Not a Fairy Tale VII

Yay, for post three hundred.

Alexis meanwhile had become of very little use at all, having been terrified of the bear during its nighttime visit, and while he agreed to help Prince Dominique prepare for battle, he was no longer willing to help with the actual fight when it came. Actually, Alexis tried his best to convince Prince Dominique that leaving the woods and never looking back would be the best for everyone. Prince Dominique on the other hand only had his eye on the prize through all of this, a happy wedding and the respect that he felt that he deserved.

I suppose in the end I have a weakness for romantics on the rare occasion that I actually write them. There’s a reason why I still haven’t introduced Prince Dominique’s princess, and I don’t know if I will. I’ve never written a romantic scene in my life and I don’t really want to start now. On the other hand Prince Dominique is being sweet enough that I guess I feel he deserves a reward. So long as he doesn’t object to the fact that I am going back to fairy tale mechanics, I will therefore introduce the woodcutter, who will tell him the bear’s weakness. The problem is that I was bluffing before, and now I have to actually come up with one. This might take a little while, before it was just a way to make Prince Dominique feel stupid.

“You’re being pretty honest, way more honest than you usually are in your writing,” Prince Dominique pointed out. “I’ve read some of your other stories; normally you don’t talk to the audience about your writing process.”

“You’re the one that started that,” I said, taking a break from my writing to explain the sudden variation. “Normally my characters don’t talk the audience either, while I’m breaking form already, I might as well do it all the way. Now, would it be alright with Monsieur Prince if I return to fairy tale conventions a little? I wouldn’t ask, not after you made it so clear what you thought of it before, except that it would help you. To be honest I don’t like the thought of your brains being the only thing keeping you alive. Not that I’m insulting your intelligence,” I added quickly, not being willing to start another fight. “I am more commenting on your lack of combat experience.”

“Well,” said the prince, looking sheepish. “I know I said I’m not a story book prince, and I’m not, or I would have won already, but I don’t really want to die either. Just this once, you can do as you like.”

Prince Dominique was surprised when a woodcutter wandered into their camp, carefully avoiding all of the traps that filled the surrounding area. He was a man who had clearly spent all of his life out in the woods and Prince Dominique felt ignorant in comparison. Just the fact that the woodsman had been able to evade all of the traps didn’t bode well for them catching the bear.

“You here on a hunting trip?” asked the woodsman, by way of introduction, looking around the camp with curiosity. “We don’t get hunters around here often, these woods are dangerous.”

“We noticed, a bear came into our camp the other night,” said the prince, not willing to admit that he, a prince, was after the reward on the bear. “Don’t you worry, working in these woods all the time with animals like that wandering around?”

“You’re lucky to be alive if it was the bear I think,” commented the woodsman. Prince Dominique almost cut in to say that it wasn’t a comforting speech, but he decided that he would let the woodsman talk instead. “That bear is the king of the woods around here; none of the other animals are half as dangerous.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it,” the prince finally interrupted. “It’s dangerous. You work out here all the time though, and you’re not dead, which means you must have some way of surviving out here. Care to share?”

To be continued...

Not a Fairy Tale VI

There was no noise from where Prince Dominique knew Alexis had been sleeping, but he had no way of knowing if this was because Alexis was still asleep, or if it was because he was also playing dead. Finally the bear lumbered off and Prince Dominique finally stood up and started to rant at me.

“What kind of story writing is this? I went along with the bear, even though other princes get monsters, but instead of a brave hunt, the bear comes to me? Do you even know how this sort of thing is supposed to go?”

“You’re the one who told me that you weren’t a fairy tale character,” I said, crossing my arms. “I stopped writing a fairy tale, if you had been fine with being a fairy tale character I would have made it some monster from the abyss that you would have slain with your lance on your first meeting with it. You chose this, now deal with it. I should also warn you; maybe you shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to leave the capital of your cousin.”

“Why?” asked the prince, suspiciously.

“Well, had you went and talked to Prince Edmond, I was going to be nice and have him tell you the bear’s weakness, I had the scene prepared and everything. But no, you had to leave right away, so you can figure it out yourself.”

“No, tell me, what’s the bear’s weakness? You can’t just skip over an important plot point because I got hasty.”

“Watch me,” I said, and kept writing. I figure so long as I keep him occupied with constant action he won’t have time to come up with new ways to threaten me.

The next day, having only recently escaped from danger, the prince was less than eager to face the bear. He couldn’t dismiss his quest completely since he had made a deal, and everyone would look down on him if he broke it. He could on the other hand think things through, and make sure that he wouldn’t die while trying to kill the bear. This meant more work than he had first calculated, but with my hint that the bear had a weak point he felt more hope than he would have otherwise. Perhaps it is for the best that I told him, or he might have lost all confidence and run away, and that would make this a very pathetic story. I mean I can write a plot, but if the character won’t do it, there isn’t a lot I can do. The most I can promise at the point of total mutiny is that I’ll destroy the manuscript. That’s only ever happened once though.

Prince Dominique set up traps all around the camp as a first step. Now that the bear knew that it could get food in the camp, Prince Dominique didn’t want it barging in without warning again to help its self. It was a slim chance, be he did hope that the bear would fall for one of the traps and they wouldn’t have to fight it at all. Next he set to sharpening his sword, and made sure that Alexis had been taking good care of his lance. He didn’t try to do anything with the dogs; he didn’t really think that they would be much good against the creature that he had seen the night before. Dogs were good for hunting normal animals, but this didn’t seem to be a normal animal and he didn’t want any of the dogs to be killed when they didn’t stand a chance of wining. This was going to take more brains than brute strength, which had been the tactic he had at first favored.

To be continued...

Not a Fairy Tale V

Though it was already late in the day, Prince Dominique was not willing to stay another day in court. As soon as they were out of the audience chamber the prince almost ran to the rooms they had been given and he ordered all of their things were to be packed immediately. They were sleeping in an inn at the outskirts of the capital by nightfall that night.

I know that it’s bad story telling, but I’m going to skip ahead here, this isn’t because I don’t want to tell you about what happened on the prince’s way to the forest where Prince Edmond had been attacked, but it wasn’t very eventful. I’m worried that if Prince Dominique gets bored, he’ll start interrupting me, and I only just got him to stop. Anyway, to keep our ADD teenager entertained, we’ll start up with Prince Dominique and Alexis already deep in the forest where they’ve been riding all day.

“I heard that, I have a fine attention span,” Prince Dominique cut in. I should have kept editorial statements out of my story obviously, they attracted his attention.

“Well of course they attracted my attention,” Prince Dominique complained. “You insulted me. I wouldn’t get bored if you’d actually write interesting things. Your readers should be grateful to me for sparing them a two page long travel narrative.”

“If my readers had any class, they would have appreciated the attention to detail I had when I created your world, do you have any idea how much work your making me waste? Anyway, I told you to keep quiet, or else I’ll end the story with the bear eating you.”

“There’s a way to make your readers happy. I know you don’t care about me, but you’re writing this for an audience here. You can’t go killing me off for no reason when your readers have been following this far expecting something to happen. Now do your job and make everyone happy.”

“Have you read the more recent book of the month books? None of them have been happy, let me tell you. I could just say I was following in the fine tradition of the classics. I don’t have the time to argue with you, and I’m skipping ahead anyway, no matter what the reason is, so you should be happy.”

The forest was dark, and cool, and Prince Dominique almost forgot why he was there and started to relax. The hunting dogs that had at first bayed at every scent, soon calmed as well, which led the men to forget their mission all the easier. When the dogs had been tense they had been reminded that somewhere there was a giant bear that might attack them at any time. Alexis killed a deer that ran across their path and so they were able to feed themselves and the dogs that night, without breaking into their provisions. It would have been better for them had they considered what the smell of fresh meat might attract, but they fell asleep completely at peace.

Prince Dominique woke up to hear the sounds of something eating. At first he thought it was just one of the dogs that was getting at the meat, but then he remembered that they had tied the meat up from the lowest branch of a tree in their camp. There was no way that one of the dogs would be able to get to it. He sat up and could see in the light of the dying coals, a huge black shape that towered over him on its hind legs. The meat was low enough that the creature could rip off chunks of it with its teeth while standing. Prince Dominique was afraid to move, he hadn’t thought to sleep with a weapon and right now he liked it better if, what he suspected was the bear, kept ignoring him.

To be continued...

Not a Fairy Tale IV

“Prince Dominique, how rare your visit is,” she said. Princess Monique was sitting on a throne on a platform while Prince Dominique was forced to stand awkwardly, Alexis bowing next to him. They were not asked closer to the throne for a private conversation, nor were they offered the chance to make themselves comfortable.

“I come all of this way simply to see you, my dear cousin,” replied Prince Dominique, managing to keep his temper and remembering the courtly manners that had been drilled into his head from birth.

“Don’t tell me you’re here to beg for money because I don’t give out charity. Not even to a pauper’s province like yours,” said Princess Monique coldly.

“I did not come here to beg you for charity,” Prince Dominique said, blushing from shame and anger. He was about to turn on his heel and storm out of the audience chamber when Alexis spoke up.

“Your highness does my master great injustice; he came all this way to offer you his assistance. Knowing his place as your relative, and a child compared to your venerable age, he came to see if he couldn’t do even the smallest service for you.” Well like I said, Alexis was a toady, and a good one, because it worked.

“Well if you really have decided to show your good breeding at last,” said Princess Monique, relenting slightly, “there is something you could do.”

“At your service, my dear cousin,” Prince Dominique answered, swallowing his pride and thinking about the wedding that he wanted. Even if the princess wasn’t of good standing, the prince did find that he really did like her, and he wanted to show her that she was stepping up in the world. An arranged marriage could be made to work, he had seen that in his parents, but he knew that it had to start on a foundation of mutual respect. Since he and the princess hardly knew one another, the wedding seemed an important step in this process.

“And now you’re almost shining me in a good light, wonders will never cease,” commented the prince, breaking from the story again.

“Well, you are the main character of my story; I wouldn’t write about you if you didn’t have any redeemable traits,” I pointed out. “Though I might change my mind about them if you keep interrupting the story, keep to what I tell you to say.” I guess he got the hint, because I was able to continue with the story. Now, finally, the princess motioned Prince Dominique and Alexis forward so they could speak in private.

“My dear son, Prince Edmond, was injured on a hunt a week ago. It seems that a bear, grown large and mean with age, has decided that it no longer frightened of humans and their weapons. The people expect the prince to avenge his injury once he is better, and that will only be a few more weeks, we cannot put it off forever. We also can’t avoid it because the people will call him a coward; they expect a strong man in a future king. If you really wish to help us, go out and slay this bear before Eddy gets well again. You’re big and strong, I am afraid that my Eddy is a rather weak boy; he isn’t a country farmer like you. Slaying a bear isn’t the task for a gentleman of sensitive sensibilities like Eddy. I might find my way to giving you a wedding present if you do it.” The amount of condescension in this speech, and the barely veiled insults, made Prince Dominique grow red again. He was just grateful that no one could hear them, or the fact that he lacked the pride to show insult. Instead he bowed low to his cousin, and fled the audience chamber, with Alexis desperately trying to salve his wounded pride before they were even out of the door.

To be continued...

Not a Fairy Tale III

“Not if you do it well,” I said. I decided that maybe cajoling him would be better than trying to force him. Also it made him less likely to defame me if he agreed to where I was going with the story. “If you do it well, you’ll be a hero. Maybe it will even make the neighboring nobles take notice you. If you do well the king might even start paying attention to what you’re doing.” The nice thing about arguing with one of my characters was that I knew all of his weak points; it made him easy to convince. Though he acted reluctant about the whole thing, I knew that he was mostly putting on an act after I used that logic. So I was finally able to start telling the story, beginning with the day that Prince Dominique started on his black charger.

The prince, being a prince, had been well provisioned with supplies for his journey. He had a sword made by a credited smith, who had agreed to take credit. He had a lance that had been left in the armory since his father’s day, as well as his father’s armor, which luckily fit him well. He had only whined slightly about being given second hand weapons, indeed after I promised him that this might be his path to recognition and fame, he became much easier to deal with. Look, he even let that comment slide. Of course I will be making some concessions in my writing to appease him too, while he is being so cooperative, I feel I should be as well.

Anyway, the prince was also granted a companion who was to work as his servant as well as his friend, Alexis. If the prince was of a low standing, then this man was of the lowest level of nobility in the kingdom, but it was still a pleasing arrangement for both of them. To serve a prince was a position of honor, even if he was a lower prince, and Alexis basked in the fact that he had been chosen. Prince Dominique wouldn’t have been as happy with a regular servant at his side, not only because all nobles were taught to fight unlike servants, but also because he could talk to Alexis as almost an equal.

The nearby area was ruled by another prince, but the two provinces were completely different. The neighboring area was ruled by Princess Monique, who looked down her nose at her small and poor neighbor. They were cousins, but this was a fact that was generally ignored by Princess Monique, a pinch faced old woman who clutched greedily at her power. She had a grown son, who she spoiled to the point where everyone in the kingdom doubted his ability to rule someday. Despite the fact that he was already in his mid thirties, he still had no training in affairs of state.

“Finally, you’re ripping into someone other then me,” Prince Dominique interrupted me again.

“I do find that you are somewhat harsh on our beloved rulers. Their highnesses work at a higher level than we understand,” Alexis chimed in. I realize now that I forgot to mention before, another reason why Prince Dominique liked him as a companion was because he was a toady.

“I created them; I’m pretty sure I understand exactly the level that their highnesses work on. Now everyone shut up and let me write the rest of this story,” I said. They didn’t say anything thing else, I guess they got the hint, so I was finally able to get them across the border of Princess Monique’s province.

Simply the fact that it took more than a day to ride to the capital from the border of the province was enough to make Prince Dominique jealous. Once they actually reached the capital insult was added to injury, with the Princess not granting them instant audience. Instead they were forced to stay idle in the castle for several days before they were finally called to wait on her.

To be continued...

Not a Fairy Tale II

The reason that court was being held was to discuss the impending marriage, not how it would be celebrated, but rather how they could afford a ceremony that would be befitting of even a minor prince. It was a humiliating discussion for all of them. It was made worse by the fact that they knew that they couldn’t tax the population any more than they were already. Well in any case the ministers of the court knew that, it was their job to convince the prince of this, who had a rather large sense of self entitlement.

“This has gone all together too far,” the prince interrupted me again. “This isn’t honesty anymore, it’s abuse. Might I add that it’s also a very immature way of showing your displeasure with me?”

“I’m just describing what I see,” I snapped back. “It’s all in the eye of the beholder right? What I see is a selfish brat, who is making his ministers lives far more difficult than they have to be because of unreasonable and unrealistic demands. Admit it,” I added nastily, “how many neighboring nobles do you even think will attend your marriage. I bet they don’t even answer the invites. Actually, as the author, I think I’ll go write that part right now. I’ll get to this scene later.”

“If you want to start that, go right ahead, but I have a sheet of paper and pen right here. I am fully prepared to send a letter to the newspaper about how you’re going to have a baby, father unknown. I’ll even enclose a picture they can use, after some heavy photo editing of course. You make up stuff about my love life, and I’ll make up stuff about yours.”

“Are you really going to be like this through the whole story?” I asked. I was seriously considering simply not continuing with it. Temperamental stars were one thing, I could deal with them, but this glowing teenager was threatening my good name.

“Look, if this part is really that hard for you to write without slandering me, skip it. Just tell the reader that the meeting decided I would become the hired help for the neighboring kingdoms for a while to pay for my own wedding. Ungrateful, disloyal, advisors, they have no respect for me at all.”

“You aren’t going to be the hired help,” I argued. “You’ll be doing knightly deeds and such, perfectly respectable, almost expected of a prince. Slay some monsters, save a couple of girls too stupid to run or fight on their own, and coincidently get rewarded with some cash.”

“You don’t really have a children’s book of fairy tales that you read, do you? That sounds like the sort of stupid rationalizing that someone who read that stuff would give. Get real, princes rule, it’s what we do, that’s the whole job. Leave the rescuing of stupid chicks and killing things to peasants with unusual strength and nobility, or the third sons of merchants, who tend to get lucky for some reason. People who already have kingdoms and princess promised to them, don’t risk their necks. Do you have any idea how demeaning this is for me?”

“Well that’s just something that you’re going to have to deal with because it’s a major plot point, and besides, can you argue with the fact that you need the money?”

“I shouldn’t have to work for it though. This is going to make me the laughing stock of the entire area.”

To be continued...

Not a Fairy Tale

Finally writing something I am willing to share again, my stuff for a while has been really bad. This is a challenge from a friend, write a story of any length but it has to have a prince and a princess, and the characters at some point have to talk to the author.

The prince, Dominique sat regally on his throne, holding his court. The area that he ruled was a small one, but it was wealthy and visually breathtaking. His family had been ruling it for generations, and the king had seen fit to leave it in their care, no matter the politics of the time. The prince was a young man, wearing fine clothing, and looking well groomed. His prospects were good, as young as he was; he was already betrothed to a princess who was well known to be the vision of loveliness. It was at this point that the prince interrupted me.

“Glossing over a lot of details there, and the details you are including don’t seem to have a lot of connection to what is actually going on. Creative license is one thing, but let’s give honesty a chance here. You’re writing like we’re in a fairy story.”

“There’s nothing wrong with writing a fairy tale every once in a while,” I protested, indignant.

“If you’re going to write a fairy tale then leave me out of it,” Prince Dominique ordered me. “If you haven’t noticed I’m not much of a fairy tale person. If you want a white horse go somewhere else, I’m personally a fan of black.”

“If I decide to write that you have a white horse, that’s my business. I’m the author here, I’m the one in charge,” I said, crossing my arms. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’ve argued with one of my characters.

“If you keep writing like this, I’ll tell everyone that you still have a children’s book of fairy tales on your bookshelf that you read before bed,” threatened the prince. “I mean if you’re going to turn my life into fiction for the world, then I’ll do the same with your life.” I conceded defeat. “Good, then correct the fabrications you made in that first paragraph,” the prince said, looking smug with victory.

Alright, so the prince didn’t really sit regally, he sort of had himself draped across the throne, with his legs dangling over the armrest. He was just the right age of young adulthood to think of rebellion as the best type of self expression, an unfortunate thing in a ruler. Admittedly the area that Prince Dominique ruled over was a very small area, which while scenic, had nothing it that would ever make anyone interested in it. It was a well known fact that the king didn’t even really realize they existed most of the time, which was the main reason that the prince’s family had been allowed to rule it for so long. When ever the prince had ventured to court he was so mocked, even by the lower nobles, and the king had to be reminded of where his principalia even was, so he had stopped going. This state of affairs did not help the prince’s teenage angst in the slightest. The prince would have been handsome, except for his tacky love of black velvet, which made him look like he had raided the wardrobe of a Shakespearean villain. His all black clothing did not suite him, and he looked perpetually so washed out that he could have been a ghost. Prince Dominique was promised in marriage to a princess, but she was only a princess in name, her family had lost their land several generations before, and the family had sunk even lower since that time. The princess was pretty enough, but because of her lack of dowry, her only other suitor had been a merchant. It only succeeded in rubbing the face of the prince how low he was ranked.

“It’s hardly complimentary is it?” the prince demanded, interrupting me again.

“You said that you wanted me to be honest, I’m being honest, deal with it,” I answered. Prince Dominique could hardly disagree, so I was finally able to continue with the story.

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air VI

“I only got a glimpse of the dining hall before, so after breakfast I took the chance to wander around more. It is still a strange feeling, knowing that under the floor there was air, but I am growing used to it. At least that is what I thought until I looked out the big picture windows that take up the wall of the dinning hall. I have never counted myself afraid of heights but I do now. The thought that only helium is holding us up is a frightening one, though it does make me more sympathetic to the smoking ban on the ship than I was before. The thought of being so high up and catching fire doesn't bare thinking about.

“I was still cautiously peering out of the windows, trying to get used to the idea of being up in the air, when the captain came over. I instantly got to thinking of anything that I might have done wrong but I couldn't think of anything. It didn't help that he didn't instantly talk but instead just stood sternly, gazing out at the sky all around us. Finally he commented that if I wanted a really good view I should see out the ones in the cockpit, this after telling me when we first met that I wasn't to go up there without invitation.” Here I stopped my story again, the next part wasn't for the purser to know about. I wasn't willing for him to know how close my captain and I had become and the ties that we shared. I wasn't sure how, but I was sure that could be used against us somehow. Having said his piece my captain had turned to walk away and than stopped. I guess he must have seen how confused I was. “I used to be a sailor, before air took off. I served under your father,” was all he said though. Then he had actually walked away, leaving me if anything more confused than ever. I couldn't tell at the time if the man was my friend or if he hated me. I knew that my father could be a very harsh person and for all I knew he had mistreated my captain in someway or something. It had unnerved me even more because for a minute I had thought that he had looked at the sky with the same look in his eye my father had had that night on the dock. The purser didn't need to know any of this but he did notice that I paused for a bit because he looked up from his writing again.

“Do you need another glass of water?” he asked me. “I'll see if I can get you one but it's normally rationed.”

“No, that's alright, I was just thinking about what happened next,” I said quickly. “I think I remember now. We had the storm. We've been tossed through the air for several hours and I began to feel ill again. Yesterday was fun, the captain sent a man to guide me around the dirigible and I got to see everything, though I know very little about what any of it was. It's use and function was lost in a jumble of technical jargon but it all looked impressive anyway. Most of it was machinery, all tailored down so that it would be light. Then I got to writing since I had decided that I had seen enough to write a good article for the paper. I had thought that I would continue my writing today but instead I woke up to see the crew tying down anything that might shift. The storm moved in fast, and there are no friendly ports around that we can dock at to ride it out so we'll just have to endure and hope that we don't get blown off course by too much. I thought that we would be fine fighting against the wind but I was told that that was extremely dangerous and that it was safer and better to just let the wind take us where it wanted to when it is this harsh. I don't mind so much, it delays any chance we have of seeing action, which is not something I am looking forward to. I am starting to hate this unpredictable sky though, father was right, it can't be trusted.”

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air V

“So I have gathered,” said the purser politely. He need not have, I only said it out of a story telling habit that was hard to break after years of writing. All it served to do was to make me ashamed of having once more varied from my journals, if even for a second.

“My room is larger than I expected it to be,” now I wasn't even willing to change verb tense for fear that I might be tempted to make other additions. I could only help that the man wouldn't notice the oddity in my speech. “I was basing it off of the steamer room I had when crossing the Atlantic and when the captain said bunk I feared the worse. I thought I would be sharing a room with at least one other person, if not more. It was much to my relief when instead I was shown to my own private room, though it is still small. There is a sink, so I can do my toiletry in private, a desk that folds up so it doesn't get in my way, a chair, and a bunk that folds and latches onto the wall when I don't want it. Everything has been made so that it takes up as little space as possible which is just as well because once they bring my luggage into the room it seems much smaller than it did at first.” Here I did skip the details about where I was then sitting in my room and me writing in my journal as a way of relaxing. While I was sure now that the purser wasn't noticing my odd choice in verb, I was pretty sure that he would think I was insane if I started talking about doing things that I wasn't with things that weren't there. Instead I skipped completely over the details of me settling into my room and the things that I did that first day. They were all written in such a way that it would make me look very strange to retell them.

“It was after breakfast that the captain approached me, I have been on board for two days now and have spent most of that time in my room, trying to keep to his order not to get under foot. Anyway there is nothing to write about with us still on the ground,” I continued. “My first thought was that I had still somehow managed to get myself into trouble. The captain always looks so stern that it is difficult to tell what he is thinking. All he said though was that we were going to be taking off tomorrow, I have no idea why decided to tell me this, and in person. It isn't as if he was friendly to me our first meeting, and now all of the sudden he is trying to be helpful it seems. I have no idea what goes through this man's mind. Still if we are going to be air born it is good news for me because I am growing tired of my room, once we are in the air I have the excuse of journalism to wander around and ask questions.”

I stopped my monologue once again to let the purser catch up. He had fallen so far behind that he had to ask me to repeat the final part of my statement to him. I didn't mind the break, it gave me more time to think about what I was going to tell them, and I was at the end of that entry anyway. I asked the purser if I could have a drink of water before I kept talking and he asked one of the guards to go and get it for me. The guards were one of the reason that I was being as eloquent as I was, they kept me talking if only because I wanted to make them happy. They were a very threatening presence, clearly chosen for their pure muscle mass, and I couldn't be entirely sure what their orders were. Once the guard returned with a tin cup full of the same foul tasting water they gave me for my meals, I had no excuse but to continue.

“I've been completely under the weather for the last couple of days because of air sickness, never having been in the air before I had no idea that I would suffer like this. I have never been sea sick before so I don't know how to explain it, except that it was an entirely different feeling. Therefore there is nothing to report from my first two days in the air, I know very little about what has happened on the ship. The captain had them send me a thick soup from the kitchen to eat, which is another unexpected act of kindness. I was able to eat very little because of my stomach, but I probably wouldn't have eaten anything at all if the captain hadn't been so thoughtful. I guess I have grown to the motion now though, because I was able to venture out for breakfast, I think the captain nodded to me when I sat at my assigned seat in the dinning room, but I couldn't be sure.

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air IV

“I don't need that many details,” the captain said, but I ignored him.

“When I showed up at the airfield, I went to the hanger I had been directed to during my briefing.” I stopped there for a second to catch my breath and mentally skip the next part of my diary. “The hangers are really just giant warehouses, but the tops fold away to let the dirigibles out,” was probably something already in their intelligence but I still didn't want to risk it. I did not want the weight of our air port being bombed on my shoulders. “There was a man waiting for me when I arrived at the dirigible, just a regular hand but at least I wasn't left to try to figure out where I was supposed to go.”

“Do you remember much about how the dirigible was set up in the hanger?” the captain asked.

“No, sir, I was far too nervous to notice any details,” I said quickly. I had no intention of telling the captain anything that he flat out showed an interest in. “I mean I've spent my entire life behind a desk and then they send me off into a war. Would you have been looking at the scenery sir?”

“Well, never mind that. Actually, I think this interview is over.” The captain stood and called to the guard outside of the door. That guard called another and I was escorted back to the cell they had had me in before. I still wasn't sure if I had won or lost the interview, but at least I was confident that I hadn't given anything away. I supposed that the captain had gotten tired of my empty talk.

Now I wasn't as comfortable in my cell as I had been before. I guessed the captain was now talking to another member of the crew. I kept running over the interrogation in my mind, trying to think of anything I might have said wrong or in a way that could suggest anything at all. I couldn't think of anything but it didn't stop me from worrying. I was two days in that hole, on a small diet of ship food, before someone came into my cell and actually spoke to me.

“The captain sent me to interview you,” the man said, pulling a stool into my cell and having a seat. I stared at him blankly for a minute, trying to let my eyes adjust to the lantern light after two days of darkness. I tried to tell myself that nothing was different, that I should pursue the same tactic, but I had a deep paranoid fear that being in this cell alone for two days had somehow broken me.

“Where do you want me to start, sir?” I asked. Even if I was trying to be an obstruction I was going to be a polite obstruction, it would make it more likely that I would survive what followed.

“The captain has already recorded everything that you told him. You can start where you left out,” the man said. “I'm this ship's purser.” He pulled out a notebook and got ready to write down what I had to say.

“Well I had just said that there was a man waiting for me when I got there. He took me to where the captain was on the bridge. He was surrounded by all sorts of men who were giving orders and reading instruments that in my two weeks on that ship I never did find out what they were for.” At this point I realized that I had switched interview tactics and I decided I wanted to be consistent. Reciting from my journal had worked well when dealing with the captain after all, and what was good enough for the captain would be good enough for the purser. “I must admit that the captain scares me, he's tall and his facial expression never changes, so I can never tell what he's thinking. The man who had showed me up to the bridge announced me and the captain turned to look at me.” I paused for a second to let the purser catch up, I could see him scribbling furiously. I almost wished that I still had my typewriter so I could lend it to him. It would make all of this go much faster. My typewriter had been lost with the dirigible though.

“Go ahead,” the purser finally said, looking up from his papers.

“The first thing that the captain said was 'I don't like journalists much, but the air force informed me I don't have a choice, so we're stuck with one another. I want to make it clear that you will not be allowed on this part of the dirigible unless you are invited. You are to make yourself useful, I will not have idle hands on my ship. You will also keep out from under the feet of any of the crew, and not snoop where you are not wanted. This man will show you to your bunk.' And so he dismissed me, you can see where my first impression wasn't the best.”

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air III

“What was your position on the airship?” the captain asked. I suspected that he had already talked to a few of my companions, which would explain how bored he looked.

“I am a journalist, attached to the air force to cover the war, sir,” I reported. I might not be a soldier, indeed I had never received any military training, but I tried to act in a way that would not discredit the service to which I had been attached. I even came to attention in the way that I had seen the men on the ship do it when reporting to their captain.

“A pencil pusher survived? I understand that many of your enlisted men were not so lucky,” the scorn in the captain's voice made me bristle but I knew that it wouldn't be in my best interest to explain to the captain how such a thing had happened unless I was asked. I still hadn't decided how much information I was supposed to give away in such a situation, I wished that my captain was there to tell me. My mind drifted, wondering if my captain had been interviewed before me, or if they would let him sit for a while longer to wear him down. I hoped that they had given him the respect he deserved and spoken to him first. It took the captain's next question to snap me out of my reverie, really, normally I'm not like this, it had to be the hunger.

“When did you join the air ship?”

“Three weeks ago, sir,” I said. Counting the days was an easy thing when stranded in an inflatable raft.

“And one week of that was spent drifting on the ocean? You had a short run didn't you?” the captain asked. For the first time there was interest in his voice.

“Yes, sir. From a journalist perspective however this trip has not been a failure, I do not lack things to write about from my experience. However if you are looking information about the air force or the dirigible I know almost nothing.” I decided that the best way to make sure I didn't give away information I shouldn't was to deny having any information at all. The captain however was not going to give up so easily. Indeed my denial seemed to amuse him.

“I had your first mate in here before you, Mr. Brinehouse, he told me that you were frequently seen talking to your captain after you came aboard. I'm sure you do yourself a discredit when you say that you know nothing that would be of interest to me. I want you to tell me all about what you saw and heard after you came on board the airship, every detail. You may sit while you do so,” the captain added. I sat down and marshaled my thoughts. I knew that things might get ugly if I was contradicted on any point when he interrogated the others so my best bet was to remain honest. That didn't mean that I couldn't omit things from my account however. I would just have to hope that the captain would be understanding if I did.

“I took the elevated rail from my apartment to the airfield,” I said, remembering how my journal entry for that day began. “It was difficult carrying all of my luggage with me on public transportation but I managed. After all, it was all army issue and therefore meant to be carried around. I am not in the best of shape, so what I am sure a normal soldier would have been able to carry with easy, I felt buried under.” This, I decided, was the best course of action to make sure I didn't say anything I didn't mean to. I would recite the captain my journal and just skip over the parts he didn't need to know. If nothing else it was full so so much useless stuff from a military perspective that I could only hope he would only be half listening if I did let something slip that I shouldn't.

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air II

“So you'll be on an airship then?” he asked. I had known that this would bother him, but it wasn't as if I could change the position I had been assigned. One of the things that my boss and the air force had in common was that they didn't take no for an answer.

“That's right,” I agreed. I had learned as a small child that it was better to just agree with him and not try to explain or justify.

“I don't trust the sky, it can change on you suddenly,” father glared up at the sky with such intensity that he was still glaring when he looked back down at the ocean. Having said his piece however, he now fell silent again and as bad as I felt about it, I was relieved. I had been afraid that I was going to get a lecture about how many times in his life the weather had suddenly changed on him. I was so grateful for the silence that I didn't try to strike up another conversation, even with me leaving it wasn't worth risking an argument. I had thought that maybe we would have more time when we got back to father's house but he said he was tired and said goodbye to me at the door. If mother was still alive there would have been a huge dinner and she would have cried over me, but father isn't very sentimental. It didn't matter that I was going to war and risking being shot at, even if the chance was rather smaller as a journalist than it would have been if I was a real soldier, father would never cry over me.

When I got back to my rooms the delivery man had come and gone, leaving behind him five crates, all with the logo of both the air force, and the newspaper I work for. As if I needed a reminder of the union that had removed my status as immune from the war. I opened the crates and did some packing since I will have to be at the air field early tomorrow and I don't want to forget anything in the last minute rush. After a while I couldn't stand it anymore, all of the army gear made me uncomfortable and depressed, so instead I pulled this journal from behind the radiator and I started to write.

My mind was just drifting, trying to remember how it was that I had started my next entry, when a guard came and ordered me out of my cell. I was surprised, I had expected to be there longer. If they had really wanted to make me sweat they should have left me there for at least a couple of days. As it was I was still at the point where I was grateful not to be crowded on all sides under a blazing sun.

I was taken up to the captain's quarters, for what I assumed would be an interrogation. I still wasn't afraid, I had grown far too used to the idea of death over the last couple of weeks to be frightened of the idea of being asked a few questions. Compared to the person I had once been I liked to think I was stronger, even though I knew that in truth it was more resignation than anything else. I now had more of a feeling that things would happen and no matter how much I worried about them, nothing was going to change that.

The captain's room was about the same size the captain's room on the dirigible, small until you considered the limited amount of space given to everyone else on the vessel. The captain himself was seated at a fold away desk reading a paper when I was shown in. I would have been more nervous as I stood and waited for him to look up but I had had a boss that liked to do this to throw employees off guard and I had become good at relaxing. I was just starting to zone out again, after all we still hadn't been given any water or food so I was not at my best, when the captain looked up.”

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air

I am trying this again, sorry, but I didn't like how I told the story the first time which is why I didn't end it. You'll see some serious differences in how it is told this time around.

It was the expected out come, the only chance we had of rescue was by the enemy. It was a relief to see even them after a week of floating in the inflatable raft. As my companions waved their arms to get the attention of the enemy transport, preferring imprisonment to death, I was busy wrapping my journal in my rain coat. Once I was sure the water wouldn't get to it I threw it overboard. It was a romantic notion that it might be found someday, or wash up on a beach of civilization. They would take it from me once we were prisoners anyway and it had been such a comfort to me that I would rather run the very slim chance that I might see it again. Maybe, just maybe, someone would see my name and address inside the cover and mail it to me. Maybe I would survive the future of prison camps.

They claimed they had no time to question us right away. I suspect they just wanted to make sure we were more frightened and make us more aware of our captivity. This was suggested by how quickly they separated us once we were on board. I was thrown into a cell deep in the hold of the ship to wait. I didn't really mind, it was dark and stuffy but less cramped for all of its smallness than the raft had been. I sank down, back to the wall, an thought about my journal. I had read it so many times on the raft to pass the hours that my own written words were burned into my memory. Now, from the very first entry, my sharp, thin, handwriting danced before my eyes.

I have no idea how long this journal floated, caught in the jetsam under the bridge. Many people probably passed over it before it caught my eye. In my profession I can't afford to pass over free paper however, not with rationing and wartime prices. It was well worth the effort for me to scramble down the steep, muddy, bank to fish this journal, sodden, out with a stick.

I was panting for breath by the time I was back on the street, one of the few times I cursed the weakness and asthma that had guarded me from the draft. I was painfully aware that they people who were passing by were staring at my disheveled and muddy clothing as I flipped through the journal's damp pages. I would have been very upset had, after all that trouble, all the pages been full. I was relieved to see only the first few pages had been used, with what looked like blurred figures. I ripped out the pages and threw them in the nearest waste bin, making this journal truly mine. Looking at it now that it has dried, you can hardly tell anything was taken out of it at all.

I made it to my rooms without anything else happening, but I was hot with embarrassment by the time I had gotten there. People had stared at me all the way from the river, clearly noticing that I was covered with river muck, damp, and clutching a wet notebook like it was plunder. Once in my rooms I placed this journal behind the radiator to dry and changed my clothes. I had to hurry, my father goes to bed early and I wanted to make sure I had the chance to say a proper goodbye to him.

My father and I have never had much to talk about and after half an hour of sitting in his dim parlor awkwardly staring, I suggested we go for a walk. Walking along the docks, near my father's house, was at least more comfortable. It also seemed to make my father more social. As a former sea captain I suppose we were now in his element. From what I can remember from my childhood my father was never very comfortable in houses. Finally we ended up at the end of a long pier, surrounded by the ocean on all sides, and he actually initiated a conversation for the first time the entire night.

To be continued...

The Green Lantern IIX

“Well if I'm supposed to go tell Fred that you might be our bondsman after all, then I should probably get there. It would be embarrassing if I was late with the message,” Bryan was fumbling and I knew that he was uncomfortable so I let him go. Bryan had already given me far more information than I had expected, now it was up to me to think through it and I would do that better with Bryan gone anyway.

I cleaned off the breakfast plates while I thought, it was good to keep my hands busy. After I was done with them I moved on to cleaning the rest of the apartment. It was mindless work which was just as good because if my mind raced any faster than it already was then it would probably explode. One conclusion that I came to quickly was that Bryan had no reason to lie to me and the facts fit anyway, Uncle Art was not worth mourning. Given that they were right and Uncle Art was trash then I had to decide where fact that he was family mattered more than my neutrality as a businessman. That was where my mind was hung up. I liked to think that I was a man of honor, and part of that code was that family could not be betrayed. However I also had to ask where I drew the line, would defending a man like Uncle Art seemed to have been tarnish that honor more than me betraying him?

It was two tortured days later that I met Officer O'Reilly about a block from the Green Lantern, it was his beat and I knew that anything that went through him would end up on O'Conner's desk. I had already checked in the Green Lantern to makes sure that O'Conner wasn't in there, he hung out there as much as most gangsters. I had the envelope full of money all ready for O'Reilly when he came around the corner, and I knew that O'Conner would have told him to expect me. Normal bails wouldn't be done like this but Goetz was a special case, it had taken a lot of underhanded deals to pull this off. I hoped that Bryan understood that I expected to be paid according to the difficulty of the job.

“Here's the money for the bail, all of the paperwork has already been done with O'Conner,” I told O'Reilly when he stopped to talk. I gave him the envelope.

“A pleasure doing business with you. I heard there was a spot of trouble over this at The Green Lantern between you, Barker, and Karpis. The next time you try to get yourself killed, don't do it on my beat, alright?” O'Reilly was only half joking, I could tell by his tone.

“Yeah, it wasn't my easiest bail and I was unprofessional. Don't worry, it won't happen again. This was a specially situation and I let my emotions take control. For a little while it looked as if things were going to get ugly but Fred Barker and I sorted things out. We had a nice long talk yesterday, Uncle Art wasn't worth a bent nickel anyway. Certainly not worth me getting killed over I found out.”

“You don't want to get on the bad side of the Barkers, I heard they killed the lawyer who didn't manage to get Lloyd Barker off.”

“They won't kill me, don't worry. I thought things out, I told you. Everything,” I'm not sure why I added the last part. Maybe I was trying to convince myself that everything was alright, because I still wasn't sure I was doing the right thing. Officer O'Reilly was already walking on, our conversation over, and I went in the other direction. With any luck I would never have to face anything connected to the issue again.

The Green Lantern VIII

“I don't know Jet, really. I mean there is some gossip, but I wasn't there when he was. If I had been I would have recognized him and tried to stop anything from happening to him. You know how gossip is, think about some of the things that they say about me, I'm sure the rumors are nothing.” Bryan looked extremely awkward, which only made me more determined to hear what was being said.

“Fred Barker seemed to think there was something wrong with my uncle and he knew him personally, that isn't a matter of rumor. Spit out what's being said around the gang Bryan,” I ordered.

“Well I guess that Old Man Dunlap latched on to the gang through Ma Barker so that he could drink more, and for cheap, through their connections. From what I understand he did have some feelings for Ma Barker, and they did hit it off alright when he was sober but if you remember anything from when we were kids you'll know how rare that was. He'd go out to bars and get drunk as hell and then talk to anyone who would listen about all kinds of things, including things that the gang didn't want the whole world to know about. I think they would have shot him at the drop of a hat, they were just looking for an excuse. When it was clear that some how or another they had been betrayed to the police and he had been out drinking the night before, it's easy to see how they might jump to conclusions without asking many question.”

“Fred said that Uncle Art would hit Ma Barker,” I prodded Bryan. Having known each other since we were small children and gotten into all sorts of trouble together it was easy to tell when he was trying to hold out me. At least this time I knew that he thought it was for my own good.

“That is what the rumors say,” Bryan said reluctantly. “I mean it wouldn't be the first time he's been accused of things like that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well all of the rumors around town when your father kicked him out of the house. Everyone was always saying that Art Dunlap had a thing for his brother's wife and they had finally gotten into a fight because he hit her when he was drunk,” Bryan said, shrugging. This was obviously back in his realm of comfort. Then again it seemed that he thought I already knew about this part, that it was old news. Maybe he felt the shocking revelations were over so he could relax. I however had never heard any of this.

“Uncle Art liked Ma? And he would hit her?”

“Jesus, this was happening in your house, it was all over town. I mean it's what my family talked about at the dinner table for a week when it happened. I thought you were talking about specifics when you said you didn't know the details of why Old Man Dunlap was kicked out of your house. I didn't think you meant that you didn't know at all.”

“People didn't talk about it around me,” I said defensively. “And I was so young that when my father said it wasn't for me to know I didn't ask any more. Every time I asked father why Uncle Art was gone he would tell me that it was none of my business.”

To be continued...

The Green Lantern VII

I don't remember much of what followed at the bar. I remember asking for the tab and Sawyer stepping in to say that anyone who was a friend of Fred and Creepy didn't have to pay. At that point I was too drunk to argue. Bryan stayed with me, though I never asked him to, but I think he felt responsible. The only reason why I didn't complain was that he didn't interfere with anything I did, he just watched, and made sure that I didn't come to any harm. He shouldn't have worried, I get calmer the more that I drink, I'm not the sort to go out beat someone up after I've had a few. Instead, once I was fully drunk, all I wanted to do was go home and go to bed. Bryan agreed that that was for the best as well, and offered to drive me home in his car. I think that was mostly so that he could continue to keep an eye on me though.

Once I got home I managed to get my coat and pants off without demeaning myself by needing Bryan's help. I had sobered up some on the ride. Bryan however didn't leave, even after I had crawled into bed. Instead he found my love seat and a spare blanket and curled up. I was too tired to ask him to leave and not sure if I even wanted him to. We didn't talk any more that night, we both fell into deep, whiskey caused slumber.

I did not wake up in the best mood, to say the least. I always get hangovers when I drink too heavily, and I should have known better. From the look of Bryan he was fine though, well that stood to reason with the crowd he ran with he would never be able to do any jobs if he suffered from drinking like I did. He made breakfast for both of us in my tiny kitchen.

“Been a long time since I cooked,” he commented. “Usually we either go out to eat or Ma makes us food. Hope you don't mind you're eggs a bit brown.”

“Stop calling her Ma,” I snapped, clutching my head. I could only hope that the coffee would be done soon. “She isn't your mother, you're mother is still in Indiana, telling her neighbors that you sell furniture up here.”

“She hasn't got the right to complain. She lives in style thanks to the money I send her. Besides, all of the neighbors know what I do because of the G-men who hang around, they're just too polite to call her a liar. I call Ma Barker Ma because that's what all the guys call her and she takes care of all of us when we're around, in a strange possessive way. She's too stupid to take seriously, that's for sure. Take the Old Man Dunlap thing, from what I've heard he was horrible to her but she stuck with him, she didn't have to. Oh Jet, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.” Bryan looked horribly embarrassed as he set a mug of coffee in front of me.

“Look, I've calmed down, I just hadn't really had to face Uncle Art's murder until this point. Seems like everyone knew more about him then I did. Just what is the gossip around the gang about him? And I don't want you to be nice. I can take it.” I wondered if I could, but it was time to find out. I mean everyone was acting like I was being stupid, and I wanted to find out if I was. I was armed with coffee, was too hung over to shout, and I figured it was better to hear a dead relative torn apart by an old friend rather than his murderer.

To be continued...

The Green Lantern VI

“So you're saying I should help you because Uncle Art wasn't the best person?” I asked indignantly.

“I don't give a damn if you help us or not,” Fred's voice was flat though he was still looking at me with the same intensity as before. “I would just shoot you and save myself the trouble, I don't like trouble, problem is that it looks like that would cause me even more trouble. Plus that would be trouble with people who I can't afford to kill. I just want to make sure that you don't stab me in the back for revenge when I look away. I can understand standing up for family, my brother and I bring Ma with us everywhere don't we? That's why I'm worried about what you'll do if I leave you alone. If I have to I will kill you and sort it out afterwards.”

“If I was going to kill you I would have tried it before,” I said. Now all of the anger I had had was completely gone. I was tired and depressed more than anything else and I just wanted this all to be over with already. “I don't see any reason to be civil to Uncle Art's killer though.”

“And I see no reason to be civil to the nephew of the man who used to get drunk and hit Ma. The way that I see it we can ignore each other and I can get in touch with a bondsman I've worked with before. I don't like him much but he'll do.”

“Uncle Art wouldn't hit a woman,” I said, but I could feel doubt creeping into my mind. Memories were coming back to me from my childhood, things that I hadn't thought about for a long time. Uncle Art had left when I was young, my recollections of him were hazy at best, but I did remember some things.

“We'll you'd know I'm sure,” Fred said sarcastically, “now that's we've sorted that out I'm out of here.” He turned on his heel and left the office. As soon as I was sure that he was gone and collapsed in the chair behind the desk. Bryan came running into the office like the building was on fire.

“He didn't do anything to you, did he?” he asked, it was more panicked than I had seen him in a long time.

“I'm fine,” I reassured him, though I'm sure that my voice showed how tired I was. “We just talked. He was nothing like I imagined him. Tell me though, was Uncle Art really that bad?”

“Well I don't remember much about him, we were pretty young still when he left,” Bryan said, there was a note of caution in his voice. “I know that he used to drink a lot and that caused problems between him and your father.”

“Yeah, it did. You know, when they kicked him out they never would tell me why, I never did find out the reason,” I was becoming more and more thoughtful. The doubts that had crept into my mind during my conversation with Fred were becoming more well developed.

“Well it's all over now,” said Bryan, trying to change the subject. It was obvious he was worried about the path my mind was traveling down. “I'm sorry for getting you involved.”

“Tell Barker not to go to another bondsman yet. Give me a couple of days to think first. Right now what I really need is a drink and we should get out of here anyway, Sawyer will want his office back.”

To be continued...

The Green Lantern V

“I already told you to stop talking about me like I'm not here,” I said. This whole fight I had been still seated but now I stood up in full confrontation mode. I expected Fred to come at me again now that I had challenged him head on but he showed more restraint then I had ever heard he possessed. Part of that was explained when I noticed that he was glancing over at where Pat was cleaning some glasses, obviously the tommy gun had made an impression. I meanwhile paused in mid advance, unsure of what to do. I had no problem committing suicide by Barker but I wasn't to the point where I would attack a man when he wasn't looking. I'm not really the attacking sort anyway, it just isn't in my personality, it's the reason that I became a bondsman when all the boys I hung out with became gangsters.

“Let's talk this out, just the two of us, without all of the interruptions,” Fred said finally. “You obviously have a beef with me and I want to know what it is, but this isn't a good place to talk. Sawyer is a friend of mine, he'll let us talk in his office.”

“This better not be a plan to get him alone so you can off him Fred, I mean it, if he gets hurt at all I'm off the job,” Bryan jumped in.

“We're just going to talk,” Fred said. He was clearly exasperated with everyone as he motioned me to follow him. I paused for a second to look to Bryan for comfort but then I followed as requested. I had already started all of this with the knowledge I might not survive and while what I was displaying at the moment was false bravado I was still going to act like I wasn't doubting my action at all. Pride demanded that I carry through or lose serious face in the underworld where I made my money. I had noticed the door I was led to in the past, it was marked private though and in a place like the Green Lantern that meant that the less you noticed it the longer you would live. Fred apparently didn't live by this rule though because he knocked on it and was invited to enter.

“Mr. Sawyer, we're still working out the details of our plan. Do you mind if we use your office for a little while to talk?” Fred asked, his head around the door frame. The owner of The Green Lantern stood up with a friendly nod to my companion.

“You're paying me enough, besides, I need to talk to Pat anyway.” Once Sawyer was gone I had no excuse not to enter the office, though I jumped slightly when Fred closed the door. He perched comfortably on the corner of the desk while I stood like a naughty school boy in front of him. For the time being the discomfort of the situation had emptied my sails of anger.

“Now, without Bryan trying to protect you and speaking for you, what did we ever do to you?”

“Bryan had forgotten that you guys were responsible for killing Uncle Arthur.”

“Old Man Dunlap? Fred asked for clarification.

“Well my name is Jethro Dunlap,” I said. I could hear my voice going high with indignation again but this time it wasn't as assertive. More and more common sense was kicking in. “Uncle Art didn't even betray you guys to the cops, everyone knows it was some boy with a detective magazine. You killed him for no reason, he didn't deserve to die.”

“Your uncle used to get drunk and blab all over town,” said Fred. He leaned forward to speak intensely but his emotions were under control. “If he had kept a sober tongue in his head for more than a day at a time we would have never thought he was the one who had given us away. Old Man Dunlap put our lives in danger more times than I can count and I would have killed him sooner if he wasn't Mother's boyfriend. Your uncle was trash.”

To be continued...

The Green Lantern IV

“Now we're all friends here,” Bryan said, it was clear that he was starting to panic. I would feel bad for putting him in this position but I was past caring.

“I'm no friend of theirs,” I snapped, rounding on Bryan. Bryan was still feeling sympathetic though, which was lucky for me.

“Well you're a friend of mine,” was his only response. “Try to keep the peace for my sake anyway. You too Fred.”

“So long as he doesn't do anything else,” Fred said, relaxing slightly. I hadn't noticed that he had been tense until that point. It didn't make a difference to me though, I was still sailing high on anger.

“Stop talking about me like I'm not here,” I turned on Fred. “You want to say something to me, you say it to me, not Bryan.”

That was the last straw for Fred, he started towards me with murder apparently on his mind. I could hear the crowd behind us become quiet which I assumed was everyone waiting for me to die. It was very noticeable when compared to the usual loud hum that prevailed in The Green Lantern. The barman noticed the change in atmosphere because he looked up and put down the cloth he had been using to wipe the counter.

“I don't want you fighting in here,” the bartender called across the bar. “We've only just reopened after the murder.”

“Mind your own business,” I shouted back, not looking away from Fred. I must have been suicidal at this point. It's the only explanation.

“Then I'll have to make it my business won't I.” The note in the bartender's voice caught my attention and I actually turned to face him. He reached under the bar and pulled out a tommy gun. He held it was an amazingly steady hand, pointed directly at our group.

“I hate this place,” I commented, now fully distracted from Fred. “Even the bartender's a mobster.”

“Well of course, that's Pat Reilly, he runs errands for Dillinger,” Bryan said out of the side of his mouth.

“That's right,” Pat agreed, I don't know how he heard what we had said but he clearly had. “And the boss said that I could keep this with me to take care of any problems since we had the murder. Are you boys going to be a problem?”

“You won't cause any problems will you Fred?” asked Paula, twining herself around Fred.

“If you touch Jet you can count me out for the next job and I know you need me,” said Bryan, folding his arms and glaring at Fred. Ma Barker must have felt left out because she chimed in.

“Don't you go killing anyone in front of me Freddy,” she scolded, and then rounded on Pat. “And you leave my boy alone, he didn't do nothing.”

“It's true we don't want to get on the bad side of the Dillinger gang, and we need this place to be on our good side too. We can't have Sawyer holding a grudge against us this close to the job, and if we go and kill this pencil pusher in his joint, he will hold a grudge,” Creepy said. Fred pulled away from Paula and looked at them all with indignation. Pat meanwhile seemed to decide that there was no danger because he lowered his gun and went back to serving drinks.

“Why is everyone acting like I'm the one who started this?” asked Fred angrily.

“Because Jet has every reason to be angry with you,” Bryan said. I wanted to yell at him for his big mouth but I was afraid it would catch the attention of Pat's gun again.

“Well I'd love to know what it is because I've never seen him before in my life,” Fred complained.

To be continued...

The Green Lantern III

“Well you shouldn't have,” I said, this time standing for real. “If they're coming here I'll be going now.

“You can't,” Bryan said quickly. “You don't want to make them mad. I'm not asking you to give us the money, I would never make you do that. I can understand that family comes first, but you don't want to offend them. Trust me. Stay here and I'll explain it away so they won't get mad at you, if you leave before they get here they'll be suspicious.”

“You want me to shake hands with the people who killed my uncle?” I asked, full of disbelief.

“I knew Old Man Dunlap from back when we were kids and even if he was family to you, he wasn't worth you getting killed over. You've managed to walk the middle line, never getting on anyone's bad side, for so long that I'd hate to see you get yourself into trouble now. Your Uncle was a parasite, one who lived off of your father our whole childhood in the name of kinship. I'm not asking you to help us, just don't leave, for your own sake. Frank and Creepy are going to be upset enough with the bad news without having to add to their anger. This is going to put a real wrench in our plans you know.”

I don't know what I would have said in response to his heartfelt plea, probably something rude that he didn't deserve. He really was only looking out for me but my mind was starting to get too fogged with anger to think clearly. I didn't have the chance to say anything hurtful though, because that was the point that Frank and Creepy came through the door. I didn't recognize them at first, I'd never met them, and it didn't help that they had a little middle aged woman with them. I don't normally think of famous gangsters coming into a dive with someone like that.

“Good God, what's Ma doing here? She never comes along when we talk about jobs. She should be home right now listening to Amos and Andy,” Brian sounded actually shocked. Then the woman stood up from the table and I could see realization cross his face as the woman twined herself around the man I would learn was Frank. “That's right, I'd forgotten, with a new woman in her son's life of course Ma won't let them out of her sight for the next few days. She chased off my last girl through just talk. Any skirt a guy in the gang picks up she's sure to find a way to scare them off.”

“Good, maybe then the retched clan won't continue,” I snapped. I knew Bryan didn't deserve it but he knew I was upset and took it like a good sport. Unfortunately I said in a voice harsh enough that it carried and it attracted the attention of the group who now broke apart from one another to come over and talk to us. The look that Creepy, as Alvin is known, gave me as he came towards me from across the room made me even more angry then I had been before. I don't like being sized up.

“Is this the friend you were talking about?” he asked Bryan.

“Yeah,” answered Bryan quickly. I think he saw me about to open my mouth. “But he says that he can't help us. I guess he bailed out the Winston brothers and they still haven't paid him back. We'll have to find someone else.” This time the look Alvin gave me was even more scornful.

“What kind of bondsman doesn't have the money to do his job? I thought you said this guy's good Bryan.”

I've got money enough,” I cut in. I knew that I shouldn't, that Bryan had worked very had to make sure that I didn't say what I was saying, but my reputation had been attacked and I had to defend it. None of it is yours though,” I added. “I have standards.”

“Your friend got a death wish?” Fred asked Bryan, talking for the first time during our brief meeting.

To be continued...