3
Harvey glared at his phone. He'd seen the kid leave the building at a little past 10am-that had been two hours ago. He rolled his eyes in disdain. He really hoped the kid wasn't taking his sweet time empathizing with the lady. Surely it didn't take him two hours to get a statement to build the case. He needed him here, helping him with their pseudo lawsuit case! "Donna, where's Mike?" he called out to his secretary, instead of just pressing the button that could connect them.
Donna looked back at him and shrugged in her seat. "I wasn't aware I was his babysitter."
Harvey sighed. This whole thing with lateness was becoming far too frequent. He'd tried the kids' cell twice already, and nothing.
Meanwhile, Mike wondered what on Earth he'd done to spur Gods' wrath today. He'd pulled an all-nighter, got hit by a minivan, his bike was trashed, he'd had both his boss and Louis reprimand him, Harvey had tossed him another one of his pro bono cases, which had gotten him dragged into a home invasion, and now he was sitting here, telling the cops anything he could remember about the men who'd held them captive.
A paramedic came over to examine his shoulder. The brown-haired woman tsked, reminding him of Donna for a brief moment, "You're very lucky this was just a graze, but it's pretty deep, so we'll have to get you to the hospital for stitches." she deduced, motioning him inside the ambulance.
Mike nodded, still a little shell-shocked. He should have expected to get shot.
Lucy, Hayleys ten year-old daughter, the older one of the two, had gotten a cheap pre-paid cell phone only recently, to make emergency calls to her mom if ever needed. Completely overwhelmed, both mother and daughter had forgotten this fact, and the fact that the men hadn't searched either of the small girls for anything, thinking they were too young to be of hindrance. Once they had realized it, though, they immediately dialed 9-1-1. After dispatch had sent cops to the house, the woman on the phone had spoken to them for a little longer, telling them to stay calm and that the police were on their way.
Unfortunately, it was at that time that the man standing outside the door chose to check in on them personally, and saw the phone in the girls hand, as she hung up and was in the motion of putting it back in her pocket. Grabbing Lucy by the hair, he took out his gun, which was as far as he got, when Mike barreled into the man, at least twice his size and eighty pounds heavier. Mike was more surprised than anyone someone with his small frame had been able to hold his own with the masked version of hulk for as long as he did. They wrestled for the gun, struggling for a good minute, before it went off, and Mike felt a sharp hot white pain lance up his arm and pin itself on his shoulder.
It was a damn good thing that at that point, two armed policemen barged in, guns raised, yelling "Drop the weapon scumbag!"
Mike had thought briefly it was just like in the movies, as he'd pressed a shaky hand against his bloody shoulder. Oh, and his suit was ruined. Like it hadn't been bad enough ruffled from the bad weather conditions that morning, now there was a gaping hole in the shoulder sleeve and blood stained the expensive fabric. He really didn't care what Harvey said. Five hundred dollar suits were totally expensive!
He looked at his watch, as his shoulder was bandaged properly, the doctor impressed swooning over his heroics-although he didn't think of it as such, seeing as how if the cops hadn't gotten there when they did, he would have been a goner, and-Mike shook his head, tried not to think about it. It was half past 12 o clock. Mike couldn't believe it. Hell had rained down on him all day and it hadn't even been a full day yet! It was only noon.
The doctor had written her number on his hand, with her name and a little heart next to it, before Mike left. He'd been far too distracted by this awful day to notice this or any of her previous flirting, however.
Mike took another taxi home, aware of all the money he was spending, and changed clothes, wondering if Donna knew how to get blood off suits...
Now that he had his cell phone back from the police, he realized he hadn't checked it at all, not until it started vibrating in his back pocket. He answered it without looking at the screen. "Hell-"
"Where the hell have you been? You would think a simple pro bono case like the one I handed you almost four hours ago would have been settled by now. Get your ass to the office in five minutes or you're fired." Without letting Mike get a word in egde wise, Harvey hung up on him.
Mike sighed profoundly. "Yes Harvey, no, I'm totally fine, I didn't get run over this morning, and no, Harvey, shot? Don't be silly." he was beginning to think maybe he was over reacting about the whole thing in general. Usually things like getting run over or shot alone would have people left and right trying to make you feel better and offering some kind of comfort. But, Mike thought, it's not like he'd gotten shot anywhere vital, the bullet had only grazed his arm, and it's not like any bones had been crushed when he'd gotten run over that morning either. All he was, really, was just extremely sore and tired and...hungry. Yes, definitely hungry.
His stomach growled loudly just then. He hadn't eaten since yesterday, during his short lunch break, wherein he'd devoured a chilli hotdog and gulped down a can of Pepsi. His phone vibrated again and he looked at it this time, it was a text from Harvey. He opened it and it read: Three minutes and counting.
Mike groaned. He'd eat later. He closed his cell, shoved it into his pocket, took his keys, and called for yet another taxi.
"You were due here twelve minutes ago, which is being generous since-did you change suits?" Harvey raised a brow. "Please don't tell me you went home to change suits in the middle of a work day."
"I thought I was a representation of you, and if I don't look-"
"Okay, genius, there's such a thing as having a spare suit somewhere in the office. All the other little associates were smart enough to realize this their second day, Mike." Harvey twirled a pen in his fingers and rolled his eyes for what had to be the umpteenth time that day.
Mike was absolutely miserable, and tired of being treated like this. Today was not his day. "Don't you even want to know why I was late this morning or why I had to go home and change suits?" he asked, desperately hoping someone in this place cared enough to question him on his disheveled appearance. It was times like these he really missed his grandmother.
"Did I ask?"
"No."
Harvey smirked, "So there's your answer, kiddo." then he got serious, "Now, do something to redeem yourself today, and get those briefs for the case done in an hour or clear out your desk for someone who can actually do their job properly."
Mike didn't bother responding, just walked out of the senior partners spacious office, past Donnas desk, and sunk into his desk. Today seriously could not get any worse. Mike tried not to be cliche' about the whole thing, but really, what else could possibly go wrong?
So, of course, the Lord almighty took this as a challenge.
Kyle Durant, Louis' protege associate, maneuvered his way over to Mikes desk. "Hey Ross, heard you got reamed out by both partners in one morning-twice. Kudos on that."
"Funny, I thought we weren't in high school anymore." Mike said dryly, rolling his eyes, so not in the mood to deal with this Harvard douche bag, as Harvey liked to call the better part of the associates.
"Ooh, someones' testy." Kyle continued to tease, "Somebody just a little down about not being Harveys favorite for the day?"
If punching people in the workplace weren't so damned frowned upon, Mike would have taken a swing at the cocky S.O.B right then and there. "Don't you have some work to do?"
"Not as much as you have to catch up on, apparently." Kyle snorted, and left his desk, deciding he'd bothered the associate enough for one day.
Mike sighed. How was it that being held hostage by men with loaded guns seemed just a little bit more pleasant right now than being in a room full of people who seemed damned intent on making his life miserable?
A half hour later Mike was done with the briefs, a personal best, and, his stomach growling more noticeably now, he went up to buy a bag of chips in the break room. He was starving. In the past half hour no one had talked down to him, yelled at him, mocked him, or tried to kill him, so as far as he was concerned, the day was starting to look up.
When the machine ate his dollar, Mike told himself, it's no big deal, things like that happened all the time. When Kyle came over to the machine next to him and conveniently happened to place an 'Out Of Order' sign on the machine, smirking very deliberately at him, Mike could have set him on fire, pushed him down a flight of stairs and beat him with a tire iron. "Really? Seriously? You took the sign off the machine and waited here for someone to lose a dollar to it, just for the hell of it? What do you even get paid for here?"
Kyle just kept right on with that smug smirk. "Not just anyone, Ross. You."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Mike narrowed his eyes at the man.
"Awe, Harveys puppy having a bad day?" he mocked.
Mike closed his eyes for a second, breathed. "Leave me alone."
Kyle rolled his eyes, "Look Ross, I have better things to do than stand around here talking to the likes of you all day, I just came by to tell you Louis wanted you to look through some papers up in storage and report back ASAP." the chronie informed him, leaving before Mike could say much else.
Food forgotten for the moment, the associate dragged himself upstairs, wincing as his leg once again nearly buckled beneath him. When he reached the floor of the storage room, he wondered what on earth Louis wanted with files from the 70s' and why he'd sent him and not one of his own-Mike stopped himself there, reminding himself out loud "Oh yeah, he frigging' hates you."
As soon as he stepped foot inside the very cramped storage space, boxes piled high as the eye could see, he noticed how dusty the room was. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and it there were windows in this Godforsaken room, where sunlight was let in, he bet you could've seen the dust particles floating in the air quite easily.
As he was entering, he felt rough hands push him into the room, and winced when it jarred his shoulder, and he stumbled and fell next to one of the boxes. "Have fun, Ross." a very familiar voice said, two others chuckling with it, as the door slammed shut, and he heard the finality of a click resound.
Try as he may, the door wouldn't budge open, and of course he'd left his cell phone on his desk. Of freaking course.
Mike held his injured shoulder and sat on the floor and wondered if this day could be made a holiday. Everybody Hate Mike Day, meh, he'd get more original with the name later, work out all the kinks. He got up and started knocking on the door, calling out for help, knowing it would be a good while before anyone came all the way up to storage. This floor of the building was usually deserted on most days.
A half hour later, he was still knocking on the door, now coughing in between every few pounds. He'd had chronic asthma as a child, and even through high school, but hadn't had an attack in years. But with all this dust slowly filling his lungs, and not a single window to crack open, he could tell he was on the verge of having one. His chest getting heavier, he struggled to breath. His arm was more sore than it had been, and he could feel blood soaking through the clothe of his jacket, and knew that that shove inside the storage room had torn his stitches.
Awesome. Two ruined suits in one day. Three life-threatening experiences so far-four if you counted the encounter with Louis that morning, and he did.
Mike loosened his tie, coughed, gasped for air.