[ It helps when Cohle speaks in time with his breathing. Relaxes him. ]
What hand...? Ahhhh, don't know. Couldn't see him, remember? As for the gun, it's a Heckler & Koch P7. It didn't seem to give him any trouble, but it's not a hard gun to use. The thing's basically idiot-proof. Shit, man, I know that's why I like it! [ The faintest hint of some amusement in his voice at his own joke; a hopeful pause that Rust will think he's funny, too. ]
[ The noise he lets out is as much sigh as laugh, a snort breaking it up somewhere in the middle. And that's him trying.
Is it impossible that a police department could be out there issuing H&Ks? No, but it's unusual. Is it impossible that a rookie two weeks on the job might have enough experience with his sidearm to be cracking jokes? No again, but—
He files it away. Task at hand. ] What about smell, you know, was there a scent on him? His breath?
[ The gentleness in his voice helps; its like a soothing balm to Lalo's fractured psyche. Lalo wishes it didn't. It makes him disgusted with himself. But it does. And his mind latches onto it like a drowning person thrashing around for a life preserver.
On some level he knows it's just something cops say to lure suckers into confessing to shit. But he has, for once, nothing to confess to. He just wants a distraction.
The gentle probing questioning provides that, and with his confidence battered the way it is, any little bit of praise is enough to get what Rust wants out of him. ]
Okay. The lead up... [ Dios mio, this is embarrassing. Maybe Rust should be grateful for the budding infatuation — can it be called that? It's more like a fixation, with gratitude and fury and besotted puppy love and deep fascination all intermingling confusingly for him — he's just induced in Lalo. Without it, Lalo might not be willing to be honest about this next part. Maybe he wouldn't even be honest with it. Or discuss it at all. He's usually the one driving interrogations, mostly, and he likes it that way.
But Lalo is too willing, right now, to follow whatever thread Rust lays out for him. He needs to. Chasing that string helps him feel like he can put mind to a task, even if it's just the task of answering questions. ]
Okay. So. Right. [ Stalling... ] I was crawling in the brush, up to the cabin, and I noticed the ground under me was covered. Completely. I got this bad feeling — what do you call it? A premonition? — and my ankle got caught in this snare trap. Thing. [ Clears his throat. ]
I dropped my gun when I got caught. I hung there for maybe ten minutes, fifteen max, watching the cabin.
Nobody went in. Nobody went out. Then I heard someone right behind me.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2023-06-20 10:45 pm (UTC)No. Only with the barrel of my gun. When he put it against the back of my head.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-20 10:54 pm (UTC)How was he with the gun? When he picked it up, what hand did he use? He check the chamber? [ A beat, then as an afterthought: ] What kinda gun is it?
no subject
Date: 2023-06-20 11:05 pm (UTC)What hand...? Ahhhh, don't know. Couldn't see him, remember? As for the gun, it's a Heckler & Koch P7. It didn't seem to give him any trouble, but it's not a hard gun to use. The thing's basically idiot-proof. Shit, man, I know that's why I like it! [ The faintest hint of some amusement in his voice at his own joke; a hopeful pause that Rust will think he's funny, too. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-06-22 07:48 pm (UTC)Is it impossible that a police department could be out there issuing H&Ks? No, but it's unusual. Is it impossible that a rookie two weeks on the job might have enough experience with his sidearm to be cracking jokes? No again, but—
He files it away. Task at hand. ] What about smell, you know, was there a scent on him? His breath?
no subject
Date: 2023-06-23 07:35 pm (UTC)Then there's a pause. A brief one, but it's noticeable. ]
I don't know, man. Couldn't really get anything like that off 'im. Just grass and trees and shit.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-29 05:37 pm (UTC)Talk to me about the lead-up. What happened when we got cut off?
no subject
Date: 2023-06-29 06:49 pm (UTC)On some level he knows it's just something cops say to lure suckers into confessing to shit. But he has, for once, nothing to confess to. He just wants a distraction.
The gentle probing questioning provides that, and with his confidence battered the way it is, any little bit of praise is enough to get what Rust wants out of him. ]
Okay. The lead up... [ Dios mio, this is embarrassing. Maybe Rust should be grateful for the budding infatuation — can it be called that? It's more like a fixation, with gratitude and fury and besotted puppy love and deep fascination all intermingling confusingly for him — he's just induced in Lalo. Without it, Lalo might not be willing to be honest about this next part. Maybe he wouldn't even be honest with it. Or discuss it at all. He's usually the one driving interrogations, mostly, and he likes it that way.
But Lalo is too willing, right now, to follow whatever thread Rust lays out for him. He needs to. Chasing that string helps him feel like he can put mind to a task, even if it's just the task of answering questions. ]
Okay. So. Right. [ Stalling... ] I was crawling in the brush, up to the cabin, and I noticed the ground under me was covered. Completely. I got this bad feeling — what do you call it? A premonition? — and my ankle got caught in this snare trap. Thing. [ Clears his throat. ]
I dropped my gun when I got caught. I hung there for maybe ten minutes, fifteen max, watching the cabin.
Nobody went in. Nobody went out. Then I heard someone right behind me.