"Something spooked these people, bad. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't me." Jim said. "Not even the Thai translators are able to get a word out of any of them. That, and there's no sign of their being any paper trail I could've picked up, even before I had got sucker punched. Not even that chick who did the sucker punching is anywhere to be found."
"At the very least, you seem to be alright. You have to forgive me, as I had called in another agent to pick you up and out of there. I had assumed the worst." said Mr. Card. "You will have to explain the situation to him. It is rather difficult to communicate with him...-when he travels, I mean. As you would say, hang tight for now. My associate will arrive momentarily. You should know when he shows up."
...Jim made his way back onto the pier, and crawled into a bar after he briefed the NCIS agents. In a back corner was a rough hewn man in rather well trimmed attire, as if he was going to a much richer night club. Curly blondish grey hair spun underneath a white hat with a wide brim and a tiger fur pattern cloth tied around the top. The man dipped his million dollar sunglasses and gazed with hazel eyes at Jim.
"Now that you aren't busy," the pimp said, "let's share a drink or two, like old times."
The pimp motioned to the spare booth seat across from him. On the table was a bottle of scotch and an extra glass. Jim sat but neglected the booze.
"What's all this then, Jack?" said Jim after a lengthy minute of the pimp smelling and taking a torturously slow sip of scotch. The edge in the much younger Jim was given more room to fall into silence as yet another hit of liquor came passed Jack's lips.
"Do you remember the first time we met in a place like this?" said Jack, disappointing Jim with how well he chose to avoid the current question. "Have you ever remembered how much fun you still to this day could not recall having, we were so wasted."
"I'm still on the clock with the UN Feds," said Jim, crossing his arms. "So, if you could cut to the point."
"Heh! No point. Just thinkin back on the good ol' days." Jack acknowledged with such a smoker's rasp.
"Now that you mention it, though," he continued, "M Tack has some trouble going on with the chief project. They are callin' you in, of all of us, to, ahem, sort the matter out."
"So the thing finally escaped, I take it?" Jim said, reaching the bottle to fill Jack's glass.
"Obliged." Jack said, referring to the sudden gesture. "Nothing that we were ever unprepared for. Still. The buzzards want you in on this, and in a bad way. Figure I would tell you myself to give you a head start on it."
"On what?"
Jack paused for a good while longer more, tipping his hat up and looking over the rim of his sunglasses intently.
"On doing what you think is right in this situation," he said, pouring scotch in the extra glass before handing it over to Jim. "Or... doing what you, uh, know is the smarter way to go."
Jim stared at the glass, contemplating his next choice of words as if he would never be able to think them carefully enough.
"You know what it is that I have now, and what I could do to the buzzards." Jim then said, as if no thought was required at all. His hand itched to reach in his golf bag and give another demonstration. Instead, he picked up the glass offered to him.
"To the good ol' days." said Jim. He took a single swig from the liquor. Just then, a man close to fifty feet tall it seemed entered the bar. He was wearing a classic leather pilot's jacket and cap; goggles, scarf, and everything. The pilot burst in, yelling "Fly guy, mister, yah!?"
With a curious grin, Jim dumped the remainder of the glass into the ash tray.
"I think my ride is here." he said, getting to his feet. Jim grabbed his bag and made to talk with the stranger possibly calling for him. Jack calmly snagged his arm as Jim passed by.
"It was last sighted in Port Crane, some obscure town in upstate New York. Consider looking into it."
And with that, Jim broke free of the pimp coming face to face with a giant speaking with a very thick Netherlands accent.
"I'm Agent Fly. Are you my lift?"
"Lifting, no? Wind like fly!"
"You mean 'fly like the wind'? So, you're a pilot then, right?"
"Okay, no!"
"But, you're here to pick me up? You have a super secret submarine then?"
"Sandwich okay, no! Up picking okay yes!"
"So... You are a pilot?"
"Okay, yes!" the stranger said, with a nod and smile finally getting to a point of understanding, so it seemed. The pilot motioned toward the door, and Jim nodded as he walked in the indicated direction. He made to walk toward where he figured a car would be waiting to take them to the air strip, or to a helipad. Jim was in for a rude awakening as a harness was suddenly forced on him from behind. Not much could be done before he was strapped to the hulking pilot. Then, they suddenly took flight.
"Up, up, and good bye!!"
No comments:
Post a Comment