Hitchhiker [TragicTrees & Killjoy]

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Packing the gun and towel back into his briefcase, Lenny paused at Juan's offer. If had had to wager it wasn't so much an act of hospitality as it was a way to keep tabs on him-- a stranger who got into someone's car and tried to shoot them couldn't be trusted to hold up his end of the bargain in anyone's books. It would be far too easy for him to vanish into the city. Lenny decided that this would work in his favour, anyways. Ideally he didn't want to have his identity-- false or not --in any hotel records. That, and hotels were expensive. Besides, a couch was probably comfier than most rented beds.

"Thank you," he replied with a smile of questionable sincerity. "You know, minus the part where you almost shot me, you've been much nicer than most of my other drive- oh, look."

A lone figure standing on the sidewalk. Waiting for the bus? Lenny peered through his rain-bleary window as they drove past. Adult male, average physique...and twitchy. Visibly dilated eyes and a glazed stare. There was blood on his shirt. Not even bothering to speculate what had happened, Lenny sighed and glanced away. This street was cursed.
 
Juan glanced over momentarily, before groaning "You know what? We're just heading back to the apartment. That's it. I'm done with this street and this job in general." He said, irritated "Really! What does it fucking take to get a healthy loner? Is that really too unusual? Jesus Christ! Usually I can find at least someone suitable. But, no, today is apparently the day of not being able to get my job done."

It didn't matter, though. He could do it tomorrow. It was annoying, sure, but he'd handle it. He always handled everything fine, and this time would be no different. Though, he felt as if this guy was some sort of bad omen. He sure felt like it, and with the lack of victims it practically screamed it. Juan wasn't very superstitious, but this guy was like his very own bad luck charm, and it had been less than an hour at this point.
 
Somewhere in the city, there had to be an average person simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it was quite late, and it seemed Juan had run out of patience to look for them. They got to live another day. A shame they'd never fully appreciate what that meant. Lenny contemplated this in silence for a while, watching various urban sights and sounds pass them by. He hadn't even noticed what the city's name was on their way into town. It didn't really matter.

"I've always wondered, is being a hitman lucrative?" he asked, supposing he'd find out once Juan drove them to his apartment. From what he knew organs certainly fetched a pretty penny on the black market. How many of those pennies actually trickled through the hierarchy of criminal organizations down to the harvesters, however, he didn't know.
 
"Depends on the job." Juan replied, sighing as he switched course from 'creepy roads' to 'home sweet home' "I mean, it's enough to live off of, but I'm not in the 1% or anything. I'm not poor, but not rich, and I'm pretty OK with that. Does being a psycho pay well?" He glanced over momentarily, before looking back to the road.

It wasn't a serious question, but he was curious how this man managed to get food. Maybe he stole the wallets off of people. Stole the cars, even. It would make sense. But still, where did he sleep? In the cars? Juan found it rather weird to think about this. He certainly wouldn't do any of that himself, which was funny considering he was already a murderer. However, he was a murderer with living standards, and the way that Lenny was living seemed like something he'd rather avoid.
 
Middle-class wasn't so bad. It was considerably better than how most people lived. Lenny thought it was nice to hear that he wouldn't be crashing on some flea-ridden couch with broken springs. Not that he was above doing that if he had to, but he'd vastly prefer to avoid it.

"Me? Well, it pays if you know what you're doing," he said. With the hijacked cars, the bodies, their wallets. Their identities, depending on what sort of information they were carrying. Lenny gave a slight smile. "I used to be an accountant, so I consider myself pretty good at financing."

The scenery began to change from dark, empty parking lots and graffiti to more pleasant sights. He eyed distant skyscrapers, recalling when he'd occupied an office in a similar building, desk next to one of the plate glass windows. It hadn't been that long ago, but it felt like years had already passed.
 
((Sorry about this being so late, I got caught up in studying :') ))

"And you left that job because.....?" Juan frowned, actually curious about it. If he had a good job, he surely would've kept it. Not having a good job was the reason he was in this situation in the first place, after all. He hadn't really chosen to kill people because he wanted to. This guy, though, seemed happy to murder. Juan supposed that was the difference between them; he himself was here because he had to be, while Lenny was here because he WANTED to be.

Juan was curious why. Most people didn't just up and leave their job thinking 'oh, I think murder is better'. He was pretty sure people had a reason. And how did this guy figure out he liked killing people so much? Was there an accidental murder or something? Juan had found his job through accidentally crossing a gang boss at a bar when he smashed one of the boss' guys over the head with a bottle. So, accidents were possible paths to murder. He himself was proof of that.
 
Smiling an enigmatic smile, uncertain in meaning except for its insincerity, Lenny watched buildings flick past the window.

"I got bored, you could say," he replied. Not the type of boredom that could be cured by middle-class businessman methods like traveling, picking up an expensive hobby, or buying nice things. The type of boredom that had been present from his very first memory; that made all food taste the same, that sometimes made it impossible to sleep and other times impossible to wake up, that made the days blur into each other meaninglessly for twenty-six years. Lenny had been fond of his job. It was stable. It revolved around carefully organized routines and schedules. It was inconspicuous. But it was boring. Boredom and impulsivity did not mix well. Case and point; he was sitting in a hitman's car. Lenny idly wiped his palm through a small puddle of water atop his briefcase. "If you're worried about any loose ends, don't be. I wouldn't bring baggage like that into another person's home. That would be rude of me."

Apartment buildings beyond the window. Some lights on, but mostly off given the hour. Lenny caught sight of faint ghosts of himself from streetlamps glaring off the glass. Quietly, the hitchhiker thought to himself. He couldn't say why he'd grown to be a stickler for manners. Maybe they were appealing because they structured society; structure was easy to exploit, after all.
 
"I'm more worried about the whole 'we're both murderers' thing, bud." Juan replied casually, though he was still rather cautious over what he had just mentioned "But I honestly don't care what you do in my apartment so long as you don't blow holes in the walls or something. I'd have to pay for that. I can pay for it, but I really don't want to. So, just don't do that and don't murder me and we should be fine."

The hitman still didn't get what the other meant by 'bored'. Honestly, the life Lenny had had sounded awesome. Or, what he had heard of it, at least. He would stay put if he had such a job, and he certainly would be much happier. Sure, maybe it didn't earn as much money was what he was doing now(or maybe it did. Juan wasn't sure.), but it also wasn't murder. But that wasn't his life, and he was stuck doing this. He would have to deal with it like he always did: Angrily, but somewhat well. So, he turned the car into a parking lot without a second though, like he always did, and then parked in his usual spot. This was like any other day, he reminded himself. The only difference is that he had someone with him and hadn't succeeded in his job.
 
"Sounds reasonable," Lenny replied as Juan swung his car into the parking lot. He glanced through the window for potential witnesses before opening the door and stepping out, fresh rain joining the water already soaking his body and glancing off his briefcase. Again, he scanned the parking lot. "Will my being here confuse any of your neighbors?"

Drawing unwanted attention was about the last thing either of them needed given their occupations-- and although he knew a couple important things about Juan, like his hitman status, he didn't know if guests frequented his home. Probably the other man wasn't worried about it or else he wouldn't have offered. Settling on this, Lenny began walking towards the apartment complex's door like nothing was out of the ordinary. He was just a businessman who's car had broken down; or maybe he'd pissed off his significant other and been kicked out of his house. Whatever would keep people from wondering what was in his briefcase.

The nattering in the back of his brain had started again. Sleeping was going to be a bitch for the next while.
 
"Probably not. If they say anything, you're my cousin or something and you have to stay at my place for a while for some reason." Juan replied, getting out and stretching a little "I'm not really worried about people wondering. They're all unobservant anyway."

He trailed after Lenny, digging his keys out of his pocket as he did so. In truth, his neighbors were loud, but that was it. They didn't really bother him for anything, and he didn't bother them, so he doubted they'd start it up now. If they did? Well, he doubted they would suspect a murder plot, to be quite honest. Most people would let it go. Unless there was some crazy conspiracy theorist in the building, Juan was sure they'd be fine. Besides, Lenny was only staying for a short bit. People would notice if he stayed a while, sure, but Juan was guessing around a few days at most. That was not long enough for the people living in the building to actually notice.
 
Something about their difference in skin tone and hair colour made Lenny think that the 'cousin' argument might not fly, but hearing that Juan's neighbors were unobservant was good enough. He held the apartment complex door open for the other man and fell into step behind him. No sense walking ahead when he didn't know where they were going.

There was a small desk in the corner of the lobby for either security or a doorman, as was often the case with more ritzy complexes, but nobody was manning it. Lenny wasn't sure if that was always the case. He wondered how Juan managed to re-enter the building after jobs-- assuming they got as messy as they sounded. Most human bodies had about five liters of blood in them; nick an artery and it gushed just about everywhere. He decided not to inquire about it for the time being and moved along, tracking water streaks across the floor.

"I really should compensate you in some way," he said at last. "Would food interest you? I consider myself pretty good at cooking."

Cooking was numbers-- portions, measurements, timing. It was another thing that just made sense to Lenny, though it didn't quite fit with ex-accountant and serial killer on the resume.
 
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