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"Yo, Ed! We got a delivery for you, brother!"
"Eh?"
"Delivery, man!"
"Yeah, I heard you, Jack, jeezus. Where the fuck is it?"
"I dunno, check the goddamn ticket."
Ed looked over the ticket counter. A plastic bag sat waiting for him under the lights. Taped to the front was the receipt, complete with an address for their newest customer. Ed's eyebrows flew up.
"The fuck? Since when do we deliver to Silver Lake?"
"Since this drunk asshole from Silver Lake promised to tip a hundred bucks," Jack grunted. He took the cigarette from his lips (which had not been lit; Jack just liked to chew on things behind the line) and gestured to the door. "You better fuckin' go, man. Food's getting cold."
"Yeah, all right, all right." Grumbling, Ed grabbed the bag from the counter and fiddled with his keys. BB's Bar and Grill did not make it a habit of delivering past ten in the evening, but a hundred dollar tip was worth bending the rules for, in Ed's book. With a beep of his keys, Ed tossed the food into his car and started her up.
The drive from Hollywood to Silver Lake wasn't terrible, especially this time of night. Realistically, it was less than twenty miles away. But battling mid-day tourist traffic for a local business just wasn't conducive for the gas bill, so they decided to deliver within the Hollywood zip code.
While he drove, Ed lit up a smoke and threw on some tunes. The air was nice, and he rode with the windows down. The summer winds played with his long hair. He was a bit old for a delivery boy, but it paid the bills. Not like his acting career was going anywhere, at any rate. Since arriving in Hollywood as a bright eyed twenty-something, he'd developed a little belly pudge and a permanent scruff on his otherwise stately jaw. His collection of tattoos had grown over the past fifteen years. He'd come to terms with the fact that he'd never be a leading man, but his ink did get him plenty of thug roles.
Yes, Ed Teach was just one in a face of thousands. Thousands of hopeless dreamers coming to LA with fantasies of fame and fortune, only to be met with disappointment and ludicrously high rent.
The price of dreams...
Ed arrived in Silver Lake by 11pm.
He found the house of Stede Bonnet by 11:02.
Ed let out a low whistle. What digs. The house was gated off from the street. That alone told Ed all he needed to know about whoever this Stede guy was. A sleek black car sat idle in the driveway, which made Ed feel almost embarrassed about his piddly junker parked out front. The house itself was one of those post-modern palaces, with weird rectangle windows in various places and black sills on white walls.
Honestly, Ed never liked the style. But if he had that amount of money, who's to say that he wouldn't blow it on nice cars and ugly houses?
Walking up to the front door, Ed knocked. "Delivery!" he called. He waited. Behind him, a dog barked. Ed looked around "Hello!" he shouted again. "Delivery, man! I got your food here!" Still, no answer.
Maybe I should just leave it? No. Wait a minute. Jack said something about a hundred dollar tip. Fuck that noise.
Ed banged on the door. "Yooooo! Dude, are you going to open the door or what?!" On the final knock, the door creaked open.
Ed stood at the threshold, dumbly, a bag of hot food in his hand.
"Uh... hello?"
A gentle snore pulled Ed's attention, and he poked his head inside. There, flopped over a couch, was a man. He was sleeping with his mouth open, a silk dressing gown falling off his shoulders.
"Uh..." Ed shifted, awkwardly. "Hello? Sir?" He took a few gentle steps in. He set the bag on the coffee table and tapped at the man's shoulder. "Hello...?"
With a start, the man from the couch bolted awake, his eyes blurry and wild. "Whassat?" He blinked, and Ed could smell the distinct scent of alcohol on his breath.
Like. A lot of alcohol.
"Oh. Food." He opened up the bag and smelled it. A droopy smile now sat under his big, hook nose. "Thanks," he slurred."
"Yeah..." Ed lingered. "So uh. That'll be $27.95."
"Ah, right right right." Stede pushed himself back to his feet, wobbled, and immediately sat back down on the couch. "Let me just." He pushed up again and veered to one side. Ed caught him without thinking. Stede laughed. "Whoopsie," he grumbled.
"You okay man?" Ed asked. "You want me to fetch your wallet or...?"
"You're pretty."
"What?"
"Y'heard me. You're pretty."
"Oh...okay... Why don't I get you some water, too?"
Ed sat Stede back on the couch and walked over to the kitchen. As he did, he took stock of the house itself. It was as wealthy looking on the inside as it was on the outside. The couches were all real leather, and there were bookshelves with statues and art on the walls. But as Ed took a glass from the cupboard and filled it up, he couldn't help but notice that it was incredibly empty, as far as houses went.
"Here, mate." He handed the glass to the drunk Mr. Bonnet and looked around. "So uh. Where's your wallet? So you can pay for the food."
Stede gulped down the water and gestured to the table. "Somewhere there."
Ed walked over and fished around before finding a leather billfold under the books. The kitchen table was clearly the busiest area of the bottom floor. It had an open laptop and stacks upon stacks of reference books.
"'A History of pirates'," Ed read aloud. He returned Stede's wallet to him. "You a history buff, man?"
"What?"
"The books."
"Oh. No. It's for a job."
"Oh yeah? What, a movie?"
"That's right."
"You a writer?"
"Yeah."
"Any good?"
Stede, fishing through his wallet, shook his head. "No."
Ed cocked an eyebrow. "Oh no?"
"No."
"Sorry to hear that."
"S'ok." Stede fished out $150 and handed it to Ed. Ed gawked, staring at the money.
"Um... I don't have a lot of change."
"Keep it."
"...Man, are you sure?"
"You want more?"
"Wha--? No, no this is--"
"Are you busy?"
"Huh?"
"I asked if you were busy."
"Well I'm working..."
"Will you stay with me?"
"I..."
"Please. I...I could really use a friend. Please... please stay with me."
"Yeah. Okay."
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