Fickle Boys

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fan Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: November 03, 2016

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Submitted: November 03, 2016



Mink sat on his bed holding a cigarette in his sweaty hand. Since he had done what Tom asked, and lied about the Dane to Johnny Casper, he had felt alone. He missed Bernie, and he missed going out for drinks every night with his "amigos." His lips were dry and his eyes were pink. He took another long draw from his cigarette, and began to cough out puffs of smoke. His skinny body looked much like a puppet as it sat hunched over, as if the strings were relaxed yet he was left trapped and helplessly dangling. 

His apartment was a mess, as he had had a tantrum from anger with Tommy, the Dane, and Casper. Papers, clothing, and broken bottles littered the floor, tables, and counters. Mink didn't care, he felt alone. He knew he was fickled and twisted in some ways like the rest of his peers, but he felt that the universe had just dropped all of the shit on him at once. 

A knock at the door caused his heart to beat rapidly and his eyes to widen. His limbs turned to jelly as he got up and extinguished his cigarette. He heard someone open the door, and hid behind the dresser. Mink listened as the soft patter of footsteps became louder. "Mink?" a familiar voice said. He could hardly believe his ears, so he listened more closely. "Mink, are you there?" the voice said again. Mink came out from behind the dresser, and clapped his hand over his mouth.


Bernie turned around and gave a halfhearted smile, holding open his arms. Mink ran into them, and embraced his lover. A few muffled sobs slipped out, but otherwise he was mostly just overwhelmed. "How've you been?" Bernie asked. Mink smirked.

"I thought you were dead."

Bernie smiled and clucked his tongue. "Don't believe everything you hear." 

Mink scratched the back of his head bashfully, and felt Bernie touch him gently on the chin. "Mink, can you do me a favor?" he asked. Mink's eyes lit up and he nodded.

"Anything, Bernie!" 

Bernie produced a spotted shirt, pants, and red suspenders from under his long coat, and handed them to Mink. He looked at Bernie with a confused expression, and in Bernie's eyes he found a strange sociopathic aura. A jolt of fear went through Mink's spine, but he complied with Bernie's request and quickly changed into the clothes. Bernie handed Mink his coat and hat from the closet and then ushered him out of the apartment.

Suspicion began to creep into Mink's thoughts as he looked at Bernie. Determination was all over his lover's face, but there was a hollowness in the eyes and Mink felt alone again. He boyishly tugged at Bernie's shirt sleeve. "Where are you taking me?" he asked. Bernie looked into Mink's pleading eyes, and suddenly felt honesty creep up his throat.

"To Miller's Crossing," he replied. 

Mink's eyes widened and he tried to run away, but Bernie grasped him hard by the elbow. He walked him into an ally like a stern parent and looked him hard in the eyes, flashing a shiny gun from his pocket. "You said you'd do anything to help me, and I'm holding you to that."

"Jesus, Bernie," Mink whispered, eyes glued onto the gun.

"Now," Bernie said putting the gun away, "I'd really rather not have to take you there unconscious. Will you walk with me?" Bernie gallantly held out the crook of his arm. The temptation was too great, and he also didn't like the idea of Bernie carrying his limp body out into the woods. So, he gently slid his arm through the crook, and peacefully walked with Bernie out of the town. 

It was a long walk, a silent walk, and felt more like a death march. Mink thought though, that is was probably better than what Bernie went through. Then again, Bernie didn't die. His arm tensed up as they entered the woods, and Bernie felt it. "Thank you, Mink," he said, even though it sounded hollow. 

"I'm not sure you gave me much of a choice, Bernie," Mink replied. Bernie shrugged and rubbed his chin uncomfortably. He let go of Mink and took out the gun. It didn't frighten Mink as much anymore, but now he felt a slight resentment for Bernie. The only reason he wasn't boiling with anger, is because even though Bernie was slightly sociopathic, he was still easy to empathize with. It was a confusing boil of emotions, but it made Mink present a calm exterior. 

Bernie pointed the gun right at Mink's nose, and looked Mink in the eyes. "Don't try anything, I'm not as weak in the knees as Tommy," he instructed.

Mink smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it. Hey Bernie?"

Bernie blinked, almost afraid to answer. "Yeah?"

"I had fun, when I was with you. You were a good amigo."

Bernie nodded, and winked at Mink. Then he pulled the trigger, and blood splattered over his face. Mink's body crippled to the ground, and Bernie shot him in the leg. Mink's face was blown to bits and he was unrecognizable. This would haunt him, but Bernie felt that it was more Tommy's fault. "You were a good amigo, too."

Bernie took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood of his face, then walked away into the chilling evening. 

© Copyright 2017 Ray DeLarge. All rights reserved.

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