Chapter 3
Breaking Free
"How are we doing on that side?" Frank asked Joe through their two-ways. He had his binoculars fixated on a shipping platform on the docks, trying to spot the smugglers they'd lost a week previous. It seemed the fresh air Joe looked for in the park did well for them, and he was fully ready to get out there and try again. He was mostly looking for a little payback for the bump still remaining on his head, but Frank knew when it counted Joe wouldn't do anything too rash.
"Nothing yet. Are you sure your source said they'd be down here tonight?" Joe replied, on the other side of the docks. He scanned the platforms, but couldn't find a sign of the jerks who had clocked him. "Maybe they wised up and decided to move onto another town or something."
"No, you know smugglers. If they've found a route that works for them, they don't give it up easily. They'll be here."
"Whatever you say, bro. You're the smart one."
"And don't you forget it."
Joe snorted and put his two-way down, eliminating the distraction. He instead concentrated on the faces of the men wandering around the docks, loading and unloading freights and doing general tough-guy work. He himself was on top of one of the roofs of the warehouses, his brother as well though on the other side of the docks. The dock manager had given them permission to set up around there to try and catch the smugglers. In his words, "If anyone's usin' my docks for illegal work, I want you to catch 'em and throw their asses in the slam. I ain't toleratin' that crap." Joe smirked remembering that moment. When he was that guy's age, he hoped he'd be just as tough and generally awesome.
The dock manager, a man of about 48 named Irving MacKellan, had worked hard to get the job and had been dock manager for about 22 years. He was huge, both height-wise and in muscle mass. He didn't believe in just sitting around and watching other men do all the work, volunteering himself if any of the men were having problems carrying freight or working machines. Irving could probably carry boxes it would usually take two men to carry. Joe had a certain fondness in Irving, he considered him like that tough old uncle all of the guys in the family liked but made the girls cringe at family reunions. The one who, despite his size and gruff manner, was a softy at heart. He knew Irving would never hurt a fly, but would never tell anyone else. After all, the dock manager had a reputation to uphold.
"Hey, Joe, I think I've got something over here," Frank's voice cut through his thoughts over the two-way.
"What is it?" the younger hardy asked, picking his two-way up again.
"Man, late thirties, dark hair, slight limp, tattoo of a red-haired woman holding a machinegun on his left arm."
"That's one of our guys, alright," Joe replied, standing up and wiping the dirt off his jeans. "Hold on, I'll meet you in Warehouse 5." Warehouse 5 was the warehouse Frank was sitting on top of. It was also where they were given permission by Irving to set up shop for catching the smugglers. The warehouse had been recently cleared out, the business that had used it before having gone bankrupt and needing to get rid of everything.
"Roger that. You'd better hurry, though, it looks like he's helping load some stuff on the ship. They'll probably be pulling out soon, and who knows when we'll have another chance like this?" Frank warned.
"No prob, I'll see you in a minute. Joe out."
Joe put the two-way and his binoculars into the bag next to him and hurried to the back of Warehouse 30's roof, all but sliding down the ladder to the ground. He then hurried past the backs of the warehouses, making sure none of the dock-workers saw him. They weren't sure how many people were involved in the smuggling, so almost everyone who worked there was a suspect.
He was just passing Warehouse 22 when it happened. The sound of a child screaming entered his head. It pierced past his senses, causing him to stop and cringe, grabbing his head in pain. 'No!' he thought desperately, opening an eye and looking for somewhere to duck down until this passed. 'Not this! Not now!'
Joe spotted the backdoor to Warehouse 22, which was cracked open a bit. It was suspicious, but he didn't have time to think. He instead all but rushed in, shutting the door behind him and almost collapsing from the feeling of pain shooting through his brain like a needle. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard himself yell in pain. He finally just stopped fighting it and let whatever was fighting to break free go. Immediately it happened again. That scream pierced his mind, but this time there was a face to it. And the face was his own, again just a child.
"Shut that damn kid up!" the voice that penetrated his head this time was the voice of the brown haired leader of the three men that had grabbed them in the park in those visions. Joe finally opened his eyes and saw one of the muscles holding him, the child him, by the arms. The little Joe was crying even more than before, staring in horror ahead of him.
It was the yelp of pain that caught Joe's attention. He followed his younger form's eyes and saw the other muscle standing over kid-Frank's body, which was sprawled out on the ground. The little Frank sat up, a pained look on his face. He had several bruises and what Joe was pretty sure was a fractured wrist. Little Frank looked back at his brother, rubbing the new, fresh bruise on his cheek.
"Frank!" little Joe struggled, trying to get away from the man holding him back and help his older brother.
"I told you to shut the brat up! He's gonna attract attention!" the leader snapped. He was leaning against a wall of the warehouse they were in, not really seeming to show much interest in what was happening to little Frank.
"Sorry, boss. This kid's a fighter!" the muscle holding little Joe said, trying to keep a grasp on the squirming child. He finally just got one arm around the blond child, pinning his arms to his sides, and covered his mouth with a huge hand. This was a bad move. The little Joe used the opportunity to bit him as hard as he could. "Oww!" the muscle yelped, dropping the child.
The little Joe took the opportunity to start running toward his brother. Unfortunately, he didn't get far. "You little snot!" the muscle snapped, grabbing little Joe roughly by the arm and shaking him hard. The little Joe screamed, scared and hurt.
"Joe!" little Frank this time tried to run to his brother's aide, but the other muscle stopped him by hitting him hard on the back of the head with his fist. Little Frank's eyes seemed to roll back and he dropped to the floor.
"Stop! Please!" the little Joe squealed, more afraid than ever. "Frank!"
"You idiots!" the leader finally stepped forward. "You!" he pointed at the muscle holding little Joe, "I told you to shut him up! Not make him louder! And you!" this time he pointed at the muscle picking up the unconscious little Frank, "I told you not to do anything permanent! If he has a concussion, you're dead meat!" He then turned to little Joe, who seemed paralyzed under his gaze. "And you. One more sound out of you and whether or not daddy's coming to save you will be the least of your worries. Got it?" The little Joe nodded quickly. "Got it?!" he then snapped at the muscles.
"Joseph!" Joe's eyes shot open, staring wide up at a man kneeling next to him. It took him a moment to recognize the slightly graying dark hair and blue eyes of Irving MacKellan. His hugely muscled arms were holding him up by the shoulders into a sitting position and his whiskered face was twisted with concern. "Are ye alright, lad?" he asked. His voice was rough and scratchy.
"Y-yeah…I think so…" Joe rubbed his throbbing head and cringed. "What happened?"
"You tell me," Irving replied. "I got a call about ten minutes ago that you never made it to Warehouse 5 and yer brother and I have been searchin' all over for ya. Found ya here passed out. Doesn't look like ya got hit on the head again or anythin'."
"No, I didn't," Joe said, standing up painfully. He looked at Irving and decided he had to tell someone about what was happening to him, even if he couldn't tell Frank. "I think I just fainted. Irving, does Frank know you found me?"
"No, lad," Irving shook his head. "I was just about to call him." He helped Joe keep his footing. "And I think it'd be best to do so as soon as possible."
"No!" Joe said suddenly. Irving gave him a puzzled look. "Just hear me out first. Irving, you've been running these docks for as long as I can remember. Do you remember something 11 years ago that happened to Frank and I right here on the docks?"
"11 years ago?" Irving hesitated. "Lad, business here was pretty bad, overrun with crime and smugglers everywhere. I didn't much come down here at the time. Not until I realized I had to do somethin' about it and started helpin' the police clean 'em up."
"I know, but you do know something, don't you?" Joe said, looking at him sternly. "Irving, what happened? And why can't I remember it? And why is everyone hiding it from me?"
"Well, lad, it sounds like ya've already figured most of it out," Irving pursed his lips together and sat Joe down on one of the crates. "To answer yer questions in order, yer father was on a case 11 years ago involving smugglin' here on the docks an' so one of the groups decided to kidnap ye and yer brother. They told yer father if he dropped the case they'd give ye back to him. I think yer mind somehow forced the whole thing to some remote part of yer brain, because it was all pretty traumatizin'. And we're not hidin' it from ye, we just figured ya were happier not rememberin'."
Joe sat on the crate a moment, taking this all in. He then sighed. "The problem is I'm not happier not knowing. I think when those smugglers hit me on the head they jarred my mental blocks loose and now it's all trying to force itself back to the surface." He looked at Irving, who still looked worried, and smiled. "Hey Irving, thanks for being straight with me. I just wish Frank would tell the truth instead of trying to protect me."
"I think he just feels guilty cause he couldn't protect ye then, lad. Don't be too hard on yer brother. Take it from someone who knows; bein' a big brother isn't easy," Irving put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be too hard on Frank."
"You have a younger brother?" Joe asked. In all the years he knew Irving, he'd never known about that.
"Yeah, we don't talk much. Unfortunately, he did something horrible and landed himself in jail," Irving seemed to be purposefully vague about it, but Joe was now curious.
"What'd he do?" Joe asked, though he knew it was rude to.
Irving looked at him a moment, then ruffled his blond hair. "Another time, Joseph. Right now yer brother's worried about you. Come on, I'll call him and we'll meet him elsewhere." He stood up and called Frank on his cellphone. After agreeing that they'd meet him back at Warehouse 5, and assuring that they'd make it this time, they headed out.
"Hey, Irving," Joe inquired on their way. "What happened when dad came to meet those guys here at the dock?"
Irving seemed to consider telling him for a moment. He then shook his head and smiled. "Yer gonna hafta figure that one out for yerself, Joseph. It sounds like those memories have a mind of their own. When they want ye to know, they'll let themselves out. Ye just hafta be patient."
"Patience isn't my best virtue," Joe muttered.
Irving let out a laugh. "I've known that a long time, Joseph Hardy!"
