Why not? We should all get to see how the other half lives, right?
[ So maybe Ray thought that he was telling a good joke, haha, getting out of having his fingernails peeled off or whatever, but life was never so simple, and Armando, content in his own environment once again, dropped an arm across Ray's shoulder and steered him up the ramp toward open sunlight. They were underneath a veranda overgrowing with climbing roses and butterfly bushes. Night blooming primrose hung low, intertwined with the other plants, creating a sort of green shade that stretched along the side of the single story whitewashed building to their left. The building arched around, growing from one floor to two as it circled the vast blue pool. Its roof slanted inward, and most of the inward facing walls were windows, showing finely designed white walls with rich, dark brown furniture, Italian leather couches and glossy white marble surfaces. This wasn't a family home; it was a show home, a hotel, or the ultimate bachelor's pad, so pristine that it was impossible to believe that anyone lived there. The most expensive looking pool table in the world dominated one of the rooms; it was felted in white, trimmed in gold with inlaid marble sides. It looked like the kind of pool table God would own.
But it was just one part of the entire effect. Armando patted Ray on the shoulder. ]
Don't worry, huh? If you scrimp and save enough for the next thirty years, and if you manage to get yourself nearly killed in the line of duty, and if you don't get married or waste your time on kids, you might be able to afford--oh, two nights in a place like this?
Sucks, doesn't it?
[ He stepped away, clearly not caring whether Ray came with him or not, but since he hadn't told him where Fraser was yet, and since he'd followed him this far, and quite possibly since he didn't know which way was the way out, he would just have to follow him. Armando led the way carefully around the outside of the pool, opened the seamless wall of windows, which apparently included secret french doors, and held them wide for the other man to enter after him. Once again a blast of cool air erupted from the well air conditioned home, like they'd both just stepped into the refrigerated section of a grocery store rather than a house in the Mohave desert.
But as he closed the door behind him, he at last removed a gun - Kowalski's, actually - turning it thoughtfully in his hand. If he traced this weapon, would he find that it was registered to Ray Vecchio? Had the FBI managed to transfer over even that? Or would he find out what this guy's name really was?
Well, there wasn't time for that now. He'd get to the bottom of it, maybe jot the serial number down and call up his snitch in Vegas PD after he'd sent the cop on his way. In the meantime he lowered the firearm to his side, and decided to see just how far Ray's cooperation went. ]
Strip. Right down to your underwear, take it all off. It's not a fantastic suit but it's gonna look better if it's not covered in blood when you walk outta here. So take it off, fold it up, and put it over there, on the top of the piano.
no subject
[ So maybe Ray thought that he was telling a good joke, haha, getting out of having his fingernails peeled off or whatever, but life was never so simple, and Armando, content in his own environment once again, dropped an arm across Ray's shoulder and steered him up the ramp toward open sunlight. They were underneath a veranda overgrowing with climbing roses and butterfly bushes. Night blooming primrose hung low, intertwined with the other plants, creating a sort of green shade that stretched along the side of the single story whitewashed building to their left. The building arched around, growing from one floor to two as it circled the vast blue pool. Its roof slanted inward, and most of the inward facing walls were windows, showing finely designed white walls with rich, dark brown furniture, Italian leather couches and glossy white marble surfaces. This wasn't a family home; it was a show home, a hotel, or the ultimate bachelor's pad, so pristine that it was impossible to believe that anyone lived there. The most expensive looking pool table in the world dominated one of the rooms; it was felted in white, trimmed in gold with inlaid marble sides. It looked like the kind of pool table God would own.
But it was just one part of the entire effect. Armando patted Ray on the shoulder. ]
Don't worry, huh? If you scrimp and save enough for the next thirty years, and if you manage to get yourself nearly killed in the line of duty, and if you don't get married or waste your time on kids, you might be able to afford--oh, two nights in a place like this?
Sucks, doesn't it?
[ He stepped away, clearly not caring whether Ray came with him or not, but since he hadn't told him where Fraser was yet, and since he'd followed him this far, and quite possibly since he didn't know which way was the way out, he would just have to follow him. Armando led the way carefully around the outside of the pool, opened the seamless wall of windows, which apparently included secret french doors, and held them wide for the other man to enter after him. Once again a blast of cool air erupted from the well air conditioned home, like they'd both just stepped into the refrigerated section of a grocery store rather than a house in the Mohave desert.
But as he closed the door behind him, he at last removed a gun - Kowalski's, actually - turning it thoughtfully in his hand. If he traced this weapon, would he find that it was registered to Ray Vecchio? Had the FBI managed to transfer over even that? Or would he find out what this guy's name really was?
Well, there wasn't time for that now. He'd get to the bottom of it, maybe jot the serial number down and call up his snitch in Vegas PD after he'd sent the cop on his way. In the meantime he lowered the firearm to his side, and decided to see just how far Ray's cooperation went. ]
Strip. Right down to your underwear, take it all off. It's not a fantastic suit but it's gonna look better if it's not covered in blood when you walk outta here. So take it off, fold it up, and put it over there, on the top of the piano.
How do you feel about classical music, Ray?