"Jacob! Jacob, wake up! Get up boy! Alright! You asked for it!"
Jacob was aware of warmth on his face.
Then, he was aware of heat on his chest.
Now...HIS CHEST WAS ON FIRE!!!
Jacob's eyes opened in a snap. A tiny pyre had formed around the Sterling Star, already licking its way into his sweater vest. Giving a shout of surprise, he leapt to his feet. He fought madly to rip off the burning cloth, throw it on the ground, and stamp down on it as hard as he could. Fortunately, the damage to his outfit was mostly superficial, not even getting to his button up shirt beneath. Still, that had been Jacob's favorite, not to mention only, sweater vest. He wheeled around, and there was Merrick hovering a short distance away. Behind him was the rising sun, a sign that it was only the earliest dregs of the morning.
"Merrick." Jacob said, his tone soft though dripping with menace. "I understand that you are made of light and thus possess no physical form or nervous system, but mark my words. Somehow, some way, I am going to find a way to hurt you, and I will implement it very, very slowly."
"Very nice, I will set my calendar to it." Merrick said dismissively. "Come on! We've got a problem!"
"Yeah, and its name is Merrick." Jacob seethed as he dusted off his shirt.
"Stop being snarky and get downstairs!"
"You ain't my boss, and I'm still sleepy."
"I said move it!"
The Sterling Star started to warm up again, and Jacob panicked.
"Alright! Alright! Geez!"
Jacob made for the stairwell and descended back into the building. A few flights later, Jacob found himself on the ground floor where a host of grownups were stammering in a panic. Jacob frowned hard, but his sinking feeling got worse when he saw Deborah taking testimonies, only for her to stop mid-write and run over to him. She gave him a hug, and then she looked him over.
"Thank goodness, you're still here! Are you alright? Where were they hiding you?"
"I wasn't hiding!" Jacob grunted as he shrugged her off. "I was sleeping on the roof. What the heck is going on? What's this about?"
"Lance has disappeared!" a man in the crowd exclaimed.
"His workshop has been ransacked!" added a woman.
Jacob was suddenly wide awake, and he moved in a blur. He blasted through the crowd, through the kitchen, and out to the garden. Now that there were more folks living in Paradiso, Lance had moved his repair business to a small shack that typically held gardening tools and a busted lawn mower. Sure enough, the door was broken off its hinges, and there was no sign of the eight year old super genius. Jacob inspected the room, noting a half finished toaster with a screwdriver stuck in it. There was no blood on the floor, no signs of a struggle beyond the broken door, nor any sort of prints to insinuate who was there. They hadn't been able to work on the garden much, and it hadn't rained for the better part of the month. The ground was too thick and hard to leave a good print to follow, and what prints there were had been marred by the added foot traffic of the full Paradiso. In short, Jacob couldn't make heads or tails of what could have happened last night. Then, he saw them. Lying under the workbench, likely knocked from his face in the scuffle, was Lance's glasses. The duct tape that kept lenses joined had snapped, leaving them lying in two distinct pieces. Jacob bent down and gathered them up, his breath hitching as his blood pressure continued to rise.
"Lance." he croaked.
The crunch of gravel signaled the arrival of Deborah. The probationary detective was looking quite sullen, though she kept a firm expression.
"I've a friend in CSI that owes me a favor." she said. "He'll sweep the spot and keep it all on the down low. We're going to find him, Jacob."
Jacob kept his back to her, but she could hear his knuckles popping as he rose to his feet and pocketed the broken glasses.
"Merrick! Nina! Gloria! Get out here now!"
In three bursts of light, the Luminos appeared, each wearing a mask of concern. Jacob whirled on the three of them, eyes hard and his nostrils flared.
"How did this happen?" he demanded. "Merrick, what sort of security does this place have if some yutz could march into our garden and swipe Lance without so much as a fight?"
"You mean besides the nigh invulnerable knight that threw a tantrum and slept on the roof last night?" Merrick muttered under his breath, earning him a whack from Gloria's umbrella.
"I'm sorry, Jacob." Nina said. "The three of us have been burning ourselves out, lately. What with Paradiso's growing in population, not to mention trying to keep up appearances. All three of us had to rest last night within the star. Otherwise..."
"Some excuse!" Jacob spat venomously. "That's a cold comfort for Lance right about now!"
He stormed into the shack, angrily kicking one of Lance's stools before Deborah yanked him back.
"Stop that!" she exclaimed. "That's not going to help us find him. In fact, it'll make it harder! This is a crime scene!"
"I don't care!" Jacob spat. "I want Lance back! All of this is happening because of me! If those snake creeps have hurt Lance, so help me I'll..."
"Jacob!" Deborah proclaimed, giving the boy a solid shake. "This is not your fault, nor do I think the Serpents have anything to do with this."
Jacob forced himself free, and he balked at her.
"Uh, hello! Have you not seen the crap those punks have been up to this last week?"
"Exactly." Deborah said. "The Serpents are loud and wild. If they were to attack Paradiso, they wouldn't have settled with just kidnapping one small child. They would have set everything on fire and danced in its ashes. Even if they did kidnap someone, they'll definitely let you know. No, this wasn't them. Couldn't have been. It's just not their style."
"Then who?" Jacob exasperated.
"I don't know." Deborah confessed. "But I promise, we're going to find him."
Jacob wanted to believe her, to give her the benefit he had been denying her, but in his heart he couldn't stifle the fear. He could only think about that small eight year old and how helpless he must have been feeling.
..............................................................
Lance hated this feeling. He had been trying hard not to even think of the pun, but it entered his mind all the same.
He was all tied up with nowhere to go.
Specifically, he was tied to an old chair that had a rusted telescope replacing one of the legs with an old, but disturbingly strong, anchor rope holding him fast. He could see he was in an old warehouse, and the tang of brine in the air cemented that he was somewhere on the docks. Dock Boy territory, which meant he knew where this was going. Sure enough, the door opened, and in stepped Mr Salts, the cantankerous skipper of the Dock Boys. This wasn't Lance's first time seeing him—not even at the carnation cougar—but even he had to admit Salts was a big dude. Not quite as tall as Andy, but perhaps wider and more stocky. He had a hump in his back that made him crane his neck downwards, giving him a sort of gargoyle like appearance, though that was beset with ninety percent of his face being beard. Wafting, curling, frayed ends of a beard what had never been tamed by a comb or brush since it sprouted. In many regards, he was a sinister looking cuss that had likely killed a fair share of folks and would typically be the last person a guy roped to a chair would want to be stuck with. Lance was certainly that, though for largely different reasons.
"Hello." he greeted, though his usual warmness was absent.
"Ahoy to ye too." Salts gruffed. "Apologies for the acupentrumunts..."
"Accoutrements."
"So I ain't Swedish, it makes no difference. I'd rather it not be this way, but given the last few times we crossed paths I felt this was warranted."
Lance sneered at him.
"I recall that we had a deal. You would leave me alone, and I would let you leave me alone. I was finally getting Paradiso to how I wanted it, and then you idiots come bursting in like colonists at a tea party!"
Salt's face twitched, wanting dearly to turn into an ugly, or rather uglier, scowl. He was a man that didn't believe in insubordination, not that Lance cared for his or anyone's authority.
"Ye knew this day was coming, boy." he said firmly. "Ye knew we would come for ye. We know the truth."
"I know the truth, too. You're ugly and you don't bathe."
This time, the scowl broke, but to his credit the old sailor held his temper, albeit loosely.
"Ye'll change yer tune fast enough, laddie. Ye'll like Guam. Lovely country."
"Ve ahogate en un ancla, gordo, feo, idiota!"
"There, see? Ye already know the language. Sit tight. We'll be shoving off soon enough."
With his piece said, Mr Salts turned about and exited the warehouse. Lance was once again alone, which suited the small boy just fine. He knew he didn't have much time, so he got to work inspecting his surroundings. Naturally, without his glasses, his immediate area was an unintelligible blob of various brackish hues and lights. However, he was nearsighted, so he could see plenty well that the rusty telescope chair leg was stitched on with even rustier screws. Lance lifted a leg, and he brought it against the chair, testing it. The chair leg squeaked, and it moved just a hair to one side.
"Oh oh." Lance chirped with intrigue.
He kicked it again, and again, and each time he did the chair leg moved away from the main body. With repeated and increased fervor, Lance bludgeoned the faux leg with his heel. With one final strike, the telescope buckle and down the chair went. Along with its prosthesis, the entire chair crumbled into splinters, loosening the rope and allowing Lance to slip free. He scrambled to his feet, and he put a hand to his ear. No sounds of approaching footsteps, so no one heard him break loose. This was good, but it was only the first step of his daring escape plan. The door was no doubt barred and guarded, so it was a no go, and even if he got out Lance hadn't a hope of finding his way home without his glasses. He'd just as likely get swept up by the Serpents or something worse.
But staying in this warehouse wasn't an option, either. At least not in a way that Mr Salts or his boys could grab him. Logic dictated that he hide, but Lance didn't believe in running from his problems. Usually, he paid them off, but he doubted Mr Salts would be as accommodating as Blazer. So his only real option was to hunker down and make a fort. He walked over to a nearby crate, and to his delight there was a crowbar lying about. He cracked open the crate, and to his further glee he spied roman candles, fire crackers, and a whole slew of other explosives typically found during the fourth of July. They had all been thrown in the box haphazardly, some of the rockets even missing their fuses. However, it looked like one of the boys had dropped their light amidst the colorful projectiles. A stroke of luck, but one deeply appreciated.
"Hoo hoo hoo, those barnacle beards are in for a hot one tonight."
Lance gathered an armload and laid them on the floor before slipping the lighter in his pocket. He sorted through his new armory, looking for anything he could use while chucking the rest back into the box. When he had made his selection, he looked for a means to get to higher ground, running deeper into the warehouse.
.............................................................
Meanwhile, outside, Mr Salts had called his boys in close so as to discuss their plans. His poor boys hadn't slept hardly a wink, bless their hard working hearts, and Mr Salts made a note to treat them all to drinks when they made it to Guam.
"Now I know ye boys ain't liking this." he boomed for all to hear. "Tis not a thing I be wanting to do, neither. But ye heard the word on the streets. Ye know what they're after."
"Then I say we give it to them!" William, the youngest of the boys, exclaimed. "Pop, it ain't worth it! That boy was cargo!"
"That boy is a boy, ye scurvy welp!" Mr Salts barked, forcing the boy back in line. "The Dock Boys lie! The Dock Boys cheat! The Dock Boys kill, maim, and gully any and all who dare insult our faces and honor! But without that honor, we ain't Dock Boys, and there ain't no honor in the selling of souls. No sir. Not at all."
"Aye aye, Skipper!" Terry, the eldest, thundered while snapping a salute. "If'n that's Skipper's orders, then it's what we do. Sure nuff."
"Buttkisser." muttered his brother, Jerry, on his left.
"Belay that gab!" Mr Salts barked. "We need to be getting shipshape if'n we're gonna shove off. Lester, is the Dead Man's Hand ready to sail?"
"Just waiting on the tide, Skipper." the skinniest of the lot chirped. "I still say we should have left last night. Moving in the middle of the day feels like suicide."
"We didn't have our provision yet." Mr Salts reminded. "Never ye mind. So long as we're smart, and no one outsmarts a Dock Boy, none should notice as we slip quietly away. Now then, men, ye know yer posts! Make ready to sail!"
The Dock Boys saluted their skipper, and they all took off to tend to their ship. All, that is, except one. Ozzie, the more sluggish and dimwitted of the bunch, was hunched over and, dare the skipper think it, looked like he was about to cry. Mr Salts approached the somber fellow, and he gave his shoulder a gentle shake.
"Ahoy there, shipmate. What be with a face like that? What's eatin' ya lad?"
Ozzie actually sniffled, and he tugged at the hem of his white and blue stripped sailor shirt.
"I don't wanna go, skip." he croaked in his throat. "I like it here. My mama was buried here."
Mr Salts sighed. Ozzie hadn't been the fittest man to be called a sailor, but he was a Dock Boy all the same. A good skipper holds the pain of his men like it is their own, and this was no exception. He took the younger man by both shoulders, and he got Ozzie to look him in the eye.
"Now now, sailor. Stiff upper lip. Yer mama wouldn't want ye lying in a gutter become some pomp got it in his noggin we were expendable. Sure, we're leaving now, but maybe, just maybe mind, there'll come a day we Dock Boys will be welcome in our own home again. But, just because we might be leaving family behind, like ye're dear sweet mum may she rest in peace, ye won't be alone. The Dock Boys are family, and we always stand together. Aye, shipmate?"
Ozzie lifted his soft eyes to his skipper, and he offered a weak smile.
"Aye...skipper."
"There's a good lad." Mr Salts rumbled as he pat the younger man on the back. "Now off with ye. Go and fetch our new cabin boy. The sooner we shove off, the better."
Ozzie offered his skipper a salute, and he took off. Mr Salts finally allowed himself to sigh like he meant it, and he reached for the brandy flask he stored in his waistcoat. However, just as he was bringing it to his lips...
"Lovely day for a boat ride, eh Salty?"
Mr Salts sputtered and spewed his brandy, some of it managing to go down the wrong pipe and make him wheeze. He spun like a top, and there she was: Velvet in all her haggard, evil beauty. The lady in red was alone for once, making her seem almost vulnerable, but Mr Salts had dealt with this devil woman too many times to believe such folly. He did never the less draw his gully knife, preparing for a fight.
"Ah," Velvet giggled, "is the big bad sailor man so afraid of a dainty little dewdrop like me?"
"Nothing dainty about you!" Mr Salts spat. "If'n ye've come for my boys, I'll slit ye clean through the brisket!"
Velvet held up her hands in surrender.
"Ah ah ah, no need for violence. I won't tell the others about your flight. I might even help...for a fee, of course."
"Not interested. Shove off!"
Velvet did not, as he asked, shove off. Instead, she sauntered closer with a demure grin that was almost disarming. Not unlike a cobra before it flared its hood.
"You really can't leave without saying goodbye, Salty. Not after all we've been through. Besides, I need one last thing before you go."
Mr Salts backed away, though he found himself by the water's edge, and thus no place to go.
"I ain't got nothing for ye." he said tersely.
"Not true." Velvet retorted, now mere inches from his chest and tracing lines in his coat with her long, sharp finger nail. "As you might recall, I left a very important little item with you, and it should be right about...here."
She gave him a sharp poke at his breast pocket, which she proceeded to slit open with her nail. Out fell what looked like a college ring, which landed squarely in the palm of Velvet's hand.
"I knew hiding this away would be useful for something." she tittered gleefully. "Finally, I can have my revenge on that goody two shoes brat."
She spun on her heel, literally skipping away while whistling Skip To My Lou as she went like she was a school girl on spring break. Salts twisted his mouth to one side, and he gave his head a little shake.
"That woman is not right." he muttered, and once again he put the flask to his lips for that much needed drink.
"SKIPPER!!!"
Mr Salts sputtered, and this time he dropped his flask which shattered against the pier. A flush of murderous intent filled his systems, but he managed to hold his temper as he slowly turned to see Ozzie as he came running back.
"What is it now?" he hissed. "Where's the boy?"
"Gone, Skipper!" Ozzie gasped breathlessly. "His chair was all busted up! I couldn't find him!"
Mr Salts could feel his already budding migraine getting worse.
"I's being punished. Tis all there is to it. Is Ronald still at the door?"
"Aye."
"Did anyone come past him?"
"Naye."
"Good. Then the little guttersnipe must still be in the warehouse. Rally the boys and have them meet me at the warehouse. First we smoke him out, and then we get the heck out of this blasted city. I've about had my fill of it."
Ozzie saluted his skipper and took off like a shot. Mr Salts watched him go, and then he looked at his ruined bottle. That would be coming out of Ozzie's next pay, he decided, but first they had to get out of town. If Velvelt found them, then that meant everyone and their mother knew they were fixing to leave. If the Serpents didn't come, then the Bills definitely would, or, heaven forbid, the Slumlord himself. The thought tugged at his innards, and he shook his head.
"Yep. Definitely being punished."