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We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 01

By: theeink



*********Please note that while this story has erotic elements, sex is not the focus of the story. It is, however, one of the sexiest stories I've ever written and I hope you think the same. Thank you for reading!***************



There is a knock on the door. Isn't that always how it starts? A knock on the door. Or how it ends depending on the state of one's life.

She peeks through the peephole, opens the door. No one is there.

"Sorry," he steps into view from her left. He has a gun in his left hand and a bag in his right. "Sorry to do this to you on such short notice."

She hesitates for a moment, then steps aside to allow him entry. He drops the bag on the floor and trains the gun on her chest. She inhales.

"I always like to call before I pop in." He shuts the door with his foot and drops all the blinds on her windows, shoves one open while muttering something about wanting a breeze. "You expecting anyone?"

"No."

"Don't be lying, did your lip just twitch a bit?"

"Fuck you," she says. She steps back, bumps into the back of her black suede love seat. His eyes dart to her hands.

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

"That's the thing, Mira, you know exactly who I'm talking about. What did you do? What? While my back was turned you decided to slide that rock into your pocket."

"I have no rock to hide. Not anymore." Mira calms, or, she stops pretending to be shaken. She can tell by the look in Mint's eye that he means her no harm. When he'd first entered, however, she hadn't been so sure.

"Take your eyes off my shit," Mint says when he catches her looking at the worn leather bag at his feet. He has a smirk on his lips and he makes a show of raking his eyes from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, pausing at all the juicy parts.

"Fuck you Mint," Mira says after a charged moment of silence passes between them. She thinks of the bag in her own closet. A big leather designer bag she'd picked up at an outlet mall between Toledo and Reno. "How did you find me?"

He is relaxing more and more as time slinks by. He even drops his gun for the slightest of moments before he aims it at her chest again, his blue eyes steady and clear, "I never lost you."

"What?" A chill slices down her spine and at the same time, heat forms in the pit of her stomach. She focuses on Mint's hands. She knows them well. His palms her like sandpaper. No matter how much he moisturized them, his hands had always remained rough mitts that seemed to paw at anything he touched; weapons, money, flesh.

"You heard me," he says. "Now, where is he? You guys are never far apart from one another."

"Used to be that way, not anymore." What had she been thinking, anyway? Opening the door for him. She'd looked through the peephole, saw no one standing there. He skirted thresholds, well, had always skirted any threshold she was on the other side of.

"You and Montana Jones. Called it quits?"

"We ended our partnership. If that's what you mean."

"It's not." Mint picks up his bag, hefts it in his hand. He surprises her by tossing it in her direction. "Count it," he says, his gun on her again. She stares him in the eyes as she drops to her haunches and unzips the bag. She runs her nails along the surface of the bills, appreciates how unforgiving the stacks feel beneath her french tips. She snaps a rubber band.

"Quit fucking with it, and count it," Mint says. She hears the click as he cocks the hammer, another click as he uncocks it. Everything remains a tic with him. Almost everything, at least.

"One," she says theatrically, "two, three, four, by Joseph, Mint Mallard. You've got over seventy thousand dollars here. So she didn't spend a cent?" Mira hikes up the hem of her skirt and removes her pistol from its thigh holster and sits it within arms reach, on the coffee table between them. Mint slides his gun into his jeans, nice and slow. Mira watches every movement, takes a step back.

"Elaborate on what you meant by 'we ended our partnership'."

"He took off. Left the money here and everything."

"Left the money. How much money is there, by the way?"

She casts him a cryptic look. "A lot," she mouths. She forces the smile away from her lips.

Mint closes the space between them, presses her up against the living room wall and raises her dress. He unbuckles his belt, takes the gun into his hand and presses the barrel into the soft spot beneath her jaw. She closes her eyes, moans into his kiss, nearly goes limp. If she falls she knows Mint will catch her. He's always caught her.

"Montana gone?" He says against her lips. He pulls away, trails the barrel down her chest so that it pulls her shirt down, revealing her bra, her breasts.

"Gone," she says.

"How do you know for sure, especially if he left the money?"

"We had this fight."

"A fight?"

"A big one," Mira feels the heat cool between them as the look in his eyes shifts. He steps away. "We were arguing about, about Mya."

"What about her?"

"She called Montana a few weeks ago. Said something that got him on edge. To this day I don't know what it was."

"I do," Mint says. He sits on the love seat, his posture slack, the game between them done as reality has demanded such.

"You do? What?" Mira sits beside him.

"Mya knew about us. What we did, what we planned."

"What?" Mira springs from the couch, her back against the wall, the same one that she been rubbing up against a moment ago with memories of Mint making her insides go molten.

"How did she find out?"

"She found the letter."

"The letter." Mira says. "The letter. No, the, letter. The one that...Mint, what the hell? How did you fuck up this bad?"

"I'm sorry Mira. I just couldn't throw it away. I kept it in the barrel of my sawed off shotgun. Who knew she'd look there?"

"She looked there because she suspected you of something. That bitch was always crazy jealous. Where is she now?" Mira asks. She is shaking as she speaks, barely able to contain herself. Montana knows.

"Dead," Mint says. He isn't shaking like her, but Mira knows him well enough to know when he is shaken.

"Well, that's a start," Mira says.

We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 02



"We're fucked now," Montana threw his car into drive, hit the gas and merged onto the nearest on-ramp. Mira slumped down in her seat, reveled in the sense of calm that enveloped her.

"Fucked isn't the word," she said with a smile. The smile was unfounded. She wasn't happy, nothing good had happened for as long as she could remember, so at the least things were staying the course. No surprises.

"What is the word then?" Montana lifted his baseball cap from his head, peered into the rearview mirror.

"The word is, ruined. Epithets aren't always the most effective vehicles of expression even though they feel so right," Mira said. Montana didn't reply. She followed his gaze to the rearview mirror. "There's no one behind us yet, Montana, it all just fucking occurred," she said, her speech slurring slightly at the end.

"I can't believe she did that. It was my fucking gun. That fucking idiot!" Montana spat, spit sprayed against the windshield with the force of his words.

There was cause for caustic cursing, Mira supposed. She clasped her seat belt, removed a metal canister and her makeup mirror.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Montana slapped her hands causing a white cloud to billow throughout the car, obscuring her view of the road for the slightest second.

"It's snowing!" She said in a voice devoid of mirth. That was all that she had left. "$1000 down the drain," she said.

They drove in silence until they reached Allen Caravan's house. It was small, nearing dilapidation, sat back far from the road. Montana slid out of the car, stalked around to the passenger side of the car and ripped Mira from its interior. To her surprise her legs wouldn't support her, it was as if all of her joints had gone loose.

"You are a fucking psychopath, Mira," Montana said as he dragged her across the large expanse of crabgrass to Allen's front stoop. She lulled nearly unconscious on the cement slab while Montana knocked loud and police-like on Allen's door.

"Who is it?" Allen's voice, muffled.

"It's Monty and Mira, some shit just went down," Montana said.

"Hasn't it always?" Allen replied.

Their voices, to Mira, sounded like they were speaking in hushed whispers as she drifted beneath the cerulean waves of some ocean her reverie didn't care to reveal to her. Something was vibrating in her chest-her heart?

"Yo! Yo man I don't know what you guys are talking about but this one's OD'ing."

Mira heard this but didn't recognize the voice, she hadn't heard anything in a while anyway, and this voice was clearer than before. She was indoors on a couch now, face down. She smelled weed and cigarette smoke.

"No she's not, she's been like this before," Montana said.

"Well she was OD'ing then, too. I know it when I see it." Someone began to shake her, hard and deliberate.

"Mira! Mira! Mira!" Her name a chant in this unfamiliar voice. She finally opened her eyes only to find that she couldn't see. She could feel air on her eye balls but couldn't see a thing.

"I'm calling 911," the voice again.

"No the fuck you aren't, have you listened at all to what I just told y'all? I'm in deep shit, Mira's ass is, too. Allen who is this kid, anyway?"

"Montana, you've met Mint at least six times," Allen said.

"He has, but he doesn't know me," Mint said. Mira felt bile rising in her throat as she was picked up and carried out into the warm summer air. Pain sliced sudden and brutal from behind her eyes to the base of her spine, and her sight returned.

"My head!" She screamed. Now she couldn't hear and the pain was so sharp it made her ears ring. Her stomach lurched and she vomited all over the back of Mint's shirt.

"Aww shit! She just puked on him man!" Montana laughed.

"I'm calling the ambulance man, so if you gotta go, go now," Mint said.

"Montana, she does look bad. She's pale as a ghost," Allen said. Mira opened her mouth to talk, but just vomited more against Mint's back. He barely flinched. She didn't hear much for a while, and then there were lights, men in white shined lights into her eyes, and then she wasn't able to see the lights, or hear the men. It was as if the world had been snatched away from her, stolen, stuffed in some corner just out of her view. She felt still, at peace, alone.

Mira remembers all of this, as she fully accepts the fact that Mint is back in her life. She'd died that night, but clearly, she'd lived.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 03



Mint is a man on a mission. Mira thinks to herself. As she watches he swipes at his cell phone screen, arches his eyebrows as he reacts to something he sees there. When she inquires about it, he shrugs it off.

She recalls their meeting because her first encounter with Mint had set the tone for the next ten years of her life. She nearly overdosed on his best friend's front steps. Montana Jones had been so unconcerned that she didn't even open her eyes in the ER to see him looking down at her, but Mint and a blonde girl with a nose ring and a cigarette propped behind her ear, poised to fall out at any moment. Mya. And Mya is dead now.

Mira removes two tumblers from a shelf over the kitchen sink. She pours three shots of Whiskey into each of their glasses and takes them out to the living room where Mint has abandoned his phone and is now removing the money from the bag, counting it out. She shakes a bit as she places the glasses on the solid marble coffee table. Another memory flashes through her brain, but she dismisses it.

"I want to tell you what happened, but I'm afraid you'll think differently of me."

"Mint, I know the worst of you, unfortunately," Mira says. She lights a cigarette and takes a long drag, something inside of her relaxes but she keeps her eyes on the door. She is not at all convinced that Montana won't come back.

"You think you do," Mint says. He rearranges himself in his pants and Mira ignores the wave of heat that passes through her. She hasn't seen Mint in three years. That is a long time to be away from someone for whom your heart beats.

"Spit it out," Mira says. She thinks of the notebook in her bedroom. She'd been brainstorming, trying to come up with an accomplice for what she'd planned. It is funny that Mint would show up when right when she is thinking of him, of her life so far.

"She found the note in the shotgun, and I think she was planning to fly here to kill you," Mint says. He lifts the tumbler from the table and throws the shot back. Mira picks up her glass but doesn't drink.

"Why do you think that?"

"Well, I got home and picked up her laptop to look up something, saw that she'd purchased at ticket here, and two tickets to Dubai."

"Maybe she was planning on taking me to Dubai," Mira says. She gulps down her drink and returns to the kitchen for the bottle. The liquor warms her shoulders instantly, and she remembers the way Mya used to laugh. Mya is a good person, had been a good person. They were all a little rough around the edges, preferred quick cash to 9-5's-but they were just normal people otherwise, at least that's how Mira thought of it.

"Glad you can manage to joke at a time like this," Mint says. He enters the kitchen behind her, pours Whiskey to the rim of his glass and drinks it. "Can I continue?"

"I'm sorry, go ahead."

"She found the note, bought those tickets and went out to tie up some loose ends, I imagine. I waited for her for hours. I thought maybe she was gone. I was too scared to call her, too afraid I'd get her voicemail or that she would tell me what I suspected. She got home at dark, she pulled a gun on me as soon as she saw me, and I ducked a slug that would've killed me or made me a vegetable. I didn't try to reason with her, I was livid, blind with anger. I got up, took out my knife and while she was fucking with her gun, which had jammed by the grace of God, I stabbed her in her left eye, then in the side of the neck. She writhed around on the floor for what seemed like hours, and I watched her without a thought in my mind or a feeling in my gut. Her blood got everywhere. All over the furniture, she coughed and some shot onto the ceiling. I watched her until she was done, and then I went through her cell phone. Two outgoing calls to Montana, one incoming from Montana, a moment before she came in the door."

"So, what are you saying, that you know where Montana is? Even though you came in here with a gun on me, asking me about him?"

"See the thing is, everything I've told you is what I surmised from the tickets, Mya trying to kill me. I wasn't sure that you weren't in on it. I had to see if you held up under pressure."

"And did I?" Mira asks. Mint smiles, pours himself another shot. "I can't believe you would ever have thought I'd be in on killing you."

"Mira, last I heard you were engaged to the guy, all the while you were supposed to be biding your time, waiting for me."

"Mint, you killed someone in prison, I didn't think you were ever getting out. Mya would call and say as much. I decided to move on. Plus, it seemed like you and Mya were reconnecting. I barely got a letter. It doesn't matter now anyway, but what do you think, think I'm still in on it?"

"No, I knew you weren't the moment I saw you, as beautiful as I remembered. As bad as I recalled."

"Focus," Mira says, "the tickets to Dubai were for separate flights, separate days. Do you think Montana is in the Middle East by now, waiting on Mya to join him?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"The money, Mya was going to come here, kill me, take the money, and head out to Montana. That's got to be what was going on."

"When did Montana leave?"

"Five days ago. August 15."

"That was one of the dates on the ticket. Montana's arrived, and is waiting on Mya."

"That would be best case scenario," Mira said.

"Worst case being?"

"Montana knows Mya's dead, and he's on his way to here to send us to meet her."



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 04



Mint lights a cigarette and takes both of Mira's bags. Mira follows behind him, her heels clacking on the warm concrete sidewalk. Mint checks his watch after he throws her bags into the back of his car. He then looks up at the sky, sunny and blue above them.

"A little reverie?" Mira asks, following his gaze. A jet squeals over them, leaves a trail of white smoke in its wake. They look at one another.

"Yes, and that's my mistake. We don't have a moment to waste," Mint says.

"He knows by now, he has to," Mira says. She climbs into the car and checks her makeup in the mirror. Mint is rummaging around in the trunk. Mira touches the gun on her thigh through the fabric of her dress, using anything she can for reassurance. Mint finds whatever he is looking for and climbs into the car, starts it up. The engine purrs and then goes quiet, Mint leans over and kisses her, his hand goes beneath her dress and tunnels up to her stomach.

"I missed you so much," he breathes into her mouth. She smiles at him when he pulls away from her. She lays her hand in his lap and continues to check her lipstick in the mirror. "So, where to first?"

"Allen's." Mint says. He pulls off into traffic. "He's got a couple of things I think I might need."

"Like what?" Mira asks. She tries to relax as she watches life going on around them, people walking down the streets, talking and laughing, shopping bags dangling from their hands. She wants to be out there with them, not sitting in a car with sweat running beneath her clothes. Mint seems cool as a cucumber, but then, he always is.

Mint doesn't expound, and she becomes too fond of the silence between them to ask again what he is planning to take from Allen's. She has an idea, anyway.

"The night we first met, I knew we'd be here at some point. Montana Jones breathing down our necks. I knew it because he had you and didn't deserve you. Killed your best friend and made you too scared to leave him."

"I don't want to talk about this, Mint."

"We need to. Shit has hit the fan. We need to be clear about what is at stake here."

They pull into Allen's driveway. Mint hops out of the car and tells her to wait. She touches her gun again. Mint knocks on the front door, causes it to swing open slowly. Mira jumps out of the car, the gun in her hands now. She stoops down low and takes cover in front of the porch.

"Blood everywhere," Mint calls back to her. "You got my back?"

"Got it!" She says. She watches him advance, then allows her eyes to scan the large yard for any movement. A rabbit hops out of a cluster of bushes and crosses the deserted road and Mira applies some sort of meaning to this act that she won't fully understand until much later. Once she is certain there is no one waiting to blow her brains out from behind, she climbs onto the porch and enters the house behind Mint. A trail of blood, dripping from the front door and up to the second floor.

"No one down here," Mint says to her after he makes a quick and thorough beeline through the first level of the small house.

"Not now," Mira says. She takes the lead up the stairs, her pistol ready in her hands. The bedroom where she and Montana had fought when she'd returned from the hospital the night she'd overdosed was at the head of the stairs. It was Allen's stash room, but had a bed, dresser, a bowl of potpourri in front of the window, she remembers. Now the door hangs from the hinges and the interior is completely covered in blood. When Mira sees Allen's headless body in the bed she stops cold. Mint is close behind.

Mint shoves the bed against the far wall and rips up the carpet, pulls a knife from his boot and pries up a few floor boards. He pulls a hundred dollar bill from the depths of the stash spot and holds it up to the sunlight streaming through the window. The room is hot, stuffy, and it is not until Mira registers what the bank note means that she becomes aware of the stench of Allen's body, rotting in the heat of the day.

"I don't think Montana is in Dubai anymore," Mint says.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 05



"The way I see it, Mandrake is the answer," Mira says. Mint nods, his face awash in the blood red light that permeates the room. He takes a sip of his third gin and tonic, lets his eyes rake across the people gyrating beneath him on the dance floor. He'd wanted a quiet bar and Mira had brought him here, Club Fate, a place that boasts gaudy décor, illuminated dance floors and over priced drinks.

"Mandrake. Even his name is awful, you sure this is necessary?" Mint asks.

"It doesn't look like we have a choice."

"There's always a choice. I don't need saving."

Mira sips her cocktail and rolls her eyes in exasperation. "This isn't saving, this is collaborating. You have something Mandrake wants, has wanted for years, and we get his muscle. Considerable muscle."

We'll see," Mint says. They sit with only the pulsing club beats between them. A girl approaches Mint, falls onto his lap and flips her long blonde hair in Mint's face. Mint breathes in her scent of cigarettes and vanilla. He catches Mira's eyes for just a moment, and she averts her gaze when Mint doesn't deflect the attention but revels in it instead, runs his hands through her hair, palms her ass as she giggles drunkenly. She is beautiful, yet her attractiveness barely registers as he is only entertaining this to pay Mira back for bringing him to Mandrake, and he enjoys the familiar sight of her fidgeting as she tries to keep her composure.

"Every time I see you it's like I haven't seen you in years," Mandrake says to Mira as he approaches a few moments later. He is flanked by two large men who don't meet anyone's gazes. One of the men whispers to Mandrake in Russian and then takes a seat at the bar. The other lifts the blonde from Mint's lap and sends her on her way. Mandrake embraces Mira and rubs his nose in her hair.

"Mint, don't get up," Mandrake says.

"I wasn't going to." Mint tosses back a gulp of his drink and throws two stacks of money on the table. "You'd have gotten this sooner but I was in jail, you know, the whole me taking the heat for the last heist, thing?"

Mandrake pockets the money without counting it and takes a seat beside Mira who signals for the waitress. 

"Scotch on the rocks," she yells over the music.

"We all appreciate it, didn't we Mira?" Mandrake asks her.

"I wouldn't know," Mira says, "I didn't get caught." All three fall silent. 

"And what's with sending away my entertainment?" Mint asks, keeping his eyes off Mira-though he can feel her gaze on him.

"You and I both know Mira doesn't want to watch some bitch rub her twat up and down your leg," Mandrake says with a smirk.

Mint smiles back. "Can't argue with that," Mint says. Before long, the three of them slip into familiarity and engage in general conversation. Mandrake is his usual animated self, throwing his hands around as he gives Mint a quick rundown of the last three years of his life, and Mint can't help but feel like there is so much that he isn't being told, so much that he would like to know. He talks little, and for the most part he is occupied with handling the wave of indistinguishable emotion that washes over him as he watches Mandrake and Mira, the familiarity, the comfort between them. He is just about to lose his cool when more pressing matters present themselves.

A gunshot rings out clear and deadly over the music and panic ensues below them on the dance floor. Mandrake is on his feet in an instant, his eyes scan the crowd below them. Another shot rings out and one of Mandrake's companions hits the floor, blood gurgling from the hole in his neck. Mandrake and Mint are on their feet instantly, and Mira pulls her gun but takes cover. Mandrake shoots into the mass of fleeing bodies on the dance floor, his gaze narrowed ever so slightly. He shouts a curse back at Mint and then disappears down the metal staircase into the strobe lit chaos Club Fate has become. Mint is close behind.

"You recognize him?" Mandrake asks, after he has shot the stuttering man pointblank. Mandrake stoops, hoists the dead body up by the collar for Mint to get a better look.

"That's Fowler Jones." Mira says, appearing behind the two men, her voice shaking in fear. "Montana's brother."



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 06



Fowler Jones was ten years Montana's junior, had blown his knee out playing pro ball and resorted to working as one of Montana's cronies. Fowler had been thoroughly square before the unfortunate accident that snatched away his future, but under Montana's tutelage had transformed into a ruthless piece of indispensable muscle. Mira had once witnessed him choke a woman to death. This had prompted her fifth attempt to escape Montana, an attempt as unsuccessful as her other attempts.

She'd watched Fowler commit the murder in the basement of the house she and Montana shared, and then walked out to her car in a daze with Montana screaming after her. He was asking her if she was really going to leave all of her stuff. It was then that she realized how dangerously dense Montana was. He thought that after viewing something like that, one of many evil acts committed before Mira's eyes during their relationship, she would give a second thought to her ill gotten possessions. She'd only wanted to leave, to see something else, know something else. He'd let her get in her car, let her pull off down the street, only to send a group of men including Fowler to cut her off right before she hit a nearby on ramp. They'd dragged her from the car. She'd lost her shoes and scraped the bottoms of her feet as she tried to twist out of their grasp. Back home she'd slept with a knife under her pillow, shaking as she waited for Montana to come and punish her for thinking to leave. It was then that the cresting hate she already had for Montana had reached it's height, a height that had managed to somehow be topped over the last few years.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Mint says. He takes Mira's arm and yanks her to her feet. She'd been on her knees, rummaging through Fowler's pockets. She'd slid his cell phone, wallet and a switch blade into her purse. The three of them climb into Mint's car and he pulls off, lights flash by them and unsuspecting club hoppers clog the streets and crowd the doorways of buildings oozing with strobe lights.

"I've got a hotel room a block from here, a snazzy stash spot I frequent," Mandrake says. Mint says nothing and Mira casts him a look. When they arrive at the hotel Mint tosses his keys to the valet and they take the elevator to the 27th floor. The hotel is as garish as Mira had imagined, the elevator is made of crystal, the button panel gold. She thinks of the money she and Mint dropped in a safe deposit box just outside of town.

"Forgive me, I wasn't expecting company," Mandrake says as they enter the hotel room. Inside is as gaudy as the hallways and lobby but is generally clean, it is not until Mira lays eyes on the two blondes passed out naked on the red velvet sectional that she understands the reason for the disclaimer.

"He sure knows how to party," Mint says in a bored voice.

Mira takes a seat at a marble island and begins trying to break the lock code on Fowler's phone. It doesn't take her long, and soon she is scrolling through a call log that tells Mira anything she needs to know about how much their lives are worth to Montana Jones. She sees her name mentioned more than any other, and deep inside a thick fear cements itself to her gut.

There was a time when she didn't fear Montana--though it was years and years ago, way before Fowler had been recruited to do the bulk of Montana's light work. She is considered light work, she is sure, and it is clear from the text messages that Montana suspects she may be with Mint, but is not exactly sure. This is her ace in the hole. She won't die easily.

"Mint baby, come here."

Mint takes the phone from her, reacts as she did.

"This motherfucker means business."

"He's calling out all the heavy artillery. Read some of the text messages."

"What's our next step?" Mint asks as his eyes scan the screen.

"Well for one thing, I want to be a little bit more like Mandrake. Maybe not models coked out and passed out on the sofa, but we could afford to blow a bit of cash, have some fun."

"Fun, at a time like this?"

"Why not? We're finally together after years of wanting it. We have the money, we could die tomorrow--this is the perfect time to have fun." Mira stands and pours three glasses of cognac, like she owns the place. Mandrake emerges from a back bedroom, his tie loosened and a smile on lips.

"One for me, I take it?" Mandrake says as he picks up a glass.

"Definitely for you, Mandrake. And we should toast," Mira says.

"What are we toasting?" Mint asks.

"We're toasting to our next step," Mira says.

"Spending more money?" Mint asks.

"No, one last heist," Mira says before tossing back her cognac and casting them a broad smile.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 07



Mint loves her, but she is dangerous. She spent ten years on the arm of a crime boss in the throes of rising power, a crime boss with cresting ruthlessness and a one track mind. He is sending the very arms of his organization to kill her for something she should have been able to do freely. Montana doesn't care about the money, Mint is sure of this. He wants her dead, and in Mint's opinion, he'd always wanted her dead.

Mint swirls wine around in his mouth thoughtfully, watches Mira where she lay in Mandrake's bed, naked except for a sheet thrown almost strategically across her lower half. He lights a cigar and takes a seat, powers on his phone. His eyes rake over text after text. He doesn't have the nerve to tell Mira that he hasn't exactly been truthful about things. Has not been truthful about anything, really.

Mandrake knocks on the door and Mint slides out of the room quickly before he knocks again and wakes Mira. "She isn't dressed," Mint says.

"That's the least of your fucking worries, Mallard," Mandrake grabs Mint by the collar and pushes him against the wall. His head makes a loud thudding sound that echoes loudly throughout the hotel room. In a quick movement, Mint grabs Mandrake's wrist, maneuvers it behind his back and shoves his face flat against the same wall.

"I know I'm fucking up, Mandrake, but don't test me," Mint says.

"Let me go or I will fucking break your goddamn arm, or worse, I'll wake Mira up and we'll have a little talk," Mandrake says. Not feeling up to the type of fight he and Mandrake are capable of, Mint releases him. The two men walk tensely out to the living room. The blonde women have gone, and they sit across from each other, the conversation Mint dreading on the tip of their tongues.

"So let's start off light. What in the hell are you doing with Mira?"

"None of your business. Why are you giving me such a hard time, you got your money, we should be square."

"We are far from that sort of shape, Mint."

"Have I ever told you your name is awful?"

"Ever since we were kids. What type of hippie name is Mint anyway?" Mandrake asks, the joke coming out harsh and awkward like any joke ever told in Mandrake's thick Russian accent. It is so easy to separate himself from Mandrake, their differences are so stark-but few.

"Ask your mom," Mint answers. He relaxes a bit and relights his cigar which had been snuffed out in he and Mandrake's scuffle. "Me and Mira, we're finally giving things a shot."

"A shot, huh?" Mandrake throws his head back, laughs. He rakes a hand through his bleached blonde hair and messes it up so that he takes on an unintended sadistic look-not a hard thing to achieve on a face as hard as Mandrake's. "Did you know that she and I are right in the middle of our shot?"

"She might have insinuated that before she passed out in your bed," Mint says with a smile, "but you and I both know how persistent I can be."

"Persistent is an understatement," Mandrake says. He stands and pours two tumblers of brandy at the bar. "I can't ignore what you guys have. Ever since you met that night-she is all you ever stay true to. However, you don't always show her that that is the way you feel."

"And that's where you come in, right? The Russian Mint with none of the emotional unavailability?"

"You could say that."

"Well, she didn't keep her part of the bargain anyway. I shouldn't be the only one repenting my sins."

"Her part of the bargain?"

"You should know as well as me how she crossed me, after all, I am the one who's been behind bars-missing everything-dreaming about money that I wasn't even sure would be around once I got out. Especially after I killed that Aryan motherfucker that Montana sent after me-I didn't think I'd ever get out."

"Doesn't even make sense. An Aryan in prison taking a contract from a black hood on the outside? What are the odds?"

"Prison is a strange place," Mint answers with a wan smile. He sips the brandy, silently thanks Mandrake for the great choice of beverage.

"Thanks again for what you did, taking the wrap like that."

"Of course you never said that in your letters while I was away. Pretty much you just kept reminding me that I owed you 'buckets of money brother, buckets!' and now you have it, you tell me thanks. You three are pieces of work."

"You three?"

"Yes. You, Montana, and fucking Mira-at least Mya had the decency to only cross me once she knew I'd crossed her."

"The decency?"

"Nothing the three of you have done has been decent. Of course I'm not blaming you all for me going to prison-I agreed to that. Now I know I can't blame Mira for spending up my money because she didn't. It's all here."

"The whole five million?"

"Yes, she didn't spend even spend a cent of the million I gave her. Montana didn't take it when he left her. The other four is right where we left it."

"So no one touched your cut. Remind me of what it is that you can blame us for?"

"For starters, Mira didn't keep true to our affairs of the heart."

Mint, give me break!" Mandrake says with a roll of his eyes.

"It's give me a break, and I'm dead serious. She was supposed to leave Montana Jones in the dust, take our money and move somewhere nice. We were going to wash our money up real nice, live in some glass and stucco place with an infinity pool and make babies. She wasn't supposed to get engaged to the psycho and play house in his gaudy penthouse."

"Well, you should've kept her a bit more abreast of things while you were away. All she had was Mya calling her and telling her how you were making collect calls to her every night proclaiming your undying love. You never made it clear that you and Mya were over, and Mira decided to stop waiting on a man who doesn't even have the balls to attempt to get into her pants."

"Fuck you Mandrake! You only know what she's told you. She knows how I feel about dipping my dick in another man's container."

"Now she's 'another man's container'? You know Mint, to be one part of a couple riding the adrenaline packed wave of star-crossed love you sure don't treat her like much of a prize. Not to mention that you've lied to her since the moment you laid eyes on her again. Three years away from her, and when you return you put her through the wringer. She fell into my arms because you promised to save her from Montana, and you didn't do it."

"Mandrake, you couldn't be more off base. How the fuck can I save her and take the fall for her and her two lovers!"

"The only way you could-by letting her know that she was the only one. She's always been afraid of taking the leap with you because of Mya. You two have a history that can't be denied, how could she trust that you'd follow through? Essentially you didn't. You told her to dump Montana with the guarantee that you two would be together when you got out, and then you rang Mya's phone off the fucking hook for three years. She can't leave a man like Montana without another one to step in and make sure she can't be touched."

"And you're that man, I assume?" Mint stubs out his cigar, ignores the butterflies in his stomach. "Do you know the Mira I know? She doesn't need anyone to protect her. Not really. And just this afternoon she was telling me about how we need to start spending our money. Ours, we, those are the key words. If you guys are taking your "shot" as you put it, why did she kiss me this afternoon, why is she ready to leave with me?

"Mint, I know better than anyone how Mira feels about you but it matters little as you've ruined things, and I'll be here to pick up the pieces just like I always am. She's torn; she loves you, she loves me, she's used to Montana. She uses us like revolving doors, only, I'm into that sort of thing." Mandrake smiles and down the rest of his brandy. "I'm the one in heaviest rotation at the moment. In fact, she was always on her way to see me tonight-she just happened to show up with you. You know why she was coming to see me?"

"Because you have the nerve to try to get into her pants?" Mint asks.

Mandrake smiles and shakes his head, "Close but not quite. She came to see me because she knows something that she never knew of you. She knows that I am going to kill Montana Jones and take her somewhere beautiful, a place where even the memory of Montana can't touch us."

"Over my dead body, Mandrake."

"Funny, Mya said the same thing to me this morning when she called. She said that you and Mira would walk hand in hand into the sunset over her dead body. She told me she texted you that exact phrase. Funny thing is, if she'd sent Mira the same message, she would be confused, right? As she thinks that dead body already exists, does she not?"

Mira appears in the doorway, fully dressed in a red dress that stops at a tasteful point on her thigh. Her thick black hair is piled into a curly up do at the crown of her head, and she has her purse on her shoulder, tears in her eyes.

"I'm going out," she says, "and neither of you motherfuckers better follow me."

They both watch her leave, and as instructed, neither follow.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 08



The Murder Twins. That's what people called them. Mira is unsettled by the moniker, yet it suits them. She imagines they seem mystical to people who don't know the men and their flaws up close and personal. Even she had been mystified for a while after hearing about their upbringing. Their lives had played out like some sort of television drama; the parents split up, the dad moves to Russia with one son while the mother remains in the United States with the other.

They'd lived vastly different lives and yet to her they are one conflicted being whose most evident personality variants are buried deep in a phyche preoccupied with acquiring wealth by any means necessary, men after her own heart. It pains her to reflect on how she'd spent an eternity with a man she so thoroughly hated when instead she could have been sandwiched between the bodies of Mint and Mandrake Mallard while they were all still sweaty from some take or another. She smiles to herself. She's never considered being sandwiched between them before, but the thought isn't at all unpleasant.

She thinks of them fondly even after what they'd kept from her--and while she'd been angry at first she isn't now. If anything she feels a bit sad though she is not surprised they have kept secrets. She has to come to grips with the fact that she is in love with two liars.

She waits until the slight breeze dies down and puts a cigarette in her mouth, lights it as she considers a no smoking sign nailed to the inside of the red hotel awning above her. Her eyes catch the uneven gait of a man approaching. She remembers Fowler's phone, the names of the men in the text messages that he and Montana had shared. She watches the man for a moment more, and the cigarette falls from her lips as she realizes who it is she's watching. She turns with feigned nonchalance and reenters the hotel. She walks calmly to the elevator and calls the car. She waits. She hears the door to the lobby open. The elevator comes and the doors slide open. She gets on, presses her back against the wall and slowly inches up the fabric of her dress until she can feel the holster and the small gun attached to her thigh. She breathes in and out slowly in an attempt to fend off a panic so sharp it gives her tunnel vision.

After a few painful seconds the doors slide shut. She exhales, hopes that she is imagining things. She all but runs to Mandrake's room and slides the keycard into the reader with shaking hands. She opens the door to find Mint and Mandrake fighting in the kitchen.

"No fucking time for this! Fucking Mace McSwain is here--I think."

"What do you mean, 'you think? Is he or isn't he?" Mint asks, out of breath as he disengages himself from Mandrake's grip. He clicks the safety off of his gun aims it at the door.

"I mean I think! Sorry I didn't get a chance to ask him if it were really him. Let's just get the fuck out of here, now! We never should have stayed stationary in the first place. We don't have the luxury." Mira runs into the bedroom and gathers a few cosmetic items and a stack of twenties she'd left there. She turns to leave and hears gunshots followed by a crescendo of shattering glass. She waits a beat then bursts from the room, her gun up and aimed at anything that isn't one of the two hulking clones she's found herself anchored to.

She narrows her left eye and takes aim at the man standing just inside the doorway with his feet planted and his teeth bared. Mace McSwain indeed, complete with the tracksuit, theatrical limp and smoking sawed off shotgun that contributes to a mystique amplified by his ability to be both lethal and dim. Before he can lift the heavy, ugly gun that has seen its share of successes in his hand, a knife flies and buries itself in his forehead. Mira would've missed the trajectory save for a tiny flash when the blade caught the light from the chandelier above them. Mira exhales and advances into the room, her eyes on the window Mace had apparently shot out, the drapes whipping through the hole out and into the night.

"Fucking Mace McSwain," Mandrake says as he stands predatorily over McSwain's corpse, "never thought I'd have to do it to you, man, not to you." Mandrake rips his knife from Mace's skull and wipes the blade off on the royal blue fabric of Mace's tracksuit.

"I never got the tracksuit, myself," Mint says. He catches her gaze and smiles.

"Don't smile at me," she says and smiles despite herself. The nervousness leaves her as she watches Mandrake pace the room, his phone to his ear.

"I'm going to fucking kill Montana," Mint says.

"You'll get your chance, Mint. He sent his damn brother after us after all, and thank God for that," Mira says.

"Thank God?"

"He wants it so bad he's not thinking straight. Sending Fowler? If he keeps making mistakes like this we'll survive this. Did he not know who he was sending his only brother, up against?"

"He knew and didn't care. I don't know if it's desperation or frivolity. This is Montana we're talking about. He just wants us dead, he doesn't care how it happens or who gets killed in the process."

"You're right about that!" Mandrake says after he ends his call. "I got someone coming to take care of Mace McSwain! Is that even his real name? Funny, his track suit and huge gun, that is the American way, no?"

"Mandrake don't make sweeping generalizations based on a man who prided himself on acting like a villain from a bad 90's action move," Mira says, happy for a moment of levity no matter how small it might be. She ignores Mandrake's scoffing, checks her watch. "Are they coming soon? I want to get out of here."

"We don't have to wait. Get your shit, we're heading out!" Mint says. He holsters his guns and picks up his cigar case.

Mira shoulders her purse and follows them toward the door. She tries not to think about how many more days like this they will have to face until Montana finally runs out of henchman and comes for them himself. That is when the real horror will begin. She jumps when her phone rings--a series of chimes that seemingly pierce her eardrums--and for the second time in less than an hour she nearly faints. Mandrake catches her.

"What is it, Mira?"

"Montana. It's Montana calling," she says.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 09



As she talks to Montana she stands stock still in the threshold that seperates the living area from the bedroom and bathroom. Her heart is pounding so hard she feels faint. Mint and Mandrake stand before her watching her lips move. They hold the same stance, expression, the same damn face. She turns away in a sudden need for privacy. Words with as much venom as Montana's hold needed to be experienced and reacted to alone.

"You just try it you snake motherfucker!" She hisses back at him after she is safely inside of the bedroom with the door shut. "I made the first move, and that's why you're so upset," she can't help the smile that springs to her lips as he yells on the other end. She can almost feel the spit flying from his lips.

"Me, Mint and Mandrake are going to fuck all over your dirty money, Montana Jones." She lights a cigarette as he wails and screams. She is not certain that he is forming actual words any longer--gone mad with rage--literally. She laughs. "I'm going to take every cent you have and fuck on that, too."

The line goes silent except for his breathing, but she continues. "And the best part about all that is, you'll never, ever, catch me."

Her phone beeps as the line goes dead. She is shaking now as the fear returns to her gut. She enters the living room where they stand in the same place she left them.

"So?" Mandrake asks.

"So what? Let's go," she says lightly. Neither of them press it. "In due time," she says after a few moments.

The sun is coming up, it streams through the crystal chandelier of the lobby and it gives her a glimpse of some image, some memory of a day long ago, a good day, one of the few. She makes a mental note to purchase a chandelier when she settles down, something ostentatious like the one in the hotel, something that comes from a far away place and has to be installed by a team of men.

"You know what I really hate about this fucker Montana?" Mandrake says once they are in the car, Mira behind the wheel.

"What?" Mint asks.

"I hate that he's ruining the point of doing any of this suicidal shit in the first place."

"Tell me about it," Mira says. She stares into her phone, pulls up the navigation.

"We are sitting on millions and what are we doing? Running from a ruthless hood with the IQ of a stack of phone books," Mandrake says.

"Remember how fast you cracked that safe, Mira?" Mint asks suddenly.

"That, I will never forget," she says.

"In under a minute. A sea of green at our fingertips. It was then that I knew we were meant to be. It was too fantastic to ignore. The electricity in the air, everyone okay, no mess ups, all the customers on the floor, no heroes, a geriatric guard."

Mira laughs, the memory sharp in her mind. "Still can't believe everything went haywire the moment I left."

"Immediately, after you left," Mandrake says as Mira pulls onto the highway. "Me and Montana are joking and laughing, we are stuffing the money in the bags, not an alarm to be heard, not a fucking siren," Mandrake continues, "then some guy has a coughing fit that spooks Montana and he pistol whips the guy--and this act--to this day I feel like it set off some karmic turn of events because all hell breaks loose, we hear sirens and then Montana grabs the money and is out of there like lightening."

"All too ready to leave me hanging, I mean I know we agreed I'd be the one to take the fall but shit, at least Mandrake made a show of not wanting to leave me there."

"It wasn't a show, brother!" Mandrake says. "But you did agree to it," Mandrake says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Cut to Mint spending three years in jail, becoming more and more bitter as time passes and creating drama to revisit once his feet hit free soil," Mandrake says.

Mint laughs and a comfortable silence falls over the car. It is broken by Mira's lighter and the hiss of the flame against her cigarette, and then by her words. "This is all my fault, you know," she says. She doesn't know how far she plans to go when she starts talking, but as always, without fail, she will make sure she leads with the most important subject. The rest will fall into place behind it. "Montana spent every cent we stole that day."

"What?" Mandrake breathes.

"He took everything, he told me that you guys left him high and dry on the job, and that the money was his because of it. I didn't believe him for a second. If nothing else is true in this world, it is a fucking fact that Montana Jones is never to be trusted. I didn't believe him but there was nothing I could do."

"You could have run, you can mastermind heists that elude the very musings of a cop's mind but you can't figure out how to extricate yourself from someone as simple as Montana Jones?" Mint asks.

"Truly laughable," Mandrake says.

"Give me a fucking break. Neither of you know the whole story."

"We don't, but why don't you tell us? You always have it all figured out, don't you?"

"Mint, pull back a little, for the moment we should all be on the same side," Mandrake says. "But he is right. Lay it out for us."

"First, let's start at the end," she says.

"Let's," Mandrake says. "We pick the guns up from Lola Montgomery out in the sticks of Vegas."

"We head straight to Aspen Grove Casino and Hotel in Reno, Nevada."

"We hold up the counting room. Small place, you staked out security, logged the routines," Mint says. He removes a small green psalm book from his pocket and begins to read it.

"Logged and staked," Mira says. She turns down the space-age laser rhythms of the ubiquitous pop song giving background to their plan, throws her cigarette butt out into the passing scenery. 

Aspen Grove is the type of place that is slow through the week, fast on weekend nights and holidays. It is a place where people mill around the tables and slots in jeans and T-shirts, sweatpants, bent on throwing away too much of a paycheck. It is the type of place with high employee turnover, the guards never fully trained, the men behind the eyes in the sky a little too complacent, the collective skill in wrangling a thing like a casino a little less sharp. Plus, Mira has a man on the inside. Not that she needs one with Mandrake along. Casinos are his specialty.

"How the tables look there?" Mandrake asks, tugging on the lapels of his dress shirt, checking his reflection in the mirror. He looks untrustworthy, yet he is somehow smooth enough to distract all but the most astute from that fact.

"Slow mostly but poker will be wild about the time we roll in, tables full, a few fat cats," she says.

"Fat cats?" Mandrake asks.

"Men with money, Mandrake," Mint says. "So who's running this place? Someone we know, someone we knew--?"

"You could say that," Mira says. She searches her purse for her pack of cigarettes.

"Just tell me what we could say, exactly, about the guy who owns this place. What's his name?"

"Montana Jones," Mira says evenly. "We're robbing Montana Jones. And this isn't the first place, but it'll be our first, together again," she checks the navigation screen, 2 hours until Lola Montgomery's. "I've got plans," she catches Mandrake's gaze in the rearview mirror. "He's going to pay, with every penny he has." And he will, she thinks, whether she has to do it alone or is blessed enough to be bookended by the aptly named Murder Twins.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 10



They are standing beside a pool in the middle of a desert motel when Mira finally snaps. She paces around before Mint as he tries to keep his gaze from her breasts which nearly spill from her metallic red bikini top as she moves. Her thick hair is wet from a short swim and she flings it around as she yells, awash in the blue of the illuminated pool with tears running down her face.

"A pity, she looked so beautiful a moment ago," Mandrake says.

"Man, you know her hearing is like-" Mint begins.

"What was that Mandrake? Liar number two?" She thrusts her wine glass out at them and a bit sloshes out and hits the tile. A staff person appears, wringing his hands as he tries to get Mira's attention.

"Ma'am, there's, um, no glassware near the pool," the young man says.

"No glassware near the pool? Then why is the poolside bar stocked with thousands of drinks that are then served in glasses?" Mira asks.

"Well you see here ma'am there's a yellow line that runs the perimeter of the pool that shows at what point glassware-"

"Here, go pretend you never see her," Mandrake says as he peels a bill and hands it to the man.

When they are alone again, Mira narrows her gaze and continues. "I want you both to tell me everything, starting with why this is in the paper!" Mira picks up a newspaper and slaps Mint in the face with it. He tamps down any urge he feels to grab her and shake her as he is the one in the wrong. He is shaking so badly that he can barely even hold the paper.

"What does that say, Mint, on the front page?"

"Mira, look, I can explain."

"Yes, you can and you will, and while you're at it, maybe you can finally tell me why the fuck Mya is still alive, when you so plainly and in so much detail recounted to me the story of her passing!"

"Mira, you need to keep your voice down," Mandrake says.

"Fuck you Mandrake," Mira flings her cigarette into the pool. "Tell me why Mya is still alive when you said she was dead, and tell me why in the world this fucking newspaper says you're a damned escaped convict. Tell me why that wasn't the first thing you told me when you laid eyes on me?"

Mint ponders the questions. Why wasn't it the first thing? "It wasn't the first thing because I hadn't had sex in three years and I was hoping the next place I could bury myself was between your legs. I was off kilter. Had I not found you looking kept and cozy and traitorous, I would have made love to you and then told you everything exactly as it happened."

A look crosses Mira's face, fleeting, but meaningful. She turns away from them. "You know, when I think about how mad all of this makes me, I can barely think straight," she says. She walks close to them, between them, sips from her wine and drags her eyes from Mint's head to his toes, then from Mandrake's toes to his face.

Mint and Mandrake exchange a look. It is at times like these that Mint wonders how years apart hadn't dulled their ability to exchange telling glances. "Mya found the letter, I didn't lie about that," Mint continues. Mandrake sheds his pants and shirt and jumps into the pool, a pale flash in the permeating incandescence. The splash sends droplets of water across Mira's breasts, and Mint loses his train of thought.

"Eyes up here," Mira says, snapping her fingers with a blank expression. "Tell me, quick, before the fucking cops come drag you out of here, you escaped convict," Mira says in a low, even voice.

"She found the letter and she told me that she was going to kill you. I was in prison, I couldn't do shit to help you from there, so when I got a chance, I escaped."

"You cuffed an armed guard to a library entranceway. It could have been months before anyone found him. They're probably going to charge you with attempted murder," Mira says. She even manages to keep a straight face as Mint laughs.

"I did hear that America's illiteracy rate is on the rise. She might have a point," Mandrake says as he appears at their side. With little interlude he takes Mira's chin and pulls her into a kiss and Mint watches, lets the vision settle over him. "Come have a swim?" Mandrake says. He turns and dives in again, this time a clean dive that nets nary a splash. Mira faces Mint, unties the back of her swim top but doesn't let it fall away. "So long story short, you broke out to save my life?" Mira asks.

"And because I love you."

"I love you both, come here, swim with me!" Mandrake calls out. Mira kisses Mint, she lets her top fall away and presses her bare breasts to his chest. Mint cannot remember having ever felt anything like this, and he does not waste a moment. He tunnels his hands into the back of her bikini bottoms, cups her ass and presses himself against her. He has not had a spare moment to remember who they all are, who Mira is. She is his every breath. His every moment. He loves her so much, wants her so much, thinks of her so often that it is no surprise that somehow it spilled over into his brother, a man that is every bit the man that he is.

Mira breaks away and hops into the pool, drifts to the bottom. As Mint disrobes he considers every angle; every possible way the coming scene might unfold. His brother does a languid backstroke, his long arms reaching and propelling him through the water quickly and expertly. Had he been given the life Mint was gifted, maybe he would have achieved things with his impressive swimming skills. Instead he'd relayed stories of jumping into rivers to avoid gunfire and swimming miles to shore, robbing a drug dealer who owned a beach front property and swimming off and stowing away on an unsuspecting someone's yacht. To Mint some of his stories had seemed fantastical-but even Mint cannot deny that they are they are things a man like Mandrake would do, experience. He figures that with enough of the right circumstances he might do them, too.

Mint slides into the water, waits on the side for Mira to swim a few laps. She does a backstroke and then glides beneath the water, surfaces before Mandrake who takes her holds her and kisses her, presses her against the wall of the pool. Mint swims toward them as they make for more shallow waters, and as soon as the water reaches Mandrake's neck and he gains a bit of his footing he is upon Mira again. Mint watches her as Mandrake kisses her mouth, her neck, her breasts, he tries to figure out if she's felt any of this before. He decides that it is new to her right before she opens her eyes and tells him to come closer. Mandrake moves away and Mint slides her bottoms down her thigh. He hasn't any more time to waste, he decides, and once he is inside of her with Mandrake kissing her breasts and probing his tongue into her mouth, he realizes that now is the perfect time to seize the day.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 11



She is sore when she climbs out of the rented Aston Martin. Her hip joints hurt and pain radiates from between her legs as she walks up the bleach white driveway through the blazing Vegas heat to a sprawling mint green stucco mansion. She ignores the pain, as delicious as it is, to the best of her ability. She ignores the memories of Mandrake and Mint that the transient aches purge within in her. She has to be calm, collected, there is business to take care of, snafus to avoid.

Kent Ugon has on a tailored suit, smiles with his eyes and his mouth. She knows his type and is dressed as skimpily as she is with her posture ten degrees past erect to influence him in every way. She is doing it because he's the type that wants her to, and wants to reward her for doing it. Anything to get a deal.

"Mira, so great to finally meet you!" Kent Ugon says, extending his hand. Slight African accent, glaringly white teeth. She takes his hand and he helps her through the threshold. She spins around and takes it in. High windows and ceilings, marble floors, an indoor pool through a pair of double doors to her right, a sprawling white room to her left that is big enough for shindigs Mira would never venture to throw. Before her, a winding staircase leads to rooms with archway's framed with embellished molding painted metallic gold--a little too gaudy for her tastes but she knows Mandrake will appreciate such features. A heavy gold and crystal chandelier hangs above them, "there's an oak and marble library on the other level. Well stocked, too, the previous owner was a rare book collector. Said the books would go to the next buyer, some fued with his wife."

"As is often the case, one's feud is another's gain."

"I hope this will be one of those cases," he says. "So tell me, what do you think?" He asks after he has shown her the upper rooms, let her dip a toe in the pool and handed her one of the heavy, delicate books from the library's shelves.

She slides her sunglasses up into her curls, smiles. "I love it. How much?"

"For you, 2.5 million. The books alone are worth nearly half that that so you're getting a pretty good deal."

Mira hopes this is the case. She is no expert in rare goods, books. Lucky for her she has Mint. They agree to meet the next day for the appraisal and she says goodbye to Kent Ugon, a real estate broker recommended by her mother in a thinly veiled attempt to set them up, she is sure.

On her way back to the hotel she stops at a bar named May Breeze. The décor is monochromatic. It is as if she's stepped into a tub of butter. Yellow walls, floor, appliances, booths, tables, bowls, glass ware, shelving. She takes a seat in one of the cracked yellow stools, orders a vodka soda from a dark skinned girl wearing a yellow mini skirt. Dollar bills litter her cleavage, and Mira continues her efforts to gain her bearings in a place this jarring. She has not taken three sips of her drink when a man slides into the seat beside her. He smells sweaty, like a man accustomed to working outdoors. Mira catches his reflection in the mirror that covers the wall behind the bar, and as she had supposed, he is staring right at her. She becomes aware of the gun on her thigh. She crosses her legs and winces. They should've gone a little easier on her, her having to deal with two of them, after all.

"You sure are pretty," the man says. She finally turns to meet his gaze directly. He is handsome, clean shaven, olive skinned. He turns to face her so that she can see his badge and Mira hopes his eyes miss the tremor that travels through her at the sight of it.

"Why thank you," she says. She begins to take deeper sips of her drink. She watches the news program playing on the television above the bar, remains calm.

"I mean it. I'm sure you hear it all the time, but you are quite breathtaking. May I ask your name?"

Mira holds out her hand and he takes it, turns it over and kisses her palm. Mira leans closer to him. Anything for a good deal. "Mira, " she says into his ear.

"I'm Sheriff Scott Delray of the Clark County Sheriff's Department. Been looking for you for days, and just my luck, I find you here. I was told you are beautiful," he says in his deep, vaguely foreign voice, "but I still didn't anticipate this."

"Who told you such a thing?" Her mind clicks into gear. She takes a sip of his drink and then feigns that it was a mistake. He is drinking what tastes like whiskey, straight. He's not on duty, and if he is she is in even more trouble than she thought.

He smiles and takes a swig right after her. "Most recently, a woman by the name of Lola. She told me that I would know that I had the right woman the moment I laid eyes on you. She said that you have this look about you, something subtly beautiful, haunted."

"Well, Lola has had a crush on me since the day she laid eyes on me so her judgment is skewed. I'm just a woman. Women are beautiful, therefore I'm beautiful." Mira downs the rest of her drink and slaps a twenty on the bar. She heads into the bathroom without looking back, not sure whether she should leave just yet. She shuts herself in a stall and sends a text message to Mandrake, telling him where she is, who she has met. She asks what she should do. He answers immediately but it is not the answer she wants. She should have texted Mint, though it would have made little difference. She hears the bathroom door open and close and heavy footsteps head toward her. She puts her hand on her gun.

"You know, Montana told me this all started when a friend of yours shot herself right in front of the both of you years ago, and you blamed him for it. Always have."

"Fuck you," Mira says.

"He told me to bring you back, when I was done. He wants to make sure you have a proper funeral."

"So what does that mean, you won't shoot me between the eyes?" Mira says. She removes her gun from its holster and aims it at the door. She sees his feet, Italian Leather shoes. He's a dirty cop alright. "I'm sure Montana wants it open casket."

"Those were my direct orders. But I don't plan on shooting you at all, actually." He jiggles the door to the stall. She would be an idiot to shoot now for fear of ricochet, but she will not hesitate once she has a clear shot.

"You don't, what are you some sicko rapist strangler?"

"Not exactly," he thrusts the door open and grabs her so quickly she doesn't even get the chance to cock the hammer. He pries the gun from her hands and throws it to the floor. They struggle for what seems like an eternity, and soon she is so tired she goes limp in his arms.

"You're a fire cracker. He said you would be. He wants you dead real bad Mira."

"I could give a flying fuck what Montana wants," she says breathlessly. "Stop with all the pretense and kill me, I knew I was dead the moment I touched his money. I knew that."

He releases her. "It would have been that easy? That's hard to believe."

"What the fuck is this?" Mira asks.

"I was sent by Montana."

"That much is clear."

"I was sent by Montana to kill you, and I was going to do it, too. but then he told me why. And he told me her name."

"So what are you saying exactly?" Mira asks. Her eyes search the floor for her gun, but she doesn't see it.

"Listen, give me a second before you try to claw your way out of here," Delray asks.

"Can we at least get out of this tight stall? Maybe even go back out to the bar. I'll be cool. I'll listen." Mira thinks of Mandrake. She'll wait with him, Mandrake will take care of it when he arrived. She only has to stay alive until then. She is surprised when he plucks her gun from the floor of a nearby stall and hands it to her. She makes quick work of placing it back into its holster, and Delray's eyes don't leave her for a moment.

Back outside she keeps her end of the bargain, orders another drink on Delray's tab. He wastes no time in getting into the thick of things.

"My sister died ten years ago. She shot herself in the head. She'd been missing for weeks, my family searched high and low for her. Then we got the news. We asked around about some of the people she was keeping company with, and we got some of the answers, but not all. Sela was a good girl. She was lost but she was a baby. We're all lost at that age."

"You said your names is Scott Delray? The friend you mentioned, her name was Sela. She had a brother named Scott. Sela's last name was White, though."

"Different fathers," Scott says.

"You mean to tell me, Montana sent you to kill me? He has no clue that you're--"

"Not one."

Mira hugs him. It is sudden, even she does not expect it. She imagines Sela's face. It is a fleeting memory, a painful memory.

Mandrake arrives while she is still in Delray's arms, and he wraps his arms around the both of him. He smells clean, like after shave and water. "Mira you going to introduce me to your Latin lover?" Mandrake says in a jovial tone. When they all break apart, however, Mandrake draws his gun, and Delray does the same. People scatter from their seats, and Mira squeals for a moment before she is able to form words.

"Mandrake hold on a second!" she says.

"Mira what in the hell are you doing hugging him?"

"What? You know him?"

"Hell yes, I know him." He lowers his voice, "remember that ride or die dirty cop that Montana has been talking about lately?"

"This is--"

"Mandrake, I was trying to explain to her!" Delray says.

"Save it, Mira, get the hell out of here."

"Mandrake I don't think--" Mira's words are lost in an explosion that blows in the bar's window glass. People begin to scream at the top of their lungs, scramble without a purpose. The drapes hang raggedly over windows that reveal a wall of fire so close to the building that they all feel the heat. Mandrake grabs Mira's hand and they search through the smoke and moving bodies for a rear entrance. More explosions erupt. Mandrake finds a metal exit door at the rear of the small kitchen, and when he pushes it open they are knocked back by another explosion. Mira hits a wall, sees white, then red, and then doesn't see at all.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 12



"I can't fucking believe it. We just got fire-bombed by Michigan Mike from motherfucking Munich!" are the first words Mira hears when she comes to. She feels wind on her face and the sun is a glaring, cantankerous orb in the flawless blue sky above her. Every piece of her feels burned, sore. She tries to sit up.

"Lay down honey, there's nothing to see here!" The voice again. Definitely familiar, but different at the same time. She can't see him. She's laying on the backseat, staring at the gold D's monogrammed on the seat backs. She closes her eyes for in indeterminate amount of time, and when she opens them she finally feels like she might be gaining her bearings. She makes out a lifeless body in the passenger seat, covered in blood and dirt. She gets up quickly without much trouble as she realizes who it is she's looking at.

"Mandrake!" She is shaking him. His head lulls, she tries to climb over the seat and the wind whips at her and threatens to throw her from the car. Whomever is driving is going faster than Mira can ever remember having gone in a car, and she has been in at least two high speed police chases that she can remember.

"Watch yourself honey. that's the thing about convertibles, they don't have no roofs!" She is dumbfounded when she finally recognizes the man in the driver's seat. He looks just the same, but there is something different about him that she can't figure out.

"Delray? What is going on?" The pain in her head, which she has only been partially aware of, intensifies and makes her pay attention.

"Michigan Mike is going on sweetheart. Fresh off the boat I bet," Delray says. He has a cigarette in his mouth, loud Mexican language rap blares from his speakers. Mira feels like she's going to be sick.

"Pull over, Delray!" she screams.

"We can't, have you not seen what's behind us?"

Mira looks. Two police cars, about a car length away from them. "Oh my gosh we're doomed as-" she just makes it over the edge of the car before she can no longer hold back. She tries to remember a time when she has been more miserable than this as she shields her eyes from the blowback of her own vomit as it hits the pavement. They are going so fast, however, she isn't exactly sure it has time to hit the pavement at all. "Stop the car, now!"

"Your wish is my command," Delray says as he pulls over to the berm in a spray of gravel. Mira flies out of the car as soon as they stop, but finds that she is no longer nauseous. She holds her hair away from her eyes and watches as the police cars fly by, Delray saluting them as they pass.

"Is he dead?" Mira asks, approaching the car, her mind only barely registering the fact that the police aren't chasing them after all. Five more wailing police cars pass them by.

"No, just unconscious," Delray says around his cigarette. "he looks bad but they're all flesh wounds for the most part-he hit his head, though. You did too, you have quite the knot. We need to get you both to a hospital."

"And those police that were behind us?"

"Yeah I was just yanking your chain. I won't say there are a lot of dirty cops in Vegas, but the ones there are, I know-luckily a few of them arrived on the scene. I told them I was going to take care of Mandrake, they let me go. Those cops that were behind us were on their way to another call, I'm sure-or not-who cares? All that matters is that they weren't after us. Now I'm gonna get you two taken care of, call it a show of good faith."

Back in the car Mira leans the passenger seat back and examines the mess that is Mandrake. She calls his name, slaps his face, he doesn't bat an eyelash. It is only when she presses her fingers to his neck that she is convinced he is even still alive. "You might be a cop but you're certainly no doctor. There are more than flesh wounds. Where's my cell phone?" Mira asks. Her head begins to pound more severely, and the nausea crops up again. "I need to call Mint."

"Mint already called me, he'll meet us at the hospital," Delray says. "Now close your eyes and try to relax, we'll be there soon."

Mira closes her eyes, and she envisions the explosion, remembers the way it sounded, even recalls Mandrake being flung like a rag doll over a cluster of tables and chairs. Delray looks relatively unscathed however, the untouched house in a tornado's warpath.

She awakes to the sound of a beeping heart monitor, is bewildered by the fact that she cannot recollect losing consciousness in the first place. She is in a hospital gown and the ache in her head has subsided though it still pulses faintly behind her eyes. Mint steps into her view, and she is of course, reminded again of that night he saved her life.

"You probably feel like shit, but damn you look amazing," Mint says with a smile. He touches her face and she flinches, though she is not sure why. Her eyes search the room until they find Mandrake. He is sitting up in the bed beside her. He is wearing a hospital gown as well and he looks much better than he had in the car. Mira tries to sit up, but feels nauseous again and doesn't resist when Mint pushes her back down.

"Delray?" She manages to say.

"That's her first word, asking after this Delray?" Mandrake says. He hops from the hospital bed and leans over to place a kiss on her forehead.

"Well, he did save your lives, and your freedom, no less," Mint says.

"This is true," Mandrake says with a nod.

"Where is he now?" Mira asks.

"The cafeteria, he eats like a sixteen year old boy-that's what I remember thinking about him back when we first met. Package after package of cookies, soda all the time, candy," Mandrake answers.

"Well he acts like he's full of sugar, that's for sure," Mint says.

"We can't stay here," Mira says. "It's not safe. Montana sent someone named Michigan Mike after us."

"It's true we need to move, but there's a little more to the story. You tell her or me?" Mint asks.

"You tell her, this is your mess."

"Montana didn't send Michigan Mike," Mint says.

"Let me guess," Mira says, anger forming in her gut. "Mya sent him."

"Beautiful and smart, deadly combination," Mandrake says.

"Give me a break," Mira says. "When can we get the fuck out of here before Mint's girlfriend sends this pyromaniac to blow this place sky high as well?"

"Doctor's making his rounds," Mandrake says. "How about we not be here when he arrives?"

~~

Mira and Mandrake shed their hospital gowns with little fanfare and with Mira leaning on Mint for stability, they make a beeline for the elevator. They face no resistance until they exit the hospital, it is then that Delray appears with a bag of potato chips in his hand. "You guys weren't thinking of leaving without me, were you?"

"Yes," Mandrake says, his jaw set.

"Well I think you all need to rethink your decision. Why do you think, after an explosion like that, cops aren't crawling all over your conspicuous asses?" Delray barks a laugh.

"Because we didn't do anything wrong? I don't know..."

"It's because I'm with you. I've arranged for you to be left alone-while you're in my custody. And I'll tell you what Mandrake...you're lucky you've gotten along so well this long. Lucky the world is so preoccupied with their cell phones and celebrity women's tits, okay, because if they weren't, they'd all be wondering what the hell this one," Delray says thrusting his finger at Mint, "is walking around free and why there are two of you. And you," he says looking at Mira, "they'd just wonder."

"Dayte mne pereryv!" Mandrake says, taking a step toward Delray who simply shoves a handful of chips in his mouth.

"English, Mandrake, English!" Delray laughs.

"Poshel na khuy," Mandrake spits.

"That one was fuck you, Delray. I really suggest you leave him alone," Mira says, "if your aim truly is to help and not antagonize, which is what you've been trying to convince me of since you met me."

"Fair enough," Delray says. He jingles his keys. "Shall we go?"

Mira fights back nausea all the way to the car, feels clear one minute and foggy the next. She finds herself watching Mandrake for a couple of moments confused as to who he is before she is flooded with flashes of memory that make him familiar again. She nearly tells everyone about this but then, doesn't. Delray pulls from the parking lot and Mint produces the medical file that he'd stolen from the nurses station.

"TBI," Mint says quietly.

"TBI?" Mandrake asks.

"Traumatic Brain Injury. She has a concussion. We have to keep an eye on her."

"True enough, but she needs medical help, I don't think it was wise to take her out of the hospital." Delray says.

"I know. I have a friend in Colorado, though. He's in his residency at one of the hospitals there, he can take a look at her."

"So you're going to drive your, girlfriend is it? You're going to drive your girlfriend twelve hours in a car without medical attention for brain damage? I get it, you guys haven't said I love you yet? Things aren't that serious?"

"This guy doesn't shut his mouth I'm going to crack his skull. Matter of fact, maybe I'll just do it right now!"

"Mandrake, he saved our lives," Mira says.

"Everybody keeps saying that but what I can't get over is that he's one of Montana's cronies. You don't know what he's up to, not really."

"But Mandrake I do know. We talked in the bar, he could've killed me but he didn't. He told me something really important. I just can't think of what it was," Mira says with a small laugh.

"I told her that Montana paid me to kill her. You see, I require all jobs to be paid up front-" Delray says with a shake of his finger.

"No one gives a fuck, keep talking," Mint says.

"I'm just describing my character-"

"Please, Delray, no one gives a fuck," Mira says.

"Tough crowd. I took my payment and made Montana think I was taking the job, but in reality I wanted to meet Mira. She and my sister were good friends. Sela didn't have a happy life. Didn't have a lot of good people around her. When she talked about this Mira, though, she was so happy. She seemed to have really found a person who genuinely cared about her. They always seemed to have fun. When she disappeared I started looking for you, Mira, but every trail ran cold. When Montana mentioned you-I didn't think at first that it was the same person, but when he told me everything, I knew. I came to find you, and here I am. Sela died and no one knew why. She killed herself and me and my mom couldn't figure it out. She'd seemed so happy. It's true we hadn't heard from her in the month before-she died. But we still didn't get it. Montana put it all together."

"It was all my fault," Mira says. She begins to cry. "My head hurts," she says.

"Mint you snatch any pain killers?" Mandrake asks. He holds Mira tightly. Mira can hear his heart beating in his chest, but it sounds mostly far away.

"I didn't get a chance to," Mint says.

"Listen, we can hash it out later, but I didn't wait all this time to find out what was happening to have her die before we can talk. If it helps you to believe me, count on my selfishness. I miss my sister, I wasn't the best brother, and somehow me knowing what her final moments were like, will give me some sort of closure. I want her to live so that..."

"So that if the story doesn't meet your expectations you can fulfill Montana's contract?" Mint asks.

"Listen, I'll get her to this doctor. Maybe then you'll trust me."

"Give it a rest, Mint, Mandrake. I've got a good feeling about him," Mira says. Her vision is narrowing, and she would tell them, but doesn't want to alarm them. She closes her eyes tightly and presses her head into Mandrake's chest, it seems to help.

"Step on it then, Delray. She dies, you die " she hears Mandrakes voice as it vibrates through his chest. She figures, as things go black again, that if this is the last sound she hears before she dies, she would get the last thing she deserves, a death more pleasant than the one she'd afforded Sela.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 13



"For some reason, I think of my mother whenever we finish making love," Mira says. Mint stands, stretches, ponders her statement. He can see it, she's never quite detached herself from her parent's expectations like a well-adjusted adult, after all. When they first started robbing banks she would always fall into melancholy for weeks after the job, pondering what they would think of the things she'd done. Unlike Mira, he feels no form of guilt about his actions as he knows that any illegal, immoral act he commits will only be followed by more of the same. For him, harboring guilt for acts he has no intention of ceasing is tantamount to insanity.

"Don't tell us something like that right after," Mandrake says. Mint jumps in the shower, watches the two of them through the transparent shower door before the steam obscures the image of their entwined bodies, a cigarette being passed between them.

"Hey I'm going to link up with Delray and flush out Michigan Mike," Mint says suddenly into the steamy air. He hadn't known he was going to speak, and now that he has he can't do anything else but think about what he'd said. Neither of them answer, but soon Mira is stepping into the shower with him.

"We'll all go," Mira says.

"You have a concussion, Mira, you're not doing it."

"I have to, Mint, it's my fault."

"Yeah well--you were only stealing back what Montana stole from us. I would've done the same thing if I'd not been in prison."

"I would have just killed him," Mandrake says from the other side of the shower door.

"No, you don't understand, Montana never stole our take. He never touched it."

"Peculiar, because that's the exact opposite of what you told us. Explain this a little more," Mint says, his stomach feeling unsteady. He shuts off the water and steps out of the shower. He shrugs on a robe and picks up his cigar case from the night stand. Whatever she is about to say will, he is sure, put things into perspective.

"You know I'm--skittish with violence."

"Since when? " Mandrake snorts.

"I know how I used to be, but lately it hall has become a bit, much. Seeing all the shit Montana's laid in his wake, I'm starting to develop a severe aversion to it all."

"I am thoroughly desensitized," Mint says, though this is not entirely true. He believes his heightened aggression, lack of squeamishness is an amplified expression of normal human anger and thirst for revenge. When someone wrongs him he has no issue doling out whatever sort of attack he see fit, up to and including murder....however...to his knowledge he'd never harmed an innocent man and his knowledge in this field is vast.

"Iceman!" Mandrake hisses.

"Listen, I couldn't just shoot him. I couldn't walk up and shoot him. I don't have the stomach. And I've got a clean record and I'll do anything to keep it that way. You both need me to stay that way. A murder charge is not an option. So I did the only thing I could think of."

"You obviously didn't kill him, so spit it out," Mandrake says.

"Mandrake, your razor sharp wit is always appreciated, but pipe down," Mira says. "I fed Montana sleeping pills and hired a guy to drive him to Mexico and shoot him in the head."

"Drive him to Mexico and shoot him in the head," Mandrake repeats.

"That's what she said," Mint says. His mind is racing, but he is calm when he addresses her.

"Who did you hire?" He asks. He finally lights his cigar, and tries to keep his mind completely blank as he knows this is the last moment of peace he will have. Whatever the name is, they're fucked. He can almost see the end, every detail fleshed out brilliantly by their many missteps.

"Mayven Mikowski."

"M&M." Mandrake says.

"You sent that shockingly astute psychopath and Montana is still alive? Doesn't sit well with me. Montana is a desperate coward which gives him a little bit of an edge, but he's still no match for Mikowski. There's got to be more to it, Mira. How did Mikowski say it happened?"

"He didn't. I haven't talked to him since all of this started."

"So, we going to see Mikowski?" Mandrake asks. He throws on his clothes and jingles the car keys in his hand, a man of action.

"Mira, I cannot express to you how much having that information days ago would have helped us. Why lie?" Mint asks.

"I didn't need to tell you...I didn't want to worry you...I thought I'd take care of it myself? One of those? A bit of all of them? Plus I tried to tell you a few times times. I figured it didn't matter in the scheme of things."

"Well if it matters nowhere else, Mira, it matters in this scheme of things. Not only have you robbed him, generally unprovoked, you tried to kill him. And just what part does he think me and my brother played in this little plot?"

"What's it matter what part he thinks we played? We're in it now. And I know that if we'd ever found out that Montana was trying to off Mira we'd kill him no matter the reason," Mandrake says.

"Without a doubt, Mandrake. I'm just trying to sort out this lie. Give me a second," Mint holds up a finger and raises his voice slightly. Mira slides on a dress and lights another cigarette. She grabs her purse and whirls to face him.

"I lied, yeah," she says.

"After all that shit you gave me about Mya?"

"Well just because I lied too doesn't mean that you didn't lie! We're all a bunch of liars. A bunch of fucking low down liars."

"And she smiles when she says this, that head injury has her going loopy Mint," Mandrake says.

"It's not the head injury. It's her," Mint says. For a moment she is all he can see. She is standing there with her chest heaving, her hair piled high just the way he likes. She knows she is caught, and Mint is not sure exactly what it is he's caught her at. It goes deeper than even what has been exposed, he can tell. "You put that purse down and sit your ass right back on that bed."

Mira does as he says. Her hand shakes as she smokes. "Unprovoked?" She barks. "That remark, Mint, I resent. Robbing him for no reason? I'm sorry, do I know you?" Mira tousles her hair, curses under her breath and grabs an ashtray from the nightstand inside which she places her still burning cigarette. "He's provoked me plenty. He's locked me in the house. He's forced himself on me. Has threated to fucking kill me if I left. Are you crazy? Unprovoked? Before, I was too weak minded to really stand up and by the time I was ready to I wanted his blood."

"Mira, you are one of the toughest people I know. You could have just walked. If he came after you..."

"He is coming after me! Haven't you noticed?"

"I think what she's trying to say is, if she was going to risk leaving and have him chase her down and kill her, she should at least rob him blind and have some fun while she's at it," Mandrake says.

"Yeah, or if she'd just walked without trying to rob and kill him he wouldn't have sent an army of comic book villains after us," Mint says. He picks up his keys. "How much have you stolen from him?"

"Twenty mil," Mira says. She picks up her purse again. "I'm running out."

"Where?" Mint asks, his eyes narrowed.

"What the fuck is with you?" Mira asks.

"Oh I think you know. Go out. I've got a run of my own to make," Mint says.

"Ill go with her," Mandrake says.

"You're more than welcome to, Mandrake. You are too, Mint. Let's not get mad at each other. We're all we've got."

"We are. But I want to be alone for a bit. I won't be out long."

When Mint is alone he finally takes a look at his phone. Countless missed calls from Mya. One outgoing text message to Mya. He'd told her where he'd be tonight. He has not yet decided whether he will show up--take the final step in ruining things for good.

"Where you headed?" Delray is beside him suddenly, opening a stick of gum. Mint stops, faces him.

"What do you want?"

"Listen, underneath all this scheming and scamming, I'm a cop. I believe in the justice system. I believe bad guys should go to jail."

"How much?" Mint asks.

"Slide me a million, I'll make sure the system forgets you were even in prison in the first place. I'll get you released on paper."

"No shit?" Mint says. He looks deep into Delray's eyes, trying to find a waver, a sliver of something.

"I'll do it. Tell you what, since you are working with Mira, a girl who gave my Sela some of the best times of her life, I'll even get working on it before you pay me...the entire thing. Get me half for the down payment, the rest when it's done. Hell, you get me two million? I'll make sure you are clean as a whistle when we part ways."

It is not until Mint has left Delray and is sitting on a wobbly barstool at Fisher's Fry Hole that he ponders this offer. He most definitely has the money. He can't imagine being free of all the weight he is carrying behind him. No jail, no mile long wrap sheet. He could go straight--though the thought of going straight isn't as appealing as he wishes it were. Delray could be blowing smoke up his ass. He is in no position to trust the words of snakes. The offer is almost too good to be true, and he is leaning toward thinking it is just another scam.

Mint checks his phone. A reply text from Mya that simply reads, 'I'm on my way'. Mint polishes off his third gin and juice. He thinks of Mira and her face clouds his vision for an indeterminate amount of time, and it is not until Mya slides onto the stool beside him that he breaks free from the image. He feels a hint of nostalgia when he lays his eyes on Mya's beautiful face, her short blond hair meticulously styled, as usual. Mint slides her the strawberry margarita he ordered for her. She smiles and takes a sip, watching him all the while.

"I missed you. You look good."

"Thanks," he says. He focuses on the television mounted over the bar. It shows a news program covering the explosion. He can't hear what the short balding news reporter is saying, and he figures that that's just as well.

"So, you attached at the hip to Mira again, I hear?"

"You hear? Don't play coy. You tried to kill her. You almost succeeded. Mandrake was there too, by the way. You could have killed him, too."

"Collateral damage."

"You sound like Montana," Mint says. He regrets meeting her, and suddenly wants to be back with Mira. He recalls the press of her thighs, the sounds she makes that differ ever so slightly from the ones she makes when Mandrake is inside of her.

"Well, maybe you should start acting a little more like him, too. Did you know he's got his eyes set on politics? He's going to clean up his money and go legit. And if anybody's got enough money to pull such a stunt Montana does. He says he'll take me with him. Give me a position on his staff."

"Really? You think that goon could be a politician? I mean, most of them are slimy but fucking Montana is an oozing rotting boil on society's backside. He'd have to throw a couple of blow jobs in with any bribes he thinks he's gonna push."

"Well, he says he'll do whatever it takes. Including killing the woman he loves for messing with his life."

"You and Montana are thick as theieves, it appears."

"Well why wouldn't we be? You promised me the moon when you broke out and now look at you! On the lam with Mira and Mandrake while they rob Montana blind!"

"Mandrake?"

"What, you didn't know? Mira's been fucking Mandrake for months. They've been going into Montana's places and sticking them up. This kid Montana found hanging around one of the spots after it got hit said he watched her and Mandrake fuck in the car for about an hour before they went in. Apparently it was all very Bonnie and Clyde."

"You used to lie better than this," Mint says. He stands, ready to go. For some reason, he doesn't care whether this is true or not. If it is in fact the truth, all Mandrake and Mira's dishonestly amount to is another lie or half truth atop a mound of others. At this moment, the mention of Mira and Mandrake's name only makes him want to return to them.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to Mira's hip," Mint says. He throws a few bills on the table and turns to leave. Mya follows him.

"Just like that?" She says once they are back on the street. "All of you are stupid. You have no idea what you're getting into with her."

"Don't I?" Mint asks, a smile on his lips.

"You don't. You wouldn't believe the stories Montana tells about her."

"So you two, you're fucking right?" Mint asks, the smile still on his lips. "Montana this, Montana that. And anyone who would believe any commentary that Montana has about anyone's character is an idiot. I would think you'd know better than to fall for him. You saw with your own eyes how he was with Mira."

"Mira was a bitch who eye fucked you and any other man she wanted directly in front of Montana's face without apology. She is a liar, a sociopath, a slut, and most importantly, a thief. Did you know she sent M&M after Montana? He doesn't just kill, he maims, tortures.."

"Two things Montana has done and is overdue to have done to him. As you well know, that relationship ran a rocky course before Mira began acting that way toward Montana. He put her through hell. She started not to care, and yes, she started being disrespectful, there's no doubt about that. But to feel anything akin to pity for a man like Montana--that's where I draw the line. She gave it to him like he dished it. Montana couldn't handle it."

"And you can? Where is she right now? With your brother? Probably fucking like rabbits the both of them."

"Maybe," Mint checks his watch, "and maybe if I hurry, I can join them."

"You three are sick," Mya says through a scowl that Mint has seen too many times before. "Montana wants all three of you dead. I'm the one trying to convince him to only set his sights on Mira. I'm pleading your case and this is how you treat me?"

"Have I changed your mind, then? Are you gonna do Montana a favor? Put a bullet in my head?" He asks. He is more than aware of the gun in his holster, one reach away. He could do what he should have done before. He watches her make a decision, her jaw set, a decision that is never brought to fruition.

"I won't have to, because--" Mya's words are cut short by a bullet in the head that creates a splash of blood as it escapes her right temple. She drops dead to the ground. Mint grunts in surprise and rips his gun from its holster. He ducks into cover just as another shot narrowly misses his head. He resists the urge to crawl to Mya's side as the gunshots continue to hit the metal and shatter the glass of the old Buick he's hiding behind.

"Who the fuck are you?" Mint calls out. Silence. Mint drops to his stomach and peers beneath the car. Walking toward him, he sees a pair of black leather boots that he would know anywhere, hears the successive chimes of a cell phone ringing. He peeks around the car and aims his gun, but no one is there. Mint takes a cautious look around and sees nothing but Mya's body lying awkwardly on the ground. He chokes back a sob and pulls her back into cover. He covers his hand with the edge of his shirt and slides her cell phone out of her pocket, dials 911. He prays for her as he runs in the opposite direction toward his car, sirens fading in and gaining fast.

He dials Mira's number once he is in the car and the call goes straight to voicemail. "I know what you just did," he says after the beep.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 14



"Just like I always imagined," Mandrake says. Mira doesn't hear him at first. She is looking through her purse trying to find the pain pills the doctor Delray had taken her to had prescribed. He told her to pop a few whenever the pain got to be too much. Her past addictions make her leary of most controlled substances, but with a headache this bad she has no choice.

"It's shiny, that much is for sure," she says once she's located the pills. She downs two of them with a quick chomp and swallow. She looks up at Mandrake and the brand new Mercedes coupe he'd just purchased.

"Shiny, red, sexy. Let's fuck on the hood," Mandrake says while leering at a leggy blonde that walks by at that very moment.

"Fuck her instead," Mira says. She turns heel and heads back toward the hotel. Mandrake calls after her a few times, but she doesn't turn around and gets onto the elevator alone. She checks her cell phone, which with its char marks and cracked screen paired with the constant ache in her head remind her of the absolute horror of the explosion. 

She calms herself as she scrolls through her call log. A few missed calls. A voicemail from Mint. She then checks Fowler Jone's voicemail. Eerily, his phone had fared way better. He has message after message, various requests, inquiries and comments from people who have yet to learn of his death. She smiles.

The elevator doors open to their suite and she is staring back at Mint who without interlude snatches the phone from her hands. "What you up to?" He asks, his fingers dancing across the screen as he tries to crack the lock code. She manages to snatch it back before he gains access. He walks onto the elevator, corners her. She holds her hands up, her breathing shallow.

"What are you so afraid of?" He asks. He pins her hand against the wall of the elevator and pries the phone from her hands and smashes it against the wall with one swift movement. Mira screeches but stays still, looks him in the eye.

When he kisses her she rears back at first, surprised. She pulls away once the message is clear, rips open her shirt and waits, and she doesn't wait long. 

He runs his hands down her thighs and slides her panties down her legs. He eases himself out of his pants and presses against her. He runs furtive, insistent hands over her center, then drops to his knees and runs his tongue over every swollen inch of her. 

He holds her legs askew, breathes and moans as his tongue probes and massages her every fold. He is saying something she can't hear. Then he is on his feet again, he hikes up her leg and enters her with one hard thrust. She bites his shoulder while he says things in her ear that both frighten and titillate, holds off as long as she can before she screams her release. His strokes turn to deep, reflexive jerks as he comes and fills her with his warmth. When he is done he zips up and turns away from her.

"What were you saying?" She asks, trying to gain her composure.

"You know what I was saying. You took a hit out on me? On me?" His face is red, his green eyes ablaze. She has never seen him so angry, and when her laugh comes it echoes awkwardly against their extended silence.

"Sometimes, Mira, you make me wonder," he says. He looks as if she has just slapped him.

Her heartbeat speeds up. She can't be offended by this. He's angry. He should be. "What do you wonder?"

"Just what you've got going on in your heart," he says. He leaves the elevator and she feels light headed. The dull ache in her head intensifies just a bit. She blinks her eyes to clear her vision which blurs from time to time since her injury. She leans against the back wall of the elevator, slides to the floor. She recalls the doctor's cautious words, but doesn't think of them long before her phone rings.

"I thought I smashed that motherfucker!" Mint says as he reenters the elevator to investigate.

"You smashed Fowler's phone. Mine's intact, more or less," she says before answering Mandrake's call.

"I've been trying to call the fucking elevator car to the room for damn near thirty minutes! What gives?" Mandrake all but screams this. Mira leaves the elevator and it finally descends. She ends the call and turns to Mint who plies her with a searching look that she takes full on. She has nothing to hide. Nothing much at all.

"I hope it was worth seeing her. One last time," she says. The elevator opens and Mandrake saunters into the room. He looks at both of them.

"Did you guys just fuck? Without me?" Mandrake says.

"Yeah, just trying to catch up with you guys, you know? Mya told me you two have been fucking and robbing Montana for months. Is that true? You were in on this whole thing all this time, Mandrake? You had sex with her behind my back?"

"Mint, give me a break. All of this is your fault!" Mira goes to the refrigerator and grabs her flask. She takes a swig and tries to clear her head. She feels slightly nauseous, hopes the brandy will help.

"How exactly do you figure that?"

"You should have seen her, man. When she found out you were calling Mya and making nice, she was devastated. I was just consoling her."

"And your dick is the perfect cure for the angst I give her, is it?"

"Yes," Mira says plainly. She leans on the marble countertop and takes a deep breath "Mint, I thought I'd lost you. I decided to finally stop longing for someone who couldn't even be bothered to call and check in for three years. I grew to love Mandrake. He took good care of me. Montana beat me up bad one night after I told him I was going to make him pay for all the things he'd done and he lost it. I called Mandrake and we decided to kill Montana. Why not? He deserves it." 

Mira walks over to Mint, looks up at the turbulence in his eyes. He hadn't done what she'd thought he would. She recalls how when her days were darkest with Montana thoughts of Mint were her escape. She imagined him getting out, coming to save her, shooting Montana in the head and stepping over his dead body to embrace her. All of that slipped away when she found out about his frequent calls and proclamations to Mya.

Mint is silent for a few moments before he wraps his hands around Mandrake's neck and attempts to wrangle him to the ground.

"Stop it Mint! Stop it!" Mira screams, but she doesn't dare go near them.

"You motherfucker! You've been lying, to me? You had me thinking Montana was in a jealous rage when in truth, he's trying to get revenge, like any man would. I'm your flesh and blood. I'm you! I know we didn't grow up together, but fuck, if you don't have your fucking twin brother's back, then whose back do you have?"

"Mint, don't blame him. I begged him to keep it a secret. We're in the real world, Mint. You know it's thick as thieves between lovers. Don't blame him," Mira says.

"You're right, I shouldn't blame him," he says, releasing Mandrake who clears his throat and coughs as he gets to his feet, "but I sure as fuck blame you. There's no uncertainty about that! Mya told me you and Montana were going strong. Engaged. I decided that we wouldn't ever be together now I get to see how right I was!"

"Well, you could have called me and asked me about it all! Mya was only trying to fuck with your mind, and you fell for it hook line and sinker," Mira says.

"So what was that shit tonight? Payback?"

"Payback?" Mandrake asks.

"She sent Mikowski after me. He killed Mya and tried to kill me."

"Is that true, Mira?"

"Yes it's true," she drains her flask.

"What the fuck!" Mandrake yells.

"He fucking let me down!"

"So you try to kill him?"

"Listen, I ordered that hit before you broke out, Mint."

"I knew it, I knew it when you told me about Mikowski. You know, I actually thought I saw Mikowski inside. Was he inside?"

"Yes, he was going to kill you in prison. He has a guy that got him in. It ended up taking him longer than he expected to get the job done. He ended up having to leave for another job before he could do it. I tried to call him and stop him the night you came to see me Mint. I forgave you in that moment. But I couldn't reach him. He wouldn't answer the phone."

"And tonight, you could suddenly reach him?" Mint asks.

"I sent him a text and begged him. I told him I changed my mind. He never answered me, and you're here, so apparently he listened."

"Okay, I'm confused," Mandrake says, walking toward Mira with his posture predatory, a cigarette smoking in his tattooed hand. "I was wondering this since you first mentioned Mikowski, I know you told me that he was going to take care of Montana, but there's more to your relationship, isn't there? When did you and Mikowski get so buddy buddy? We were at that party, and he watched you so intently I asked you if you knew him. You down played it pretty well."

"Well, we know each other," Mira says.

"Why didn't you tell me that? Why did you pretend like you'd barely met him?"

"Because she's a liar," Mint says.

"I'm a liar," Mira says. She is a liar. She knows no other way. The lies came only after, though, only after she'd learned who each of them were, exactly. Mint, a man who loves another woman but will not admit it to himself or anyone else for reasons Mira isn't exactly sure of. 

She doesn't know why he fucked her in the elevator, but it had nothing to do with her, she is sure. 

Mandrake, the worst womanizer the world has ever known. Montana, a violent sociopath who subjected her to any and every form of abuse he could divine. None of them are a sure thing. A man like Mint, a man like Mandrake, a man like Montana. Not in touch with their own emotions. Crying when they should laugh, fucking when they should be crying. She loves Mint and Mandrake as much as she hates Montana, but hate and love are next to nothing outside of one's mind.

She's in it now, in this triangle she's created. Thinking of getting out of it. She has enough money to leave all of this behind. All of them behind. However, they are not the type of men one just leaves. If they are in the world at all she would want to be in that world, with them, beneath them, between them. 

If she is ever to get anything more out of life they have to be gone, her temptation must be destroyed--at least that is how she'd felt in the weak moment when she hired Mikowski to kill them all. She'd taken advantage of Mikowski's fascination with her. She promised him that they could give things a shot when her roster was cleared, as he put it.

"I don't know what to say to you," Mandrake says.

"I know," Mira says. She feels unsteady on her feet. "I understand if you don't want to be with me anymore, but I'm tired of all the heavy shit. I'm leaving and going to enjoy what little time I have left. You can come with me or you can sit here damning me for my mistakes. You've both made plenty, after all. Lately I keep thinking about those times in my life when I actually had fun. You two were there for a lot of it. Let's go out. Let Michigan Mike blow the club to smithereens, or let another Montana bought crony appear and shoot me to bits. But it's going to happen under a strobe light. I'm going to look fabulous, and I hope to God you're there with me."

She looks both of them in the eye, and when they don't speak she leaves and goes into the bathroom, shuts the door. She looks at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin has a pale tint but otherwise, she looks admittedly stunning. She rarely reflects on her beauty, and maybe that is her mistake. Her appearance is her curse, a fact tonight she will once again force herself to forget. 

She gets in the shower, touches herself, thinks of Mint's cock as his cum runs out of her, over her fingers and rinses down the drain. She showers until the water goes cold, and stays in even then, trying to clear her head.

She dries off, opens her purse and begins to dab on a little make-up as her mind considers simple things she is rarely able to contemplate, like what she will wear tonight, what fragrance she will spray on, whether or not to add another coat of polish to her nails. She plans to wear her beauty as a badge of honor, a tribute to what she knows will be a short life, her past be damned.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 15



If Montana Jones has learned anything, it is that nothing much ever changes. She looks as stunning as she did the day her met her. His eyes drink up the careless flip she gives her hair as she enters the lounge-a place with a doorman out front holding a list of the who's who of Vegas. He is sure that Mira's name is not on the list, but when a woman looks like she does her name needn't be known by anyone.

She is painfully gorgeous. Deep, dark skin, large round breasts on a thin, lithe body. Her face is an anomaly, at least that's what his mother had said when she met her. She smells like sunshine on a bad day, the earth on a good one. Her voice is a familiar melody, her core as hot as fire.

It is for this reason that he aches for her. He is not proud to admit that she remains the one woman he can never get enough of, even after all of the turmoil.

She will never know it, but every time he sets someone on her trail he cries and sleeps and mopes. He feels a regrettable wave of relief every time the Murder Twins dispatch one of his goons. While his brother's death remains a punch in the gut he hasn't quite recovered from, to this day he feels a dull pang of relief every time he considers Fowler's failure.

In his most desperate moments, he even ventures to wish that she might stop this madness and come back to him.

He knows that he was not always what he should have been to her. He isn't sure he knows how to love a woman, is certain that he does not know how to love a woman as complex as Mira. She is a charming, calculating cheat with a penchant for crime, after all. The type of woman who can enter into any situation and fit seamlessly within it.

It is in this way, Mint had told him when they were close, that she completely and totally disarms you, breaches your defenses, and rips you hollow in the end. Mint was drunk when he said it, and Montana was, too, which is why he hadn't questioned how Mint could know such a thing-and also why he hadn't taken Mint's words as the golden piece of guidance that they were.

He enters the lounge a bit after her, his name is on the list. He watches her make the rounds and chuckles to himself as she shuns the advances of no less than five men who approach her in fast succession. She stands up on the bar foot rail and orders a translucent drink, probably some sort of vodka cocktail.

He settles into a cushy day glow booth in VIP and contemplates his next move. He'd only planned to confront her tonight, the way he will do this has not yet occurred to him.

"Here alone tonight?" A waitress approaches to take his drink order.

"What's it look like?" Montana answers distractedly. He orders a gimlet, and when she brings it he downs it and slides a twenty into her hand. He watches Mira order her second drink, and then she finally gives her full attention to a tall man who'd entered the bar with a slew of bodyguards. He looks vaguely familiar to Montana, and is nearly seven feet tall. Most likely a professional athlete. He hovers over her, laughs at something she says and places his hand at the small of her back which prompts her to move away from him.

"Do me a favor," he says to the waitress. He holds out a $100 bill. "I have to run to the bathroom. Sit here and watch that girl," he says.

"The black girl?"

"Yes," Montana says with a roll of his eyes. "If she goes anywhere, leaves the bar or anything, please come and get me."

When he gets into the bathroom, he enters a stall and removes an alcohol wipe from his pocket. He wipes down the top of the toilet bowl and then opens the plastic baggy that contains a few lines of cocaine, a drug he hadn't touched or desired before he met Mira.

He thinks, as he often does, of the night Sela killed herself. Looking back on it as he has over the years, he is finally able to place the blame solely on his shoulders. It couldn't have been Mira's fault. She'd only held the truth up to his eyes, made him face himself. She had no way of knowing that Sela would go as far as to kill herself. No one could have known, but they should have.

He gets the lines just the way he likes them. Moves them around like Mira had always done, no reason behind it, a part of a ritual that he finds most people engage in in one way or another before imbibing their drug of choice. He bends over and snorts one home, contemplates the other two. He thinks he has an idea of what he will say. He touches the gun in his breast pocket, tries to suppress the image of Sela placing the gun to her temple, tears running down her face. He wonders if killing Mira will solve anything. He is sure that it will not, actually, but it matters little now as it has to be done.

"I didn't know you'd picked up the habit," a voice says from outside of the stall. He knows it instantly, the Irish brogue is unmistakable. He smiles to himself. She is evil. Pure evil.

"Mira always leaves some sort of mark on her men," Montana says. He snorts the remaining lines home and unsnaps his gun from the holster and screws the silencer onto the barrel. He doesn't plan on living through this. Even before Mikowski had beaten him half to death, drugged him and thrown him into his cluttered trunk, he'd harbored a niggling fear of the man. Yet and still, he will not go down without a fight.

"Fuck you Mikowski!" he says as he manages to get a shot off that hits Mikowski in the shoulder. Mikowski's knees give out for just a moment, and then he recovers with a smile on his face.

"Mira gives her regards," he says before his knife flashes in the fluorescent light and sends the searing burn through the flesh of Montana's neck. Then Mikowski is gone just like that, like he'd never been there at all.

Montana doesn't think of much as he dies on the cold marble floor. There isn't much to think about as he'd rehashed and relived all of the important moments of his life while gagged and bound in the trunk of Mikowski's car-and again after -by sheer will- he'd extricated himself from the trunk only to fall out in the middle of a residential neighborhood littered with cruising cops.

He'd narrowly avoided arrest and had relied on people's good will to get in contact with Mya. Poor Mya, if any of them were straight, it was her. He would not be surprised if she is dead now, too.

He'd lived a bad life, and is dying a bad death. The waitress enters the bathroom before he can no longer see, and the last thing he hears is her piercing scream.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 16



Killers. She loves killers. A woman who loves killers must be prepared to endure every facet of a psychopath's psyche. She cannot cower when he threatens her with the same violence he doles out with reckless abandon to the world he rips through. She must fight back when he strikes her. She must always be thinking. Always be outthinking him. She has to be one step ahead. She has to stay interesting. She must be beautiful, classically so or otherwise. Just beautiful.

Any woman with a career criminal will become a criminal. It is unavoidable. Even if she hasn't ever pulled a trigger, sold a drug, done a drug. Everyone knows that if you knew than you knew and you are as good as incarcerated. It is all worth it, for her. She is sure that any man less intense than the ones she surrounds herself with would not pique and hold her interest. She likes their danger, always has. There comes a time in a woman's life, however, when she must separate herself from her basest desires. She must actively shun them. She must purge her soul. That day, thankfully, is not today.

She runs her hands over the stubble on Mikowski's head as he lies on top of her, his eyes low lidded, cigarette smoke sliding out of his parted lips. She touches the bandage on his shoulder and then caresses the feverish skin surrounding the bandage itself. She teases her index finger into his mouth and feels around for his tongue. He begins to suck, shifts his weight so that she feels the press of his erection against her thigh.

She had not expected Mikowski, and her heart truly breaks for this betrayal. There is nothing she can do, after all. She ponders whether or not her capacity for love is finite. She is not sure. She remains genuinely perplexed by her wonton acts of what some might simply call promiscuity-and promiscuity it is not.

She has, however, done Mint and Mandrake a solid, or, Mikowski has. as he has freed them of Montana's cronies as well as the puppet master himself. They can live without fear-without fear of Montana anyway. Mint is an escaped convict and Mandrake has more warrants than the set of a western movie and so they remain pursued, after all. Another reason she cannot stay with them, it will only bring more angst, she knows it in her heart. She wishes it were not true.

"Montana, he didn't beg. He looked resigned. Tired. Different than I'd ever seen him before, actually. I thought that I would feel some rush before I murdered him. That is the usual thing, a rush of adrenaline, warm pleasure filling every single inch of my body. But I didn't. I felt that he was a good man that had gone wrong way before you met him. I feel like maybe he knew his life had been shit, and the shit made it too hard to climb out," Mikowski says.

"And while he lived in the shit he was flinging it out at people trying to lessen the depth of his-shit pool," Mira says.

"Yes, this is true," Mikowski says with a chuckle. "He died quick. I don't know what I expected, but it was nothing. Lesser men have had more dramatic deaths. The shot he got off resulted in a mere flesh wound. He was never a good shot."

"Well, I'm just glad this is soon to be over. We can start over. We can move out of the country. Get normal jobs. Or not. We could go to school. Open a business, a restaurant."

"Go straight?" Mikowski says. "You have to be kidding."

"Maven, one can only evade the law for so long. You and I have been lucky-never having been caught. But luck runs out. Mint went a long time before he caught his first case. After that it's all too easy to get caught again. Your record just grows and grows. Being in jail on some 20 to life sentence is not what I'm striving for."

"Me neither, but I'm good, Mira. I've never even gotten a speeding ticket."

"Mark my words," Mira says with a playful swat to Mikowski's back.

"Michigan Mike? He crumpled like a doll," Mikowski says, suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"I sniped him. This was a good one. Nothing messy. I watched him for a day or two. He had sex with all kinds of people, he was a bit...eccentric. He had a hotel room downtown on the water, you know where I'm talking about? He was just going through the phone book ordering people at one point. Dick, pussy, and everything in between. And when he wasn't fucking some nudie mag back page offering, he was beating his meat to porn. I did see him preparing for a job. He gets steady work despite all the jobs he's botched."

"Well he's effectively not botched a lot of jobs, and I'm glad I was one of his failures."

"Me too," Mikowski says, snuggling against her. "You sure about the Murder Twins, though? Do you think that you can just up and leave them? I can take care of them. Might be easier for you, you know, to move on with them dead. I know how tempting the comfort of a past love can be."

Mira tenses as panic seizes her stomach. She thought she'd made it perfectly clear that she didn't want Mint or Mandrake harmed. "I told you, don't touch them. You touch them you might as well kill me, too. I won't be with them anymore, I agreed to that, but I won't stand by and let you hurt them."

"My what a difference a day makes. A little over a month ago you wanted both of them done and over with. Had me using all kinds of means best left untouched. I risked getting caught in the system when I went to jail to off Mint for you, and now you're so adamant that they be left unharmed. Should I be worried? Worried that once the breeze of indecision washes over you you'll leave me, too, send those crazy motherfuckers after me?"

"No, you don't have to worry about that, not at all. And if I wanted you dead, I'd do it myself," Mira says with a smile. Mikowski smiles back, takes one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

"I really love your skin. It's smooth, smells like the earth," Mikowski puts his lips to the flesh between her breasts. "When we make love for the first time, I know it's going to be amazing."

"I'm sure it will be," Mira says. She lights a cigarette and runs her nails up and down Mikowski back. He'd spoken of Michigan Mike's eccentricities as if he didn't harbor a barrelful of his own. Mikowski had told her, one of the first times they'd spoken, about his childhood spent in a Glasgow orphanage. He'd joked about his daily efforts to protect his virginity, and then on a more serious note had described his slight aversion to sex. While he'd been with his share of women, he told her he never had sex until entirely comfortable with the woman and their collective energy.

He prefers what they are doing now to anything else, lounging naked in bed, sharing a joint or a drink. Talking. Sometimes he would have her sit and he would stare at her naked body while falling into one of his "trances" where he would chant and light incense. He told her the practice provided focus for his killings, witnessing the female body, he told her, allowed him to channel the full strength of his abilities. He would touch her and kiss her and fall to his knees, bury his face in her stomach or her breasts, praise her beauty for hours. She and Mikowski had shared long, deep conversations for years now. It was only recently that they'd taken it to this level.

"I worry that we won't be able to make love, however, until I'm sure that you are mine, and only mine."

Mira stubs out her cigarette. "I am fine with waiting," Mira says, "and I am as much yours as I can be anyone's."

"Exactly. You're not mine, not yet," Mikowski says. "What made you come here with me tonight? What made you decide to leave them, finally?"

She isn't exactly sure. Mikowski speaks to some part of her that Mint and Mandrake do not, yet she cannot say that she prefers Mikowski to Mint or Mandrake. He is simply satisfying her tastes for variety. His smoldering violent streak intrigues her, and his moral fiber, which although hypocritical in its existence, is intact. He does not kill wantonly. He says prayers for his victims. While people speak of his penchant for torture, they fail to remember that he is hired to commit the torture he performs. "I'm here because I want to be," she says.

"Are you sad about Montana at all? I'd meant to ask you earlier," Mikowski says.

Another answer she is unsure of. She'd been surprised by an unmistakable pang of loss that hit her to her core when Mikowski came to her in the lounge and told her that it was done. It was only a moment, and it passed quickly, but she'd felt it. She imagines the money she hasn't stolen will go to Alice, a child Montana had with a woman in Seattle five years into he and Mira's relationship.

Mira had found out about her only recently, and had reached out to Alice's mother, Mel, without any clear motive in mind. When they first met, Mel told Mira that she and Montana remained together in a sense, and that he'd taken care of Alice, at least financially, from the moment she was conceived. Alice, who Mira had found to be cheerful, well-adjusted and all around darling, had suffered a few medical issues as a toddler, and he'd paid every medical bill and had even attended a few doctor's appointments. 

Mira recalls how intrigued she'd been as Mel told her about how Montana always made sure to call Alice on her birthdays, and that every blue moon he would come and visit her, take her on some exciting day trip and then not see her again for a year or more. Mira did not know this Montana-this semi-thoughtful responsible human being who thought of others. She cannot deny that she feels a tinge of jealousy that Mel was able to elicit something in Montana that she surely never could.

She tries to calm her brain, which is racing suddenly. She even recalls a memory of her mother, picking her up from her crib after some sort of incident with her father. She cannot remember ever thinking of this moment before, but it is there and it is clear and she feels, for a moment, like she is that child again, lost in some highly charged moment that can only exist between people in love. 

She again feels the cold dread of her impending death, like she had before she'd gone out the night before. She is not sure why she feels this way, and dismisses the thought as quickly as it forms.

Mikowski shifts his weight again on top of her, and soon drifts off to sleep. She lights another cigarette and takes a drag. She feels hyper-aware of her surroundings, the softness of the down mattress on Mikowski's bedroom floor, the heavy weight of his body as she lay half-pinned beneath him.

She imagines that having dated a number of criminals, picking up their habits, methods, and inclinations, she may be the biggest criminal of them all. The biggest psychopath of the bunch-not quite. She is merely a woman awash in echoes of scorn and anger, confusion and fear. 

Crime is a different thing altogether. She had kept Mint and Mandrake clean, for a while. Kept them out of further trouble in Mandrake's case. She'd formulated plans that didn't appear to be feasible on paper but were easily executed with an amusing perfection. She has proven herself invaluable to those close to her. She'd said that exact thing to Mandrake after they'd robbed a liquor store in a town whose name she can't remember.

What she does remember is that the shopkeeper had flicked his tongue out at her and called her a racial epithet as leaned over the counter and ripped cash from the register drawer. He'd looked like a corpse and ogled her breasts openly. She remained a mere sex object even while in the commission of a felony. A black bimbo awash in a fetishized world.

Her mind drifts for a moment and she is suddenly wondering where she is, who is on top of her.

"Hello?" she says, slapping Mikowski on his back.

"What, you alright?" He asks. He looks her right in the eye and suddenly her mind is clear again.

"Yes, I'm fine," she says. She lies her head back as Mikowski climbs over her, takes her wrists and presses them gently against the wall.

"Do you want to know why I need you to be all mine?" he whispers in her ear.

"I think something's happening," she says as Mikowski begins to kiss her. She feels good, warm, like her entire body is vibrating, and though she isn't as confused as she was a moment ago, she feels disconnected from the sight of Mikowksi's eyes as he says something to her that she cannot hear. The look in his eye changes and he is shaking her, saying other things that she can't hear.

She remembers Sela. The night she died. She and Montana had gone over to her house for some reason or another, and everything had disintegrated into chaos. She hadn't seen Sela for a few weeks, and she'd entered Sela's house to find her asleep, and pregnant. Mira remembers the confusion she'd felt, and how memories of Sela covering up her thin frame with baggier clothes in the months before had begun to flood her memory. She'd shaken Sela awake while Montana had yelled at her that they needed to leave. When Sela had finally awoken she looked out of it, drugged.

Mikowski is still speaking but he's also on his phone now, and his movements are frantic. She still cannot hear a word he's saying, but she can clearly see Sela holding the gun to her head, telling Mira that it's Montana's baby, and that she is sorry. Mira forgave her before the sorry had even left her lips. She knew better than anyone how coercive Montana could be, how much pressure he could apply. Sela called herself a slut. Said she didn't deserve to live, and shot herself before Mira could stop her. Shot herself and dropped to the floor.

Mira feels sick suddenly as the ever present pain in her head intensifies to an unbearable degree. A transient memory of some Ferris wheel ride she'd taken with her father during one of his rare appearances begins to play through her head as her vision blurs and then goes black, then light again, and then black.

She begins to drift into what she feels will be a deep, satisfying sleep. In some cloudlike ether that seems to surround her in the place behind her eyes, she sees Sela, and she's holding a golden-skinned baby in her arms.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 17



"When you stop and think about it, she's not that great of a liar. She told us that Montana took all the money we stole because we left him high and dry on the job. How could that be? She knows we didn't leave him high and dry on the job. The only person left high and dry was you. She said that Montana took all the money, but yet, all the money was right where you left it. None of it makes sense. We shouldn't have believed a word of it," Mandrake says as he chews on a mouthful of sunflower seeds.

"No, she's a perfect liar. She had a captive audience. She knows that we wanted to believe her, that's all a liar needs," Mint says. "She said things and we believed it because, well, what reason would she have to lie? She's our Mira, right? She's loved me for ages, why would she lie to me, right? Why would she try to trick us? She's all about the Murder Twins, she would never play us, right? Wrong."

"Wrong indeed," Mandrake mumbles.

"That's why we listened to things that didn't make sense. That's why we didn't second guess her. She's mystifying, Mandrake. There are women like that, the types that fuck your brain the moment their mouths open. That's Mira," Mint says as he maneuvers Mandrake's car, his posture relaxed. "It's okay though, I've learned my lesson. Trust me on that."

"I learned my lesson as well. I'm disappointed in her, " Mandrake says.

"Yeah well, to be honest I'm a little disappointed in you. You told your share of lies, pulled the wool over my eyes. I'm your brother, Mandrake."

"I figured you were still mad about Mikowski. I know it was wrong, she had me mystified like you said, Mint. I'd do whatever she told me to. Probably still would," Mandrake says as he dodges a swat from Mint. "I knew she'd hired him to take care of Montana, but when we started getting chased by his goons I figured that the job had gone bad. She wouldn't ever talk to me about it, really. And trust me, I had no clue she really knew him, knew him. I thought she just grabbed him to do the job."

"Well you should have told me that she'd hired him. He's a fucking psychopath. The type you can't figure out," Mint holds out his hand and Mandrake drops a pile of seeds into his hand. He chews and slows the car as he checks his GPS. "By the time Mira realizes who she's attached herself to it'll be too late. Looks like we're here," Mint says.

Delray has a place in the part of Vegas Mint had always dreamt of, where sage brush rolls and cacti cluster in the space between where his property ends and unbridled desert land begins. His house is expansive and stucco and has a courtyard with a fountain. Delray is a symbol of what they'd all dreamed of when they started all this in the first place. Living lavishly, relaxing pool side and throwing parties well stocked with every substance, liquid and warm body any person could desire.

Instead, they are living in hotel rooms, penthouse suites, but hotel rooms all the same. While fucking in down feather beds beneath heavy, ornate mirrors or before some priceless view of a sparkling city scape can sate the appetite of those craving a quiet life of leisure for a while, eventually the desire to sit down and actually enjoy the fruits of anxiety ridden acts of crime becomes all encompassing. 

Right now, however, Mint is confident he is placing one foot fimly in the direction of self improvement. He's decided to trust Delray's word and try to go straight.

They take a seat in Delray's back patio with a woman he introduces as Mecca. She pours them drinks and they sip them as Delray moves about, chopping fruit and giving orders to his house staff. The chef remains in the sitting area with them. She is olive skinned and big breasted. She is sipping from a garish flask and staring openly at Mandrake, something on the tip of her tongue. 

"You two need me to refresh your drinks?" Delray calls from the pool side bar. He is wearing day glow swimming trunks and a matching visor.

"I could use some more vodka in this tonic," Mandrake says rising to his feet and joining Delray at the bar. Mint watches the two men for a moment as Delray presents his selection of liquor and then he turns back to Mecca who uncrosses her legs and presents him with a view up her dress.

"Delray tells me you're really smart, that you have a degree."

"Oh, Delray told you that, huh?" Mint replies. He takes a sip of his drink which has plenty of vodka and casts Mecca a smile that he hopes is warm. "What else did Delray tell you about me?"

"Not much else, except that you were in jail not too long ago."

"Yo Delray, you tell Mecca all of my business or just the most important parts?" Mint asks. Delray barks a laugh.

"I know you and your brother are sharing that wild Mira chick. I met her once, actually," Mecca says.

"Oh yeah?" Mint says. He suddenly wants to leave, but knows that he must at least see where this is all going and doesn't want to let a chatty woman throw him off.

"He said that he shared a suite with you guys. Says the three of you kept him up all night long," Mecca says. She uses her teeth to pluck a cherry from its stem and spreads her legs wider.

"Delray, I really hope Mecca is just a friend, because if she's anything else you might want to know a few things," Mint says with his eyes on Mecca. She makes no move to shut her legs and crosses them only when Delray has settled himself into the couch beside Mint.

"Is Mecca not behaving herself?" Delray asks with a wink. "I have to admit I did tell her millions of stories about life under the employ of Montana Jones. She likes hearing all of those stories. Where is Mira, by the way?" Delray asks.

"Who the hell knows? She didn't come home last night and she's not answering her phone," Mint says. He stands and finds that he is not very steady on his feet. He pours himself another drink anyway, and lets his mind wander as he looks out over the sparkling blue water of Delray's pool. His mind doesn't wander far, however, and lands where it always does, on Mira.

"Man, that's a bummer. Hope she's alright. Should we go find her?" Delray asks.

"I know with every fiber of my being that at this moment she doesn't want to be found," Mint says. "Besides, we have slightly more pressing issues to address. Be straight with me, can you really help me out?"

Mecca pulls a crystal flask from her purse, retrieves shot glasses from the bar and pours each of them a shot of whatever the flask contains. "We can do what you need," Mecca says.

"She have something to do with this?" Mandrake asks as he picks up his shot glass and sniffs it.

"I should say so, she's going to be doing all the legwork for this little project. She is sleeping with the man who manages the FBI's Master Criminal Database."

"Is that so?" Mandrake says.

"It is so. A toast?" Mecca says. She holds up her glass, the three men follow suit. "To new friends," Mecca says. They all down the shot and Mandrake whoops loudly before he picks Mecca up and spins her around. She laughs and straddles him, tosses her hair around.

"Mandrake, please," Mint says, "business first."

"And play later, right?" Mecca says as Mandrake places her back on her feet, her eyes taking him in. "I like these guys, Scott," she says.

"I knew you would. So Mint, we say the word, Mecca cleans you up. Easy breezy."

"Just like that?" Mint asks. His glass is empty again and he stands and returns to the bar, pours himself a shot of brandy even though Mecca's shot still burns in his stomach. It still seems to good to be true.

"Listen, it takes a bit more work than Scott's letting on as well as a bit of research-but I won't bore you with too many details. Essentially, what I do is tamper with all of your all of your active warrants and past felonies and make the charges invalid. It'd be ideal, of course, to remove you from the database altogether, however, the database regularly runs a series of checks that ensures that nothing fishy is going on. If I were to say, remove you from the database completely it would ping the big guys and they start combing all access points for a breach.

"It's dangerous shit because I don't have any clue of when the database check engages, it's not constant but it's damn near. I've got a pretty good idea of the access windows, however it's a big risk. If I'm in the system making changes when one of the checks engages, I'm fucked. I also have to get Reynolds on board and he does take a little coaxing-he's an integral part and he only accepts half his payment in pussy-hence the fee. However, if everything goes as planned and it always has in the past, your name will be as pure as the driven snow."

"Mint, sounds like a plan. He's clean and good, just like that?" Mandrake asks.

"More or less, it's a bit more complex than a series of keystrokes, and I do as much-or more work-outside the database as I do within it-but yeah, he'll be clean. He's still a wanted man, though. The media had already reported his escape and local police are still going to be looking since he escaped prison. The riskiest part, however, will be when Delray takes you in."

"When he takes me in?" Mint asks.

"Yes. We have to get eyes on the errors I produce in either in your procedural or substantive processing. The best way is to get picked up. They'll run you through processing. Your lawyer will take another look at your past arrests and at your trial proceedings, and suddenly the ineptitude of the justice system will, for the millionth time, be revealed. Then, you're free and clear. All charges dropped."

"You pay the 2 mil, me and Mecca will make sure you're untouchable in Nevada and beyond," Delray says as he plugs his IPod into a device that that sends Mexican language rap through the speakers mounted around the patio. He dances around, his eyes closed. 

"And then that's when the real fun starts," Mecca says. She wastes no time finding her way to Mandrake's lap. Mint watches through a haze of increasing drunkenness as Mandrake palms her breasts and pulls her dress down until they spring free. She giggles and makes no move to cover herself. Mandrake picks her up and she squeals as he leaps into the pool with her in his arms.

"You gonna join them?" Delray asks.

"Are you kidding?" Mint says.

"What? I thought you were into sharing."

"I'm not into it, actually. I have a thing-as all people should-about having sex with a person who's currently sleeping with someone else. I don't dip in other men's containers."

"Could have fooled me."

"Well thank God I'm not trying to fool you. It's complicated."

"That I can believe," Delray says. "Look, I know you don't owe me anything and I know that some of this is none of my business, but, I was hoping that you could tell me a little bit about what happened the night Sela died-that is if you know anything about it."

"I know the whole story," Mint says. He plants his feet and leans forward. He averts his gaze from the display going on in the pool which is getting more X-rated by the moment. "It happened the night I met Mira. It was a messy night."

"Did you know Sela?"

"No, Montana talked about her, though. Come to think of it, everything I know about that night pretty much came from Montana. Mira is weird about talking about it, for good reason. She never quite recovered if you ask me and I didn't even know her before hand. I just know that she was affected drastically. 

I wasn't around during the era where Montana and Mira were in love, but I hear it existed. Whatever bits of love that remained between them was destroyed that night. Mira maintained this simmering hate for him that everyone could feel, could see. Montana was brave to keep someone who hated him so much so close."

"Love makes you do crazy things," Delray says. He puts his feet up on the glass table in front of them, stares out over the sandy landscape that surrounds them. Mint follows his gaze and a peace settles over him that he fears may be premature.

"Are you yanking my chain about this shit? About cleaning my record? Because if you are-" Mint begins.

"I can't promise that nothing will go wrong, this is a very high-risk thing we're doing, but Mecca has done this for a few other people and it has worked without a hitch. She's good and that FBI idiot Reynolds is a chump and completely pussy-whipped, thankfully. If it makes you feel better, you can hold onto the cash until it's all complete. Mecca won't touch it without the cash so I'll front it, once it's done you can pay me."

"You serious? How about a down payment? I wouldn't feel comfortable without having put some money on it."

"I won't argue," Delray says with a chuckle.

"Agreed, then," Mint says. He gets up and nearly stumbles. Delray catches his elbow and helps steady him. "I just want one more," Mint says.

"I'll get it for you, sit tight," Delray says. Mint watches him walk away, then checks his phone. He hadn't felt it vibrate, hadn't heard it ring, but he has a text message from Mira. He doesn't read it.

"Here you go, brandy just like you like," Delray says.

Mint throws the drink back. "Were you and Sela close growing up?"

"Yes and no. She was a bitch, actually. A lovable one though. We had some good moments and I always made sure to watch out for her when I could but we didn't get along that well. We used to fight! Man she had a left hook."

"Funny. Women are so strong and you forget. Mira makes me remember that. She walks around looking all delicate and delectable, and then she'll do something so-hard-so-bad-ass and I remember why I've loved her since the first moment I met her. That night was shit, otherwise. You sure you want to know about what happened?"

"Yes, of course. I've wondered for years. I've tortured myself with wanting to know. You have to know how that is."

"I know how it is, believe me. Well, the night Sela died Mira was coked out of her mind and inconsolable. She'd been trying to get ahold of Sela for days with no luck, so she forced Montana to take her to see her-see Mira didn't know how to drive up until two years ago-a funny little tidbit. So Montana takes her there and they find Sela out of it-."

"And pregnant," Delray says.

"Yes, with Montana's baby. Montana told me that he and Sela had slept together for the first time a year or so earlier-Sela had been drugged up at the time and regretted it-and then Montana told her that if she didn't keep doing it he would tell Mira. So she kept doing it. She got pregnant. When Montana and Mira showed up at Sela's place, she couldn't take it anymore and came clean. Montana had left a gun there at her place and Sela shot herself with it right in front of them. She couldn't take it any more."

"God that's awful," Delray says. He begins to cry, and Mint watches for a moment at a loss for what to do. He watches Mandrake and Mecca frolicking naked in the water, passing her flask back and forth.

"It was a quick death, Delray-that's one thing Mira told me-that she was gone just like that."

"Good," Delray says. He stands and walks to the bar, begins drinking directly from a bottle of Patron. "We wondered whose gun it was," Delray said when he'd returned, the bottle still in his hands. "No prints but Sela's."

"Well Montana was smart about some things. He never let his skin touch anything incriminating. He counted his money with gloves on for shit's sake. Got all his weapons on the black market."

"Yeah, he definitely had his moments. Thank you, Mint" Delray says. "I knew the details and the how, of course, but not knowing why-it was eating me up."

"I understand," Mint says. He thinks of Mira's text for the millionth time but still doesn't make the move to read it. "No problem."

"You guys should stay," Delray says after a long pause. "You aren't doing anything but scoot-assing around Vegas, spending money you don't have to. I'll put you up here and you can lay low until everything goes through. I won't be in your hair, and I am a great host. Plus, I'm throwing a birthday party for my nephew this weekend-a party to end all parties, man. Gonna be the type of shit celebrities attend, man, women in intricate gold headdresses and diamond swimsuit cover-ups."

"You know a lot about women's fashion," Mint says.

"I'm serious man," Delray says as he pops open the bag of white cheddar popcorn. "You should stay, let loose and party a bit. I got security, armed guards at the party, some highfalutin shit!"

"Is that what you intend?"

"Yes college boy, it is," Delray says. Mint accepts the offer after pondering the thought for a bit. He appreciates Delray's help and hopes that this probable lapse in judgment might beat the odds. He wants to rest, needs to rest. He aches for stability and a moment to breath. The constant stream of murderous cronies appears to have slowed, at least.

"I invited Mira to the party. I told her about it the day before yesterday," Delray says.

"I'd be surprised if she showed up, and if she does she'll probably bring a date," Mint says. Deep down he knows she is with Mikowski. He can feel it in his bones. Her inability to commit, he is sure, will be her undoing. He cannot blame her, however, it was his failure to commit that created all of this in the first place.

"A date?" Delray asks.

Mint shakes his head and Delray doesn't push, instead he leaps into the pool as Mecca and Mandrake cheer and whoop. Mint watches a rabbit dart from a cluster of greenery to the edge of the pool where it loses it's footing and slides in.

"Did you just see this little fucker?" Mandrake says. He plucks the rabbit from the water and holds it by its hind legs, then places it back on dry land. It hops off back where it came from.

"I bet that's an omen of some sort," Mecca says as she tips the flask to her lips.

"I don't believe in omens," Mandrake says.

Mint does believe in omens, however, and that was one if he'd ever saw one. He lies back in his seat and stares at the stars, then without thinking, he pulls out his phone and finally reads Mira's text. 'It is always when I need you most that you are the farthest away,' it says. His eyes sting for a moment as the reality of how much he misses her sets in.

It feels wrong to want her, to want to be with her and be normal and happy. He doesn't deserve happiness, after all. He has made so many mistakes that he's lost count, and while most nights his dark inclinations barely give him pause, tonight he wishes only to have remained straight. 

He'd gotten into this muck because he didn't mind getting his hands dirty and wanted easy money. It is only now that he sees the irony of spending millions of his ill-gotten loot to gain the peace of mind he'd shattered to gain the money in the first place. He chuckles at the thought that none of the money had been procured easily. Hasn't even been easy to spend.

He re-reads the text and aches for her. He knows that she is somewhere aching for him, too.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 18



Mira finally removes her hospital wrist band as she sits in the Benz she purchased fresh out of the trauma ward. She is all dolled up with butterflies in her stomach. The sun is high in the sky and she exhales as she lets the relief of complete solitude wash over her.

She'd lost it for a moment; lost her bearings, lost her sense and Mikowski had apparently taken her to the hospital. He was nowhere to be found when she came to in a hospital bed with tubes in her arms. She is not surprised that he didn't stick around. He is never one to welcome any of the attention he gets as an Irishmen with a scarred face and a mouth full of gold teeth.

She'd left the hospital-against doctor's orders-with the promise that she would return for surgery the next day. An epidural hematoma requires immediate surgery they told her, and since she does not, in fact, have a death wish she will be there the next morning with bells on. Today, however, she is going to say goodbye to the love of her life. She is going to finally let him go.

She steps out of the car and straightens her dress, checks her makeup in the side mirror. "You look gorgeous honey!" A gaggle of passerby's call out to her. She smiles at them, feels a bit of excitement as she watches them enter the large gaudy estate belonging to Scott Delray.

Despite her fuzzy thoughts and the dull but persistent ache in her head she does her best strut to the front gate. She is going to enjoy herself as she knows she is on borrowed time.

A tall man in a suit jacket and well-pressed jeans stops her and checks her name off of the list before he allows her entry. Once he lets her pass she takes in the amazing décor, the sparkling pool and the beautiful party-goers.

As Delray promised, the place is packed full of celebrities, reality stars, and a couple of men Mira recognizes as former business associates of Montana. She avoids their gazes as she takes in the scenery. The women are stunning and the music is amazing. She hasn't eaten anything since the night before so she makes a beeline for the horderves.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in!" Mandrake exclaims when he sees her. He is hand in hand with Mecca Bates, a beautiful con woman with a degree from MIT who'd aided Montana in a bank fraud scheme a few years back.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mira asks as she pops a green olive into her mouth.

"Well, I was told that it means that I didn't expect to see you here."

"Well, here I am," she says wearily. "Hello Mecca," she says.

"Mira, great to see you again!" Mecca says as she pulls Mira into a hug.

She smells like Mandrake beneath her perfume, and Mira smiles to herself as she soaks in the implication. She is done with Mandrake. Why she had ever started up with him in the first place is only a small mystery, however, because as she stands there making small talk with Mecca, Mandrake eyes her hungrily and she feels heat gather between her legs.

Mandrake has a way about him that she can't fully describe. His gaze reminds her of Mint's-but more feral-more aggressive. She can see all of the thoughts circling in his mind, maybe memories of the sweaty nights they'd shared, fucking until they couldn't walk and such.

"Your brother. Where is he?" She asks, hoping Mandrake misses the huskiness that has crept into her voice.

"Upstairs reading his psalm book. He hasn't come down yet. He said he wasn't feeling that well. I think he's heartbroken, honestly, some evil succubus is actively tearing his heart to shreds, you know, cavorting around with a metal-mouthed lunatic, I hear."

"Fuck you Mandrake," Mira says. She turns heel and leaves them behind. She isn't ready to see Mint yet. If he's reading his psalm book he's having one of his moments of regret-one of the moments he doesn't like to admit he experiences.

He'd always been so lackadaisical about their crimes, remorseless for the most part-but he has his moments. Mira thinks everyone but Mandrake experiences moments when they feel the world they have crafted for themselves out of blood and violence is not the most palatable existence.

She sees Delray before he sees her. He is sitting on a man's lap with a martini in his hand, laughing at something an eerily familiar man says to him. When he catches her gaze he smiles and bolts from his perch.

"Everyone, you must meet the legend, Mira!" He hugs her tightly and Mira suppresses a wave of nausea. She feels like shit for the most part, she is on pain medicine that can't touch the general "off" feeling she has. She manages to smile as Delray introduces her around.

The familiar man ends up being the lead from one of her favorite childhood movies. He holds her hand while he talks and looks her dead in the eye. He offers to take her out on his yacht the following week and hands her his card which she tucks into her clutch. She is trying to go straight after all and this silver fox could afford her the type of straight life she wants.

Soon Delray steals her away and takes her to the bar where he fixes her a vodka soda. She takes it and drinks it down, and he makes her another.

"The three of you can sure put liquor away," Delray laughs.

"Well now that I've bested all my drug habits liquor is my only chemical vice and I definitely need it," she says with a smile.

"You know, you are ridiculously gorgeous. How does that feel? To have every eye on you in a place?"

"I don't notice. I'm so rotton on the inside that I barely have time to contemplate what the outside of me looks like," she says. "How is Mint?" she asks.

"Not good, seems sad. I'm sure it's you," Delray says.

"I heard as much from Mandrake. The thing is, had Mint been this taken with me years ago we wouldn't be here right now. Before I fell into my man-eating ways Mint was the only man I could see, believe it or not. Intelligent, calculating. Easy on the eyes. I've been wrapped up in him since I met him. Damn to even contemplate it. His eyes, his hands, his mouth."

"I can only imagine. You three make a striking trio. I must tell you, it's been a blast to have been along on this ride. What a vivid storm."

"Vivid storm?" Mira shakes her head, recalls with no small amount of terror all the needles and poking a prodding she'd suffered during her brief but jarring hospital stint. A sudden strike of fear about her impending surgery crops up and then subsides nearly as quickly. She should be in the hospital but she's here risking her life to get one last look at him. "More like shit storm," she says.

She catches Mandrake's eye across the party. He is holding onto Mecca but his eyes never leave her.

"That one follows his most basic desires. That's the impression I always got," Delray says as his gaze follows hers.

"And that's putting it nicely," Mira says. She turns away and downs her drink.

"So what's really up with you three, if you don't mind me asking," Delray says as he leads her to an out of the way sitting area where they can hear one another clearly over the music.

"I'll tell you, but I've got my own question. How are you able to maintain the façade of a clean cop while throwing shindigs like this? And your house? How can anyone think you can afford it on a cop's salary?"

"I've planted a few tidbits here and there about coming from money-which isn't far from the truth. And honestly, you'll find that not many officials and lawmen and lawmakers care that much for upholding the law when it comes to those within their circle. Dirty doesn't mean what normal folks think it does. I'm dirty. So is everyone. Look how great dirty is. Look how happy everyone is," Delray says.

"I suppose," Mira says distractedly. She takes a look around, thinks about how deceiving looks can be.

"So spill, explain this interesting tangle of hotness that is you and the Murder Twins," Delray says.

"It's truly not as interesting as it seems. Everything just kind of happened. I met Montana when I was a teenager and he was just getting his feet wet in the underworld-and I loved him for a long time, even while he beat my ass, cheated and killed people before my eyes.

"When I met Mint I was done with Montana. I would've killed him the night Sela died if I hadn't been so wasted. After that I didn't have the nerve. Mint and I would talk about it-jokingly at first-killing him and running off into the sunset. We never went through with it, of course."

"Mandrake, when did he come into the picture?"

"Fairly recently, about five or so years ago. His father passed and he came to the US to visit, see their mom. He ended up staying and fell in with Montana eventually after doing some jobs with Mint," Mira pauses, takes a drink. "Why am I telling you all of this?"

"I imagine it's because it's fantastic shit and you don't have many people to share it with," Delray laughs.

"True. Since I lost Sela, I haven't had a single person in my life other than these three men. No one real, no friends," Mira begins.

You remind me of her. I think that's why I'm spilling my guts. It feels right."

"Wow, that means a lot Mira. It truly does," Delray says, his gaze far away for the slightest of seconds.

"Alright...me and Mandrake, well, that sort of just happened. Mint was locked up and I hadn't heard from him in forever. Mandrake was Montana's new right hand and he would try and try to get in my pants. One night I let him. It was the next best thing for me, next to Mint."

"Yeah, but they're so different," Delray says.

"On the surface," Mira says. She is finally feeling the alcohol and the music beckons to her. "Let's dance!" she says to Delray who doesn't give an iota of resistance as she yanks him from his chair and pulls him out to the dance floor.

She loses herself in the music, drinks from her glass which Delray refills with the bottle in his hand as they move and sway together. She ignores the dull ache in her head and catches herself when she gets lightheaded. She knows this is the last thing she should be doing, but there is something about this day fast turning into night that feels final, endless, as if the morning will not come.

Before too long she extricates herself from the sandwich created by she, Delray and a male model and makes her way to the house, barely steady on her feet. The living room is filled with sparkly, dead eyed people, the tables littered with champagne flutes, wine glasses, and other assorted intoxicants.

Mint appears at her side where she stands on the second floor, gazing out over the display while trying to clear her thoughts which are becoming increasingly blurry. The silence between them is easy and is finally broken by the even deepness of Mint's voice. "I love you, don't leave me. I know that's what you're trying, and I'm asking you not to," Mint says

He pulls her into an embrace and then leads her into a large bedroom decorated in so much white she feels off kilter for a moment. She is trying to produce the right words with which to answer his plea, but comes up short. 

When he lays her down on the large feather bed and pulls her panties off from beneath her dress she sits up on her elbows and watches him, her head clear, her body warm and electric. He pushes up the hem of her dress and runs his fingers up and down her clit, spreads her open, licks her slowly with his eyes on her.

"God, you taste so fucking good," he says. When he says that she knows that she declined emergency surgery for this reason. She'd ignored her nausea on the long drive to Delray's, had to pull onto the shoulder multiple time to puke. Right before she'd arrived, she checked into a tiny motelto shower, brush her teeth and reapply her makeup.

The doctors told her a lot in her short stay. They told her that she should've stayed in the hospital when she was first injured, that she needed surgery immediately, that they wanted to perform a trephination immediately in preparation for the neurosurgeon's arrival a few hours later. They told her they would not take any responsibility for her leaving without going into surgery immediately.

They told her that because of the severity of the bleeding and how long she'd waited to get proper medical treatment, she might not survive even a few more hours. They made it clear that there exists only a 50% chance she'll survive at all even after surgery. She decided to come see Mint for that very reason-because she could have the surgery and sit for days with blood draining from her head only to die anyway. To die without telling him that all she'd ever wanted was him.

She runs her hands through his hair and grabs his face, pulls his mouth to hers. She can die like this, beneath him and only him.

"I won't leave you," she says as she cries. All walls down, that quickly. "I love you!" She cries and kisses him, she surrenders to him as he clumsily wriggles out of his pants, takes himself in his hand and then slides inside of her, hard. It feels as if it is the first time. He rocks against her, covers her with his weight goes as deep as he can, sliding her across the bed as he pushes and pushes and thrusts. She opens herself to him, takes all of him and wants him to know that that is what this is-she is surrendering-she is claiming him.

It is a quiet affair save the sound of their bodies moving together and messing up the sheets. When she comes he does, too. His semen is warm, fills her and runs down the crack of her ass. When he pulls out she wraps her hand around him so she can feel the last few pulses and the dwindling firmness of his large damp warm cock.

"Before I saw your cock, I referred to male genitalia as, you know, penis," she says when the are finished and lying entwined. "When I'd recall the way someone felt inside of me, I always thought of their penis. Their penis is this, their penis was that. Then I saw yours. It looked like a cock and looked every bit of all the dirty raunchy things I always imagine when I hear the word. And even now, when I see other penises. They are just that, penises," she finishes with a shrug.

"I think that is the single nicest thing any woman has ever said to me," Mint says. They laugh, she can't remember the last time she really, really laughed. The share a comfortable silence and then she falls asleep content and calm in his arms, and does not awaken when he is ripped from the bed in the dead of the velvety night.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 19



"You only live once," Mira says as she peels away her shirt. She falls back into the bed and gazes at his reflection in the mirrored ceiling as his hands caress her legs, his black nail polish shining in the light. She closes her eyes and tries to slow her fast beating heart.

"Not if I can help it," Maven says with his lips against the skin of her thigh. "I've waited for this for such a long, long time," he says.

She reaches up and touches the wall with her fingertips as he palms her breasts and digs his thumbs into them, grazes his teeth against her nipples.

"Will you be able to take it all?" he asks. When she opens her eyes his cock is suspended above her, thick, long, veiny. The skin on the tip is tight and red. 

He opens and closes a hand around her neck. His grip is not nearly tight enough to cause her panic but serves as a strong suggestion of what is to come. A flutter of uncertainty crests and dies in the pit of her stomach.

"I like your panties," he says pulling the crotch of them away from her skin and sliding his thumb inside of her. "How does that feel?" He asks.

"Good, so good," she breathes.

"That's what I like to hear," he says. He pulls his thumb out and he lifts her legs so that her knees graze her ears. The tickling warmth of his breath precedes the invasion of his tongue into her center. As she comes, her mind wanders where she doesn't want it to. She sees Mint's face and then inevitably, Mandrake's.

"I'm going to ruin you," Maven says before he finally stuffs himself inside of her. His thrusts are piston-like and too strong for a man of his size. She can appreciate the pain, however, which is a good thing because he's causing her plenty. She finds that she can't catch her breath. His gaze is sharp, focused. She looks away.

"On your knees," he says in a voice so husky it is unrecognizable.

He slaps her ass as she complies, her legs nearly giving out on her. She holds onto the headboard as he climbs on top of her and continues his onslaught.

She thinks of Mint again and the way he'd felt mere hours previous. She'd taken Mint's impressive length and girth in stride. There'd been only pleasure and the pressure of his body, the perfect sensation paired as it was with the rough scrape of his chest hair against her breasts. She climaxes to memories of his smell, the feel of his tongue as his warm mouth enveloped her, devoured her.

Despite the sharp and ever-present pain in her head she does not regret missing her surgery appointment. She has grown so afraid of having the surgery that leaving things in limbo is all that brings her any peace. It is much easier to pulse around Maven's violent member than lay vulnerable beneath a surgeon's knife.

Foremost are thoughts of mortality and of course, Mint. The guilt is crushing. She can't shake it. It is like a rock in her gut. She is more aware of it than the pain in her head. She takes a sudden and clumsy lunge for Maven's handgun which is on the bedside table. She misses it, and when Maven realizes what she's done he pulls out of her and holds her firmly against him, restrained.

"Having a change of heart?" He hisses in her ear.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she yells.

He wrenches her by the hair so that her neck is exposed and his still heavy and hard cock is digging into the crack of her ass. She is ashamed of how she presses back against it, wanting it again in spite of it all.

Maven retrieves the gun from the nightstand in an easy reach. He places the barrel at the back of her neck and enters her again without a word. She collapses onto her face at the invasion and he keeps the gun tight against her neck. She moans.

"It's like I always imagined," Maven says. His voice is even, matter of fact. He isn't even out of breath despite the ferocity of his thrusts and she moans again, on the edge of climax. "You're wetter than before," he says.

She hears a click as he engages the safety and she is nearly disappointed. Nearly.

"I knew we'd have a good rhythm. The moment I laid eyes on you I knew we'd fuck this way. I knew that one day you'd be soaking me with this sweet, warm, tight pussy of yours," he says right before she feels his warm cum running in then out of her and down her leg. He falls away from her as if incapacitated and the gun is again in reach.

"Don't move motherfucker," she says once she has it in her hands. She leaps from the bed, is unsteady on her feet. She can still feel the tickle of a slow fading orgasm between her legs. She knows then, as if she didn't know it before, that she loves Mint more than life itself. Maven Mikowski is a spectacular and exciting lay. In a different world, under different circumstances, she would sate her appetite for more of the same.

"You have to be kidding me!" Maven says, laughing and rolling over onto his back. "You told me to kill them by any means necessary. That's what I did. What you paid me to do," Maven says with the smile still on his lips. He rises from the bed, one solid footfall after the other. She backs away.

"You are so beautiful that I forgive you for this shit you're pulling," he says. "I already forgive you. Now come hop back on," he says with a couple of obscene jerks on his cock.

"Maven, what did you do with them?" she pulls the trigger and he ducks. The bullet buries itself into the wall behind him. He laughs loud and hearty now.

"This is such a fucking laugh! You tell me that you want them dead no matter how much you tried to stop me. Remember that?"

"I remember," she says. 

"You said you were going to try and stop me from fulfilling the contract every step of the way because you were so torn over the decision. Said I was to take care of them by any means necessary even if you took great pains to stand in my way. I did what you said and now, because you're a fickle psycho bitch, you're trying to kill me. Look at yourself!"

She happens to catch a glance of herself in the mirror beside the bed. She is gaunt. She can think of no other word to describe it. She finds it peculiar that Maven is oblivious to the fact that she has become a pale imitation of her former self.

She fires again, this bullet goes wild as her vision flickers in and out. Maven lunges for her and tackles her to the ground. She manages to fire again in the struggle and he cries out as if hit though she doesn't know where.

She wriggles from beneath him and heads for the door, manages to grab her purse as she dashes from the bedroom and nearly falls down his prized spiral staircase. She doesn't miss a step and she can't afford to as he is so close she can feel his breath on her neck as he laughs.

She slides into her car and starts it, backs away in a crescendo of squealing tires as a naked, bloody Maven Mikowski chases her, his gold teeth shining in the sun. He scowls and curses her name and slaps the hood of her car like a gorilla. 

She speeds backward down his long driveway and swings out into the street. As she makes her escape she pulls out his phone-which she'd grabbed and shoved into her purse almost as an afterthought.

She checks the last location in his GPS with hopes this will send her in the right direction. She wonders, as she struggles to hold on to consciousness, what brand of torture M&M delivered to the Murder Twins this bright sunny afternoon.



We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 20



It is faint at first, but he hears it. The thud and ring of metal hitting the fresh soil amidst her little yelps, her panting, a hissed curse every now and then. He would recognize her voice anywhere and apparently, under any circumstance.

He waits. The sound breaks his resolve and all the pain he'd worked to block out returns. The blinding throb in the back of his head and the burning in his legs paired maddening tickle of blood running freely from any number of deep, stinking wounds causes him to faint. He awakens to the sound of her voice.

"How close am I? How much more?" She sobs as the shovel continues to thud. She's very close. He no sooner thinks this than the shovel hits the top of the pine box.

"Gotcha!" she says softly. He can hear her feet inching along the edges of the casket as she coughs and sobs. He wants to reach out to her, hold her despite it all. He holds his breath as with great effort, the lid of the pine box is pried away and he is free to witness the moon overhead and inhale the sweet air through his shattered nose.

Mira is a bad sight; bloody nose, black eyes. Her shirt is stained with what looks like vomit, her eyes are feverish. She collapses against the wall of his grave with a grimace that might have almost been a smile. It is then that he realizes that if he doesn't get moving they will both die down here and her efforts will be for naught.

He tries to bend his knee but it, like the rest of him, is a shattered mess-yet he manages to sit up with minimal screaming. He tries to say her name but cannot find his voice. He manages to bend his right leg slightly but the pain is so great that he nearly loses consciousness not once, but twice. He lies back down, too weak to keep trying.

"Help!" he says with great effort. It doesn't matter, he knows. The air has the thick sound of a place remote and forgotten. He hears the howl of some sharp toothed animal out in the distance, and then a cough.

"I'm coming. If you'd give me a second. Where are you?"

"Here," he replies with much difficulty.

"Where? My eyes, there's something wrong with them, I can't really make things out too clearly. Keep talking and I'll follow the sound."

"Okay, we're over here, can you hear me all right? We are both in the dirt. Me and Mira. Over here," he says. With each word his voice returns stronger, and though he still can't move well enough to get a closer look, he can see from here that her complexion is ashen. He screams. "Here Mandrake! Here! Come on!"

"I'm coming brother!" Mandrake says.

"I think she's dead," Mint wails. "I can't get to her, she looks like she's dead. Her skin, it's-"

"Shut the hell up and give me your hand," Mandrake says before his dirty, bloodied, mangled hand is there dangling down to Mint in the grave.

"Mandrake, forget me. I can't move, I for damn sure can't climb out of a grave. I think you have to go for help," Mint says.

"I would, but I think I'm blind," Mandrake says, "when I came to a few seconds ago and opened my eyes, there was nothing. I truly think that fucker blinded me," Mandrake says in a voice so calm it sends chills down Mint's trembling body.

"It's okay, don't worry, someone's bound to find us, right?" Mint says.

"Right," Mandrake says. They don't talk much after that, and Mint is not sure how much time passes. When he opens his heavy, stinging eyelids the sun is up and it is burning him alive-but that's not what concerns him. Gaining fast, he hears the sound of loud, Mexican language rap amidst wailing sirens.

"Mandrake," Mint says. Silence. "Mandrake, hide," he says.

"Who gives a fuck now? Let them arrest us. It'll be a welcome upswing of events," Mandrake says.

Soon the sirens and the music are upon them, a blaring cacophony that stabs at Mint's throbbing head. He hears the snap of car doors opening and shutting followed by footsteps in the dry sandy dirt.

"Well what in the hell do we have here?" Delray says when his head appears at the mouth of the grave.

"Don't fuck around, man, she's dead, she's dying!" Mint says.

Delray takes in Mira's crumpled form and yells, "I need a medic stat. We need to get these three to a hospital," Delray says. A fireman drops into the grave and Mint watches him pick her up and hand her to another fireman waiting at the mouth of the grave. Mint is lifted out of the grave by some sort of pulley system and then maneuvered onto a stretcher.

He manages to watch Mira's progress as he is wheeled toward an ambulance. He tries to stave off the panic that mounts at the sight of their frantic attempts to perform CPR on her lifeless body. Right before the door to the ambulance shuts, he sees his brother's limp body being transferred to a stretcher before the medics equip him with all forms of tubes, bandages and braces.

"You with me? Stay with me," the paramedic says.

"She saved us," Mint says.

"She did, did she? Well rest assured we're working hard to save her," the paramedic says.

Mint doesn't hear these words of comfort as he is distracted by a light so bright it blinds him. He does not resist when he begins to float toward it, all of the pain a memory, his mind finally clear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading.

Look out for We Are Both On Fire, the next installment in the series, coming soon!