3. Upon Further Investigation

McCall arrived at the hospital at 9:30 a.m. Mickey's oxygen tube and the chest tube had been removed. Mickey sat propped up halfway. He looked tired, bruised, uncomfortable and grumpy.

"McCall, what the hell did you say to Elise?"

"Pardon me?"

"She came to see me this morning, then blew me off."

"You presume me at fault for that?"

"We had a nice thing going."

"What makes you conclude that I did anything to interfere with that?"

"Because after an hour with you last night, she decided it was best for quote everyone involved end-quote if we went our separate ways."

"I assure you that I did nothing consciously to precipitate that result."

"You might not have done it intentionally, but is it possible that you were just a little pissed off that I hadn't been in touch recently or told you about her?"

"Mickey, we are not children!"

"Right now, I'd almost rather be. I've just lost the best thing to come along in my life in ages. My job's in the toilet. And I don't feel so well either."

"Always looking on the sunny side of life," McCall smiled.

"I'd love to blow the head off the guy that did this to me."

"Do you remember anything this morning?"

"Nothing. Last I remember, I got off the subway and was walking to the theatre. Then there's a cop standing over me."

"I've not yet heard back about the driver."

"I missed the goddamned movie to boot."

"I'm sure we can obtain a video copy."

"It's not the same on a small screen."

"I am considering asking the nurse to put the oxygen mask back on you. Your not being able to speak may have been an under-appreciated asset."

"Can't you find something better to do than hang around and harass me?"

"Business is slow. However, if I am annoying you, I can check in with our friends about the cab driver."

"Do that. Cause soon as I can move, I plan to go after him."

"Perhaps you revealed your predilection for violent confrontation to Ms. Cantrell and she did not respond well to it."

"McCall, so help me, I . . .."

McCall pulled out his phone and Mickey didn't finish his hollow threat. McCall's conversation ran several minutes. Mickey heard only snippets of "really," "is that so," and "how interesting" until McCall hung up. Mickey's curiosity led him to move up to a full sit. He groaned in pain as he did it.

"What did you learn?"

"The taxi was found floating in the East River this morning. The driver is missing, or, I should say, the actual driver is missing. The putative driver was found dead drunk or possibly drugged in an alley behind a Chinatown bar. No one yet knows anything about the actual driver. The police are hoping to learn more when the regular driver is more cogent."

"Oh, that's real elucidating."

"It tends to support the inference that this was no accident."

Mickey shrugged. "Not that I'm complaining, but as hits go, it was a lame effort."

"I think we can conclude that whomever did it most likely did not seek to kill you."

"We know this because?"

"The driver from whom the cab was stolen remains alive, as do you. The manner in which the car came at you was not an effort at a death blow."

"So you think this was a warning shot across the bow?"

McCall nodded.

"It'd be more effective if I had some idea from whom and about what."

"I imagine that message will be delivered eventually," McCall said.

"Yeah, well, what if the next message is worse?"

"I know someone who might be of assistance." McCall pulled out one of his business cards.

"You're hired," Mickey said as he declined the card.

"It really wasn't a choice, you know."

"So how do you want to play this? Besides waiting for the next four thousand pound object to come at me? I'm not entirely comfortable with that."

"Nor am I. First, we will need to consider those who may harbor ill will toward you. Then we shall inquire as to their status."

"That'll be a long list. Hey, McCall, is that why you scared Elise off? To protect her because we know zippo about who's coming at me?"

"I cannot speak for Ms. Cantrell's motivation in acting as she has."

"I mean, I can't blame her for stepping back under the circumstances. I just thought that with her in the business and having seen her under fire, well, I didn't think she'd frighten that easily."

"How well do you really know Ms. Cantrell, Mickey?"

"Better in some ways than in others, I guess," Mickey admitted. He looked unhappy at the realization.

"You think about possible suspects now. I'll check in with you later." McCall headed toward the door.

"McCall, thanks, I think."

McCall had been gone five minutes before Mickey stopped his mental listing of possible enemies. He picked up the phone to call Elise. She didn't answer, so he left a message. "It's Mickey. I just wanted to let you know that I understand why you might want to keep your distance. McCall let me know this wasn't an accident. I don't want to drag you into whatever it is. Guess you figured I'd get there once I knew and didn't want to make me feel bad by letting me push you away. I do, either way, feel bad, that is. I'm sorry."

Mickey hit the bed with his fist after he hung up. He berated himself silently. Every time he got emotionally involved, someone ended up hurt or dead. He hadn't chosen a normal life and this was the consequence. Even quitting wouldn't solve it. If he got out tomorrow, his enemies wouldn't simply disappear. His thinking that being with someone in the business would be better was just lunacy. Casual friends and casual sex were the best he dared have. Anything more just left you exposed. Even his friendship with McCall had that consequence. The KGB exploited that relationship by torturing Mickey and then programming him to kill McCall, which he'd come close to doing. Yet we've still stuck together, Mickey argued with himself. We've gotten through the worst possible times together. Then again, how could I expect there to be more than one person in my life like that? No, I'm lucky to have one.

Mickey turned his mind away from a fruitless debate with itself and focussed back on listing possible suspects. He let anger at this unknown suspect push aside advancing depression. People who did what he did had no room for deep emotions, at least they deluded themselves into believing that.

While Mickey pondered his situation from his hospital bed, McCall followed up with the Company and the police. As he was unsatisfied with the pace of their inquiries. McCall set out to make his own. His first stop: Chinatown, particularly the bar behind which the regular cabbie was found.

"Mr. Fat a regular. Comes in several times a week. Drinks by self. Not like to talk. Has drink or two, smokes, and watch television."

"What happened the other day?" McCall asked.

"Nothing different. He come in, order drink, smoke and watch t.v.. Except after second drink, I notice him falling off stool, sleepy or drunk like. Never see that before from him. I close tab and tell him to go sleep it off."

"Did he comply?"

"Yes. He went to men's room first and I not see him after that."

"He came in alone the other day?"

"Same as always. Same stool. Same drink -- whiskey. I tell all this to police already."

"All he does is sit here, drink and talk to no one?"

"Yes, not everyone comes to a bar to talk. Man who spends time driving a cab must get sick of talking to people."

"Exactly how did he behave the other day?"

"As I said, he falling off chair, woozy like. I think he was talking to himself too."

"Did he seem off or inebriated when he came in?"

"No. He sat down at the end of the bar, said hello, ordered his drink and drank. Fifteen minutes later, he order second one. Seemed fine."

"Then all the sudden, he began to act strange?"

"Yes."

"He normally drinks two drinks and is fine?"

"Sometimes three. Never seen him act drunk before."

"You had other customers inside then?"

"Sure, though it was early. We get busy late."

"Are you saying that no one even sat near him?"

"Not that I can recall."

"Are you certain?"

"I'm . . . . wait, someone sit down next to him. No one I know. He order beer and a shot. He drink them both fast and leave, so fast that I forget about him."

"Did this man talk to Mr. Fat?"

"Maybe a word or two when the man sit down. I hear nothing. Man only in here for two or three minutes. He leave ten spot on the bar and run out."

"What can you tell me about this other man?"

"Not much. Short, skinny. Not Chinese. Maybe Cambodian or Vietnamese."

"Could you see Mr. Fat's taxi from the bar?"

"No."

"You've been most helpful, thank you."

McCall left and drove to the spot where Mickey had been hit. His cell phone rang as he drove. Jimmy passed on the findings of the police to date.

"Cab had been hot wired. Cops have no leads. Absent further evidence are going to treat it as an accident."

"The basis for that decision would be what?"

"Cops figure the guy stole the cab, accidentally hit Mickey, panicked, ditched the evidence and ran. You want us to pressure them to look harder?"

"I think we would do better to handle this internally."

"It will be difficult to get Control's attention with one foot out the door and not much to go on."

"Try. I shall continue my inquiries in any event."

McCall called Control after hanging up with Jimmy.

"Look, Robert, an unidentified Asian who glanced him with a car is not much to go on. You know his history. Mickey did two tours in 'Nam. After he made SEAL, there were more visits to Nam and Cambodia, all classified. Then there was the Mayaguez fiasco."

"I remember that all too well -- the end of Mickey's naval career and the beginning of his time with the Company."

"Mickey wasn't back in Asia again until the mid eighties when the Khmer Rouge threatened Thailand," Control said.

"If this act was by someone from those ancient times, I doubt the perpetrator would have only tried to wound Mickey. Mickey in the trenches, well, let's just say that even I remain wary of that persona. Can you not find anything in his records which might suggest a possibility from later, much later?"

"How about when you two got involved with that kidnapped boy in Chinatown? You left a bloody mess behind."

"Mickey wasn't even involved until the end. It seems unlikely."

"Mickey blew away a bunch of thugs, Robert. Even thugs have family."

"Then have someone check on it. Focus on any who are Vietnamese or Cambodian, but get me all the possibilities. Maybe one of them lived."

"Robert, there's only so much I can allocate to this."

"Then just send me the bloody information and I'll look into it."

"I thought you'd never ask."

"It is what you intended all along."


"The files will be at your apartment by late afternoon. By the by, Robert, I'm hoping for something more memorable than a watch from you."

"Bugger off," Robert said as he hung up.

Robert made another call. "This is Robert McCall. I need to ask a favor." Ten minutes later, a wiry teenage boy met him at the scene of the accident. "My, my! Look how you've grown!"

"Thanks to you and Mr. Kostmayer."

"It was our pleasure, Vincent," McCall acknowledged to the young boy mistakenly kidnapped many years earlier.

"So what do you need?"

"Mr. Kostmayer was injured here yesterday. I hope that people here will speak more freely to you than me. I want to find out more about what happened. Particularly I would like to identify the driver of the taxi."

"I can help, no problem."

Vincent made the questioning go smoother and faster, but no one, it seemed, saw or heard anything more useful than the original witness. Facing a dead-end, McCall and Vincent worked backwards. They walked toward the subway exit two blocks earlier where Mickey emerged. If Mickey had been targeted, chances are the cab followed him for a while until the right opportunity arrived. The subway would be the starting point.

Vincent and McCall interviewed all the shopkeepers by the subway exit. One recalled a cab that lingered that evening.

"In front of restaurant, the no parking zone, taxi sat the other night. Take-out customers always park there. We run food out to them. Customers come in and complain. I shoo taxi away but he not leave until I threaten to call cops. Then he back five minutes later. I almost call cops, but he leave before I go back out again."

Unfortunately, the shopkeeper had no better description of the driver than the bartender. McCall sent Vincent home. "Thanks for your help, Vincent."

"Is that all I can do?"

"For now. Tell your mother I send my regards."

"You tell Mr. Kostmayer that we wish him a speedy recovery."

"I will do that. Take good care. I may find I need your help again soon."

"Anytime."

McCall returned to his car. He called Mickey on the way. "How do you feel?"

"Like leaving here."

"What is the opinion of the doctors in this regard?"

"I'm free to go this afternoon."

"I shall pick you up."

"That's okay. Jimmy can take me."

"No, I require your assistance. I shall be there."