It was the middle of the day by the time the red sedan pulled up outside the office. Save for three other cars parked out front, the parking lot was empty. Most people probably thought it was too hot to be out and about, and had decided to stay home.

Mike reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the pistol. It felt comfortable in his hand, as if he was born to hold it.

On the passenger side window the specks of blood and brain still remained from when he had shot the begging woman in the head. It was her own fault, Mike knew. If she had of just kept her mouth shut she could have been filing a report at a police station instead of lying face down on the road with a hole through her head.

Getting out of the car with a groan, Mike rubbed his shoulder where a broken piece of glass had pierced him when his car was hit. He had ripped it out soon enough, but not without a sting of pain. But now it would be the pain of others he would witness. The pain of Walter White and his family. But first, he had to find out where the bastard was. If he had at all common sense he would have left Phoenix the moment he blew up Gus.

As Mike walked up to the door of the office he fastened a silencer to the barrel of his gun and held it low by his side. He didn't know how many people might be inside.

He opened the door calmly and entered. Inside the waiting room, an air-conditioner hummed loudly on the wall, and the blinds were pulled down to keep the sun and heat from getting in. Much to Mike's luck, there was nobody in the seats waiting. Only the Mexican looking receptionist behind her desk could be seen in the room.

Never moving in more than a slow, deliberate pace, Mike walked over to the desk and gave the woman a hard stare before saying quietly, 'is Saul in?'

The receptionist looked up and seemed taken aback by his hard, cold stare. 'He is, uh, he's... in, yes, he's in his office right now, sir.'

Mike nodded, 'thankyou.'

As he turned and started walking to the large oak door, and raised the gun one handed and without looking fired a round straight into the woman's head. The gun let off a suppressed pow and the shell fell silently to the carpet. The receptionist's head snapped backwards and her body slumped lazily off the chair and onto the floor.

Mike was less quiet when he approached Saul's office. His foot slammed hard into the oak, splintering the door off its hinges and smashing it open. Without breaking pace Mike entered the room and raised the gun, now in both hands.

'Whoa whoa whoa!' came the shouts of Saul as he stood in surprise and backed away.

Mike walked further into the room and leveled the gun to Saul's head. 'Where is White?'

Behind his desk Saul looked scared and confused. 'Ehrmantraut?!' he exclaimed loudly.

'That's me, now talk!'

'I thought you were gone! I thought you left the country, or something. Walt told me-'

'Where - is - he?'

'What do you mean? Wouldn't he be at his house?'

'So he hasn't left?'

Goodman shook his head, 'no, not that I know of, just please don't shoot me, Mike, please!'

Before Mike could pull the trigger anyway, a door to the left swung open, catching his attention. Mike swung around to see Huel, his pants still unzipped, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

In his surprise, Mike wasn't the first to act. For a man as big as he was, Huel still had very good reflexes, and it was this that made him pull out his handgun from his waistband and raise it up to Mike's chest.

'No!' came Saul's shout, but to no avail.

The first round took Mike square in the chest, taking the air out of him and making him drop his gun. The second and third shots hit him in the neck and arm.

Blood squirting everywhere, Mike staggered back a few steps before collapsing onto his back, his last feeling one of nothingness. No pain. Nothing.