Once he was far enough, he stopped. There was no need to run anymore. Huffing, he looked around to see if anyone else was near, but thankfully, that wasn’t the case. Giving a content nod, the informant swiped out his cell phone from within his other coat pocket and held it in front of his face as he went through a few menus.
“Now.. Where did you live again… Carver.”
Of course the informant had information on this man. It wasn’t just mere coincidence that they happened to cross paths. There’d be no need to provoke him, either, if the informant didn’t have some sort of plan.
Smiling once again, he then put the cell on standby before pushing it back into his pocket; If he hurried, he could probably get there before Carver did.
Carver had made it back ‘home’ in less than an hour. He was used to walking quickly, and knew the various shortcuts and pathways which led to the small, two bedroom house. He wandered in through the front door, ignoring that blaring of the television that hit him, that stench of booze. Carver didn’t even have time to take off his shoes after closing the door before a loud smash echoed through his ears: a bottle being thrown, breaking against the wall close to him. He hadn’t flinched, not by much.
“Close the fucking door,” His words were slurred, burning with rage. Carver just stared across at the man slumped in the armchair, not bothering to point out the fact that the door was, now, closed. He wandered in with his boots on, figuring that he should keep them on, just in case. “where the fuck’re you going? Huh!?” His father’s-- Daniel’s-- voice rose, abrupt, sharp; Carver stopped.
“Fuck off,” Carver breathed; the man lunged at him, as though he’d been waiting for Carver to say something. Carver turned, about to dodge, but then decided against it. He just took the hit, stumbled a bit, but didn’t move to retaliate. Daniel would get bored, eventually. His raised arm stopped, glossed eyes narrowed, and Daniel exhaled, voice low, but strong in its belief,
“What a waste of my time,” He stumbled back, “look at you-- you fuckin didn’t go to school again, huh? Why the hell do we keep you here, you should just go fuckin freeze outside. Starve, for all I fucking care,” spitting, Daniel turned, then lumbered into the kitchen. Carver heard the clinking of glass, beyond that slight ringing in his ears.
He made his way into the bathroom, ignoring that reddening of his face as he rummaged through one of the cupboards for a needle, figuring he could find some loose thread in Jennifer’s room.
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