Title: Stuck In The Middle With You (3/4)
Author: Meredian
Email: mere_dythe@hotmail.com
For Summary and DISCLAIMERS, see index page.
Distribution: Only here at the archives, and through email. Feel free to
recommend it, but if you'd like to post it, or whatever, (yeah, right. ;-) )
just drop me an email first. Thanks much!
Feedback: Always appreciated! 
Note: * indicates thought. 

-----------------

"Was that a fuckin' setup or what?"

Then he stopped. Mr. Orange lay in a widening pool of his own blood. His stomach was all torn and mangled inside of the remains of his shirt. White was kneeling beside him, bloody up to the wrists, trying to soothe him.

"Oh fuck, Orange got tagged?"

Not looking up from Orange, White replied quickly, "Gun shot."

"Oh that's just fuckin' great! Where's Brown?"

"Dead."

"Goddamn, goddamn. How'd he die?" Justin began pacing the stone floor. *I cannot believe this fuckin' mess.*

"How the fuck do you think?" White asked, irritation showing clearly in his voice. "Cops shot him."

Justin felt as irritated as White sounded. *This whole fuckin' mess should never have happened.* "Oh, this is bad. This is so bad." Glancing at the quivering Orange on the ground, Justin's hopes of getting out of this whole sunk even lower.

"Is it bad?"

"As opposed to good?" White asked, sounding even angrier.

*And it is just getting worse.*

"This is so fucked up. Somebody fucked us big time."

---------------------------------------------

"You little motherfucker..."

!WHAM!

Justin's view went black; he saw stars. Hitting the ground, he couldn't believe that White had hit him. Pulling out his gun, he leaned up from his lying position and aimed at Mr. White.

"You wanna fuck with me? I'll show you who you're fuckin' with!"

White pulled out his gun, and they were locked in a standstill.

"You wanna shoot me, you little piece of shit?"

Justin's mind went red with rage. He couldn't believe that this guy had the nerve to hit him, AND aim a gun at him.

"Fuck you, White! I didn't create this situation, I'm just dealin' with it. You're acting like a first-year fuckin thief. I'm actin like a professional. They get him, they can get you, they get you, they get closer to me, and that can't happen. And you, you motherfucker, are looking at me like it's my fault. I didn't tell him my name. I didn't tell him where I was from. Fuck, fifteen minutes ago, you almost told me your name. You, buddy, are stuck in a situation you created. So if you wanna throw bad looks somewhere, throw 'em at a mirror."

"You kids shouldn't play so rough. Someone's gonna start crying."

Justin turned his head sharply at the sound of the new voice.

Mr. Blonde sat, calmly sipping from a paper cup.

-------------------------------------------------

The heated exchange between White and Blonde was beginning to wear on Justin. He was sick of the fighting, sick of the posturing. All he wanted to do was find out who the bastard was that set them up. And he couldn't do that with these two fighting.

So, yelling back was the only answer. Watching the horror grow on White's face was good. He was getting through. Seeing the impassive look on Blonde was even more satisfying. *Only a nutcase could fucking sit through that without flinching. And there is no way a cop would be as nutty as that.*

"Let's just figure out who's the bad guy."

"Sounds like an excellent idea to me."

*Scarlett?*

All three mens' heads turned. Standing in the doorway was Ms. Scarlett, looking unruffled, put together, chic. She walked across the warehouse, heels clicking on the cold stone, pulling her sunglasses off with one scarlett nailed hand. Folding the shades up, placing them in her pocket, she looked levelly at the men.

"I'm not too fond of being set up. Because things go wrong and I don't like that. Now, gentlemen, you can keep screaming at each other like a bunch of idiots, or we can calm down and discuss this rationally."