(no subject)
Title: Binary
Author: Loz/lozenger8
Pairing: None. Gen.
Rating: Mature, for expletive use.
Word Count: 1200 words.
Notes: I lost my original vecchiofest fic in a hard drive implosion. Take this moment to mourn with me. Thanks to scidazzle for helping me edit this.
Prompt:
You know you’ve done enough when every bone is sore
You know you’ve prayed enough when you don’t ask anymore
You know you’re coming to some kind of understanding
When every dream you’ve dreamed has passed and you’re still standing (Poor Man's House)
“You want a drink, boss?”
“No. Thanks anyway, Marty.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“I make a mean martini.”
“Marty - give it a rest.”
“Okay, boss. Sorry, boss.”
*
Ray told himself a long time ago he was not going to be a drinker like his pop. And that’s one thing that hasn’t changed. Oh, he’s tempted sometimes, sure. When he’s seen too much, done too little. But he only drinks in moderation, and only very occasionally, and he’s glad he’s kept this promise - when so many others have been broken. He doesn’t drink. Not excessively. He’s not like pop.
*
“If I have to say this one more time, Vinnie, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Sort it out.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Fuck. Marty? Give Vinnie here a little lesson on problem solving. Like how to find his way back home from the Gold Coast.”
“Gold Coast, boss? This is Vegas.”
“Your point?”
*
Ray misses Chicago. It’s a feeling which spreads down to his core, tingling through his bones, warming what he thinks might be his soul. He misses Chicago’s streets. He misses its restaurants. He even misses the weather. Chicago isn’t like any other city; not in America, not in the world. It’s notorious for the worst reasons, but these aren’t the ones he thinks about. Anyway, Vegas is notorious for the worst reasons too, and it’s not all bad - all things considered.
*
“Place looks amazing. Are they new light fixtures?”
“Yeah. I’ve been stuck with the old style too long. I wanna make it something new, something comfortable.”
“I know what you mean. My cousin Frankie’s been living in this house. It’s like a fucking sewer. I said ‘Frankie, this place is a fucking dump, let me help you make it a place where you could bring your dates’, he says ‘Marty, I don’t need to, I can always take them to yours.’ Cousins, right?”
“Marty? I kind of need to be alone right now.”
“Oh. Right. Okay. I’ll see ya later.”
*
He misses Chicago, but he kind of loves living on the edge of a desert in a house you’d have to be a millionaire to afford. He could get used to thinking he really was this rich. It’s not like he’s ever been poor. There were moments there when they couldn’t scrape together enough for a week’s worth of meals, but his mom was a genius when it came to making a meal out of nothing. And by the time he was old enough, he had a part time job. So his pop’s habit of gambling away all their cash wasn’t as life destroying as it could have been. Still, this wealth, this is something else entirely. It’s the suits he always wanted. It’s the place fit for a king. Or a mobster. It’s influential.
*
“You okay? You look a little lost.”
“Not lost. Just thinking.”
“So, lost in thought then.”
“Something like that, yeah, Marty.”
*
Some days he knows he could turn this on its head, control the Iguana family and go live out his days under the sun. He could break off from the Feds and do whatever the hell he wants. He knows its been done. It’s why undercover with the mob is always so dangerous, not only is there a risk of you being found out, there’s a risk you might like being where you are. You might grow attached. He’s tried not to grow attached, but buttermilk in the evenings and constant pandering? It’s not all that bad. Yeah, some days he knows he could carve a whole new life for himself.
*
“I’ll do anything you want, boss.”
“You better.”
*
The first time he smacked someone down, he knew exactly who he’d become. He hadn’t had to do it. Not really. He could have laughed it off as a joke. Or warned that vengeance would come. Or docked the guy’s pay. Or something other than smacking him upside the head with the pistol in his hand. Shit. He was no better than the Frank Zukos of the world now. And he’d worked so hard not to be, you know? He’d tried to live his life as a good man. And he thought he’d largely succeeded until this whole thing came along. It wasn’t like he could blame it on Armando Langoustini, either. In that moment, it had been Ray. Ray who was pissed off. Ray who was using violence as a means to solve a problem. Ray using fear to gain respect. It made him sick to his stomach. The reason he was here living another person’s life was to help make other people’s lives better. It was about virtue, not vitriol.
*
“You’ve been telling tales, Marty.”
“No I haven’t, boss. Honest.”
“I know all about it. I’ve got eyes and ears - in all kinds of places. You’ve been talking to Big Boss Marcone, giving him all kinds of information about my deals. What the fuck made you think you were smart enough to do something like that?”
“I was forced into it.”
“What, you thought I was born yesterday? I see right through you. You wanted a quick buck. You make me sick.”
“I’m sorry, boss. It won’t happen again.”
“You bet it won’t. Vinnie - take Marty down the road.”
“What? No. Not down the road, boss. Come on, I can give you anything you want on Marcone. Anything!”
“It’s too late. Vinnie, make sure you do it quickly and neatly. I don’t want blood all over the car.”
*
Ray thinks about who he used to be and who he is now. He knows he can never have the life he used to lead back. The Feds tell him to do anything he has to in order to maintain his cover, and he does. You just don’t go back to running down alleyways and picking through trash cans when you’ve done that. You can’t sit at your desk and write reports. You can’t be an ordinary person in an extraordinary world. It’s better being an extraordinary person in an ordinary world. That’s what he wants to do when all this is said and done - if it ever will be. If he doesn’t get a bullet in his brain in the meantime. He wants to find somewhere quiet and be another person. Not Ray. Not Langoustini. Someone else.
*
“I know I don’t talk to you a whole lot. Not as much as I should. But I want you to know. I’m sorry. If there’d been any other way, I’d have found it. There are times when you do what you have to do for the greater good. You know that, right? You let death and disease and destruction happen because they have to sometimes, don’t you?
“But I know that what I did was still bad, and I don’t expect you or anyone else to condone it. I’m not sure I really believe in Hell, but even if it existed, I wouldn’t dream of asking you not to send me. I know that you do what you think is right. I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for this, I swear. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll do something worth my life as a substitute for his.”
Author: Loz/lozenger8
Pairing: None. Gen.
Rating: Mature, for expletive use.
Word Count: 1200 words.
Notes: I lost my original vecchiofest fic in a hard drive implosion. Take this moment to mourn with me. Thanks to scidazzle for helping me edit this.
Prompt:
You know you’ve done enough when every bone is sore
You know you’ve prayed enough when you don’t ask anymore
You know you’re coming to some kind of understanding
When every dream you’ve dreamed has passed and you’re still standing (Poor Man's House)
“You want a drink, boss?”
“No. Thanks anyway, Marty.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“I make a mean martini.”
“Marty - give it a rest.”
“Okay, boss. Sorry, boss.”
*
Ray told himself a long time ago he was not going to be a drinker like his pop. And that’s one thing that hasn’t changed. Oh, he’s tempted sometimes, sure. When he’s seen too much, done too little. But he only drinks in moderation, and only very occasionally, and he’s glad he’s kept this promise - when so many others have been broken. He doesn’t drink. Not excessively. He’s not like pop.
*
“If I have to say this one more time, Vinnie, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Sort it out.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Fuck. Marty? Give Vinnie here a little lesson on problem solving. Like how to find his way back home from the Gold Coast.”
“Gold Coast, boss? This is Vegas.”
“Your point?”
*
Ray misses Chicago. It’s a feeling which spreads down to his core, tingling through his bones, warming what he thinks might be his soul. He misses Chicago’s streets. He misses its restaurants. He even misses the weather. Chicago isn’t like any other city; not in America, not in the world. It’s notorious for the worst reasons, but these aren’t the ones he thinks about. Anyway, Vegas is notorious for the worst reasons too, and it’s not all bad - all things considered.
*
“Place looks amazing. Are they new light fixtures?”
“Yeah. I’ve been stuck with the old style too long. I wanna make it something new, something comfortable.”
“I know what you mean. My cousin Frankie’s been living in this house. It’s like a fucking sewer. I said ‘Frankie, this place is a fucking dump, let me help you make it a place where you could bring your dates’, he says ‘Marty, I don’t need to, I can always take them to yours.’ Cousins, right?”
“Marty? I kind of need to be alone right now.”
“Oh. Right. Okay. I’ll see ya later.”
*
He misses Chicago, but he kind of loves living on the edge of a desert in a house you’d have to be a millionaire to afford. He could get used to thinking he really was this rich. It’s not like he’s ever been poor. There were moments there when they couldn’t scrape together enough for a week’s worth of meals, but his mom was a genius when it came to making a meal out of nothing. And by the time he was old enough, he had a part time job. So his pop’s habit of gambling away all their cash wasn’t as life destroying as it could have been. Still, this wealth, this is something else entirely. It’s the suits he always wanted. It’s the place fit for a king. Or a mobster. It’s influential.
*
“You okay? You look a little lost.”
“Not lost. Just thinking.”
“So, lost in thought then.”
“Something like that, yeah, Marty.”
*
Some days he knows he could turn this on its head, control the Iguana family and go live out his days under the sun. He could break off from the Feds and do whatever the hell he wants. He knows its been done. It’s why undercover with the mob is always so dangerous, not only is there a risk of you being found out, there’s a risk you might like being where you are. You might grow attached. He’s tried not to grow attached, but buttermilk in the evenings and constant pandering? It’s not all that bad. Yeah, some days he knows he could carve a whole new life for himself.
*
“I’ll do anything you want, boss.”
“You better.”
*
The first time he smacked someone down, he knew exactly who he’d become. He hadn’t had to do it. Not really. He could have laughed it off as a joke. Or warned that vengeance would come. Or docked the guy’s pay. Or something other than smacking him upside the head with the pistol in his hand. Shit. He was no better than the Frank Zukos of the world now. And he’d worked so hard not to be, you know? He’d tried to live his life as a good man. And he thought he’d largely succeeded until this whole thing came along. It wasn’t like he could blame it on Armando Langoustini, either. In that moment, it had been Ray. Ray who was pissed off. Ray who was using violence as a means to solve a problem. Ray using fear to gain respect. It made him sick to his stomach. The reason he was here living another person’s life was to help make other people’s lives better. It was about virtue, not vitriol.
*
“You’ve been telling tales, Marty.”
“No I haven’t, boss. Honest.”
“I know all about it. I’ve got eyes and ears - in all kinds of places. You’ve been talking to Big Boss Marcone, giving him all kinds of information about my deals. What the fuck made you think you were smart enough to do something like that?”
“I was forced into it.”
“What, you thought I was born yesterday? I see right through you. You wanted a quick buck. You make me sick.”
“I’m sorry, boss. It won’t happen again.”
“You bet it won’t. Vinnie - take Marty down the road.”
“What? No. Not down the road, boss. Come on, I can give you anything you want on Marcone. Anything!”
“It’s too late. Vinnie, make sure you do it quickly and neatly. I don’t want blood all over the car.”
*
Ray thinks about who he used to be and who he is now. He knows he can never have the life he used to lead back. The Feds tell him to do anything he has to in order to maintain his cover, and he does. You just don’t go back to running down alleyways and picking through trash cans when you’ve done that. You can’t sit at your desk and write reports. You can’t be an ordinary person in an extraordinary world. It’s better being an extraordinary person in an ordinary world. That’s what he wants to do when all this is said and done - if it ever will be. If he doesn’t get a bullet in his brain in the meantime. He wants to find somewhere quiet and be another person. Not Ray. Not Langoustini. Someone else.
*
“I know I don’t talk to you a whole lot. Not as much as I should. But I want you to know. I’m sorry. If there’d been any other way, I’d have found it. There are times when you do what you have to do for the greater good. You know that, right? You let death and disease and destruction happen because they have to sometimes, don’t you?
“But I know that what I did was still bad, and I don’t expect you or anyone else to condone it. I’m not sure I really believe in Hell, but even if it existed, I wouldn’t dream of asking you not to send me. I know that you do what you think is right. I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for this, I swear. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll do something worth my life as a substitute for his.”