CHICAGO BULLOCK (MXM)

Epilogue

Three months later...

Chicago's favourite way of travelling is by train, which was probably not many people's favourite way of getting around. But he enjoys seeing the landscape pass by slowly, hearing people chat, being in the midst of a crowd and just for once...feeling like he is being accepted by society.

He walked down the aisles with his cup of coffee in hand, a book tugged under his armpit, and the content smile playing on his face. The first time he was in Morocco, he recalls quite well as he had to assassinate a woman named Miriam Paula. Her beautiful brown eyes, her wavy black hair that blew right across the face, a smile of a goddess, and she was very sweet and a little naive. He recalls her kind smile by the desert, she couldn't quite speak English that well, but he remembers her complimenting his skin as she said; he had the skin of gods, right before he put a bullet in-between her eyes. If there was one kill Chicago would probably feel remorseful for, if he was a man that had a heart or a conscience, it would probably be that of Miriam.

He sighed as he took his seat, placing his cup of coffee on the table, he pulled out his box of cigarette and took one out. Then he lifted his novel that spoke about mystery or perhaps about a young boy that got lost in the forest and could not find his way home. Honestly, he didn't give a shit about the storyline, reading is one of the few things that he probably enjoys that normal people also indulge in.

He licked his finger as he flipped the pages, he took a puff of his cigarette and hummed to whatever content that was engraved in the book. He nodded his head and a smile so tiny, it was hardly recognisable slipped right across his face. Until a voice he was so familiar with that he even thought he was hallucinating, spoke to him.

"Do you have a spare cigarette?"

Chicago gulped and his hold on the book cover tightened, as he felt his heart rummage his chest. He slowly lowered the book, his brown eyes merging with grey ones. Unlike the first time he met Igor at the bar, they did not hold that amusement, or the humour, neither the light they held back then. But he did look drop-dead gorgeous as the very first moment he laid his eyes on him.

Chicago didn't say a word as he placed the book right on the table and closed it. He pushed it aside and dragged his cigarette box before offering Igor one. Silence dwelled amongst them as Igor received a cigarette and a lighter from Chicago, their eyes never once looking anywhere but right at each other.

After the first puff Igor said, "you have a fine book right there. The prodigal son, what made you chose that?"

Chicago chuckled, picking up the book flipping it around as if now he just thought of inspecting it, but soon placed it down. His smile was still as beautiful as Igor remembers it. The pearly white teeth, dimples deeping on the sides, and his glowing skin that made everyone sigh in envy.

"I just admired the cover," he responded, before biting his bottom lip lightly.

"Have you never heard the saying that, 'never judge a book by it cover?'"

Chicago laughed lightly as he watched the smoke slipping out of Igor's lips.

"Some temptations are hard to resist. You may be a leanered man but still, the beauties of this world will lure you in and test your faith," he said.

Igor smiled, nodding his head as he looked out the window. He was here to resolve a case, but did not think he would bump into Chicago. But yet, here they were, like in the bar. Deja vu.

"The world is a beautiful place," he said before turning his gaze back to Chicago, his fingers rubbing his bottom lip, as the smoke of the cigarette between his fingers evaporated upwards. "But it is not for the weak," he said, dropping his hand down, ash drippling on the white tabletop.

"Mother used to say, enjoyment is found in freedom, a place without laws and regulations. Which is why she snorted crack," he chuckled. "She said the clouds were better than the ground. I guess she was chasing them when she overdosed," his smile never once wavered.

Igor squashed the cigarette on the ashtray, then folded his arms on the table and leaned closer.

"Perhaps that is why we have laws and regulations. Even God gave us commandments to live by, because he knew, we're incapable of making sound decisions on our own," he said.

Chicago chuckled ripping his gaze away from Igor staring right out the window.

"My mother was a crazy woman, Igor. She could have told you that men can fly as long as they believed," he looked back at Igor. "Don't listen to women that snort crack. You're better than that," he added.

"Perhaps wisdom is found from the wicked. Just cause they don't live by it, it doesn't make it crazy," he said.

Chicago laughed, copying Igor's body posture, making their faces close.

"I guess, like mother like son then. I'll chase the clouds until I die," he popped Igor's nose, pulling back as the train slowed down.

"My mother used to say, 'do as I say, not as I do,' perhaps it is time you took that advise," he countered.

Chicago stood up smiling down at Igor.

"Your mother was a better mother than mine," he said, then glanced at the opening doors. "This is my stop," he said.

Igor stood up and walked him towards the door. Silence just danced around them. From their entire conversation, not once did they acknowledge that they've ever met. From an outside perspective one would think they were strangers that met on the train. There was a lot between the two that was left unsaid, but none of them would be the one to bring that to their attention.

Chicago was almost out the door when fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist. He did not bother to look at Igor as he knew it was him.

"Take care of yourself out there, Cago," he said, for the first time acknowledging their past relationship.

Chicago felt his heart pound against his chest at that name. Cago. Then the fingers left his wrist and he slipped out the door.

Igor watched Chicago walk further away from him like he did three months ago at the dusty construction site, only now it was in a train in Morocco. The train doors close and still Igor could not rip his gaze away from the man who didn't spare him a single glance as he disappears. Igor stared, until the train started moving, making Chicago's frame no longer visible to his eyes.

The End!

Please read the author's note that follows. See you there!