Sitting behind the counter at the Kash and Grab, the very spot he'd watch Ian sitting at, Mickey couldn't believe he was there again. Nor the fact that Linda actually gave him the job back.
Apparently getting shot by her long gone husband and then lowering the theft rate in this place the last time gave enough incentive to have the ex-con as a repeat employee.
He felt weird being there without Gallagher to watch or talk to, or go to the back on break for another fuck. Now, Mickey spent his time flipping through the magazines like before, or sitting back and having a smoke.
It also gave him time to think. He couldn't believe he actually registered for college classes. Granted, the classes were just basic mechanics and shit, but still. As a Milkovich, he wasn't supposed to enjoy classes or even go to college. The thought normally repulsed him. But Fiona scared the ex-con too much for him to drop out.
Then there was the fact that Debbie was proud of him. She seemed to decide he was some surrogate big brother or some shit.
At home—He'd already begun to see it that way, which the Gallagher home was his too—she'd cling to Mickey's side no matter how many times he'll protest. The little Gallagher girl would tell him everything about her day and school, and about her babysitting business that she ran during the summer.
Debbie would even go to him when she was upset, whether it was over Frank or some bitch from school. And much to Mickey's chagrin, he began to take interest in listening, to care for her. He'd even find himself interested and wanting to protect her.
So when Debbie came home from school one day crying and scared out of her mind, Mickey let her run to him and cling for dear life. It was almost like taking care of Mandy. This girl, who looked like the read head fighting in some far off country, with the same wide eyes and shit eating grin that'll melt your heart.
Even if you were a Milkovich.
"Who do I have to kill?" he asked, making Debbie meet his eyes, thumbs wiping her tears away. Mickey hated crying. It made a person weak. But when it comes to a little girl, one who's a Gallagher, it's a death wish for whoever caused it.
"I-It was nothing…" she sniffled.
"Debbie. Who the fuck do I need to kill?" he asked again.
"I-I was walking home and when I turned on the street this group of g-guys tried to grab m-me. But I got away! But they still have my bag. They were talking about Frank owing them money again—"
"Why am I not surprised?" Mickey didn't need to hear any more about Frank. Whenever that fucking drunk got in trouble, it always came to bite his family in the ass. "Did you hear them say any names? Or get a good look at them?"
Mickey wasn't going to let anyone hurt the Gallaghers because of Frank's idiotic, selfish alcoholic ass again.
"Th-They called one of the guys Felix." Debbie sniffled again.
"Felix? As in the Devanaughs?" They were one of the minor dealers Mickey ran into for business. If beating the shit out of their messenger boy counted as business. He pulled away from Debbie and grabbed the bat hanging from the wall.
"Carl! Get your ass down here and bring that fucking gun with you!" He yelled up stairs. Within seconds, Carl was at Mickey's side, holding out the gun.
"What do you need it for?" he asked as Mickey took the gun from him, in return handing over the bat.
"Want to bash some skulls in?" Mickey asked him. Carl grinned and nodded, his grip on the bat's handle already tightening.
"Debs, tell Fiona that Carl and I went out to take care of some business. We'll be back when we're done." Mickey yelled back into the house as he and Carl walked out and down the street. He could already feel the adrenaline pumping, his fists itching to make contact with bone and flesh like they used to. The gun was tucked away between his lower back and the jeans he wore, his shirt covering over it.
Looking at Carl, the sadistic smile on the kid's face said it all. Shit, the kid would be perfect to use on jobs. Hell, he'd be a perfect Milkovich, really. The ex-con could tell this kid will be even more trouble when he gets older.
It was two blocks of walking before they reached the Devanaugh's home of business. Mickey stared at the house, remembering when he was eight years old and got dragged by his father over here. Terry had taken care of a few snitches for 'em, and he had yet to be paid for the finished job. Watching his older brothers help their father beat the shit out of the lot really hit it into Mickey's head what a Milkovich was expected to do, how a Milkovich was supposed to think and act. So when Felix showed up on their doorstep days later, he was gracious enough to return the favor and use his fists to remind Felix bot to bother him or his father.
As a gift, Terry had given him a six pack and went back to sleeping off his own stupor on the couch.
"So what do we do now?" Carl's excitement made Mickey smirk.
"We welcome ourselves in. Don't swing until I tell you. Got it?" he stared down at the kid, who looked reluctant and slightly disappointed they weren't going in guns blazing, but nodded nonetheless.
The two boys stormed up to the door and knocked. Well, more like Mickey just pounded his fist against the door with enough force to make it shake. The ex-con had enough decency when it came to making house calls like this. Well, sometimes. When no one answered, he gave Carl a look and kicked the door open.
Four heads snapped up from the kitchen table when they walked in. Upon seeing it was Mickey; the men grew weary, relaxing only slightly. Mickey nodded at Debbie's bag, which lay on the tables as the men blatantly went through it.
"That ain't yours, Felix. Hand it over and I'll gladly be on my way without causing any of your guys bodily harm this time around." The ex-con told him, keeping it casual as if they were merely two old friends.
The thing about age and crime families, though, was that they really got cocky. Felix leaned back in his seat, playing with a switchblade in his hands.
"Mickey Milkovich. Last time I checked, your old man is dead and you got no ties with the Gallaghers, let alone anyone cares about anyone who isn't yourself. This bag isn't yours either, so why the interest?" he sneered.
Mickey smirked, casually moving around in front of the table, a hand shoved into his pocket.
"Well, you see, obviously your intel is shitty as ever. Mandy's with the older brother and I'm currently takin' a vacation at their lovely abode. My prick of a father deserved what he got, we both know that there's plenty who're just as relieved as I am to have his sorry ass gone. But little Debbie Gallagher, on the other hand, didn't deserve to get grabbed at by the lot of you, or get her bag stolen. Deal with Frank another way, but leave the Gallaghers out of it."
Felix's men started to eye Carl and the bat he held, noticing for the first time that the ex-con wasn't alone. Felix on the other hand just smirked, scoffing.
"You brought a kid to help you get this shit back? Really cute, Milkovich. You've really gotten soft." He chuckled.
"Nah, I just know a good hitter when I see one." Mickey looked at Carl and gave him a nod.
Carl grinned, and with a "Finally." He came closer to the table and swung, connecting the bat perfectly with the guy Malcolm's arm, making an audible snap on impact. Malcolm cried out and held his arm as the other two stood up and attempted to grab the kid. Felix stabbed his switchblade into the table as he pulled out his gun, Mickey mirroring and aiming it dead on for his forehead.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Felix." Mickey saw the look in his eyes. Carl continued to hit the other three men until they were either whimpering or unconscious. The kid looked smug; staring at the bat like it was a prized possession. Felix slowly put down the gun, eyes looked on Mickey's.
"Hand over the bag, with everything in it, to the kid." He continued, watching as Felix hurriedly did as he said. "Good boy. Now, if I ever fucking find out you're messing with the Gallaghers again, I'll come back here and let Carl use your head for batting practice."
Felix blanched and nodded, slowly sitting back down with wide eyes.
"Oh, just one more thing." The ex-con moved his gun and fired, sending a bullet into Felix's shoulder. The man cried out, holding his shoulder tightly. "That was your warning."
With that, Mickey turned and walked out with Carl following at his side.