Tito always heard bits and pieces -no one ever told him anything for fuck’s sake- but bits and pieces was enough. “Better,” he repeated. “Better is good.” His hand tightened around the knife as he cut slices of cheese. The thought of something, or someone, hurting a teenager… “You let me know, Ollie, if you need someone taken care of…” A joke from anyone else, but Tito’s words were sincere.
“Georgette is just…” there were too many adjectives to choose from, “protective. But hey, as soon as I get myself into her good graces,” he sent a conspiratorial wink in Oliver’s direction, “I promise to put in a good word for ya.” It was maybe the only thing about the woman he didn’t appreciate. Oliver was good people, loyal. The kid would protect Jenny with every ounce of his crafty know-how.
“A knuckle sandwich,” he quipped, sliding the bread and the bacon onto the flat top, spatula in one hand.
“I know” Oliver smirked, though he did know. He knew that just like the rest of Fagin’s gang, Tito had his back. Only Oliver wasn’t about to get them caught up in this. Not when he wasn’t even sure he’d be alive, himself, at the end of it all.
“I think you could put in a million good words and it wouldn’t be enough to make that woman like me” The boy was fairly certain that he could die saving Jenny from a burning building and her aunt would talk about him being a poor influence on Jenny at his own funeral. Not that Oliver had ever envisioned himself having a funeral.
He laughed a little at Tito’s quip, watching him as he transferred the food to the flat top. “So has Dodge talked to you?” he asked, wondering if Arthur had gotten around to telling the others about the current Sykes situation.