Mumble

②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [9]

James' Maserati rolled to a stop, the lights flickering off as the smooth purr of the engine rumbled down to nothing. They were a few blocks away from the bookstore and Ozzie eyed James curiously as he fiddled with the key still in the ignition. James had on his 'thinking-face' and Ozzie waited, saying nothing, merely popping one of the last few fries left in his red and gold container into his mouth, chewing quietly in the sudden silence that engulfed the vehicle. A frown marred his face, the light from the streetlamps that lined the block casting it in sharp relief. His expression seemed even more severe like that Ozzie noted. His friend's grip was iron on the steering wheel. A minute passed. Two. Three.

Finally, James sighed, letting go of the wheel and leaning back in his Maserati's leather seat. "So," he began, "what are you going to tell Toni?"

Ozzie swallowed, the fry in his mouth suddenly tasting like plastic. "About the fact, I spent the night playing 'Where's Waldo?' with a decapitated head?" He shrugged. "Nothing if I can help it." He grabbed the last two fries out of the container and shoved them in his mouth. Cold and a little limp, they weren't the best things on the planet but they also weren't the worst either. At the very least they were enough of an excuse to not keep talking. That was something he was in desperate need of right now.

James' frown though deepened and he turned to face him. "You should tell her something, though."

Ozzie shook his head. "I don't want her to worry," he said and looked away, putting the now empty fry container back in the white bag it came in.

"She worries anyway," James pointed out, rather unhelpfully.

"I know," Ozzie bit his lip, wringing his hands together in his lap. "S'why I don't want to make it worse."

"Fine."

James' finger tapped nonsensically against the dash and Ozzie let out a harsh breath, rubbing a hand over his face. James clearly hadn't liked that response. Ozzie crinkled the paper bag between his fists as much as he could before tossing it to the floor. He rubbed his thumb against his lips, needing something to do with his hands.

"Fuck," Ozzie groaned, "don't you have any cigarettes in here?"

James rolled his eyes. "Check the console."

Ozzie blinked. "Since when did you keep anything useful there?" He scoffed.

"Dude, have you seen my backseat?"

Ozzie looked over his shoulder. Took in the stacks of papers, probably scripts, piled haphazardly over the black seats like confetti. There were even a few old and empty Starbucks cups littered over the floor. Ozzie wrinkled his nose.

"Gross dude."

"Yeah, yeah man," James popped open the console and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. He opened the car door. "Come on, you're not smoking in my baby. She's sensitive."

"She's a car."

"She's sensitive dude."

Ozzie got out the car.

He shut the door behind him, the sound over-loud in the near darkness and stepped onto the sidewalk beside him. He heard the faint click of the car locking and then James was there-on his left-holding out a cigarette between the thumb and pointer finger of his left hand.

"Thanks," Ozzie mumbled, sticking the butt of it in the corner of his mouth while James lit the tip, his free hand cupping the flame away from the wind.

"No problem," he said lighting one for himself. He inhaled deeply, stuffing the cigarettes in his back pocket before exhaling in three quick 'o' shaped puffs. He started walking down the street. Towards the bookstore. Towards Toni. "Coming?"