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You are the only person that has visited Rick Lipton in jail.
A lot of people have that one family friend who let you watch rated R movies when you were far too young, and let you ride a skidoo without a life jacket (‘you’re a strong swimmer right?’ They asked as they lifted you onto a water-motorcycle), let you stay in the guest room when your parent(s) were being impossible, maybe even introduced you to (oh no - clutch pearls) Heavy Metal.
You feel it’s very dumb that your Dad’s oldest bestest friend Rick got busted for intent to sell and possession or whatever. He isn’t violent, he sells Marijuana almost exclusively, never Heroin or Crack or serious habit forming shit. He wouldn’t sell YOU any. You asked. He always says for you to wait a couple more years.
He’s relatively small time - makes more money scalping tickets to concerts and fixing up cars.
He’s basically Shaggy all grown up but strangely obsessed with fishing and without a dog. Rick should really have a dog.
He sold you your car - a shiny black 1981 Chevy Citation with an 8 track player - for $50 and a promise to ‘treat her right’.
Rick says (through the glass into the phone headset at the Roane County Correctional Facility) that his contacts *inside* tell him his good buddy Eddie Munson is being stitched up for murder. And Rick says Eddie is a total sweetheart, wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Y/N, would you go see if Eddie is hiding out at my house? I’ve always told him he can crash there if he needs to. He’s gonna need help, he’s probably all alone and freaked the fuck out, and you know, he’s probably very hungry. I haven’t bought groceries in...” Rick squints, trying to remember how long that’s been.
“Sure.” You say. Because - Why not?