x. conartistswithavendetta:
The less people that are tangled in the dealing of the con man, the better off he’d be. Getting involved with a man such as him could very easily turn, pulling him up from the dirt, into owing a great, ineluctable debt to the mob, threading and entangling the do-gooder into a life of crime and cons. Jesse’s persisting paranoia protected him from that entanglement from knotting itself into the do-gooder’s life. Thinking highly of himself wasn’t exactly an attribute of which he maintained; fully aware of his deceitful, criminality. Traits many would rather see buried beneath the soil or concealed behind iron bars, traits not even the criminal himself should find pride in.
Nodding his head in agreement, Jesse himself, let loose held breath from his tired lungs. Words unable to express his understanding, maybe because he didn’t understand. All his life he walked a shadowed path, not once choosing the light. Frankly, he didn’t think that it was ever an option. There had to be some kind of karmic punishment keeping the immoral from moral human culture. A bolt of lightning, something, to come down and smite him if only a toe step over the line.
Jesse scoffs, a relief to see the neighbourhood he has come to know so well. “Yeah, maybe you can show me around.” He snorts teasingly, bringing up his head in a kind of nod to point to the direction of a shortcut to where his Benz is usually parked. “Just over there.” Snorting a second time only to tamp down his laughter, shaking his head. “It’s inherited.” He gave up the facade. A penthouse bought with blood money many years ago, Jesse struggles from time to time to even keep. What might appear outwardly beautiful to one of minimal means, its really a reminder of the man who once owned it, and his unrelenting grip on his children’s lives even when he lay six foot down. “It may look nice, but the bills alone are staggering.” He chuckled.
Coming from a life in which humility reigned, Malachi is suddenly overwhelmed with the amount of opulence oozing from the so called inherited home. Mind even dares to give him terrible flashes of the last time he was in a wealthy abode, a mistake he will always regret. Sighing to brush away the pain clinging to adamantine bones, he drives to where he’s told; eyes showing a brief glimpse of orange as they focus on the location. Not only does the guy live in such a sumptuous-looking structure, but he also seems to own a vehicle that’s far, far better than the piece of garbage they’re both currently in. No wonder he openly criticized it.
“Inherited? Can we arrange some paypers so I can be yer long-lost cousin? I could use some money.” He feels like joking, even when he, indeed, finds it difficult to keep up when it comes to pay the rent. “Aye, I don’ wanna imagine ‘ow much i’h costs ta maintain a ritzy monster. Ye gotten ta tha point o’h selling yer kidney in tha black marke’h? Would’ve probably end up withou’h all me organs if I were ye.” The hybrid huffs, shaking his head before parking right outside the house. His small, tattered vehicle probably looks like a green ball in a sea of yellow; so strange standing across fancy streets. “Alrigh’, we’re here. Ye see? I didn’t do anything funny. Ye gotta wai’h fer me ta open yer door, though. It doesn’t open from tha inside.”
Of course, another glitch his car should have; Malachi quickly opening driver’s door and closing it with a thud once outside. He unconsciously stretches his spine and jogs around automobile. A few repetitive tugs around passenger’s door’s handle and the man is free. He’d help him get out of vehicle, given his condition...but then the hybrid remembers how hard it was to convince him to get where they are, on the first place, so he’ll let him be.
“Safe an’ sound.”
