He's back from the dead.
Gary watched from the the passenger seat of his van as Michael and a man he did not recognize walked across the apartment parking lot. Gary rubbed his eyes to make sure they weren't deceiving him. He'd watched Michael get rolled out of the Mailbu mansion on a stretcher.
He hadn't been moving. How was he here?
Gary waited for Michael to step through the parking lot gate before he pushed open his door. He quickly made his way across the lot and slid his own key into the entrance. He peeked an eye around the corner and saw the pair at the mailboxes.
Who checks their mail after being carted off on a stretcher?
"Thank you for waiting for me," a sweet voice said, causing Gary to jump.
He turned to see a little old lady behind him, holding two overflowing grocery bags. "After you, my lady," he pulled the gate open.
"Such a gentleman," she said, "Could you help me carry this, my place is on the first floor."
Gary took a peek through the gate and saw Michael still at the box.
"No," he responded.
Gary stayed at the gate as the old lady struggled up the sidewalk. Once the pair entered the building, Gary sprinted up the path, nearly knocking the lady to the ground. She yelled something at him, but he was halfway up the outside stairwell by the time she finished.
He pushed his key into the door and ran down the third-floor hallway. The elevator door opened around the corner as he fidgeted for his other key.
Come on, come on!
The door slammed shut behind him, and he turned to look through the peephole. Michael passed in front of him. He got a better look at the man. He had the body of an adult, but the face of a teenager. Not the type of person that Gary expected to work for the company. The man looked far too soft.
Gary wandered back into his empty living room. The previous renter had mysteriously disappeared a few months prior. Just so happened to be adjacent to Michael's own apartment. He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. He pulled the phone from his pocket and called the phone he'd planted in Michael's bedroom.
The phone rang twice before Michael answered, "How did you—"
"Harvey Sinclair, listen first. If I'm on speakerphone, take me off." Gary waited, "Does the man that's with you work for the company? Say yes or no."
"Yes."
"Is he in the room with you? Yes or no."
"No."
"Can he hear you?"
"No."
"Good. I need you to set the phone down and put a shoe in front of your closed bedroom door. I left a stereo on the dresser. Press play. When you're done, climb into your bed. If the man opens the door, hang up and hide the phone under the sheets. Do you understand? Yes or no."
"Yes."
"Say 'clear' when everything is set up. Now move."
Gary listened as the sheets rustled over the speaker. Chopin's Nocturne in E Flat began to play on the stereo. In less than a minute, the covers shifted again, and Michael reported, "Clear."
"Good. Where did they take you?"
"I'm not sure. I wasn't conscious."
Gary waited a moment, "Can you describe the location once you woke up?"
"I was in a large warehouse or business building. It was tall and wide. There were possibly a hundred workers all on the ground floor."
Gary paused a moment waiting for Michael to elaborate. He didn't. "Can you describe the scenery when you left. Trees, buildings, street signs?"
"Before we left, they blindfolded us, the workers, and put us on busses. They left us at the Coma Bart station in Daily City."
"How long was the drive, and do you know the direction you were moving?"
"I'm unsure, it felt long."
"How long?"
"One to three hours. No idea the direction."
This information didn't help Gary at all, that could mean anywhere from Marin to Monterey. "What does the company want with you?"
"I'm going to work for them. They didn't tell me what I would be doing."
Gary was surprised by how calm Michael was. He should be angry, irate even, not peaceful, collected, and rational. Something was terribly wrong.
"How much do they know about me?"
"Nothing, I told them nothing."
Gary bit his shirt to keep from yelling into the phone. The liar. They'd gotten to him. Of course Michael had told them about him. There was no reason not to. He hadn't blackmailed Michael. He hadn't done anything to intimidate. Not yet, at least. But what did this mean? Why would he cover it up? The company must've told him to cover it up, which could only indicate they believed Michael. They knew about him.
"Gary, are you there?" Michael said.
"Keep this phone when you get your assignment, call me."
"Where are you? Can we meet?" Michael continued. "I want out, and I think we can help each—"
Gary hung up.
He punched the wooden floor repeatedly and let out a yell. This wasn't the plan. He was supposed to follow Michael to the company, stake it out, and get Michael out. He hadn't anticipated any of this.
Now the company was trying to pull him out. Whatever they needed Harvey Sinclair for, they didn't want Michael, they wanted the real Harvey Sinclair. Why? What was the point of the contest? What did the company need a personal hitman for? He'd worked so hard to get a shot. He could leave it all behind. He knew he should leave it alone. Go downstairs to that rusty old van and drive, but he knew he wouldn't.
Gary licked his hand and pushed it through his hair. There were a few pros to this new situation; he was now the pawn. They'd have to draw him out. He dictated the circumstances. Michael was now the median between him and the company. Gary knew he couldn't keep Michael close anymore. No plans. No analyzing. All he could do was wait on Michael's call.
The games have begun.