As the train continued on its path towards Abilene, Michael walked through the cars nonchalantly, keeping his eyes peeled for other agents in the car as he walked. He also watched for any member from his gang, and from the Black Rose gang they were currently affiliated with.
Michael followed his mark from a distance, it wouldn't do to have his target see him, after all. Although, he didn't seem to be in any sort of danger of being spotted; The blonde man didn't seem to notice a single thing as he hurried through the cars, apparently lost in thought and totally tuned out to the world.
His hypothesis was proven as a young girl stormed through into the car, marching straight up the aisle towards the blonde, who didn't see her. When he failed to move out of her way, the girl angrily shoved past him, starling the blonde out of his thoughts. She continued storming up the aisle, and Michael casually moved out of the way as she approached. The blonde had turned to stare after her in mild confusion, obviously still half-spaced. Suddenly a rather short young man with a very boyish face sprinted into the car, also pushing past the blonde, although where the girl had been angry, the boy was wearing a worried expression. "Cyndia!" he called after the girl. "Cyndia, wait!"
Michael stayed by the side, allowing the boy to run past him as well, and watched in mild interest as the couple left the car, before turning his interest back to the blonde.
He did a double take; the blonde was gone. He silently cursed his own stupidity, he had been distracted and had lost his mark. He hurriedly made his way up the aisle into the next car, just in time to see the blonde stepping through into the car beyond it.
Michael sighed, he had to continue on to gather information, but it was dangerous. The car was established Good Guys territory, and Michael knew that the cars closer to the front were usually booked for the gang exclusively. To follow someone he suspected as being involved in the gang straight into gang territory was reckless and stupid.
Then again, Michael never was one to care about that sort of thing, and so with one more careful look around, he continued to the next car.
As the door opened, Michael saw that the car was completely empty, save for the blonde, who was sitting in a seat about halfway up the aisle and staring at the window. Michael paused, the car was empty, so here was his chance to find out if he was right about the blonde, but it also meant giving up any secrecy he had, as well as possibly blowing their retrieval mission.
Taking a deep breath, Michael squared his shoulders and made his decision. He stepped into the empty train car
Suddenly he was struck by immense pain in his head. Everything fell away in unimportance as he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a small gasp of pain and falling to one knee. He had never had such a terrible headache in his life, it was as if he had two brains shoved into his head at once, and the pressure was too much, it was burning him, burning him...
The headache left as soon as it had come, and Mike slowly opened his eyes, taking in the train around him. The car was still empty, but the blonde had stood up and was now looking at Mike in concern.
"Are- Are you alright?" He asked anxiously.
Mike narrowed his eyes. What had just happened!?
"I'm fine," he said. "Just got a headache when I stepped through the door. That was weird. But I'm fine now that I moved."
Mike looked back at the door suspiciously, thinking on what he had just said. Was it really only that spot? He decided to test his theory and moved back into the exact spot he had been when he got the headache.
It returned full force, his head felt like it was splitting in two. Everything fell away into unimportance, and he gritted his teeth. He refused to move, though, trying to figure out what was happening.
"Freeze!' He felt, rather than heard, someone say. "Frozen!" He felt himself saying. Beside him, someone began saying voiceless murmurings, speaking,yet Mike couldn't hear the speaker. It was as if the voice was just...gone.
The pain became unbearable, and Mike couldn't help but move, stepping forward. The pain instantly diminished, but he could still feel a bit of pressure in his forehead, and he felt, for the first time in many years, shaken up. He clutched at his head. "There it is again," he said. "Right here, right in this spot, I feel... I feel like everything's... wrong!"
"Right here?" The blonde asked worriedly, moving to stand right next to Mike. He looked around. "...I don't feel anything," He said. "Hey, are you sure you're alright? You look... sick."
Mike glanced up at the blonde warily, and chided himself. Here he was, showing weakness in front of a total stranger. No, even worse, he was showing weakness in front of the heir of one of the biggest gangs in North America, regardless of how genial said heir might appear.
"I'm just fine here, Junior," he said, not missing the brief flicker of recognition crossing the other man's face at the mention of the name. Yep, this was definitely the right guy. "Just got a bit of a headache is all. Now, if we can get down to it, I'd kind of like to get this over with."
The man paused. "What do you mean?" He asked.
Michael let out a small scoff. "Boy, you sure aren't very bright for a gang boss," he said. "You're Junior Best. It's obvious. And you should have guessed by now that I'm Mike Nesmith of the Riley gang, which is currently in a partnership with Jumping Jack Jerry of the Black Rose gang. Everyone knows that the Good Guys Gang hates the Black Rose gang. So let's get on with it. You gonna shoot me, you gonna try to knock me out, what's the plan? I'm warning you, I can take anything you throw at me."
To Michael's bewilderment, however, Junior simply looked confused. "You're a member of the Riley gang?" He asked.
Michael nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I just said as much. So let's get on with it!"
Junior opened his mouth, than closed it. He backed up and looked around them at the compartment, which was surprisingly still empty. "I- I can't," he said.
Michael blinked. "...What?" He finally asked.
Junior looked lost. "I can't do any of that stuff you said," He said. "I just... can't. I hate it when people get hurt. I can't shoot you, Nesmith. I can't even pretend to shoot you! But if Agent Rhinestone finds out that I met you and let you get away... Please, just leave, right now! Turn around and go away, before we're seen together!"
Michael was baffled. "What are you saying!?" He demanded. "You're supposed to be Mr. Best's son!?" He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What's your angle, then?" He asked. "What are you trying to pull? Playin' all buddy-buddy, feeding me some story about wanting me to leave, so you can shoot me when my back's turned? Nice try!"
"No, really," Junior said, taking a step towards Michael. "Get out of here, before-"
Michael pulled out his gun and trained it on Junior, taking a step back as he did so. Junior went pale at the sight of the gun, and froze.
"That's right," Michael said, feeling a smile come on his face. Not a smile at what he was pretending to do, no. He was smiling with all the insanity of it all. Here he was, holding an empty gun up to Junior Best in a train crawling with Good Guys. If that wasn't suicide, he didn't know what was. "Now that I've got your attention," Michael said. "Spill it. Where's the information on the Black Rose gang going?"
Junior swallowed. "I- I don't kn-know," he stammered.
"Nice try," Michael said, cocking the gun.
"N-no, really!" Junior said, eyes wide. "I d-don't know! Agent Rhinestone won't tell me where it's going! All I know is that Agent Pink Rock duped some poor sap into carrying it with him! I swear, I was looking for the guy when I saw you! I d-don't have it with me, and I don't know where it's going!"
Michael looked into Junior's eyes, and decided that the gang member was telling the truth. He put down his gun. "You know," he said. "You're a really bad gang boss. For one thing, you're way too open with your emotions. It was too easy for me to see whether or not you were lying. You ever play poker?"
Junior took a deep breath, then shook his head. "I don't like gambling," he said.
Michael looked at him incredulously. "You get scared easily, you sell out your own agents, you're obviously not very bright, and now I find out you don't like to gamble!?"
Junior looked down at the floor. "I don't like to gamble because..." he started. "Because you have to lie too much."
"And let me guess, you're a horrible liar?" Michael asked.
Junior shook his head, then nodded, frowning. "Well, I am," he said. "I am a horrible liar. But that's not why."
Michael stared. "Then... why?" He prompted.
"Because!" Junior said miserably. "I have to lie enough as it is, I don't want to lie any more than I have to!"
"Well, this is new," Michael said, not sure what to make of Junior. "A gang boss with a conscience. You don't belong in this business, Shotgun."
Pain. Mike gasped and clutched at his head again, the headache had flared up with a vengeance. What had just happened? It had disappeared, it had gone, and then...
"Are you alright?" He heard Junior saying. He opened his eyes, he had sunk to one knee again. Junior was looking down at him worriedly, but he didn't dare take a step closer to Mike.
Mike nodded. "Let's get out of this car," he said. "I don't know what it is about this car, but it's making my head go all... Wibbly wobbly..."
Junior frowned in confusion, but took a cautious step forward.
"I ain't gonna shoot you, man," Mike snapped, standing up. "Just hurry up and open the door. I'm afraid to touch anything in this dang car, for fear it's gonna burn my hand or somethin'!"
Junior hurried past Mike and opened the door. "Are you sure you're alright?" He asked. "Do you want me to get you a glass of water or something? It's not that far to the dining car..."
Junior trailed off, and Mike looked up to see a menacing looking man wearing all black, glaring down at him.
"Nesmith?" The man asked, tilting his head.
Michael stood up a little straighter. Now that he was out of that cursed car, the pain in his head was leaving, and he could tell that whoever this guy was, he was bad news.
"N-no, sir," Junior said quietly from beside him. Michael took a side-long glance at the blonde, who was trembling slightly. "This is, uh, George. George Walters."
"Junior," the man in the black suit said quietly. "You're a terrible liar."
"S-sorry, sir," Junior said miserably.
The man pulled a gun out of his pocket and trained it on Michael. "Come along, Nesmith," he said. "You're coming with me. You too, Junior. You need to learn what happens to those who aid our enemies."
Michael sighed. "No thanks," he said, glaring up at the man. "I think I'll stay here. Maybe take Junior here up on his offer to get me some water. Run along, Junior, fetch me that glass."
Junior deflated even more, if that were possible, and the man in the black suit smirked. "Ha," he said. "Real funny. But you're real unlucky, Nesmith. I happen to hate comedians at the moment."
With that, the man raised a hand and back-handed Michael across the face. Junior gasped and flinched in sympathy, and Michael slowly reached his hand up and rubbed the side of his face, glaring at the man in the black suit as he did so.
"Now, you just made an enemy outta Mike Nesmith," he said. "Real stupid of you, really."
"Oh, I'm sure," the man said. "Now, Junior, we're going to the baggage car. You lead the way, and I'll handle Nesmith. And Junior?"
Junior looked up at the man nervously. "Y-yes sir?" He asked.
The man glared. "Try to look normal," he said. "We don't want a repeat of what happened last time, do we?"
Junior looked down at the floor. "No, sir..." He said.
When they reached the baggage compartment, the man reached into a suitcase and pulled out a length of rope, which he tossed to Junior. Junior fumbled to catch it, and the man turned to Michael. "Sit down next to that beam," he said.
Michael chuckled. "You're tying me to a support beam?" He asked. "Really original, babe. Good job."
"Shut it," The man said, but he didn't sound angry, more unconcerned. "Alright, Junior," the man said. "Tie him up, nice and tight, like I showed you. Don't screw this up, or I'll have to show you again."
Junior nodded hastily and moved to stand behind Michael. He didn't say a word as he tied Michael's hands firmly behind the support beam, and he succeeded in tying them nice and tight. Not that it mattered. Michael had learned long ago how to get out of any and every knot. He started working on this one as soon as Junior had moved out from behind the beam.
"So then, Nesmith," the man said. "You obviously know Junior, you used his name, after all. But you probably don't know me. Allow me to introduce myself."
"You're Agent Rhinestone," Michael interrupted absently. "Wanted for assault, robbery, more assault, armed robbery, and the death of three policemen. Your real name is unknown, but your surname supposedly begins with the letter "G," You also are the only member of the Good Guys Gang to commit an actual murder."
That was enough to rattle the cages of the man, who blinked in utter shock before carefully composing his expression and chuckling.
"You're a smart man, Nesmith," he said. "A bit too smart, I'd say. There are some very important gang secrets you just said there. Tell me, how long have you known that we don't shoot to kill?"
"How long have you been in business?" Michael asked as a response. "You said it yourself; I'm a very smart man. Not much gets past me, not after seven years in this business."
"I see," Agent Rhinestone said. "And why haven't you volunteered this information to the rest of your gang?"
"Leverage," Michael responded without missing a beat. "I know a great many secrets, G. More than you could believe. Tell me, G, were you in a gang before this one? If not, you're a rookie to me."
Agent Rhinestone glared. "I'd heard you were a fool, Nesmith," he said. "But I admit, I didn't expect you to be this foolish. You are correct in saying that I'm the only member of the Good Guys gang to actually commit a murder. Mr. Best forgave me, once I explained that it had been an accident."
"But it was no accident, was it, G?" Michael said smugly. "You lied to your boss, you meant for that man to die."
Agent Rhinestone said nothing, he just seethed, while Junior looked shocked. "You... you did it on purpose!?" He asked, his eyes wide. "You killed someone!?"
Michael scoffed. "You forget that you work in a gang, Junior," he said. "It might be a gang with reservations, but it's a gang nonetheless. Are you really so surprised that G here killed a man, intentionally?"
Junior frowned in thought, obviously deciding he believed it. Agent Rhinestone growled and turned to the blonde.
"Don't you go and get any ideas about squealing to your old man," he said, advancing toward Junior, who instinctively took a step back. "I barely got out of it when you squealed on me the last time, I'm not going to be too happy if you pull a stunt like that again!"
Michael saw this as his chance and finished wriggling his hands out of the bonds, and he pulled his empty gun out of his holster, training it on Agent Rhinestone.
"Hey G," he said. "You're not the only one who's ever killed a man."
Agent Rhinestone turned and saw Michael out of his bonds, and he gave a roar of outrage. "You worthless piece of trash," he yelled, and it took Michael a moment to realize he was talking to Junior, who looked a mixture of bewildered, shocked, and afraid. "You screwed it up again!" Agent Rhinestone continued. "How many times do I have to teach you the same lessons!?"
"I'm sorry," Junior said, still staring at Michael as if he were some kind of ghost. "I- I thought I'd done it right this time-"
"Oh, you thought," Agent Rhinestone spat angrily, voice filled with cold sarcasm. "That's your whole problem, Boy, you go around thinking for yourself instead of letting the people with a brain handle things."
"I'm a little sick of having you ignore me, G," Michael said, cocking his gun.
Agent Rhinestone glanced at him. "You don't scare me, Nesmith," he said. "You're not the only one who did their homework. You're as adverse to killing as Junior here is. Seven years or no, you're only in this business because your so-called friend is twisting your arm. So put down your silly toy and surrender before someone gets hurt."
Michael smiled at him, one of his famous half-smiles. "You forget, G, that while I might be adverse to killing, I hold a mean grudge," he said. "You made an enemy outta me. I plan to take out all my enemies, one at a time."
"You still don't have the means, Nesmith," Agent Rhinestone gloated.
"Really?" Michael said. "You wanna bet?"
Reaching down with one hand, Michael pulled his secret gun out of it's concealed holster, and with expert aim, shot the light fixture above Agent Rhinestone's head. Agent Rhinestone and Junior both flinched as the light shattered, glass flying everywhere. They both raised their arms to cover their faces, and Michael used that moment to tackle Agent Rhinestone to the floor, then he used his bigger empty gun to knock the man out.
He stood up quickly, about to do the same to Junior. He couldn't have either of them following him, of course, but right as he was about to move towards Junior, the blonde looked up, lowering his arms, and in that split second, Michael saw how truly shocked and scared Junior really was. Junior froze, mouth slightly open, realizing what Michael had done to Agent Rhinestone and what he was about to do to Junior.
Michael hesitated. "Do yourself a favor, kid," he said, his voice raspy for some reason. "Find a new crowd. You don't belong here."
Having said that, Mike turned quickly and left the car, not entirely sure why he felt the way he did.
