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No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
If only things had turned out differently. But it’s never that easy, right? We can’t just run away. For people like us, there is no turning back - it crumbles as soon as you pull the trigger of the pistol in your hand, or insert a fresh mag before storming inside the bank. Or something else - there are hundreds of ways to get out of this, almost all of them in cuffs. The stain that spreads across the human body is scarlet, hot. It’s like persecution, isn’t it? Even if it’s through no fault of your own, even if the bullet whistles past your ear, even if your hands are clean. Even then, you know that this is the end.
Right, Vincent?
The world around them is slowly shrinking to a single point. The barrel of a gun, a fucking police issued pistol, pointed right at Leo’s head. Something inside Leo, a string pulled taut, snaps with a deafening crack.
A moment ago, hope still flickered somewhere deep in his soul. A moment ago, he thought that they, as always, would come up with something, do something. Jump the pig who took the Orlov (give it back, you son of a bitch!), put a gun to his head, hijack the nearest helicopter…
“You're under arrest, Leo. It's over.”
You ever wondered when your life went so wrong? Oh, I know, you probably think. When you applied to college. When you started dating some John "my-mom-will-like-him" Doe. When you pissed on the neighbor's lawn.
When a young man got thrown in prison…
There were plenty of these in my life, though I never pissed on the neighbor's lawn - never had the opportunity. I’d have found more fun in stuffing a dead raccoon into the ventilation or pouring tar on the porch. Life in the orphanage taught me a lot. A pity I sucked at choosing friends.
“Nobody move!” Leo screams, his voice cracking.
It hurts so much his eyes sting, it hurts so much it becomes difficult to breathe. Hoarse breath escapes his mouth and burns Vincent's cheek. The betrayal, and his own naïveté, are so hard to bear that the gun in his hand trembles.
"I'll kill him!"
The police don’t shoot. No one had expected him to lash out like this. So they wait. They just stand there and watch.
“You're only making things worse for yourself!”
Leo tightens his arm around Vincent's neck. Broad and strong - the very neck at which he stole shameful glances, every time his partner looked the other way. He’d wanted to leave marks on it. To hold it with his hand, smeared in mud, covered with abrasions and calluses. To trace the sharp jawline with his fingers. In the back of his mind, Leo recognizes a stiff bristle rubbing against the bare skin in the crook of his elbow. If they weren't here, if they were miles away from all of this stupid, stupid drama, he would have gotten goosebumps.
In his head, the endless mantra beats on: Shut up, shut up, shut up…
So, betrayal. Funny thing, I guess. You can live with the betrayal of a friend, a wife, an arms dealer in the mountains who gave you rifles, and gave Harvey a heads-up on your location. But it’s more difficult when it’s you. And every fucking time, I betrayed myself. First, when I let him drag me into this suicidal plan of his. Then, when we climbed the maintenance shaft, back-to-back. God, how scared I’d been, at that height, with the floor so far below… But he squeezed my hands and counted out loud. One, two, three... On each count, a step up, a step closer to freedom. We would claw our way from Hell into Heaven. No matter what, Leo, don’t hold your breath. The third time - and every time after, I can’t count everything on my hands - I won’t lie, it’s bad. This is the worst betrayal of all! I have a wife and son, and so does Vincent. Or, did, at least.
Still, I had a feeling I... what do they say in those cheesy romance novels? Oh yes, I fell. Ironic, considering my... not fear, go to hell, my dislike of heights. From Heaven to Earth, I fell, directly to Vince, literally and figuratively. The bastard caught me when I thought I was dead. He was patient, covered my back, and always, always found the right words. I don’t know why; all my filthy mouth had to offer were jokes below the belt, insults and endless sarcasm. Another side-effect to too many betrayals - I couldn’t be vulnerable with him. Hell, I can't even now!
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free
Leo presses the gas pedal to the floor. Vincent, in the passenger seat, is murmuring (or is he screaming?) something soothing, telling him to stop the car and work this out civilly. Leo doesn't listen. He just puts the gun to Vincent's head and, over the roar of tires, lights, and sirens, shouts back.
“I fucking trusted you, Vincent!”
“You need to calm down!”
Correction - they need him to calm down. For Leo to get out of the car with dignity, put his face to the hood, maybe take a couple of kicks to the kidneys and walk back to the worn bars of his cell. They need that, not him.
Leo doesn’t think about saving himself. He doesn’t even think about Linda and Alex, though he should - he just wants Vincent to break, to laugh nervously (how else, with the cops on their tail?) and say that this is all just a bad joke. A fucking prank. Leo would hit him with the butt of the gun, not hard, not enough to hurt him, and they would walk away free men, as always.
“You can still do the right thing!” Vincent pleads.
Leo gives him a quick glance. He can’t look too long, or he'll lose it and shoot the two-faced bastard. Then he’d have nothing to bargain with.
Then he’d end up with several life sentences.
Vincent's face is illuminated, as if with light music, by street lights passing by. If they weren't in this situation, Leo would betray himself again - watching Vincent's scowl stand out against the hard shadows had always been a shameful pleasure.
Vincent finally lunges for Leo and they fight for control. A second passes, then another, and... The car skids, crashes through the barrier, and they land in the marina.
No one knows what it's like
To be mistreated, to be defeated
Of course, heights aren’t the only thing I don’t like. I hate it when onions float in soup like troll snot. I hate it when five people beat your head into a prison fence. I hate it when your ribs crunch under someone's boots in a street fight.
I hate it when the window breaks and water floods the car where, surprise, you currently are. Especially if the car is a police cruiser. Especially if (excuse the lyricism) your soul has been shattered into hundreds of pieces, and your friend turned out to be a fucking asshole, a cop, a traitor.
I always calculate everything in advance. Which of the corner store attendants will be the first to reach for the phone - you just have to say the magic words, “Everyone get on the ground!” - Where better to put your foot when climbing a fence to escape the fuzz. How to knock someone out with one blow so that he doesn’t scream, and you can calmly stun his partner. And yet, here, I miscalculate. I stare. I want to forget about the chase for just a second, about Harvey, about life before and after, and just, I don’t know... sit next to the fire, howling with laughter as his face scrunches up at the soapy, bitter taste of fish. Sip beer and watch the hazy sunset. Our knees touching, shoulders too, and every now and then his gaze slides from the scarlet sky to the face next to him. Tired, but satisfied, and so... fond, if that’s the word?
But my dreams, they aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be
Leo fires, and fires, and fires... every time, a miss. Though, from the sound of a distant scream he guesses that Vincent's body armor has served its purpose. He leans back against the cold wall, growls, beats the back of his head against the wall. Somewhere in the depths of himself, very, very distantly, he understands:
I don't want him to die.
Leo silences his inner voice and fires again.
“You had enough yet? I’ve got plenty more where that came from!” He shouts with a mock bravado, bold and daring like he used to. Really, he’s just praying Vincent will stop shooting, lower his weapon, and...
And, what? Let him go? Run away with him? Take his hand and run into the sunset - or, rather, the dawn - the ground echoing the clatter of empty shell casings from Vincent’s colleagues?
Colleagues, Leo reminds himself, and the burst of his semi-automatic traces a path along the wall, directly above Vincent's head. A little more, just a few inches, and-
I hate that fucking traitor bastard!
He should be dead. They dance around each other, but when the glass explodes behind Leo's head, scattering in a transparent rain, he realizes that Vincent‘s not dancing.
This isn’t a game anymore.
I never understood what it was. For whatever reason, while I was scouring the house and trying to fit into that old man's clothes, Vince started playing horseshoes. I watched him, my gaze following the way his arm tensed when he threw, and - God, this guy’s a sniper! - hit. I wasn’t raised in a barn, my hands hardly even know the shape of a horseshoe. The veins in his arm were much more interesting, anyway.
Later, I hung in front of the mirror and tried on a hat. I looked more like a hillbilly than a gunslinger... like the ones in "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly". God, don't you watch movies at all? Whatever, the point is, a tattered face stared back at me, lacking the youth it had not long ago; how you say... a renegade. Being a convict tends to have a negative effect on people. Wrinkles from lack of proper food and light, bruises, scrapes, and a faint trail of crust tracing a path from my long-suffered nose to my chin. Not a great look, I’ll admit. Sometimes I wonder how Linda even looks at me, not to mention the fact she married me and gave me a son. Maybe it’s just my natural charm. She’s always had a great sense of humor.
I said, “Wild animals, bugs, no civilization... no toilet paper!” When we were floundering in that pond, trying to catch just one fish.
I said, "Try to hit this bottle!" Smiling like an idiot and throwing it so quickly that it immediately disappeared - and crashed, judging by the sound, somewhere far-off. Vince squinted at me with his endless skepticism. He didn’t even have time to put the stock to his shoulder before I threw. And then…
He grinned at me, so wide that I almost sank to the ground, and with a gesture of his hand he asked me to throw another. And then another.
So I said, "He's with me."
I said, “He can be trusted.”
How the fuck did I screw this up?
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
The rain makes the roof slick and shiny. Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance, but no lightning lights up the sky. Leo is on his knees, and he would laugh to himself if he could - a couple of hours ago he couldn’t have imagined being in this situation, with Vincent on the other side. The world moves in slow-motion, the barrel rising to point right at his chest. Raindrops hang in the air. His eyes are wide, his side pangs, and blood drips from his broken nose, mixing with the rain.
I am about to die, Leo realizes.
I never told him, he thinks.
I hate him, the obvious, brazen lie flashes in his mind.
Bang.
“I… can’t…” Vincent murmurs, lowering his weapon. “I can't kill you, Leo.”
Leo is on his knees, and he would laugh to himself if he could - the bullet flew past his ear and disappeared into the night. If only he could do the same.
He then realizes that he is trembling. He is quaking, hoarse breaths escaping his lips from just how close to death he was. He doesn't ask why, doesn’t say anything, he just crumples to the ground and watches from below as Vincent slowly gets to his feet and... nothing. He doesn't do anything. There is a heart-wrenching pain in his eyes, his face is twisted, and in his neck - oh, that broad, strong neck - his Adam's apple jumps in a futile attempt to hold back tears.
He's crying, Leo realizes.
Am I crying?
Indeed, salty liquid mixes with the blood and the rain. Usually they’re called tears, but Leo is categorically opposed to such a situation - he can’t cry, he’s not supposed to. So yeah, two streams of liquid flow from his eyes, and Vincent - God, this guy’s a sniper! - of course, notices.
“I can’t. I don’t want to kill you. God, Leo…” he mutters, and Leo lowers his heavy hands.
“So, what, then?” Leo demands. “What, do you think we’ll just fly away on the wings of love and-”
Love.
He snaps his mouth shut, and his eyes widen with horror.
No, no, no!
Vincent doesn't answer. He steps forward, kneeling in front of Leo. Leo flinches as if struck, but cannot find the strength to jump up or crawl away, or even push Vincent back - they now watch each other at the same level. Leo could even give him, what's it called? A farewell kiss.
Though, now Leo’s not so sure. He would have liked a kiss, preferably lead and seven millimeters. Right between the eyes.
“I'm sorry… and I know-!” He raises his voice, expecting Leo to start arguing, but he doesn’t. “- That you don’t believe me, but it's true! I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you, I'm sorry I got attached, I'm sorry I ruined everything between us. It could have been…”
Leo closes his eyes and silently begs him not to continue. Not to say what would hurt him - both of them - more than a bullet.
“Shut up,” he hisses, the sound pitiful.
“I… no, listen,” Vincent says, lifting his hand.
Slowly, telegraphing his intention, he reaches forward and puts his hand on Leo's face. Beneath it, kilometers of agony and tons of suffering. Beneath it, rough skin, bloodstains, and drops of dried tears. Vincent strokes his cheekbone with his thumb, once, twice... he lowers his head and leans his forehead on Leo's shoulder, unbothered by the possibility that Leo might just wring his neck.
"You'll have a few hours head start," he mutters. “I won’t be able to catch you. Leo…”
He doesn’t finish - Leo lifts his own hand, putting it on Vincent’s wet head and guiding it to rest against his neck. Attractive, in a word. He feels his breath, borne somewhere beneath his ribs with great pain before dissipating into the wind.
“What about you?” He whispers into his crown, enjoying the warmth his body offers.
“I’ll have to lie,” Vincent says, with all the enthusiasm of a man doomed. “If anyone finds out… they won't just strip me of my badge. They could kill me.”
Leo touches his lips to Vincent’s head, feather-light so he does not feel it.
“Then don’t let them find out.”
As always, there is bravado in his voice, hiding a true mess of feelings; desires, fears, and broken hopes.
If only things had turned out differently. But it’s never that easy, right? We can’t just run away. For people like us, there is no turning back - it crumbles as soon as you let the wanted man run. Let him go. Lie, squirm, beg for him to get out alive. A trembling heart - languishing, burning. It’s like persecution, isn’t it? Even if it's not your fault, even if you hide your feelings, your hands clutching the police sketch like a lifeline. Even then, you realize that this is the end.
Right, Vincent?