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Mickey always loved driving through small towns, along dirt roads with no names by all those mom-and-pop stores forgotten by time that still sold a soda for the same price as they did back in ’71. Mallory used to hate them. The dust blowing everywhere would get in her eyes and it was lonely and isolated with nothing to do. But with Mickey, she loved them as much as he did. Turns out being dusty and isolated wasn’t so bad when you were with the right person, and towns like this had a certain charm to them.
Everyone knew everyone else. Every passer-by was an object of fascination. Most importantly, small towns had local legends that carried on forever and ever. Kill someone in Los Angeles and you were a statistic, kill someone in Bumfuck Nowhere, New Mexico and to the people that lived there you were on par with Jack the Ripper. The site of the incident would be elevated to ‘cured’ or ‘haunted’ or something of that sort.
“What was wrong with that convenience store?” Mallory said, her head resting on Mickey’s shoulder as he drove, the nighttime air sharp and cool and refreshing.
“Well, the guy buying up all that beef jerky could’ve used a good bullet to the head, I’ll give you that,” Mickey said, “But that old married couple runnin’ the place? They had to be a hundred fuckin’ years old, probably had their wedding during the goddamn dust bowl. Ending something like that’s gotta have some bad karma attached.”
Mallory didn’t really care about karma. Mickey was always the philosophical one. But still, it was sweet that he was so attached to his own married status that he didn’t dare take a chance on jinxing it.
“Alright. Guess we can wait until tomorrow,” Mallory said, “Why don’t we swing around to that motel we just passed? They said free cable. Maybe we’re on TV again.”
“No way they’ve got real cable in a place like this. Just wait, when we get there and ask about the cable they’ll hand us a complimentary extension cord,” Mickey said, and Mallory laughed.
“C’mon, Mickey, we gotta get some fuckin’ sleep before we drive into a ditch,” Mallory said.
Mickey didn’t bother slowing down and just went straight into a U turn. Not that anyone was around to see it (or care about it, on a laneless road). He pulled up to the motel – pretty typical small-town place. Cheap and a little tacky but without the seediness of a big city hotel. What really interested him, however, was the car parked a few stalls over. A classic VW big, beer cans scattered over it, used condom flopped over the seat, peace sign sticker near the bumper.
“Guess we might not be outta luck after all, Mal,” Mickey said, “Looks like some out-of-towners come to party and smoke up where they won’t be bothered.”
“You think you can get them to let us in?” Mallory asked, “Seein’ as they don’t wanna be bothered, and all.”
“I think I can kick down these shitty old doors if they don’t,” Mickey said, parking the Challenger and hopping out over the door.
He walked from room to room, listening for any signs of activity up against the wooden door. When he heard the muffled sounds of the nightly news playing on some undoubtedly outdated TV, he knocked.
“What is it?” came a voice from the room after a few seconds, “We don’t need any room service.”
“My wife and I are from out of town. Had to fill up on gas and don’t have enough for a room now,” Mickey said, “But we’ve got some good shit from BC if you’ll let us crash.”
“We’ve only got one bed, man,” the voice said.
“We don’t mind the floor as long as it’s inside. I mean, we can at least smoke a little, right?” Mickey said.
There was no answer for a few seconds, and then the door opened just a crack, scrutinizing eyes gazing Mickey up and down. Would they recognize him? Apparently not, because they opened the door the rest of the way.
“Alright, man, come on in,” said the person inside, a fellow in his mid-20s with a goatee and a beanie hat.
Inside were two more people, another man and a woman, both about the same age as the first, although a little more clean-cut looking. They were passing a joint around the room.
“I’m Jason. Where’s the bud?” the man who answered the door said.
“My wife’s got it,” Mickey said, turning back outside and shouting, “Mal! Come on in!”
Mallory bounded in, excited as ever, “Alright! Are we gonna have a party?”
She closed the door behind her, and even though she clearly wasn’t carrying any weed the two men in the room looked a little more interested.
“You should’ve told us your wife was hot, we would’ve let you in no questions asked,” the other man said, to which the woman responded by smacking him on the shoulder.
“Seein’ as my wife is my wife I don’t see how that’s relevant information,” Mickey said, in a more serious tone than usual.
There was a moment of awkward silence before Jason broke it, passing Mickey the joint, “Okay, okay, no need to start a fight here. Take a puff, man.”
Mickey gladly obliged, passing the joint to Mallory who did the same. It was cheap weed and it didn’t do much, but these kids didn’t exactly look affluent and a buzz was a buzz even if it was a bit mediocre.
“You got better stuff than this?” the other man said.
“I’ve found better stuff than this in truck stop bathrooms,” Mickey said, taking the joint back from Mallory and taking another puff anyways, “But I’m afraid we don’t have anything from BC here, or DC, or whatever fuckin’ section of the alphabet you prefer. And even if we did, you wouldn’t have the time to enjoy it.”
“Why’s that?” said the woman, who looked more than a little tipsy on top of being high.
“Because you’re not gonna live to see the sun come up,” Mallory said.
And before anyone could react, Mickey took out his knife and slashed Jason’s throat, blood spurting out over the wall as he attempted to gurgle out some last words before falling to the ground. Room service was going to have a hell of a time with that in the morning, Mickey thought. The woman got up and ran for the door but Mickey blocked her way, the hunting knife embedded in her chest. Mickey twisted the knife, hearing the sweet crack of bone as her ribs snapped easily against the force. Even though her heart was undoubtedly shredded, she’d be lying there until she suffocated. Mickey, in all his mercy, snapped her neck so she could go down a bit quicker.
“Shit!” the remaining man said, “Shit! You’re the ones from the TV, aren’t you? You don’t look anything like they said you did!”
“Boy, that was a re-enactment, and if you’re too damn stupid to realize that I think we’re doing the world a favor by taking you out of it,” Mickey said, looming over him.
“Hold up, baby,” Mallory said, pulling out a pocket knife, “That one’s mine.”
“Wait, wait! Don’t you always leave someone alive?” the man said, hands in the air.
“Do you really think we would’ve picked you? You’re probably half out of your mind right now, anyways. You’re not gonna give an accurate account,” Mickey said, “Besides that, we’re gonna want some alone time after we’re done here and you sobbing in the corner isn’t exactly conductive to that. We’ll just tell the clerk on our way out.”
“Come on, please –“ the man said, interrupted by Mallory’s knife in the side of his neck.
“Oh, shut up,” Mallory said, licking one of her blood-covered fingers, “That guy said about three things and he already pissed me the fuck off.”
“It’s alright, he’s dead,” Mickey said, looking at the bodies on the ground, giving one a nudge with his hoe just to make sure, “I can’t believe they thought I’d look like that re-enactment guy. You know they put a green streak in my hair?”
“Some people just have no taste,” Mallory said, jumping into his arms, legs around his hips.
She was so light, but even on a bad day she could take down a guy twice her size. Mickey always found that absolutely enchanting. She was wilder inside than anyone he’d ever met, himself included. He was the quiet one, really, she brought him out of his shell. That was one of the little nuances the media never really picked up on. Sometimes he wished he could write a book just so they could get it right when the inevitable made-for-TV movie came out.
“Red looks good on you,” Mallory said, kissing him on his bloodstained cheek.
He kissed her rough on the lips, the taste of blood getting him going like nothing else. Blood they spilled together, that’d be on the news tomorrow, that’d shock people the world over. And this motel, well, it’d be a relic now. That clerk would probably be thanking them when the rush of fans came in to stay at the real hotel where Mickey and Mallory really killed three people.
Mickey tossed Mallory down onto the bed – of course they weren’t going to sleep on the floor – practically ripping her shirt off. Mallory, however, went beyond ‘practically’, slicing into Mickey’s white T-shirt with the pocket knife. Mickey didn’t care, he had a dozen just like it. Seeing his wife work a knife like that was well worth a lost shirt. He unzipped his pants, kicking them off onto the floor as Mallory did the same. There they were, naked on blood-soaked blankets with blood-soaked walls and feeling like they’ve never been happier.
“I didn’t think there was anything in this world as beautiful as you, Mal,” Mickey said, hot, fresh blood dripping down his chin and arms onto her naked body. He smeared it around, making facades of tribal patterns on her skin.
“Then fuckin’ take me, what’re you waiting for?” Mallory said, yanking Mickey down by his necklace, kissing him again along his jawline and neck, biting him just enough to cause a bit of pain.
Mickey was a bit of a romantic, but Mallory liked to get straight to the point, especially when the kills were fresh on her mind. Mickey leaned down, backing away and shoving is head roughly between her legs, licking at her clit while squeezing her ass with one hand. Some guys didn’t like that type of thing, and he sure as shit couldn’t comprehend why. He kept going until he brought her to climax, and by that time she was nice and wet.
Crawling over top of her once more, Mickey thrusted, Mallory moaning sharply as he did. He was rough, but it was always rough between them and they liked it that way. By now they both knew exactly what the other wanted, and how to make it happen. Mallory dug her nails into his shoulders and pressed up against him, bucking her hips in motion with his thrusts. She gave him a little shove, prompting him to roll over so she could be on top for a while.
“Okay, cowgirl,” Mickey said, rolling over, the cool wetness of the bloody blanket against his back.
By that point they were both covered in blood, and it was starting to get dry and sticky although that didn’t matter right now. Of course the only shower in this room was one of those tiny stalls no grown adult could comfortably fit in, but no matter, they’d deal with that later.
Mickey held on to Mallory’s hips as she rode him, TV still blaring in the background when suddenly they heard their own names.
“Look, babe!” Mallory said, “We’re on TV again!”
“Damn right we are,” Mickey said, reaching over to stroke her clit.
Mallory breathed in sharply, shivering as she came to climax once again. There’d never been a more perfect moment than this one to her, not in all the plays and songs and legendary romances there has ever been. She never thought she’d know what it was like to feel that everything was right where it belonged, but at this moment she did.
Mickey came soon after and they both laid down next to each other, breathing heavily. He kissed her on the neck, biting and sucking and giving her a hickey like they were in grade school. But as much as he’d like to spend the night right there, he sat up.
“We gotta clean up and go, Mal,” he said.
“Aw, no. Not another night in the car,” she said.
“You know you love that car,” Mickey said, ruffling her hair, “We can pull over and camp out under the stars. But if we stay here until morning we’re gonna get caught.”
“Alright,” Mallory said, “This place is a dump, anyways.”
“It was a dump. Now it’s the site of something beautiful,” Mickey said.
“Yeah. It is,” Mallory said, smiling as she sat up and kissed him one more time.