Framed
Enter: Yakko
"How much for one of those pomegranates?"
"Tande oanard et tumblay."
"Right…how about one of these" I hold up one gold disc and watch the pomegranate vendors eyes go wide. I grab three pomegranates and hand her the disc. Clutching the fruit I jog over to Wakko and Dot who are sitting in the red dust (I have yet to find dirt here). Wakko is holding the sack of gold and Dot is holding a canteen of water. Its been three or four days since Toulouse let us out of the crate, and were still looking around for a pilot with a plane. So far, no luck. I plop down next to them and pass them each a pomegranate.
"Where should we look next?" Asks Wakko, his face stained bright red with the juice. I swallow the seeds in my mouth.
"I dunno. A bar, maybe. I don't think we're going to find an airport within walking distance."
"A bar? You really think their going to let us in a bar?" Dot asks and lifts an eyebrow.
"Well, its worth a shot, right?" I say and take a drink out of the canteen. I frown. That's one more thing I'm looking forward to when we get home; better water. This water tastes like dirt, and sure enough, when I look inside it's a dingy brown color.
These days in Algeria haven't been so good. Word has gotten out about three kids with a sack of gold, and we've been fighting off thugs left and right. We've got to find a pilot soon. I wipe my mouth and look around. There are bars in abundance around here. I close my eyes and point randomly. I open my eyes to find that I'm pointing at a little bar sandwiched between the wharf and a restaurant. Good enough. We pack up and head towards it.
We walk in and get a lot of funny stares, but no questions are asked.
"How exactly are we going to find a pilot now, genius?" Whispers Dot. To tell the truth, I have no clue. But I'm not about to let her know that. I'm about to make something up on the spot when I see Wakko walk right up to the bar. He hops up on a stool and turns to the bartender.
"Know any good pilots?" The bartender jerks his thumb towards a man sitting in the corner.
"Thanks!"
Dot and I both turn red as Wakko turns toward us and gives us his very best 'duh' glare.
The bar is hazy with smoke, and I cant really make out the guys face until I get closer. He isn't that old. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe.
"You got a plane?" I ask, not wanting to give away the news about our gold just yet. He gives an odd look and nods.
"Can it make it to California, USA?" He nods again.
"Willing to take us there for more money than you've ever seen in your entire life?" He smiles and holds out his hand.
"Names Greg." I take his hand and shake it.
"I'm Yakko. That's Wakko and That's Dot." I say, pointing to them in turn.
"So. How did you end up in Algeria?" He asks, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. He's scrawny and hasn't shaved in a couple of days. It occurs to me that he probably stinks. Then again, two weeks on a pirate ship, and we probably stink too.
"Long story." I say flatly. He nods and takes a drink of beer.
"Alright. Stay here, I'll go check the engine on the plane." He gets up and stalks off out the door, handing his bottle of beer to the nearest person. The nearest person happened to be Wakko. He gave it a quizzical look, and slowly raised it his lips.
"Wakko!" I snap and jerk it out of his hands. The last thing I need is a drunk Wakko.
"I wasn't going to drink it…" Mumbles a sheepish Wakko.
"Right," Says Dot. "I can see you know; and alcoholic with a kid and about a million arrest warrants." Wakko grins.
"Yeah. That'll happen when you become a pirate and Yakko gets married and becomes a lawyer!" I laugh. I could maybe see Dot as a pirate, but a lawyer?! Why would I want to become one of the most hated people on the planet? As for getting married, I doubt it.
"Pft. Senseless babble." Says Dot putting on an aristocratic air that looks hilarious on her. "Sounds like something dreamt up by some sort of boho chic who goes all over the Caribbean."
"An Island Hopper?" Suggests Wakko
"Yeah, one of those." Says Dot, her attention being turned the opposite corner of the bar. It looks like there's a fight brewing. Two thugs are arguing over something, and its getting pretty heated.
CRASH
One of them throws a chair through a dirty glass window.
All hell breaks loose
The place erupts into a giant fight. Something huge hits me in the chest and knocks the wind clear out of me. Damn that hurt! I clutch my ribs and look around. I cant see Wakko or Dot, but I do see the pilot. He's looking around, and I'm guessing he's looking for us. He can wait. I get up and get right back down to avoid being hit in the head with a chair. I've got to find Wakko and Dot in this mess! Crawling on my hands and knees I find Dot rather quickly. She's on some guys chest beating the snot out of him with a bottle of rum. Figures.
"Dot!" She hops off the guys chest and makes her way over to me.
"Where's Wakko?" She shouts. She's standing right next to me and I can barely make out what she's saying.
"I dunno!" I shout. I look around, trying to catch a glimpse of a blue sweater, or red baseball cap.
"There!" Shrieks Dot, pointing to the bar. Wakko's crouched under it scanning the room for us.
"WAKKO!" We both shout. He sees us and starts over, but gets nailed in the back of the head with someone's elbow. He doesn't get hit very hard, but its enough to knock him to the ground. He gets up and pauses, then looks wildly around.
"Wakko! Over here!" I shout.
"Yakko?! Dot?! Yakko, where are you?!" He screams, still flailing his head.
"Over here!" I say, jogging over to him. He still doesn't see me.
"Yakko I cant see! I cant see!" He screams. I reach him, grab him around the middle and high tail it out of there with Dot and Greg in tow.