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azombiewritesTitle: Monday Night at the Bar
Fandom: The Equalizer
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst.
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Mickey Kostmayer, Robert McCall and Control.
Disclaimers: Based on the characters created by Michael Sloan and Richard Lindheim
Warning: I wrote this story almost eight years ago but for some reason never posted it here. Wrote it for an Equalizer fic group on Yahoo Groups.
Total Word Count: 12,482
Status: Complete
Summary: After a mission gone bad, Mickey Kostmayer, seeking solitude and alcohol is taken hostage along with the bar's other patrons. When he realizes he's the target, Mickey finds himself in a situation he can't control.
Monday Night at the Bar
Part Two
Consciousness returned slowly for Mickey Kostmayer, the sharp pain in the back of his skull a reminder of what had happened. He pulled himself from the depths of a painless and peaceful void back into reality and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the blood dripping from his mouth onto his jeans. The second thing he saw was Henson’s feet. Mickey lifted his head slightly, pooled together the blood in his mouth and spat it onto Henson’s boots.
Henson ignored the spit and smiled down at Mickey. “Headache?”
“Yeah . . . you could say that,” said Mickey, “wouldn’t happen to have some Tylenol or something would you?”
“How about a hair of the dog that bit you.” Henson hit him and smiled at the sharp cry of pain that escaped Mickey’s lips.
“That would do it.” Mickey muttered through the pain.
“Thought it would help.” Henson leaned forward and Mickey could feel the man’s breath against his bruised cheek.
“Now what?” Mickey asked him.
“What do you mean Mickey?” Henson whispered into Mickey’s left ear.
“You’ve got me. You don’t need to play your games anymore.” Mickey lifted his head even further so he could look into Henson’s blue eyes. “So what do you intend to do now?”
“I’m going to kill them,” Henson looked at the hostages then back at Mickey, “and then I’m going to kill you.”
“There’s no reason to kill them, they had nothing to do with what happened to your brother.”
“No, but killing them is going to hurt you in more ways than one.” Henson leaned back and watched Mickey closely. “You don’t like innocent people getting hurt do you?” Mickey refused to answer him. “Usually you’re not responsible for their deaths . . . but with your last mission . . . “
Mickey wanted to kill him, right there and right then. He pulled at the ropes binding his wrists to the chair. “You don’t know what happened.”
“When I asked you before . . . what happened on the mission . . . I already knew. It’s in your file.”
Mickey lowered his head and grimaced at the pain that was pounding against the back of his skull. “Files lie.”
“Really? I’m sure there’s some truth to the report.” Henson stepped back, sat down into his chair, and crossed his legs. “I’m not surprised that you made yourself scarce for a couple of days. You must have been worried about losing your job.”
“Worse things have happened in my line of work.” Mickey argued. He wasn’t going to tell Henson that he didn’t give a damn about his job. He was sick of people dying for a cause they didn’t understand or agree with.
“Worse?” Henson laughed. “What do you consider to be worse than the death of eight innocent children?”
“You getting out of this situation alive.”
Henson shook his head. “You like to play your own mind games don’t you Mickey.”
“I do what I can.”
“I’m sure you do,” said Henson, “you played my brother very well.”
Mickey smiled. “He wasn’t easy to push, but I got him to break in the end.”
“Yeah, you did Mickey . . . and then he killed someone didn’t he. Another life lost because of something you did.” Mickey lowered his eyes. “Hit a sore spot did I?”
“The guy was an ex-prison buddy so-“
“So . . . so what Mickey.” Henson stood up and began to pace in front of Mickey. “It doesn’t matter who the person was or is,” he waved his hand towards the woman who tied to a chair near Mickey, “a person died because of what you did! Children died because of what you did! People die because of what you do! Don’t you understand that?”
Mickey forced a smile he didn't feel. “It’s all part of the job.”
“Yes, I’m sure those kids would agree with you.”
Mickey raised his eyes to stare at Henson. “I’m not going to argue the finer points of my job with you, so why don’t you do what you came here to do and get it over with.”
“You’re ready to die?”
“The question is, are you?”
“I asked you first Mickey.” Henson raised his gun, aimed it at Mickey and pulled the trigger.
.
.
.
Because of information gathered by the men Control had sent ahead of them, they now knew that at least one man was holding Sarah MacIntosh captive. Their plan was simple: gain entry into the apartment without causing anyone serious injury, and then question the man until he gave them the whereabouts of Mickey Kostmayer.
At the insistence of McCall, they had left the Company men behind; he didn’t want anyone to witness what he might have to do to gain the information he needed to find his friend.
McCall now stood in front of Sarah MacIntosh’s apartment while Control kept to the side, out of sight of any one who might open the door. McCall looked at Control who nodded back to him; he was ready. McCall knocked on the door, stepped back and waited.
“Who’s there?” The female voice was calm, but it also held the slightest touch of fear.
“It’s Mr. Hunter, Sarah.” McCall glanced at Control. “I’ve come to see how you’re doing.”
There was a slight hesitation before the voice spoke again. “I’m fine thank you, Mr. Hunter.”
“Sarah, surely you’re not going to leave me standing out here on the doorstep.”
McCall could hear a man’s voice whispering on the other side of the door. He made the quick decision to take advantage of the man’s close proximity to the door. He lifted his foot and with the accuracy of a man with thirty years of experience, slammed the heel of his boot against the door. The wood splintered and the door swung open, pushing the two people behind it out into the open.
Within seconds, McCall had access to the man’s throat, his fingers squeezing until the man’s eyes were bulging from their sockets. He shoved him up against the wall, his left hand pounding the man’s gun hand against the wall until the gun fell from his fingers to the floor, picked up by Control. McCall didn’t ease up on the grip he had on the man’s throat, he continued to force the life out of him.
“McCall!” Control had wrapped his own hand around McCall’s wrist. “Let him go.”
McCall saw a flicker of fear enter the eyes of the man in front of him. “Take her outside.”
“Robert.”
“Now!”
“Sarah,” Control moved away from McCall, took Sarah MacIntosh by the elbow and began to lead her outside.
“My son!” She pulled her arm from Control’s fingers and ran into another room, returning a few moments later with a child in her arms.
Control saw the state of the boy’s fingers. “I’ve got men downstairs. They’ll take you both to a hospital.”
Sarah glanced at Robert McCall and saw the anger and worry written on his strong features. She knew what he was planning to do. “I hope you find the bastard.”
“Go.”
“Let me know when you find Mickey. Let me know that he’s okay.”
“We will, now go.” Control watched her leave then turned back to face McCall. “What are you going to do, Robert?”
“You know what I’m going to do,” said McCall, “you don’t have to watch. You can leave if you have a weak stomach for this type of thing.”
“If I can eat one of your home cooked meals . . . I can watch this.”
McCall’s mouth twitched into a small smile. He loosened his grip on the man’s throat, removed his gun and placed the muzzle against the man’s sweating forehead. “I’m only going to say this once . . . I will do whatever it takes to protect Mickey Kostmayer from the likes of you and your friends. Do I make myself clear?”
“I can’t talk if I’m dead,” the man protested.
“No,” McCall smiled, “but thankfully a man is quite capable of talking through the pain of a bullet wound.”
The man’s eyes widened. He felt the muzzle of McCall’s gun against his skin as it traveled down his face, along his neck, down his chest, stomach and thigh until it rested against his right knee.
“No . . . wait.”
McCall didn’t wait. He pulled the trigger. The bullet entered the man’s knee, shattering the bone. Pain worse than he had ever felt before tore through every nerve ending of his crippled knee. He tried to double over against the pain, to wrap his bleeding knee within his hands but the hand around his throat wouldn’t allow him to move.
“Do I need to do the same to your other knee, or are you going to tell me what I want to know.”
“He’s at Hal’s Tavern.”
“What’s his situation?”
“Situation?” The man frowned.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes . . . yes he’s alive . . . he should be alive.”
McCall pressed his gun hard against the man’s uninjured knee. “What do you mean should be? Either he is or he isn’t!”
“Henson was going to have some fun with him first.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“That’s what Henson said . . . that he was going to mess with Kostmayer’s mind . . . then kill him.” The man could feel his knees begin to buckle but he knew that McCall wasn’t going to allow him the pleasure of taking the weight off his knee.
“Tell me about Henson.”
“You knew his brother . . . a guy named Hawkins-“
“Oh my God.”
Control frowned at McCall. “You know him?”
“Yes I know him. He was victimizing a man and his family. I dealt with Hawkins with Mickey’s help.”
“He said he was going to deal with your friend then come after you.”
“My friend used an alias on that job. How did Henson find out his real name?”
“From a cop working the case. He got Kostmayer’s real name and some basic information about him. Listen . . . I told you what you want . . . I need to go to a hospital.”
“What about Sarah MacIntosh?” Control asked. “Why did Henson go after her?”
“Like I said . . . information . . . he wanted all the information he could get on your guy before he confronted him. The lady got a copy of Kostmayer’s file for him.”
“Is Henson on his own?” McCall asked him.
“No . . . he’s got two guys with him.”
“Are you supposed to make contact with Henson at all?” The man hesitated. “I assure you. I will put a bullet in your other knee if you don’t answer my question.”
“No . . . he’s supposed to contact me after he kills your friend.”
Control slammed the palm of his hand against the wall next to the man’s face. “And what were you supposed to do once he made contact.”
“He was going to come back here and watch me dispose of the woman and her son.”
“Dispose?” Control shook his head. “You mean murder.”
McCall tightened his grip on the man’s throat and said, “You are extremely lucky that I didn’t ‘murder’ you.” McCall released him, allowing him to crumble to the floor. He grimaced in disgust at the scream the man let out when his knee hit the floor. “Why don’t we go and liberate our young friend from his predicament.”
“What about him?” Control nodded at the man on the floor.
“I think it best that we leave him there to bleed to death, don’t you.”
Control shrugged and said, “You always did know best.”
“Hey, you can’t leave me here!”
McCall knelt down in front of the man. “Yes, yes . . . you’re right. We’ll call an ambulance later, perhaps in two hours or so.”
“You can’t-“
“Another word out of you and I will seriously consider putting you out of your misery.” McCall stood to his full height. “And if you try and contact Henson I will personally put a bullet in your other knee, followed by your elbows then your ankles. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Robert . . . you were saying something about liberating Mickey?”
“I’m going to do more than liberate the stupid . . . “
Control smiled and followed McCall out of the room. He knew exactly what McCall was going to do once he got his hands on Mickey Kostmayer. He would drag him back to his apartment, by the shirt collar if he had to, get him drunk and convince him to talk about what was bothering him. Control also knew that it was exactly what Kostmayer needed; a friend who would listen and understand what he had gone through on his last mission.
.
.
.
Henson had expected something, some sort of emotion: fear, anger, tears . . . anything, but Mickey Kostmayer had given him nothing. The agent hadn’t even begged for his life. Kostmayer had just stared back at him with uncaring eyes and waited for the bullet to take his life.
“You’re either very stupid . . . or you’re a man who doesn’t fear death.”
“I accepted death a long time ago,” Mickey answered.
It hadn’t surprised Mickey when the bullet passed close enough for him to feel its breath. He knew Henson wouldn’t kill him. Henson had already told him that he was going to kill the hostages first.
“In your line of work you would have to.” Henson brought one of the hostages into his line of sight. He smiled at the hostage’s reaction. The fear written all over the man’s face was what Henson had wanted to see in Mickey’s eyes. “Do you accept the death of innocent people?”
“It’s part of the job . . . if I didn’t accept it I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”
Henson lowered his gun and said, “You didn’t accept the deaths of those children.”
“Couple of more days is all I need. Then it will be accepted, dealt with and filed away where it won’t bother me again.”
Henson stepped closer to Mickey. “Is McCall as cold as you are?”
“Why don’t you ask him when you see him?”
“I plan on doing just that.” Henson moved away from Mickey and stood in front of the girl he had tortured earlier. “In the meantime . . . why don’t we see how cold you really are?”
“What are you going to do to her?”
“I’m not going to do anything to her.” Henson smiled down at the girl. “Simmons, why don’t you take this young lady out the back and do what you like with her.”
The girl began to scream behind the tape that covered her lips. Mickey knew he couldn’t do anything to help her. Nothing he could say would stop Henson from hurting her or anyone else. Henson was going to kill everyone and Mickey could do or say nothing to stop him. He was alone, tied to a chair that he couldn’t escape from and no one, not even McCall knew where he was.
“Anything I want?” Simmons asked.
Henson nodded then looked back at Mickey. “You’re not going to say anything to stop me from letting Simmons have her?”
“Nothing I say would stop you from killing her and everyone else here.”
“There might be something you could say.” Mickey didn’t ask what. He just stared at Henson and waited for him to reveal what that ‘something’ was. “You could apologize for what happened to my brother.”
Mickey didn’t hesitate with his lie. “I’m sorry about what happened to your brother.”
Henson laughed. “No you’re not. You only said that because I told you it might stop me.” Henson nodded to Simmons. “Take her and after you’re done with her . . . kill her.”
“You said you didn’t kill women.” Mickey growled at Henson.
“I lied.” Henson stepped back to allow Simmons access to the woman. “It’s all part of the game and lying is part of my strategy.”
“If you untie me I can play too.”
“With me or the girl?”
Mickey narrowed his eyes. “Do you need to ask?”
“I’ll let you play later.”
Mickey didn’t take his eyes off Henson. He couldn’t watch as Simmons untied the girl and threw her over his shoulders. The girl punched and kicked at the man who held her but her blows were weak. Simmons carried her past his line of vision but Mickey refused to look at her.
.
.
.
Simmons carried the girl out into the back alley and threw her onto the ground. He smiled when she curled into herself. His eyes traveled over her body then rested on her face.
“I’m going to make you scream, and then I’m going to kill you. And if you want to hate anyone for what I’m about to do to you, you can hate Kostmayer. All this is his doing.”
Simmons froze when he felt the cold steel of a gun press against the back of his neck. His breath caught in his throat at the sound of the man’s voice. The accent was English – Robert McCall. Kostmayer’s friend.
“This is not Mickey Kostmayer’s doing.” McCall leaned around Simmons and took the gun from his hand. “Step back from the girl.”
Simmons did as he was told, his hands pulled behind his back and handcuffed. Only then did he turn around. He looked into the eyes of Robert McCall and knew he was in trouble.
“Where is he?”
“In the bar.”
McCall smiled at Simmons and said, “I’m disappointed that I won’t need to force you to talk.”
Simmons shrugged. “I’m a coward at heart.”
“Yes, except when it comes to women . . . then you’re all man aren’t you.”
“Robert,” Control stepped up beside his friend, “we haven’t got time for this. You can deal with him later.”
“Yes, you’re absolutely right.” He tapped his gun against Simmons’s groin. “I’ll take care of him later. Where is he?”
“I told you, he’s in the bar.”
“Where in the bar?”
“He’s in a chair in the middle of the room. The other hostages are sitting against the bar, left side of the room. Owen is with them and Henson is with Kostmayer.”
“Does this door lead straight into the bar?
“No, it leads to the kitchen . . . there’s a set of double doors on the other side of the kitchen, they lead into the bar.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No . . .” Simmons smiled. “Not much anyway.”
“Get him out of my sight.” McCall threw Simmons towards a Company man who began to lead Simmons away. He then knelt down in front of the girl and gently pulled the tape away from her mouth. “You’re all right now . . . these gentlemen will take care of you.” He pointed to two men standing behind him.
“He’s right,” the girl bit her bottom lip before continuing. “It’s his doing.”
“Who?”
“Kostmayer . . . he let that man do this to me.” She held up her hands so McCall could see what they'd done to them. “All he had to do was tell him about his friend, but he wouldn’t . . . he . . . he let him do this to me, let him kill one of the hostages.”
McCall lowered his head.
“McCall, I’m sure Mickey-“
“Yes, I know. Mickey would have had a good reason for what he did . . . he believes there are some things worth holding out for. Mickey isn’t responsible for this . . . Henson is responsible for what has happened here today.”
“You,” the girl’s eyes filled with fresh tears, “he wanted him to kill you.”
McCall glanced up at Control then back at the girl. “These men will help you.” He stood up and motioned to Control to follow him to the back door. “Our young friend is going to be in complete disarray when this is all over.”
“Mickey? You’ll sort him out.”
McCall glared at him. “Do you remember how long it took me to sort him out after the Allenwaite incident?”
“Three days.”
McCall snorted at his friend. “Three very long days my friend, I even considered shooting him in the foot just to keep him in my spare room.”
Control smiled and removed his weapon from his coat pocket. “How do you want to play it?”
“The way Mickey likes to play it.” McCall smiled. “Head on.”
.
.
.
“The fun should be starting any minute now.” Henson told Mickey. “Maybe I should have told him to take the tape off her mouth, that way you would be able to hear her screams.”
“You’re enjoying yourself way too much.”
“What, and you’re not.”
Mickey raised an eyebrow at Henson. “Does it look like I’m enjoying myself?”
“No . . . but maybe we can fix that.”
“What are you going to do? Shoot another hostage?”
“I could shoot you.”
A genuine smile lit Mickey’s face. “Then do it . . . maybe this time you won’t miss.”
“Not yet Mickey . . . not yet.”
“You haven’t got the guts, Henson,” Mickey told him. “You’re a coward, just like your brother.”
“You’re calling me a coward after what you did to those kids.”
Mickey remained stone-faced. “I had nothing to do with what happened to those kids.”
“Keep telling yourself that Mickey.” Henson waved his gun at Mickey. “You know, I think it would have taken you more than a couple of days to accept it, deal with it and file it away where it wouldn’t bother you again.”
“You don't know the first thing about me," Mickey said dismissively.
“I told you, I know everything about you.”
“You only know what that file tells you.”
“Mickey . . . you’re really starting to piss me off.”
“I do that to people.” Mickey smiled at Henson. “It’s one of my better qualities.”
Henson nodded. He reached down and grabbed the ring finger on Mickey’s left hand. “Would you like me to break another one?”
"As much as I want a hole in my head." Mickey prepared himself for the pain.
He didn’t have to wait long. Henson expertly snapped the bone then stepped back to enjoy Mickey’s reaction. Mickey doubled over as far as he could and gritted his teeth against the pain. He knew what Henson wanted but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing him scream. But Henson intended to make Mickey scream. He quickly moved forward and squeezed the two broken fingers together. Pain flared through Mickey’s fingers. Henson continued to grind the broken bones against each other until Mickey could no longer keep the cry of pain from escaping his lips.
.
.
Robert McCall didn’t hesitate when he heard Mickey cry out; he heard the pain in his friend’s voice. He pushed his shoulder against the doors and moved quickly into the main room of Hal’s Tavern. He saw the man he was sure was Henson, leaning over Mickey Kostmayer.
“Move away from him . . . now!” His gun rose, aimed at the man who was threatening one of his closest friends.
Both Mickey and Henson looked up in surprise at the sound of McCall’s voice.
“Put the gun down and move away from him.” Out of the corner of his eye, McCall saw the second gunman. Without taking his eyes away from Henson, he spoke to Owen. “Owen . . . put the gun down or my friend here,” he knew Control was now standing beside him, “will shoot you, and his aim is quite deadly.”
Owen did as instructed. He lowered the gun onto the bar and stepped away from it.
“Nice to have friends, isn’t it, Mickey.” Henson was raising the barrel of his gun towards Mickey’s forehead. “Think McCall is still quick enough to stop me before I shoot you?”
Mickey moved his head closer to the gun. “Raise it another inch and find out.”
Henson looked down at Mickey and smiled. “No, I don’t think so Mickey . . . I’m not that stupid.”
McCall was surprised that Henson hadn’t tried to grab Mickey and use him as a shield. “Put the gun down and move away from him or God help me, I will shoot you!”
“I’m sure you will.” Henson placed the gun in Mickey’s lap and walked away from him.
“Untie me McCall.”
“Control?”
“Go ahead, Robert, I’ve got them covered.” Control stepped closer to Henson. “Try anything stupid and I’ll put a bullet in your head.” Henson smiled in return. Control frowned at the expression on Henson’s face. The man wasn’t acting the way a hostage taker usually acted. Henson had given up too easily.
McCall nodded and quickly moved towards Mickey. He stopped in front him and looked down at his friend. Mickey was refusing to look at him so he took Mickey’s chin in his hand and forced his head up. He took note of the bruises and cuts adorning Mickey’s normally handsome face. It wasn’t as bad as the physical injuries Allenwaite had given him. He noticed that Mickey’s hazel green eyes continued to stare at Henson and McCall easily read the intention in his eyes.
“Control, I think it’s best if you have your men remove Henson from the room.”
Mickey finally looked at McCall. "What are you waiting for?" McCall stepped back from the chair. "McCall!"
“Killing Henson won’t make you feel any better, Mickey.”
“No, but it’ll be a start.”
“Mickey-“
“McCall . . . I need to do this.”
McCall looked over his shoulder at Henson. The man was actually smiling at him. “Of course Mickey . . . but let me just say this. I will be very disappointed in you if you kill him.”
“I can live with that.”
“Mickey . . .”
“Untie me.”
McCall took the gun from Mickey’s lap before removing the ropes. Mickey stood up and abruptly fell back down into the chair, the nausea almost overwhelming him. He pushed away McCall’s offer of help and took a deep breath.
“I just need a minute.”
“You need more than a minute young man, you need a doctor.”
“What I need is for you to get out of my way.” Mickey stood up again. He was unsteady on his feet, his hands gripping the chair to keep his balance. The pain from his fingers helped to bring his mind back into focus.
“Come on, Mickey,” Henson taunted him, “you can do it. I’m right here in front of you.”
Mickey stared at Henson and saw the fear he was trying to hide. Mickey smiled then went in for the kill. He was on Henson within seconds, his first punch knocking him to the ground. Mickey went with him and continued to hit him. His breath was coming in short gasps, the anger making it difficult for him to breathe. Before he knew it, his right hand gripped Henson’s chin and his left hand, using his good fingers, held the back of his head.
“Mickey! No!”
McCall’s voice broke through his anger, through his hatred for the man whose neck he was about to break. “You came this close to dying, Henson.” He slammed Henson’s head against the floor and stood up. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
“Mickey?”
Mickey spun around to face McCall. His chest heaved as he struggled to take in much needed oxygen. His head was spinning, the dizziness causing his vision to blur. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. That’s when he saw the dead hostage.
“The girl . . . is she . . . “
“She’s alive, Mickey, she’ll be fine.”
Mickey nodded. “I can’t stay here . . . I can’t . . .” He began to walk towards the exit but stopped when McCall stood in his way. “Robert, don’t . . . not now.”
“Come to my apartment when you’re ready.” When Mickey didn’t respond, McCall placed a hand on his shoulder. “Mickey . . . you’ll come and talk to me when you’re ready, won’t you.”
“I can’t stay here, McCall.” Mickey shrugged off McCall’s hand and walked out of the tavern.
.
.
.
McCall sat on the sofa in his living room, a newspaper held in front of him but he didn’t see the typed words. He put the paper down on the coffee table, removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. The concern he was feeling for his young friend hadn’t permitted him to get a decent night’s sleep since he had gotten Mickey out of his ‘predicament’. A quick glance at his watch told him that another day had elapsed. Three days had gone by and still Mickey Kostmayer’s whereabouts were unknown. He had disappeared for a second time.
“Where are you, Mickey?” He spoke to the emptiness that surrounded him.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he heard a noise beyond his front door. He removed a gun from its hiding place behind a cushion on the sofa then moved slowly and quietly towards his front door. He stopped and listened. There wasn’t a repetition of the sound. His mind could sense trouble lurking on the other side of his door. He pulled it open and his breath caught in his throat.
Mickey Kostmayer was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, feet stretched out in front of him, his ankles crossed. His left arm lay across his stomach and his right hand was rolling a coin across his knuckles.
“How long have you been sitting there?” McCall watched Mickey’s face but his friend’s features were giving nothing away.
“A couple of hours.” Mickey looked up at McCall and smiled at the gun. “Were you planning on shooting me with that?”
“No . . . no, of course not. Come inside, Mickey.” McCall had almost reached the kitchen when he realized that Mickey hadn’t followed him into the apartment. He turned and saw that Mickey hadn’t moved. He was still sitting on the floor rolling the coin along his fingers. McCall placed his gun on the counter and went to the fridge. He opened it and took out a cold beer – he’d had the beer delivered three days earlier knowing that Mickey would need it to help him loosen his tongue. He walked back to Mickey, contemplated sitting on the floor next to his friend then thought better of it. “Mickey . . . you are not going to sit on my doorstep all night so get up and come inside.”
“I should go home.”
“You, my young friend, are in no condition to go anywhere.”
“And what condition would that be?" Mickey saw the bottle of beer and reached out for it but McCall pulled it back out of his reach.
“Inside . . . now!”
Mickey hesitated before getting up. He followed McCall into the apartment and practically fell onto the sofa. He laid his head back and closed his eyes.
“Did you have a doctor look at those injuries?”
“Yeah . . . nothing serious.”
“Your fingers.”
Mickey lifted his left hand so McCall could get a better look at his fingers. They had been professionally set and taped. “Broken . . .”
“Are there any injuries that I can’t see?”
“Only my ego . . . “
McCall decided to let the comment go for now. “Are you hungry?”
Mickey opened his eyes and looked at the bottle of beer that was still in McCall’s hand. “No, but I could do with that beer.”
McCall handed Mickey the beer then sat down next to him. “Have you spoken to Control?”
Mickey drank half the bottle before answering. “No. Does he still have a Retrieval Order out on me?
“You knew about that?”
“It’s the first thing Control would have done when I went AWOL.”
McCall nodded in understanding. ”He rescinded it after you left the Tavern.”
“That soon?”
“I convinced him that it was the best thing to do.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want to talk about it now or wait until you’re drunk?”
Mickey laughed but there was no humor in his voice. “I don’t want to talk about it, drunk or sober.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“You want me to go?”
“No.” McCall was watching Mickey carefully. “Before I saw you sitting in that chair . . . I was considering tying you to one myself.”
Mickey choked on a mouthful of beer. “You wouldn’t.”
“Well, not now, but I did consider it.”
“Like you considered shooting me the last time I stayed here.”
McCall raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Mickey, my dear fellow, I would never shoot you-“
Mickey smiled and said, “I’m not stupid Robert, I know I was a pain in the butt then and I’m being one now.”
“You have reason to be, Mickey.” McCall looked away briefly. “And I did consider shooting you, but only in the foot.”
“Do you have another beer?” McCall got up, walked back into the kitchen, and returned moments later with another beer. “The girl? What’s her name?”
“Jessica Michaels.” McCall took the empty beer bottle from Mickey’s hand and replaced it with the full one. He could see the regret that filled Mickey’s eyes. “From what I’ve learnt about Rudolf Henson, he would have tortured that woman even if you had told him what he wanted to know.”
“I know.”
“The man he killed, Jeremiah Jones, didn’t have any family. He was a loner.”
“Doesn’t help.” Mickey swallowed a mouthful of cold beer. “Sarah’s boy?”
“Sarah and her son will be fine, Mickey.”
Mickey put the beer on the coffee table and stood up. “I should go.”
“Why?”
“McCall, I should just-“
“I’m not going to judge you, Mickey . . . you’re not responsible for what Henson did.”
“I know that, McCall.” Mickey growled.
“Sit down, Mickey . . . sit down, please.”
Mickey picked up the bottle and sat back down. “I hope you have plenty of these.”
“I do.” McCall sat back and waited for Mickey to open up to him.
“I don’t want to talk about it, McCall.”
“I know.”
After a few minutes of silence, Mickey stood up and began to pace in front of the coffee table. Another five minutes went by before he started talking. “We received information that the guy we were after was hiding out in a building on the outside of town. It was last minute information so there was no reason for us to doubt it.” He put the bottle down and ran his fingers through his hair. “I double checked the information and re-checked it. There was no reason to doubt it, no reason at all. I gave the order to move in . . . at first, it seemed like the building was empty, but then these guys came out of nowhere . . . “He sat down and put his head in the palm of his right hand. “Reynolds, a new guy, threw a grenade into the room . . . when the smoke cleared we went in.” Mickey lifted his head and stared at McCall. “They had kids with them, McCall . . . the bastards were using kids as shields.”
“You didn’t know that, Mickey.” Instead of answering, Mickey took another drink from his beer. “What about Reynolds? How is he taking it?”
Mickey laughed and shook his head. “The guy shot himself not five minutes after it happened. Not as heartless as the rest of us.”
“You, Mickey Kostmayer, are not heartless.”
“No? Eight kids, McCall, dead because I gave the order to-“
“You didn’t know they were in there, Mickey. You couldn’t have known.”
“Yeah, I know that . . . “
“But?”
“But I still feel responsible.”
“Of course you do.” McCall patted Mickey’s knee. “I would feel the same way if I were in your position.”
“You’ve been in my position.”
“Then you know that I understand what you’re going through.” McCall stood up and went to the drinks cabinet. “Perhaps we could both do with something a little stronger to drink.”
“How did you deal with it, McCall?”
“I didn’t.” He returned to the sofa with two shots of bourbon. He handed one to Mickey and kept the other for himself. “It’s not something you deal with Mickey . . . it’s something you learn to live with.”
Mickey emptied the glass then placed it on the table. “I better go.” He made no attempt to get up off the sofa.
“You’re quite welcome to use the guestroom, Mickey.”
“I know.”
“Then use it.”
Mickey nodded. “Just for the night.” He stood up and headed for the door, to retrieve his bag from his car.
“Use it as long as you need it.”
Mickey smiled ruefully, and, if truth be told, a little wickedly. "You might never get rid of me."
McCall chuckled. "That's a chance I'm prepared to take, Mickey."
The End
Part One | Part Two
Master Fan Fiction List
Fandom: The Equalizer
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst.
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Mickey Kostmayer, Robert McCall and Control.
Disclaimers: Based on the characters created by Michael Sloan and Richard Lindheim
Warning: I wrote this story almost eight years ago but for some reason never posted it here. Wrote it for an Equalizer fic group on Yahoo Groups.
Total Word Count: 12,482
Status: Complete
Summary: After a mission gone bad, Mickey Kostmayer, seeking solitude and alcohol is taken hostage along with the bar's other patrons. When he realizes he's the target, Mickey finds himself in a situation he can't control.
Part Two
Consciousness returned slowly for Mickey Kostmayer, the sharp pain in the back of his skull a reminder of what had happened. He pulled himself from the depths of a painless and peaceful void back into reality and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the blood dripping from his mouth onto his jeans. The second thing he saw was Henson’s feet. Mickey lifted his head slightly, pooled together the blood in his mouth and spat it onto Henson’s boots.
Henson ignored the spit and smiled down at Mickey. “Headache?”
“Yeah . . . you could say that,” said Mickey, “wouldn’t happen to have some Tylenol or something would you?”
“How about a hair of the dog that bit you.” Henson hit him and smiled at the sharp cry of pain that escaped Mickey’s lips.
“That would do it.” Mickey muttered through the pain.
“Thought it would help.” Henson leaned forward and Mickey could feel the man’s breath against his bruised cheek.
“Now what?” Mickey asked him.
“What do you mean Mickey?” Henson whispered into Mickey’s left ear.
“You’ve got me. You don’t need to play your games anymore.” Mickey lifted his head even further so he could look into Henson’s blue eyes. “So what do you intend to do now?”
“I’m going to kill them,” Henson looked at the hostages then back at Mickey, “and then I’m going to kill you.”
“There’s no reason to kill them, they had nothing to do with what happened to your brother.”
“No, but killing them is going to hurt you in more ways than one.” Henson leaned back and watched Mickey closely. “You don’t like innocent people getting hurt do you?” Mickey refused to answer him. “Usually you’re not responsible for their deaths . . . but with your last mission . . . “
Mickey wanted to kill him, right there and right then. He pulled at the ropes binding his wrists to the chair. “You don’t know what happened.”
“When I asked you before . . . what happened on the mission . . . I already knew. It’s in your file.”
Mickey lowered his head and grimaced at the pain that was pounding against the back of his skull. “Files lie.”
“Really? I’m sure there’s some truth to the report.” Henson stepped back, sat down into his chair, and crossed his legs. “I’m not surprised that you made yourself scarce for a couple of days. You must have been worried about losing your job.”
“Worse things have happened in my line of work.” Mickey argued. He wasn’t going to tell Henson that he didn’t give a damn about his job. He was sick of people dying for a cause they didn’t understand or agree with.
“Worse?” Henson laughed. “What do you consider to be worse than the death of eight innocent children?”
“You getting out of this situation alive.”
Henson shook his head. “You like to play your own mind games don’t you Mickey.”
“I do what I can.”
“I’m sure you do,” said Henson, “you played my brother very well.”
Mickey smiled. “He wasn’t easy to push, but I got him to break in the end.”
“Yeah, you did Mickey . . . and then he killed someone didn’t he. Another life lost because of something you did.” Mickey lowered his eyes. “Hit a sore spot did I?”
“The guy was an ex-prison buddy so-“
“So . . . so what Mickey.” Henson stood up and began to pace in front of Mickey. “It doesn’t matter who the person was or is,” he waved his hand towards the woman who tied to a chair near Mickey, “a person died because of what you did! Children died because of what you did! People die because of what you do! Don’t you understand that?”
Mickey forced a smile he didn't feel. “It’s all part of the job.”
“Yes, I’m sure those kids would agree with you.”
Mickey raised his eyes to stare at Henson. “I’m not going to argue the finer points of my job with you, so why don’t you do what you came here to do and get it over with.”
“You’re ready to die?”
“The question is, are you?”
“I asked you first Mickey.” Henson raised his gun, aimed it at Mickey and pulled the trigger.
.
.
.
Because of information gathered by the men Control had sent ahead of them, they now knew that at least one man was holding Sarah MacIntosh captive. Their plan was simple: gain entry into the apartment without causing anyone serious injury, and then question the man until he gave them the whereabouts of Mickey Kostmayer.
At the insistence of McCall, they had left the Company men behind; he didn’t want anyone to witness what he might have to do to gain the information he needed to find his friend.
McCall now stood in front of Sarah MacIntosh’s apartment while Control kept to the side, out of sight of any one who might open the door. McCall looked at Control who nodded back to him; he was ready. McCall knocked on the door, stepped back and waited.
“Who’s there?” The female voice was calm, but it also held the slightest touch of fear.
“It’s Mr. Hunter, Sarah.” McCall glanced at Control. “I’ve come to see how you’re doing.”
There was a slight hesitation before the voice spoke again. “I’m fine thank you, Mr. Hunter.”
“Sarah, surely you’re not going to leave me standing out here on the doorstep.”
McCall could hear a man’s voice whispering on the other side of the door. He made the quick decision to take advantage of the man’s close proximity to the door. He lifted his foot and with the accuracy of a man with thirty years of experience, slammed the heel of his boot against the door. The wood splintered and the door swung open, pushing the two people behind it out into the open.
Within seconds, McCall had access to the man’s throat, his fingers squeezing until the man’s eyes were bulging from their sockets. He shoved him up against the wall, his left hand pounding the man’s gun hand against the wall until the gun fell from his fingers to the floor, picked up by Control. McCall didn’t ease up on the grip he had on the man’s throat, he continued to force the life out of him.
“McCall!” Control had wrapped his own hand around McCall’s wrist. “Let him go.”
McCall saw a flicker of fear enter the eyes of the man in front of him. “Take her outside.”
“Robert.”
“Now!”
“Sarah,” Control moved away from McCall, took Sarah MacIntosh by the elbow and began to lead her outside.
“My son!” She pulled her arm from Control’s fingers and ran into another room, returning a few moments later with a child in her arms.
Control saw the state of the boy’s fingers. “I’ve got men downstairs. They’ll take you both to a hospital.”
Sarah glanced at Robert McCall and saw the anger and worry written on his strong features. She knew what he was planning to do. “I hope you find the bastard.”
“Go.”
“Let me know when you find Mickey. Let me know that he’s okay.”
“We will, now go.” Control watched her leave then turned back to face McCall. “What are you going to do, Robert?”
“You know what I’m going to do,” said McCall, “you don’t have to watch. You can leave if you have a weak stomach for this type of thing.”
“If I can eat one of your home cooked meals . . . I can watch this.”
McCall’s mouth twitched into a small smile. He loosened his grip on the man’s throat, removed his gun and placed the muzzle against the man’s sweating forehead. “I’m only going to say this once . . . I will do whatever it takes to protect Mickey Kostmayer from the likes of you and your friends. Do I make myself clear?”
“I can’t talk if I’m dead,” the man protested.
“No,” McCall smiled, “but thankfully a man is quite capable of talking through the pain of a bullet wound.”
The man’s eyes widened. He felt the muzzle of McCall’s gun against his skin as it traveled down his face, along his neck, down his chest, stomach and thigh until it rested against his right knee.
“No . . . wait.”
McCall didn’t wait. He pulled the trigger. The bullet entered the man’s knee, shattering the bone. Pain worse than he had ever felt before tore through every nerve ending of his crippled knee. He tried to double over against the pain, to wrap his bleeding knee within his hands but the hand around his throat wouldn’t allow him to move.
“Do I need to do the same to your other knee, or are you going to tell me what I want to know.”
“He’s at Hal’s Tavern.”
“What’s his situation?”
“Situation?” The man frowned.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes . . . yes he’s alive . . . he should be alive.”
McCall pressed his gun hard against the man’s uninjured knee. “What do you mean should be? Either he is or he isn’t!”
“Henson was going to have some fun with him first.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“That’s what Henson said . . . that he was going to mess with Kostmayer’s mind . . . then kill him.” The man could feel his knees begin to buckle but he knew that McCall wasn’t going to allow him the pleasure of taking the weight off his knee.
“Tell me about Henson.”
“You knew his brother . . . a guy named Hawkins-“
“Oh my God.”
Control frowned at McCall. “You know him?”
“Yes I know him. He was victimizing a man and his family. I dealt with Hawkins with Mickey’s help.”
“He said he was going to deal with your friend then come after you.”
“My friend used an alias on that job. How did Henson find out his real name?”
“From a cop working the case. He got Kostmayer’s real name and some basic information about him. Listen . . . I told you what you want . . . I need to go to a hospital.”
“What about Sarah MacIntosh?” Control asked. “Why did Henson go after her?”
“Like I said . . . information . . . he wanted all the information he could get on your guy before he confronted him. The lady got a copy of Kostmayer’s file for him.”
“Is Henson on his own?” McCall asked him.
“No . . . he’s got two guys with him.”
“Are you supposed to make contact with Henson at all?” The man hesitated. “I assure you. I will put a bullet in your other knee if you don’t answer my question.”
“No . . . he’s supposed to contact me after he kills your friend.”
Control slammed the palm of his hand against the wall next to the man’s face. “And what were you supposed to do once he made contact.”
“He was going to come back here and watch me dispose of the woman and her son.”
“Dispose?” Control shook his head. “You mean murder.”
McCall tightened his grip on the man’s throat and said, “You are extremely lucky that I didn’t ‘murder’ you.” McCall released him, allowing him to crumble to the floor. He grimaced in disgust at the scream the man let out when his knee hit the floor. “Why don’t we go and liberate our young friend from his predicament.”
“What about him?” Control nodded at the man on the floor.
“I think it best that we leave him there to bleed to death, don’t you.”
Control shrugged and said, “You always did know best.”
“Hey, you can’t leave me here!”
McCall knelt down in front of the man. “Yes, yes . . . you’re right. We’ll call an ambulance later, perhaps in two hours or so.”
“You can’t-“
“Another word out of you and I will seriously consider putting you out of your misery.” McCall stood to his full height. “And if you try and contact Henson I will personally put a bullet in your other knee, followed by your elbows then your ankles. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Robert . . . you were saying something about liberating Mickey?”
“I’m going to do more than liberate the stupid . . . “
Control smiled and followed McCall out of the room. He knew exactly what McCall was going to do once he got his hands on Mickey Kostmayer. He would drag him back to his apartment, by the shirt collar if he had to, get him drunk and convince him to talk about what was bothering him. Control also knew that it was exactly what Kostmayer needed; a friend who would listen and understand what he had gone through on his last mission.
.
.
.
Henson had expected something, some sort of emotion: fear, anger, tears . . . anything, but Mickey Kostmayer had given him nothing. The agent hadn’t even begged for his life. Kostmayer had just stared back at him with uncaring eyes and waited for the bullet to take his life.
“You’re either very stupid . . . or you’re a man who doesn’t fear death.”
“I accepted death a long time ago,” Mickey answered.
It hadn’t surprised Mickey when the bullet passed close enough for him to feel its breath. He knew Henson wouldn’t kill him. Henson had already told him that he was going to kill the hostages first.
“In your line of work you would have to.” Henson brought one of the hostages into his line of sight. He smiled at the hostage’s reaction. The fear written all over the man’s face was what Henson had wanted to see in Mickey’s eyes. “Do you accept the death of innocent people?”
“It’s part of the job . . . if I didn’t accept it I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”
Henson lowered his gun and said, “You didn’t accept the deaths of those children.”
“Couple of more days is all I need. Then it will be accepted, dealt with and filed away where it won’t bother me again.”
Henson stepped closer to Mickey. “Is McCall as cold as you are?”
“Why don’t you ask him when you see him?”
“I plan on doing just that.” Henson moved away from Mickey and stood in front of the girl he had tortured earlier. “In the meantime . . . why don’t we see how cold you really are?”
“What are you going to do to her?”
“I’m not going to do anything to her.” Henson smiled down at the girl. “Simmons, why don’t you take this young lady out the back and do what you like with her.”
The girl began to scream behind the tape that covered her lips. Mickey knew he couldn’t do anything to help her. Nothing he could say would stop Henson from hurting her or anyone else. Henson was going to kill everyone and Mickey could do or say nothing to stop him. He was alone, tied to a chair that he couldn’t escape from and no one, not even McCall knew where he was.
“Anything I want?” Simmons asked.
Henson nodded then looked back at Mickey. “You’re not going to say anything to stop me from letting Simmons have her?”
“Nothing I say would stop you from killing her and everyone else here.”
“There might be something you could say.” Mickey didn’t ask what. He just stared at Henson and waited for him to reveal what that ‘something’ was. “You could apologize for what happened to my brother.”
Mickey didn’t hesitate with his lie. “I’m sorry about what happened to your brother.”
Henson laughed. “No you’re not. You only said that because I told you it might stop me.” Henson nodded to Simmons. “Take her and after you’re done with her . . . kill her.”
“You said you didn’t kill women.” Mickey growled at Henson.
“I lied.” Henson stepped back to allow Simmons access to the woman. “It’s all part of the game and lying is part of my strategy.”
“If you untie me I can play too.”
“With me or the girl?”
Mickey narrowed his eyes. “Do you need to ask?”
“I’ll let you play later.”
Mickey didn’t take his eyes off Henson. He couldn’t watch as Simmons untied the girl and threw her over his shoulders. The girl punched and kicked at the man who held her but her blows were weak. Simmons carried her past his line of vision but Mickey refused to look at her.
.
.
.
Simmons carried the girl out into the back alley and threw her onto the ground. He smiled when she curled into herself. His eyes traveled over her body then rested on her face.
“I’m going to make you scream, and then I’m going to kill you. And if you want to hate anyone for what I’m about to do to you, you can hate Kostmayer. All this is his doing.”
Simmons froze when he felt the cold steel of a gun press against the back of his neck. His breath caught in his throat at the sound of the man’s voice. The accent was English – Robert McCall. Kostmayer’s friend.
“This is not Mickey Kostmayer’s doing.” McCall leaned around Simmons and took the gun from his hand. “Step back from the girl.”
Simmons did as he was told, his hands pulled behind his back and handcuffed. Only then did he turn around. He looked into the eyes of Robert McCall and knew he was in trouble.
“Where is he?”
“In the bar.”
McCall smiled at Simmons and said, “I’m disappointed that I won’t need to force you to talk.”
Simmons shrugged. “I’m a coward at heart.”
“Yes, except when it comes to women . . . then you’re all man aren’t you.”
“Robert,” Control stepped up beside his friend, “we haven’t got time for this. You can deal with him later.”
“Yes, you’re absolutely right.” He tapped his gun against Simmons’s groin. “I’ll take care of him later. Where is he?”
“I told you, he’s in the bar.”
“Where in the bar?”
“He’s in a chair in the middle of the room. The other hostages are sitting against the bar, left side of the room. Owen is with them and Henson is with Kostmayer.”
“Does this door lead straight into the bar?
“No, it leads to the kitchen . . . there’s a set of double doors on the other side of the kitchen, they lead into the bar.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No . . .” Simmons smiled. “Not much anyway.”
“Get him out of my sight.” McCall threw Simmons towards a Company man who began to lead Simmons away. He then knelt down in front of the girl and gently pulled the tape away from her mouth. “You’re all right now . . . these gentlemen will take care of you.” He pointed to two men standing behind him.
“He’s right,” the girl bit her bottom lip before continuing. “It’s his doing.”
“Who?”
“Kostmayer . . . he let that man do this to me.” She held up her hands so McCall could see what they'd done to them. “All he had to do was tell him about his friend, but he wouldn’t . . . he . . . he let him do this to me, let him kill one of the hostages.”
McCall lowered his head.
“McCall, I’m sure Mickey-“
“Yes, I know. Mickey would have had a good reason for what he did . . . he believes there are some things worth holding out for. Mickey isn’t responsible for this . . . Henson is responsible for what has happened here today.”
“You,” the girl’s eyes filled with fresh tears, “he wanted him to kill you.”
McCall glanced up at Control then back at the girl. “These men will help you.” He stood up and motioned to Control to follow him to the back door. “Our young friend is going to be in complete disarray when this is all over.”
“Mickey? You’ll sort him out.”
McCall glared at him. “Do you remember how long it took me to sort him out after the Allenwaite incident?”
“Three days.”
McCall snorted at his friend. “Three very long days my friend, I even considered shooting him in the foot just to keep him in my spare room.”
Control smiled and removed his weapon from his coat pocket. “How do you want to play it?”
“The way Mickey likes to play it.” McCall smiled. “Head on.”
.
.
.
“The fun should be starting any minute now.” Henson told Mickey. “Maybe I should have told him to take the tape off her mouth, that way you would be able to hear her screams.”
“You’re enjoying yourself way too much.”
“What, and you’re not.”
Mickey raised an eyebrow at Henson. “Does it look like I’m enjoying myself?”
“No . . . but maybe we can fix that.”
“What are you going to do? Shoot another hostage?”
“I could shoot you.”
A genuine smile lit Mickey’s face. “Then do it . . . maybe this time you won’t miss.”
“Not yet Mickey . . . not yet.”
“You haven’t got the guts, Henson,” Mickey told him. “You’re a coward, just like your brother.”
“You’re calling me a coward after what you did to those kids.”
Mickey remained stone-faced. “I had nothing to do with what happened to those kids.”
“Keep telling yourself that Mickey.” Henson waved his gun at Mickey. “You know, I think it would have taken you more than a couple of days to accept it, deal with it and file it away where it wouldn’t bother you again.”
“You don't know the first thing about me," Mickey said dismissively.
“I told you, I know everything about you.”
“You only know what that file tells you.”
“Mickey . . . you’re really starting to piss me off.”
“I do that to people.” Mickey smiled at Henson. “It’s one of my better qualities.”
Henson nodded. He reached down and grabbed the ring finger on Mickey’s left hand. “Would you like me to break another one?”
"As much as I want a hole in my head." Mickey prepared himself for the pain.
He didn’t have to wait long. Henson expertly snapped the bone then stepped back to enjoy Mickey’s reaction. Mickey doubled over as far as he could and gritted his teeth against the pain. He knew what Henson wanted but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing him scream. But Henson intended to make Mickey scream. He quickly moved forward and squeezed the two broken fingers together. Pain flared through Mickey’s fingers. Henson continued to grind the broken bones against each other until Mickey could no longer keep the cry of pain from escaping his lips.
.
.
Robert McCall didn’t hesitate when he heard Mickey cry out; he heard the pain in his friend’s voice. He pushed his shoulder against the doors and moved quickly into the main room of Hal’s Tavern. He saw the man he was sure was Henson, leaning over Mickey Kostmayer.
“Move away from him . . . now!” His gun rose, aimed at the man who was threatening one of his closest friends.
Both Mickey and Henson looked up in surprise at the sound of McCall’s voice.
“Put the gun down and move away from him.” Out of the corner of his eye, McCall saw the second gunman. Without taking his eyes away from Henson, he spoke to Owen. “Owen . . . put the gun down or my friend here,” he knew Control was now standing beside him, “will shoot you, and his aim is quite deadly.”
Owen did as instructed. He lowered the gun onto the bar and stepped away from it.
“Nice to have friends, isn’t it, Mickey.” Henson was raising the barrel of his gun towards Mickey’s forehead. “Think McCall is still quick enough to stop me before I shoot you?”
Mickey moved his head closer to the gun. “Raise it another inch and find out.”
Henson looked down at Mickey and smiled. “No, I don’t think so Mickey . . . I’m not that stupid.”
McCall was surprised that Henson hadn’t tried to grab Mickey and use him as a shield. “Put the gun down and move away from him or God help me, I will shoot you!”
“I’m sure you will.” Henson placed the gun in Mickey’s lap and walked away from him.
“Untie me McCall.”
“Control?”
“Go ahead, Robert, I’ve got them covered.” Control stepped closer to Henson. “Try anything stupid and I’ll put a bullet in your head.” Henson smiled in return. Control frowned at the expression on Henson’s face. The man wasn’t acting the way a hostage taker usually acted. Henson had given up too easily.
McCall nodded and quickly moved towards Mickey. He stopped in front him and looked down at his friend. Mickey was refusing to look at him so he took Mickey’s chin in his hand and forced his head up. He took note of the bruises and cuts adorning Mickey’s normally handsome face. It wasn’t as bad as the physical injuries Allenwaite had given him. He noticed that Mickey’s hazel green eyes continued to stare at Henson and McCall easily read the intention in his eyes.
“Control, I think it’s best if you have your men remove Henson from the room.”
Mickey finally looked at McCall. "What are you waiting for?" McCall stepped back from the chair. "McCall!"
“Killing Henson won’t make you feel any better, Mickey.”
“No, but it’ll be a start.”
“Mickey-“
“McCall . . . I need to do this.”
McCall looked over his shoulder at Henson. The man was actually smiling at him. “Of course Mickey . . . but let me just say this. I will be very disappointed in you if you kill him.”
“I can live with that.”
“Mickey . . .”
“Untie me.”
McCall took the gun from Mickey’s lap before removing the ropes. Mickey stood up and abruptly fell back down into the chair, the nausea almost overwhelming him. He pushed away McCall’s offer of help and took a deep breath.
“I just need a minute.”
“You need more than a minute young man, you need a doctor.”
“What I need is for you to get out of my way.” Mickey stood up again. He was unsteady on his feet, his hands gripping the chair to keep his balance. The pain from his fingers helped to bring his mind back into focus.
“Come on, Mickey,” Henson taunted him, “you can do it. I’m right here in front of you.”
Mickey stared at Henson and saw the fear he was trying to hide. Mickey smiled then went in for the kill. He was on Henson within seconds, his first punch knocking him to the ground. Mickey went with him and continued to hit him. His breath was coming in short gasps, the anger making it difficult for him to breathe. Before he knew it, his right hand gripped Henson’s chin and his left hand, using his good fingers, held the back of his head.
“Mickey! No!”
McCall’s voice broke through his anger, through his hatred for the man whose neck he was about to break. “You came this close to dying, Henson.” He slammed Henson’s head against the floor and stood up. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
“Mickey?”
Mickey spun around to face McCall. His chest heaved as he struggled to take in much needed oxygen. His head was spinning, the dizziness causing his vision to blur. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. That’s when he saw the dead hostage.
“The girl . . . is she . . . “
“She’s alive, Mickey, she’ll be fine.”
Mickey nodded. “I can’t stay here . . . I can’t . . .” He began to walk towards the exit but stopped when McCall stood in his way. “Robert, don’t . . . not now.”
“Come to my apartment when you’re ready.” When Mickey didn’t respond, McCall placed a hand on his shoulder. “Mickey . . . you’ll come and talk to me when you’re ready, won’t you.”
“I can’t stay here, McCall.” Mickey shrugged off McCall’s hand and walked out of the tavern.
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.
.
McCall sat on the sofa in his living room, a newspaper held in front of him but he didn’t see the typed words. He put the paper down on the coffee table, removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. The concern he was feeling for his young friend hadn’t permitted him to get a decent night’s sleep since he had gotten Mickey out of his ‘predicament’. A quick glance at his watch told him that another day had elapsed. Three days had gone by and still Mickey Kostmayer’s whereabouts were unknown. He had disappeared for a second time.
“Where are you, Mickey?” He spoke to the emptiness that surrounded him.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he heard a noise beyond his front door. He removed a gun from its hiding place behind a cushion on the sofa then moved slowly and quietly towards his front door. He stopped and listened. There wasn’t a repetition of the sound. His mind could sense trouble lurking on the other side of his door. He pulled it open and his breath caught in his throat.
Mickey Kostmayer was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, feet stretched out in front of him, his ankles crossed. His left arm lay across his stomach and his right hand was rolling a coin across his knuckles.
“How long have you been sitting there?” McCall watched Mickey’s face but his friend’s features were giving nothing away.
“A couple of hours.” Mickey looked up at McCall and smiled at the gun. “Were you planning on shooting me with that?”
“No . . . no, of course not. Come inside, Mickey.” McCall had almost reached the kitchen when he realized that Mickey hadn’t followed him into the apartment. He turned and saw that Mickey hadn’t moved. He was still sitting on the floor rolling the coin along his fingers. McCall placed his gun on the counter and went to the fridge. He opened it and took out a cold beer – he’d had the beer delivered three days earlier knowing that Mickey would need it to help him loosen his tongue. He walked back to Mickey, contemplated sitting on the floor next to his friend then thought better of it. “Mickey . . . you are not going to sit on my doorstep all night so get up and come inside.”
“I should go home.”
“You, my young friend, are in no condition to go anywhere.”
“And what condition would that be?" Mickey saw the bottle of beer and reached out for it but McCall pulled it back out of his reach.
“Inside . . . now!”
Mickey hesitated before getting up. He followed McCall into the apartment and practically fell onto the sofa. He laid his head back and closed his eyes.
“Did you have a doctor look at those injuries?”
“Yeah . . . nothing serious.”
“Your fingers.”
Mickey lifted his left hand so McCall could get a better look at his fingers. They had been professionally set and taped. “Broken . . .”
“Are there any injuries that I can’t see?”
“Only my ego . . . “
McCall decided to let the comment go for now. “Are you hungry?”
Mickey opened his eyes and looked at the bottle of beer that was still in McCall’s hand. “No, but I could do with that beer.”
McCall handed Mickey the beer then sat down next to him. “Have you spoken to Control?”
Mickey drank half the bottle before answering. “No. Does he still have a Retrieval Order out on me?
“You knew about that?”
“It’s the first thing Control would have done when I went AWOL.”
McCall nodded in understanding. ”He rescinded it after you left the Tavern.”
“That soon?”
“I convinced him that it was the best thing to do.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want to talk about it now or wait until you’re drunk?”
Mickey laughed but there was no humor in his voice. “I don’t want to talk about it, drunk or sober.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“You want me to go?”
“No.” McCall was watching Mickey carefully. “Before I saw you sitting in that chair . . . I was considering tying you to one myself.”
Mickey choked on a mouthful of beer. “You wouldn’t.”
“Well, not now, but I did consider it.”
“Like you considered shooting me the last time I stayed here.”
McCall raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Mickey, my dear fellow, I would never shoot you-“
Mickey smiled and said, “I’m not stupid Robert, I know I was a pain in the butt then and I’m being one now.”
“You have reason to be, Mickey.” McCall looked away briefly. “And I did consider shooting you, but only in the foot.”
“Do you have another beer?” McCall got up, walked back into the kitchen, and returned moments later with another beer. “The girl? What’s her name?”
“Jessica Michaels.” McCall took the empty beer bottle from Mickey’s hand and replaced it with the full one. He could see the regret that filled Mickey’s eyes. “From what I’ve learnt about Rudolf Henson, he would have tortured that woman even if you had told him what he wanted to know.”
“I know.”
“The man he killed, Jeremiah Jones, didn’t have any family. He was a loner.”
“Doesn’t help.” Mickey swallowed a mouthful of cold beer. “Sarah’s boy?”
“Sarah and her son will be fine, Mickey.”
Mickey put the beer on the coffee table and stood up. “I should go.”
“Why?”
“McCall, I should just-“
“I’m not going to judge you, Mickey . . . you’re not responsible for what Henson did.”
“I know that, McCall.” Mickey growled.
“Sit down, Mickey . . . sit down, please.”
Mickey picked up the bottle and sat back down. “I hope you have plenty of these.”
“I do.” McCall sat back and waited for Mickey to open up to him.
“I don’t want to talk about it, McCall.”
“I know.”
After a few minutes of silence, Mickey stood up and began to pace in front of the coffee table. Another five minutes went by before he started talking. “We received information that the guy we were after was hiding out in a building on the outside of town. It was last minute information so there was no reason for us to doubt it.” He put the bottle down and ran his fingers through his hair. “I double checked the information and re-checked it. There was no reason to doubt it, no reason at all. I gave the order to move in . . . at first, it seemed like the building was empty, but then these guys came out of nowhere . . . “He sat down and put his head in the palm of his right hand. “Reynolds, a new guy, threw a grenade into the room . . . when the smoke cleared we went in.” Mickey lifted his head and stared at McCall. “They had kids with them, McCall . . . the bastards were using kids as shields.”
“You didn’t know that, Mickey.” Instead of answering, Mickey took another drink from his beer. “What about Reynolds? How is he taking it?”
Mickey laughed and shook his head. “The guy shot himself not five minutes after it happened. Not as heartless as the rest of us.”
“You, Mickey Kostmayer, are not heartless.”
“No? Eight kids, McCall, dead because I gave the order to-“
“You didn’t know they were in there, Mickey. You couldn’t have known.”
“Yeah, I know that . . . “
“But?”
“But I still feel responsible.”
“Of course you do.” McCall patted Mickey’s knee. “I would feel the same way if I were in your position.”
“You’ve been in my position.”
“Then you know that I understand what you’re going through.” McCall stood up and went to the drinks cabinet. “Perhaps we could both do with something a little stronger to drink.”
“How did you deal with it, McCall?”
“I didn’t.” He returned to the sofa with two shots of bourbon. He handed one to Mickey and kept the other for himself. “It’s not something you deal with Mickey . . . it’s something you learn to live with.”
Mickey emptied the glass then placed it on the table. “I better go.” He made no attempt to get up off the sofa.
“You’re quite welcome to use the guestroom, Mickey.”
“I know.”
“Then use it.”
Mickey nodded. “Just for the night.” He stood up and headed for the door, to retrieve his bag from his car.
“Use it as long as you need it.”
Mickey smiled ruefully, and, if truth be told, a little wickedly. "You might never get rid of me."
McCall chuckled. "That's a chance I'm prepared to take, Mickey."
The End
Part One | Part Two
Master Fan Fiction List