Mickey - The View From Here - Gallavich

Frank Needs To Die : Part Four

A few hours later, I was drinking malt liquor with Colin when Iggy burst into the room with good news. “Frank’s at The Alibi.”

I set the forty I was drinking onto the kitchen table and got up. I didn’t want their help anymore. I needed to do this myself. “I got this.”

“No, we got your back,” Iggy insisted.

“I know you do, but I got it.”

“I hate rapists, too,” Colin chimed in, hoping not to be left out.

“Okay, so get the next one,” I told him as I grabbed a handgun I was partial to.

“We’re coming,” Colin insisted, opening up the weapons closet to fetch supplies again.

“Grab a mask,” Iggy instructed him.

Clearly, I wasn’t going to be able to commit this murder alone. If they insisted on following through, I would have to figure out a way to keep them away from Frank long enough for me to shut him up for good.

Like the day before, we parked in front of The Alibi at closing time and waited until Frank finally emerged. I gave my brothers instructions, making them think we would corner him when I knew I would be alone to pull the trigger. I couldn’t risk my brothers being there if Frank decided to make his last words my secret. We put our masks on and while my brothers got into position, I followed Frank.

Unaware of my presence, Frank drunkenly wobbled down the street on his way back to his girlfriend, Sheila’s house. With my mask sitting on the top of my head, not yet pulled down over my face, I continued to follow him down the dark, mostly abandoned street. As I drew closer and closer to him, I pulled my gun from my pocket.

Closer. Closer.

I can do this. Just shoot him in the head. Colin and Iggy’ll take care of the body. I can do this.

Closer.

We were now in the dark, the only witness being a drunk hobo who didn’t seem to notice us. This was the moment. This was my opportunity to shut Frank up and save not only my life, but possibly Ian's as well.

What kind of life would I be left with, though?

All at once, I realized that Ian was upset with me at the moment for being cruel, but he would forgive me. If I killed Frank, I couldn’t see how Ian would ever want to speak to me again. Sure, he claimed to hate Frank, but that would change when Frank was in the ground. If I went through with this, I knew I would lose Ian forever. No second or third chances. No more flings. No more Ian. No “new me.” All I would have is my burden, being a Milkovich; crime, prison, and death.

Fuck, I thought to myself as my eyes welled and a few sparse tears clouded my vision.

Watching Frank walk away, I could hear the wail of police sirens drawing closer. Defeated, I pulled my mask off and tossed it in the trash. I couldn’t do it. Frank deserved an ass kicking for many things, but I couldn’t bring myself to kill him. It wouldn’t be me or anyone else on my behalf to do that specific public service.

The police cruiser pulled up a few yards from where I stood while I stared down at my gun, holding it over the trash can. For a moment, I put some serious thought into pressing the barrel to my temple. I’d be dead soon, anyway. Maybe suicide would keep Ian further away from this. Maybe he could get out of this if I was gone. Fuck, if I was gone, Terry could chalk Frank’s story up to Frank being an asshole.

The cops got out of the cruiser and arrested the hobo I had passed earlier, who was now pissing on a building. I was then presented with a third option.

I could get murdered with Ian by my dad and brothers. I could check out and leave the rest to Terry, Frank, and Ian. Or I could lie low in prison, which had the same perks of suicide with the bonus of staying alive. Prison was one of the last places I wanted to go, but as usual, I worked with what I had.

I watched Frank disappear as he turned a corner onto the next street. Swallowing back my tears, I pressed my fingertips to my eyelids and chose the best option out of only shitty options. Wiping my tears away with the tips of my fingers, I dropped the gun into the trash and walked towards the police cruiser.

With a smirk, I approached one of the cops and called out, “hey, officer.”

He waited to see what I wanted, taken by surprise when I said, “oink, oink,” and punched him in the face.

The other two officers pounced on me, shoving me onto my stomach to pull my hands behind my back and cuff me.

For reasons beyond me, this made me feel better. Still grinning and cocky for no reason, I wondered, “does this violate my probation?” and laughed.