Revelations

Who: Dutch and Evelyn
Where: Occam Automotive
When: Early evening

Working had kept him focused, had reined in his temper for long days now, but Dutch knew there was a quickly approaching time when he'd probably have to let it off of the leash. For days now he'd kept himself busy with his own jobs, DiGiovanni errands, and tracking down a car for Evelyn. He'd dipped into his own personal funds to buy the black hardbodied car, had taken the time himself to set up registry paperwork, and for the last two days? He'd made it his own little hobby to get elbow deep in the engine and crawl under the frame, making sure everything on the vehicle was going to run like it was fresh out of the factory. All of this for a liar.

It rankled him, he knew it. He'd given the girl trust and kindness, had let himself feel good for connecting with someone in the city who wasn't on his work crews, and now? Now he didn't know what, if anything, that she'd told him was true. It was why he'd kept distance between himself and everyone else, Dutch figured. You could never trust someone in this town, everyone had an angle. Even Evelyn's brother who'd given him slivers of truth, just enough to know he was being deceived. Even Dutch himself.

Tonight, his angle was truth. The shop was empty, he'd sent Roy and the other guys home a bit early and secluded himself in the office. One cup of gin, that was all Dutch would let himself have as he filled in the pertinent parts of the paperwork Evelyn would need for the car, leaving the signature lines for her. One cup, otherwise he'd want his temper to get free, and Dutch wouldn't let that happen if a woman was the recipient. Unless it's the Walker bitch, he told himself with a snort, gathering up the paperwork and heading back into the garage bay. Evelyn, or Amelia as he knew her, should've been by any time now; Dutch had already called up to the Drake with a simple message to say that her car was ready to be picked up.

The message had taken her by surprise -- she hadn't expected the business with the car to be taken care of so quickly. Of course, that a man like Dutch who owned his own garage had managed to find a car in less than a week probably shouldn't have been so surprising; the unexpected-ness of it had more to do with the fact that the car had been the furthest thing from Evelyn's mind than it being some impractical feat. Regardless, the surprise certainly wasn't unwelcome. The opposite, in fact: with everything that had been going so horribly downhill lately, Evelyn welcomed the news, and the stop made to the garage after work.

When she walked into the bay, she greeted Dutch with a warm smile that did nothing to reflect the stress and weariness that had been wearing her down for, oh, she had lost count of the days now. "You took care of that quicker than I expected," she admitted, grinning lightly, shifting her pursestrap up as it threatened to slide down, "I'm impressed."

"Miss Amelia," Dutch greeted in a rumble, nodding a little as he looked her way, "Don't be too impressed, it's my job. Find 'em or fix 'em, sometimes both." Busying himself at the little coffee pot he kept on a hot tray, Dutch set a batch to brew in the percolator before grabbing the paperwork and heading Evelyn's way with it offered out. "Kept it in the budget you gave me, got the title transfer all set up. You just sign and I'll make sure this gets filed where it needs to." And angry or not, he meant that. He'd found her a safe ride, it had never belonged to a mafia man and it ran like a dream.

Evelyn reached out for the paperwork, letting her gaze glance down to skim the top page over just before ticking it up to the car. It was nice, certainly far better than she had expected, and she kept her thoughts and eyes busy with the car instead of the paperwork in her hand that needed to be signed. Going by a false name was one thing, but signing the paperwork in it...? Inside she was utterly flailing about what to do here at the moment, although Evelyn -- rarely one to admit any distress -- didn't let it show on her face as she circled the car, taking it in. He had said he managed it all within budget, but a part of her couldn't help but wonder if that was the whole truth -- it being more than what she expected for her price -- that she felt that pang of discomfort whenever she suspected putting somebody out of their way. But, though she hated putting people out of their way, she wasn't ungrateful,

"Thank you," she finally said, looking up from the car and smiling at Dutch. Then, considering the quality of the car and the price she had offered but not wanting to be so rude as to ask directly, "It's even more -- better -- than I expected."

Dutch just nodded, watching as she circled the car and choking on accusations he wanted to let fly right away. Maybe that one gin hadn't been a good idea. Maybe she would 'fess up before things got bad on his end. About what, he didn't know, but the fact that there were lies being maintained was all that Dutch needed to fuel his anger. "Still got a touch of tobacco smell inside, leave some baking soda in there over a weekend and it oughta draw it right out," Dutch explained, "Little touch of body damage too, but nothing too severe. You drive one of these beasts before?"

Evelyn shook her head, flashing him a wry almost-apologetic smile. "No," she admitted just before ducking down to open the door and taking a peek inside. Laughing a little bit at herself she added, "I guess I should have mentioned that sooner, huh? ...But you got this finished before I even thought of it." Her nose crinkled a bit as she duck her head inside -- stale tobacco smell was right -- but otherwise she was more than pleased with everything overall. In fact it was almost surreal, this moment, looking inside a car and trying to get her mind wrapped around the fact that this thing was hers. Or, well, Amelia's. Which was an issue, one she hadn't really thought of how to deal with yet as she still held the papers in her hand.

So she continued her survey of the interior, taking it in, stalling for time, also urging her mouth to keep moving to fill up the space as she tried to work out what to do. "...my brother probably has, though," she murmured carelessly. Then, catching herself, Evelyn stilled for a moment, focusing intently on the steering wheel as a slight frown flittered across her face. Because, yeah, right now thinking about Jesse was the last thing she needed. The unresolved issue with her brother, and her family in general, had been at the forefront of her mind since Saturday and had resulted in little in full-on insomnia and an again empty stash of sedatives and just general shittiness all around.

"Funny you should mention him," Dutch said, fighting to keep his tone even as he poured himself a coffee, "Ran into him myself a few nights back, we had a few drinks. He shed some light on things I didn't realize I was in the dark over." He aimed a stare over the edge of his cup, eyes narrowing slightly on Evelyn. "I don't take kindly to being fed lies when I'm offering truth in exchange, Amelia," he went on, remembering Jesse's confusion over the name Dutch had given, "So how about you do something to rectify."

Oh hell. The words hit her like ice water through the veins, stilling her movements as her mind tried to process just what exactly he was telling her through the overwhelming dread of 'shit shit shit'. How the hell had Dutch and Jesse crossed paths anyway? She wasn't sure how that happened, or what Jesse had told him, or what he told Jesse and right now she couldn't really focus on that no matter how much that bothered her. Because she sure as hell caught the emphasis on her 'name', and right now Dutch was waiting for her to answer. With the paperwork in her hand it was a confession Evelyn had been trying to mentally build up to -- or find some way to avoid -- but now the moment was here and brought about in a manner that was anything but pleasant. She straightened up, blinking once, and met Dutch's gaze over the hood of the car. "You ran into Jesse?" she asked, brow furrowing slightly, but whether it was confusion or worry was impossible to tell. Of course, obviously it had to have been Jesse -- she only had one brother. And it wasn't directly addressing the issue -- she knew that -- but a part of her couldn't get past wanting to know just how Dutch and Jesse came about, and -- moreso -- how Jesse had been.

Dutch gave a slow, solitary nod as he took his first sip of coffee, anchoring himself with the heat and bitterness of it. There was to be no break in his resolve despite the panic Evelyn was showing; if anything it had to be stronger. That reaction was telling him that he'd been right to doubt this, and that there was likely more he was being lied to than he could hope to guess at. "Down at the Round, he was looking for your mugger. Small fucking world," Dutch explained, "Imagine my surprise at hearin' that I saved someone who fit the bill of his sister."

A week ago hearing Jesse had been out looking would have been worrisome, but not surprising, but after days of dead silence on Jesse's end she had started to believe that she had so irrevocably fucked things up to the point that her brother had truly washed his hands of her. So hearing that he was still looking had surprised her -- but she wasn't in a mood or situation to feel hopeful or relieved at what that suggested. There were a lot of emotions coursing through her at the moment, and all of them were variations of the same few things: guilt, worry, discomfort, and just general shittiness. She had never not felt guilty for lying, but the fact that she had continued on regardless, and him knowing about it, his being disappointed or hurt, and of course the discomfort attached to be caught...

She sighed to expel some nerves and let her gaze drop to the hood of the car for a moment, trying to think of how best to phrase or explain it... but the fact was that no particular arrangement of words was going to alter the main issue into anything better: she had lied to him, even after he had saved her life. "Evelyn," she answered, just coming out with it and forcing her gaze back up even if looking away would be more comfortable. "I don't use my real name at work." Then she was quiet, just waiting for his response and resolving herself to keep the eye contact regardless of what it might be.

Something sparked in Dutch's eyes, birthing from nothing and burning hot in so short a span that it was nearly instant. His head dipped low in a strange resignation with the first confirmation that he'd been right, that Jesse had told him the truth. Lies, that was what he'd been given. He didn't know this woman, and probably never had. The resemblance to his wife that had driven him to help, to try and protect her? An old fool's nostalgia that Dutch had listened to all too eagerly just for the chance to connect with someone who was removed from his misery and his lot in life. "I brought you into my home," he rumbled quietly, still looking down, "Told you things I don't say, not even to the boys who've worked with me for years. Simple things, yeah; my name, my childhood, why I live in that shithole, what I've done and tried to put behind me. But they were true."

That last word had a growl in it as Dutch looked up, oblivious to the white-knuckled grip he had on his coffee cup. "Your brother, he thought I wanted to bed you. Thought I... I don't know, was like that piece of shit you work for, Sullivan." Silencing himself with a long swallow of coffee, Dutch sighed softly to himself. Somehow, the rage had just died in the face of the resignation, and now all he wanted was a drink and some silence. He wanted his old life again, even if it was a crushing thing to endure. "You are in over your goddamn head, Evelyn," Dutch spat, "A fake name won't keep you safe, you're a fool if you think it will. And next time there's trouble? It won't be some stranger in an alley. It'll be the people you're workin' for, it'll be someone you think you know, and you'll be in their nest so deep not nobody's gonna be able to pull you out. Once you're in, you're never out." He looked down again, staring into the remnants of his coffee and seeing lines and wrinkles reflect back up at him, then slowly? As if he were much older than his actual age, Dutch set the coffee down, turning to look towards his office door. "Keys for the car are in the visor, papers should be an easy fix down at city hall. You keep your money and go. Go see your family, make some sense of things."

A lot of reactions hit her at points in Dutch's speech -- the comment about sleeping with her, the bit about Sullivan, the Drake, the overall assault on her character -- but by the end of it there was a small flash of anger that flared up to her defense. "No, she replied to the bit on her going, firmly shutting -- though not slamming -- the car door and walking around toward Dutch. Regardless of how much he seemed inclined to end it and drown away in sorrow or self-pity? Evelyn wasn't willing to just drive off and leave so many issues there. Oh, she knew she didn't have the firm moral ground to stand on -- nobody could have been harder on her than herself -- but in this case she hadn't done complete wrong by Dutch. And, for what it was worth, she was going to stand up for as much was worth standing up for. "Yes, I lied to you about my name. And I was wrong for that -- especially after you saved my life.

"But I also came back down here twice to see you afterward, and -- it might not have occurred to you? -- it wasn't the easiest thing to do since some guy almost killed me a block or so from here, in an alley I can see from your apartment window." She paused for a moment there, not dropping her gaze for a second. The difficulty of those visits was an understatement she wasn't comfortable with; and this was the closest she had come to admitting (even to herself) that the mental recovery was trailing significantly behind the physical one. But her pause was brief. She hadn't said it to garner sympathy; it was more an impassioned 'take this and stick it in the pot while you're condemning me' kind of thing. "But if you're so set on a black or white mold then I guess stuff like that wouldn't register before you chose to cut someone out, would it?" She crossed her arms, staring evenly at him again during another pause made brief by the list of other issues unaddressed. Although, as she continued, some of the impassioned toned softened into a more level one,

"And I'm not an idiot -- or at least not a complete one, anyway," she conceded, arms relaxing just the slightest bit, "When I found the waitress job I didn't realize just how connected the hotel was." Evelyn may have grown up poor, but she had never lived a less than legit life. she hadn't been in the know as to how deep or insidious mob connections went, and up until she started working there had only regarded the Drake as little more than a fancy hotel. "And the name had been an impulsive decision that I can't really explain, but it probably would have been just as blurted had the job been at Nighthawk's -- people don't need mob connections to be sadistic bastards, after all. But even knowing what I know and even though I'd change a lot of the decisions after? I still say that the waitressing job was the best option I had at the time." Throughout all of the last part she had worked doubly hard to maintain a matter-of-fact tone and posture. Because none of that had been easy to admit, and a lot had toed or blatantly stepped on unresolved issues that still swirled in her psyche, eating at her. There was still more to address -- the bit about Sullivan was especially pertinent -- but finally she stopped. And this time she gave him a moment to respond.

Dutch's head snapped around as she talked to him, jaw set and tense as he glared at Evelyn. "And every time you came here you kept that lie!" he snapped, "You think you know how connected that place is now? That keeping your secret lets you see the others? Christ on the cross, girl, saving you doesn't mean jack shit if you're gonna walk back into this sort of trouble." He was fuming now, shoulders knotted tight as Dutch turned to face her properly. She should've just left, should've hopped in the car when he told her to. "That shitheel who jumped you is a saint next to the Families! You think that alley spooks you? You don't know spooked until you're wondering who the sadistic bastards are coming after next, except that it's not you. It's your brother, his daughter, your parents maybe. You don't know until it's too late. Whatever your best option was then, now it's getting the fuck out of there."

To say that Dutch didn't come off terrifying when angry would have been a lie, and Evelyn ending up taking a step back despite herself when he rounded on her. But she kept her eyes on him, fighting through how horribly uncomfortable maintaining that eye contact was. Because Dutch looked on the verge of striking out -- maybe past it, even -- and Evelyn couldn't help but be very aware just how easily capable he was to do it. Her brother may have pointed out some handy self-defense tips, but that didn't change her being vastly underwhelming in size and physical strength here. But she tried not to think about that -- after all, this was the man who had saved her life right? -- and focus on what he was saying and on keeping her eyes on his and on not taking another step back. Although, it wasn't lost on Evelyn that the fury in his response seemed excessive to the issue. She understood anger from him -- she had lied, after all -- but she had only lied about her name. So, yeah, she understood him being angry, upset, disappointed. But this?... seemed off. ... Or maybe she was just trying to make herself feel better.

"I know," she finally replied after a moment; opting for when her voice could be steadier than she felt... when the defensiveness, guilt, and apprehension wouldn't shatter through. She knew she had to get out of the hotel -- a decision spurred more by trying to amend bridges with family than a real sense of fear about the Drake -- but Evelyn had been looking for a new job. Tirelessly, even. Between and sometimes during her shifts she kept with the search, skimming newspapers and noting 'Help Wanted' ads and even managing some interviews. It hadn't turned up any results yet, but she had only really started Monday so it was too early to start worrying... right?

His anger would have seemed excessive to anyone except for Dutch, in truth, but this hurt. Even such a minor betrayal reinforced all of his loathing and misery, and coming off the heels of feeling better for the first time in a long time? It hurt twice as much as it had for years now. "Then do something with the knowledge," Dutch rumbled at her, still knotted up with tension but no longer yelling or looming. "You struck me as a smart girl before, Ame-- Evelyn," he corrected with a line in his brow, "Smart enough to fool me, for one. An' whether I bought the name or not? I'm a decent read for someone's character. You deserve better than anything you can get up at the Drake, you hear? Because no matter how much luxury they got, they always get twice as much misery for it."

"I didn't work there for the luxury," she replied, frustration breaking onto that point, punctuated with a short sigh that showed it. Even if it wasn't the most important one at the moment, it sure was an issue that ate at her: that people thought of her like that. And it wasn't just here and now, it had been building for months... That co-workers thought she was the type to sleep her way to the top, that Dutch thought she was sticking around for the luxury, that her brother she thought she was looking for some way into the mob for... she didn't know what reason, exactly. Maybe she couldn't blame them -- she wasn't the most forthcoming person with issues, even in better times -- but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

Like now. When she wanted to so hard to just nail it into Dutch's head that, despite her name -- and only her name -- she hadn't lied to him otherwise; that the one, stupid, idiotic lie didn't turn her into some completely awful person that his anger seemed quick to write her off as. Maybe it shouldn't have been such a focal point for her, not with everything else, but it was an issue still important to her nonetheless. "That kind of luxury..." she shrugged a little, "is uncomfortable at best for me anyway." She had gotten used to it, when it was a place of work. But the date with Ian had highlighted that opulence really just wasn't her thing, despite otherwise going well (which was another issue to bring up, if Dutch didn't run her out beforehand). "I took the job out of--" desperation, really, but she couldn't bring herself to admit that.

Instead of continuing, she just finished it with another shrug. "I have been looking for a new job," she finally admitted, as part of a not unrelated change of subject. It wasn't an admission she had wanted to make. Especially after having so many plans fall through so fantastically, she now leaned towards not telling people things until they became definite. Her job search? Had been anything but. "But I can't -- I'm not just going to jump impulsively into another job again. ... Because apparently that doesn't work out too well." Her smile was humorless, bitter, and really the opposite of what a smile was supposed to mean as she finished that comment. Because she actually meant that statement to refer more to her job before the Drake, but good God she was not going to discuss that one now.

Apparently she was using her senses now, which was later than Dutch would've liked? But the fact that she was still alive to do so meant it wasn't entirely too late. "If it'll get you outta the Drake sooner, you'll get yourself a spot here handlin' my paperwork," Dutch offered with an even expression, figuring the offer would surprise her given his anger. But he meant it, he took in the people with nothing else like Pepper, or the ones who could use something stable like Roy. In Evelyn's case? Dutch could assure her safety while she was here, and he figured that'd bring some peace of mind to her brother too. "Don't gotta take it, but the offer's there in spite of all this. Might not be the cleanest spot in town, but it's a damn sight safer." And whether she took it or not, whether she left the Drake tomorrow or sooner? Dutch was going to make sure Ian didn't cross any lines.

She blinked, and stared at him. Surprise her? That sure as hell did, which was more than obvious. She may have steeled herself to keep collected through whatever hellfire Dutch's fury through at her, but that left her wholly unprepared something so opposite. So it took her a couple seconds to recover from the surprise and actually starting thinking on the offer and give him an answer. "I'll keep that in mind," she murmured, still a little bit dazed there. Because raw nerves in the tail end -- or maybe still in the middle -- of some falling out wasn't the best state to start accepting or rejecting any offers. After a hesitant, awkward pause she added, "Thank you." Because she hadn't been raised to be ungrateful. But at the moment there was nothing else to offer: she'd need to think it over when, oh, when she could actually seriously think through the anxiety and general messiness she felt.

Then there was a feeling of general awkwardness as she tried to think of what next to say. Well, she knew what should probably be the next issue, but that didn't make her feel any more comfortable in focusing on it. "You said something about Sullivan," she finally spoke up, forcing herself to just come out and jump on that issue. "The hotel manager, right?" Maybe there could be another one? Doubtful -- apparently the world was too small -- but it didn't hurt to clarify, right?

That managed to bring the anger back to Dutch's expression, shoulders squaring as he nodded at Evelyn slowly. "You stay as far away from him as you can, follow?" he instructed, "That fella's shit in skin, and you'll be a whole lot better off keeping yourself clear of any sort of tangle with him." He wanted to just spell it out for her, tell her who ran the Drake and took its' profits, who Ian claimed as his kin, but knowing would likely put Evelyn in direct danger. If she knew and panicked or said the wrong thing? Well, Dutch wouldn't do well with that guilt heaped onto what he already had. "Best if you don't know particulars, miss, because the less you know? The less you can risk findin' trouble with. Just trust me, dodge him like a bullet."

Well, that was going to be difficult. There was the whole date issue, for one. Which Evelyn wasn't too keen on mentioning, given how the subject had immediately restored the anger from a moment ago. And the other thing was that Dutch's judgment held some fallibility in her eyes. Yes, his saving her life certainly had its influence and held her respect in a way unlikely to be ever eroded. And, with her guilt, she was more disposed towards bending to try to make that up to him. But she didn't blind herself to Dutch's faults either: He was a man quick to anger, who had been been so quick to sever ties, despite everything outside her 'name', just moments ago. It suggested his world view -- at least with people -- ran somewhat black and white, and focused more on the bad than the good.

But Evelyn? She generally took people with shades of gray -- she had to. If she started weeding out the people in her life -- friends, roommates, family (her brother) -- by looking just at flaws...? Hands down, she'd be alone. And she knew the loneliness and misery she felt now would be nothing compared to that. So when it came down to it Evelyn preferred, better or worse, to form her own opinions of people. But Dutch had saved her life; she at least trusted his intent to look out for her, even if she didn't entirely align with his viewpoint. And, despite the impulsiveness landing her at the Drake, she was a woman who preferred to have too much information than too little. "That'll be hard to do," she admitted softly with her eyes on him, leaning lightly against the table with the perlocater. She didn't want to lie but she didn't want to go into details either. "You got..." she paused, not entirely sure what she was asking for, "...anything more general than the particulars, then?"

That didn't sit well with Dutch, and he couldn't help assuming the worst. Ian had already wormed his way into her bed, most likely. "Let's just say that just because his last name's different from mine, that doesn't mean his hands are cleaner," Dutch rumbled in explanation, "The Drake is Family territory, Evelyn. Whoever runs it? They're a Family man, they report to the capo di capos." And if she was in over her head? Dutch was going to do something about it. His hands weren't tied like they were with Cheyenne, though a misstep would still end in the death of someone who didn't deserve it. "Ian Sullivan is dangerous, no matter how fine he speaks or how sweet he smiles. Anything you think might happen in that place? He knows about it, sets it up, oversees it."
She was quiet for a moment, eyes trailing away to focus on some nondescript space, thinking that over: it wasn't an easy thing to process. Because a part of her was inclined to believe Dutch, while the other part drew upon her own personal experience and was hard pressed to reconcile Dutch's assessment with her own. And maybe a small part of that was her own pride -- because Evelyn wasn't a woman easily taken in. Or maybe it was the opposite of pride -- a mistrust of a part of her that had always been so quick to be wary of her boss, simply due to a bad experience with another, that she found it bordered paranoia. "And you're sure about that?" she asked, drawing her gaze back to him. Her tone didn't suggest much, other than it just being a question. A clarification, really. Because with the current limbo her judgment on the matter was in, Evelyn needed to know whether Dutch's information was firsthand, hearsay, or speculation. One thing she did trust was Dutch not lying to her, though she probably didn't deserve it. His speculation she might find suspect, but if he had firsthand knowledge? That was different.

"Sure as my last name's Giacomo," he answered steadily, "He can deny all he likes, he can have a hundred alibis when things go sour, but he knows what goes on there." And he wasn't surprised that she was hesitant, either. If anyone in the city had to pick between Ian or Dutch for who to believe? Most people would go for the fine-dressed, handsome, respectable younger man. Not the violent old drunk with a last name that filled a third of the police's Wanted lists. "You don't got to believe me, neither, I probably wouldn't," Dutch groused, "But any time I come by the Drake? Bet the bank that he's the one signing off on what's happening."
She didn't say anything immediately; rather just tried to get the new information to sink in, nevermind actually process it. But, well, this whole encounter had given her a hell of a lot to process on a host of issues -- and none of it was anything Evelyn really appreciated having to think about. Not at all. And, even if she was objective enough to realize that Dutch couldn't be blamed for a majority of it (although she certainly could)? It didn't change the fact that Evelyn really felt she'd be better off trying to process all this mess away from here. Like maybe back in her apartment, or maybe just driving around. But, either way, just away from here and him at the moment. That referral to whatever dealings he had at the Drake didn't help either. Sure, she had figured he did something and didn't seem to enjoy it back when she met him; but that was then, when he was just another customer Amelia had come across. Not now, when things had changed considerably since. In her mind, him saving her life and their rapport before today won out -- but it didn't change it making her uncomfortable.

"I should probably get going," she murmured, pushing lightly off the table; not enough to really step away more than straighten up. She watched him for a brief moment, obviously thinking over something though the 'what' was impossible to say, before adding, "I'll stop by -- maybe in a couple days? -- with the money." There were probably a couple reasons behind that. But despite them? Evelyn was a woman who had trouble with a boy fixing her stove for free, she sure as hell wasn't going to take a car for it because Dutch told her to keep the money.

Dutch shook his head at that, putting on a stern glower for Evelyn, though he didn't have to try very hard for the expression. "You save it until you've got yourself a better line of work, hear? A bit of spare scratch like that can keep you goin' if you decide to quit." And he hoped that she'd do just that, but on the off chance that she didn't, he wanted it clear that he was in no rush for money she'd made there. "Take care of yourself, Evelyn. I mean that," Dutch said in parting, once again moving to put his back to her and head for his office. He was officially overdue for a drink, maybe four.