Max's final fan fiction

Mickey stretched his fingers, as if he was about to crack his knuckles. But, as a gentleman and knowing she hated it, he knew better. Their hands were cheaply glued together with drying blood and it was uncomfortable, getting to the point where it was dry enough that the sweat forming from their hands was preventing it from drying further. Despite the lack of adequate lighting night-time provides it was still clear where Mickey’s hand on the steering wheel stopped, and the blood began. It had found its way in to the tiny wrinkles in his skin and had started a network of dried blood rivers between his fingers and on top of his knuckles. Low clouds hung ahead, cowering from the all-knowing eye of the moon. Mallory’s father’s car was making its way through the back roads of Genric-ville, U.S of A and had definitely already been reported stolen. Mickey turned on the radio and through the static he made out “parents” and “murdered” and promptly switched it off again. He looked over at Mallory, probably hoping to exchange some kind of ‘knowing’ look but her eyes belonged to the stars and her ears to the aural pleasures of no police sirens. She was too free at this point to be disturbed by anything. The adrenaline soaked euphoria had recalled and their brains had told them both that now would be the perfect time to change clothes and vehicles and it was agreed that the next sign of life was to be stripped naked and robbed of their clothes and their lives, depending on The Witness.

“Always leave a Witness,” Mickey would tell Mallory like he was teaching a class, “that way he can tell all the people the good news – that we are heartless asshole killers.” If his judgements were to be correct, Mickey and Mallory would be bigger stars than the Manson family – total media porn.

It was almost time for the sun to wake up and the news stations’ mass morning-wood ejaculation on the face of the good, free American people. What better to scare people in to buying bigger locks on their doors and bigger guns than two insane, parent-killing, cold blooded lovers on a road trip to the heart of the Nation armed with assault rifles and knifes longer than our arms. Scary stuff, eh?                                                        Still dressed in his orphan-grey prison vest Mickey woke his darling up with a gentle shake and crooked smile. “Breakfast?”

Two fully grown men were begging and crying at Mickey’s feet, freshly toothless they blubbered some nonsense which was met by a frustrated glare and a bullet each to the brain. Bullets which their tax dollars had both paid for – his gun and the bullets were taken easily from the broken hand of a prison guard who was convulsing like a freezing epileptic two nights prior. Mallory still had her arm fastened tightly around the woman at the till, Mickey was staring down un-approvingly at what he’d just achieved. He heard the obvious click of Mallory’s blade. “No, no we always leave one baby.”

“Oh, you’re no fun”

His gap tooth beamed at her and she stuck her tongue out at him like she was teasing a child. She let go of the girl and they both faced her, switching lines like a rehearsed scene.

“Now, what to do with you what to doooo…”

“Well, we gotta leave one…”

The woman at the till had a look on her face that was like she’d smelt something awful and someone offended her Mother at the same time.

“…To tell our story!”

“So, when the police come with their buddies in the Media for the ‘scoop’, what are you going to tell them?”

“N-n-nothing?”

“EHH! Wrong!”

He grabbed her from behind the head like he was roughing up a baby kitten and pulled her ear right down to his mouth, so as not to cause any more confusion about what was being asked of her.

“You will tell them that it was Mickey and Mallory Knox who came in and did this, and they danced together while they did it too. And when they ask why we let you live you will say?”

“….”

“Because we are nice people! We just need you to tell all the King’s horses and all the King’s men exactly what we did in exact detail. Kay? Kay.”

Mickey patted her lightly on the cheek and paid for the delicious breakfast. Mallory had already gone to work organising replacement clothes while Mickey knelt down like a sympathetic coroner and stripped the two dead men of their clothes. They were both reeeal stylish out-back biker types,

“Please wait before we leave before you call the cops or we will have to shoot you. Thanks.”

Mickey looked dashingly tacky in his new Mustard-yellow vest and grey-brown snakeskin boots. Classic Americana, trailer park rags. Mickey apologised for the mess with a sarcastic giggle and opened the door for Mallory before climbing in to the car Dukes of Hazzard style. Buzzing from what had just happened he had not a care in the world, he wondered as they drove off toward the next town, city, or state whichever it may be, if Mallory was thinking the same thing he was. He had decided definitely that the when he found a spot that he liked, the perfect spot, he would make Mallory his wife, so they could live together for ever. Even after the dirty pigs eventually, and inevitably, corner and shoot them down.