RESEARCH ( barry berkman.. ) ✔

o36. i'm sorry i killed your friend..

This is a story about Chris and Andre. These two very random names belong to the most random people ill intent could ever come across while trying to broaden its horizons and devour those who have wronged him so deeply he became rather tight on money. Just off the benches of correction school, Chris and Andre have been together since pre-school, always in the same class to the dismay of their teachers.

Chris and Andre were bad news. It came naturally to do bad things together and throughout their childhood, barely left behind with one year over what European countries would consider the barrier between child and adult in age, they have grown inseparable in mischief. Stealing school supplies turned to enjoying pranking classmates, pranks turned to school fights, smoking turned to using and finally, they were found carrying unlicensed guns.

The real fatality was not succeeding to be released with minimum penalty, but being introduced by Monroe Fuches to the world of real crime. They have robbed successfully five rooms, at five different motels across the state, starting in Cleveland, where they were from. Chris and Andre were Fuches' star new pupils who happened to piss the shit out of him with the silly young demands like having a proper bed and meals.

Perhaps they lived off instant noodles too much; less nutrients and more smoke has brought Andre on the edge, fearful of this new style Chris was thriving into. "He sent us the new address to rob. Beverage Motel, highway out of LA," Chris sighed out another cloud of stinking whiteness. "We need to take the IDs and obviously, what we can find."

"Did Mr. Fuches say who we're robbing this time?" Andre asked from his bowed position. His forehead was rested down on the round table in the minuscular apartment they shared sometimes with the old man who took them in. Though he hated the system as much as the next person, Andre was starting to slowly miss the smallest of things... like having a future or at least a hygiene.

"He never does," Chris spoke, dismissively.

"He never told us to steal IDs either," Andre lifted his head. "It's like he would have been testing us to be sure we can pull this one off, right? It'd explain why he's been acting so weird lately and why...," he glanced around, vision blurred and his thoughts dizzy, "why he's not here today, for a few days now."

"Fuches saved us," Chris slammed his fist on the table, knocking over the empty plastic glasses. "Why the fuck do you care if he wants us to steal a few shit for him too? He gave us this place, drugs and...," he rejoiced in his own naivety, reaching for the plastic bag to his feet and dropping it on the table, making several of the plastic glasses roll off. 

Andre tilted his head and saw their old pistols in the bag. He slapped his palm down to close the bag, "What the fuck, Chris? You said no more..."

"Don't be a fucking pussy, Andy," Chris groaned, pulling in another deeply greedy smoke. He swallowed some of it and exhaled the few rest. "It's just one robbery and Fuches said we're going to need guns for our safety, that's all. Don't ya trust me?" his head move to the side, seeing Andre's deeply guilty eyes lower to the floor and his hand slip away from the bag, giving in. "It will be easy."

It was not easy though.

Chris got shot with a tranquilizer and barely escaped the fall into an OD. Whoever that man and woman Fuches sent them after were, they were definitely not the common folk to get scared. Andre feared for their lives all the way back to the rendezvous spot they chose with Fuches.

"Okay, alright, but how about the IDs?" Fuches insisted to pry the words out of Andre, a shivering mess on his armchair, holding Chris' hand, finally sleeping off the events which knocked him out. Though he grew to like the duo's drive, Fuches had the vague feeling their usefulness was about to decrease drastically. "Did you get them?" he urged the answer.