Chapter Text
Mickey Milkovich dragged on a cigarette, his eyes fixed on the store across the street.
For two hours, he and his brothers, Colin and Iggy, had been crouched in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to make their move.
Their father, Terry Milkovich, constantly involved them in his illegal schemes: petty theft, blackmail, kidnapping, grand theft auto. Terry ran his household like a criminal organization with his sons as enforcers, and when he gave an order, they obeyed without question, unless they wanted to lose their teeth.
Mickey hated the jobs but never said so. Fear of Terry and loyalty to his family kept him trapped between doing what was right and what kept him alive. It was a miserable existence, but it was the only life he knew.
He knew fuck all about their latest target, Ian Gallagher. Terry described him as a seventeen-year-old redhead with freckles whose father owed him a shitload of money. Frank Gallagher had avoided repayment for months with one bullshit excuse after another.
Terry had gotten tired of waiting.
It was time to collect.
“Let’s just get this done! I’m freezin’ my nuts off!” Iggy complained, his breath clouding in the cold air. “Can’t we grab the kid and call it a night?”
Mickey flicked ash from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving the store. “Hold your fuckin’ horses! We can’t move ‘til the bossman leaves and Gallagher’s alone.”
“Can’t we just knock that dude out and then snatch the kid?” Iggy asked. “He might not leave for hours!”
“They’ve got security cameras, moron!” Mickey snapped. “You wanna spend the next ten years in MCC for some half-assed snatch job? Just shut up. You’re givin’ me a headache.”
Iggy sucked his teeth. “You know, I don’t get this shit. Why’re we goin’ after the kid instead of Frank?”
“Because nobody gives a shit about Frank. We nab him, no one’ll even notice, let alone pay up.” Mickey sighed, glanced toward the store, and chewed his lip. “Fuck it, wait here. I’m headin’ inside to scope shit out. I also need alcohol if I’m stuck with you idiots much longer.”
Ignoring his brothers’ protests, Mickey crossed the street, eager to escape the cold. He flicked his half-smoked cigarette into the gutter and almost collided with an older woman leaving the store.
“Watch where the fuck you’re goin’!”
The woman clutched her purse to her chest and hurried past him.
Mickey sneered after her, then stepped inside and looked around. The aisles were empty, the register unattended. He headed to the coolers, stuffed a 40-ounce Old Style into his coat, grabbed a few Slim Jims, and snagged some BBQ Pringles. He usually stole from the Get ‘n’ Go on Emerald, but maybe the Kash and Grab would become his new spot.
The security was shit.
“You gonna pay for that?”
The voice came from behind him, calm and almost amused.
Mickey chuckled and turned around.
Terry’s description was spot on. Ian was young, lean, freckled, and red-haired. Mickey had expected someone resembling a character from MAD Magazine, but Gallagher wasn’t as ridiculous-looking as he’d imagined.
“What the fuck’re you gonna do if I say no, tough guy?”
“Then I’ll call the cops.”
Mickey barked a short laugh. “Yeah? You sure you wanna do that, firecrotch?” The kid had balls but seemed like the type to rat someone out in a heartbeat. Still, something about him tugged at Mickey’s memory. They’d crossed paths before, maybe in juvie or grade school.
Ian’s eyes dropped to Mickey’s knuckles, where faded, uneven letters had been crudely inked into the skin with a needle and whatever passed for ink in some sketchy basement. “You’re Mickey Milkovich, aren’t you?”
Mickey stiffened. “What the fuck’s it to you?”
Ian shrugged, unfazed by the hostility. “Just sayin’. We’ve lived in the same neighborhood our whole lives. You were two grades ahead of me in school, or at least you were before you flunked out a buncha times.”
“Fuck you,” Mickey snapped, irritated that Gallagher knew so much about him.
“We were even on the same Little League team,” Ian added, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “The South Side Sluggers. I remember when you pulled your dick out and pissed on first base during a game. Coach nearly had a stroke. That was legendary.”
The memory hit Mickey all at once: the summer heat, the smell of cut grass, and a younger version of Ian laughing in an oversized jersey as he rounded second base.
“Whatever.” Mickey turned to leave, desperate to escape those green eyes and that cocky grin.
“So,” Ian called after him, “you gonna pay for that beer or not?”
Mickey flipped him off without looking back. “Bite me.”
“I’ll just put it on your tab, you dick!” Ian shouted, shaking his head before returning to the counter.
Moments later, Kash emerged from the back room. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, and he was still fastening his belt. He glanced between Ian and the door, frowning. “Everything okay out here?”
Ian slipped a five-dollar bill into the register. “Yeah, just some asshole stealin’ beer. Nothin’ new.”
*
Outside, Mickey crossed the street, ducked behind the dumpster, and crouched beside his brothers.
They greeted him with identical scowls.
“What the fuck’re you lookin’ at?”
“So?” Colin nodded toward the store. “You gonna tell us what the fuck happened in there or not, shithead?”
“Yeah, the kid’s a smartass, and he’s ugly as shit! That’s what happened!”
Iggy snorted, and Colin rolled his eyes.
Mickey felt relieved they believed his lie.
When a slow-moving car caught his brothers’ attention, Mickey opened the stolen beer and chugged some to calm himself. His heart raced, not from the theft but from the way Ian had looked at him. Not with fear, but with recognition and something else he couldn’t name.
*
Another hour crawled by. The cold seeped into Mickey’s bones, leaving his fingers numb and his ass frozen. The stench of garbage and piss burned his nostrils while his brothers’ crude jokes and cackling grated on his nerves. A rat scurried past and disappeared between two trash bags beside him, adding to his bitterness.
He hoped Gallagher’s shift ended soon.
“How do you know if you’ve got a high sperm count?” Iggy asked, nudging Colin, since Mickey made it clear he was tired of their shit.
Colin exhaled smoke. “How?”
“The bitch has to chew before she swallows,” Iggy replied with a shit-eating grin.
“That’s fuckin’ gross!” Mickey snapped.
“Gross, my ass! Since when did you become such a prude, bitch?” Iggy sneered. “It was fuckin’ funny!”
Mickey pulled his coat tighter around himself. “Like hell it was. Shut the fuck up and let me think. I’m tired of hearin’ your mouth.”
Just as Iggy was about to retort, the store door opened.
The brothers’ joking ceased as they watched the store owner leave with Ian and lock the door behind them. The man tugged down the metal security gate with a rattling clatter, whispered something to Gallagher, then leaned in to kiss him.
“What the hell’s this?” Colin hissed. “They’re fuckin’ gay for each other?”
“What the fuck?” Iggy exclaimed. “Ain’t that dude, like, fifty?”
Mickey seethed as he watched Gallagher and the older man kiss in the shadows. He looked away and swallowed hard. He tried to tell himself it was just seeing two guys like that in public that bothered him. But really, it was the fact that the man was old enough to be Gallagher’s father.
“That’s fuckin’ great! The kid’s leavin’ with him!” Colin whisper-shouted, jolting Mickey back to reality.
Mickey watched the odd pair walk toward a white van parked under a flickering streetlight. In all their planned scenarios, the brothers hadn’t anticipated this. It was messier, more exposed, and more problematic.
“What the fuck’re we s’posed to do now?” Iggy asked.
Mickey’s mind raced. They could bail and try another night, but then he’d have to face Terry and explain why they’d pussied out. He pictured his father’s enraged face and heard the insults. Terry didn’t care about complications, witnesses, or any of that.
He pulled a gun from his waistband, adrenaline flooding his system. He could feel his brothers waiting for his signal. Glancing at them, then at Gallagher and the older man approaching the van, he raised his eyebrows to signal it was time to act.
“Means we gotta do this fast, then.”
The brothers rose, pulled on their masks, and crossed the street, blocking the couple’s path.
Mickey leveled the gun at them. “Get your fuckin’ hands in the air!”
The stunned pair turned to face the brothers and raised their arms.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Iggy warned, his voice muffled behind the mask. “Or you’ll catch a bullet in the fuckin’ skull!”
Without warning, Mickey delivered a brutal kick to Kash’s knee with his steel-toed boot. “Get down, asshole!”
Kash collapsed, a strangled cry tearing from his throat.
“Why’d you do that?” Ian exclaimed, his arms shooting higher even though he clearly wanted to help his boyfriend.
Mickey swung the gun toward Ian. “Shut the fuck up!”
Iggy and Colin mercilessly attacked the defenseless store owner, kicking and punching him while he tried to shield himself.
Ian went pale, his eyes darting between Mickey and the assault, caught between fleeing and throwing himself into the fight.
Mickey grabbed Ian’s arm and dragged him away from it, feeling some weird obligation to spare him at least that much.
He scanned the dimly lit street, knowing they didn’t have much time before someone rolled past. “Let’s go, fuckheads! We don’t got all night! If somebody sees us, we’re fucked!”
Iggy and Colin delivered several more brutal kicks to Kash’s ribs before backing off.
Kash lay groaning on the snow-dusted, trash-strewn sidewalk, curled up and spitting blood.
Mickey shoved Ian hard. “Let’s go!”
Ian stumbled and nearly ate pavement but caught himself.
Mickey pressed the gun to Ian’s spine. “Walk.”
As they neared the Milkoviches’ beat-up Chevelle around the corner, Ian asked, “Why’re you doin’ this? Where’re you takin’ me? What did I do?”
“Shut up and get in the car! Stop askin’ questions!” Mickey barked, yanking the door open and shoving Ian inside.
He slid into the back beside him while Iggy and Colin jumped into the front, both breathing hard and buzzing with adrenaline.
They tore off their masks as the car roared to life. Tires screeched and peeled out, leaving a plume of exhaust and the acrid smell of burnt rubber in their wake.
Mickey slapped the back of Colin’s seat. “That’s how it’s fuckin’ done!”
Iggy shouted, “Let’s fuckin’ go!”
Mickey cackled, then glanced at Ian, his grin fading.
“Mickey?” Ian’s voice caught as he recognized his abductors. “What’s goin’ on? Why’re you doin’ this?”
Mickey froze, regret twisting in his chest, but steeled himself and jabbed the gun into Ian’s ribs. “What the fuck did I just say? Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you.”
When Ian turned away, Mickey noticed the glimmer of tears in his eyes.
A cold realization hit him. The job was about to get a lot messier than he expected.