A/N: This story is a remake of a work from 2009. It takes place in the canon of the 1980 Astro Boy series, particularly around Skunk's gang. Ox is the huge guy with the red blazer, Vito is the balding redhead with the beige pinstripe suit, and Pilat is the little brunet guy who's seen as Skunk's right-hand man and driver most of the time.
"Look, I don't think I'm gonna offend anybody in this room, but, like..."
"Like what?"
"Steven King's a little bitch. You can quote me on that." Ox slammed down his hand of cards, and put his fingers around his eyelids to make his eyes wider. "I'm an American! Cars are scary! I wear round glasses!"
Ox's voice seemed to echo throughout the old warehouse. Vito whined, "Calm down, man, you're too drunk to talk anything serious."
"I'm just a little stressed out, man..." Ox put his hands through his hair. "I'm not used to fuckin' up a heist."
Glass shattered in the other side of the makeshift living room. The men at the card table turned – some shaken and some still bleary from liquor – to see what had once been a half-empty bottle of Crown Royale shattered against the wall. Skunk Kusai lay blearily on the couch, now struggling to sit up.
"Nuns!" He howled. "Since when do nuns go to the goddamned bank?!"
Ox yelled back, "We shoulda just plowed through 'em!"
"Drive over a fucking nun? I'm not tryin' to jinx myself!" Skunk was trying to charge at Ox, but his intoxication made him look more like a sloppy hand puppet. The small designated gang driver Pilat Vannelli emerged from the adjacent kitchen, a former employee break room, holding a flimsy aluminum tray topped with small and slightly burned sponge cakes.
"Boss, your EZ Cakes are d-" They collided. Pilat was knocked down, but Skunk remained on his feet, now kicking the tray away from himself as if it were on fire.
"Pilat! Fuck! Stop doing random shit when I'm trying to work!"
The smaller man pushed himself off the ground. "Y-You're not working, you're getting wasted!"
"You keep talking like that and you'll be getting a punch in the dick, too!" Skunk spat as he strode over to the card table. At least he was distracted.
Pilat massaged his temples, exhausted, while a few other men in the gang picked at the fallen sponge cakes like vultures. At least the EZ Mix wasn't going to waste. Not like he'd actually paid money for it.
The boss was a dick, but hey, he brought in the best money Pilat had ever seen.
"Do you need work?"
Skunk had been sitting at the counter of Cristallo's Bar and Grill, quiet and absorbed in his thoughts for well over an hour, until Pilat passed by his spot yet again. Pilat had been maybe 20 at the time, and he glanced up, almost shocked to hear a voice come out of the pile of trench coat and hat.
"...Yeah." Cleaning up after patrons didn't pay well. In that part of Metro City, a question like Skunk's wasn't followed by an invitation to flip burgers.
The shady, pale man seemed thrilled. "Whaddya lookin' for?"
"Nothing randy."
"You fine with fireworks?" Weapons. Pilat nodded. He'd overheard things like this in the bar before.
The two were soon sitting side by side at the bar counter. Pilat got a briefing on the "work" being offered – a painting heist – and knowing just who was sitting beside him was nothing less than a blast of anxiety.
"I-It's just kinda surprising, you know?" Pilat kept fidgeting, wringing his chubby tan hands together. "I feel like I've been spotted by a talent scout. Th-they talk about what you do in here a lot."
Skunk smirked. "What do they say?"
"B-Bad things...good things, too. A hell of a lot of envy."
"Good, good. Means I'm still hot on the market."
"Hey! Vannelli!" The bar manager started snapping his fingers, drawing closer to their spot at the counter. "The hell you doin' not on the fl-"
Pilat heard the snap of something metal from the open part of Skunk's trench coat. The manager went cold, nodding silently and treading backwards. Pilat would later find out it was a switchblade with a laser edge function.
Skunk turned back to Pilat. "Looks like you're spoken for."
The tension in the building had subsided, as Skunk and the guys had moved on to a round of poker. One of the new men was hooking up a cable TV, and a crowd of others had left the building in favour of a nearby cathouse. It was boring in the warehouse, sure, but a pleasant lull by the gang's standards.
Pilat stood in the doorway of the kitchen, examining the scene: an aura of smoke hung over the poker table, coming from whatever substance of choice the guys had on them. The furniture, frankly, looked like shit. Grody secondhand couches and a thrift store rug made up the "living room", the poker table was found on the edge of the road, and someone had hung a tacky framed picture of a sunflower. Whoever brought it likely had the hope of livening up the room, but instead, it just looked like an amateur porn studio.
But the gang couldn't get too flagrant. All the furniture was intended to be thrown into the back of a truck if they needed to flee at the last minute. Pilat knew that the boss had far nicer places to live somewhere, but they were secret to all but the boss.
He almost wondered how a guy like Skunk, with the money he had, could stand to live in a musty old shipping facility.
"Hey! We're talkin' to you!" Someone's shouts from the table finally broke past Pilat's thoughts. "Bring over the whiskey, midget!"
Pilat forced a nod, retrieved the wide brown bottle from the cupboard, and hurried to the table. A man in a cabby hat shoved a glass in Pilat's face, a wordless command to pour.
Annoyed, he poured. "I'm not the gang gofer, Kyosuke. You can do this yourself."
"We know you ain't. But anyone not gettin' drunk has to help the ones who are."
"What bonehead came up with that?!"
"This bonehead," Skunk said with a point at himself, not taking his eyes off his cards. He swiped the whiskey out of Pilat's hands, took a stiff drink, and then tossed his cards down onto the table.
A royal flush. The other guys at the table groaned loudly as Skunk, almost cackling, pulled the money on the table into his lap. Pilat couldn't help at that moment but feel awe, watching the boss smugly count his winnings. He almost jumped with a start when Skunk suddenly turned to him.
"Hey, Pilat, you good to drive?"
"M-Me? Yeah."
Skunk stood up, looking back at the table. "Guys, I need to run out for something. You gonna be fine without me for an hour?"
An assortment of muttered "yeah" and "sure" wafted from the table as the card game restarted. Skunk set a hand on Pilat's shoulder, guiding him towards the warehouse's indoor parking area. Pilat complied, walking with the boss, even though he had no idea what this incoming "something" was. At least they could get a breath of fresh air.
They took the van, a clunky and peeling yet unsuspecting-looking thing. Some assorted junk like spare uniforms, an old tripod, and a futon were thrown into the back, remnants of heists past. The futon had probably been once used as an impromptu floatation device. Once.
Pilat's thoughts on past uses of the futon sent heat to his face. It wasn't until Skunk started angrily snapping his fingers in Pilat's face that he realized he had been getting talked to.
"Shit, Pilat, I told you to turn right here and you miss it! There's nobody else on the road! I thought you said you were good to drive."
"S-sorry, boss, I-"
Skunk was suddenly sounding calm, but still stern. "You don't have to apologize. I, uh, was trying to make this a surprise. I wanted to treat you."
Pilat's pants felt tighter.
"I think there's another all night Ice Palace somewhere on Kingston. Try taking the next left."
Pilat just about let go of the steering wheel while the pieces in his head finally clicked together. Sputtering, he shouted at Skunk, "You're taking me for ice cream?!"
"Not the tone I expected, but yeah," Skunk was sheepish but looked ready to bring the pain. "What the hell's your deal?"
"Th-th-this is the same thing we do when you wanna go f-fuck somewhere!"
"Sh...shit, I forgot."
"Forgot?! How drunk are you?! This- ah! Aah!" Pilat was interrupted by Skunk angrily yanking on his ear.
"I fucked up, okay?! You don't have to tear me a new one over it!"
"Ow! Merde! I get it! Let g-go!" Pilat flailed with one hand while shakily driving with the other. Skunk relinquished, sitting back in his seat with a huff. The car was quiet and awkward. Pilat forgot to take the upcoming left but Skunk didn't care.
Skunk nervously cleared his throat. "You, uh...started feeling it, huh?"
A flustered nod. "...I'm half mast."
"I see." Skunk's hand returned to Pilat, giving the younger man's crotch one good grope. "Take us to the...hmm, the riverfront tonight."
Pilat wasn't sure how much time had passed since they got to the riverside parking lot. The afterglows were almost as satisfying as the actual rutting. The two men were laying side by side on the old futon, with what clothing they still had on tousled, the smell of sweat and cum heavy in the back of the van. They passed a joint back and forth; Skunk had initially offered a spliff, but Pilat balked at the idea of tobacco. The younger man felt like he was on another planet.
"God was that good," he breathed. "F-Fuck the ice cream. If you wanna "treat" me, just drill me like that again."
"Been waitin' to get it on for days," Skunk sighed through a drag. He started to hand the joint off to Pilat again, but Pilat waved it away; he still had to drive them back. His small, tan hand landed on Skunk's chest and he began to absentmindedly trace Skunk's chest.
"...We've gotta get rid of this shitty futon."
"Mmm. Why?"
"We've gotten so much jizz on it. And I think we pushed it in the river once. It's probably a fuckin' biohazard."
Skunk suddenly sat up, disgusted, shoving Pilat off the futon. He fell in a heap on some discarded nylon tarp, and blearily watched as Skunk shoved the futon out the truck doors. He could hear the click of a Zippo lighter while Skunk fumbled around outside. The sound of a futon being dropped. Skunk hissing cruses. A dragging noise. Eventually, the whoosh of a flame.
Skunk crawled back inside the van, feeling around for his discarded jacket. "Can...can you imagine what the cops are gonna think?"
"...Huh?" Pilat passed the jacket over.
"They'll be like, "Oh no! Another dumpster fire down by Echo Park last night!" And they're all gonna flip out and drive down there tomorrow morning, thinking someone's dumped a body, and they're gonna pull out a burned-ass cum-soaked futon. Holy shit, I'm cracking up just thinking about it."
Pilat sighed. "You're blasted. It's time to go home."
"Sure, fine." Skunk pulled the van back doors closed. "Swing by the Ice Palace first, though. I'm hungry as hell."
As far as Pilat was concerned, had been the best day with the gang in a long while.