After having texted Fitz asking him how everything had been going (along with throwing some cant in asking about "his big plan"), Terry had waited and watched.
As far as he could tell, his best bloke was living with some cutie in a rundown place that reminded Terry of their old home. A week in, Terry had texted Fitz the address of some titty bar on The Strip.
Terry figured Fitz would check out the place if only because of curiosity. If Terry knew about it, he must have been in town.
He had picked a table in a far corner, good for a private conversation over all the music and hustle. He'd gotten himself a beer and a dance while he waited for his old friend.
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So it had to be a trick.
There he was, sitting at the bar with a pair of tits in his face. Fitz knew what he had to do. He had already paid off the bouncer, told him what was up. If this was Terry, it'd be over in just a second.
Approaching from the back, Fitz grabbed Terry by the collar of his shirt and threw a hard right at his jaw.
Terry cursed when suddenly he was grabbed a sucker punched. His first instinct was to stand and grab the fucker who thought interrupting his fun time was a good idea, and he followed that idea through.
When he stood and took hold of Fitz's collar recognition lit his eyes, but that didn't stop him from socking his best mate in return.
"Ye feck! Coulda let 'er finish up first, Christ ol' Mary."
He paused and looked over Fitz's shoulder to see that everyone had backed away, but the bouncer hadn't stepped in, which meant he was in on it.
Terry grinned, wiping some blood from his lower lip. "Nice hit fer a cunt like ye."
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The room was still tense, and Fitz knew that this was not the atmosphere to start asking questions. Catching himself on the edge of a table, Fitz grabbed the half full pint on it and finished it off, ignoring the shouting bloke who had probably bought the drink. Staring at Terry with a wry grin, Fitz took a step forward.
"Ah'm a cunt? Yer a cunt. But tha' ain't th' real issue 'ere, is it?"
"Wot's me best mate in th' 'ole world doin' on Manta feckin' Carlos?"
Terry smirked when Fitz grabbed the nearest drink from a willowy fellow with a dangling cigarette from his lips. He might have started something further, but the look the bouncer gave him stopped him in his tracks. The man grumbled and stood to return to the bar for another drink.
"Well, feck," Terry laughed, taking the two beers from the table he'd ordered and passing on to Fitz before swallowing his down too.
"Next round is on me mate!" Terry called out to the bar as he threw an arm around Fitz and wheeled him to sit down in the corner. That seemed to ease the air further.
"Came 'ere te find ye, 'course. Told ol' Seany to hold shite down."
Terry scratched at his neck but decided that now was not a good time to mention Frito or CiCi, both of whom were currently missing. Maybe dead, maybe both had just (more likely) wandered off. Frito for some silly adventure and CiCi for an equally silly woman.
"An' 'fore ye go on 'ooh Terry 'ow did ye find me,'" Here Terry did a bad, feminine reenactment of Fitz's voice, "ye ain't the only smart one!"