Southern Discomfort
by Susan Zahn
Note: This story was conceived and written a year before the release of The Last Crusade.
New Orleans, Louisiana. 1928
The music was infectious, and before he realized it, Indiana Jones was tapping his foot to the "Tiger Rag." Through the smokey haze, he could barely make out the five-man Dixieland band that occupied a distant corner of the crowded speakeasy. The room was noisy, colorful, and a bit on the stifling side as it was mid-August and the heat slow in dissipating. But the climate was not deterring the crowd from its enjoyment, and in spite of the fact he was there in the French Quarter on business, he was sorely tempted to join in.
The small table he has acquired stood in a dark corner within view of the exit, and repeatedly his hazel gaze would pass in that direction. Jacques was late.
And then, as if on cue, the flimsy screen door leading to the outside swung open and a purposeful-looking man stepped in, dressed in a sweat-stained blue shirt and baggy trousers. He paused on the step leading down to the main floor, searching eyes shadowed by a white straw panama hat.
Indiana waved discreetly. The man caught sight of him, nodded in acknowledgement, and started making his way through the flurry of people. He stepped up to the table and relaxed into the chair across from the college professor, leteting out an explosive sigh. His hand went up to wipe the sweat on his forehead, causing his hat to tip back. "It's hot in here!"
"Yeah," Jones agreed distractedly, glancing at his own hat, a brown fedora that sat in the middle of the table. "So, are they ready?"
"Yeah, sure, Indy. About three blocks away, on Decatur Street. They're waitin' right now."
"Then let's go." Indiana began to stand, reaching for his hat.
Jacques' hand shot out, grasping Indy's wrist in a firm grip. "Xavier might have friends. I only saw one, but there're probably more hidden. Keep your eyes peeled, huh?"
The archaeologist flashed a quick grin before straightening up. "You worry too much, Jacques. Besides, I've got some friends, myself." To emphasize his point, he brushed back a corner of his untucked white shirt, revealing the wooden grip of a revolver. Jacques' eyes widened a little and his lips were opened to comment, but Jones stopped him by prudently clamping a hand over his mouth. "Outside," he ordered.
Not waiting for an argument, he began threading his way toward the exit. Jacques dutifully followed.
The light drizzle of rain had finally quit, but the wide cobblestones of the dirty back alley sparkled in the weak light coming from the single streetlamp at the end of the alley. The summer humidity was miserable, even at night, and Indiana frowned, pulling at his shirt when it insisted on clinging to him.
"Do you really think you'll need the piece? That's only askin' for trouble."
"I never ask for trouble." Jones nodded his head in the direction of the streetlight, suggesting they move on. "Anyway, I trust it more than I trust them."
They walked in silence a short time, then Jacques spoke up tentatively. "You don't actually believe they've found the Fountain of Youth, do you?" He glanced up at his old friend when he noticed that Indy was taking an unusually long time to answer. He was about to repeat the question when Indy unexpectedly laughed.
"Do I believe it? No, of course not." He chuckled. "I'm an archaeologist, not some conquistador with delusions of grandeur. For as long as people have been growing old, they've been looking for an easy way to stay young. The easiest was thinking up some mythical wellspring of youth. It's all just fanciful dreams and nonsense."
There was another moment of silence as they neared the end of the alley. Jacques finally ventured, "Then why are you goin' through with this, dealin' with these people, if it's all just nonsense?"
Underneath the pale gleam of the streetlamp, Indiana stopped, tipping his head as if honestly considering the question. Ironically, the deep shadow caused by the wide brim of his fedora hid the strange gleam that had appeared in the professor's dark eyes, or else Jacques might have thought twice about his friend's real interest.
"They have a map," Jones stated softly. "One of the original maps Juan Ponce de Leon used. It's worth a lot--historically."
"Could be a map leading to the Fountain. Ya never know."
"It's just an early chart the Seminoles had a hand in making. It's very valuable, but I doubt seriously that it's got the classic 'X marks the spot' that would lead us to the Fountain."
"Oh... Well, at least maybe you'll get a little glory out of gettin' this map."
"Glory?" Indiana echoed, sounding amused.
"Sure. If what you've said's true about it just bein' an old map, it'll still look good in the Sunday papers, but if it really does lead to the Water of Life, we're talkin' some serious fortune here."
There was a little grin curling up a corner of the archaeologist's mouth as he stared at his partner for a minute. "Fortune and glory? I like the sound of that."
A short time later, Jacques was leading him down another back alley; he stopped at a darkened doorstep. "Right here. They're up on the second floor, so we'll have to watch our backs."
"Got it. Ready?" Indiana waited for Jacques' nod of agreement before rapping his knuckles soundly on the heavy wooden door.
An instant later the door swung out, revealing what could only be loosely termed as a maitre d'. His massive bulk blocked all light that tried to escape out into the damp alleyway. Indiana Jones was no slouch when it came to height, but as he looked up--and up--until eventually meeting a pair of steely grey eyes, he could feel his stomach sink.
The stranger literally looked over Jones' shoulder to see Jacques and nodded his head in silent recognition. Dropping his gaze back to the archaeologist, he grunted, "Only one." A thick, black mustache gave the towering giant a demeanor that said Don't mess with me, and Indiana wasn't about to take him up on the challenge. He glanced back at his partner.
Jacques shrugged, almost as if having expected the separation. "Go ahead," he urged, taking one step backwards. "But be careful."
"What could possibly go wrong?" Indy asked, smiling impudently at his immense escort.
Jacques watched as the door closed, the click of the lock echoing around him as he contemplated his friend's last comment. He gazed up at the single narrow window directly above the entrance. A torn and yellowed shade hid the illuminated interior, but he could make out the dark silhouettes of moving figures. He hesitated, then headed back the way he'd come moments before.
The stairwell leading upstairs was tight and confining, and the heavy breathing of the gorilla-sized doorman didn't relieve Indiana's growing sense of unease. Reaching the top, they headed down the hall toward the only door at the far end. Indy was reminded of lemmings marching toward a cliff and just as quickly pushed the image out of his mind, not liking the implications.
They stopped at the door, and before Jones could protest the rough treatment, the hulking giant grasped him by the shoulders, twirled him around, and patted him down. He wasted no time in finding the military-issue pistol. He shook his head in what Jones swore was derision, tucked the gun under his own belt, then reached for the door handle.
The door swung open, revealing an old wooden desk and an equally aged, pale-skinned man seated behind it. The man rose, waving his arm in a wide, welcoming gesture. "Ah, Dr. Jones, come in. We've been waiting."
As the professor did so, he didn't fail to notice that his huge companion did the same, closing the door behind them. He quickly gave the small room the once-over; other than the door he'd just used, there was one other, to his right, and a narrow window directly behind and above the desk. Indy guessed that it looked out over the dreary back alley. The room was lit by a pair of hurricane lamps arranged on the desktop so that they cast strangely angled shadows on the dingy wallpaper.
Then Jones' attention was snared by the single sheet of obviously ancient paper resting on the center of the desk. He had to practically drag his eyes away as his host continued to speak.
"I am Xavier. I see that you've met my assistant, Maurice."
"Yes, he's made himself quite familiar," Indiana replied, casting another glance back at the gargantuan attendant who had stationed himself, arms crossed over his massive chest, in front of the exit. "Now that we've all gotten to know each other, why don't we get down to business?" Without further preamble, he pointed to the paper. "Is that it?" A stupid question, actually, since he could clearly make out the vague outline of the Florida panhandle.
Instead of answering, Xavier seemed to sigh as he reseated himself. "I'm afraid, Dr. Jones, that this will not be as easy as we had first anticipated. A complication has arisen that--"
"What is it?" Indiana interrupted impatiently, his earlier feelings of uncertainty gnawing at his composure. Damn, but he'd known things had been going too smoothly this time.
"There is another interested party," Xavier stated matter-of-factly. "He is willing to meet and exceed any offer you may propose."
Jones was silent for a moment, considering this new twist. His eyes were drawn irresistibly to the map, his mind cluttered with different priorities; calculating, reasoning, fantasizing... The Fountain of Eternal Youth? "Who is he?" he asked, his sense of foreboding nearly throbbing now.
Xavier made a curt gesture with his hand, and Maurice moved across the musty room to the other door. Indiana tensed, wishing not for the first time, nor for the last, that he'd been just a bit more discreet in choosing his firearm. He set his jaw--Hell, even his whip would've been better than nothing!--and the hackles on the back of his neck rose when he saw who stepped through the door.
"Good evening, Dr. Jones." The salutation was uttered with a thick French accent, even stronger than Xavier's, that made Indiana grimace with its familiarity.
"Belloq." The professor said the name like a curse and meant it.
"We seem destined to cross paths," the handsome Frenchman said, his well-groomed blonde hair and impeccable clothing out of place in this filthy building.
"Never was known for my luck," Jones mumbled, throttling an urge to cry out in pure frustration. He swore that Rene Belloq could smell whenever he was on to something good--the sacred caves in easter Afghanistan, the burial mouns in southern Wisconsin, and now this!
"True. It is not your good fortune that has made you famous," Rene retorted without missing a beat.
Cagey little bastard, Indiana thought, noticing the way his competition was eyeing the map as well. His voice dropped noticeably in pitch. "I was under the impression that this would be on a first come, first serve basis, Xavier."
"Ah, but you must understand my position, Dr. Jones." Xavier didn't like the cold gleam in the American's eyes, the chilling glare that hadn't been there before. "Only under extreme circumstances did I come across this chart. I must make this exchange worth my while."
"And I have promised that I would," Rene added, unable to resist flaunting yet another victory in the professor's face. Their antagonistic relationship went back to their days in graduate school, and he revelled at having bested the American once more.
Indiana fumed. Much as he hated the Frenchman, he respected Rene's ability to judge worthwhile artifacts. The fact that Belloq had shown up, albeit suddenly, supported the authenticity of the map... The Wellspring of Youth?
"Ten thousand," Indiana stated flatly, angry that this was already double the originally agreed-on offer. Any higher and Marshall College wouldn't back him anymore.
Xavier drew a deep breath, and Belloq flashed a brilliantly white smile that made the Illinois-born archaeologist nauseous.
"I'm sorry, but Monsieur Belloq's offer already stands at twelve thousand."
There was a quite pause as Indiana glanced from his contact to the object of his desire to his gloating rival. This was insult added to injury. "I want some time," he finally said, hoping determination alone would overrule any objections. He should have known better.
"This is absurd!" Belloq burst out, momentarily dropping his European-bred air. "The map is mine, the deal has been made."
"Now wait just one goddamn' minute, Belloq," Indy rumbled threateningly. He was halted from any further protest as Xavier suddenly stood, his otherwise pale cheeks now flushed with indignation.
"Stop this! The map is mine! I make the deals!" His black eyes flicked from one opponent to the other, his own mind quickly filling with the opportunities holding out for a higher bid could offer. He made his decision. "There will be no deal."
Silence filled the room once again. The tension was palpable.
Rene wet his dry lips.
Indiana clenched his fists.
Xavier made a move for the map.
Belloq and Jones dove for the map on the desk, crashing into each other sideways. All three men managed to get hold of the relic and began tugging over it like children, until Indy decided to play rough and jabbed a boot heel into Rene's shin. With a pain-filled curse, Belloq struck back with a well-aimed elbow, catching his rival in the chin.
The chart, being as old as it was, wasn't up to that kind of stress and gave up the ghost with a loud rip. There followed a moment of awed silence as all three conbatants stared at their portions of the once-precious artifact. Then Indy realized he'd forgotten the doorman when huge hands unexpectedly took hold of his arms, pinning them to his sides.
"You fools!" Xavier cried, having found his voice after witnessing such a mindless destruction of history--particularly since it was still his. "Look what you've done!"
Indiana wasn't paying any attention to Xavier's raving. He was trying his best to wiggle out of the giant's tightening grasp, as Maurice began lifting him off his feet.
Belloq, knowing when to cut his losses and run, did just that, turning on his heels and running for the side door he'd used earlier.
Marshalling his energy, Jones twisted furiously. Maurice set him back down in order to get a better grip, but Indy didn't wait. He kicked his foot back, snagged it around his assailant's ankle, and jerked it forward. With a loud bellow, the huge man lost his footing and toppled backwards, taking the archaeologist with him.
They hit the floor with a jarring thud, the shock enough to loosen Maurice's hold. Jones rolled off and half-crawled, half-ran for the exit, his torn remnant of the old Spanish map still clutched in his fist. Although a little slow in recovering, Maurice was soon up and charging down the narrow hallway in pursuit.
Still enraged, Xavier watched helplessly as the American professor and Maurice careened down the corridor and out of sight in the stairwell. He could hear the thunder of their echoing footsteps and the alley door slamming twice.
"Such a waste." Xavier looked down at the tiny corner of parchment in his hand, all that remained of his valuable map. "C'est la vie," he finally sighed, sinking down in his seat once more.
He leaned forward to pull out the bottom desk drawer, reached in, and picked up a clear glass decanter with a diamond-cut pattern. He held the small bottle up to the subdued light of a kerosene lamp, watching as the tiny rainbow reflections coming form the crystalline liquid danced on the tabletop. Xavier smiled.
Taking the stairs in three bounds, Indiana hit the door at full force. It flew open with a jarring rattle and he stumbled out into the omnipresent silence of the alley. The moisture-laden air hit him with as much force as the door and he labored for breath as he hesitated in deciding his next course of action. The choice was made for him when he heard the rapidly nearing grunts of Maurice, who was tackling the stairs at a more moderate pace due to his less graceful size. Not really interested in pursuing a matter made academic by Belloq's getting away with the other half of the map, Indy decided discretion would be the better part of valor and started racing for the streetlamp in the distance.
Somewhat dismayed by his prey's lead and not particularly inclinded to chase down the lithe professor, Maurice opted for a more convenient and certainly more satisfying solution. He drew out the newly acquired gun from his belt, ground to a halt in the mist-blurred twilight, and squeezed off a round.
The shot rang out and Indy cursed, reflexively flinging up a protective arm as the poorly aimed bullet shattered one of the few windows adorning the passageway. Not really surprised at the Frenchman's capitalizing on such an unfair advantage, Jones leaned into his dash. He disappeared around the corner just as a second round was fired, takin out a chunk of red brick where his head had been only a second before.
Not watching where he was going, Jones gasped in relief, then nearly screamed as he plowed into another body that had appeared from the shadows. Adrenaline helped him to regain his bearings quickly, and stared in exasperation at what he'd collided with. "Damn! Jacques, don't ever do that again!" He began to very carefully fold up the torn segment of map, then stashed it in the breast pocket of his shirt.
A little shaken up since he had fully expected the professor to actually stop, Jacques floundered for a response. "I heard shootin' and--" Suddenly realizing his friend's breathlessness was due to more than the recent scare, his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You're in trouble again, ain't'cha?"
"Not now," Indiana growled, not interested in hearing another one of th man's less than astute observations. He grabbed his friend's right arm and practically dragged him down the street toward the boarding docks along the Mississippi.
Straight ahead sat a paddle-wheet steamer, looking for all the world like a Christmas tree with its thousands of tiny white lights outlining the triple-tiered decks. Hands were tossing off the bow- and stern-lines, and the single, wide-bladed wheel at the stern was beginning to lazily turn over.
Seeing that the riverboat was pulling away, Jacques tried to slow down. Jones had other ideas in mind and continued down the slightly inclined road. By the time Jones had dragged Jacques onto the rain-slicked pier, the boat had put at least fourteen feet between them.
Jacques' eyes widened in alarm when he realized that hte otherwise mild-mannered professor wasn't intending to stop. "Ohhhhh shit!"
"Jump!" Releasing his grip on his friend's arm, Jones leapt off the edge of the pier, stretching to his full length and aiming fo the side railing on the lower deck. He missed his intended target by less than a foot, but still succeeded in grasping the deck ledge. The momentum of the jump caused him to smack against the side of the boat, but he clung tenaciously by one hand, his feet dangling down and getting thoroughly soaked.
Unfortunately, Jacques had not been prepared for such a leap and missed the side of the passenger steamer completely. Before belly-flopping into the murky river, he caught hold of Jones' trouser leg. The added weight and drag nearly caused Indiana to lose his grip.
"Goddamit, Indy," Jacques sputtered, trying in vain to wipe the water from his eyes as he was dragged unceremoniously along. "You and your ideas."
"Aw, shut up," Indiana grumbled as he reached up with his other hand to get a firmer grip on the side of the ledge. "It worked, didn't it?"
A sardonic laugh drifted up that was loud enough to be heard over the steady chugging of the steam-powered engine and the rhythmic slap of the paddles. "My mother warned me about hangin' 'round with you."