You And Me (Gallavich)

Murder Solutions

Then again, that's his mother.

Mickey sighed and rubbed his forehead stressfully. Both solutions were fucked and got somebody in trouble either way. Then again, it's just a matter of one over the other…

“Fuck,” Mickey breathed. He couldn't do it. Not to either of them. Mickey just hated how it was always him cleaning up other people's messes. With a grunt, Mickey stood up, grabbed his coat and decided on a walk and a smoke to clear his head and think straight.

***

Ian currently sat on the L, headed to the area of the client. The three ounces of crack was in his jacket, pressed up against his chest. He wasn't nervous, per se, since this isn't the first time he's smuggled something over the L nor is it the first time he's dealt drugs, but he still felt overheated and for some reason, a little nauseous.

He wondered why James wouldn't want Mickey to know about this drug thing. Honestly, Ian was going to tell Mickey right away, maybe even get the older man to help him out with the deals.

Did James not trust Mickey? Why the fuck would he trust Ian, a pathetic runaway, over a known dealer?

The L came to a halt. Ian stood up, swaying from the momentum before exiting the train along with a couple other people. Soon, he stood in the center of a dark street, gunshots faint in the background. He typed the address into the GPS of his phone, thankful for the short walk. He passed by a few bars, drunk people, and stragglers.

“Ian!”

Ian turned his head to see a cop jogging towards him. He recognized the man as Larkin, the cop who helped Mickey out a lot, saved Ian and even stitched up Ian's bullet wound one time. But fuck, he was cop. Ian's heart thumped in his chest as he crossed his arms, pressing the crack closer to his chest. “Hey, Larkin.”

Larkin smiled as he stood a few feet from Ian. “What’re you doing around these parts?”

Ian shrugged, looking around aimlessly for an escape route or something to speed this up. “Just met with an old friend. I was actually just on my way back home.”

“Whose the old friend?”

Ian furrowed his eyebrows, interested in why Larkin was so interested. His defensive side came through. “What's it matter?”

Larkin noticed his place and moved back a little. “Didn't mean to sound intrusive, just not a lot of friendly people around here.”

Ian's shoulders untensed. “That's true. So, anything you wanted to ask in particular or can I keep going?”

Larkin thought for a minute before shaking his head. “No, you head along. Go home to your family. And Ian… stay out of trouble.”

Ian nodded, waiting for Larkin to go back to his cop car before resuming his walk. Every block, Ian would turn around to make sure he wasn't being followed. He couldn't take any chances, and Larkin had come off seriously suspicious. Ian guessed the officer must've been talking about his runaway when he had advised Ian to “stay out of trouble”, but still, the situation just seemed awkward compared to how Larkin usually was.

Finally, Ian stood outside of the beat up house that he was to deliver to. He walked up the steps, unsure of what to say but ready to improvise. The door swung open before he could even ring the doorbell, and he was soon face with a crackhead lady, itching for drugs no doubt.

“Delivery,” Ian croaked, a little thrown back by the state of this woman. Her blonde hair was frizzy and dry, her body small and skinny as a twig, she has bruises, scratches and dark spots on her face and couldn't be a few years over 20.