2019-07-08 - Uncomfortable Afternoon

July in Washington is not all that different from July in New York--at least not to Itzhak, who hasn't been here long enough to believe the old-timer's stories of long mild summers that never break 80 degrees. Midmorning is sweltering, hot and humid.

The garage is empty of cars, although it's been outfitted with all the usual stuff. One corner of the interior has been built into a terrarium for an enormous bright-yellow-and-white snake, which is coiled up in a heap among the substrate. Itzhak has the bay doors open for the breeze, and he's easily visible standing on oil-stained concrete. A music stand is in front of him and a violin is under his chin. He pages back and forth through the sheet music on the stand, then starts playing a jig that's far too merry for its surroundings.

And then this asshole shows up in a green Cutlass Supreme. Joey Lee Kelly; Felix's hunting dog. He's been called worse. The wheels crunch on gravel as it bites pavement and pulls up. Green eyes find their target easy. The engine is turned off, and the car in decent shape. It's not his, but it's in Itzhak's drive now. Stepping out of the door, boot to pavement, the door closes with a patient thud. He pulls out a toothpick and pops it in the corner of his mouth. He doesn't seem inclined to interrupt or tell Itzhak to stop.

Itzhak glances up. The car's unfamiliar. He expects it's a random customer, until Joey Lee fuggin' Kelly steps out. Itzhak's lip curls up in a silent snarl. While Joey stands there, he plays on. Not a single note is skipped, fluid and lively while Itzhak taps a boot to keep time. The jig goes on until he's damn good and finished with it. Then and only then does he speak.

"The fuck do you want." Itzhak flips through the sheet music, violin still tucked under his chin, bow in his hand.

Joey arches and eyebrow with that look. Wow, being a civilian has certainly changed. Non-plussed but undaunted he shrugs, "This is your place of business. You got work." Looking around with shark green eyes for anything outside of the obvious he adds, "Most people are happy to get business at work. Keeps one employed." Shit maybe things have changed. Looking back to the violinist, "You're Rosenkrantz, the mechanic, yeah?"

Well, the huge snake is pretty obvious and different. Not that Itzhak's the only tough guy mechanic to have a big snake in his garage, but this one has a lovingly constructed custom-built enclosure and lots of fake plants and things to climb on and hide in. A miniature snake paradise. Other than that, everything else looks standard.

"Yeah. 'm Rosencrantz. The mechanic. You're Kelly." Itzhak says this like Joey's name is all that needs to be said. No substitutions, exchanges, or refunds. He doesn't start playing again yet, eyeing Joey while he looks around. "So I gotta figure you're here for somethin' other than a transmission flush."

Joey fishes the keys out with his hand and pops them in an easy lob in the airfor Itzhak to pluck out of the sky. Eh, Joey's body language is about as casual as they get, but hey, so far no guns have gotten drawn. "Seems to be the case." He side nods his head. "It's in the trunk. Boss said you'd be hapy to take care of is. Says to me, Joey, take this over, see how happy he is that local business is bein supported." He wanders over to look at the snake while Itzhak goes to have a look in teh trunk. For what it's worth he doesn't seem to be carrying.

Itzhak sets his bow on the stand, snatches the keys out of the air. The fiddle gets laid down in its case. "Her name's Lemondrop. Don't tap on the glass," he tells Joey, about the snake. He snorts. Felix said he was happy about anything? Felix is insulting him from afar. Stalking over to the car, he unlocks the trunk and opens it.

Joey looks confused holding his hands out, rough, calloused, his share of ink and scars. Hands built with hard labor for certain. "Why would I tap on the glass. It ain't a fish." Really shouldn't tap on that either. In the trunk there's a olive duffelbag. Inside there's some guns and, Oh, nice, a change of clotheswith some blood on them. Slightly burnt. Looks very white collar. Joey's tilting his head at the snake. "Lemondrop? Ain't that a band?"

The snake rears her head a little, shiny forked tongue flicking out. Blelelele. "You don't tap on the glass for fish neither," Itzhak calls from the car, annoyed. "They hate it."

He lifts the trunk--and lets out an explosive sigh, and bumps his forehead against his wrist where it's resting on the edge of the trunk lid. Then he slams it shut, his face contorting in a scowl. Coming back in the bay, he rubs his palms on his jeans, unconsciously, as if trying to erase fingerprints by proxy. "I'll take care of it. ...I dunno, I guess it's a band? I named her that because she looks lemony. Like the candy."

Joey watches the snake and turns away, "Cook snake." Not much of a converaionalist really. He also doesn't look much like he's sent out to have ''those'' kinds of conversations either. Now his brother shouldn't be too far behind. Being he didn't ask for the keys back is suggesting, as is not unusual, that the car and contents ought be going away. "So's the job gonna be a problem?" The look conveys the basic crux of the message: Don't make me work today. It's hot out.

Itzhak picks his fiddle up out of the case. "Car too?" He plucks the strings in pairs, although it's perfectly in tune. He just needs something to do with his hands. Meanwhile he's got an expression like he's drinking battery acid. "It ain't gonna be a problem." His eyes flick up to Joey, flat and hard.

Jaime comes driving up in a pickup that looks like it's seen better days, but still runs pretty well. Engine sounds healthy, anyway, even if the body is shot to shit. He pulls up outside and throws the car into park and ambles on out, wandering over toward Joey. He glances at Itzak, looking him up and down for the moment and gives him a nod.

Joey looks from Itzahak to his- oh hey, the nice twin driving up in the beater truck. He informs Jaime, "He says he can take care of the problem." Oh yeah, double trouble, but hey, Joey seems pacified. "Soooo look, you seem like a smart guy, so I'm not going to go over all the damn fine print. If he asks, what are you thinking is a reasonable amount of time for this to be aken care of? In case he asks me." Felix ain't gonna ask Joey, but it's great information to have on hand.

Itzhak gives Jaime a hell of a sour look. "Great, there's two of you. And you need body work." He eyes the truck, judging and finding it wanting. Ugh. Then he's eyeing Joey again. That look is plain as day: you don't fool me, yet you've got my balls in a vice. He sniffs hard. "I have to move the parts. Week or so. That make you happy?"

Jaime glances down at his body and says, "This body is damn fine. I don't know what you're talking about." He flashes a broad grin then and gives Joey a slap on the back in greeting. "A week? Man, we're definitely not in Seattle." They've never been in Seattle.

Joey snorts with amusement and not a grin, but definiate entertainment at Jaime's antics. "Fuck, bro, you leave a car parked on the wrong corner in Seattle the cops'll strip it for ya and charge you for the parts back." He pauses and looks to Itzhak, "Seriously you might be in teh wrong business and the wrong fuckin city." Still he mulls it over. "Business week." Five days, not seven. It's some sort of week, but he says it like it was the Mechanic's idea. "A'ight." Looking to jaime a bit impressed he adds, "He's got this big albino python in the garage. Fuckin cool."

"Technically she's an albino motley tiger reticulated python," Itzhak says, like anybody cares except him. He snorts when Joey says he might be in the wrong business and the wrong city. "Yeah, tell me somethin' I don't fuckin' know. I said a week. You're right this ain't Seattle," that's to Jaime, "it's a hole in the wall, shit'll be done when it's done."

"Yeah?" Jaime says when Joey mentions the snake and glances over toward the garage, as though half expecting to see the snake from Anaconda laying sprawled out halfway into the street. Then he shrugs and says, "Cool." Snakes are alright with him. Then Itzhak clarifies and he says, "Everytime I hear reticulated python I think articulated, and of course they're articulated -- they wouldn't bend otherwise." He glances over toward Itzhak and shrugs his shoulders. "Sure, man."

Joey pauses looking to Jaime when he brings up 'articulated python'. "Why you need a snake to talk fancy and shit?" This confuses the hell out of him but he moves on. He almost reaches for a smoke, stops, and at least recognized it's a damn garage. Likely not the best place.

"They're reticulated because of their pattern," Itzhak mutters, well aware nobody cares but unable to stop himself. "It's like a chain, kinda interwoven, right?" He scoffs, shaking his head at Joey. "That's not what that means. In this context. Fergeddit." Joey Lee's reputation has never said he's particularly big on vocabulary. "Youse done already? You want this done, I gotta get to work."

Jaime nods and says, "Kind of like the giraffes too." He cares. Sortof, in as much as he was just idly musing about it while he waits for Joey to be done with whatever his business is so that they can head out. He slides his hands into his pockets and looks from itzhak to Joey and raises both brows. "We done?"

Joey pauses and arches an eyebrow at the improv zoology lesson. Nope. Never been big on language. Not really. He walks into the Garage (great, he's not leaving) and finds a pen and scribbles something down. He looks up to the Mechanic and informs, "My number. There ends up bein a problem I'd rather know about it ahead of time than too late so we can get it sorted and make your problem go away." Because if it's too late then there's a bigger peoblem. Looking to his brother there's a nod from the taciturn sibling. "Yeah, we done." Looking back to Itzhak he offers, "You have a good day." Now wether that means, hey I hope your afternoon is joyous, or 'don't fuck this up' remains cloudy. It sounds polite enough which, in this part of the world, means very little that might be of any comfort when you are in the back pocket of the wrong people. Looking at the truck he pauses to agree to Jaime climing in, "He's right about the paint." It really is looking rough.