Bab 117: His jailer

Ivo's hair had dried weird from all the rolling around on the floor, but he still tried to comb it into a semblance of order with his fingers. He was trying to buy himself time, because he didn't know how to broach the subject with Vital.

Vice was giving him an expectant look, matched by Vital's own.

"Well, uh, the truth is that I've found some information, during our latest gig for you. And I wanted to run it past you, before bringing it over to the rest of the crew..."

Vital's gaze sharpened but his expression didn't change. "Oh? That sounds interesting." He walked up to the sofa and took a seat right in the middle of the cushions. 

Ivo remained standing, Vice at his side with his arms crossed in front of his chest. The lacing on his stupid yellow tracksuit crop top was all fucked up. Vital could probably guess what they were up to before he rung the buzzer.

Vital spread his arms over the top of the sofa. "I'm all ears."