Caffeine and Magix

witterprompts:

“It’s not that I don’t care, but that’s pretty close to my thought process.”

(You can read other parts of Gina here (X))

“It’s not that I don’t care,” Gina says, pressing her hand to her chest.

“Great,” Lanham says, looking relieved. “Then there are options–”

Marcy holds up one finger. “Wait for it.”

“Buuuut,” Gina drawls, spreading her hands wide, “that’s pretty close to my thought process.”

Lanham looks like he might cry. “I can’t go to jail, Gina! My mom will kick me out. For real.”

“Oh good,” Marcy says, “he lives with his mother. Fuckin’ hell, Gina. She’s gonna notice if he goes missing.”

“If I go what?” Lanham asks, clutching the bat to his chest. It’s still got bits of Mr. Green all over it.

“She makes a good alibi,” Gina says. She looks down at the body sprawled between them and frowns. “Though she won’t be much of one if we stay here any longer.”

Mr. Green’s not in the best of shape. A fair few of his limbs are broken, sections of him seem to be missing, and his pants are down.

That’s why Marcy can see what parts of him are missing.

“I’m out,” Marcy says immediately, ignoring Gina’s muttered “You’re always out.” “I didn’t touch him and none of the cameras caught me. You can’t prove anything and I’ve got more alibis than my mom.” She shoots a scathing look at Lanham.

“It’s expensive in the city,” he defends. His brows pinch. “When you said ‘goes missing,’ you were joking, right?”

“Boo,” Gina says to Marcy.

Marcy points a finger at her. “The only reason that I’m not reporting you is because this technically doesn’t violate our agreement. Technically.”

Gina rolls her eyes. “Technically I didn’t even kill him. My good sycophant Lanham did.”

“What,” Lanham says, looking more concerned than when he was beating Mr. Green’s head in, “is a sycophant?”

“A trusted friend,” Gina says. “Nice bat work, by the way.”

Lanham loses a bit of his concern. “You liked it? I’ve been going to the batting cages.” He twirls the bat and winces as bits of Mr. Green fly off and hit the pavement. “Gross.”

Marcy rubs a hand over her face. “Aaaaand now there’s video evidence of this dude’s bat work outside of this crime scene. Great. Well. Have fun with that, Gina, if the cops come knocking, I’m selling you out.” She turns on her heel and strides back to her car that’s parked on the edge of the warehouse’s parking lot.

“Love you too!” Gina calls after her, cupping her hands around her mouth. 

“You’re getting the kid home, right?” Lanham shouts. He’s really such a worrier. “Right?”

Marcy lifts her hand up to give him the finger, but she pulls the kid out of the bushes by the back of his shirt. Lanham and Gina watch her help the kid into her car, offering him some tissues, before starting the engine and driving away.

“She’s good people,” Lanham says. He leans on the bat like a cane, shoulders slumping. “I can see why you called her.”

“Sure,” Gina agrees. “That’s why.” She did it to annoy Marcy, actually. She hasn’t been doing the dishes lately and Gina hates scraping dried spaghetti sauce off of plates.

“So,” Lanham says, straightening. He uses the bat to gesture to Mr. Green. “What do we do with him?”

“I don’t know,” Gina says, shrugging. She puts her hands in her pockets. “You killed him. You figure it out.”

Lanham’s mouth drops open. “You’re my mentor!”

Gina resists the urge to roll her eyes. “So?”

“So,” Lanham says, floundering. “I don’t know, mentor me!”

“Next time,” Gina says, “try not to get caught on camera.” She points to the camera in question, mounted on one of the parking lot lights. “Or wear a big hood. Like mine!” She fluffs hers for good measure. It makes her feel like a sith lord. “There, all mentored.”

“But what about the body?” Lanham asks. He looks up at the camera and dismisses it. Amateur. They always look at the cameras. “Don’t we have to dump it? Or something?”

“Sure,” Gina says. “Try the quarry.”

Lanham’s eyebrows jump up. “I didn’t know there was a quarry around here.”

“Oh yeah, we’re just rife with them in these parts,” Gina says, this time giving into the impulse to roll her eyes. “We live in the middle of the city. Do you think we have a quarry?”

Lanham’s hesitation says enough.

Worst. Sycophant. Ever.