The Anomaly's Enigma

“Mikey,” I say, knocking on his door repeatedly. I’ve been out in front of his apartment for almost two minutes and he hasn’t let me in. I may kill him.

“Mikey, given the fact that I am standing outside of your apartment right now, I think we can embrace the fact that I know where you live,” I say.

“I am prolonging the inevitable,” Mikey shouts at me through the door.

“Well could you let me in at the very least? I’m cold and afraid out here,” I shout at him sarcastically.

Mikey opens the door to look at me like I’ve lost my head, “dude, you are indoors.”

“I know,” I say, walking past him, “but it got you to open the door, didn’t it?”

“Asshole,” Mikey mutters, closing the door behind me.

“Call me whatever you like, are you almost ready to go?”

“I’m, ugh, you gave me ten minutes forewarning, okay? I need a little more time, just give me some fucking time. Where’s Frank anyway?”

“He’s across town,” I say, “He’s getting us a hotel room, but he’s getting us some maybe not so authentic ID’s first.”

Mikey rolls his eyes, “’course he is.”

“So, you’re not going to question me about this then?” I ask him.

“Look, Gerard, the testimony of one person, even if that person is my brother, doesn’t mean much. The fact that Frank is backing you up on this though... yeah, I’ll listen to him. I don’t want any part of what happened last time, but I also want to breathe. My boss is going to hate me though, Gerard.”

“Not as much as we’re going to be hating each other,” I say. “We are going to be stuck bouncing around hotel rooms again. Well, that’s not true, Frank’s looking into finding us a temporary apartment somewhere across town from our place, but that might take a little while.”

“Define ‘a little while.’”

“I don’t know, jeez, Mikes. Maybe a week, maybe more. I don’t know what real estate is like in this city. I’ve lived in the same place for six years!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mikey says, “and do I get any details about what’s going on? Is this about Banks? Fischer?”

“What else would it be about?” I say, brushing it off like it’s a joke. Mikey still doesn’t know about Frank’s past, so obviously, I can’t tell him that it might be some assassin guy who wants Frank dead.

“Lots of things,” Mikey shrugs, “could be that you didn’t tip well enough on a pizza delivery, or maybe you pissed off one of your fans who are crazy enough as it is, because you’re a talentless loser.”

“Thanks.”

“Or it could have something to do with Frank’s old job,” Mikey says, throwing a shirt into his suitcase.

“What old job?” I ask him.

“The one where he killed people,” Mikey says, slowly like my head is all messed up.

“What?” I ask, feeling my blood chill a little bit. I can tell that my eyes widen when I look at him, and I feel the hair at the back of my neck stand up. Since when did Mikey know about Frank? What? When did that happen?

“Oh please, Gerard,” Mikey says, giving me a bitch-face, but I can barely tell he’s making a face at all, because he just looks sort of normal, “Don’t tell me you think I’m literally that stupid.”

“You... what? Huh?”

“Calm your tits, I’m not going to tattle on him,” Mikey says, and continues packing his bag like it’s no big deal.

“When? Mikey! When?” I mumble exasperatedly.

“Gerard,” Mikey says, looking at me seriously, “I have known for over four and a half years.”

“What?”

“You think I’m an idiot. I’m not you know,” Mikey says.

“Why did you never say anything about it?” I ask, sounding louder than I had intended to.

“Because it never really came up. Also it didn’t seem important to tell you that I knew,” he shrugs, “I trust Frank. I do, because he seems like a good person to me. Always has. It wasn’t exactly hard to believe what he did in his past, he’s got this whole war-mannerism about him, like he’s seen things that would make you shit your pants, but he’s never seemed like a bad person.”

“You trust Frank?” I ask. It’s not like Frank isn’t trustworthy, and we do spend a fair amount of time with Mikey, but I didn’t know we spent enough time for Mikey to really trust him like that. Trust him enough to let his brother marry an ex-assassin. I probably wouldn’t even let Mikey marry an ex-assassin. Then again, Mikey would probably become an assassin himself if I ever told him that. He doesn’t like being told what to do.

“Well yeah,” Mikey says, “because you trust him.”

“And you trust me?”

“I’m your brother, Gerard,” Mikey says.

“Okay,” I say, nodding my head, “so when exactly did you figure it out. And how?”

Mikey sighs, and walks into the bathroom to grab his toothbrush and various other things, but comes back and looks at me. He doesn’t seem too keen to start talking, probably because he prefers utter silence in most things.

“Mikes?”

“What?”

“When and how did you find out?” I repeat.

“Ugh, well it was kind of obvious, no offense. You two thought you were so good at hiding it, but you really weren’t. I mean, the cops wouldn’t have been able to tell, because they didn’t have to live with you for six months, but it was painfully transparent. Frank’s mysterious friend who just so happened to know how to break into one of the wealthiest people in the cities’ house. Said friend also bugging and listening in on phone conversations. The way he held that big-ass gun when we were in all those hotels. Just looked like he was really familiar with it. Plus you two treat it like it’s some inside joke. You’re always dropping hints, thinking it blows straight over my head, but I’m taller than both of you, so nothing goes over my head.”

“So when?”

“I don’t know, right about the time when you and Frank got really angry at each other, and he said something like ‘you’d be dead without me’ and I thought that he meant that charity thing, but then I was like, oh maybe Frank’s the assassin. That was a hell of a plot twist in my head, I’ll tell you that. But the dumbass really fucking likes you so I figured, alright, he’s a reformed assassin, the one who didn’t kill you.”

“You could’ve told me if you knew!” I say, “I mean, he was still a hired assassin! He might’ve still wanted me dead, you didn’t know that. I might’ve died, Mikes!”

“Oh come on, you knew. I knew you knew. The way you act around him, of course you know.”

“Wait, how do I act around him?”

“Gross, Gerard.”

“No, just, I mean, yeah. How do I act around him?” I ask, “I can’t exactly see myself.”

“Just like you’re looking at some piece of artwork that you’re really proud of. Like you have something to do with who he is,” Mikey says, and he continues to fill his suitcase like nothing is happening. “Besides, I wouldn’t exactly protest if you died.”

I throw a pillow at him, which he dodges because he knows me pretty well. Also he’s spent upwards of eighteen years living with me so he does know my usual course of action in a lot of things.

“I’m allowed to joke around!” Mikey says, “That’s not why though. Gerard, he got me out of jail. I’d have been murdered in there. I owe him my life too. Also he sacrificed himself for both of us when Banks died. Frank’s not just a guy who isn’t bad, he’s a good person too.”

I smile shyly thinking about him, “yeah, he’s good. I like him.”

I’m hit in the head with the same pillow projectile I’d aimed at Mikey. So we may have lived those eighteen years together growing up and stuff, but Mikey always had an edge on me. He’s so much shiftier. If he ever considered a career in being a spy, he’d find it fruitful. Also he’s bone thin, he could probably hide in that space between the dresser and the wall where everyone hides dirty socks that they don’t want to take care of. Basically, Mikey is Flat Stanley.

“So you know that Frank’s an ex-assassin,” I say, staring stunned at the ground when I remember what’s happening. I had a momentary lapse where I was daydreaming about Frank.

“Yep,” Mikey says, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“Okay then,” I say. “Well then there’s something that I’m sure you don’t know, that you’ll want to.”

“What is that then?” Mikey asks.

“Well, at this point in time, Frank and I believe that this is an attack from someone likely who is after him rather than me. We don’t think they’re associated with Derek Fischer or Banks in the slightest at all.”
“Okay,” Mikey nods.

“Well, we were trying to figure out how anyone could possibly know about Frank’s past. He went by a pseudonym. Probably because ‘Frank’ doesn’t sound all that threatening, and also, he’d have been arrested for his job, like, seven years ago if he hadn’t.”

“Right,” Mikey says, looking at me like he’s annoyed with the fact that I haven’t gotten to the point.

“Well basically, we came to the conclusion that the only person who could’ve told on us was his old friend. You know, the one who broke into Banks’ house and laced every liquid he had with laxatives. We decided that he was the only one who knew. So Frank went to go talk to him, to ask if he told anyone.”

“And did he?”

“Well that’s the thing,” I say, cringing at what Frank told me, “he did spill the beans, but not by choice. Mikes, the guy was tortured. He’s dead. We believe that the same person who tortured him is after us.”

Mikey freezes and actually has an expression on his face for the first time during this conversation. I look back at him, blinking at him, waiting for his answer.

“So the people want to kill us aren’t afraid to torture us before killing us?” Mikey questions.

“That’s what we think. I mean, he did send me all those messages to warn me. Also, I’ve had the feeling that someone’s been following me for so long. He or she wants to make us sweat,” I say.

“Okay,” Mikey says, and I see him gulp slightly, “yeah, so let’s get going then. Let’s go hide somewhere.”

“You scared?” I ask him.

“Little bit.”

I look at him and frown, “well I’ll tell you what Frank said to me. Fear is good, it’ll keep you on your feet. Also it just might make you piss yourself.”