Almost Criminal

Trust Issues

Being alone has a power that very few people can handle.

In some ways, it was hard not to pity Tammy when she was at her most docile – this wasn't often, but while she'd been recovering in his apartment, quickly undoing any steps he'd taken to restore order to his space, Felix had had time to consider the life she led.

She never mentioned her parents, any siblings. As much as he could understand the desperate need to cut ties with family for the sake of survival, she'd never so much as even mentioned a partner or anyone meaningful in her life.

He'd never thought deeply enough on it to come to the conclusion sooner, that this occasionally terrifying, always unpredictable woman was also deeply lonely.

When she was both awake and alert, however, he quickly hardened. When he looked around his apartment, the never-ending buildup of mess and detritus, the decaying food and moldy beer bottles, he became far more solution-oriented, especially now he actually had a potential career ahead of him.

"So, what's next for you? After all this?" still noticeably absent was any communication to suggest they would get paid any time soon, and the paltry offering left in his bank account confirmed news of their recompense couldn't come soon enough.

"What do you mean, kid?" her brown eyes were alert as she asked this, a clear departure from the night she had arrived back in Los Santos, bleeding and sweating and shaking. There had been other side effects, too, none of which he'd associated with the gunshot wound in particular, confirmed when she'd turned to him and gravely asked if he knew of any local dealers that could hook her up with a fix, anything would do. He'd dutifully suggested a smoke shop in Vespucci that stocked LD Organics, thinking this would earn him some good graces at work, but she'd responded only with an irritated grunt.

Marijuana didn't count, apparently.

"We get paid, then what?" he offered her a cursory shrug, speaking only to fill the space.

"I don't fucking know. Back to what I was doing before, only with more money, I guess."

"Bounty hunting, right?" it wasn't as though he had forgotten – he'd been one of her targets, after all.

"Yeah. I've missed it." As she said it, her dark eyes gleamed manically and Felix was reminded of how afraid of her he'd been when she'd tracked him down in the desert. There was something else, though, a reluctance in her tone that suggested there were only a few things about it she actually missed.

"Right. You've missed killing people and selling their skin." At this, Tammy grinned wide, laughing. She leaned back in the bloodstained sofa, tossing her head back, shoulders heaving.

"Oh, fuck, I forgot I told you that, kid," she was still laughing, and at that moment, Felix felt something cold drop through him, into his gut. He let Tammy continue, dramatically wiping tears from her eyes for effect as she wheezed until eventually, she shook her head, looking away from him. "God, I needed that."

"You were fucking with me?" he asked sharply, the chill creeping up his spine, now, as he came to this conclusion, feeling foolish.

"Yeah, I was fucking with you, Felix, come on." Maybe he wasn't so far removed from the sheltered kid who had moved to Los Santos, never given enough freedom to feel as though he'd ever been a teenager. He had friends who grew up knowing things about the world, reading people in ways he struggled with; he was always the last to understand a joke, and it wasn't because he was an idiot.

"So, you've never sold anyone's skin on the black market?" he already knew the answer from the sound Tammy let out, halfway between a laugh and a grunt.

"I mean, I wouldn't tell you if I had or hadn't, but it's more about the drug trade up past those hills, you know?" Tammy shrugged, casually scratching at a spot on her right arm, somewhere between a shakily drawn tattoo of a skull, and a more detailed chart encircling her forearm, showing the various phases of the moon. She'd been returning to the spot repeatedly, the skin rough and deep magenta pink where her tan had faded, red-black ridges rising up in the places she'd broken the skin and it had scabbed over. The tattoos hid a patchwork of pin-prick scars, track marks from the needles. More scabs in the places up and down her arms she scratched at as though there was something beneath her skin she was desperate to draw out.

"Fuck you," his voice turned caustic as he got up, something else slipping into his stomach, now, burning.

Always the last to understand the joke.

"You don't find it funny?" she seemed genuinely curious as she asked this.

"Not really," he replied sharply. Felix turned away from her, pacing. He didn't need this, he didn't need any of it; the least she could do after he'd once again allowed her to invade his space was be grateful, spare his feelings, but he quickly reminded himself that Tammy didn't do nuance or subtlety.

"Suit yourself," he heard her heave a sigh, too stubborn to try and claw her way back to normal conversation with him. Instead, she sat in uncharacteristic silence for a moment, before changing tack. "You heard anything about our money, yet?"

"Nothing," he shot back quickly, trying not to indulge her.

"Well, don't you think that's a bit fucking weird?"

"I guess it's just taking longer. Since things didn't go to plan and all." This was how he'd rationalized it, after all. Felix had tried not to think about the complete lack of communication he'd received about their cut, assuming the same had been true for both Tammy and Marissa, and on at least one count, he had been able to verify this – Tammy's comments, however, confirmed this.

"Yeah, maybe," he already knew this was a precursor to something, and sure enough, as he glanced around, she was shifting in her seat, leaning forward, on the edge of some revelation or discovery. "Or maybe they've fucked us over."

"Really? This again?" he'd taken the lack of cops or other government organizations knocking at his door as a good sign.

"How long's it been now?"

"A couple of weeks, give or take," the days had more or less started to collapse into one another.

"Yeah," she nodded emphatically, letting out a triumphant laugh. "How long do you think it takes to auction off some priceless artwork?"

"Honestly, I have no idea," Felix droned, pacing over to the kitchen and leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest.

"Then I think we need to speak with someone who does," she said pointedly, fixing her dark eyes on him expectantly. Felix shook his head slowly, eyebrows raised, prompting her for more information, but she wasn't sharing.

"You want to talk with Michael?"

"Nope," Tammy shot back quickly, a grin spreading across her face.

"Lester?" he suggested, immediately wishing he hadn't, given their professional history.

"Blondie. Rockford Hills. She's got that special relationship with our employers, or one of them at least," Tammy concluded, seemingly gleeful at reiterating this information as though it was something he didn't already know. Felix felt himself slump forward slightly, bringing a hand lightly to his forehead. Unfortunately, he could see her point; if she felt it suited her ends, Marissa could be convinced to share in ways neither Michael or Lester could.

"Okay, so what are you suggesting we do?" it wasn't as though they'd all formed some tight-knit friendship from this – if anything, Marissa had always seemed a little more mercurial, brought in to work the job in an entirely different way. He'd never thought to ask her about it much and briefly found himself wondering if things might have been different, if they should have spent more time forging bonds.

A cursory glance over at Tammy, wild and determined, reminded him of exactly why he'd been so reluctant to do so.

"I'm just suggesting we all should go for a long overdue drink. That's all."