Please be warned, this story contains scenarios which could be a trigger to anyone who may have experienced domestic violence.There is nothing graphic, but if you think you may be affected, then please don't read.
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What's my Line? Prompt – Between a Rock and a Hard Place.
Illya Kuryakin had arrived at the diner a full thirty minutes before the appointed contact time. He liked to establish the lay of the land and scout out any escape routes, should they become necessary. The other advantage of arriving early was that he could treat himself to a large breakfast, on expenses. The Napoleon Solo influence was definitely starting to rub off on him.
As it was still early, not many of the residents of the small town of Rockstone were up and about. In the diner, other than Illya, there was a young courting couple, two elderly gentlemen and three farmworkers. The young couple seemed to be having a very one-sided argument. The girl was staring at the table, and occasionally shaking her head, as her boyfriend hissed something Illya couldn't make out. As time progressed, and Illya wolfed down his fried breakfast, the young man's angry whispers got louder and louder. The girl was in tears by that point, yet no-one seemed to doing stepping in.
The girl stood up and tried to leave, but her boyfriend quickly followed and grabbed her arm. He turned her to face him and landed a heavy slap across her face. She screamed loudly, only to receive another slap. At any other time, Illya would have intervened, but he couldn't risk drawing attention to himself. The information he was waiting to pick up was of international importance. It was, literally, a matter of life or death for half of the world.
The Russian fought against every instinct he had when the young man switched from an open hand to a fist. Illya had to look away when he saw the fist swinging towards the girl's head. He felt as though he were stuck between a rock and a hard place. He wanted to stop the atrocity he was witnessing, but his mission overrode it. Glancing around the diner, Illya realised that no-one else was doing anything either; every one of them was studiously ignoring the scene. Peace returned as the boy dragged his sobbing girlfriend out of the diner.
"What was that about?" Illya asked the waitress.
"Oh that's perfectly normal for them," she replied, with a strange chuckle. "Janey frustrates Bobby, so he puts her back in her place."
"Does nobody stop him?"
"His father owns most of the town."
That seemed to be the only explanation he was going to get, but he couldn't press it further because his contact had just arrived.
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A few days later, Illya was sitting at his desk, staring into space. Much to Napoleon's annoyance, he was tapping his pen against the desk top.
"Penny for them?" The American called to his partner, who ignored him completely. "Illya?"
Napoleon crossed over to the Russian and grabbed the pen from him. Illya was renowned for his reaction times, but it took him several seconds to realise he no longer had his pen.
"Napoleon?"
"You seem a mite distracted Tovarisch."
Illya explained to Napoleon what he had witnessed in Rockstone and how he couldn't stop thinking about it.
"He was using his fists on her Napoleon, and not one person stopped him. Not even me."
The Russian had been experiencing a gnawing sense of guilt since that day. He'd tried to justify his inaction to himself in two ways. The first was the pick-up. There could have been any number of THRUSH agents in the vicinity, so Illya couldn't have risked attracting their attention. Secondly, he figured the girl would only receive a worse beating as soon as he left, had he interfered. Neither justification was enough to assuage the guilt he felt. He'd made a vow to fight all the evil in the world. This Bobby character may not be THRUSH or a usurping dictator, but he was just as evil as they were; seeking to subjugate someone to his power.
"I should have stopped him."
"You couldn't endanger the pick-up," Napoleon assured him. "But, I know what you're saying. Look, we don't have anything pressing for the next day or so. How about we go and have a quiet word with your pugilistic adolescent?"
"I have considered doing just that, but his father is a powerful man locally."
Illya had researched Bobby's father, Chester Grant, almost as soon as he'd returned to New York. It turned out that he did own most of the buildings and land in Rockstone. He also owned the surrounding farmland and all the factories. In essence, every resident was reliant on Grant for their homes and livelihoods.
"He may be a big fish in that small pond Chum," Napoleon said, with a dangerous smile. "But we're sharks."
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A couple of hours later, Illya found himself back in Rockstone, and back in the diner. Napoleon was immediately attracted to the red-headed waitress behind the counter. He offered her his most winning smile and ordered two black coffees.
"Oh, hello again," the Red-head greeted Illya warmly. "I'm not normally any good at remembering people, but who could forget those beautiful blue eyes?"
Illya smiled. Not just at the compliment, but also at the sour look on Napoleon's face. The American was always put out when a woman preferred his partner over him.
"Has Bobby Grant been in today?"
"He was in here for breakfast, but he'll no doubt be back for his lunch."
"Thank you. I'll have a piece of that peach pie while we wait."
Napoleon rolled his eyes. He should have known the Russian couldn't get this close to food without having any.
It was another hour before Bobby finally arrived, dragging his girlfriend with him; literally. The two men could see how hard the boy's fingers were digging into the poor girl's arm. Then Illya saw the yellowing bruises on her face and his anger flared. Napoleon laid a hand on his arm to calm him.
"I take it that this is Bobby."
Illya nodded, not trusting his voice if he spoke. The senior agent motioned for his partner to follow him; his body language warning the Russian not to explode. Not yet anyway. Plastering on his most genuine false smile, Napoleon approached Bobby.
"Mr Grant?"
"Who's asking?" The youth growled back.
"I'm Napoleon Solo and this is my colleague, Illya Kuryakin. We need to talk to you about a very serious matter."
"Take a hike Mister."
Illya pulled his jacket aside to allow Bobby to see his gun. "It would be in your best interests."
"Fine."
"Not here," Napoleon said quietly, and indicated for Bobby to get up.
"Come on Janey," he snarled at the quivering girl. "It seems we have an appointment with these gentlemen."
"You have an appointment," Illya informed him, before ordering a milkshake for Janey.
The two agents took the youth to a deserted alley way. Napoleon stepped back to allow Illya to have his say.
"Did your mother not teach you respect?" He spat. "Did she not tell you that punching defenceless girls is wrong?"
"My father owns this town," Bobby growled back. "Every girl wants to be my girl, so she count herself lucky. I don't have to respect them, so long as they respect me."
"She doesn't respect you, she fears you. There is a big difference. Why don't you try taking on someone your own size?"
"Like you, you mean," Bobby laughed. "I'm at least a foot taller than you."
Bobby Grant didn't know what hit him.
After twenty minutes, the two agents helped Bobby back into the diner. His nose appeared to be broken and his lip was bleeding. Napoleon handed his business card to Janey.
"When you realise what a jerk this guy is, come to New York. We can help you find work and you can be the strong, independent woman you should be."
He kissed her hand and bade her farewell. Illya smiled at her and was heartened to see a slight one in return. Outside, he stopped Napoleon before he got into the car.
"Did we do the right thing? We basically just attacked a nineteen year old."
"Tovarisch, if he's man enough to dish it out then he's man enough to take it. Besides, judging by those bruises on that girl's face, he would have ended up killing her one day."
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Less than a month later, Janey Michaels was leaving her shared New York apartment, ready to start her first day of work. She had been given a job as a cosmetics counter girl at a large department store, and was unbelievably excited. Before leaving Rockstone, her future had been one of wife and mother. While she still wanted those things, she also wanted to experience life first.
Janey had no real idea who her wonderful saviours were, but she thanked God every day for the angels He had sent her.
The End