2020-05-13 - A Freakin' Liability

Like since the hand over has been, for lack of a better word, isolated. Life isn't the movies, and truly Mo money, mo problems has never been more narrative. For a guy not used to using words really he's certainly had to explain his repertoire of denial from just his stand by options of 'Try again' and 'get fucked'. Turns out business management sort of requires a person to have 5-6 ways of saying 'no, absolutely not' or you'll get bored and go slowly insane, and isn't it important to love what you do?

Joey didn't exactly love what he did, but he did what he knew and made it work all the same. His fist hits the bag buckling it.

He's working on making it work. Like everything else this was one of those tests Felix's given out to a- prove loyalty to him, and b- prove competency to himself. You have to reward those that work hard, but there's no management primer for dealing with people that show up at your place at 2 am, guns in hand and a kid in the house.

These are the things he thinks about and doesn't discuss. There's always got to be a lich king they say. Okay not everyone, but some. Again the bag buckles under that heavy left fist.

The bag buckles one last time, only he didn't hit it.
That's messed up.

His graveled voice chides the damn thing, "Stop flinching."

No growl of a muscle car to precede Itzhak to the gym, on most days. He usually walks from the other end of Elm. So it is today; no car, no door shutting, just six foot plus of beaky, lanky New Yorker rolling on in, gym bag in hand. ("Isn't it dangerous to walk on Elm?" some people might say. Itzhak might give those people a look like they're idiots.)

"Give it two for flinching," is his wiseassed remark as he comes by on his funny half-saunter of a stride.

There's people who belong here and people who don't, and the former can always spot the latter. First you get known, then you git gud. Joey's focused on the bag but it doesn't mean that he fails to be aware of who is coming and going in his vicinity. Some people sling lightening and burn down other people's gyms. Joey's knack is abrupt violence and knowing where shit is. Also babysitting. Weirdly that comes in handy more with adults who think they know everything than actual children.

At Itzhak's encouragement there' an explosive pak-POW! the bag is caught in the right and lifts with the left in the facsimiled certainty of a broken rib cage and ruptured diaphragm. The punished bag spins and the man with the tattoo that reads*Yard Boss* takes five to get some water. He greets the taller, thinner man with a nod, "Roz." There you go. Eloquence.

Itzhak watches those fists land with an appreciative wince. THUD THUD! Ooh. That's gonna hoit. And he should know. He pats the heavy bag with a comical kind of condolence, as he strolls past. It's a tough life, being Joey Kelly's literal punching bag.

"Yo." He pulls off his mirrored aviators, looks Joey over. "You did good, the other night." He doesn't dare say 'in that Dream' or anything like that. Joey wouldn't know what the hell he was talking about.

Joey really doesn't know what the hell Itzhak's talking about half the time. He's not carrying on in hysterics and having an emotional falling out with life though so... good. Vaguely he considers the evidence of what he might be discussing and the glaive hanging up in his office. There's a- OH shit yes it's in the gym. Still, the boxer murmurs a vague nod of appreciation. "Be better if I found Jessie before all hell broke loose." Yeha, not... plussed about that.

He pauses and looks Itzhak over about to say something and in the end just sighs and stays quiet. His head shakes and he drinks his eater. You doin better?" Emotional falling out: Joey does not understand nor speak it. Treating Itzhak like an alien with alien habits is about as good as he's got to being, you know, giving a shit and like showing it. Sure.

Funny enough? To Itzhak, that's an excellent method of giving a shit. He's well aware he acts weird and he melts down and he struggles with normal everyday things and he rattles on about things nobody except him cares about. That Joey even bothers to ask and doesn't assign him permanently to the realm of 'some weirdo I could do without' is a big compliment.

So he hitches his eyebrows at Joey in a Yiddish shrug, paired with half a shrug and head tilt. "Yeah. Fine. You?"

Jessie wasn't there, and that's also something Itzhak doesn't say. He couldn't convince Joey that making a fifty pound bag of gravel float like a soap bubble was something unusual. He's not going to make any headway there.

"Well, it's been something." he's fine. There's not really much room for other options. Not in Gray Harbor. "Your...whatever was in here asking about you a while back. I assume you know as much so..." Why mention the rest? He takes another long drink and wanders over to the fan, , and rolls it so it is blowing air out, not in, through the rolled up bay door. "What I need to do is get me some of them big blowers for the ceiling or get these damn fans looked at. " Right. Things for the to-do list.

In the office above Joey's desk is quite the odd collection of veil arms. What the hell they are doing out of the Veil much less in the same place and in his office is another question, but the glaive is right over that damn hunting knife from the tree army back in the winter. Great. Either he's got balls or brains of solid rock. These may not be mutually exclusive traits.

"My...whatever?" The eyebrows pop up in an all-new configuration. "Who's my whatever?" Itzhak then looks at the ceiling, gauging it for blower likelihood. "Installing some blowers wouldn't be hard. Fans, probably the bearings are wearin' out."

He can hear the Veil weapons, singing in their menacing way, and it's them he looks at next, eyes narrowed. He jerks his chin at them. "Bringing stuff back can be real dangerous." He says it in the exact same tone as he'd said installing ceiling blowers wouldn't be hard. Just a technical fact.

Joey pauses looking at Itzhak, slightly agog, with that expression of What the fuck, why don't yous know your own damn details? What I gotta keep track of everything for you? But he doesn't. Explaining to Itzhak like he should keep up is as futile as making Joey think the veil is weird so he does the only thing he can. he answers the damn question and takes a drink. "Isolde. The woman...lady... the one you asked me to look out for. I told her I'd see what I can do. It's sorted. You welcome."

His eyes follow to the weapons with the tone of Yup. Super profound. There's a slight shrug forward of his shoulders. "Everything is. They gonna come whether I got it or not. I mean they'll bother you if you're cranking one out, or taking their shit so might as well be prepared."

"Isolde?" Itzhak echoes, giving Joey a blank look. "What the hell did she--" rewind, replay, "...oh no." He gets kinda pale, and one hand goes over his eyes. "Oh no. Oh NO, she DIDN'T." Now both hands go over his face. See, Joey? What can you do with this weird emotional alien. "She talked to you about him?" Who him is should be pretty obvious.

Joey seems to think nothing of this. Not really. This too is somehow unfortunately normal to him. Shame but it's how it is. It's how it's always been. He wanders over to get a good look at his fan situation because that's the paramount problem here, right? Priorities!

"Well, yeah I mean I knew about it." He pauses and corrects, "Okay I was aware but like I didn't have to give two shits until she asked me about it so... Yeah she asked me for a favour helping talk to Him about sortin some shit out. It's handled."

Itzhak flings his hands down and growls a long torrent of Yiddish at the ceiling, finishing off with, "Jesus fucking Christ!" Scruffing through his hair, he grips the black curls and pulls until he grunts with pain--then he pulls a little more, until he seems to calm some and lets go. He stands there, forcing himself to breath even and deep.

Then he turns to Joey. "Okay. So what's the new situation?"

Joey just looks to Itzhak for a long time. He's starting to get comfortable with accepting that he's just going to be making this face a lot. "I...took over your debt." He probably should have asked first. His jaw setting he gives Itzhak a vaguely sympathetic look. "I know about the garage gettin trashed, and with all debts gettin called in I know you didn't have it so I talked to Him about takin it over. He said a'ight. Figure it'll be easier to have that discussion..." Tapping his back molars together he adds on the rueful truth, "than the other one."

Itzhak snorts, ironically, as only a Jew can. "If I had it I wouldn't be in this situation in the first place." He sighs, noisily, and just nods when Joey says he'd rather have this conversation than one where he went to collect. "I told Isolde she better not start trouble with you." By which he means Monaghan, but they both know Joey is who handles said trouble. "So what did she go and do? Oh and she dumped me, so that's why I might be acting a little frustrated!" Grippy hands in the air!

He lets them drop to his sides. "But I'm glad it's you," he mutters, looking away. "I'd rather be your man than his. He's a fucking psychopath--no offense."

Joey watches Itzhak and falls slightly less than casual. His brow furrows and he goes quiet. There's a small nod as Itzhak goes on. "Yeah? Sucks." What can one really say to that. As for his assessment on Felix? That gets a deep breath and a slow nod. "Yeah. Somedays. It's a business, man, not a retirement club. Stick to the agreement and everything's fine. It ain't... complicated. I dunno ... why people make it complicated." A weird thing to admit but that too is the truth.

The back of his arm rubs the sweat from his brow shifting his weight to say something, but then not. It's hot and mid-day which means slow, but all the same he checks first before leveling with Itzhak, "You know I can't let you go man but we can work on things you're happier doin for the most part. I mean we all got a job in this, but I ain't such an asshole we can't work around it."

Itzhak shrugs, hands flipping palms-up. "I know you can't." He knows. He knows how this business works. For all his kvetching, he's never said otherwise.

When Joey checks around, he doesn't. Nothing's more suspicious. He lets him do it, his own eyes on the concrete. "So let's talk about what ya need," he says, quiet but casual. And smiles, a little, wry. "People are complicated, Kelly. They just are. They make bad decisions and do stupid shit. Ask me how I know."

Joey presses his lips together. This he might have something to say on but he doesn't. Finally he takes a deep breath and squints that green bottle-glass look to Itzhak, "Yeah. I know. I just don't know why it's gotta be, but it is." Looking around he takes stock of the room and then back to Itzhak, "Hey, suit up?" That's an invite to go stop being a civilian and put his gym clothes on so he can get on with his day at least. "Well talk. World ain't endin today that's for damn sure." There's a pause and he adds on, "Unless the fan goes then we might all bake to death."

"Fan breaks, I'll fuckin' fix it." Itzhak thwaps Joey on the very muscular shoulder, hoists his bag and heads to the back. When he swaggers back out he's changed, tugging the hand protection on tight. (A fiddler needs to take care of his hands, which is why boxing and street brawling are terrible hobbies for him.) All the training he's been doing over the months has....not actually put that much muscle on him. He's just got that kind of body--in other words, a skinny one. What he has, though, ain't half bad, lean and wiry and tough as hell. He's a survivor, scion of a people who are survivors.

Joey doesn't budge or sway when he's patted. It's a lot like patting a boulder that likewise reasons his way through the world like a boulder. Appropriate all things considered. He's looking up at the fans with some slight concern, and also missing his brother on the road right now. With some slight optimism he asks, "Ya think so?"

It gives Joey something to think about while Itzhak is changing up. At the end of the day Joey's a lot of things like anyone else. His assortment leans on: Businessman, Coach, Problem Solver, Criminal entrepreneur...Byron's words most likely. It's got way too many syllables to be a Joey word. As such, however, he waves a hand at the bag that's had a hell of a morning. "Warm up. Been thinking about that last talk we had. Wanna work something out. I'm trying to figure out a way to keep you lucrative, but like Gray Harbor kinda hates you." He means the Veil. Simplification is its own art. "Crushed your gara- hey is that door situation fixed yet? Snake alright and shit? Where you put her? That's a lot of lamps. How's Fire Hazard doing?"

"I know so." Itzhak smirks at Joey like a guy who knows what he's talking about.

He comes over to square up with the heavy bag, dropping into the stance Joey's spending so long grinding into him. Pop! he hits it, left fist first (being coached by a fellow southpaw is pretty much the best thing ever), following up with the right. "Her name's Lemondrop," he grunts, "and she's fine, thanks for askin' about her. Had to--" pop! pop! "get her to the vet for a checkup but she was okay."

Not taking his eyes off the bag--that's how Joey pops him one--he goes on. "Garage's still ferkakt. Gotta take it down to the studs, rebuild it, but shit, the thought of puttin' that much work into it just to go back to the boring daily mechanic slog? Fffffuck."

Joey has to be a lot of things like most of the guys he grew up with, but he gets to be a coach. He actually loves doing this shit and seems in no hurry to be doing much else right now as evidence by standing sideview to watch with critical judgement, and murmuring small approvals and corrections.

He wades over and grabs another water, and a second, out of the mini fridge he keeps and sets one nearby. Roz doesn't get that yet. Nope nope nope. Focus there. Good. Eyes watch teh gloves, not the guy, when he says, "Yeah that sucks man. Shit when we had to pull the ring down and redo all the damn lights overhead and swap out the ballasts that was pain enough. Having your business grabbed by the balls aint' fun. No business means no money which means more fucking problems." He takes a deep breath and doesn't know quite how to put this so blunt it is. "You're a liability to me where you're at, so we're gonna change where your'e at. How's that sound?" He's not trying to be mean but he is sympathetic in tone for Rosenkrantz' situation.

With a sigh he offers, "You're emotional and ya fall apart first sign of distress and I know you're cuddled up with all the wrong damn people. So... I want to propose something to you so we don't ever have to have one of them unhappy discussions" He lets Itzhak slam it out on the bag offering, "I can use some help with something like storage and automotive things which I know your'e good at. Fewer face to face. Fewer people. MIght need you to talk cars for me cause Jaime's out of town and frankly I'm shit at it and I trust you to be honest with me. it's a big trust here, but it's what I can work out so we don't have another 3 in the afternoon call like the last one."

Itzhak hits that bag like it said something about his ma, his only commentary grunts and huffs of breath. Maybe he's taking out a little frustration with what Joey is telling him on the poor bag. Maybe a little. He's worked up a pretty good sweat by the time Joey's done, and he straightens up, wiping his damp forelock out of his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I known a lot of guys like you, Kelly," he says, not looking at him. "When I was a kid, boostin' cars. When I was in prison. Hell, I'm fucking a guy like you." Speaking of being cuddled up with the wrong people. He fidgets with the hand protection, tugging the straps. "I never been like you. I'm physiologically incapable of being like you, my brain don't got the wiring. Just like them lights. You couldn't expect them to work with their wiring blown out. You can't expect me not to get emotional and freaked out. I always been bad at that end of the business, that's why I got caught and why I got put away for so long. Yeah. I am a fuckin' liability, the way you see it."

He glances at Joey, hazel eyes hooded. "That's why I cleaned up my act when I got out. I'll never be like you. I can't. So I promised myself I didn't gotta try no more. Meant ten years of not holdin' a real job, ten years of wrenching under the table and pickin' up construction day jobs, but I did it and I kept my nose squeaky fucking clean. So I didn't have to be like you. I'm a terrible you, Kelly. Don't expect me to be like you, or Marshall, or de la Vega, I'll disappoint you every time. But the stuff I'm good at? I'm pretty good at it. Do what you're tellin' me. Put me there. Let me work. Listen to what I gotta tell you. This I can do for you."

Joey is blunt? Itzhak has no problem with being blunt in return. Joey trusts Itzhak to be honest with him? Here's some fucking honesty.

Joey weathers the feedback which all sums up to: He knows. Good. He agrees. Better. The digs and accusations at Joey for being , well, all he is not are met with an equal patience. He's not wrong. If the words and truths hurt? Well it doesn't show. Does it ever? Does he even have feelings anymore or is it all scar tissue and tattoos? World may never know.

"Roz, last thing we want is for anyone to be us, trust me. Anyone who thinks my life is a fucking goal needs to have their head checked or start reloading fast." His arms fold like twisting steel cables rather than muscle and possibly a cold metal heart to match. Probably for the best. It is definitely needed for this business.

Shaking his head he offers quietly, and while not exactly emotive he can cut the guy a break. "Shit, Roz, I can't even tell my girl how I feel about her cause that puts her one step closer to eating the next bullet meant for me. I do not wish this on you. Be you. Just when we got some shit coming in or goingon? Just do your part. No more no less. It's all I can expect. Until then let's get my garage back up and in order. What do we need to do that exactly?"