2019-08-19 - You know that's not going to work

Itzhak, knowing Ignacio is (+1) bum leg and (-1) mode of transportation was cool enough to leave the message: Hey I'm dropping by Finch's place to work on the car later. Did you want a ride?

At some point after waking up his sorry, sobering ass, voice to text back: Yeah man um pass soup the general
He hit send forgetting that he's bilingual and his phone, presently, is not. It was a good 20 minutes later when he's passed face down across the foot of his bed when his phone rings and just scares the shit out of him. In trying to answer it he knocks it on the floor, and since he's facing that way anyways just pokes the button for speakerphone. "Diga." So blunt and to the point of give up the deets upon greeting.

Cracking an eye he mumbles too casually like everything's under control... to the usual definition of 'under control'. "Si si, lemme finish putting pants on. Can we make a stop before we swing out there. I got an idea." And before the 'Wh-' leaves the phone Itzhak is hung up on.

He grabs the neatest shirt, examines it briefly and pulls it on buttoning it up over his tank. "Raf, yo voy. Call me if you need anythin while i'm out." Shoes acquired he heads down the stairs and pauses before opening the door to go out. Composed. Did he have his wallet? Shit! Wait... yeah wrong pocket. All's good! And with that swagger and a half grin to hide the fatigue and physical stress on him greets, "Took your ass long enough to get here." The cajones on this guy. "A'ight caaaaan we head into downtown first?"

Itzhak's used to creative phone interpretations of speech to text, so as long as there's a 'yeah man', he gets the idea. At least Ignacio isn't trying to explain how he wants his gearshift tuned in Spanglish.

This time.

Then he calls to let him know he's there and gets hung up on. Itzhak bounces his forehead off the steering wheel a few times. "After how many years, Itzil," he grumbles. "You knew he was like this."

He's idling the Stingray at the curb when Ignacio drags his ass out, one elbow out the window, giving Iggy a patented Irritated Glare over the tops of his sunglasses. "Sure, teach me to offer you a lift," he says, sourly, and leans over to pop open the passenger side door, like a frikkin' gentleman. "Where in downtown?"

Ignacio just staaaaaaaaaaaaaares at the car. OH you can see those pupils dilate and the lip wibbling. He asks with casual curiousness, "Yeah as soon as you move over and let me drive, right?" RIGHT!??!

He gets in dropping into the seat laying his head back. "I may lick your car and call dibsies... or just say inappropriate things to it so it likes me better. Fair warning." That oh so serious warning. He does answer though wincing and trying to rub the nerve pain to subside in his leg with the heel of his palm. "Antique store. I'm gonna make something and need to see if they have the pieces."

"Mmmmmnah." Itzhak pulls into the street. The Stingray's engine rumbles. So much power under that hood, begging to run. Itzhak daily drives this thing, like an asshole. A plaque on the glove compartment reads 'Heartbreaker'.

He glances over at Iggy trying to soothe the nerve pain, doesn't ask. If he asked he'd just get a run of bullshit. The time is not yet ripe. "That one downtown? 'Kay. Whatcha making?"

It's damn near a crime to make this car sedately wind through small-town streets, requiring a lot of shifting, which Itzhak does absently.

Ignacio delivers such entertaining and high quality bullshit though! The fable is half the fun of not saying anything Itzhak doesn't already know, though. Funwrecker.

For now Iggy just savors the vibration of the road rumbling up through him, arm draped out the window, fingers resting on the roof's edge. "Shit I'd trade you a fuckin blow job to drive the damn car but I know I'd still get a no. Just ride around a bit tho." The adrenaline freak needs a hit, okay?

"Eeeeh Finch has been feelin bad about some school stuff dealin with bird dentistry." He's just never not calling it that now. "So I wanted to see if they've got one of those old fashioned bird cage deals."

Itzhak, despite himself, snorts. "Like I need a blowjob from the likes of you. What's goin' on with Fincheleh's school?"

He's not going to give Iggy the satisfaction of asking him what the hell's wrong--not yet, at least. Itzhak figures he needs to soften him up a little bit first. And he knows just the thing.

Turning off the road to downtown, he instead gets on the highway up the coast. Real casual, just getting on this long, clean, gently curvy road without a light on it for miles.

Ignacio closes his eyes and grins in that easy, half-awake, lopsided manner. Okay he can't dampen life and the screaming occasional dregs of sensory load that creep in at the corners. He's tryin to ease up on that shit but this? This is helping something fierce.

The trick of Ignacio , though, is how to tell the truth in such a way he ain't a snitch and can still talk up his peeps. This is called oratory. So he claims. "Eeeeh she wanted to get the rest of some classes taken care of right now but it's gotta wait a bit. Just that kinda disappointment, ya know?" The eyebrow goes up but he's about as focused as a puppy with his head out the damn window. There's a certain zen happening here.

He pointedly leaves the reasons for it out. The fact is she wanted to go and it's got to wait, and that? Well that they can't fix. How the waiting gets filled? This he can do something about. And do he is. "Don't want her to get pissed and give up if it takes a minute, ya know? SHe's smart. She loves what she do. She should do it."

Itzhak grunts. "That's a shame. She's so smart, but bein' smart ain't everything, ask me how I know. Bet she'll get it worked out. She's just that type. Still feels bad."

He stops at the two-way stop to get on the highway. Just sits there a moment, engine muttering. It's a gorgeous day, white clouds piled high above them, cool shadows cast by the trees, and there's not another car in sight.

One foot on the brake, he revs the motor. vvVVRRRRMMmmmvrrmmVRRRRRMMMMMM

Oh the way it shakes them, rattling them to the bone!

Itzhak shifts her into gear and the Stingray surges forward, devouring the road. Iggy needs to go fast? Itzhak will go fast.

If you need to see a 27 year old grown ass man howl at the sun look no further!
Longest trip to 5 streets over. Whooooo cares! not this guy.
Sounds of celebration are lost to the wind and he leans back int he car looking to Itzhak, "I forgive you... mostly... for not letting me drive. " He pauses and wobbles his hand,. "Ish."

Finally he agrees, "Yeah, it do feel bad. Shit I feel bad for her man. Trust me, as a guy who tries, very much hard, to not feel a fuckin thing? It ain't easy so? So I'm gonna surprise her. I mean you can only get involved so far in a ... a thing. I can't just not do. Sides I'm good at cheerin people up. And?" He grins, "She dunno about it. It's gonna be great."

Itzhak laughs, grinning savagely at Ignacio's joy. He urges the car faster and faster, ninety--a hundred--a hundred ten--whipping along the road. Lightening up on the gas, he coasts her down, until he can tamely turn around on the shoulder. Then, to get Ignacio to smile like that again, he steps on it back to town, too. VROOM!

Oh how good it is. Like nothing else in the world. Pressed back in the bucket seat while your stomach tries to figure out why you were so cruel as to leave it behind.

He slows way down as they reach the town limits, so by the time they're in downtown he's gliding along at the speed limit again. That was a precious few moments of breaking all the rules, and now the rules are back.

Parking in front of the thrift shop (the place isn't exactly thronging with customers), he gives Iggy a dubious look. "You know you oughta feel bad for her as her boyfriend, right?"

Aaaaah that damn word. He sighs though looking to Itzhak curiously, "You don't think I don't? Yoooooou dunno the half of it, hermano." Maybe he does bury things too well? He can't even fucking tell anymore. Finch gets it. That's all that mattered there right? Something like that.

Still, he tries to explain to Itzhak, "I wanna get her one of them old timey bird cages for her pet bird." She doesn't have one. He adds with a slight grin, proud as hell of the idea. "I think it'll look killer near that one window. God knows that house needs a pick me up. I think she and Abuelita will get a kick outta it."

Itzhak is absolutely making assumptions here, but he's also pretty confident in busting out the 'b' word, the way Figgy and Inch have been acting. "No, I know you do, I just ain't sure you know you should."

He's getting out, saying, "What bird?" and then actually looks alarmed. "Okay, bad idea, those things kill birds. They're all lined with lead and arsenic and whatevah people thought was a good idea in them times. Fine for decorating, not fine for an actual bird."

Ignacio slouches in the seat. Bucket seats love his ass and his ass loves a good sports car. This? This was the afternoon worth asking up for. Still ITtzhak's gettin all technical and shit and the Spaniard squirms, "Yeaaaah. I know." Do ya, Iggy? He's trying though! "Look last time I dated anyone it was like 7-8 years ago. I don't do it every weekend like yous guys do, a'ight?"

The alarm on the birdcage gets both eyebrows to jump. "The shit hey put that shit in a fucking birdcage for? Well... what about them wicker ones?" Well this idea is going up in flames. "The hell am I gonna stick the canary in!?"

"Please, I've been on three actual dates," Itzhak says, rolling his eyes, "and I ain't banged anybody. I only just freakin' kissed Izzy." Which is typical. He's always known he's hot in that rough-talking mechanic kinda way, but he's hilariously shy when it comes to actually dating someone.

He says, aggrievedly, "They put that shit in because that shit's cheap and metal's expensive. Oh fer fuck's sake--you're gonna put the bird in an actual birdcage, which is gonna look just as awesome in the picture window, okay? Wait. Does she know you're getting her a bird?"

"Ask you how you know? The fuck do we know about being smart? Asking the junkie and the ex-con about intelligence and good life choices is about as useful as asking a turtle how to change a lightbulb." yeah making strong life choices? Not their strong suit, though at least he admits his folly out loud. It's a step. Sort of. "We clever. Smart is a whole different thing, man. Roen n' Finch? That's fuckin smart."

His eyes fall closed and the smile, lopsided but appreciative in spite of his cynicism, lingers. "You got no idea how much I miss this man. It's why I know this bird thing is really crushin her. But she can go back and I don't want her to forget she can, ya know? Shit, I'd move back to New York in a minute if she needed the help. Fuck it, Could start a food cart off campus. Get the cash to afford all them crazy binoculars and the grappling hooks and stuff." He really does not know how bird watching works, but he's going to imagine best possible scenario.

The heel of his palm rubs where things try to connect the missing muscle in his thigh with a faint flinch and grins, one side pulling back to his ear, "She do not know. No. I talked to Gran though. That lil old lady's a hoot. I mean you don't move live animals into someone's house without talking to someone first. I'm not a complete idiot, I only have my fields of specialty."

Itzhak drops back in the bucket seat with a big aggravated sigh. But he's never heard Ignacio refer to himself as a junkie before. It gives him pause. He rubs his nose, eyes squinching.

Not like he hasn't kinda figured it out, what with Nacio pinned together at the seams these days. And not going anywhere without a bottle in his pocket. That's new, the no-bottle. Explains why Ignacio's rubbing his leg like that.

The rules of the old neighborhood are still in play between them. If you're scared for your buddy, if you're worried about him, you don't say that, like some kinda sissy. You rag on him, give him hell about it, and pray he gets the idea. Took a long painful time for Itzhak to learn that there were rules are all, stupid social requirements as elaborate as a Japanese lord's court, so he's not about to toss 'em at this point.

"We're both fuckin' geniuses, de Santos, and look at everything it got us. You with the pills, and me with the rap sheet." Itzhak had left the door open, one long leg out. Now he settles in, shuts the door. "Roen and Fincheleh, they got brains and sense. That's what makes 'em special. Differentiates 'em from a couple a fuckin' losers like us."

Starting 'er up, he backs out, hooking one arm over the passenger seat as he looks over his shoulder. His eyes flick down to where Ignacio's trying, and failing, to ease the pain in his leg. "You goin' cold turkey? That shit'll give you a seizure, genius." Then he sighs again, irritably nostalgic. "God, I would go back to New York too. Never thought I'd actually miss it, but I miss it a stupid amount."

Ignacio murmurs in regards to being geniuses in irony, "Yeah well when the damn doctors can upgrade and get me something better I'll do that. I'm workin with what I got it just.. ain't really workin great." Fingers push back through his hair. God it's starting to get to the point of needing it to get cut before he's mistaken for being part of the local hipster population. Then he's got to let his beard grow in and figure out how beard oil and wax and shit works. Ugh. It feels like work even thinking about it. Yeah he'll stick with figuring out a haircut and just embracing 5 o'clock shadow like the snarky swarthy Spaniard he's adept at being. Yeah. That's easier.

Oh shit Itzhak's still talking. FUCK! his mind is wandering so bad this week. "Hmm?" He blinks trying to catch up. blinkblink "Oh!... yeah... maybe." He has no idea. Sure there's agreement but he really has no clue. "I told Finsh if she wants to go back to school in Ithica I'd go with her if she wanted." Looking to Itzhak he muses, "Kinda love the idea of opening up a food truck on campus. Make a kiiiiilling vendin street side. " A bit of a thought finds mischief and makes it an expression. "Ain't time yet though." He takes a deep breath and murmurs the fond commiseration, "I really miss it too. I didn't wanna leave. STILL for the life of me can't figure out how you wound up here but... I am glad t'see you, hermano." Itzhak gets a wink and his eyes find the dash and the way forward again. "Well... the antique bird cage is a bust." That's... a total bummer. "I'll have to jam with the big boss man and see if he's got some ideas. Until then," he looks back curious, "You want a hand with the car? I got jack all to do this afternoon. Should grab food before you get hangry and throw a wrench at me."

Let's be honest, Itzhak is familiar with people zoning out while he rattles on. He rolls one shoulder, shrugging. "You do what you gotta do to get through the day. Yeah, gimme a hand on the land yacht, would ya? Goes a lot faster when you're there. Sooner we can get that goddamn thing operational the better."

Itzhak doesn't ask if Iggy's feeling up to it, or anything. That's a certain trust between them. If Ignacio wanted to be turned down, he wouldn't offer.

He winces, when Iggy winks at him. "Yeah, I'm glad to see you too, ya yutz," he grumbles, pulling onto the road to Mallard House. "You ever get serious about going back to New York, lemme know."

There's a tiny pho joint on the way; Itzhak, mindful that he will probably in fact throw a wrench at Ignacio if he's hungry, parks in front of it. "I'll buy ya lunch in trade, yeah?"

Itzhak has Iggy's number, then again 10 years and many bad life choices ago Itzhak could have easily been where Iggy is now. Maybe it's why the guy gave him a break when he was a smart ass teen wanting to take on the world at 180 mph. An eyebrow arches and Ignacio's not going to say no to lunch but has to ask, confused, "You wanna pay me in food... to help you fix my girlfriend'scar?" This is squint worthy. Confusion worthy even. However being a man of principles he shrugs. "Yeah ai'ght."

We are not claiming to know what those principles are.
The world may never really know.
It definitely involves food.
It always involves food.

"She hired me," Itzhak reminds Ignacio as he gets out. "This ain't a favor I'm doing for you. It's a job I'm doing for her. So shut it." Like THAT ever works.

Like all New Yorkers he's adept in ordering food from someone who more or less doesn't speak English. Shortly he has a truly enormous bowl of pho with all the weird bits. He's plucking basil and stuffing bean sprouts into the steaming bowl when he tells Iggy, grumbly like somehow this is a complaint, "You two are pretty damn cute together."

Ignacio holds up his hands, "Woah don't eat the passenger! I'm pretty certain I'm like biting into a fork, " And he ain't kiddin either. But food happens and he drops into a seat with the illusion of a lack of ceremony. He's just moving a bit rough. He eyes up his bowl and makes assembling things into his own process. The compliment/observation pulls a brief, endeared half grin from him. "It was... unplanned. But ya know, hiding forever? Ya miss out on a lot so... es lo que es." It is what it is. Popping an eyebrow up he nods. "Hey... thanks."

Itzhak tips head, eyebrows, and one shoulder all in the same direction at once: one of a thousand variations on the silent 'ehhhhh'. That cocky kid Ignacio had been, with his ego and his charm and his audacity, isn't that same kid anymore. This guy is a different person. Itzhak can't help but like this new person. He couldn't help but like the kid, either, which made him mad. He's...a lot less ready to be mad over the new Ignacio. "Best things are always unplanned. Seems like you're good for each other."

Ignacio pokes his noodles with a fork and looks at Itzhak warily. He lets it pass though with a nod of agreement. He stays quiet for a long moment eating his noodles and finally answers, "She's a good person. I like that. I mean... she doesn't let me get away with shit. wants to figure out how to fix the damage done to my leg if that's even fuckin possible, but... when she tries she gets... I dunno. Not sick or something but... something. Doesn't sit right."

Itzhak's eyebrows pop up. "Is that possible?" Ever the technician, now he wants to know. Not only that, Iggy can feel how much he wants to know. It sounds like a wave coming in, murmurous hissing and rushing. It feels like a certain twitchiness, a need to move, to DO. Itzhak is oblivious, tucking noodles in his mouth. "Mmf. Like Roen?" he says, swallowing. The rushing sound of his craving to know intensifies. That water goes deep, goes fast. Someone could drown in there, easy. "I guess not like Roen, but...not great, huh?"

Ignacio levels a flat look to Itzhak and gives him a rapido Espanol response before reiterating, "You think possible or not is gonna stop her? have you met Finch?" He eats his noodles trying to figure out when his coping mechanisms started having fallout. "Whatever happened this situation has become it's an organic thing all its own and...I've like become a part of this." There's a pause and he just flinches leaning on his handfor a moment. Sitting up he rubs at his leg to fix the circulation, and carries on, "And all the good and bad there's consequences for good and bad ...shit hermano." There's some slight confusion, the compulsions, that anxiety of inert energy. He says the words Itzhak's been muting "I've got to do something. I just... dunno what but... I guess a thin at a time. We eat. we fix the car. I wanna look at that side porch too."

Itzhak grunts in agreement, mouth full of soup. "Better fuckin' believe we gotta do something. I don't think I ever agreed with you so much in my life." ...because Iggy is echoing his own thoughts.

More of his thoughts hiss and fritz around him, like a staticky game of Tetris with extremely complicated blocks being fit into place. Seems like he shouldn't have room for all that in his head, seems like his skull should burst. Fix the car, fix the porch, fix the lights, fix the window, fix the plumbing, fix fix fix fix fix. Every thought has an endless fractal quality to it. A closer look at one would become just more, equally complicated thoughts. Think about the car, do a deep dive into technicalities, each one of which has its own deep dive, each part of which... you get the idea.

Iggy gets the idea. Iggy REALLY gets the idea. Way more idea than he wants to get.

The problem is it's not just Itzhak. It's Itzhak creeping in, and others, up to and including the hum of the lists and the neon ka-zzzapping through the OPEN sign hanging in the window. It's a fun thing having your brain translate all of that into information to send around. In short, that neuropathy is flaring. His hand clamps to his leg and squeezes it and stuffs his face full of noodles.

This? This is why for all the dangers he's utterly happy to hide behind a wall of damn prescriptions. Ones he just doesn't have right now. Shaking his head he looks to Itzhak and says thoughtfully, "I might grab the rest to go. Sittin in these chairs is killin my leg." He stands to go find a foam container with a snap lid limping there and back again like a hobbit. Okay, this time he didn't walk back there like it's his restaurant. He's not lost his damn mind today. His bowl isn't the only thing that contains soup right now. Coming back he muses, "Guess the antique store is a wash. I'll come up with another idea. Thinking about it Roen might be able to tell us more about antique birdhouse options. He was there when they made em right?"

"A'ight." Itzhak can down an amazing amount of food fast. This is why it's dangerous for anybody offering to feed him. Tall motherfucker needs calories. He drains the bowl, gets up, pays the tiny Vietnamese woman. Zzzt zzt goes the ancient electronic cash register. Sounds like a contact or three is corroded in there, prickling and poking at Ignacio. OPEN hisses neon in the front window.

Itzhak rolls his eyes at Iggy as they settle up and get back in the car. "You oughta tell him so, too."

Ignacio takes his food in the bag and eases into the car. His eyes close for a moment and Itzhak's warning of don't you dare by way of saying Do the thing gets a grin. He assures, "Oh, trust me, I will." There's some grim satisfaction he gets punching people's buttons that may never fully be understood.Still everything's humming and it's bothering him. Hissing on the electric that he picks up as tinnitus and white noise. A dull headache that forms in all the ambient nothing things that sound like hissing words enough where he misses himself murmuring, "Not now." Pointing to the road he murmurs to Itzhak, "Let's go fix the dinosaur."

Itzhak grumbles a wordless Yiddish grumble. "Yeah yeah." Out onto the road he swings the Vette. At least there isn't a ton of electronic equipment in the car. Now Iggy gets to listen to Itzhak's brain revving away to itself. How does the guy drive through all that mental noise? "She ain't too far now. We rebuilt the engine, flushed all her systems, installed fresh shocks and brake pads, replaced about ten million cubic inches of wiring, gotta take her to get new tires...pretty soon she'll be driveable."

Ignacio nods just trying to get comfortable. It's not stopping. Not one bit. Being 'casual' is not a challenge he is accepting, dammit! He murmurs to get Itzhak trying to get the details from him, "Yeah, baby! Then you can detail out this one and take Cherry Stem out then?" His eyes close and that half-grin gets a bit halfier and grinnier. "Duuuude do not fuck that up, please. I like her." He pauses flapping his hand vaguely, "Not like interest, but as in her voice isn't grating and she's not stupid. Where you run into her anyways?" He pauses and looks over at Itzhak and squints, "This isn't just early practice for your midlife crisis is it?"

"Ah Christ, here we go," Itzhak mutters, promptly blushing. "Yeah well, I like her too. I did not know she could do that. Anyway I already took her out a couple times. Oh fer--her and me are the same age, dipshit. We met because we're neighbors. That and she was there when I kinda ripped a chunk of Murray House down."

He flicks a surprised, eyebrows-hiked glance at Ignacio when he says Isolde's not stupid. "You don't think she's--nah. Of course you wouldn't think that. Not you." A pause. "Do ya think she's crazy?" he asks, hesitantly. Oh no, this is the 'Itzy has a soft spot' voice.

"I was there when you ripped a chunk of the Murray House down." He shakes his head and shrugs, "Didn't say ya weren't." He pauses and frowns, His expression gets oddly serious, "Hermano, I learn one thing in this town? If you crazy it ain't your fault. One, think about how people talk about Julia and Finch." The eyebrow goes up and he relaxes back into the seat. "I don't think any of em are fuckin crazy. This town? Yes. Them? Naaaaah." He flaps a hand, "They're doin the best they can, man. And Two? Let's be careful throwin the C word around. and three? Yeah if she was non compos mentis you're damn right I'd be tellin you Brooooo do not go there. And then you'll give me shit and then be like Iggs, you's right and I'll be like mmMHMMM. But this? Eh nah. This ain't that." He pauses to let the words circulate in a big No, I don't think the gal's gone loco while he considers all that.

Man you shoulda seen it the other night?" Arching an eyebrow he looks to his pal. "Finch and I ... we was walkin back and some guys... cholos haaaad to say somethin to her She was so... pissed, I mean I was right there with her but you could see it man." He winces slightly and his fingers tap the frame of the open Vette window. "She didn't want it to, but it hurt her." He chews on his lip on the damaged side thoughtfully and asks, "When you callin this one back again?"

"I thought about it," Itzhak says, also serious. "I was worried, you know? I had to think about if she, yannow, was okay to make decisions like going to bed with someone. She is, but I ...I didn't know if I could trust myself figuring out that she was. So, thanks, 'cuz that's what I think, too. She's been through a whole hell of a lot. Like all of us, I guess. And I ain't calling her crazy. The townies call her crazy. They call Alexander crazy, too. ...He didn't say yes when I asked him out," he adds, rueful. "Which didn't stop me from getting a big stupid crush on him, because I got no sense. They call him Crazy Clayton and I fuckin' hate it." Then he smiles, a real smile, glancing over at Iggy again. "I already called her back."

He groans, hearing about Finch. "Shit, really? ...Did she set them on fire?"

Ignacio furrows his brow listening. Then again, as memory serves Ignacio went a long time where no one would believe the truth so he just started making up shit until he got really good at it. This he ain't jokin about. Rubbing his forehead he nods, eyes wider, "Yeaaaaaah, trust me, I know that conversation. I've had that conversation and if you give a shit? Well it's a conversation you have to have. Better to look like an ass than actually be one." Sometimes there's a chicken nugget of wisdom that falls out of his Happy Meal.

The last question pulls a lot of patience from him. His jaw stiffens and he shook his head, "She's better than that." He neglects the part where he got assailed and she came damn close to toasting some guy's marshmallows. Instead he offers with a snort, "I called the fuckin cops on em for witness to a potential robbery in progress tho." Shaking his head he's still pissed about that situation. "That's... why she's getting the canary. Needs to remember the mean things they said ain't all she's got to be. She's so damn.." His jaw tightens again and his expression turns to frustration, "amazing, and I hate everything in this damn town tries to make her forget that." As they pull up to the house he unbuckles his seatbelt. "Park. I'll go see if Granny D is here. I'll let her know we're working on the battle buggy."

"I ain't better'n that, I'da knocked some fuckin' blocks off," Itzhak mutters. Yeah, nobody is surprised there. "People got loud mouths in this town." He snorts, grinning a little, appreciatively. "I always admire that about you. I can't think my way outta a wet paper bag."

Was that...a compliment? A real one? Without a zinger to go along with it? Itzhak is going soft.

Ignacio's anger, that he feels, though, and his jaw tightens in echo. "You know what? She is damn amazing. You got no argument from me on that, bruddah." He lets Ignacio get out, watching him with that hard, fierce expression. "Yeah. You know where I'll be."