Hitman 3/3 V/E
Title: Hitman
Fandom: Entourage
Author: chase65
Rating: PG
Pairing: V/E
Warnings: See Author's note
Disclaimer: I've been negotiating with Ari, but he is one tough s.o.b., so as of yet none of the boys belong to me.
Word Count: 11,000+
Feedback: Greatly appreciated
Six Weeks Later
Murphy pulled up to a wrought iron security gate just off of PCH and punched in the code texted to him one day ago along with an address for the gated Malibu property. The text had been unexpected.
The code entered, Murphy pulled through the gate and parked in front of a sprawling single story Mediterranean. There were no other cars visible. There had been a second code for the front door. He entered that one as well.
The front door opened to an expansive living room with furniture draped in white. It smelled like macaroni and cheese and barbecue. His stomach grumbled.
At the edge of the room was a wall of hinged patio doors. Beyond the doors, he could see Vince on the patio, standing over a gas grill island. Smoke curled into the air.
Stepping through the doors, Murphy moved until he was inches from Vince’s back.
“You didn’t buy this house did you?”
Turning to him, Vince smiled to rival the sun. He was wearing a full ‘kiss the cook’ apron
“Nah, I knew you’d kill me if I did.”
Stunned, Murphy just stared at the other man. Vince handed him a beer.
“We have to be able to joke about it right?” Murphy had no idea. He hadn’t expected to see Vincent Chase again.
“What am I doing here?”
“Having dinner. With me.”
“Is your kitchen broken?”
“No, but my house is landlocked. This place reminded me of your house. And with the water, I think it would be hard to record our conversation. At least it is in the movies.”
Murphy took a swig of beer to cover his disquiet. The grill drew his dinner companion’s attention again.
“You’re making macaroni and cheese?”
“Yeah, Johnny gave me the recipe.”
“And he let you make it on your own?”
The blush that suddenly colored Vince’s was unexpected. Murphy appreciated that the other man still had the ability. Watching closely, he brought his own beer to his mouth and took a long drink.
“What? Is your brother hiding out in the house somewhere? The wizard behind the dinner curtain?”
The blush deepened. “You’re kidding me. He is here.”
“No, he’s not. We’re alone. I'm the one making dinner.”
“Macaroni and cheese makes you blush.”
“Johnny said something when he gave me the recipe.”
“You gonna tell me what that was?” Vince turned another steak, stalling.
“Maybe later,” he answered quietly. “It’s almost done if you want to take off your jacket, get comfortable.”
An instruction in the text. Vince had asked him to wear a suit, tie optional.
Without removing his jacket, he sat down at the patio table, set for two and shifted just a little to accommodate the weight of the Glock holstered under his jacket at his back.
Vince fixed plates for both of them set them on the table and grabbed fresh beers.
When there was no more food to occupy or set stories to distract, Murphy pushed his plate aside and waited for Chase to look at him.
“You’re free Vince.”
Though green eyes sparkled at him, the expression was somber. “I’m not.”
"You know what Stockholm syndrome is right."
The sparkle dulled just a little. "Stockholm syndrome, like when someone is kidnapped? You didn't kidnap me."
Murphy just looked at him. Waited. "Okay, you did. But it was for my own good, right? So it doesn't count."
"It counts. It's why we're here. A killer let you go. You don't come back to that willingly."
"You didn't kill me."
"I was going to. I was going to shoot you and leave you in that warehouse. There was a good chance that your body wouldn't have been found. At least not until some serious additional damage had been done by the rodents that call that place home."
Instead of sparking the anger, Murphy was hoping for. Chase slid back into his chair and blew out a frustrated sigh.
"I wish I had met you before, in a different way. When we were kids maybe, or when I first got out here. If our paths had crossed then - . Now, no matter what I say to you, about how I feel about you -. You just think it's because you didn't kill me."
Murphy shoved himself back from the table as if it was on fire.
"You're a first class pussyhound. You don't feel anything for me, but gratitude. That's all. You've got your shit together now. Stop trying to fuck it up."
The image of Vince offering himself tried to insinuate itself into Murphy's mind's eye. He clamped down on it, hard.
Standing suddenly, he yanked the Glock out of its holster. He held it by his thigh, aimed at the ground. His dinner companion's eyes widened in surprise and nothing else. Fear was still absent.
Murphy put the gun in the center of the table between their ravished plates.
"This isn't Pretty Women with guns. I have been doing this since I'm twenty-one. In the beginning, I didn't take as many contracts as I do now. In the beginning, maybe two a year. I got more efficient, no reason to take as much time between jobs. Six a year for eight or so years. You need to do that math Vince."
He met Vince's eyes across the table, looking for the horror, saw only avid interest. It wasn't what he expected. He flopped back into his chair.
"I have always been freelance. It easier here on the West Coast for freelancers. Less chance of stepping on family toes. This is my weapon of choice. One to the head, one to the heart. This is real life, my real life. I get paid pretty well to kill people."
Vince reached out and gingerly picked up the gun.
"I took the clip out."
Green eyes rolled at him. "In an ep of ER I played a rookie who got shot by a perp with a Glock. The armourer was a cool guy."
Grimacing, Murphy reached across the table and took the weapon, reholstered.
"It's not like you're the only person in Hollywood with a shady past. Turtle's always going on about how Denise Richards was one of Heidi's girls and that that chick from Death Race uses to deal coke.
"It's not my past. When a hooker and a drug dealer show up at a party, they bring the party. I bring something a little darker."
You're not a serial killer, right? It's not like it's some uncontrollable impulse. It's just a job. You can get another job, you can do something else. You did do something else. I mean who do you think I'm gonna thank when I get the Emmy and the Spirit Award."
Murphy blinked, then blinked again. Apparently in the six weeks he'd been trying to re-establish his professional equilibrium apart from Vincent Chase, the other man had been doing the polar opposite.
"Okay, okay just hear me out for a sec," Chase waved his hands at Murphy as if he'd responded. What if I was to say to you, what if I were to say to you that I don't have to do this. Would that be something that might interest you?"
Murphy couldn’t help but smile at Vince's dead on approximation of Bob Ryan's hucksterish mantra. And then the actual words dawned fully.
“What if I said I didn't want to be another pretty boy actor in a town of pretty boy actors? What if I just walked away instead?"
A chill ran through Murphy.
"You're not going to be just another 'pretty boy actor'. I talked to Bob. Everything he's hearing about the film is good. Rodrigo's making it known to anyone who will listen that he'd be more than happy to work with you again. That you were professional, that you were on. You could maybe work a Soderbergh/Clooney thing with this guy. And you and I cannot be associated publically. You win an award, get up and thank god and your mother like everyone else."
"It's not like people haven't already seen us together. What about Bob? You reviewed everything before I signed it, he knows that."
"Don't let all that yapping, Bob does fool you. He understands the old school way of keeping his mouth shut about what matters. He knew Frank, he knew Giancana. He knows. And as far as us being seen together, I’m that guy that jogs with you up at Runyon. That's all people remember, if that. The short freckled dude with the drop dead gorgeous guy. If, they remember me at all. Or they think they already know me so they don't remember me. It would be bad for business if that changed. You don't blend."
"You think I'm gorgeous."
"Blind people think you're gorgeous. That's kind of my point."
Slumping back in his chair, Chase folded long arms tight across his chest. Eyes fluttered over Murphy's face then to a point somewhere past his shoulder. "You were always going to say no, no matter what I said."
"I set you free."
Snorted disagreement was the response.
"None of the other things I did before -, I didn't have to dig very deep. I mean, I know they mostly wanted the face. Rodrigo wanted the face, but he wanted what was underneath too, the contrast. And I really -. To do that, I had to tell myself the truth about some things."
Passing seagulls distracted Vince for a second as his eyes tracked their progress against a clear blue sky. Murphy took a second to breathe. Found it easier to do so without Vince looking at him so intently.
When the birds were no longer in his eyeline, Vince started up again.
"When you came back to the house I didn't think, 'shit this guy killed someone' or 'shit I helped get a guy killed'. When I saw you on the beach I thought -"
Emerald eyes linger on the deep midnight linen jacket over a same colored linen shirt.
"I thought this guy looks really good all GQ'd up. I thought, maybe there's some way that I can stay here on this beach, something I could do that wouldn't make you think I was whoring myself out. And when you said that there was gonna be a list, I was relieved. And not because it meant you weren't going to kill me, but because I could just let go. This shit is hard sometimes and I just - . Turtle, Johnny, everyone, they expect...You didn't expect anything. You looked at me and saw the fuckup. I was relieved."
He matched Vince's honesty with a little of his own. "That wasn't the only thing I saw."
"Why didn't you shoot me?"
"Doesn't matter, this isn't gonna go anywhere. It can't."
Chase pushed himself up and away from the table. He took one step that made him a towering presence over Murphy blocking out the patch of blue Murphy could see when he looked up. And then the blue was back in his sight and Chase was on his knees.
A weird sense of déjà vu descended on Eric Murphy as he watched long fingers slip into the space between one button and the next on his shirt. It was all so familiar and yet unprecedented. He'd watched Vincent Chase from across various rooms, as the same fingers dipped into cleavage and under skirts. A fine tremor, that he had never seen before, ran through the hands of the man who knelt before him. Hands that had always been steady and sure.
"Your hands don't shake." Nervous fingers continued to struggle with the buttons of his shirt as if he hadn't heard. "Vince."
The dark head did not lift. Finally, Murphy settled his hands over Vince's and squeezed, "Vincent Chase." The curly head snapped back and wide green eyes, tinged with arousal stared at him. For the first time in a year, Murphy saw a trace of fear. He loosened his grip on Vince's hands, but didn't take his away completely.
"What are you doing Vince?" The smile flashed wide, but its full effect was lessened by the plea in his eyes. "Talking is screwing everything up. I'm trying to seduce you."
"Like the girls in the club."
"I guess not, since you've still got your clothes on, you're still talking. And you know, " he gestured at the front of Murphy's pants, 'you don't seem all that into it."
"Professional discipline. I can't allow myself do this."
"But you want to?"
"I can't."
Eyes flashing, Chase yanked his hands out of Murphy's.
"Asshole."
Grabbing a fresh beer, he stalked off down the beach.
For half a second Murphy considered going after him. Then he thought about getting into his car and driving away. He had lived in Los Angeles for five years without his path ever crossing Vincent Chase's, certainly he could do it again, or move. Those thoughts flit through his mind without prompting any actual action. Instead of doing any of those things, he snatched a beer out of the mini-fridge and walked to the length of the patio to the edge of the sand. Glancing to the east, he saw a dark head bobbing in the distance, the stride still quick and mad.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the lapping of the water against the shore. He admitted to himself and the ocean that he was out of his depth. If I had killed him. The Glock suddenly felt heavy against his back. It was still without the clip, but there was one in his jacket pocket. He could end this in minutes. It would be the first time his involvement was emotional. He screwed his eyes more tightly shut and tried to let the waves wash those thoughts away.
Fifteen minutes later there was a warm presence at his side. "This thing happened when I was little. I'm six I think," Vince began softly. Murphy opened his eyes, but Vince wasn't looking at him. He was staring at a buoy.
"There was an old, old lady in the neighborhood, all the grownups called her grandma. I don’t even know if she had any grandkids. All us kids thought she was a witch. We weren't always nice when we saw her around. She use to sit out on the stoop and watch everything. And one day, summer, we were playing in the hydrant. She sort of waves me over and I don't know what to do. I don't want to go over, but the other kids are kind of pushing me towards her. I guess better me than them. So I'm standing there, afraid to look right at her. And she reaches out with this tore up, spotted hand. I'm about pissing my pants. She pinches my cheek so I have to look right at her. And it hurts like a sonofabitch. She says to me, 'such a pretty little boy, soon the girls will be all over you.' The she lets go and waves her hand like go away, go away. I take off. I'm thinking that wasn't so bad and the other kids thought I was cool 'cause I faced her and you know didn't die."
And then you know, as I got older the girls did come, you know. They were everywhere. Sometimes I would come home from school and there would be girls from my class in the kitchen with Ma. But now I think maybe us kids were right. That she was a witch. 'Soon the girls will be all over you' was a curse. I bet she knew this day would come. I bet she knew how badly I'd fuck up my life. She's probably somewhere in hell cackling her bitch heart out."
Sadness was so deeply limned in Chase's voice, that it made Murphy shiver. He stood apart from the pain of others, but he couldn't stand apart from this. It was his as well.
Vince rag dolled down to the sand. Drawing his legs up, he rested his head on his knees, facing Murphy. Murphy hesitated a second then sat down on the sand beside him.
"You'll ruin your suit."
"I can get another one."
"I like this one."
The wind blew dark hair into light eyes, obscuring them. Of its own volition, Murphy's hand reached out and brushed the hair away from Vince's face. Left it to rest gently on the side of his head, keeping the strands away from the eyes that had put him on this trajectory.
"What did your brother say when he gave you the recipe?" Vince tensed under his hand. It wasn't the reaction he expected. He'd hoped to lighten things up.
"Johnny said," and there was a bleakness in Vince's voice," I don't get the whole dude on dude thing bro, I mean soft, silky smells good versus hairy, stubbly, ball sweat, but you're cooking for the guy so it must be serious. Happy Anniversary."
"Why the hell would he say something like that?"
Vince stretched out full length on the sand. Murphy's hand felt the loss.
"Seriously Murphy. I come back from 'Cabo' with a great story about a smokin' babe that picked me up, then pretty much stopped seeing anyone else. So it looks like this girl flipped a switch in me or something, except I never talk about her again. Turtle and Johnny shoot the shit all the time. You know that. He probably told Johnny you threatened him."
"You think I threatened Turtle?"
"I think you talked to Turtle."
"Yeah, I talked to him." Murphy smirked.
"Yeah, so there's this guy who talked to Turtle and is around. I do a lifestyle 180, then a year later I'm asking for recipes."
"It was really good Vince. I should have said that earlier."
"Thanks, but I think I'll leave the Chase family cooking honors to my brother. Besides it didn't work." The bleakness was back.
"You should be happy Vince,” Murphy said gently.
"Cursed," he shrugged.
"I'm sorry."
Shifting in the sand, Vince propped himself up on his elbow.
"I have the house for three days. Plenty of food in the kitchen. We don't have to go anywhere. Let's just hang out. Let's just pretend that when you came back to Cabo -."
"Costa Rica," Murphy interjected. "We were in Costa Rica."
"Costa Rica, really? I always wanted to go to Costa Rica."
"Yeah?"
Vince pushed himself all the way up into a cross legged sitting position. Green eyes traveled the plains of Murphy's face as if trying to commit them to memory.
"Yeah," Vince answered dejectedly. Both of Eric Murphy's hands twitched in the sand with the desire to wipe the misery off of his face.
There had been some overlap in the prep work for his next job with the completion of the Seattle contract. He was ahead of schedule. He could spare two more days.
"I'll stay"
"Really."
"Yeah, two more days." And just like that the dejection morphed into a wicked smile.
"Maybe we can come up with new list."
"Maybe we can," Murphy agreed with a wicked smile of his own.
Fin
Fandom: Entourage
Author: chase65
Rating: PG
Pairing: V/E
Warnings: See Author's note
Disclaimer: I've been negotiating with Ari, but he is one tough s.o.b., so as of yet none of the boys belong to me.
Word Count: 11,000+
Feedback: Greatly appreciated
Six Weeks Later
Murphy pulled up to a wrought iron security gate just off of PCH and punched in the code texted to him one day ago along with an address for the gated Malibu property. The text had been unexpected.
The code entered, Murphy pulled through the gate and parked in front of a sprawling single story Mediterranean. There were no other cars visible. There had been a second code for the front door. He entered that one as well.
The front door opened to an expansive living room with furniture draped in white. It smelled like macaroni and cheese and barbecue. His stomach grumbled.
At the edge of the room was a wall of hinged patio doors. Beyond the doors, he could see Vince on the patio, standing over a gas grill island. Smoke curled into the air.
Stepping through the doors, Murphy moved until he was inches from Vince’s back.
“You didn’t buy this house did you?”
Turning to him, Vince smiled to rival the sun. He was wearing a full ‘kiss the cook’ apron
“Nah, I knew you’d kill me if I did.”
Stunned, Murphy just stared at the other man. Vince handed him a beer.
“We have to be able to joke about it right?” Murphy had no idea. He hadn’t expected to see Vincent Chase again.
“What am I doing here?”
“Having dinner. With me.”
“Is your kitchen broken?”
“No, but my house is landlocked. This place reminded me of your house. And with the water, I think it would be hard to record our conversation. At least it is in the movies.”
Murphy took a swig of beer to cover his disquiet. The grill drew his dinner companion’s attention again.
“You’re making macaroni and cheese?”
“Yeah, Johnny gave me the recipe.”
“And he let you make it on your own?”
The blush that suddenly colored Vince’s was unexpected. Murphy appreciated that the other man still had the ability. Watching closely, he brought his own beer to his mouth and took a long drink.
“What? Is your brother hiding out in the house somewhere? The wizard behind the dinner curtain?”
The blush deepened. “You’re kidding me. He is here.”
“No, he’s not. We’re alone. I'm the one making dinner.”
“Macaroni and cheese makes you blush.”
“Johnny said something when he gave me the recipe.”
“You gonna tell me what that was?” Vince turned another steak, stalling.
“Maybe later,” he answered quietly. “It’s almost done if you want to take off your jacket, get comfortable.”
An instruction in the text. Vince had asked him to wear a suit, tie optional.
Without removing his jacket, he sat down at the patio table, set for two and shifted just a little to accommodate the weight of the Glock holstered under his jacket at his back.
Vince fixed plates for both of them set them on the table and grabbed fresh beers.
When there was no more food to occupy or set stories to distract, Murphy pushed his plate aside and waited for Chase to look at him.
“You’re free Vince.”
Though green eyes sparkled at him, the expression was somber. “I’m not.”
"You know what Stockholm syndrome is right."
The sparkle dulled just a little. "Stockholm syndrome, like when someone is kidnapped? You didn't kidnap me."
Murphy just looked at him. Waited. "Okay, you did. But it was for my own good, right? So it doesn't count."
"It counts. It's why we're here. A killer let you go. You don't come back to that willingly."
"You didn't kill me."
"I was going to. I was going to shoot you and leave you in that warehouse. There was a good chance that your body wouldn't have been found. At least not until some serious additional damage had been done by the rodents that call that place home."
Instead of sparking the anger, Murphy was hoping for. Chase slid back into his chair and blew out a frustrated sigh.
"I wish I had met you before, in a different way. When we were kids maybe, or when I first got out here. If our paths had crossed then - . Now, no matter what I say to you, about how I feel about you -. You just think it's because you didn't kill me."
Murphy shoved himself back from the table as if it was on fire.
"You're a first class pussyhound. You don't feel anything for me, but gratitude. That's all. You've got your shit together now. Stop trying to fuck it up."
The image of Vince offering himself tried to insinuate itself into Murphy's mind's eye. He clamped down on it, hard.
Standing suddenly, he yanked the Glock out of its holster. He held it by his thigh, aimed at the ground. His dinner companion's eyes widened in surprise and nothing else. Fear was still absent.
Murphy put the gun in the center of the table between their ravished plates.
"This isn't Pretty Women with guns. I have been doing this since I'm twenty-one. In the beginning, I didn't take as many contracts as I do now. In the beginning, maybe two a year. I got more efficient, no reason to take as much time between jobs. Six a year for eight or so years. You need to do that math Vince."
He met Vince's eyes across the table, looking for the horror, saw only avid interest. It wasn't what he expected. He flopped back into his chair.
"I have always been freelance. It easier here on the West Coast for freelancers. Less chance of stepping on family toes. This is my weapon of choice. One to the head, one to the heart. This is real life, my real life. I get paid pretty well to kill people."
Vince reached out and gingerly picked up the gun.
"I took the clip out."
Green eyes rolled at him. "In an ep of ER I played a rookie who got shot by a perp with a Glock. The armourer was a cool guy."
Grimacing, Murphy reached across the table and took the weapon, reholstered.
"It's not like you're the only person in Hollywood with a shady past. Turtle's always going on about how Denise Richards was one of Heidi's girls and that that chick from Death Race uses to deal coke.
"It's not my past. When a hooker and a drug dealer show up at a party, they bring the party. I bring something a little darker."
You're not a serial killer, right? It's not like it's some uncontrollable impulse. It's just a job. You can get another job, you can do something else. You did do something else. I mean who do you think I'm gonna thank when I get the Emmy and the Spirit Award."
Murphy blinked, then blinked again. Apparently in the six weeks he'd been trying to re-establish his professional equilibrium apart from Vincent Chase, the other man had been doing the polar opposite.
"Okay, okay just hear me out for a sec," Chase waved his hands at Murphy as if he'd responded. What if I was to say to you, what if I were to say to you that I don't have to do this. Would that be something that might interest you?"
Murphy couldn’t help but smile at Vince's dead on approximation of Bob Ryan's hucksterish mantra. And then the actual words dawned fully.
“What if I said I didn't want to be another pretty boy actor in a town of pretty boy actors? What if I just walked away instead?"
A chill ran through Murphy.
"You're not going to be just another 'pretty boy actor'. I talked to Bob. Everything he's hearing about the film is good. Rodrigo's making it known to anyone who will listen that he'd be more than happy to work with you again. That you were professional, that you were on. You could maybe work a Soderbergh/Clooney thing with this guy. And you and I cannot be associated publically. You win an award, get up and thank god and your mother like everyone else."
"It's not like people haven't already seen us together. What about Bob? You reviewed everything before I signed it, he knows that."
"Don't let all that yapping, Bob does fool you. He understands the old school way of keeping his mouth shut about what matters. He knew Frank, he knew Giancana. He knows. And as far as us being seen together, I’m that guy that jogs with you up at Runyon. That's all people remember, if that. The short freckled dude with the drop dead gorgeous guy. If, they remember me at all. Or they think they already know me so they don't remember me. It would be bad for business if that changed. You don't blend."
"You think I'm gorgeous."
"Blind people think you're gorgeous. That's kind of my point."
Slumping back in his chair, Chase folded long arms tight across his chest. Eyes fluttered over Murphy's face then to a point somewhere past his shoulder. "You were always going to say no, no matter what I said."
"I set you free."
Snorted disagreement was the response.
"None of the other things I did before -, I didn't have to dig very deep. I mean, I know they mostly wanted the face. Rodrigo wanted the face, but he wanted what was underneath too, the contrast. And I really -. To do that, I had to tell myself the truth about some things."
Passing seagulls distracted Vince for a second as his eyes tracked their progress against a clear blue sky. Murphy took a second to breathe. Found it easier to do so without Vince looking at him so intently.
When the birds were no longer in his eyeline, Vince started up again.
"When you came back to the house I didn't think, 'shit this guy killed someone' or 'shit I helped get a guy killed'. When I saw you on the beach I thought -"
Emerald eyes linger on the deep midnight linen jacket over a same colored linen shirt.
"I thought this guy looks really good all GQ'd up. I thought, maybe there's some way that I can stay here on this beach, something I could do that wouldn't make you think I was whoring myself out. And when you said that there was gonna be a list, I was relieved. And not because it meant you weren't going to kill me, but because I could just let go. This shit is hard sometimes and I just - . Turtle, Johnny, everyone, they expect...You didn't expect anything. You looked at me and saw the fuckup. I was relieved."
He matched Vince's honesty with a little of his own. "That wasn't the only thing I saw."
"Why didn't you shoot me?"
"Doesn't matter, this isn't gonna go anywhere. It can't."
Chase pushed himself up and away from the table. He took one step that made him a towering presence over Murphy blocking out the patch of blue Murphy could see when he looked up. And then the blue was back in his sight and Chase was on his knees.
A weird sense of déjà vu descended on Eric Murphy as he watched long fingers slip into the space between one button and the next on his shirt. It was all so familiar and yet unprecedented. He'd watched Vincent Chase from across various rooms, as the same fingers dipped into cleavage and under skirts. A fine tremor, that he had never seen before, ran through the hands of the man who knelt before him. Hands that had always been steady and sure.
"Your hands don't shake." Nervous fingers continued to struggle with the buttons of his shirt as if he hadn't heard. "Vince."
The dark head did not lift. Finally, Murphy settled his hands over Vince's and squeezed, "Vincent Chase." The curly head snapped back and wide green eyes, tinged with arousal stared at him. For the first time in a year, Murphy saw a trace of fear. He loosened his grip on Vince's hands, but didn't take his away completely.
"What are you doing Vince?" The smile flashed wide, but its full effect was lessened by the plea in his eyes. "Talking is screwing everything up. I'm trying to seduce you."
"Like the girls in the club."
"I guess not, since you've still got your clothes on, you're still talking. And you know, " he gestured at the front of Murphy's pants, 'you don't seem all that into it."
"Professional discipline. I can't allow myself do this."
"But you want to?"
"I can't."
Eyes flashing, Chase yanked his hands out of Murphy's.
"Asshole."
Grabbing a fresh beer, he stalked off down the beach.
For half a second Murphy considered going after him. Then he thought about getting into his car and driving away. He had lived in Los Angeles for five years without his path ever crossing Vincent Chase's, certainly he could do it again, or move. Those thoughts flit through his mind without prompting any actual action. Instead of doing any of those things, he snatched a beer out of the mini-fridge and walked to the length of the patio to the edge of the sand. Glancing to the east, he saw a dark head bobbing in the distance, the stride still quick and mad.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the lapping of the water against the shore. He admitted to himself and the ocean that he was out of his depth. If I had killed him. The Glock suddenly felt heavy against his back. It was still without the clip, but there was one in his jacket pocket. He could end this in minutes. It would be the first time his involvement was emotional. He screwed his eyes more tightly shut and tried to let the waves wash those thoughts away.
Fifteen minutes later there was a warm presence at his side. "This thing happened when I was little. I'm six I think," Vince began softly. Murphy opened his eyes, but Vince wasn't looking at him. He was staring at a buoy.
"There was an old, old lady in the neighborhood, all the grownups called her grandma. I don’t even know if she had any grandkids. All us kids thought she was a witch. We weren't always nice when we saw her around. She use to sit out on the stoop and watch everything. And one day, summer, we were playing in the hydrant. She sort of waves me over and I don't know what to do. I don't want to go over, but the other kids are kind of pushing me towards her. I guess better me than them. So I'm standing there, afraid to look right at her. And she reaches out with this tore up, spotted hand. I'm about pissing my pants. She pinches my cheek so I have to look right at her. And it hurts like a sonofabitch. She says to me, 'such a pretty little boy, soon the girls will be all over you.' The she lets go and waves her hand like go away, go away. I take off. I'm thinking that wasn't so bad and the other kids thought I was cool 'cause I faced her and you know didn't die."
And then you know, as I got older the girls did come, you know. They were everywhere. Sometimes I would come home from school and there would be girls from my class in the kitchen with Ma. But now I think maybe us kids were right. That she was a witch. 'Soon the girls will be all over you' was a curse. I bet she knew this day would come. I bet she knew how badly I'd fuck up my life. She's probably somewhere in hell cackling her bitch heart out."
Sadness was so deeply limned in Chase's voice, that it made Murphy shiver. He stood apart from the pain of others, but he couldn't stand apart from this. It was his as well.
Vince rag dolled down to the sand. Drawing his legs up, he rested his head on his knees, facing Murphy. Murphy hesitated a second then sat down on the sand beside him.
"You'll ruin your suit."
"I can get another one."
"I like this one."
The wind blew dark hair into light eyes, obscuring them. Of its own volition, Murphy's hand reached out and brushed the hair away from Vince's face. Left it to rest gently on the side of his head, keeping the strands away from the eyes that had put him on this trajectory.
"What did your brother say when he gave you the recipe?" Vince tensed under his hand. It wasn't the reaction he expected. He'd hoped to lighten things up.
"Johnny said," and there was a bleakness in Vince's voice," I don't get the whole dude on dude thing bro, I mean soft, silky smells good versus hairy, stubbly, ball sweat, but you're cooking for the guy so it must be serious. Happy Anniversary."
"Why the hell would he say something like that?"
Vince stretched out full length on the sand. Murphy's hand felt the loss.
"Seriously Murphy. I come back from 'Cabo' with a great story about a smokin' babe that picked me up, then pretty much stopped seeing anyone else. So it looks like this girl flipped a switch in me or something, except I never talk about her again. Turtle and Johnny shoot the shit all the time. You know that. He probably told Johnny you threatened him."
"You think I threatened Turtle?"
"I think you talked to Turtle."
"Yeah, I talked to him." Murphy smirked.
"Yeah, so there's this guy who talked to Turtle and is around. I do a lifestyle 180, then a year later I'm asking for recipes."
"It was really good Vince. I should have said that earlier."
"Thanks, but I think I'll leave the Chase family cooking honors to my brother. Besides it didn't work." The bleakness was back.
"You should be happy Vince,” Murphy said gently.
"Cursed," he shrugged.
"I'm sorry."
Shifting in the sand, Vince propped himself up on his elbow.
"I have the house for three days. Plenty of food in the kitchen. We don't have to go anywhere. Let's just hang out. Let's just pretend that when you came back to Cabo -."
"Costa Rica," Murphy interjected. "We were in Costa Rica."
"Costa Rica, really? I always wanted to go to Costa Rica."
"Yeah?"
Vince pushed himself all the way up into a cross legged sitting position. Green eyes traveled the plains of Murphy's face as if trying to commit them to memory.
"Yeah," Vince answered dejectedly. Both of Eric Murphy's hands twitched in the sand with the desire to wipe the misery off of his face.
There had been some overlap in the prep work for his next job with the completion of the Seattle contract. He was ahead of schedule. He could spare two more days.
"I'll stay"
"Really."
"Yeah, two more days." And just like that the dejection morphed into a wicked smile.
"Maybe we can come up with new list."
"Maybe we can," Murphy agreed with a wicked smile of his own.
Fin