Re: Ocean's Eleven - Seven Hills: Neil, Cris & Sam
[Cris knew the box had come from the hotel, but being uninterested in its arrival would be concerning to those with sharper minds around Seven Hills. It would be suspicious. So, he applied pressure, enough to play bad cop, enough to continue to earn the director's gringo ire. It wasn't exactly what he was going for, but when the man turned to Neil like he was some kinda savior, he saw how it was playing out. Neil was as white, as rich, and as powerful—he was the "good cop," and the cool tones of politeness, promises of compensation—assuaged the outraged man like a balm.—Chin up, he didn't let go of the phone. Cris watched with black eyes as the director paced and the two white guys spoke in their special language of privilege. The motion toward the door was only partially heeded.
Cris took a tissue from the director's desk, and replaced the lid on the box. He carefully wrapped the photograph, grisly as it was, in it and tucked them together.
He walked back to Sam as the other men left, dipping his head to try to catch the dull blue suds of her eyes. He didn't actually care to see the footage, and at the moment, whether or not that fed into suspicious—as hypocritical as it was—well, he didn't care about that either. Guys like the director were never going to take him seriously as it was, so what did it matter? Cris feigned a smile.] Hey, mami. [He didn't want to set her off, so he didn't touch her. He didn't even know if she could understand him. But, he tried for reassuring, ignoring the bitten orderly as much as he could, his fingers in the air between him and Sam, reaching, but making no contact.] Sólo un poco más, ya casi terminamos, hm?