Chapter 9
To be fair, sneaking out hadn't been on the top of Mike's to-do list. It had been there, no doubt, but not at the top. His mind kept telling him it was a bad idea, was asking for trouble, and yet there was this tiny part of his brain, somewhere near where he felt the pull of memories, that told him he needed to go home. It had something to do with Grammy, and he spent a good portion of time trying to figure out what at his apartment could possibly have to do with Grammy.
Grammy was dead. She was gone, and Mike couldn't even remember when or how. It hurt. It hurt so bad, and all alone in Harvey's house, he mourned. He wanted drugs. He wanted pain meds. He wanted alcohol. He wanted anything to make him feel less. But nothing was available to him. He could go buy drugs, but what about Harvey? Harvey said no drugs. Well screw Harvey! No, wait. Harvey was right. Drugs had never moved Mike to a good place. In fact they almost got him arrested... again.
Alcohol. Harvey had one bottle of beer left – a bud light with lime, something much too common to be found in this fancy fridge – and two bottles of scotch in a cabinet that looked way too expensive for Mike to even consider touching. Harvey must never get sick or get headaches either because there wasn't one tiny pill of Tylenol or Advil or anything in the house.
If Grammy was gone, what about all her things? Where would they have put her few books? Her jewelry? Her photographs?
And that's when Mike knew why he needed to go home. They would have given her things to Mike. Her things were at Mike's place. He checked the clock. Harvey would be home at eight, he'd said. It was five thirty. Mike could make it over and back with plenty of time before Harvey returned. He'd never have to know Mike left.
Grabbing his phone in case Harvey checked in on him, his wallet, and his keys, Mike hurried out of the house and down to the street. There was a cab already on the curb, and it made Mike thankful for rich people always needing rides.
Within twenty minutes, he was at his old place. He stopped outside the door, key in hand. Old place? He still lived here. Just because Harvey was letting him crash in his condo didn't mean this apartment wasn't exactly where he'd end up once his memories came back. There was no guarantee Harvey wouldn't put him back here before his memories came back either.
He slid the key into the lock and opened the door, part of him expecting to find someone inside – Trevor with a stolen key, the man with the gun from yesterday, his grandmother sitting in the dark – but there was no one.
He flipped on the lights to find everything where it was when he left – not the way he remembered it per say, but definitely where it had been when he'd come in with Harvey. It felt familiar in the way a room does when your parents don't touch anything while you're away at college, but it felt different, like an old photo or a model home.
The first thing he did was check his pantry, pulling out a bag of chips he wasn't surprised he still ate. He opened them and reached in for a handful as he continued to walk around. Grammy's things were here. He knew they were. Among the papers and books and magazines and clutter, he knew he'd find whatever it was he was looking for. But looking at the state of his apartment, the way it looked even in its organized state, he felt a twinge of apathy. Harvey's condo was a league away from this place. It was a whole different level. Mike had no problem with his apartment, had lived there for years, but Harvey didn't like Mike's place. He'd made that clear. Their homes were like representations of themselves. If Harvey didn't like his place, how could Harvey ever like Mike?
Mike shook his head. He wasn't here to realize why he never wanted to bring up his feelings with Harvey. He was here for Grammy. Moving into his room and ignoring the queasy feeling that rose up just like during his last visit, Mike scanned for any clue to where he would keep something precious, like Grammy's jewelry. He set the bag of chips on his mattress and went to his closet. In the top corner was a big blue box with a leather tie. He pulled it out and set it by the chips before opening it. Inside was a stack of old essays from before being kicked out of college for cheating. They all had large 100% marks on them or check marks or 10/10 for his one Intro to Law professor who never had anything worth more than 10 points. They were his best works.
He reached in and grabbed the stack as neatly as he could, pulling it out and revealing the there was more to the box than just papers. Under them was another, smaller box – his grandmother's jewelry box. This hadn't been here three years ago, but Mike had always thought it'd be a great place to hide things – under a stack of seemingly pointless papers. Turns out, he'd followed through on that idea.
A sigh of relief left him that he hadn't known was coming. The jewelry box was there and so were all the gems inside. He poked through them, remembering each time Grammy had worn them – the bear shaped one he'd gotten her the Christmas before he'd moved out, the long antique necklace with a sapphire she got from her second husband, the locket that was two inches in diameter that Mike had given her four weeks ag-... Mike frowned. Four years ago. It only felt like four weeks. After that memory dump of his first case with Harvey, he knew time had passed... a lot. But he couldn't help still feeling like he was back in time.
Mike sighed sadly this time and hooked the locket around his neck. He couldn't take all of Grammy's things with him to Harvey's place, but he could take the one with a picture of the two of them in it. Just knowing the rest of it was safe was enough for him. He put everything else back, locked it up, and hid it back under his essays. He was just setting it back in the closet when his phone rang.
Shit. Harvey was checking on him.
Except it wasn't Harvey. It was an unknown number.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Mike! You're really okay!"
Mike's eyes narrowed as he glared at the closing closet door. "Trevor," he replied bluntly.
Mike wouldn't say he was a dumb person or a gullible man, but when your no-good ex-best friend pops back up on the map after going missing for over two weeks and he's the only clue you have to what the hell happened to you... you agree to meet him no matter how pissed you are at him.
The cab stopped on the corner of East 42nd Street and Park Avenue, just outside of Grand Central. As he got out of the cab, Mike checked his watch. Half past six. He'd give Trevor until seven, but then he was going back to Harvey's. He didn't trust Trevor as far as he could throw him right now. He'd switch cabs on the way back to make sure he wasn't followed.
He slipped the cab fare in through the window and told the old man driving to keep the change – which would amount to eighty three cents, and Mike didn't care enough about eighty three cents. As he stood back up, he slipped Grammy's locket under his shirt and zipped up his jacket. For one thing, Trevor had teased him in the past for wearing women's jewelry, and for another, he wasn't about to invite Trevor to steal it. He knew Trevor was always looking to make some quick cash, and that was the old Trevor. This Trevor was even more rash.
Trevor was waiting across from the station, leaning against the crosswalk sign in front of the glowing Pershing Square sign. For a moment, Mike slipped his hand in his pocket, around his phone, and debated calling Harvey. Harvey would be great back up, but he'd probably be pissed Mike was putting himself in potential danger. Harvey hated Trevor. If he came, he'd probably cause a scene or just make Trevor so angry that Mike wouldn't get any information out of him... They used to be friends. Maybe Mike could still use that leverage.
When Trevor saw Mike coming, he pushed off his post and waved, a friendly smile on his face. But Mike wasn't smiling, and Trevor dropped his grin a bit by the time they were in front of each other.
"Mike," he started. "I'm glad you're okay."
"Cut the crap, Trevor. Where have you been?" Mike stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced around, wary of a potential ambush despite the public location.
Trevor sighed. "I really am glad you're okay. I know you blame me, but at least I took you to the hospital afterward, right?"
"You left me in a ditch and hoped they found me," Mike corrected, eyes snapping back to his old friend. "And I'm not okay, so answer the question. Where have you been?"
"Not o-... I've been hiding! Like you should be. I knew they didn't have anyone at the hospital who could get to you, but then you get out and you just go back to work? What, you think they'd just leave you alone?" Trevor was glaring at Mike now, but his attempt to keep his voice from being too loud told Mike he didn't want company. This wasn't an ambush then.
"I didn't think anything, Trevor," Mike snapped. "I don't even know what they want. Don't you understand? You left me half dead in a ditch, bleeding from my head, and you thought I'd just wake up okay?" He took his hands from his pockets and held them up, presenting himself to Trevor. "I can't even sleep right anymore. I haven't been to my apartment in weeks. I can hardly remember that night."
"You don't remember being hit by a car?" Trevor asked skeptically. He was keeping his cool better than Mike, but Mike knew Trevor. Trevor was just as angry with Mike as Mike was with Trevor.
"Barely!" Mike took a deep breath to calm down and lower his voice. "All I remember is pain and fear and you standing on the sidelines, letting it all happen as though you were one of them – just another monster with a metal baseball bat or a knife or hell, maybe you were the one driving the car."
"Mike!" and at least Trevor had the decency to sound offended.
"Why are you in hiding, Trevor?" Mike asked, cutting off any further complaints.
Trevor frowned, his forehead hard. "I didn't want to die too," he huffed and Mike eyes narrowed. "I thought they had literally murdered you, Mike, and I told them I'd get rid of the body but really I put you in front of a hospital as some last ditch effort to help you live and then I ran off and hid so I wouldn't be the next body. Are you happy now? You know the truth."
"Not quite," Mike said. He was so angry right now, so upset that this man he'd once called a friend had become such a beast. He couldn't understand why Trevor would ever let people do that to him. How could Trevor just stand by and watch it happen?
"My phone's been off so they can't track it. That's why I called you from the payphone. The car belonged to Jones. He's the one who hit you, not me. I used the car to drop you off by the hospital and then I left it on their turf so they'd get it back. I've been hiding out in a God damned motel for nearly three weeks with rats for roommates. Are you trying to get enough to arrest me for something? What else do you want to know, Mike?" Trevor threw his arms out to the side in exasperation and growled.
"What do they want from me?" Mike asked. Now Trevor was the one who looked angry and Mike had the composer.
"What do they-" Trevor laughed ironically. "The damn account number, Mike. They're like the mob. They want their money."
"Why would I have the account number for a someone's money?" Mike asked. This didn't make any sense. He'd never had a run-in with any mob, not even the drug chain people Trevor worked for. He only ever dealt with the pawns, the ones selling weed hidden in newspapers on the corner by the hot dog cart.
Wait. What?
"Nicole accidentally gave it to me and I on purpose gave it to you, but I don't know what you did with it. Believe me, though, if I'd known what it was, I would have given it right back. To hell if she was married when we did it. Her fiancé can't be as bad as her dad." Trevor ruffled up his already tousled hair with both hands.
"Well I don't know where it is, or I'd give it to you," Mike said.
"Really? Cause you were pretty adamant about not giving it up that night, and you knew exactly where it was. Now you're the liar. Why don't you just give the damn thing to me and I can give it to Rourke so we can both stop hiding?" Trevor suggested.
"I told you I don't know where it is," Mike repeated. He was getting a headache.
"Mike," and Trevor's voice was gentle. He reached out for Mike, but Mike jerked away violently. "Mike." Less gentle now. "Just tell me where you hid it and I can make this all go away."
"Tell them where it is, Mike!"
"I remember," Mike said, voice low and dark. Trevor looked excited for a moment, and Mike felt his blood run cold with poison. "I remember your face that night – nothing but shadows, and not an ounce of fear on it. If you want anything from me – you'll have to do better than killing me next time."
"You're an asshole," Trevor growled out. "You don't trust me. I get it. But believe me on this – either you give it to me or they're going to come take it from you... and you don't want to be around when they do."
"Who the hell are they, Trevor?" Mike asked, balling his hands into fists and hiding them in his pockets so he wouldn't actually punch Trevor in the middle of the street.
"Exactly who they seemed to be," Trevor answered. "Surries." He took a step backward, taking his eyes off Mike for the briefest of moments. He looked too serious, too angry, to pass as an innocent bystander to anyone who took the time to look, but he was making his retreat – Mike could tell. "Just get the hell off the streets until you get your head out of your ass, Mike. Give up the account info or next time you really will be dead."
Trevor turned then, morphing into a crowd almost instantly, and Mike was surprised how quickly he lost sight of his ex-friend.
He felt too tense, too pent up, too full of information he didn't understand, and he wanted to punch something and shout out loud and fall to the ground and cry like a kid on his grandmother's lap. But then the crowd shifted and he saw Harvey leaning on the side of the overpass, staring at him as though saying "I know you're dumb, but that's okay." Mike let out a huge sigh, the tension rolling out of his shoulders and he walked over to his boss.
He should probably be worried Harvey would be pissed, but he wasn't. Harvey wasn't wearing his disappointed face. If fact, he was holding out a pretzel for Mike, and Mike didn't even care where he got it from, because Harvey was here of all places.
"Sorry," Mike said, taking the pretzel. Harvey shrugged, and Mike knew he wouldn't want to scream anymore once they got home.
Harvey motioned over his shoulder and popped a piece of salted goodness into his mouth. "Come on."
"You're not mad?" Mike asked, following behind.
"Of course I am. You went out without me. Not only that, you met with Trevor of all people. What were you gonna do if he pulled out a gun or a god damn crowbar? It was more risk than it was worth... but I'm also not a child. I'm not going to hold it against you any longer than you deserve. Did you find out anything from him?" Harvey asked.
"Surries," Mike answered, tearing his pretzel in half and biting down on one side.
"Speak English," Harvey ordered. He stopped by the town car and opened the door. "Other side," he told Mike.
Mike groaned but did as he was told. "They're a drug gang Trevor used to sell for. Their boss is Lawrence Surry, so the gang members are called Surries," Mike explained. The car pulled away from the curb. "I've never met any of them. Trevor only ever told me about them."
"So what do they want from you?" Harvey looked across the car at Mike. "I mean, I assume you're bringing them up because they have something to do with your attempted murder."
Mike pretended the anger in that last statement was aimed at the Surries and not at him. "Yes." He nodded. "Trevor says I have the bank account information for one of their stashes... which is ridiculous. I don't have anything like that."
"He probably told them you had it," Harvey grunted, looking forward. He shifted in his seat, unease in his shoulders. It was so different from the calm Mike felt at seeing Harvey on that street corner.
Mike frowned and looked at his pretzel, held in his lap. "You know... when I see you, Harvey, I get this... rush of relief. I feel stable around you, like we're two pieces of a puzzle that fit together. Like we can do anything as long as we do it as a team." He looked up at Harvey to find the older lawyer staring back at him with an expression as though Mike had slapped him. "But you don't feel like that around me, do you?"
"What?" The hurt look left Harvey's eyes and was replaced by simple confusion. Mike had knocked him off his game.
"When you see me, you always get tense or sad looking. You feel responsible for me, but... You make me relaxed but I'm just stressing you out, aren't I?" Mike frowned deeper. "You can drop me back at my apartment, you know? I don't want to distract you from work or life or anything."
And it hurt. He'd admit it. Harvey's avoidance of Grammy wasn't the only thing Mike had noticed. Harvey never breathed easy around him, never relaxed completely... except for that one time in bed. He was always thinking so hard, his shoulders always so tight. He frowned a lot when he looked at Mike, especially when he thought Mike couldn't see him.
It hurt because Mike remembered how much he liked Harvey, remembered the ache from his memory of the party, how much he wanted Harvey to want him too. He wanted Harvey to think of him as an equal, a partner,... something more. But Harvey was so different from Mike. He was so much more serious. He was a businessman.
"Mike," Harvey said, drawing Mike from his thoughts. He looked guilty now. It radiated off every plane in his face. "I am responsible," he said. "Despite whatever's going through that genius brain of yours right now, I have to keep you safe. I need to... I want to." He spoke quietly, as though he were afraid of being overheard. "You are my work and life... No wait. That came out wrong." He stopped to grumble. "What I'm trying to say is... I failed you, Mike. You got hurt, and I need to fix it."
Mike took a deep breath and tried to quell the fluttering feeling in his chest. This defensive side of Harvey, the side that felt like it was protecting Mike... Mike had to admit, it felt good. It felt... hot. He shook his head. Now was not the time to be aroused.
"We are a team," Harvey stated clearly, his voice strong. "I'm here for you, whether you accept that or not."
"I know," Mike said. "I just don't want you to feel obligated."
Night fell quickly. They ordered a pizza for dinner because Mike apparently made an offhand comment once that it was his go-to food for lazy nights. It didn't feel like a lazy night, but Harvey was the boss. Mike was buzzing. He told Harvey everything that happened between him and Trevor and then had to explain why he hadn't called Harvey first.
After their long discussion about Surries and Trevor, Harvey told Mike to go to bed. They both needed to sleep. Mike shrugged and agreed, but he didn't much want to go to bed. He went through the motions – changing his clothes, brushing his teeth, whatever – but he just laid in bed, staring at the ceiling afterward.
Surries. No wonder they'd been so violent. Trevor always told Mike how he walked on eggshells around them, not wanting to push any wrong buttons. They were dangerous. That's why Trevor didn't work for them very long. But according the calendar, that was... four years ago when Trevor broke it off with that group. Why were they only showing up now? Why would Trevor tell them Mike had anything of theirs?
The door to the room opened, drawing Mike's attention, and Harvey slowly stepped inside. He shut the door by leaning back against it. For a long moment, the two just stared at one another in the dim lighting. Mike's heart hummed.
"Harvey," he said, voice too loud in the quiet. His own name seemed to wake the lawyer up, and he pushed away from the door. He moved calmly to the bed and knelt down on the edge. Mike shifted over, allowing Harvey room to lay down.
Mike watched Harvey for a moment, but the older man was facing up, eyes shut, so Mike eventually did the same. Harvey had come in of his own free will, he reminded himself. He hadn't asked Harvey to come... but here he was. Mike felt like his heartbeat was strong enough to shake the bed, and he worried Harvey could feel it. But Harvey didn't say anything or do anything, so it was all in Mike's head... at least most of the way.
Harvey doesn't like you, Mike told himself. Not in that way at least. Stop being a girl and go to bed.
But now he was filled with an entirely different nervous energy. Before it was the gang and Trevor, but now it was Harvey. It was all of them, running around playing tag in his brain, and he needed them to stop, wanted them to all quiet down, but they just got louder. Trevor's face in the darkness, Trevor's face when Mike revealed knowledge of his social security number. Harvey face when he blew away Mike's worries and said he'd protect Mike, Harvey's face when he stopped a potential panic attack and promised Mike no one would find out he was a fraud. Rachel in the doorway, telling him Grammy was dead, like the police officers who told you that you could never go home again.
Fingers found his hand in the dark, slipped over his slightly curled fist and forced their way in. Mike's heart calmed just a bit, his thoughts focused on those fingers. Harvey's fingers maneuvered their way between Mike's, until Harvey was holding Mike's hand under the blanket. It felt so intimate, clouding Mike's mind so there was no room for fear.
"You're safe here, Mike," Harvey whispered in the dark, and Mike wasn't sure if Harvey knew he was still awake. It made Mike wonder if maybe his heart really had beat too loudly, if maybe he'd made some sign of discomfort... or if maybe Harvey just wanted to hold his hand.
He smiled at the ceiling. He did feel safe. Unbelievably safe. And all those voices and faces had leveled out into a steady sea instead of the torrent from before. His gripped Harvey's hand, a silent thank you, and took a slow, deep breath.
He took a second breath. Then a third. He imagined sinking into his pillow in the stillness of his room, slipping away into a delicate and comfortable darkness, and felt the edges of his mind blur with the promise of sleep.
When he rolled his bike through his apartment door, he already knew trouble would be waiting for him. The lock had been picked, but he had a pretty good idea of who did it. And when Mike stepped over the threshold, none other than Trevor was sitting on his couch... watching sports.
"Haven't we done this already?" Mike asked, anger already seeping into his gut.
"Yeah." Trevor stood up, switching off the TV as he did. "But this time it's gonna be a little different."
From his bedroom, a man stepped out. His hair was black and buzzed. His lips were chapped and he had rough spots on his hands Mike could see from the across the room. In his hand was a metal bat.
"What did you do now?" Mike asked, fear squishing out the anger inside him. Someone bumped him from behind, forcing him entirely into the apartment. It was a skinny black guy with his hair back in a ponytail. "Trevor, what did you do!?"
"Nothin you can't fix," Trevor answered. He stood up and held a hand to halt the guy with the bat. "Hang on, Larry. I'll get it out of him."
"No," Larry with the bat spat back. "I'll get it out of him."
He moved forward and the black guy shifted around in front of Mike as well. It left the door open, but Mike doubted he'd be able to run fast enough to escape anyway.
"Where is it?" Larry asked.
"Where's what?" Mike asked, squaring his shoulders, trying to look bigger. Trevor smirked and shook his head in the background. He probably recognized Mike's defensive stance from every other fight he got them into.
"The microSD card with all our money on it," the black guy answered, and his voice was higher than Mike would have imagined. "Trevor said you've got it."
"Well Trevor's a backstabbing liar, so-," Mike started, but Larry intervened. He moved quickly into Mike's space, knuckles meeting Mike's cheekbone. The only reason Mike didn't stumble and fall was his grip on his bike. It stung though, and he could taste the first signs of copper on his tongue.
Larry shook out his hand and stepped back. "Listen, I don't have time for you. Let me explain. My sister was in charge of hiding the card. She kept it on her at all times. A couple years ago, your lousy friend here nicked it from her."
"She dropped it," Trevor offered up.
"Shut up, Trevor," Larry snarled, never taking his eyes off Mike. "Swear, you never can keep your trap shut." They were dangerous eyes. While they watched him, Mike had no chance at running. "Anyways, Clap Trap says he gave it to you. She kept it in her necklace."
"Well the only necklaces I've got are my grandmother's." Mike's voice hid a wince. Speaking moved his cheek and hurt, confirming the fact that something on the inside had been cut open. His whole cheek was going to swell up. He just knew it.
"Any of those a locket?" Larry asked, annoyance creeping in. "And don't try anything funny, Mike. Trevor told us about your lawyer butt buddy. We've watched you long enough. He ain't nowhere in the area and you ain't gonna stop us with some lawsuit."
Mike swallowed heavily. "Look. I've got a locket, but I'm telling you there's no SD card in it. It's got a photo of my grandmother and me in it." Mike gripped his bike's handle in one hand and the seat in the other.
"I'll be the judge of that. Give me the necklace." Larry held out his hand, a fading handprint in its place on the bat.
"No," Mike said, taking a step back. The black guy moved a step forward to match it, but Larry motioned for him to wait. "It's not yours."
"I'll decide if it's mine or not. Now hand it over." This time Larry took a step forward.
"I'm not going to do that," Mike replied, taking a matching step back. The necklace wasn't what they wanted. But it was real gold, so he didn't doubt they'd take it anyway.
Larry swung the bat out and took out a plaster lucky cat Mike had won in Chinatown. Mike swallowed heavily and did his best not to squirm.
"You can tear this place apart. You're not going to find it." Maybe he shouldn't be challenging them, but he couldn't help it. He was playing defense.
"Oh we already did," Larry huffed out and smiled something wicked. "Went through all the drawers and shit. But in case things go bad tonight, we didn't want someone thinking you went out in a robbery... so Trevor helped us put everything back."
"Thanks, bud," Mike said with a sneer at Trevor. "But you'll never find it, and it's not yours."
"You're going to tell me where it is, Ross. You're going to tell me where you hid it or I'm going to break each of your fingers until you do," Larry threatened, voice rising in his anger at being opposed. The cold fear in Mike's gut was a tidal wave and he was getting sea sick.
"Just give it to them, Mi-" Trevor said, and Larry's growl drowned out the end of his sentence.
Larry spun on him. "Trevor, again? I swear to Jesus, if you don't hold your tongue, I'm gonna fuckin rip it out! Do you get me?"
Trevor was agreeing, but Mike wasn't waiting. He backed up out the door and was at the stairs before he heard the first shout of complaint. The black guy rounded on the stairs first, but Mike was already at the bottom and pushing out the building's doors.
Where could he go? No question about it. He'd go to Harvey's. It wasn't that far, and he could avoid traffic with his bike. Harvey lived in a nice place, so they wouldn't risk violence there. Plus Harvey would know what to do. He'd come up with a plan. They'd come up with something together – find a way to end this in a civil way and not a way that ended up with Mike being beaten with a bat.
Mike was riding past the alley one block down when he heard the tires squeal from down in the darkness. The Corvette connected with Mike full on. The only part it didn't catch was the back wheel of the bike. Then Mike was in the air, bike disengaging from his body and collapsing to the ground. Mike hit the asphalt and slid until he was almost on the other side of the street. His whole side and back burned through his suit. Shit. The suit.
The Corvette rolled forward toward him, its headlights illuminating him. It was the only car moving on the entire block. Mike's bike was in front of it, but it just rolled over the front wheel, bending it too far out of place to ever fix. As it bounced over the frame, a square of light shone underneath it, giving just enough glow to show Mike the car was blue before the lights blinded him.
He'd been hit by a damn car while escaping a gang. He'd curse his luck, but he had to get up and move first. He pushed himself halfway up before he dropped back down again. He hissed and squeezed his eyes shut. Pain came from everywhere on his side but mostly from his chest. Shit. No, he had to keep moving.
"Where'd you hide it, Ross?"
His gasped for air, his eyes springing open. Gravel bit into his cheek as he forced himself to roll over on the side of the street. His chest hurt so bad. He couldn't breathe right. Why couldn't he breathe? Please say he didn't have broken ribs. He could die from trying to breathe if he had broken ribs. He held his arm over his chest as though trying to keep his lungs from falling out.
The guy was a silhouette in the car lights, kneeling down to Mike on the asphalt, but Mike recognized Larry by his voice. Shit. The car belonged to Trevor's stupid gang. Larry lifted Mike's hand, the one not holding onto his throbbing chest, into his own.
"Tell me! Where did you put it?"
No. Mike shook his head. No he wouldn't give it to them. It wasn't theirs to take. The guy growled and jerked his hand. The sound was like a rubber pipe falling out of place, a sort of suction noise, but all Mike could hear was his own scream. Someone covered his mouth to block the cry. It was someone new, not from his apartment. Tears pricked Mike's eyes. The pain snapping through his every nerve was worse than anything he'd ever felt before.
"Tell them where it is, Mike!"
Trevor, his face lit up by the headlights and yet covered in shadows, moved around the edge of the pack. Was he sorry for this? Was that what Mike heard? Was Trevor feeling bad? It's too late for that, he wanted to scream, but he could barely manage whimpering. He thought of Harvey, imagined him stopping a situation with a pen and paper, imagined him stopping this situation too. Harvey could save him. Harvey could –
"No use holding out, Ross. No hot shot lawyers here to save you this time!"
Mike let out the most pathetic noise his body could produce as he spotted the glint of the metal bat being held in someone's gloved grip. The hand was still covering his mouth, another hand holding his arm to his aching chest. He couldn't move. It hurt too much.
"You've got about two minutes before I lose my temper."
The knife shone so bright in the night. Mike was dizzy with pain, and blood rushed to his head in fear. Even the rush of adrenaline through his veins wasn't enough to help him shake off the hands holding him down, and the knife was coming closer. So close.
The tip of the blade broke through the skin on his shoulder, and his plea was lost in the leather glove that sucked up anything he could possibly say. The pain ran down his shoulder, spreading quickly. The knife was sharp... which was both better and worse.
"What are you doing, man?!" Trevor's voice. Mike's head was swimming. He was panting through his nose and he could feel the blood oozing down over his shoulder, ruining the white of his shirt.
"Stay out of this unless you want me to do the same to you," Larry spat out. "Where did you put it, Mike?"
Mike tilted his head back, trying to free his mouth, trying to gasp for help. His finger burned. His shoulder burned. His side burned. His face burned. He was on fire! Burning. Burning fire. He choked, his body going into suffocating spasms until the hand was pulled away from his mouth and he could cough out his pain. It only caused more pain though, from his busted chest.
"Tell me where you hid it!" Larry yelled.
"You," Mike coughed out and then wheezed. Larry glared down at him, waiting expectantly. "You'll go to prison."
"Oh? You're going to find me when this is all over and send me to the slammer for assault and battery?" Larry asked, his tone nothing but a jeer. Mike coughed some more but nodded. Larry's expression darkened. "You really shouldn't have said that. I don't think you understand how this world works, Mikey."
The man who walked up with the bat was not the black guy from the apartment. Mike's chest felt like it might collapse if his heart beat any faster. Harvey, he kept thinking... kept praying. He had to get to Harvey... or to his phone.
"Jones," Larry addressed him. "Show Mr. Ross what we do to squealers."
The bat came down hard on his stomach. Blood came heavy from his mouth. Oh God. Mike gasped and curled in on himself. He rolled, making it onto his stomach, and wiggled, trying to crawl away. He kept thinking he just needed to get away from here, hide somewhere.
Someone stepped on him, squished him to the ground and he cried. He was in so much pain and yet so numb. He thought he felt the knife cut his hip, but it was burning from falling off his bike, so he couldn't tell. There was no escaping. He could feel it in the bruised part of his gut, in the sticky oozing wound on his shoulder. Even Trevor had shut up.
A kick to his knee. At least it wasn't the bat. The weight left his back. He tried to crawl again, but it was just pain in his chest and his stomach and his back. He turned his head and threw up - half blood and half his dinner in the office with Harvey. Fear clouded every sense that wasn't absorbed in pain.
Maybe he couldn't call for help, but maybe he could at least tell Harvey he was dying... tell him how much their relationship meant to him. Maybe he could confess his feelings before the end. He'd lost Grammy without apologizing, without telling her how much he loved her. Was he going to leave Harvey without telling him either?
"Alright, I've seen enough," Larry said. "Put him out of his misery. He's got nothin."
Mike was looking at the asphalt when it happened, when the bat connected with the left side of his head. He was imagining Harvey when he told him how he felt, imagining him smiling and telling him it was okay. Everything was okay. He was safe. Even if Harvey didn't like him back... he could imagine Harey's lips telling him he was safe there... with him. Not crying and bleeding in some side street of New York where no one had heard him being murdered.
And when Mike's eyes opened, waking him up from his memories to find himself in Harvey's condo, he didn't gasp or scream or whine. He took a silent, deep breath and squeezed Harvey's hand, which was still curled around his.
He rolled onto his side, which did not sting with asphalt burns, and set his face gently against Harvey's shoulder. He took another breath, this time of Harvey's shirt, and thought back to his final regret, to his final thoughts before the lights went out on what could have been his last night ever.
His next breath hitched, a sob clogging his throat but not escaping. He shifted his face, found a position that let him see their interlocked hands.
"I love you," he murmured. He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to cry. "I'm sorry..." He swallowed down the sticky feeling in the back of his throat. "I love you."
And at least if he got shot over all of this... He'd said it out loud.
Preview chapter 10:
In the dark of Mike's room, leaning against the door, he'd looked at Mike in bed and thought about how used to this he was becoming, how used to it he wanted to be. He'd stood there and breathed slowly. When Mike called out to him, he'd held his breath because...
Donna stood just outside. "Mike's here," she said, and if her serious tone wasn't enough, her raised eyebrows and slightly stunned expression were.
"You want me to stay?" Mike asked.
Mike was speaking as though none of this mattered, as though it hadn't traumatized him. How could he do that? He stood up suddenly and moved too close to be considered professional. "I know what they want."