Reservoir Dogs, White/Orange, Mexico (What Could Have Been)
Orange gagged as blood filled his mouth. He let himself imagine it was tequila, that he and Larry had said “fuck it all” and gone to Mexico instead of going through with the heist.
He’d never been shot and they were lying together on some secluded beach. That there was blue sky, green water, white sand and they were knocking back shots while in the distance a Mariachi bank played (what the fuck did he know about Mariachi bands? Just that they sounded like that horn from Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire”.)
He and Larry wrestling in the sand, yanking off each other’s Hawaiian shirts till he let Larry pin him, naked against the sand, Larry kissing his throat, rearranging his legs, pushing his knee to the side, slipping inside him.
For a minute he thought he was there then the pain slammed him, brought him back to reality. Time to put aside what might have been, time to tell the truth.
Orange gritted his teeth.
“I’m a cop,” he said.
The last thing he felt was Larry’s hand stroking his hair and Larry’s gun in his face.