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Vibrant neon lights illuminate Benny’s face as he smokes a cigar facing the window. He seems entranced by the bustling city below, lost in a world of his own. The aroma of the cigar wafts through the air and mingles with the musty smell of the suite’s old carpet.
Swank observes Benny’s mesmerized expression, realizing that something has changed within him. The once familiar spark in Benny’s eyes has transformed into a newfound intensity that Swank has never seen before. It’s as if Benny has discovered a whole new world.
The man before Swank doesn’t feel like the Benny that he used to know.
“Hey-” Swank opens his mouth to call out to him. The name ‘Gecko’, almost slithered right off his tongue, but he bit it back and exhaled with a sigh. “Benny, you called for me?”
“Swank! Just the guy I wanted t’ see.” Benny motions to the chair across from him, using his cigar as a pointer. “Come in, have a seat.”
It feels a little strange for Benny to refer to him by that name and to see each other wearing suits and ties instead of gecko skins, but he pushes that feeling away. Swank complies and tries not to scrunch his nose up at the stench of the smoke. He’ll talk to Benny about that later. “Hey buddy, how have you been?” He asks.
“T’ be honest with you? Could be better. That damn singer’s been performin’ songs about the old days,” Benny says, rubbing his forehead.
Swank blinks. “I don’t see anythin’ wrong with that.“
“No, no, it’s bad.” Benny cuts Swank off. “He’s makin’ the boys nostalgic. Soon they’re going to want t’ go back to trailin’ in the desert and actin’ like cavemen!”
Swank raises a brow at that and leans back in his chair, considering Benny’s words. So Benny called him over to vent? A little bit of hope blossomed in his chest. If the other man trusts him enough to tell him about his troubles, maybe he still thinks of him as a friend instead of a business partner.
“I see what you mean,” he finally responds. “But maybe it’s just a phase, see? Folks always get all moony-eyed for the past, but sooner or later, they snap outta it and face the music.”
“I’m not takin’ that risk.” Irritated, Benny takes a drag on his cigar and exhales a cloud of smoke. “I’ve worked too hard to civilize these boys and give them a chance at a better life. I won’t let them throw it all away for some romanticized notion of the past.”
Swank stitches his brows together in concern. “So… what exactly are you goin’ to do about that?”
“That’s where you come in,” Benny smirks. “Remember back when we were kids, we used to squeeze the juice out of bloatfly meat and put it in that old coot’s beer?”
A small smile creeps up on Swank’s lips while he huffs out his nose. “Yeah, I still remember the mug he pulled when he took a swig, too.” He sighs, “Those were the days.”
Still smirking, Benny opens his sports coat, takes a small vial out of its inner pocket by the neck of the bottle, and delicately places it on the coffee table. “How about we do it again?” A bit of smoke escapes Benny’s mouth as he speaks, and he pushes the vial towards Swank with the tips of his fingers. “For ol’ time’s sake.”
Swank’s eyes flit between the vial and Benny. Gingerly, he takes the vial and looks at its contents. A deep red liquid sits inside it. “This ain’t bloatfly juice,” He says dumbly.
Benny chuckles softly, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “No, Swank. This is somethin’ far more potent and exhilaratin’. A taste of the forbidden.”
A bit of dread starts to settle in the pit of Swank’s stomach. He raises an eyebrow and leans in closer to hear more about this mysterious elixir. “What’s in it?”
Benny grins and says, “Vegas.”
Swank stares at Benny with a blank expression for a solid minute, and Benny lets out an impatient huff. “You’re makin’ this less dramatic than I want it t’ be.”
“Can you cut the theatrics an’ just tell me what’s goin’ on?” Swank deadpans.
Benny rolls his eyes and says, “It’s concentrated Psycho, mixed with a bit of radscorpion venom. I want you t’ switch out his usual drugs for this one.”
Swank’s eyes widen in shock as he realizes the gravity of Benny’s request. He hesitates for a moment, contemplating the consequences of such an action. “You want me t’ poison him? Are you out of your mind?”
“You were sneaky enough t’ get bloatfly juice in his beer, so this should be a walk in the park for you.” Benny’s face contorts into a sinister grin, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and determination. “I need him out of the picture, Swank. It’s the only way to secure our future.”
Swank’s mouth suddenly feels dry. He could feel the cool, smooth glass of the vial in his hands, as if it were taunting him to go through with it. His mind races, torn between loyalty to Benny and the weight of his own conscience.
For him, this feels like such an underhanded way to go about it. Hell, sniping the singer out would’ve been more honest. He knows that once he crosses this line, there’s no going back. The room falls into an eerie silence. Only the ticking of the clock marks the passage of time, and with each tick, Benny visibly starts to grow irate.
This definitely isn’t the Benny he knows, but that naive, little voice in his head says that maybe, after all of this blows over, Benny will be himself again.
Swank swallows his hesitation and nods, “Fine, I’ll do that for you, buddy, but you’ll owe me.”
Benny’s eyes flicker with a mix of relief and gratitude as he nods back at Swank. For a moment, Swank could’ve sworn that he saw a figment of the brother friend he used to have. “Thanks, pal; I knew I could count on you.” Benny gets up from his seat and pats Swank on the shoulder. “It’s been a fun chat, but I’ve got places to be. Bring me back the vial once you’re done, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Swank forces a smile, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He watches Benny walk away, leaving him alone in the suite with a vial in his hand and an empty feeling in his chest.
Play along just a little longer, and Benny will be himself again, surely.