Friends and Family
Updated 2009-06-05 11:28:38
This rare set of previouslies makes me miss Victor all over again. So let's just get to the bit where Carla was killed by Fi with a sniper rifle, Michael met Management, and then jumped out of his helicopter over the ocean, miles from shore. And let's hope that we don't pick things up with Michael being asked for help by a desperate manatee.
Michael's made considerable progress toward land since we last saw him, I'm glad to say. Looks like he's only a few hundred yards out by now, although after three months in the ocean, he's got to be pretty pruney. As he slogs through the breakers towards a public beach, he VOs, "As an operative, you get used to being in uncomfortable situations. Whether it's resisting interrogation in a foreign prison, fighting guerilla forces in a tropical jungle, or swimming five miles to Miami Beach in your suit pants, it's just part of the job." No wonder he wants that job back so bad. During this speech, Michael struggles up onto the sand in his pants and wifebeater. He attracts some looks as he collapses next to a kid who looks over his sand castle at Michael with concern, VOing, "What's harder to get used to is going into a situation you don't know anything about. Just because you're exhausted and disoriented doesn't mean you can stop looking out for trouble." "Hi," he gasps to the young beach architect, and struggles to his bare feet. As he talks about non-obvious sources of potential danger, he's looking around at the people looking back at him, innocuous-seeming beachgoers. But by the time he reaches the sea wall, the list of harmless potential dangers is just wrapping up with this relevant item: "A cop that suddenly seems a little too interested in you." This just as Michael happens to notice a bicycle officer chatting with a squad car unit a short way up the path. They call out to him, and Michael starts running. What next, is he going to steal the cop's bike and make it a triathlon?
Michael runs through the park, threading through vendor booths and snagging a pink tourist t-shirt and a pair of cheap wraparound shades along the way. Well, he did leave his real sunglasses inside Management's helicopter. Ducking down an alley, he's soon inside a nearby hotel's back entrance, and while the bicycle cop calls for backup on his radio, Michael nonchalantly dons his new gear and blends in with the tourists in the hotel hallway. He soon finds a door marked "Utility Room" and grabs a fire extinguisher from the wall to bash the doorknob off, explaining, "The backbone of most hotel phone systems is secured by nothing more than a door and a cheap lock." Of course, Michael is soon past both. "Which makes them convenient for people who need to make quick, untraceable phone calls," he adds. Some maintenance guy left his phone repair kit hanging right there, and after snagging the handset from it and fiddling around with the wires inside the tiny switchboard for a minute, Michael's got a dial tone. You know, I used to work with a telephone wiring bank way bigger than that one and I have no idea what he just did.
The call rings through to Fiona's cell phone. She's hanging out at his loft, for some reason, listening to the police scanner. She dives for her phone, and while he scampers around the hotel's utility room collecting big jugs of chemicals for some nefarious purpose that probably isn't barbecue sauce, she asks how his helicopter ride went. "It looks like the people who burned me are going to leave me alone for now, anyway," he says, and thanks her for saving his life. She gracefully accepts, and tells him what she's been hearing on the police scanner. "You wouldn't happen to be at the MacAlpine Hotel, would you?" she asks. "The police think you're armed and dangerous." Armed with what? A spear gun? An electric eel? Dude just washed up out of the ocean three minutes ago. But the cops seem convinced, which would explain all the police cars Michael can now see and hear rolling up outside. He tells Fi he'll have to "find another way out," and something amazing happens: Fi advises caution. "Now is not the time to blast your way out of a building," she says. Who is this woman and what has she done with Fi? Or maybe she just doesn't want to miss any explosions. She tells him, "Talk to the cops now or get ready for a citywide manhunt." Michael agrees and asks her to call Sam to see what he can find out. Before hanging up to do so, she tells Michael, "I'm glad you're alive. Try to keep it that way." Which part, his being alive or her being glad about it?
Michael sighs, and by the time he gets to the art deco front exit of the hotel, the cops have cordoned off a rather small area outside, and have their weapons trained on him. I'm a little thrown by how competent the Miami cops just became on this show, but then I notice that they've strung the police tape in about a thirty-foot radius around the door, so if Michael were to come out shooting like they're clearly expecting, it'll quickly thin out the crowd of sightseers gathered around. Stepping outside, Michael VOs, "Just because you can escape from a situation doesn't mean you should. It's a risk/reward thing. Sometimes you have to take your chances." As Michael kneels on the pavement with his hands behind his head, he continues, "Sometimes you have to remember, it's easier to dodge questions than bullets." But what if the questions are Teflon-coated hollow points? What then, smart guy?
When we come back from the credits (and some Miami skyscraper porn), Michael's at the Miami-Dade lockup, being ushered into the visiting room in his orange jumpsuit. Sam's on the other side of the glass, and he starts with the bad news, which is that Michael is still burned. How is it bad news that Michael doesn't have to change the title of his show? Sam moves on to the "good" news: "Whatever magic they were working to keep you out of the police computers, they stopped. Oh, and you're back on the radar of foreign agencies, too." That's kind of a broad definition of good news, even though Sam argues that change is good. Michael moves on to the question of getting him out of jail, but Sam's hands are tied until Michael is charged with something. Which apparently he hasn't been yet. Seriously, the cops can't come up with anything? Just in the few minutes he was on dry land before getting bagged, he shoplifted (or vendor-cart-lifted), fled from the police, then committed B&E, vandalism, and possibly telephone fraud. I don't think the police are trying very hard. Those sound more like the Burn Notice loser cops we know. Sam points out that Michael isn't helping by not talking. Michael unconvincingly pleads memory loss. "Yeah, the cops, they love that one," Sam agrees, almost as much as they love the fact that Michael doesn't have any IDs or bank accounts, so Sam's working on that with Madeline. Michael remembers to ask if his mom's okay. Sam cagily says she is. "She's just a little upset about the, you know, the house blowing up . It's not the whole house," Sam quickly adds. "I think you're better off in here until your mom cools off." Sam's got one more piece of news: "Your shades got delivered to the loft, along with this." Sam holds up to the glass a greeting card with a cartoon of a sad kitten on it and the words "Missing You." Heh. The handwritten message inside simply reads, "Let us know when you've had enough. --Management." Enough of what? Clearly not enough to send the very best, because that looks like it was produced by the "USA Network Prop Department" line of greetings.
Over a brief workout montage in Michael's cell, he VOs, "As a spy, you expect to get locked up from time to time. If you're on the job, you just keep busy until someone negotiates your release. If you're working alone, you may have to get used to steel bars and baked beans." Actually that sounds like an improvement over the dollops of monochromatic slop on Michael's tray. But it doesn't last long, because soon a pissy officer comes to tell him he's been released.
A moment later, he's out in the street in his suit pants, stolen pink t-shirt, and bare feet. From behind him, a blond meathead in sunglasses calls, "Now where can I get myself a pretty shirt like that?" "Harlan," Michael says before turning around. Yes, I'm good at recognizing voices, too. Can I be a spy? He turns and greets Harlan uncertainly, and Harlan protests that he should at least get a "Hey, old buddy." "Hey, old buddy," Michael dutifully says. The subtitles swoop in to inform us that this is "Harlan -- 'Old Buddy.'" Thanks, subtitles, we got that much. Harlan says he heard about Michael's situation, and had one of his security clients -- a high-powered lawyer -- do his stuff. Michael extends a hand in gratitude, but Harlan holds out for a hug. After getting one, he says he's been trying to find Michael, who suddenly turned up on some databases, along with the claims that he sold secrets abroad. Michael gives his old story about being burned, which is turning into his elevator speech. Harlan already heard it from Sam, but he's happy to give Michael a ride. A ride in his car, presumably.
Because soon we're back at Madeline's house, with the front door and windows still blown out and replaced by plastic sheeting. At least the place seems structurally sound enough. Madeline gives up on sweeping the blasted-out sun room just as Michael pushes aside the plastic curtain over the door and steps inside, followed by Harlan. They've stopped at the loft, because Michael's changed into one of his own polo shirts (pink, oddly enough) and his familiar Algerian sunglasses. Awfully nice of Management to send them back to him. Madeline greets him sarcastically. "I did a little remodeling with Sam. You like it?" she asks, remembering to add that she's glad he's not dead. Although she says it in a tone that implies that's a temporary situation. Michael apologizes, like it's his fault Madeline planted her feet when bad guys were on the way and thus got herself and Sam stuck in a situation they had to blow their way out of. Michael introduces Harlan. "We did some work together, in some other countries, a while back," he non-explains. Harlan gets his Eddie Haskell on and wins Madeline over quickly, so she leads him off to the kitchen for a beer after sending Michael to the back to help Sam and Fi with the repair plans. I'm sure they'll get the place all fixed up good as new, hours before Madeline burns it to the ground with one of her cigarettes.
In Madeline's tiny back courtyard, Sam's complaining about how much harder rebuilding is than blowing up. "You have no one to blame but yourself," Fi points out. "If you blow something up correctly you have nothing left to fix." Because she would have done sooo much better with Christmas lights and Coffee Mate. This is how Michael finds them. He and Fi are about to have a mushy reunion, but Sam, like me, would rather keep things moving. He says that Carla's people were the only thing keeping the police and the intelligence agencies of twelve countries out of Michael's grill. Fi makes a stupid analogy about third-degree burns and acne, and while Sam tries vainly to keep this on track, suddenly Harlan comes out asking if they're talking about "the gig." "The gig?" Michael repeats, as though there isn't always a gig, and in fact this one isn't suspiciously late in showing up. Seems Harlan met a girl "down south" and she needs their help. "No worries," Sam assures Harlan. "He does this for fun." I'm not entirely clear what exactly "down south" means in Miami. Key West? South America? Antarctica? Of course, I'm writing this from Minneapolis, where our definition of "down south" includes, among other localities, the entire state of Iowa. Slightly different frame of reference.
And suddenly we're at Carlito's, where the soon-to-be-client, a pretty (of course) Latina woman named Marta, is telling Michael her sob story, while Sam and Harlan provide moral support. Apparently she and her family were evicted from their farm, at the behest of some American corporations who are bribing officials to steal land "down south." Marta adds that her father's in prison thanks to some judicial briery, and is likely to die there. Apparently her father is Maurice from Beauty and the Beast . Sam whips out a State Department dossier on the Miami boss behind the whole operation: one Rufino Cortez, who just happens to be wanted in Venezuela. All they need to do is nab him, and everyone gets their land back. If only all geopolitical problems in South America were so easily solved. Michael gives Sam a look, and he invites Marta up to the bar to get a drink with him, leaving Michael to chew out Harlan alone. "Don't tell me it was coincidence that you bailed me out of jail and then you just happened to have a job for me," Michael accuses. After some stammering, Harlan succumbs to Michael's Blue Steel and comes clean. He says Rufino is pretty paranoid after a few past attempts at getting to him, but Harlan's already got a plan; he just needs Michael's help to pull it off. "You always were the smart one and I was the pretty one, right?" he chuckles, and begs Michael for his help. Michael gives in, and utters the words that are his contract: "I'll see what I can do." "Marta -- The Client," the subtitles confirm from where she's standing with Sam. They certainly know their cue.
And then night falls, and we're at one of those Miami clubs they keep going to, with the red ambient lighting and the curtained off entrances and the dancing babes. Harlan and Michael step into the lounge. Both are wearing suits, but Michael has for some reason topped his off with a straw panama hat at a rakish angle. I'm not at all sure why he's decided to go undercover as Duran Duran's "Rio" video. Harlan explains that Rufino comes here every night (because security-paranoid people love nothing more than a daily routine), and he thought they could get to him in there, since he owns the place. "He's the boss. I forget how you say that in Spanish," Harlan says. Fortunately, over a shot of Rufino in a booth in the back, chatting up an extremely reluctant bimbo, the subtitles clear that up by telling us it's "Rufino Cortez -- El Jefe. " The girl he's been talking to tries to get up, but he grabs her arm to stop her. While Michael comments on what a smooth operator Rufino seems to be, Harlan moves on to the guy on the other side of Rufino in the booth, a white-suited guy played by the notoriously rough-looking H!ITG Jeff Kober. Harlan says that's Falcone, Rufino's right hand man. Harlan goes on to tell Michael about Rufino's security detail, but Michael can see for himself all the large men in suits standing around looking serious. Harlan says the only time they're not around is when Rufino "takes his nightly skirt to the back. Private room." Michael VOs about high security. "The real security doesn't announce himself with anything but where he looks, and shirts loose enough to hide a gun." By those standards, there doesn't seem to be anyone but security and a couple of go-go dancers in this place. And Rufino, and Falcone, and Harlan, and some dork in a hat.
Harlan leads Michael into a back hallway, which has a door to Rufino's private room right before it opens out to the alley. Harlan plans to grab him and take him out that way, and produces a key he got a hold of. "Classic Mike Westen," he boasts, using the key and getting them into the room despite Michael's protests that they need to wait. Once they're inside the boudoir, Michael angrily asks, "Do you really think a guy like Rufino would allow the most sensitive part of his club to be beaten with a storage key?" Harlan asks what else they need, unintimidated by Michael's attitude. Of course, with that hat on, Michael would have trouble intimidating his fellow contestants on Dancing with the Stars. . Just then, a key pad lights up and sirens go off. "How about the code for the alarm?" Michael bitches, looking like the angriest gossip columnist ever. Out in the main room, red indicator lights come on and security moves in. Michael tells Harlan to break a chair to get him a pry bar while he moves a wardrobe in front of the door. Michael VOs about coming at security devices backwards, and gets busy breaking open the grate over the high window while Harlan holds the wardrobe in place despite the security guys trying to get the door open. Soon Michael has the window open, and he and Harlan swing out and into the alley. By the time Rufino's goons get to the window, all they see is a couple of guys running away. Their faces aren't visible, which is especially wise in Michael's case, because he's still wearing that embarrassing hat.
At the loft the next day, Michael and Harlan give Marta the weekly "Sorry, Client, this is going to be harder than we thought" update. With that out of the way, Harlan asks Marta for a minute with Michael, and apologizes to him for getting careless, blaming it on his involvement in the case. This is the first time they've talked about it? Even on the whole long jog back from Rufino's club? Michael says it's fine. They talk a little more about Michael's delicate situation, and Harlan promises to have Michael's back no matter what. Michael thanks him for that, and adds, "I'll do the planning next time." He picks up his cell phone and says, "Hey Sam. Feeling thirsty?" Now, that question is way dumber than anything Harlan did.
Cut to a sidewalk café, where Sam is buying Barry the Money Launderer mojitos in exchange for talking to him about his help with the Rufino job. Barry is being his usual weak-kneed, reluctant self, but since Sam just wants him to put together a fake profile for Michael, Barry agrees, as long as they promise to "have Rufino out of Miami by tax season." I don't know why they used that line instead of a joke.
Back at Madeline's house, Michael's killing time by tearing out the walls, while Madeline reminisces about how his father used to do all the repairs himself. "Frank used to just go out and find stuff," she says happily. Michael holds up something and says, I wouldn't call tearing wire out of your neighbor's air conditioner 'finding.'" Oh, look who's being all judgmental. How many cars did you steal last season, Michael? Sam arrives, carrying a folder and greeting them cheerfully. "Oh, look, there's the guy who blew up my house!" Madeline says. "Nice to see you're having such a sunshiny day, Sam." Michael asks about the shiny red Buick convertible Sam's still driving -- you know, the one he and Madeline made their getaway in during the Season Two finale -- and Sam basically hints that he's getting to use it for getting "a little friendly" with its owner. "Mrs. Reynolds?" Michael says incredulously. "You're romancing an eighty-year-old woman for a car?" Sam corrects that he's talking about her daughter, who is "39 going on 22." We may or may not get to meet her at some point, but I think the show would rather give more air time to the car. Harlan shows up out of nowhere, and Sam tells them both that Michael's got a meeting later. Holding out that folder, he tells Michael that he's going to be "Tom Wellington, Esquire, lawyer for a shady international investment group." When Michael complains, Sam says, "Hey, you want to pick the name, you gotta go to the meeting. And listen to Barry talk about his skin care regimen." And his non-jokes, too, don't forget.
Michael paces around near an abandoned area of shoreline with a big old docked cruise ship in the background (sorry, can't tell which one), holding a briefcase and wearing a suit. He VOs, "High-status cover IDs are rarely effective. Claim to be a big shot and people get suspicious. Claim to be a big shot's errand boy, people don't think twice. Act like you don't want to be there, because you're tired, you're underappreciated, or you're sick, and people tend to trust you even more." So Michael's character voice this week will be "sick." It's like he's not even trying any more. While he's pacing around, suddenly Falcone appears from nowhere. And he's a close-talker, so clearly Michael's "sick" bit isn't working all that well. Or this was filmed before the H1N1 outbreak. Michael says he's heard Falcone is the guy to set up a meeting with Rufino. "You can think of me as the gatekeeper," Falcone agrees. The subtitles also agree, telling us this is "Falcone -- The Gatekeeper." I used to love the subtitles as much as anyone, but I'm really not sure they're adding much value any more. Falcone says the proposal Michael sent him looks good, but he wants to know why Michael's imaginary buyers are interested in the land. Michael pleads ignorance, saying he's just setting up the meeting. He wisely leaves out the fact that the buyers are fictional. But Falcone takes his gatekeeper job very seriously. He's keeping the hell out of that gate. Consider that gate kept , motherfucker. In fact, when Michael claims attorney-client privilege, Falcone grabs him by the arm, twisting it and pushing Michael up against a piling. "I understand and respect the importance you attach to your professional ethics," Falcone says. "But you see, my profession? We have our own code that compels me to break your arm if you don't answer my question." Michael insists that he knows nothing, so Falcone lets him go, but not before first warning Michael against trying to steal from him or talking to the police. And dislocating Michael's shoulder for him. "Be at the train yard in Kendall tomorrow morning at ten," Falcone says pleasantly before walking away. Michael slams his shoulder into the piling to get it back into place, and after some moans and groans, is on his way. Falcone is going to feel pretty silly when he realizes that he never told Michael not to kidnap his boss, either.
As the Charger coasts slowly through what I assume is the specified train yard, Michael VOs, "Like a wedding, an armed extraction requires a lot of planning if you want it to go well. And like a wedding, it's not the sort of thing you want to do twice." Uh, Michael, have you seen this show? "Which is why you hold a rehearsal before the big day." Unfortunately, as Michael, Sam, Fi, and Harlan get out of the car, that's not what we're going to see. Instead, we see Fi yell at Michael for letting Falcone fuck up his arm, and they talk about how they're going to pull it off (the kidnapping, not Michael's arm, that is). Sam claims this is a perfect spot, which, we'll see about that. Sam points off in the direction he thinks they'll come from, and says they'll need a "distraction." Hearing one of her dog-whistle words, Fi asks how big. "More than a firecracker, less than a neutron bomb," Sam says. He thinks that after Fi makes with the boom, the bad guys will retreat to a position between some parked locomotives. Harlan will then go in shooting, and Michael will make his move during Rufino's escape. "What could be easier?" Fi asks. The woman is a jinx machine.
Back at the loft, Fi's putting together her bomb in the courtyard, instead of on Michael's workbench like usual. Must be a new house rule. Sam comes out to micromanage her work, and Fi wants to know what Sam thinks Michael's next big-picture goal is going to be. After trying to dodge the question, Sam tells Fi he thinks Michael will "try and get back in." Fi argues with Sam like it's his fault. "Why, when he's got so much here?" "So much?" Does she mean a loft over a nightclub with no walls that the city of Miami might just urban-renew out of existence at any moment, a histrionic mom, a clingy girlfriend, and a best friend who calls him "Mikey?" Enviable. Fi gets more and more pissed off, and finally stalks away, throwing the half-brick of C-4 she's not using over her shoulder as she goes. Sam catches it and says, "Whoa, hey, sister, don't be throwing explosives at me just 'cause you can't take the cold, hard truth!" Why not? She throws explosives at other people for less.
Next morning, Michael's back at the train yard and back in character with his briefcase and hanky, VOing, "Any ambush depends on knowing where your target is going to be and when. Unfortunately, there are times when the only way to put your target in the line of fire is to be there yourself." Fi with her detonator, and Sam and Harlan with shotguns, are positioned in the surrounding train cars. Yes, so as Sam said, it is a perfect place for a clandestine meeting, as long as you don't mind a nearly infinite number of places where people could be lying in ambush before you get there. "Those are the times you just have to trust your team and hope everything goes right," Michael says. We get a shot of the bomb lashed to a nearby train car (alas, not the one that Fi's in, I don't think), and suddenly a pair of black SUVs scream onto the lot. And Rufino's not with them. Michael acts frustrated and ready to walk away, but Falcone grabs him by the arm again. The same one he dislocated yesterday, unfortunately. "Oh, yeah, just pull the arm out again. Feels good," Michael snarks, and says he can't go back to his clients without a meeting with Rufino. He pulls loose, but now Falcone has a gun, insisting that Michael can talk to him. Michael still refuses. "If you don't like it, shoot me," he says, walking away. It's moments like that when Michael comes closest to blowing his cover. Harlan wants to move in, but Sam says to hold off. While Michael is walking, Falcone fires a warning shot into the pavement behind him. Michael stops and even flinches a bit, but doesn't turn around; he just uses the fact that his hanky is at his nose as cover for waggling a warning finger at the still-hidden Fi. After a second shot ricochets past him, Michael gets tired of it and turns to Falcone, saying he can't do anything without a face-to-face meeting, no matter what Falcone does. "You're a determined man, Mr. Wellington," Falcone says, and says he can pick up Michael at an appointed time and place, and he'll meet with Rufino in the car. "If he likes what you have to say, we'll see about this deal. If not..." Falcone levels his gun again at Michael, but shoots wide, this time hitting the boxcar behind him. Another failed attempt, another commercial.
After the ads, it's nighttime, and Michael's on the phone in his loft, using his "sick" voice to confirm his meeting with Rufino on the phone for the next day. After hanging up, he goes downstairs to join Fi, Sam, and Harlan, the last of whom has just poured some of his beer into his yogurt cup to make some kind of foul float. "It's good this way," he insists, to even Fi's horror. I wonder of that's the kind with fruit on the bottom. Michael says, "Looks like the meeting's going to be on the move so no one can hit it. "Have to hit it on the move, then," Sam says agreeably.
As Harlan and Fi approach a gated lot with a flashlight and bolt cutters, respectively, and break in, Michael VOs about how different kinds of vehicles have different levels of security. "Garbage trucks, for example, are expensive. But the fact that they're hard to hide and harder to sell means that you don't find a lot of garbage truck alarm systems." And presumably those that do exist just make loud farting noises. While Fi picks the lock on one of the trucks, they make small talk about Michael. As she defeats the lock and gets up inside to start hotwiring, Harlan thanks her for her help, and all she asks in return is to take Michael out for drinks and "tell him life is worth living when you're not sneaking around for the government." A moment later, she's got the engine started, and they're gone. There's some kind of joke I could put here about Fi being at the wheel of a garbage truck, but even I don't hate her that much.
Meanwhile, at Madeline's house, Sam is using a street map and a shot glass to demonstrate his predicted route for the mobile meeting. "When they get to Dollars to Donuts [not an actual donut shop, as far as I can tell], they turn around and come back down this way, and we hit them right there." He demonstrates this by broadsiding the shot glass with a bolt, spilling M&Ms onto the map. "Sounds good, Sam," Michael agrees, popping one into his mouth. He seems a little cavalier about this considering he's going to be one of those M&Ms tomorrow, but you just know Jeffrey Donovan insisted on getting that in one take. He doesn't look like a guy who eats a lot of M&Ms. While he fiddles with a small, slim knife, Sam expositions about the Venezuelan commandos who according to Harlan will be waiting offshore, ready to swoop in and spirit Rufino away at dawn. He also comments on the nice leather briefcase Michael's about to ruin. "Guess it's for a good cause," he shrugs.
While continuing his work, Michael continues, "In enclosed spaces, a knife's often more effective than a gun. Easier to handle, easier to hide, and in the right hands, scary." With his knife modified to his liking, he tucks the finished product into the case's leather hinge cover, just as Madeline comes in. "When you asked to borrow your father's old briefcase, you didn't mention you were planning on stabbing someone," she says. Michael assures her it's "just in case," wisely refraining from mentioning that slashing is more his style anyway. Sam, sensing an argument coming, ducks into the garage for a beer, but Madeline tells Michael she doesn't want to know anyway. She's more worried about Harlan, of all things. "I mean, he's nice, but he's not exactly a rocket scientist," she correctly points out, "and hanging out with you isn't the safest thing in the world." "Mom, he's Special Forces," Michael says. But Madeline says he has a lot to prove to Michael, and she thinks that's dangerous. Well, she's half right. Before Michael clears out, he has one more thing to do: attach a back-up knife blade to the inside of his belt. Is that a trick he learned from another spy, or from a stripper? Yank on that just right, and out flops the banana hammock.
Next morning, waiting by the train tracks in his suit yet again, Michael VOs, "The rolling meeting is a popular security measure among high-end criminals. It's hard for law enforcement to bug, and it's a lot easier to detect any surveillance." By now, Michael is being ushered into one of the two black SUVs that have just pulled up. He continues, "Do it in an armored car with an armed team, it's not just a secure place; it's a fortress on wheels." With that, Michael finds himself in the back seat next to Rufino, behind Falcone in the shotgun seat, commenting on how roomy it is. The little convoy gets moving as his VO concludes, "If you're going to take on that fortress, you'd better have an army." That "army" consists of Sam, on a hotel balcony; Fi, behind the wheel of her stolen garbage truck; and Harlan, hanging out in the back of a black van with a BFG and a BFS. You probably already know what a BFG is, but if not, I'll give you a clue by explaining that the BFS is a big fucking sandwich. Michael's army sucks sometimes.
In the car, Falcone finishes searching just the inside of Michael's briefcase and hands it back to him, introducing the two principals to each other. Rufino wants to get to the point, which is that he's wondering who wants so much land. Except the real point is that he thinks Michael is undercover. Michael starts showing all the places he's not wearing a wire, and asks if they can get on with it. As Sam watches their approach through his binoculars, Rufino talks about what a big deal this is, and all the bad shit that will have to go down to make it happen. "Tell me why I should do a deal with ghosts who hide behind numbered bank accounts and liars!" He's decided the meeting is over, and orders the driver to stop. Which he does. Sam reports to Fi and Harlan by walkie-talkie that they've stopped. But Michael is trying to continue the meeting (and make sure it reaches the ambush point), even when Falcone points his gun at him and opens the door. He says that if he goes back to his (imaginary) clients empty-handed, he'll be killed, and basically gets Rufino to relent by begging and coughing into his handkerchief. Aw, that Rufino's just a big softie after all. Soon they're back on the move, which Sam reports to the rest of the team. Sam cues Fi, and we get an ironic close-up of the "HOW AM I DRIVING?" sticker on the bumper of her stolen garbage truck as she pulls into traffic. As Harlan and Sam (the latter now setting up a sniper rifle on a tripod) prepare, Michael VOs about the principles of a snatch-and-grab: "Separate the target from security. Then keep the security occupied while the target is acquired. Simple enough, but like anything, it's all in the execution." Speaking of which, maybe you should be a little more subtle about putting on your seatbelt, Michael. And after a moment of some very busy editing, Fi's garbage truck comes out of a cross street and creams the lead car. In fact, she smashes into it right where Michael would be sitting, if Michael weren't in the other vehicle. In the follow car, Rufino's driver screeches to a stop before Fi's even done squishing the escort. Harlan pops out of the back of his nearby van with his BFG and uses it to fire a couple of big-ass rounds into Rufino's grille, destroying the engine. While that's going on in front of them and keeping Rufino and Falcone distracted, Michael is inching his knife out of his briefcase hinge. Sam is harrying the guys in the crashed car with his sniper rifle while Fi makes her escape on foot. Nice boots for it, Fi. Harlan fires his BFG at Rufino's windshield as Michael VOs, "There's a reason it's called bullet-resistant glass, not bulletproof. The right bullet will take out any glass." But that's the least of Rufino's problems; at this point, Michael has his knife out and at Rufino's throat. He makes Falcone drop his gun and informs him, "You have a slug in your engine block. Your team is pinned down and I'm leaving with your boss. If I were you, I'd think about another line of work other than security." Yes, because there's no point in pulling off a job like this if you can't taunt the bad guys a little at a critical moment. With that, he frog-marches Rufino into the back of Harlan's van. "Nice work, jefe ," says Harlan, who suddenly remembered the word. The team scatters, with Michael joining Rufino in the back of the van.
On a dock somewhere, the van screeches to a halt, giving us a nice close-up of the Ford logo on the hood, which apparently show sponsor GM insisted on being covered up. Because they were still in a position to sponsor stuff when this was shot. Harlan leads a bound and gagged Rufino out of the van and tells Michael he forgot to mention a change in plan. And with that, he shoots Rufino dead. "They're not coming for Rufino," he says, now holding his gun on Michael. "They're coming for you." Michael clearly feels like an idiot, and he actually experiences a moment of shock before remembering to close his mouth. Clearly, this new multi-national fugitive thing is taking some getting used to.
At Carlito's, Sam and Fi are starting to worry that Michael and Harlan haven't shown up at the appointed time. Apparently it's been three hours. Fi asks how well they know Harlan, really. "You think?" Sam wonders. Fi thinks sometimes people change. Now that they've realized something is wrong, it's time to cut away before we get to watch them not do anything about it.
And then it's nighttime at the docks, and Harlan's got Michael sitting on a stool with his hands tied behind his back while he talks about what a nice night it is. "You sure this is the smart play here, Harlan?" Michael asks, finally remembering about the blade tucked in the back of his belt and secretively pulling it out. Michael is trying to talk Harlan out of this, but now that he's got the hero in his power, Harlan has to do the bit where he lets him in on his plans and motivation. Oh, and smack Michael in the face, while he's at it. Of course, Michael's happy to keep Harlan talking while he goes to work on his ropes with the knife, so it's just as well that Harlan's in the mood to share. It seems that Rufino's partners asked Harlan for help with Rufino, wanting him to take him out before the law could get him. Harlan is all proud of himself for landing the gig, and then coming up with the plan to hand over Michael Westen to the authorities along with Rufino's corpse, blaming Michael for Rufino's death. Michael seems to be cutting his wrists more than that rope, and there's blood dripping onto the floor. What was that he was saying about the right hands earlier? Michael asks about Marta, who of course Harlan was just using. "Rufino stole every farm within 50 miles. It's not hard to find some desperate chica who needed my help. She's very grateful. You should think about that while you're standing in front of the firing squad." Harlan at least remembers to give Michael Fi's message about life after being a spy. "Not very long, in your case." Michael tries one more time, asking Harlan how he can trust Rufino's partners. That pisses him off, but Michael insists, "You won. You beat me. You're smarter than me. I'm just asking you to think about it. You're better than this...You're sure this is who you want to be? A mercenary, betraying his friend for blood money?" Harlan smacks Michael again and says he's sure. "That's all I needed to know," Michael says calmly. And Harlan may be dumb, but even he knows when Michael is saying, "That was your last chance." Once again, Michael's timing sucks. He's still not all the way through the rope by the time Harlan spots the growing pool of blood on the floor. Harlan rushes Michael, who gets through the rope just in time and hits Harlan first, sending his gun flying. But soon Michael is disarmed as well, and now it's hand-to-hand. Harlan's much bigger and Michael's got a recently dislocated shoulder, so it's actually a pretty even match. But soon Harlan makes a run for his gun, and Michael makes a run for the window. Without any idea of what's on the other side, Michael crashes through the glass and falls two stories before landing in the water below. Harlan fires a couple of bullets down there, but when that doesn't seem to work, he tosses in a fuel drum and shoots that, setting the water alight. Swimming beneath the conflagration, Michael doesn't seem too worried about it: "When you're trying to hide in the water, fire is your friend," he VOs. "The light turns the surface of the water into a mirror. Then it's just a matter of finding a place to surface where the fire isn't consuming all the oxygen." Oh, is that all?
Michael finds such a place, removing a rotted board and climbing up through an outer dock. He grabs a handy chunk of broken concrete and dashes off, still trailing blood. Harlan hasn't just assumed that Michael's dead, and with his flashlight and gun leveled, he soon finds where Michael came out. Probably because Michael's bleeding wrist is leaving a trail as wide as a highway stripe. Harlan follows Michael's spoor into a tool shed, shining his light on the smears of blood and calling him out the whole time. As we see where Michael is hiding in an overhead rack, he VOs, "One of the things operatives have to give up is the idea of a fair fight. Spies aren't trained to fight fair. Spies are trained to win. Hey, you don't have to apologize to us. Especially after essentially telling Harlan that you were about to escape just now. With that, Michael swings down from his hiding place, knocking Harlan to the floor. That done, he grabs the sack that he found to stick his concrete into and stashed out of sight, and uses it to club Harlan into submission so he can take his gun and put it to his neck. "I'm sorry, Harlan," he says, patting him on the shoulder. Michael, what did I just tell you about not apologizing?
Early the next morning, when it's barely light out, a team of four black-clad commandos roll up in an inflatable motorboat and scramble up onto the dock, weapons at the ready. But all they find is a dead Rufino, a live (but bound and gagged) Harlan, and a ringing cell phone. When one of them answers it, it's Michael on the other end, telling them that Harlan works for Rufino's partners. "They wanted to make sure he was dead before the trial. You want to put someone on trial? Harlan's the best you're gonna do." Michael hangs up, and the commandos apparently decide to take the deal. They drag Harlan, thrashing and grunting, to the boat. Well, he said he was sure.
Later, at Madeline's house over morning beers with the team, Sam remarks, "You're been swimming away from bad guys a little too often these days." Michael doesn't dispute it. Madeline comes in fretting about his wrist (now wrapped in gauze). He assures her the cuts are shallow. "I know. I made them." Madeline claims to have never liked Harlan, but when Michael calls her on that, she drops it and says, "You three need to stick together." As though that's a new thing for them. They seem to take her seriously, though, and they start taking her advice right away, by all taking a swig from their beer bottles in sync. And you know the three of them now have a bond that's stronger than ever, because Michael never drinks beer.
Walking along the beach with Marta, Michael learns that everything "down south" is being fixed: Marta's going home tonight, the land is all being returned, and her father is about to be sprung from jail. Dude, Rufino must have been a busy guy if his entire situation falls apart the minute he turns up dead. She's a little sadder about how that whole thing with Harlan worked out as she remarks that she thought Harlan was a good man. "He was a good man...once," Michael assures her. Yes, right up until the end of the third act. She gives him a good-luck kiss on the cheek and goes on her way. "How you doin' there, brother?" Sam calls over, from where he's leaning against the parked Buick. Michael says he could have managed this alone, while Sam babbles some unconvincing reasons about why he wanted to come along. Finally he drops the pretense and says Michael has a target on his back. Michael sighs, "I don't need a bodyguard, Sam, I need an agency." Well, with Michael's looks, how hard could that be? Oh, he means another kind of agency. "It's time for me to get my old job back. My real job." Sam reminds him that he's still burned, but Michael is determined. "All right," Sam says as they get in the car. "Then you're buying the mojitos." On a government salary? Be serious, Sam.
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer , follow him on Twitter , or just e-mail him at M.Giant[at]gmail.com.
Check out what else is on this summer in our Summer Preview!