The Anomaly's Enigma

“What’ya think?” Frank asks.

“I hate it,” Mikey says, walking into the apartment. To be fair, I’m not keen on it either. This apartment is small. It’s really not made for three people. I can tell though that Frank chose it in part because of the location, but mostly because one bedroom is on the exact other side of the apartment as the other. Frank was thinking ahead.

“So, how do you know we weren’t followed to this apartment?” I ask, closing the front door behind me.

“I just do,” Frank says, “There was no one tailing me, and if there was, I lost them.”

“How are you so sure?”

“I have that history, Gerard,” Frank says, eyeing Mikey in the corner of his eye.

“No need to skirt around the edges,” Mikey says, sticking his foot under the rug in the living room for some reason. I’m not sure what on earth Mikey is trying to find under there, but he seems intent on checking. Maybe a trap door. That’d be cool. Knowing Frank, that might not even surprise me.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, yeah, uh, Frank,” I say, forgetting that I didn’t tell Frank when we met him at the apartment, “Mikey’s known about you for like-”

“The whole time,” Mikey finishes.

“Right, yeah.”

“What?” Frank asks, looking shocked, and also a bit angry, and I get a little nervous that he’s going to explode at me for telling Mikey. I didn’t, but that would be a logical assumption.

“Sorry?” I offer.

“Mikey, you... what? I don’t even know what to,” Frank splutters, “how’d you find out?”

“Uh, I have a brain,” Mikey says, “and eyes.”

“Gerard?” Frank asks.

“I didn’t tell him! I didn’t know he knew! If I’d known he knew I would have told you. I just found out too. But c’mon, it’s Mikey. You trust him,” I say.

“Well yeah, I trust him, sure, but I also trusted Conte and he was tortured. What if they get Mikey?” Frank asks, and that is a terrifying thought. I would never forgive myself if I put Mikey in a situation where he might get tortured. I’ve never forgiven myself for what happened four years ago. I almost got the guy killed, like three times, and I got him put in jail, and oh fuck, I am a horrible brother.

“I’m a really awful brother,” I say, frowning at the dingy looking old sofa that’s probably been there since the building was first built, like several million years ago.

“Yeah,” Mikey says, after he’s finished expecting the carpet.

“No I mean it,” I reply, walking over to the couch that is really going to need to be replaced sometime soon because it is nasty.

“Gerard, you’re not a bad brother!” Frank says.

“Uh, Frank? Are you really the best judge of that? You don’t have any siblings,” Mikey says, “but I’m just kidding, Gerard. You’re so critical of yourself.”

“Mikey, I put you in danger. Brothers are supposed to tease each other about their new boyfriend or girlfriend. They’re supposed to throw pillows at each other! They’re supposed to paint mustaches on each other after one of them falls asleep. One thing they are not supposed to do is get each other put on the hit list of a demented murderer!”

“Well, Gerard,” Mikey says, “I’ve already thrown a pillow at you today, and to fulfill the quota of making fun of your boyfriend, Frank is stupid. Also I will be happy to draw a mustache on your face while you’re sleeping.”

“That’s probably the only form of facial hair he’s capable of,” Frank jokes.

“But I am going to end up getting everyone killed!” I say, sitting down on the couch which I regret instantly after doing so. This couch smells like mothballs. Mothballs and stale laundry detergent. I didn’t know that laundry detergent could even be stale, but I now know what it would smell like if it could.

“Well we didn’t get killed last time,” Frank says, and sits down next to me and then makes a face so I know that he must think the same of the couch. Though given the fact that we gave Frank all of an afternoon to find a place, I’d say he did the best he could. He said this is just temporary, but he’d rather not get us a hotel room. I don’t blame him. This apartment is shitty, but a hotel room would be worse, and they’re easier to break into.

“Yeah, but that was pure luck,” I reply.

“Gerard, we literally went through everything last time,” Frank says, “dude I was thrown into the ocean and we’re still here. Mikey was in jail and we still made it. We were run off the road and chased into the woods. Mikey and I were literally both captured by Banks and held hostage. If we can make it through all of that, we can do it again.”

“You say that so confidently but you seem to be forgetting that we were just really motherfucking lucky.”

“Who says we can’t be lucky again?” Mikey asks, now looking at the lampshade on the side table next to the couch. I’ve known him all my life, but I can’t deny, sometimes, Mikey weirds even me out.

“I can guarantee you you’re going to be lucky again,” Frank says suggestively and Mikey makes a disgusted face. The same one that I’m probably making just sitting on this couch.

“I am right here, Frank,” Mikey says.

“Do you want me to pretend that I don’t fuck your brother?” Frank asks, looking at Mikey exasperatedly.

“I am under no illusion, but I don’t want to hear about my brothers sexual exploits,” he replies, and I shrug at him. I guess that makes sense, but when you’re married to someone as attractive as Frank, you really gotta just gloat the fuck out of it. How could I not brag? Frank is hot.

“Back to the days where Mikey lives down the hall,” I groan. “This was like three hundred percent of the reason why I moved out!”

“Don’t deny that you love me,” Mikey says, and he’s given up on looking around the apartment, because there’s really not much to look at. The layout is uninteresting. The small kitchenette is on the right wall, and the front door opens into a really small entry way which then leads into the living room. On one side of the living room, the one opposite of the kitchen, there’s the smaller bedroom, and the other is next to the kitchen. There’s only one bathroom, and the bathtub looks older than all three of us combined.

“I’m just going to try not to kill you, Mikes,” I say. Frank giggles and puts his head on my shoulder.

“This is all so domestic considering someone out there wants to kill us,” Frank says, and then laughs again.

“What are you laughing about?” I ask him.

“This whole situation is just so stupid,” Frank replies, “I mean, look at us. We are like the worst sitcom to ever be on TV. The ex-assassin, the nosy brother, and the prettiest redhead in the world sharing an apartment in New York City. Tune in every Thursday to see what new life-threatening scenario they’ve landed themselves in this week.”

“Coming soon to CBS,” Mikey mutters.

“It’s just so dumb. No one would buy it. I don’t even buy it! There is no way this is life, but it is, and it’s messed up,” Frank says, and smiles, “but the strange thing is that I kind of like it.”

“You like having a target on your back?” I ask, “Why did I marry you?”

“Because I’m adorable, but that’s not the point. I mean that I just kind of feel like it’s four years ago again. Kind of remember how great it was to get to fall in love with you in the weirdest fucking scenario known to man?” Frank says.

“Gross,” Mikey notes,” I’m going to be in my really depressing closet bedroom. You know technically, I think that closet of a room is smaller than Harry Potter’s cupboard under the stairs. Come get me if Hagrid comes a’knocking.”

“You’re so immature,” I roll my eyes, “but suit yourself.”

“Yeah, I’m just going to make out with your brother while you’re gone!” Frank shouts at him.

Mikey walks into the bedroom, the one off the living room, and then Frank looks at me with this look in his eye. I don’t understand how he is able to speak a completely different language just with his eyes. It’s quite impressive.

“I recall you saying something about fucking me into a mattress?” I remind him.

“That mattress is fucking disgusting,” Frank says, shaking his head but smiling.

“Now Frank, you’ve never been dissuaded by that type of thing before. I mean there was that one time when we did it in the car. And the second time in that other car. And that really expensive car we took for a ‘test drive’ to piss of the car salesman. There was that shrub once. In one of the pews in that really anti-gay church. The confessional in that same church. The hall closet in that trashy movie theater. Oh, the Wendy House!”

“Oh, I didn’t say I was against it, I was just pointing out that it’s a revolting mattress,” Frank says.

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“No, me neither,” Frank says, and grabs my hand and then tugs me off the couch.

“Mikey is just over there,” Frank reminds me, with the raise of an eyebrow. I think he’s testing me. Seeing whether I’ll actually bang him while my brother is only a room away. We’ve done it before, who says I won’t do it again?

“I don’t care.”

“Good.”