2021-01-17 - Holier Than Ow

Joey crashed at the gym patched up with the exact sort of back room finesse one expects from this lifestyle. Security on rotation it's the safest place for Joey he can be without endangering his family. According to Duarte on the phone at the gym, "Yeah he's here. you need me to get him up cause he kinda looks like a dead fish right now." But when Itzhak gets there, and likely parking in the back and using the Boiler room emergency exit he is ass was parked by in the middle of the night? Yeah this all proves to be true, though now up Joey's right arm is in a sling which makes sense to not stress out that side. God he's tired of this shit.

There's a lower level guy looking to move up. Eddie. he keeps trying for a nickname that ain't landing, but the truth is he's a little shitstain who is scared as hell of Itzhak. It's cold and he's sitting on a plastic milk crate having a smoke while texting on his phone. He steps in front of the door like his 130# of mass suddenly means something...and promptly moves it. "Oh uh... hey I... yeah you're fine man. No problems." Aww look at him try!

Itzhak rolls up, moving a little stiff--oy vey, he feels like he got run over by a truck yesterday. Wearing his brilliantly-colored Reinhardt hoodie, hood up against the drizzle, he walks towards Eddie (no, he's never calling that kid Venom, even though it was a pretty bangin' movie) and barely slows down. All Eddie gets is a twist of the mouth and a jerk of the thumb in an eloquently silent New Yorker 'get da fuck oudda heah'.

But he does clap him on the shoulder as he goes by. Eddie's not a bad kid, just as wet behind the ears as an otter. Also just about as cute.

He comes into the boiler room and takes down his hood, revealing that he's been shaved completely freakin' bald. Only a little dark stubble is growing in at this point. "'ey," he says, by way of greeting, and he can't keep the gentleness out of his tone when he sees how flat the Yard Boss looks. "How you doin', tough guy."

Joey looks up with a snerk, "You gonna jerk off my ego you can do it with the door closed. Have a seat." The desk chair at the credenza next to the holdout bunk there is there to be occupied, this time without the Tailor giving everyone stitches and a lollypop. The truth is he's pale, but he looks a shit ton better than when last they met. Joey boggles at him, "The fuck happen to your hair anyways?" He sits with his back to the wall pointing to the pack of smokes on the desk. Really he only does this when he's totally stressed the fuck out. As an athlete it's not doing him any fucking favors. "So what's up with you, Roz?"

"Bad Dream." Dream with a capital D, though Itzhak isn't convinced Joey knows what those are. He slumps into the chair, shakes a cigarette out of the pack, and smirks tiredly at the boss. He's looking real tired, big dark circles around his eyes. Like he just got shot or something, though it wasn't near as bad as Joey. "Came to check on ya. You took a hell of a shot. I brought kugel." And this he did, setting a tupperware on the desk. Because nothing says 'I care' like Jewish food.

"Aren't they all?" Doesn't really clarify that point much does it? Joey, cynical as ever, lets the guy talk taking his smoke, with a nod of thanks, and hunting his lighter in his pocket. He takes a long drag holding it and inviting the burn in his lungs that are still not healed from the last time those took a beating and the cough is there. There's a pause and he looks confused, "You brought me Ikea furniture? You hate my desk that bad?" The expression arches both eyebrows in silent agreement. While it looked badass at the time and was the best decision he could make, it still was not optimal and it's setting him back... a lot. This shit happens in the Harbor.

Itzhak, lighting his own smoke, coughs a laugh. "Kugel. It's food. Noodle cheese casserole. Tons of calories, great for healing up." The tupperware seems to contain a solid brick of noodly goodness. He slumps back, drapes an arm over the back of the chair, and regards Joey, the two of them a pair of old soldiers in the middle of a long, long war. "We did good. Yeah?"

Joey looks very interested when Itzhak says something, something, something cheese and carbs. Legs pull him forward to the edge of the bed that's pretty much a couple of army blankets and a towel from the gym over the sheets in case his wounds bleed through gauze. This is not his first go around. Reaching over he pulls the soda can closer and ashes into that setting the cig on top. "God I can eat right now. There a spoon with that?" Did they do good? He considers this as 3 days ago he had a too similar talk with Alexander. "We did what needed to be done. I dunno if it was good. Good usually ain't our business. Proud of everyone truth be told. No one got dumb and got killed which... I cannot always guarantee with this group. Reyes is definitely listening right now." The lid comes off the bowl and he asks, "Things alright at home or the cranky bastard not back yet?"

"Ehh, 'good' is relative, I ain't gonna argue that." Itzhak produces a spoon from the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie--how does he do that?--and slides it over to Joey. His expression goes cautious when Joey asks about Ruiz. Yeah, he's perfectly aware of the face-off they had last night in this very boiler room. He was conspicuously absent from it. "He's...real busy. Ain't been home that much."

Joey takes the spoon with a murmured, "Thanks." Unlike Felix Joey has somehow retained his ability to talk to most people like they're, well, still people. He listens not really betraying what happened in Ruiz and Joey's confrontation. "Yeah. Kinda got that feeling." This is not the time Joey's saying 'told you' or even talking mad shit about the cops. "That's some shit though. Thank you for not falling apart on the job." Yes he's calling it out. No he's not doing it the fuck in front of other people in the organization. "Christ, he show you the footage sent in of the blast?"

The kugel is delicious; thick and warm, rich with cream cheese and cottage cheese and egg noodles, with plenty of brown sugar and cinnamon. It's like eating a heavy down blanket, but a lot tastier and easier to digest.

"He calmed me down," Itzhak murmurs, real quiet, like maybe Joey will miss it. "I was about to fall the fuck apart. Scared, somehow, he wouldn't love me anymore. But he calmed me down." Realizing he's saying too much, he grimaces and looks away, drags off the cigarette. "Yeah, I saw it." He doesn't specify whether Ruiz showed it to him or not. "Shit's fucked up. I just keep telling myself, they didn't have to come here."

"Well he'd be a total fucking hypocrite if he did. I think he's starting to catch onto that. I really-" He stops. He's still too angry and too tired. Looking back to Itzhak he studies him for a long moment with an inscrutable expression. He backs down a bits dropping into neutral. "I dunno what's going on. I don't... like it. I don't get it. And no they didn't have to come here. They didn't have to hurt our people, kill Andre, burn down Greg and Mac's businesses, set a trailer park on fire and make Elm more of a shit show than it started as... they didn't have to kill the chief of police. But they did. and they're in OUR fucking harbor and it's my fucking yard... and we will do whatever we have to to tell them to get the fuck off our lawn because askin nicely didn't fucking work."

Itzhak winces a little at Joey's words and tone about Ruiz. But he doesn't blame him. That's the funny thing. He doesn't even blame him. "Yeah," is all he murmurs to that rant that didn't quite get rolling. The first one, anyway. The second one? About how Reyes didn't have to come here? Itzhak watches Joey, and he listens to him, with that musician's sense of rhythm and timing, taking in the melody of his words, and his mouth flattens. Not in protest of what Joey says. In complete agreement with what he says, and pissed off about what's happened to make him agree.

"Maybe you're not always so sure about me. But this is my town, too. My territory, too." He pauses, corner of his mouth tugging down. "That's why I beat down DuBois, packed him up for you. I know I ain't impressed you. I wanted to show you, because words are fuckin' cheap."

Joey waves his hand vaguely, "Yeah well is your town too hence the 'our', but... you did good out there and you're doing a good job running my garage." Yup. His now? "I finished buying it out from Felix so... it set me back but I think overall that freed up a lot for both of us, ya know? Weren't no small fuckin favor neither. SO..." he punctuates with a mumble, "Thank you for getting DuBois back to me in 'usable condition'. Also great work not blowing that car the fuck up. I don't think I need to say that I'm super happy about not being in itty bitty fuckin pieces."

Itzhak tips his head. "Yeah, yannow," he murmurs, half-shy, not used to receiving compliments from the Yard Boss. Those eyebrows first tilt, then go all the way up. "Ya jokin'. Are you jokin' me, Kelly? Seriously?" Almost he smiles--it's just visible, like a fish slipping along beneath the surface of a river. "Ain't that a hell of a thing. Shit, you're practically big-time now." That's a tease, and the smile surfaces ever so briefly as Itzhak says it. Then he snorts. "C'mon, I only blow up cars I'm supposed to blow up." He inhales off the cigarette, exhales smoke in a plume towards the door. "Gonna be changes I oughta know about?"

Joey tilts his head looking Itzhak in the eye, "Practically? I could put you in the ground now so you can think of a good apology by the time you dig your way on out there, bruh." A wry grin warms below the pallid surface of his mean mug. "Right now worry about your part. If there's plans right now it's going to be disposal which I decidedly took you off of...welcome. Right now what I need is more vicodin, I need to make sure people's businesses ain't gettin hit so if you are any good at doin sweeps, and I have a feelin...ya are, then do that. If you got time run a sweep on the casino parking garage. I know we need to worry about shore but it's a big impact target and I have interests there."

Itzhak grins back, eyebrows quirking. He tips his head, acknowledging Joey took him off of certain kinds of disposal. The kinds they really need right now, actually, but this is why Joey has his loyalty and Monaghan never has. "I'm the fuckin' best at sweeps. Look, uh, do you need Roen to come by and have a look at you?" He nods towards those bandages swathing Joey's (frankly gorgeous) chest. "He'll do it. He's got an idea of what's at stake here."

Joey really is fucking airbrushed. It's ridiculous. You work out 11 hours every damn day you too can be prison ripped; the membership form is right over there. Joey, however, considers the offer with a shake of his head. "Don't think he's a big fan of mine, coach of the year or whatever or not. He wants to I won't stop him. He wants to stay out of it? Well that's probably smart for him. Dude's trying to get away from this shit. Lettum. Why drag him back into it cause we're all assholes?" To some, to Joey, there are still very clear lines drawn out there. "If he's down to trade find out what he wants. We'll cover it."

Itzhak snorts. "Good luck getting him to take a trade. He don't, typically. Maybe you can talk him into it." For that's their mother tongue, isn't it? Trade. A favor for a favor, an eye for an eye. It's a big reason Itzhak has taken this long to let August heal him--something so precious without an equal trade seems wrong to him. (August tells him that he's already giving him something equally precious, but can Itzhak hear that? Not so much.)

"Look, this is his town too, he's lived here a lot longer than me. He'd tell you he's already dragged into it, and I'd back him up." Itzhak crushes out his smoke with a twist of his thumb. "You said it yourself, we don't got the budget for actual superheroes. We're all there is. Anyway, he offered to come help ya out. I'd let him if I was you."