Beginnings - Mickey and Control - for fanfic 100
Originally posted here: http://community.livejournal.com/fanfic100/5249447.html
The Equalizer. General. 001. Beginnings.
Title: Beginnings - Mickey and Control
Fandom: The Equalizer
Characters: Control, Mickey, Viktor, mention Teri and Holly
Prompt: Beginnings
Word Count: 2841
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13
Summary: Mickey hasn't been with the Company for long, but an off-the-books mission might change his mind about his new boss.
Author's Notes: Originally written for my friend's birthday. I haven't heard her screaming after a few days :).
Disclaimer: I only own Teri, Holly, and Viktor. Everyone and everything else belongs to someone else.
Link to LDT: http://controls-lady.livejournal.com/32976.html
Mickey ducked. One empty beer bottle flew over his head, falling just short of the back wall into the bartender's pit, and another dropped on the bar beside him, shattering and almost bouncing glass into his drink. The bartender grabbed a broom and made a pass from one end to the other behind the counter. He glanced at Mickey, who read his insincerity and snarled him away. Behind him, the bouncers spent a long time breaking up the fight, and tossing out the offenders.
Mickey drank deep from the bottle. His hand tightened around the neck painfully, wanting to do the same around Control’s.
< Get off my back. You weren't there.> He could still hear Control tearing him apart for tiny delays - the team was too slow, spent too much time studying and not enough moving, until Mickey had thought he would scream. He imagined Control’s reaction if he had - his boss’ jaw on the floor until he recovered - and grinned without humor.
When the bar went silent he didn’t look, but then something cold began to seep into him. He knew it wasn’t the air conditioning vent above him on overdrive. He followed it mentally, hearing the little murmurs as whoever it was past behind him and on down. He couldn’t quite pick out a name, but then he didn’t need one.
< Thought I was far enough out of town he wouldn’t find me. > His thought broke off as he casually turned that way to see.
His jaw almost dropped, but he ground his teeth together. Control wasn’t suit and bow tie anymore, the word was black - not slacks but black jeans, a black leather jacket, and a short sleeve midnight t-shirt that drained the light while showing off a body that made more than a few ladies watch him covertly. Mickey was torn between leaving and wishing to see who showed to meet him.
Control sat at the far end of the bar, and ordered. Mickey watched covertly as the bartender poured out a glass of bourbon. Control spotted Mickey’s glance, treated him to the same icy glare he gave the rest of the bar, without any recognition in his face.
For a few moments, Mickey imagined Control and Robert’s partnership before Control moved up the ladder, then took another swig from his bottle. < Let’s see what he’s up to.>
Hours later they were still there, as the bar slowly emptied out. Control hadn’t checked his watch once. They had both made their drinks last as long as possible, until the bartender gave them the evil eye. Finally Control looked at Mickey, nodded, and then threw enough money on the bar for both of them.
Mickey debated for a moment, then, intrigued, followed him to the bathroom and then outside.
“Want a ride home?” Mickey asked, and glanced at his borrowed motorcycle. Control chuckled as he brought out his keys.
Mickey’s retort was drowned out by the growing roar of engines racing down the road. Tires squealed as the lead car swung onto the parking lot and
“It’s there,” the man gasped. “My pocket…” His head rolled towards the ground.
Quickly, Control searched the man’s pants, and then held up a key. Sirens sounded in the distance. Control scooped the other odds and ends that he’d found into his hand along with the key, and then stuffed them into his pocket as he stood. He took a step back, and before Mickey could speak or react, someone fired nearby and the man on the ground’s head exploded.
Control grabbed Mickey’s wrist and dragged him to the motorcycle. Mickey followed without question, climbing aboard and starting the engine.
“North,” he ordered, and then jumped on behind him. They peeled out, barely missing the patrol car at the end of the lane.
Control yelled a few more directions in his ear. He made Mickey stop and fill the tank at an out of the way gas station, purchased a couple of old sandwiches, then they set out again. Within minutes, after a roundabout trip, they passed a gated mansion. Control had Mickey pull up and park under some old trees a half a mile away, and then helped him hide the bike. Their eyes quickly adjusted to the moonlight.
“What are we doing?” Mickey asked him as they walked back briskly.
“Retrieving. Snatch and grab.” Control replied. He smiled a shark’s grin, and a chill ran down Mickey’s spine.
“You were expecting me.”
“No. But you’ll do.”
Mickey bit back a retort. They rounded a corner, and two snarling Doberman Pinschers, inside the electrified fence, raced up to meet them. Control slowed his steps, took the sandwiches from his pocket, and tossed them over the fence. They were gone almost before they touched the ground.
“He doesn’t feed his guard dogs unless he absolutely has to.” Control confided.
< Lovely.> “Who? You’re sure there are just two?” Behind them, the growls and snarls turned to whimpers, then silence. “What did you give them?”
Mickey gave up, realizing he wasn’t going to get a straight answer. He expected Control to jam the fence; instead he punched an entrance code, and then used the key to get inside the house.
< Getting in here was too easy.> Mickey followed his boss through the dark house. He seemed to know his way without a misstep, making Mickey even more uneasy. But nothing seemed out of place, no running footsteps, and no bells went off.
Control stopped outside a doorway, punched in a code, and then guided Mickey inside. He shut the door behind them, and then handed Mickey a small powerful flashlight. Mickey ran the light quickly over stuffed shelves of books.
“What am I looking for?” Mickey asked.
“Jacob Jacoby. Anything marked with that. Black book. Probably 1950s-80s.”
They searched silently, each to a side.
“Control?” Mickey turned. “This it?”
Control grabbed the next book on the shelf and stuffed it under his arm. He turned. Mickey tossed him the slim book. Control caught it with his free hand. He thumbed it opened, skimmed the first couple of pages, then ruffled through the rest. He nodded, then stuffed it into his pocket and zipped it closed. Mickey moved towards the door.
Control’s swift intake of breath stopped him. He looked back and saw his boss looking at the second book, the one that had been under his arm. Control brought the book and flashlight close to his face and studied it closely.
Mickey waited until it seemed Control had lost himself in the book.
“Control! Time!” he hissed.
Control shook his head. He set the penlight on an empty spot on the shelf, then unzipped the pocket, and spent a minute jamming the two in together. The zipper refused to close; finally he grunted, swept his jacket closed, and then clapped his hand over the spot to hold them inside. He grabbed the penlight and caught up with Mickey.
Mickey opened the door, they slipped through, and he closed it, hearing the lock click. They hustled to the door, down the hallway, and then into the foyer. Six steps inside the space and the front door swung silently open. Mickey froze. Control ran into him, and then the overhead lights blinked on.
Two men and two women came swiftly to surround them, each holding at pistol at the ready.
“I’m surprised.” A smooth voice came from the side of the room. “You didn’t use to be so predictable, Control.” A tall blond man strolled towards them. “That is what they call you now, correct?” He stopped in a space and then chuckled. “I hardly think you’re in control of the situation.”
Green eyes appraised Mickey. “Mr. Michael Kostmayer, often known as Mickey. Ex-SEAL, accused bomber, about to spend the rest of his miserable life in the brig, until Robert McCall did some sleuthing. Now you’ve become his Company protégé,” the man cocked his head, “and maybe a replacement son? How is Scott?”
Mickey opened his mouth, but the man’s head straightened, and he held out a hand. “I’m Viktor, as I’m sure one of them have told you. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he finished. Mickey shook his hand and then twisted it, but not fast enough. The man yanked their wrists the other direction. The woman on Mickey’s right clubbed his temple with her pistol. At the same time, the man hooked his foot around Mickey’s ankles and pulled, crashing him to the floor.
Three guns cocked in the silence, and three barrels pressed into Control’s skin, freezing him in place.
Mickey slowly rolled to his knees. He leaned his head back and glared at his partner’s impassive face.
“Oh don’t blame Control, Mr. Kostmayer, he isn’t entirely self-serving. He just remembers once bleeding out in an alley after I’d told him not to interfere. Ask him about the scar across his back. I’m sure he recalls the young woman who was paralyzed for a while because he refused to cooperate.”
Control growled then shoved him aside.
“Hey,” Mickey barked as he tried to stay upright. He recovered as Control’s hands locked around the slightly shorter man’s throat and squeezed. “Stop!” His cry went unheeded.
One man stayed focused on him, the others clambered over Control, pounding on him. Viktor grabbed his wrists, yanking at them while his face changed color.
The man guarding Mickey sighted his pistol, and then shot twice; the bullets whizzed past Control’s head.
“Next one’s in your head.” He stated calmly over the silence. “Let him go.” Control did.
The weapon carriers circled them again, and then marched them into a smaller room.
“Sit.”
They were chained to the chairs, wrists in handcuffs behind their backs.
Viktor leaned against a wall, watching, his color regaining ground. His pants legs shifted as he straightened, almost overbalancing. Mickey watched him closely.
< A brace? Or an anklet? > He thought.
“Gentlemen. Where did you hide it?”
“Hide what?” Control said evenly.
“Please.” Viktor stared disdainfully. He studied Control, and then his face brightened. Control backed as far as possible against his chair, but he was still helpless to keep Viktor away from him. Viktor slid his hand under Control’s jacket and then pulled out both books.
He seemed surprised at the second book, a blue one. Slowly he turned the pages, half smiling at some. “Here.” He threw it towards Control’s feet.
Mickey spotted plastic pages as the book slid across the floor and realized it was a photo album. He craned to see as it landed, but the angle and the light were wrong.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Kostmayer. I have copies.”
Mickey yanked his head back, grating that he had been caught.
Viktor laughed. “Look around you.”
Mickey swiveled his head and blinked. The white wall in front of him was clean, but turning his head revealed the other walls were covered in pictures. He blinked, and then looked again. Teri smiled out of almost every picture, many with Viktor by her side. Teri and Holly, Scott and Holly, Teri and Robert, even a couple of her with Control were scattered about. Some of the other people he recognized, some he didn’t. About an equal amount were posed and not posed, a few had been taken with surveillance cameras.
“Not as simple as you thought, hmmm?” Viktor demanded. Mickey closed his mouth, and brought his attention back to the front. From the corner of his eye, he saw Control strain against the chains, testing them, and fail.
“What did he tell you, Mr. Kostmayer? I’m curious. Just that I had information he wanted? Good at partial truths, isn’t he? You were really looking for this, weren’t you?” He kicked the album.
“No.” Control said through gritted teeth. “All we wanted was the Jacoby information.”
“That failed.” Viktor tossed the black book to the man who had stayed on Mickey. “Put this away.” With a nod, then man left. Viktor waved the others away.
“Is this happy reunion going to take long?” Mickey drawled. < You DO have a plan to get us out of here, right?> “Some of us have to work tomorrow.”
“Maybe. Maybe I’ll shoot you both, and dump you by a roadside, or down a cliff, for the vultures to find. Offer my help so Teri can find you - and so she can pick up the pieces.”
“Is it that day already?” Control asked the air. “I had forgotten. When did she turn you down again?”
Viktor yanked a small gun from underneath his jacket. He pointed it at Control’s head and clicked off the safety.
“She didn’t turn me down. You took her from me!” He almost growled, then again his calm mask returned. “You haven’t loved her half as long as I have.”
“Love? You don’t love, you use and throw away. You won’t throw her away again.”
“Oh?” Viktor turned towards Mickey. “You see, Mr. Kostmayer,” Viktor said, a tiny smile played around his lips, “there are two, no, three, people in this world for whom Teri would leave him. Forever. I’m one of them. He forgets that sometimes.”
Control lunged taking his chair with him. Viktor stuck out his leg and kicked just above Control’s ankles, tripping him. Control barely managed to keep his balance and fell backwards, staying upright.
“Are you taking notes, Mr. Kostmayer?” Viktor’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “There are some buttons you can push to get a rise out of him.” He looked back and forth between them.
< Considering which one will do what?> Mickey thought, his stomach filling with dread.
“So why don’t you?” He asked, grabbing Viktor’s attention. “Take her and get it over with.”
“Because she says she’s happy with him. I tried, once, her and her sweet Holly, before he became Control.” His spat in that direction. “She and the girl disappeared. For three months.”
“You couldn’t find them?” < How much more self-centered and egotistical can you be?>
Viktor took two steps then slapped Mickey hard enough to twist his neck.
“Leave him alone. He’s not interested in your babbling.” Control said.
“By right, Teri should be my wife. By right, you have broken into my home and attempted to steal something else, something very important, again. What should I do with both of you?”
“Stop boring us and get on with it,” Mickey suggested.
“Would love to. But I have somewhere else to be. The cops were called, anonymously, five minutes ago. Should be here any moment. Have fun explaining this one, Control. I know one of the officers is very good with a cell phone camera.” He grinned briefly, then turned and walked away.
Mickey mentally counted off five seconds.
“Get down here.” Control demanded. He rocked himself sideways, until he fell over. Mickey joined him, tumbling over as well. “Left sneaker, underneath the socks and slacks.”
After a few fumbling moments, Mickey retrieved the lock pick with a hiss of celebration.
“He’s either getting old or forgetful.” He remarked as he twisted the wire.
“Neither. He likes to play games. He likes the humiliation factor.” Control shook out his wrists for a moment, and then returned the favor. “Did you see what he did with the black book?”
“Took it with him, I think.” Mickey stood, and then gave Control a hand up to his feet.
Control grabbed the blue album and stuffed it in his waistband.
“He didn’t take this; could be useful. Let’s get out of here.”
Instead of leading Mickey the way they had come, Control threaded their way up the stairs and onto the roof.
“You’re kidding?” Mickey scoffed at the small, engine powered glider. “With those trees? Too much weight.”
“Just has to get us over the fence.” Control dropped into the front seat. “Hold on.”
Mickey scrambled behind him as he started the motor, and prayed. He watched the red and blue flashing lights of the police cars coming down the dirt road.
They barely cleared the trees, landing on the far side with a bump that jarred Mickey’s teeth. The glider had no lights, so no one came to view as they scrambled for the hidden motorcycle. Mickey didn’t feel comfortable slowing down until they were many miles away.
“What were you going to do if the glider wasn’t there?” He asked as he dropped Control off at a Company building.
“There’s an SUV or 3 in the garage. Armor plated, bulletproof glass. Punch through the door and the gate easily. The dogs couldn’t touch it.” Control replied, and then shrugged his shoulders. “Less fun.”
“Less fun.” Mickey mocked.
“I don’t have to tell you this is only between us.” Control’s voice brooked no argument. “Not even McCall or Teri. Unless you plan to skinny dip in Siberia.”
Mickey nodded. Control nodded back, and then headed into the building.
< I won’t tell them yet.> Mickey thought as he pulled into traffic, heading for home.
The Equalizer. General. 001. Beginnings.
Title: Beginnings - Mickey and Control
Fandom: The Equalizer
Characters: Control, Mickey, Viktor, mention Teri and Holly
Prompt: Beginnings
Word Count: 2841
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13
Summary: Mickey hasn't been with the Company for long, but an off-the-books mission might change his mind about his new boss.
Author's Notes: Originally written for my friend's birthday. I haven't heard her screaming after a few days :).
Disclaimer: I only own Teri, Holly, and Viktor. Everyone and everything else belongs to someone else.
Link to LDT: http://controls-lady.livejournal.com/32976.html
Mickey ducked. One empty beer bottle flew over his head, falling just short of the back wall into the bartender's pit, and another dropped on the bar beside him, shattering and almost bouncing glass into his drink. The bartender grabbed a broom and made a pass from one end to the other behind the counter. He glanced at Mickey, who read his insincerity and snarled him away. Behind him, the bouncers spent a long time breaking up the fight, and tossing out the offenders.
Mickey drank deep from the bottle. His hand tightened around the neck painfully, wanting to do the same around Control’s.
< Get off my back. You weren't there.> He could still hear Control tearing him apart for tiny delays - the team was too slow, spent too much time studying and not enough moving, until Mickey had thought he would scream. He imagined Control’s reaction if he had - his boss’ jaw on the floor until he recovered - and grinned without humor.
When the bar went silent he didn’t look, but then something cold began to seep into him. He knew it wasn’t the air conditioning vent above him on overdrive. He followed it mentally, hearing the little murmurs as whoever it was past behind him and on down. He couldn’t quite pick out a name, but then he didn’t need one.
< Thought I was far enough out of town he wouldn’t find me. > His thought broke off as he casually turned that way to see.
His jaw almost dropped, but he ground his teeth together. Control wasn’t suit and bow tie anymore, the word was black - not slacks but black jeans, a black leather jacket, and a short sleeve midnight t-shirt that drained the light while showing off a body that made more than a few ladies watch him covertly. Mickey was torn between leaving and wishing to see who showed to meet him.
Control sat at the far end of the bar, and ordered. Mickey watched covertly as the bartender poured out a glass of bourbon. Control spotted Mickey’s glance, treated him to the same icy glare he gave the rest of the bar, without any recognition in his face.
For a few moments, Mickey imagined Control and Robert’s partnership before Control moved up the ladder, then took another swig from his bottle. < Let’s see what he’s up to.>
Hours later they were still there, as the bar slowly emptied out. Control hadn’t checked his watch once. They had both made their drinks last as long as possible, until the bartender gave them the evil eye. Finally Control looked at Mickey, nodded, and then threw enough money on the bar for both of them.
Mickey debated for a moment, then, intrigued, followed him to the bathroom and then outside.
“Want a ride home?” Mickey asked, and glanced at his borrowed motorcycle. Control chuckled as he brought out his keys.
Mickey’s retort was drowned out by the growing roar of engines racing down the road. Tires squealed as the lead car swung onto the parking lot and
“It’s there,” the man gasped. “My pocket…” His head rolled towards the ground.
Quickly, Control searched the man’s pants, and then held up a key. Sirens sounded in the distance. Control scooped the other odds and ends that he’d found into his hand along with the key, and then stuffed them into his pocket as he stood. He took a step back, and before Mickey could speak or react, someone fired nearby and the man on the ground’s head exploded.
Control grabbed Mickey’s wrist and dragged him to the motorcycle. Mickey followed without question, climbing aboard and starting the engine.
“North,” he ordered, and then jumped on behind him. They peeled out, barely missing the patrol car at the end of the lane.
Control yelled a few more directions in his ear. He made Mickey stop and fill the tank at an out of the way gas station, purchased a couple of old sandwiches, then they set out again. Within minutes, after a roundabout trip, they passed a gated mansion. Control had Mickey pull up and park under some old trees a half a mile away, and then helped him hide the bike. Their eyes quickly adjusted to the moonlight.
“What are we doing?” Mickey asked him as they walked back briskly.
“Retrieving. Snatch and grab.” Control replied. He smiled a shark’s grin, and a chill ran down Mickey’s spine.
“You were expecting me.”
“No. But you’ll do.”
Mickey bit back a retort. They rounded a corner, and two snarling Doberman Pinschers, inside the electrified fence, raced up to meet them. Control slowed his steps, took the sandwiches from his pocket, and tossed them over the fence. They were gone almost before they touched the ground.
“He doesn’t feed his guard dogs unless he absolutely has to.” Control confided.
< Lovely.> “Who? You’re sure there are just two?” Behind them, the growls and snarls turned to whimpers, then silence. “What did you give them?”
Mickey gave up, realizing he wasn’t going to get a straight answer. He expected Control to jam the fence; instead he punched an entrance code, and then used the key to get inside the house.
< Getting in here was too easy.> Mickey followed his boss through the dark house. He seemed to know his way without a misstep, making Mickey even more uneasy. But nothing seemed out of place, no running footsteps, and no bells went off.
Control stopped outside a doorway, punched in a code, and then guided Mickey inside. He shut the door behind them, and then handed Mickey a small powerful flashlight. Mickey ran the light quickly over stuffed shelves of books.
“What am I looking for?” Mickey asked.
“Jacob Jacoby. Anything marked with that. Black book. Probably 1950s-80s.”
They searched silently, each to a side.
“Control?” Mickey turned. “This it?”
Control grabbed the next book on the shelf and stuffed it under his arm. He turned. Mickey tossed him the slim book. Control caught it with his free hand. He thumbed it opened, skimmed the first couple of pages, then ruffled through the rest. He nodded, then stuffed it into his pocket and zipped it closed. Mickey moved towards the door.
Control’s swift intake of breath stopped him. He looked back and saw his boss looking at the second book, the one that had been under his arm. Control brought the book and flashlight close to his face and studied it closely.
Mickey waited until it seemed Control had lost himself in the book.
“Control! Time!” he hissed.
Control shook his head. He set the penlight on an empty spot on the shelf, then unzipped the pocket, and spent a minute jamming the two in together. The zipper refused to close; finally he grunted, swept his jacket closed, and then clapped his hand over the spot to hold them inside. He grabbed the penlight and caught up with Mickey.
Mickey opened the door, they slipped through, and he closed it, hearing the lock click. They hustled to the door, down the hallway, and then into the foyer. Six steps inside the space and the front door swung silently open. Mickey froze. Control ran into him, and then the overhead lights blinked on.
Two men and two women came swiftly to surround them, each holding at pistol at the ready.
“I’m surprised.” A smooth voice came from the side of the room. “You didn’t use to be so predictable, Control.” A tall blond man strolled towards them. “That is what they call you now, correct?” He stopped in a space and then chuckled. “I hardly think you’re in control of the situation.”
Green eyes appraised Mickey. “Mr. Michael Kostmayer, often known as Mickey. Ex-SEAL, accused bomber, about to spend the rest of his miserable life in the brig, until Robert McCall did some sleuthing. Now you’ve become his Company protégé,” the man cocked his head, “and maybe a replacement son? How is Scott?”
Mickey opened his mouth, but the man’s head straightened, and he held out a hand. “I’m Viktor, as I’m sure one of them have told you. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he finished. Mickey shook his hand and then twisted it, but not fast enough. The man yanked their wrists the other direction. The woman on Mickey’s right clubbed his temple with her pistol. At the same time, the man hooked his foot around Mickey’s ankles and pulled, crashing him to the floor.
Three guns cocked in the silence, and three barrels pressed into Control’s skin, freezing him in place.
Mickey slowly rolled to his knees. He leaned his head back and glared at his partner’s impassive face.
“Oh don’t blame Control, Mr. Kostmayer, he isn’t entirely self-serving. He just remembers once bleeding out in an alley after I’d told him not to interfere. Ask him about the scar across his back. I’m sure he recalls the young woman who was paralyzed for a while because he refused to cooperate.”
Control growled then shoved him aside.
“Hey,” Mickey barked as he tried to stay upright. He recovered as Control’s hands locked around the slightly shorter man’s throat and squeezed. “Stop!” His cry went unheeded.
One man stayed focused on him, the others clambered over Control, pounding on him. Viktor grabbed his wrists, yanking at them while his face changed color.
The man guarding Mickey sighted his pistol, and then shot twice; the bullets whizzed past Control’s head.
“Next one’s in your head.” He stated calmly over the silence. “Let him go.” Control did.
The weapon carriers circled them again, and then marched them into a smaller room.
“Sit.”
They were chained to the chairs, wrists in handcuffs behind their backs.
Viktor leaned against a wall, watching, his color regaining ground. His pants legs shifted as he straightened, almost overbalancing. Mickey watched him closely.
< A brace? Or an anklet? > He thought.
“Gentlemen. Where did you hide it?”
“Hide what?” Control said evenly.
“Please.” Viktor stared disdainfully. He studied Control, and then his face brightened. Control backed as far as possible against his chair, but he was still helpless to keep Viktor away from him. Viktor slid his hand under Control’s jacket and then pulled out both books.
He seemed surprised at the second book, a blue one. Slowly he turned the pages, half smiling at some. “Here.” He threw it towards Control’s feet.
Mickey spotted plastic pages as the book slid across the floor and realized it was a photo album. He craned to see as it landed, but the angle and the light were wrong.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Kostmayer. I have copies.”
Mickey yanked his head back, grating that he had been caught.
Viktor laughed. “Look around you.”
Mickey swiveled his head and blinked. The white wall in front of him was clean, but turning his head revealed the other walls were covered in pictures. He blinked, and then looked again. Teri smiled out of almost every picture, many with Viktor by her side. Teri and Holly, Scott and Holly, Teri and Robert, even a couple of her with Control were scattered about. Some of the other people he recognized, some he didn’t. About an equal amount were posed and not posed, a few had been taken with surveillance cameras.
“Not as simple as you thought, hmmm?” Viktor demanded. Mickey closed his mouth, and brought his attention back to the front. From the corner of his eye, he saw Control strain against the chains, testing them, and fail.
“What did he tell you, Mr. Kostmayer? I’m curious. Just that I had information he wanted? Good at partial truths, isn’t he? You were really looking for this, weren’t you?” He kicked the album.
“No.” Control said through gritted teeth. “All we wanted was the Jacoby information.”
“That failed.” Viktor tossed the black book to the man who had stayed on Mickey. “Put this away.” With a nod, then man left. Viktor waved the others away.
“Is this happy reunion going to take long?” Mickey drawled. < You DO have a plan to get us out of here, right?> “Some of us have to work tomorrow.”
“Maybe. Maybe I’ll shoot you both, and dump you by a roadside, or down a cliff, for the vultures to find. Offer my help so Teri can find you - and so she can pick up the pieces.”
“Is it that day already?” Control asked the air. “I had forgotten. When did she turn you down again?”
Viktor yanked a small gun from underneath his jacket. He pointed it at Control’s head and clicked off the safety.
“She didn’t turn me down. You took her from me!” He almost growled, then again his calm mask returned. “You haven’t loved her half as long as I have.”
“Love? You don’t love, you use and throw away. You won’t throw her away again.”
“Oh?” Viktor turned towards Mickey. “You see, Mr. Kostmayer,” Viktor said, a tiny smile played around his lips, “there are two, no, three, people in this world for whom Teri would leave him. Forever. I’m one of them. He forgets that sometimes.”
Control lunged taking his chair with him. Viktor stuck out his leg and kicked just above Control’s ankles, tripping him. Control barely managed to keep his balance and fell backwards, staying upright.
“Are you taking notes, Mr. Kostmayer?” Viktor’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “There are some buttons you can push to get a rise out of him.” He looked back and forth between them.
< Considering which one will do what?> Mickey thought, his stomach filling with dread.
“So why don’t you?” He asked, grabbing Viktor’s attention. “Take her and get it over with.”
“Because she says she’s happy with him. I tried, once, her and her sweet Holly, before he became Control.” His spat in that direction. “She and the girl disappeared. For three months.”
“You couldn’t find them?” < How much more self-centered and egotistical can you be?>
Viktor took two steps then slapped Mickey hard enough to twist his neck.
“Leave him alone. He’s not interested in your babbling.” Control said.
“By right, Teri should be my wife. By right, you have broken into my home and attempted to steal something else, something very important, again. What should I do with both of you?”
“Stop boring us and get on with it,” Mickey suggested.
“Would love to. But I have somewhere else to be. The cops were called, anonymously, five minutes ago. Should be here any moment. Have fun explaining this one, Control. I know one of the officers is very good with a cell phone camera.” He grinned briefly, then turned and walked away.
Mickey mentally counted off five seconds.
“Get down here.” Control demanded. He rocked himself sideways, until he fell over. Mickey joined him, tumbling over as well. “Left sneaker, underneath the socks and slacks.”
After a few fumbling moments, Mickey retrieved the lock pick with a hiss of celebration.
“He’s either getting old or forgetful.” He remarked as he twisted the wire.
“Neither. He likes to play games. He likes the humiliation factor.” Control shook out his wrists for a moment, and then returned the favor. “Did you see what he did with the black book?”
“Took it with him, I think.” Mickey stood, and then gave Control a hand up to his feet.
Control grabbed the blue album and stuffed it in his waistband.
“He didn’t take this; could be useful. Let’s get out of here.”
Instead of leading Mickey the way they had come, Control threaded their way up the stairs and onto the roof.
“You’re kidding?” Mickey scoffed at the small, engine powered glider. “With those trees? Too much weight.”
“Just has to get us over the fence.” Control dropped into the front seat. “Hold on.”
Mickey scrambled behind him as he started the motor, and prayed. He watched the red and blue flashing lights of the police cars coming down the dirt road.
They barely cleared the trees, landing on the far side with a bump that jarred Mickey’s teeth. The glider had no lights, so no one came to view as they scrambled for the hidden motorcycle. Mickey didn’t feel comfortable slowing down until they were many miles away.
“What were you going to do if the glider wasn’t there?” He asked as he dropped Control off at a Company building.
“There’s an SUV or 3 in the garage. Armor plated, bulletproof glass. Punch through the door and the gate easily. The dogs couldn’t touch it.” Control replied, and then shrugged his shoulders. “Less fun.”
“Less fun.” Mickey mocked.
“I don’t have to tell you this is only between us.” Control’s voice brooked no argument. “Not even McCall or Teri. Unless you plan to skinny dip in Siberia.”
Mickey nodded. Control nodded back, and then headed into the building.
< I won’t tell them yet.> Mickey thought as he pulled into traffic, heading for home.