25: [Action] Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

[dashboardlite]

It ain't often that I get myself all gussied up in my gray glad rags, but today's a holiday.  For one, the bets I placed with my bookie on a couple of bangtails came through - few hundred greenbacks richer, and that's only the beginning.  It ain't often that I'm on the nut, 'cause work comes easy as long as somebody wants somebody else dead.

But I

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[out_of_minutes]

Trouble's what's what.

How do I know? Dean Winchester is gussied up and and grinning, that's how. Means he's satisfied with himself, and that never means good for the other guy.

This'll be my day to nab 'im though, just you wait an' see.

I think this is my cue to say hello. See if he sweats a bit at makin' small talk with a former officer.

"Winchester. Killed anybody recently?" Never hurts to ask.

[dashboardlite]

Well, if it isn't good old gumshoe Novak. I stop, turning slowly, grin still plastered to my face, and face the investigator. Poor fella lost his flatfoot license, no thanks to me, but I ain't achin' about it. It isn't like I'm behind the eight ball, either - tight spots are hard to get into around here, no matter where you are.

"Always jumpin' to conclusions, arentcha?"

I shrug and shove my hands into my pockets.

"It's like you think I'm some kinda button man, P.I. Novak."

[out_of_minutes]

"Hardly. More likely you got a couple'a hatchetmen on the payroll. Still blood on your hands."

I'm diggin' for a clue and we both know it. Not many things get this guy lookin' so pleased with himself though, and I ain't too happy to consider the alternative.

So yeah, I got me a possessive streak. So what?

[dashboardlite]

Blood on my hands? How'd he know? I was pretty damn sure I'd washed all of it off at the leaky fire hydrant by the book store.

"Nothin' you can prove, though, huh?"

I smirk, because Novak's been riding my ass for years - and not even in the fun way.

"It ain't a crime to have the curse on someone, is it?"

[out_of_minutes]

Nothin' I can prove? Sounds like a challenge if I ever heard one.

I give Winchester a good once-over - let 'im think it's for another reason if he wants, not like I mind. Or mind the excuse to multi-task. That's when I see it: a bit of brown under a couple'a fingernails.

I grab his mitt and pull it up to look closer. That's blood or I'm a patsy. "I'm bettin' this ain't yours."

[dashboardlite]

I jerk my hand away and shove it back into my pocket. Grinning wider, I throw up that wall that Novak knows so well.

The business I just came from was pretty damn personal.

"What, the dirt? Did a little gardening, so what?"

[out_of_minutes]

"Gardening? In this town? My ass. 'Sides, must be awful suspicious gardening if you're so keen on hidin' the evidence."

That hand disappeared into a pocket pretty fast for weedin' the rosebed.

[dashboardlite]

He's got me there.

"Whaddayou care, anyway? You got your business, and I got mine. Just 'cause mine ain't always legal doesn't mean it's bad."

Just messy.

[out_of_minutes]

I take a step closer. No tellin' when he'll get antsy and try to take the run-out.

"Why Mr. Winchester, that sounds about the closest to a confession I've ever gotten outta you. Blood under your fingernails, admitting to illegal business... it's almost like you want to be in bracelets."

[dashboardlite]

"Ha, that's a laugh," I chuckle, pulling up a more convincing expression.

"Jay-walking's illegal too, dick. I think you just want an excuse to punch my pretty face in."

you just wanted to call him a dick XD

[out_of_minutes]

Punchin' his face in's the last thing I wanna do to it. Speakin' of crimes.

"That doesn't sound like a denial to me."

[dashboardlite]

The longer he stares at me, the more I feel all that resolve crumbling. I shift a little, definitely uncomfortable about the whole deal, and crack.

"Look, Cas, I just dropped in on an old friend, okay?"

[out_of_minutes]

Well whaddaya know. Wasn't actually expectin' him to crack so easy.

"That wouldn'ta been the murderin' kid of 'drop', now would it?"

To be honest, I actually doubt it. But he's been up to something, something that has him satisfied like the fox that got up to shenanigans in the henhouse. And I aim to suss out what.

[dashboardlite]

"I didn't rub anyone out, Jesus."

I'm not so happy anymore. Dwelling on the fact that I paid a visit to a former friend with a switchblade doesn't improve the mood the more you think about it.

"We just gonna jaw in the middle of the hallway, or d'you want someplace more private?"

[out_of_minutes]

"...Fine."

So maybe he didn't kill anybody - like I guessed. But he's just as much as admitted he's been up to something.

"You got somethin' ta hide, I don't blame you for wantin' a quiet spot away from, oh, cops and decent folk." Notice I don't include myself in either club. I gesture for him to lead the way.

[dashboardlite]

"Decent folk," I snort, tipping my hat up and turning on one heel. "Yeah, right."

I lead the way down the hall and around a corner, to a quiet, dead-end area in the shadows with a few unmarked doors. I pick one and step inside, gesturing that Novak should follow. It's as private a place as any.

Might as well drop the bomb, right?

"Paid a little visit to the sonuvabitch that took my eye."