Friday, November 2nd, 2012 - early evening
It was becoming a routine of sorts. Jackie liked to do her grocery shopping on Fridays and during that trip she always picked up an extra brown bag or two of things for Ben. Really, it wasn't just for him. It was for her own benefit as well considering she had been staying at his apartment more steadily and she liked having the option to make a quick meal or lunch on the fly. As off the wall as some thought Jackie was, when it came down to it she had her Mama's views when it came to food. It brought comfort and it was something to share.
A denim clad hip bumped itself against her truck door to swing it shut with a thump. With that, brown cowboy boots were moving up the walkway towards Ben's. Sure as hell there was a brown paper bag settled against her hip, bouncing with every swaying step. In front of his apartment she took all of a moment to comb her fingers through blonde hair, trying without success to tame her mess of blonde wavy locks before knuckles were rapped against the apartment door.
Jackie barely gets a chance to knock; after just the first contact of her knuckles against the door, it swings open. He's hardly even paying attention to where he's going, and he actually almost walks into her before he notices her, starts, gives her a sort of blank-faced look for a couple of seconds -- and then he's taking two steps back into the apartment, opening up the door wider for her in an invitation to come in, grinning at her. It's a little more crooked than usual, but maybe he's just happy to see her, maybe he was just amused that he was, apparently, on his way out as she was showing up.
With the quick open of the door she jumps as well then braces for an impact that never comes. It was only when he's stepping backwards into the apartment that she releases a chuckle laced sigh and she's stepping in right after him. "Goddamn, yer a man on a mission, sweetheart. Were y' headin' out t'see Will or what? Maybe I should've called 'fore I came over." She's returning the grin and once she's inside she leaning up on her toes to press a firm yet sweet kiss of greeting to his lips. Even when she lowers herself back down to the flats of her feet she's lingering close to him. "I jus' figured I'd bring some things over t'night so I was all ready t' cook fer tomorrow."
Pushing the door shut behind her, and then his attention is drifting back to her. His own laugh might be the first clue that something is amiss; it just isn't the same, something sort of dry to it. He's not quite fully engaged in the kiss when she presses her lips to his, like he isn't expecting it, but then, "I like a girl that can plan ahead," and he's kind of laughing at that too, though it's sort of short lived. It wasn't good that she'd stayed in close, because right afterward he's aiming a hungry sort of kiss to her mouth, pressing one hand against the lower part of her ribs, pushing her up against the wall. Her second big clue that this isn't right, one that should easily give him away? He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes.
The laugh was off but he wasn't expecting her. Maybe he was going to talk business with Will and didn't want to bring it up because he knew it made her uncomfortable? It was when he spoke, that needless laugh again, that's when her brows slowly began to crease. But before she could jump to any sort of conclusions her back was being pinned to the wall with his hand and his lips on her. The grocery bag automatically went tumbling out of her grasp and to the floor with a jarring thump so both hands were free to grip him by the collar. It wasn't to pull him in deeper though. This wasn't the way Ben kissed her, at all. This wasn't the way Ben tasted. This wasn't Ben.
Hands at his collar forced him back. Not pushing him away recklessly, but rather trying to hold him out at arm's length. If she managed that she would take the moment of air to put the pieces together. She was already kicking herself because she should have known it so much sooner. "Harry?" Such a flat question, something she already knew the answer to.
Harry might do a lot of really, really questionable things, especially regarding women, but he's never, ever forceful with them, so when Jackie grabs him by the collar and pushes him back, he doesn't really resist it, taking the half a step back to be at arm's length from her. "Uh, yeah," like it was a dumb question, though he is laughing a little, again. He's pressing his index fingers lightly to her cheeks, pulling up just a tiny tiny bit, like he's trying to get her to smile. "You were happy to see me a second ago, c'mon. Want a drink?"
Her lips press together, trying to hold back her frustration, but the action quickly comes to a halt. When she does that she can still taste a little bit of nicotine lingering on her lips. Any more of that and she was liable to get sick for a plethora of reasons. It's not a quick movement, but her head is rolling aside when he pokes his fingers into her cheeks. She's trying so hard to stay calm right now, but it's obviously not the easiest battle ever when she's still got such a firm grip on his collar. Like she's ready to shake him at a moment's notice. "I thought y'were someone else." Her head rolled back to settle her gaze on him seriously. "How long has Ben been gone? D'y' know when Ben is gettin' back? I was comin' here hopin' to see Ben." The offer for a drink was heard but ignored. Her questions probably sounded so repetitive, but there was a little bit of hope that she would be able to call Ben back. She did it once before without another success since then, but there was always a chance.
When she turns her head aside, he drops his hands -- believe it or not, he can take a hint. He's giving her another one of those blankfaced looks when she asks those questions, like he can't quite process them. After a moment though, he's squinting at her, like he remembers her from somewhere, but can't place where -- and then his eyes go wide. "You, you're that crazy broad that slugged me!" He doesn't sound angry, really, or even upset -- surprised? And maybe just pleased that he's been able to figure out why she looks familiar to him. "What was your name again? -- unless I should just get outta here so you don't punch me again." At least he's amused by himself, because he's laughing again, quietly.
She stared at him, just as blank faced. Waiting for that lull in eyelids, that shake of the head, the surprise and gravel of Ben's voice. She's squinting back. Is this it? No, she's being called a crazy broad. There was a heavy exhale of defeat and her hands sink to her sides along with her shoulders. "M'name is Jackie Daniels." She's looking at him, aside to the door, then back. It was a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. The last time she and Harry had been face to face she indeed punched him. She even roughed up his squeeze Lyla as well. But if she tosses up her hands and leaves? He's going to be heading out that door right after her to go do God knows what. "I ain't gonna punch y'. I had one or four too many in me that night." Her tone was like that of a child who was being told to play nice with their mortal enemy by a parent. A hand shoved through her hair, trying to think clearly and failing. "How 'bout that drink y'offered up? Y'got whiskey?" She was then sinking down to a knee, gathering up the fallen grocery bag and a few items that went rolling to the floor.
"Jackie Daniels," repeating, like he's got to say it in order for him to file it away properly -- and even then, it might not stick. There's something sort of comical about his expressions -- they're usually more animated than Ben's tend to be, something exaggerated about them. The way he seems to be concentrating hard on committing her name to memory, like it's something of the utmost importance -- but then she asks about the drinks, and he's grinning again. "Yeah, Jack. Are you two related?" Hilarious, Harry. He seems to think so, because he's chuckling all the way to the kitchen. "Though I dunno, can you not hold your liquor? I don't wanna get punched again. Kinda makes the rest of the night a drag!" Over his shoulder to her. He's getting the bottle of Jack from under the sink (and he's already been in it tonight -- and other nights, apparently; it's only a quarter full at this point), grabbing two glasses from a cabinet, and filling them both up.
Jackie has only had a handful of run ins with Ben's boys, but it doesn't make it any more cut and dry. It's easier to disconnect Sam from Ben because Sam is outright cruel and acts in ways towards her Ben would never. Harry on the other hand, it's hard to put a finger on. He's not Ben. That's enough. "I think that might jus' be the one Daniels I ain't related to." She's hefting the grocery bag up and rising to her feet to follow after him into the kitchen. "I can hold m'liquor jus' fine. An' I promise I won't punch y' without reason." The promise doesn't go far because Harry more than likely would be giving her a reason sooner than later.
The grocery bag is set on the counter and she's unloading the contents into the fridge and cabinets, checking them here and there for damage from the fall. It seemed everything made it out okay. When she's folding the bag and setting it aside she turns to face him. Her brows are pinched in thought, lips moving like a question is hanging off them she can't quite get out. Well, until it tumbles at him. "Where were y'gonna go?" A pause and a gesture towards the door. "Y'were leavin' when I got here. Where were y'goin'?" There was already a frown on her lips. It might have been a horrible idea to ask that, but curiosity got the better of her.
"What was last time's reason?" He seems genuinely curious, not like he's being sarcastic about it or anything. There's not much booze left in the bottle, so he just picks it up, swigs right from it to finish it off, ditches the empty on the counter. He's going over to the fridge then -- not to get anything out of it, but to reach up and grab the pack of cigarettes and cheap plastic lighter that he'd stashed up there. He's lipping one cigarette out of the pack, ducking his head for a second to hold the end of the cigarette in the flame from the lighter, which takes him a couple of flicks to spark to life. Once he's got it lit, he's tossing the pack and lighter back up onto the fridge. "Where was I gonna go?" He doesn't seem to expect the question; he's taking a drag from the cigarette and picking up one of the two glasses before he comes up with some kind of answer. "I dunno, probably this dive I hit up sometimes? Drinks are cheap, women are easy," he's grinning around the cigarette, though then he's shrugging easily. "Haven't been there in a while though. I'm hoping I can-- wait--" Squinting at her again, scissoring his cigarette between index and middle fingers, gesturing toward her in a point. "Are you a cop or somethin'?"
"Y'looked like a guy who owed me money." Did Harry even remember everything that happened that night? Did he remember the way Jackie ripped out Lyla's hair in a fit? He always seemed to be lost in a perpetual stupor that for some reason she felt it was totally possible for him to take her at her word. She slides out of the way when he goes for the fridge and grabs the poured glass of Jack. It goes down easily as ever and she already knows it's not enough to prepare her for Harry's answer. She regretted the question the moment it left her lips, but part of her... wanted to know? Maybe needed. Or maybe neither.
It's a fine enough answer until he talks of women, then she feels sick to her stomach. She's tipping the glass back again, downing it much quicker than usual but the burn doesn't help. It's when he stops his explanation suddenly that she's lowering the glass and blinking at him. A cop. He accused her of the same thing last time. There's a roll of her eyes, though she can't quite get the attitude to back up her tone. "Do I look like a f*ckin' cop to you?" A sharp lift of her brows with the question and she was draining the remaining Jack from her glass.
He's squinting at her again, not moving other than that for a few more seconds, but then he's laughing suddenly, raising the cigarette to his mouth again. "No," and he takes a drag, exhaling the lungful of smoke upward, away from her, turning his head a little without taking his eyes off of her, "but I been burned by that before, babycakes. But you know, if you ask a cop if they're a cop and they say 'no,' then they can't arrest you." Which was utterly false, but Harry wasn't exactly bright.
Marlboro between his fingers again, he's downing most of what's in his glass, too. He barely winces; he must have already done a decent amount of drinking tonight. "Anyway, I was gonna say, I was gonna see if I could hook up with my dealer. Sounds like a good night, yeah? Drugs, booze, and women." Another one of those could-be infectious laughs, and he's finishing off the rest of his Jack too, ditching the glass on the counter, lifting the cigarette to his lips, leaving it perched at one corner of his mouth. "You didn't bring any booze with all that stuff, did you?" He's kind of looking her over, but it's not clear what answer he comes to, because he doesn't say anything about it, just idly leaning over to check inside the fridge in case there happens to be any wine leftover from anything, which there isn't.
She's narrowing her eyes at him in return, looking just a little sick but it has nothing to do with the whiskey. Babycakes? A*s. Her glass is set aside in the sink while she tried to process what he just said. Horrible, it all sounded horrible. "No, I didn't bring any booze with me." She's still staring down at the sink in thought, brows knit together tightly. There were a couple calming breaths wrapped in silence, she doesn't even acknowledge that he's looking at her. It's too hard to take it all in, Ben's face looking at her like she's a stranger. She's weighing her options and when the best worst solution comes to light she's finally lifting her gaze back to him. "Yer night sounds like sh*t." The quake in her voice is gone. Now it's simply scathing, full of boredom and disapproval. "Sounds like any other night. I got word on a poker game goin' down at a local bar I'm gettin' in on. Could try yer luck. Win a lil' cash, smoke some cigars. Run with the big boys." She's drawing her keys from her pocket, the loop hanging on her finger to give them a rattle like someone trying to attract the attention of a cat. "I'm gonna go party. You in or are y'stickin' with yer borin' a*s Friday?"
The face he's making after she says his night sounds like sh*t is a little taken aback, leaning back a little with a slight tilt of his head downward, his eyes wide -- but then she goes on, and there are seem to be some magic words in Jackie's plans, because then he's grinning. "Poker, yeah. Sounds like a good Friday, right up my alley." He's terrible at poker, really, though he'll play whenever he gets a chance. Unfortunately, it's how Ben's lost lots of money, watches, cell phones. His wedding ring, once. "Especially," he's grinning wide then, plucking the cigarette from his mouth to ash it into his empty glass, "if it means partyin' with a hottie like you. You're sure you wanna go out? We could just party here." He's trying to look sly, but it's way, way too obvious. Harry's not very good at subtle.
"Good. Poker." She's just glad he's agreeing to it. There was always a game going down on Friday night at a local dive, not the Knuckle, that one of the bouncers would try to get her in on. Jackie could play poker. Actually, Jackie could play poker well. But it was too much sitting around, too much having to be still for her to call it a successful Friday night. But in this instance it was exactly what she needed. Harry's a*s in a seat where she could keep an eye on him for the evening.
His offer to stay here and party earns another deep eyeroll and a snort. She's trying to bite back the worst comments considering insulting him won't much make him want to stick around with her. "Y'jus' try t'keep up. Alright, darlin'?" She's reaching down to pluck the cigarette from between his fingers and bringing it up to her lips to tuck it in the corner, just as second nature as he had done. Jackie wasn't a smoker by any means, but you sit around a bar long enough and it becomes a social habit to pull out now and then. She wondered if she would be able to steal an entire night's worth of cigarettes away from Harry without him realizing she was going to stomp it out at the first chance. "I got me a man. Reckon he could kick yer a*s, but he ain't 'round tonight." A nod of her head and she's stepping backwards to ease herself out of the kitchen. There's that rattle of keys again. Here, kitty kitty. "You comin' or what?" The cigarette bobbed between her lips with the question.
Obvious surprise when Jackie steals the cigarette from him, but he's not offended or anything, laughing that same laugh he always does, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and the green plastic lighter from the top of the fridge. "Keep up -- I can keep up." Following after her while he's lipping another cigarette out of the softpack and lighting up, stowing the pack and the lighter in his coat pocket afterward. "He ain't around tonight?" Exaggerated sympathy that only lasts a couple of seconds before he's grinning around the Marlboro tucked at one corner of his mouth. "Well, what your man don't know can't hurt 'im, sugar. You just keep that in mind tonight." Harry's got even less understanding of personal space than Ben does, and if Jackie isn't careful, he'll end up very, very close, enough where putting a hand on her waist might almost seem natural.
"Yeah, trust me. I don't think m' man is gonna wanna know 'bout any of this." The words come out flatter than intended, but she doesn't have time to linger on them long. She's spent enough time around handsy men to know that twitch of fingers, the little pick up of speed to inch closer. She's turning on her heels, shifting aside out of reach to bring her to the door and pull it open. She's ready to go racing out to the truck when her movement comes to a jerking halt sending her torso lurching forward. Shoulders slump and she's turning back to look at him. "You got keys on you? In yer coat maybe?" A hand was already held out to him, waiting for him to cough them up.
If Harry was a little smarter, he might've thought it curious that Jackie knew better than he did where the keys to the apartment were on his person. He stops right behind Jackie, giving her a quizzical look, but after patting himself down for a half a moment, he does find a set of keys in his coat pocket. Just two on the keyring -- one to the apartment, the other to Ben's car. "Yeah, what d'you want 'em for?" But he's handing them over to Jackie anyway, without waiting for her answer.
This was her only saving grace for the entire evening. The fact that Harry wasn't a little smarter. The entire plan was flawed, everything she said could easily have holes poked through, she was barely even tapping into that Daniels charm to win him over. Harry was just so set on having a good time that she didn't have to try. She takes the keys and stuffs them into her pocket for safe keeping. "I'm gettin' y' so hammered tonight that y' won't be able t' find yer a*s with both hands. Don't want y' gettin' behind the wheel an' gettin' pulled over by a pig." Nevermind that they were taking her truck. "C'mon." She locked the door and left it hanging open so he could follow after her. "Close it behind y'." She was already making her way towards the truck, dropping the cigarette from between her lips onto the cement and grinding it out with a boot as she went.
Not that handing his keys off to her had put Harry in a bad mood, but when Jackie said she was going to get him hammered, he certainly perks up further. "You," and he's pointing at her, wagging his finger, chuckling, "You are my kinda girl." Following after her and shutting the door; he doesn't notice that she's dropped her cigarette. His own, he's still nursing absently, automatic. "And whatever ends up happening tonight? Promise I won't tell your man." From anybody else, it might not come off so presumptuous, but from Harry? Yeah, he thinks he knows how tonight will end, without question.
"Yeah? Try sayin' that when I whoop yer a*s in poker." She's unlocking the driver's side door of the truck and pulling it open. There's a wave of her hand at him then on his approach to the truck. "No smokin' in m' truck. Put it on out." Two cigarettes down. How many were in a pack anyway? If she kept this up she might make him finish it out faster than she had hoped. "Thanks, Harry. Yer a f*ckin' pal." Irritation over her evening edged into her tone when she slid into the truck and slammed the door behind her. She figured he wouldn't even notice. With a push of a button his door was unlocked and the engine roared to life a moment later.
It was becoming a routine of sorts. Jackie liked to do her grocery shopping on Fridays and during that trip she always picked up an extra brown bag or two of things for Ben. Really, it wasn't just for him. It was for her own benefit as well considering she had been staying at his apartment more steadily and she liked having the option to make a quick meal or lunch on the fly. As off the wall as some thought Jackie was, when it came down to it she had her Mama's views when it came to food. It brought comfort and it was something to share.
A denim clad hip bumped itself against her truck door to swing it shut with a thump. With that, brown cowboy boots were moving up the walkway towards Ben's. Sure as hell there was a brown paper bag settled against her hip, bouncing with every swaying step. In front of his apartment she took all of a moment to comb her fingers through blonde hair, trying without success to tame her mess of blonde wavy locks before knuckles were rapped against the apartment door.
Jackie barely gets a chance to knock; after just the first contact of her knuckles against the door, it swings open. He's hardly even paying attention to where he's going, and he actually almost walks into her before he notices her, starts, gives her a sort of blank-faced look for a couple of seconds -- and then he's taking two steps back into the apartment, opening up the door wider for her in an invitation to come in, grinning at her. It's a little more crooked than usual, but maybe he's just happy to see her, maybe he was just amused that he was, apparently, on his way out as she was showing up.
With the quick open of the door she jumps as well then braces for an impact that never comes. It was only when he's stepping backwards into the apartment that she releases a chuckle laced sigh and she's stepping in right after him. "Goddamn, yer a man on a mission, sweetheart. Were y' headin' out t'see Will or what? Maybe I should've called 'fore I came over." She's returning the grin and once she's inside she leaning up on her toes to press a firm yet sweet kiss of greeting to his lips. Even when she lowers herself back down to the flats of her feet she's lingering close to him. "I jus' figured I'd bring some things over t'night so I was all ready t' cook fer tomorrow."
Pushing the door shut behind her, and then his attention is drifting back to her. His own laugh might be the first clue that something is amiss; it just isn't the same, something sort of dry to it. He's not quite fully engaged in the kiss when she presses her lips to his, like he isn't expecting it, but then, "I like a girl that can plan ahead," and he's kind of laughing at that too, though it's sort of short lived. It wasn't good that she'd stayed in close, because right afterward he's aiming a hungry sort of kiss to her mouth, pressing one hand against the lower part of her ribs, pushing her up against the wall. Her second big clue that this isn't right, one that should easily give him away? He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes.
The laugh was off but he wasn't expecting her. Maybe he was going to talk business with Will and didn't want to bring it up because he knew it made her uncomfortable? It was when he spoke, that needless laugh again, that's when her brows slowly began to crease. But before she could jump to any sort of conclusions her back was being pinned to the wall with his hand and his lips on her. The grocery bag automatically went tumbling out of her grasp and to the floor with a jarring thump so both hands were free to grip him by the collar. It wasn't to pull him in deeper though. This wasn't the way Ben kissed her, at all. This wasn't the way Ben tasted. This wasn't Ben.
Hands at his collar forced him back. Not pushing him away recklessly, but rather trying to hold him out at arm's length. If she managed that she would take the moment of air to put the pieces together. She was already kicking herself because she should have known it so much sooner. "Harry?" Such a flat question, something she already knew the answer to.
Harry might do a lot of really, really questionable things, especially regarding women, but he's never, ever forceful with them, so when Jackie grabs him by the collar and pushes him back, he doesn't really resist it, taking the half a step back to be at arm's length from her. "Uh, yeah," like it was a dumb question, though he is laughing a little, again. He's pressing his index fingers lightly to her cheeks, pulling up just a tiny tiny bit, like he's trying to get her to smile. "You were happy to see me a second ago, c'mon. Want a drink?"
Her lips press together, trying to hold back her frustration, but the action quickly comes to a halt. When she does that she can still taste a little bit of nicotine lingering on her lips. Any more of that and she was liable to get sick for a plethora of reasons. It's not a quick movement, but her head is rolling aside when he pokes his fingers into her cheeks. She's trying so hard to stay calm right now, but it's obviously not the easiest battle ever when she's still got such a firm grip on his collar. Like she's ready to shake him at a moment's notice. "I thought y'were someone else." Her head rolled back to settle her gaze on him seriously. "How long has Ben been gone? D'y' know when Ben is gettin' back? I was comin' here hopin' to see Ben." The offer for a drink was heard but ignored. Her questions probably sounded so repetitive, but there was a little bit of hope that she would be able to call Ben back. She did it once before without another success since then, but there was always a chance.
When she turns her head aside, he drops his hands -- believe it or not, he can take a hint. He's giving her another one of those blankfaced looks when she asks those questions, like he can't quite process them. After a moment though, he's squinting at her, like he remembers her from somewhere, but can't place where -- and then his eyes go wide. "You, you're that crazy broad that slugged me!" He doesn't sound angry, really, or even upset -- surprised? And maybe just pleased that he's been able to figure out why she looks familiar to him. "What was your name again? -- unless I should just get outta here so you don't punch me again." At least he's amused by himself, because he's laughing again, quietly.
She stared at him, just as blank faced. Waiting for that lull in eyelids, that shake of the head, the surprise and gravel of Ben's voice. She's squinting back. Is this it? No, she's being called a crazy broad. There was a heavy exhale of defeat and her hands sink to her sides along with her shoulders. "M'name is Jackie Daniels." She's looking at him, aside to the door, then back. It was a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. The last time she and Harry had been face to face she indeed punched him. She even roughed up his squeeze Lyla as well. But if she tosses up her hands and leaves? He's going to be heading out that door right after her to go do God knows what. "I ain't gonna punch y'. I had one or four too many in me that night." Her tone was like that of a child who was being told to play nice with their mortal enemy by a parent. A hand shoved through her hair, trying to think clearly and failing. "How 'bout that drink y'offered up? Y'got whiskey?" She was then sinking down to a knee, gathering up the fallen grocery bag and a few items that went rolling to the floor.
"Jackie Daniels," repeating, like he's got to say it in order for him to file it away properly -- and even then, it might not stick. There's something sort of comical about his expressions -- they're usually more animated than Ben's tend to be, something exaggerated about them. The way he seems to be concentrating hard on committing her name to memory, like it's something of the utmost importance -- but then she asks about the drinks, and he's grinning again. "Yeah, Jack. Are you two related?" Hilarious, Harry. He seems to think so, because he's chuckling all the way to the kitchen. "Though I dunno, can you not hold your liquor? I don't wanna get punched again. Kinda makes the rest of the night a drag!" Over his shoulder to her. He's getting the bottle of Jack from under the sink (and he's already been in it tonight -- and other nights, apparently; it's only a quarter full at this point), grabbing two glasses from a cabinet, and filling them both up.
Jackie has only had a handful of run ins with Ben's boys, but it doesn't make it any more cut and dry. It's easier to disconnect Sam from Ben because Sam is outright cruel and acts in ways towards her Ben would never. Harry on the other hand, it's hard to put a finger on. He's not Ben. That's enough. "I think that might jus' be the one Daniels I ain't related to." She's hefting the grocery bag up and rising to her feet to follow after him into the kitchen. "I can hold m'liquor jus' fine. An' I promise I won't punch y' without reason." The promise doesn't go far because Harry more than likely would be giving her a reason sooner than later.
The grocery bag is set on the counter and she's unloading the contents into the fridge and cabinets, checking them here and there for damage from the fall. It seemed everything made it out okay. When she's folding the bag and setting it aside she turns to face him. Her brows are pinched in thought, lips moving like a question is hanging off them she can't quite get out. Well, until it tumbles at him. "Where were y'gonna go?" A pause and a gesture towards the door. "Y'were leavin' when I got here. Where were y'goin'?" There was already a frown on her lips. It might have been a horrible idea to ask that, but curiosity got the better of her.
"What was last time's reason?" He seems genuinely curious, not like he's being sarcastic about it or anything. There's not much booze left in the bottle, so he just picks it up, swigs right from it to finish it off, ditches the empty on the counter. He's going over to the fridge then -- not to get anything out of it, but to reach up and grab the pack of cigarettes and cheap plastic lighter that he'd stashed up there. He's lipping one cigarette out of the pack, ducking his head for a second to hold the end of the cigarette in the flame from the lighter, which takes him a couple of flicks to spark to life. Once he's got it lit, he's tossing the pack and lighter back up onto the fridge. "Where was I gonna go?" He doesn't seem to expect the question; he's taking a drag from the cigarette and picking up one of the two glasses before he comes up with some kind of answer. "I dunno, probably this dive I hit up sometimes? Drinks are cheap, women are easy," he's grinning around the cigarette, though then he's shrugging easily. "Haven't been there in a while though. I'm hoping I can-- wait--" Squinting at her again, scissoring his cigarette between index and middle fingers, gesturing toward her in a point. "Are you a cop or somethin'?"
"Y'looked like a guy who owed me money." Did Harry even remember everything that happened that night? Did he remember the way Jackie ripped out Lyla's hair in a fit? He always seemed to be lost in a perpetual stupor that for some reason she felt it was totally possible for him to take her at her word. She slides out of the way when he goes for the fridge and grabs the poured glass of Jack. It goes down easily as ever and she already knows it's not enough to prepare her for Harry's answer. She regretted the question the moment it left her lips, but part of her... wanted to know? Maybe needed. Or maybe neither.
It's a fine enough answer until he talks of women, then she feels sick to her stomach. She's tipping the glass back again, downing it much quicker than usual but the burn doesn't help. It's when he stops his explanation suddenly that she's lowering the glass and blinking at him. A cop. He accused her of the same thing last time. There's a roll of her eyes, though she can't quite get the attitude to back up her tone. "Do I look like a f*ckin' cop to you?" A sharp lift of her brows with the question and she was draining the remaining Jack from her glass.
He's squinting at her again, not moving other than that for a few more seconds, but then he's laughing suddenly, raising the cigarette to his mouth again. "No," and he takes a drag, exhaling the lungful of smoke upward, away from her, turning his head a little without taking his eyes off of her, "but I been burned by that before, babycakes. But you know, if you ask a cop if they're a cop and they say 'no,' then they can't arrest you." Which was utterly false, but Harry wasn't exactly bright.
Marlboro between his fingers again, he's downing most of what's in his glass, too. He barely winces; he must have already done a decent amount of drinking tonight. "Anyway, I was gonna say, I was gonna see if I could hook up with my dealer. Sounds like a good night, yeah? Drugs, booze, and women." Another one of those could-be infectious laughs, and he's finishing off the rest of his Jack too, ditching the glass on the counter, lifting the cigarette to his lips, leaving it perched at one corner of his mouth. "You didn't bring any booze with all that stuff, did you?" He's kind of looking her over, but it's not clear what answer he comes to, because he doesn't say anything about it, just idly leaning over to check inside the fridge in case there happens to be any wine leftover from anything, which there isn't.
She's narrowing her eyes at him in return, looking just a little sick but it has nothing to do with the whiskey. Babycakes? A*s. Her glass is set aside in the sink while she tried to process what he just said. Horrible, it all sounded horrible. "No, I didn't bring any booze with me." She's still staring down at the sink in thought, brows knit together tightly. There were a couple calming breaths wrapped in silence, she doesn't even acknowledge that he's looking at her. It's too hard to take it all in, Ben's face looking at her like she's a stranger. She's weighing her options and when the best worst solution comes to light she's finally lifting her gaze back to him. "Yer night sounds like sh*t." The quake in her voice is gone. Now it's simply scathing, full of boredom and disapproval. "Sounds like any other night. I got word on a poker game goin' down at a local bar I'm gettin' in on. Could try yer luck. Win a lil' cash, smoke some cigars. Run with the big boys." She's drawing her keys from her pocket, the loop hanging on her finger to give them a rattle like someone trying to attract the attention of a cat. "I'm gonna go party. You in or are y'stickin' with yer borin' a*s Friday?"
The face he's making after she says his night sounds like sh*t is a little taken aback, leaning back a little with a slight tilt of his head downward, his eyes wide -- but then she goes on, and there are seem to be some magic words in Jackie's plans, because then he's grinning. "Poker, yeah. Sounds like a good Friday, right up my alley." He's terrible at poker, really, though he'll play whenever he gets a chance. Unfortunately, it's how Ben's lost lots of money, watches, cell phones. His wedding ring, once. "Especially," he's grinning wide then, plucking the cigarette from his mouth to ash it into his empty glass, "if it means partyin' with a hottie like you. You're sure you wanna go out? We could just party here." He's trying to look sly, but it's way, way too obvious. Harry's not very good at subtle.
"Good. Poker." She's just glad he's agreeing to it. There was always a game going down on Friday night at a local dive, not the Knuckle, that one of the bouncers would try to get her in on. Jackie could play poker. Actually, Jackie could play poker well. But it was too much sitting around, too much having to be still for her to call it a successful Friday night. But in this instance it was exactly what she needed. Harry's a*s in a seat where she could keep an eye on him for the evening.
His offer to stay here and party earns another deep eyeroll and a snort. She's trying to bite back the worst comments considering insulting him won't much make him want to stick around with her. "Y'jus' try t'keep up. Alright, darlin'?" She's reaching down to pluck the cigarette from between his fingers and bringing it up to her lips to tuck it in the corner, just as second nature as he had done. Jackie wasn't a smoker by any means, but you sit around a bar long enough and it becomes a social habit to pull out now and then. She wondered if she would be able to steal an entire night's worth of cigarettes away from Harry without him realizing she was going to stomp it out at the first chance. "I got me a man. Reckon he could kick yer a*s, but he ain't 'round tonight." A nod of her head and she's stepping backwards to ease herself out of the kitchen. There's that rattle of keys again. Here, kitty kitty. "You comin' or what?" The cigarette bobbed between her lips with the question.
Obvious surprise when Jackie steals the cigarette from him, but he's not offended or anything, laughing that same laugh he always does, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and the green plastic lighter from the top of the fridge. "Keep up -- I can keep up." Following after her while he's lipping another cigarette out of the softpack and lighting up, stowing the pack and the lighter in his coat pocket afterward. "He ain't around tonight?" Exaggerated sympathy that only lasts a couple of seconds before he's grinning around the Marlboro tucked at one corner of his mouth. "Well, what your man don't know can't hurt 'im, sugar. You just keep that in mind tonight." Harry's got even less understanding of personal space than Ben does, and if Jackie isn't careful, he'll end up very, very close, enough where putting a hand on her waist might almost seem natural.
"Yeah, trust me. I don't think m' man is gonna wanna know 'bout any of this." The words come out flatter than intended, but she doesn't have time to linger on them long. She's spent enough time around handsy men to know that twitch of fingers, the little pick up of speed to inch closer. She's turning on her heels, shifting aside out of reach to bring her to the door and pull it open. She's ready to go racing out to the truck when her movement comes to a jerking halt sending her torso lurching forward. Shoulders slump and she's turning back to look at him. "You got keys on you? In yer coat maybe?" A hand was already held out to him, waiting for him to cough them up.
If Harry was a little smarter, he might've thought it curious that Jackie knew better than he did where the keys to the apartment were on his person. He stops right behind Jackie, giving her a quizzical look, but after patting himself down for a half a moment, he does find a set of keys in his coat pocket. Just two on the keyring -- one to the apartment, the other to Ben's car. "Yeah, what d'you want 'em for?" But he's handing them over to Jackie anyway, without waiting for her answer.
This was her only saving grace for the entire evening. The fact that Harry wasn't a little smarter. The entire plan was flawed, everything she said could easily have holes poked through, she was barely even tapping into that Daniels charm to win him over. Harry was just so set on having a good time that she didn't have to try. She takes the keys and stuffs them into her pocket for safe keeping. "I'm gettin' y' so hammered tonight that y' won't be able t' find yer a*s with both hands. Don't want y' gettin' behind the wheel an' gettin' pulled over by a pig." Nevermind that they were taking her truck. "C'mon." She locked the door and left it hanging open so he could follow after her. "Close it behind y'." She was already making her way towards the truck, dropping the cigarette from between her lips onto the cement and grinding it out with a boot as she went.
Not that handing his keys off to her had put Harry in a bad mood, but when Jackie said she was going to get him hammered, he certainly perks up further. "You," and he's pointing at her, wagging his finger, chuckling, "You are my kinda girl." Following after her and shutting the door; he doesn't notice that she's dropped her cigarette. His own, he's still nursing absently, automatic. "And whatever ends up happening tonight? Promise I won't tell your man." From anybody else, it might not come off so presumptuous, but from Harry? Yeah, he thinks he knows how tonight will end, without question.
"Yeah? Try sayin' that when I whoop yer a*s in poker." She's unlocking the driver's side door of the truck and pulling it open. There's a wave of her hand at him then on his approach to the truck. "No smokin' in m' truck. Put it on out." Two cigarettes down. How many were in a pack anyway? If she kept this up she might make him finish it out faster than she had hoped. "Thanks, Harry. Yer a f*ckin' pal." Irritation over her evening edged into her tone when she slid into the truck and slammed the door behind her. She figured he wouldn't even notice. With a push of a button his door was unlocked and the engine roared to life a moment later.