Rodeo is the kind of dog that never learns a lesson. The wheel of life has run over him so many goddamn times by now, you'd think he'd finally get a clue, but he just keeps chasin' cars. When he knelt down in front of Lita, between the time his eyes met her face and his hand reached for her cheek, he hoped. He hoped maybe she would turn her eyes on him and that nothing will have changed. That she would still be his despite his sins, that she could come face to face with the truth and still want him. His hand reaches for her cheek, sweeps back towards her hair. Won't you be my dime? Won't you still be mine?
She flinches and turns away.
Under the wheel he goes, but this time it's almost more than he can bear. How had he let himself get so hopeful, how had he gotten so wrapped up in the idea that she could feel what he does? It ain't like he don't know the score. This woman, this perfect creature who can tip her chin to men with guns droolin' for a chance to taste her, who came to him ruler of her own kingdom of incisions and sutures and amputations, what could have made him believe she'd want a low-down dog for her man? And oh, he feels so low-down. His hand leaves her cheek as soon as she flinches, fleeing in fear to rest on his knee, leaving a bloody handprint there. He does nothing to hide the anguish in his eyes, and he watches her as she stands up and looks down at the last patrolman still left alive. He watches her turn him over with her foot so that he'll die, and he feels an illogical and twisted jolt at the sight of her killing something. She doesn't have to use any weapons but her head, knowing that the pig will drown in his blood if she turns him up this way. There's something about it that sets him roiling, but he's afraid to even try to touch her again.
She says they should go, and she ain't wrong. Rodeo snaps out of his sorrow and stands, reaching down to pick up Crow Jane from where she fell. "Wait here," he tells her, his words short and his voice detached, cool. He heads towards the front door to the gym, taking out keys to unlock it and then swinging it open into the gathering dusk. The metal door slams loudly against the side of the building, and Rodeo goes on to pound his fist loudly against it, creating a racket fit to draw a crowd.
"Hey! Ya pestilent piece o' shit, get the fuck over here. Hey! Dinner's ready, motherfuckers!" he yells out into the street, catching the attention of the geeks milling around near the mouth of an alley down the block. They start to drag and shuffle their way down towards the gym, and Rodeo grabs a hand weight and drops it onto the ground to keep the door propped open for them. The bodies are still warm enough to interest the geeks, and they'll do the cleanup for them-- by the time anyone gets here, this place will be such a mess there won't be any hope of making sense of the cesspool of zombie and human DNA. Rodeo turns away from the door and heads back towards Lita, and just like before he finds himself hopeful. He reaches out when he's beside her, crossing his arm behind her back to sweep her on towards the back door where his bike is waiting for them.
"C'mon, maharani, let's get outta here. We can go back to-- back to my place." And to think, only a half hour ago he was thinking that he'd never get a chance to take her there. Now he's hoping she'll agree to getting carted off to the land of the Dogs, where there will be no doubt as to whether or not he's really the Dog King-- if there are still any doubts left in the first place. When they reach the bike Rodeo snags Lita's helmet, offering it to her. "You'll come over? Wait out the heat?"