lot of ways, Dutch regretted mentioning it. He didn't want to expose Roy to the filth that had dragged his father down, even if he already knew that Roy did little errands for the Families now and then. But if he kept up the lie, would he be any better than that bitch Maya Walker? Or would he just keep perpetuating the bullshit? "Talked a fair amount, yeah," Dutch said haltingly, unsure of just how much he would confess, "We kinda had a few things in common, I guess, and I liked hearin' how much it meant to him to provide for you and yours. I don't... I lost my family a long time back, see."

Tossing back the rest of his drink, Dutch smiled weakly as he poured himself another out of sheer reflex. "Not too many folks in this city'd decide it was their work to take care of the whole family tree," he noted quietly, "'Cuz it's a tall damn order. As for what you're asking? All I know is it wasn't good." All he knew was that one day he supplied a car to some young punk instad of Frank Grady, and was told that Frank had been replaced. So really? He knew plenty.

Quiet for a few long moments, Roy took all of that in. "I'm sorry to hear about your family, Sir." he said first, that polite streak in him dictating that needed to come first. "I was told that I had to pay off his debt." he explained. "But they never told me how much it was for or for what." And sometimes he wondered if he wasn't just getting screwed in the deal.

The anger wasn't aimed at Roy, but damn if Roy wasn't hitting all kinds of it in Dutch today. First the news about Pepper, and now the revelation that the DiGiovanni were keeping him on the hook? It raised his blood, demanded another gulp of gin, knotted his jaw tight as he swallowed. "Thanks," he offered, heartened by the simple condolences, "Now, far as I heard it? Frank was square with the men in charge. Problem with that, though, is that there's about fifteen layers of fucking flunkies between guys like him and me and the men in charge. You want me to ask? I think there's still one or two folks who'd keep the door open if I knocked."

Roy took another drink of the gin, and considered that. "...do you think it would get worse for me if you did?" he asked, thinking that might be a real possibility--but he didn't know. And since he didn't know, he had to ask and he trusted Dutch not to steer him wrong.

That was a very real possibility, given how many people had it in for Dutch. Some of them, like Ian, might take the chance to strike out at anyone and everyone who knew Dutch. And in Roy's case, they wouldn't even have to hit Roy or Dutch directly. Roy had family. "There's a chance, yeah," he admitted, nodding slowly, "I'm not well-loved by any of the families, if I'm being honest. Still got a friend or two, but they've got friends who aren't too keen on me." Sitting forward, Dutch pondered for a quiet moment as he watched Roy. Even if he wasn't asking questions, odds were good that trouble might find Dutch anyway. And if it did, what would happen to the small bit of stability he could offer Roy with this job?

"What would you do?" Roy asked, finishing the gin in his cup, feeling that sharp burn down his throat, and he realized he felt warmer. He set the cup down and just watched his boss, trying to read what wasn't being said. Even if he really couldn't do that sometimes. His judgment was often suspect and he knew it.

Dutch laughed humorlessly. rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and staring down at his feet for a moment. "One rule here, okay? Whatever I tell you, you keep it under your hat, clear?" he asked first, looking up again with a wary, strained look showing itself for the first time. He wanted to help, but he'd have to fight that urge if it was only going to hurt Roy in the long run.

Taking a moment to decide on that, Roy finally nodded, decision made. "Okay." he said. "I'll keep it to myself." he promised. He didn't know what was going to be told, but generally speaking he could keep a secret. Not only that but who the hell would he tell? There wasn't anyone.

"My kin run the Giacomos," Dutch said first, "And I don't mean like a third cousin or some bullshit. But if they didn't want to answer a question? Hell, some people say old man DiGiovanni's still breathin', and if I could get word to him I think he might listen." How long had it been since he'd shared that tidbit; that he was some sort of nephew-in-law to the capo di capos? Even if the man hadn't acknowledged him in nearly two decades. "I... I got a long history with the Families, Roy, used to be somethin' in 'em, even. I just don't know if it'd matter any more."

Sitting up straighter, Roy blinked, frowning lightly as he ran that back over in his head. He was silent for a few long moments, just sort of trying to figure out what that might mean in general. How it might apply. He was aware that it seemed to him like there was a lot that he couldn't add up, but that was fine. He didn't need the whole story. "So if anyone was in a position to ask..." he trailed off.

Nodding slightly, Dutch smirked thinly. "Just might be me," he finished for Roy, "But I won't if it's not something you're keen on, I know there's risks and there's attention you don't want to catch. Your call." And just like every other situation he could possibly affect but didn't? Dutch would leave his involvement there until Roy asked for more. Still, something about the sum total of this day resonated with him. Pepper was gone, Roy had been laboring under some false idea of debt for who knew how long, Evelyn had been twisted by Ian, and Roy's father had been a stranger to his own family. Would it ever stop? He wasn't sure it was a cycle that could be broken on its' own. "How much they been paying you on average for the work you do?"

"Depends." Roy said. "Sometimes it's a little more, sometimes less. I don't know, really." he said, what with not being so good with numbers. Like at all. To the point where he didn't even know what he was running, because he couldn't read it anyhow. "I don't want to be working for them forever...but they threatened my family. Said if I didn't do it they'd kill a sister. Though I never found out if they ever even had one of them." Since there were a ton, either way.

And that was enough for Dutch. It was a trip back in time to days when he was grieving for his Mariella, only to be told that his daughter was in safe hands, and her health depended on his behavior. "Not. Again." Dutch said flatly, rising from his seat, "They don't get to pull this shit, Roy, not on you. Not if I can do something about it." He moved to the toolkit, popping it open and closing a hand around the prybar inside. Without any explanation, Dutch started to heft away the crates of bottles that sat against one wall of the distillery, stacking them three high to expose a patch of the floor.

His shoulders were heaving, either from exhaustion or aggression, and there was a stark grimness in Dutch's eyes as he looked back to Roy. "Listen up and listen good," he said, "If I find out your tab? I'll help. But if anything feels off here, you lay low for a few days, call the Round, and we'll get something sorted." He stabbed the prybar down with a grunt, starting to lever it under the floorboards with a groan from both the wood and Dutch himself, twisting until a handful of them popped free together. "And if... hell, Roy? I got shit of my own to deal with. But if I can't, and something happens, if I don't turn up? You get in here, and get to this," Dutch instructed, waving him over for a better look at what was hidden between the garage downstairs and the distillery.

Roy stood and watched, unsure what the hell was going on though he was trying to follow along. "I...okay..." he said walking over, confused, but clearly something was being shown. He paid attention to where everything was, so if the scenario Dutch was talking about happened, he'd be able to find it without flailing around and such. "Get to what?" he asked, getting closer, coming up to stand next to Dutch.

Leaning forward to reach between the floors, Dutch grunted as his hands came back with the drawstrings of a duffelbag. "Been sitting on this a long time now," he said as he undid the knot that tied them shut, reaching inside the bag to produce a tightly bound stack of hundred dollar bills. "And I'm never gonna need it, but maybe you could. So if something happens to me, I don't care what it is, you get this bag and solve your problems. Pay that debt, get your sister safe, get all of your family to a spot where they can get by. There's enough here to do it, and I think Frank'd like knowing the lot of you stuck together."

Roy's jaw dropped. He stood there, staring, wide eyed with disbelief. He'd never in his life seen anything even close to that much money in one place. He never dreamed he'd even be in the same room as that. But god. Wow. "I--" he started but he really just didn't have words, he was so shocked by the whole thing.

"Yeah, the first few times are always like that," Dutch noted, smirking at the look of utter shock on Roy's face. "When I was your age? Walked in on my pop and my uncle Vito sortin' the cash from the bookies for one month? There was piles so big a fella could drown in 'em." Dropping the stack in one of Roy's hands, Dutch turned his attention back to retying the duffelbag and stuffing it back between the floors. "Point is, I need someone I think is gonna do right with this money to know about it. That's you."

Roy almost dropped it, but then caught it after he nearly did so, turning it over in his hand, and then fanning it out a little. he almost felt like he shouldn't be touching it at all. But Dutch was still speaking, and he looked back up. "I...I don't know what to say, Sir." he said first, stammering over his words. It was one hell of a thing to even show him the money. He knew a lot of people who would break in later to try and steal it. And then he noticed he was putting it away again. "Wait, this was left out." he said, holding it back towards Dutch.

"So it was," Dutch noted, dropping the floorboards back down over the gap and starting to drop crates back onto them. He'd need to nail them back down later, sure, but for now this would do just fine. "Look... you've been bustin' your ass here for two years now, right? Workin' holidays, cleaning the shop up when I've got no one else to. More than that, you did something for Pepper," Dutch explained, eyeing Roy squarely even as he lugged down another crate, "That's yours to keep, I figure it's nearly owed. So you take it, do somethin' good for Pepper's friends, pay some to the boys keeping your tab and see if they'll tell you what's left. Do anything you can think of that three grand'll cover. I figure it's better than it just sitting up here."

Roy nearly choked. Three grand? He knew that was a big number. Not sure exactly how much, but he'd heard the term 'grand' thrown around a lot when doing jobs for the family, and so he understood it to be a large sum. "I...I...I can't take this, sir, I didn't--I don't--" he started, but he had a total vocabulary breakdown there. He just didn't know what to say, and he was stunned with the whole thing.

That had been somewhat expected, but Dutch didn't respond to it until he'd reconcealed the spot where his cash was buried. With the last crates reset, he moved back for his stool, snagging Roy's cup in passing and sitting again. "Deep breaths, son," he said encouragingly, refilling both of their cups and offering Roy's back over, "And some of this between those deep breaths. Calms the shakes." But two would be the limit, he'd feel bad about getting Roy shitfaced. "When you think the words is making sense again, try and tell me why, okay?"

Roy took the drink and knocked a good half of it back, which left him coughing a little, and he sat down again. He took a few moments, collecting himself. "I haven't done anything to deserve this, sir. And it's so much money, and I don't...it's yours, and I..." he shook his head, really not able to properly articulate things.

On a lot of levels, it was a lot of money. On other levels? It was a drop in the bucket for some people. That included Dutch, despite his slovenly appearance and dilapidated apartment; he had just shy of three hundred thousand dollars in there, what was three grand less? "Generally the one handin' out the money decides if it's deserved," Dutch pointed out, "S'how wages get set and all. And I mean... truth? I don't rightly feel like I've done much to deserve it either, it's why I don't spend it. But I'll tell you what." Mulling over his drink for a quiet moment, Dutch took a healthy swallow and smacked his lips in satisfaction. "Take three bills out, okay? The rest, I'll keep handy in case you need a little extra for some emergency. Next time you do an errand, give some of that up and see what they say."

That Roy could deal with better, even if he still felt like it was too much. He looked at Dutch for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay, sir." he said. he looked down at the stack, then carefully pulled out three bills, setting them down on the floor in front of him, then he held out the bundle. That was so much money. Even just the three hundreds on the floor in front of him, it was more than he'd ever seen.

Lumbering to his feet, Dutch took the remainder and tucked it away inside his overalls, nodding in satisfaction. After everything they'd talked about, he wanted something good in this day. He wanted to think that maybe the money could ease Roy's responsibilities in some minor way, or be used for his friends. "And if those DiGiovanni fucks ask where you got a c-note from, you tell 'em we pooled some money here and won big on a bet," Dutch instructed, knowing that a kid like Roy would definitely get the third degree just for showing up with some excess money.

He nodded, more than happy to have gotten help with that, he wouldn't have thought it through whatsoever then stood there like a rabbit in the headlights when questioned. "I won a bet. Okay." he said. Then he paused. "What kind of bet?" he asked, because the people he ran for would definitely want to know.

"Horse race yesterday," Dutch answered, brow creasing as he thought back to what the radio and the betting forms had told him. His memory wasn't the sharpest, but when he lost even five bucks on a race? He could remember cursing the horse's name up and down in his office. "Mama's Boy in the third race, nine to one odds. That fucking horse cost me." Which served him right, betting on the sure thing instead of the longshot.

Nodding again, Roy memorized that. "Mama's Boy, third race, nine to one." he repeated back. "Got it." he confirmed. "Thank you, sir." he said, tone sincere. he still wasn't quite sure what was going to happen here, but he would try some things. And maybe spend a little of the money getting his friends some things. What, he didn't know. But he'd think of something. First, though, he was going to try to pay off that 'debt' he had.

Dutch nodded, finishing his drink off and setting his cup back on top of the tank of liquor. "More than welcome, Roy. Gettin' to say the things I did, it's a luxury. Feels good to do, so... thanks for listenin'," he offered in kind, nodding at the door they'd entered from. "Let's head back down, though. I'll finish closin' up the shop tonight." Though offering a ride might be in order too, given the drinks. he'd make that call once he saw how well Roy handled the stairs back down.

Roy got up, folding the bills up carefully and putting them into his pocket, as he headed for the door and there was in fact a little bit of a stumble to his step. He caught himself, though. "Maybe we can talk again, after I see about my debt." he suggested, something in the middle of hopeful and respectful about it. Even if Dutch had just told him he found it beneficial as well, Roy still considered it his problem they were discussing, and therefore he didn't want to burden anyone. But it had been good for him too, actually saying some of that out loud, which he didn't do.

"Any time, Roy. Any time," Dutch confirmed, even daring to clap the younger man on the shoulder as he followed after. The narrow stairway should've helped to prevent too much stumbling, or Dutch was hoping so as he locked the distillery behind him. With everything he'd learned about Roy's problems tonight, the last thing he wanted was to add a drunken fall to them. Just the opposite, actually. Hearing it all, he actually wondered if this might be an occassion where he not only wanted to help like he did with Evelyn, but where he could help. "You want a lift?" he asked as they descended, "I'm just headin' to the Round after this, and I don't really have a timetable to meet or anything."

Roy considered that, then nodded. "If it isn't too much trouble, sir." he admitted, thinking that his state of being a little unsteady on his feet combined with the money in his pocket wasn't really all that awesome a thing. "Thanks again." he added, actually smiling a bit and everything.

Dutch actually grinned back as the left the stairs, nodding at the thanks. He sighed quietly as they re-entered the garage, realizing that it seemed off without Pepper there pushing a broom around. And that it was going to seem off for a long while. "It's no trouble at all," he assured Roy, "None of it is." That said, Dutch turned to grab the broom from where it leaned against the wall, leaning on it for a moment. "Go ahead and finish up your sorting, I'll be a few," he rumbled, giving a first push across the floor. The ride home would serve them both well, Dutch decided. He could keep an eye on Roy for a bit longer, and he wouldn't be alone in here, thinking of what wasn't right. That would keep for a few days, Dutch was sure.