To my audience: Hello everyone and welcome back. Before you begin reading I like to implore you to leave a comment afterward, and let me know your thoughts on how the story is progressing. Please and Thank you.
May dreams he's a ten-year-old boy again, playing with other children, five boys yell and run around roughhousing in a junkyard. Four of the five boys were dressed as pirates each wearing a distinguishable item marking them as such (bandana, eye-patch, hook, and black scarf). In contrast the remaining child wore a plain white cap with the word "NaVy" scribbled on the front; each letter in a different color crayon (Blue, Red, Yellow, Green).
"No fair, why am I always stuck as the marines." The boy argues, halting their game.
"It's because you're stupid, and always talk about going to the navy when you're older." The boy with the hook taunts, whom looked to be slightly older than young May.
"Yeah, dummy, they'll never let you join if they found out you were part of a pirate crew." The boy wearing the bandana tied over his head inputs; presumably the eldest, "We're keeping your dream intact."
"Mmhm, you should be more grateful." The youngest boy with the eye-patch chimes.
Overlooking the junkyard on a porch nearby, in a rocking chair, sits an old man with a head full of gray hair; a few speckles of his natural hair color remained resisting the aging process. Despite this his gruff beard and mustache retained their original appearance. Smoke protrudes out of a pipe that he holds in his hand, which he puffs on several times inhaling deeply.
Rocking back and forth with a larger than life grin on his face the old man observes as the children resume their game, getting into a battle. The game ends with the navy boy victorious, having round up all the pirates; the other boys were bound together beaten up with knots on their heads and darkened eyes. The old man chuckles and wheezes spewing smoke out his nostrils, ears, and mouth.
The next morning May awakens, groaning, his head drumming with a hangover. Remembering he's supposed to cover for B-Man, today, in less than an hour, May groggily scrambles out the saloon doors. Outside yesterday's snowstorm had turned into a blizzard. However, a shirtless Chyster was already awake shoveling and salting the walkway while smoking a cigar, cold didn't bother him much, "What's the rush, on this beautiful morning?" Chyster inquires merrily.
"Mayhem." May responds calling out over his shoulder as he rushes past Chyster fastening his black scarf tighter, previously dangling loosely and threatening to fly off. Years of island expertise allowed him to travel around virtually unhindered by the blizzard: May makes a mental note to obtain another pair of shoes, soon. Finally he arrives at the hangout, an inconspicuous spot, near the old junkyard; the very junkyard and Rita rescued him from after his grandfather's disappearance; that was nearly eight years ago.
May maneuvers into a crooked pile of debris and slides down a pole into a hole, entering the hangout. Although, in actuality the hangout referred to the connection of tunnels beneath the junkyard, separated by the local bandit crews that laid claim to them. May begins patrolling the tunnels and not too long after someone shouts his name, "Yo! May!" He turns to see a tall and muscular man approaching; 6'4; wearing a gold chain around his neck, denim jeans, with a light brown trench coat and matching boots: the coat was unfastened at the collar to better reveal his muscles and gold chain.
The muscular man greets May, playfully, clapping him on the back with a heavy hand, "Ah, May, glad you turned up. Come on we're bout to get started." B-Man ushers May through a small corridor.
"I thought you were running a delivery and need someone to cover your route."
"That's just what I told Rita-girl." Booms B-Man; May knew all too well what that meant, was scheming something and either it was too risky to include her, or she was too risky to be included. The two walk into a room with a large square table in the center, and a map of the entire island, unfolded, on the middle of the table. May looks around, speechless, at the faces gathered for the meeting; all bandits leaders of regard throughout the island: Twins Calvin the Club and Melvin the Mace; Brian Brass-Knuckle; Crain Crowbars; Kevin Quick-Knife and Pippin Poles.
"Firstly, let me express my gratitude" B-Man begins, loudly, clearing his throat to get their attention, "I've asked you all to assemble, here, today for a single purpose: to seek your cooperation. If we combine our crews together, trust and believe me when I say; I know we all haven't exactly seen eye to eye on more than one occasion. But our problems aren't so very different in fact the only thing that separates us is the method in which we choose to survive. However, we all suffer the same struggle." He hesitates giving his speech a moment to resonate, before continuing, "While for the past two decades the mayor and the West-end civilians live a life of lavish and comfort. Therefore, I suggest we call an absolute truce until our objective is seen to completion." The other bandit leaders murmur among themselves, considering a truce had never crossed either of their minds.
"And what is 'Our' objective?" Crain asks using the word our sparingly.
"A heist. The likes this island has never before seen." B-Man says proudly.
"Are you're suicidal, trying to get us all killed, or both? If you're suggesting what I'm thinking." The man with the many knives makes a gesture slitting his own neck, "Every last one of us." only nods his head with a sullen look drawn on his face.
The expression of the room changes and tension shifts to a boil as tempers flare up, "This whole thing is preposterous." Cal says; Mal agrees, "We should kill you now and bury you along with this foolish endeavor." Both twins ready their weapons prepared to fight.
"If you thumb-suckers are already shittin' your pants, I'll gladly murder you." Brian-Brass-Knuckles boasts instigating a fight.
"Fellows please" B-Man intervenes. "We are in a desperate situation. What other choices do we have? An anonymous party has expressed interest in establishing new trade routes, and this contact intends to provide us the very essentials we've been denied access: food, medical supplies, and proper education." The prospect of the wonderful things this anonymous party offers seem to capture their attention and they all come to a consensus.
"What's your strategy?" Poles asks.
"In essence it's quite simple. We'll use the twins warehouse to store everything; Crain and I can handle distribution; Brass-Knuckles will be the muscle to enforce or defend; Knives will carry out our operations, and Poles will further our interest through communications." Satisfied with his well laid out strategy the meeting is adjourned, and the other bandit leaders leave to relay the truce to their respective gangs, until further notice.
"You never cease to amaze me with your ability to bring people together." May tells B-Man once everyone had left the meeting room, and the two were alone, "So that's your plan to steal an entire island?"
"*Chuckles* It's nothing like that, more like return. You weren't born yet when it happened, so of course you wouldn't know about it. But when I was little both sides of this island were equally prosperous."
"Yeah, what gave?" May asks considering the way things were currently.
"The corrupt mayor, Koin, and the Navy. They robbed and deceived until the entire island was in the palm of their hands." He's interrupted by the sound of his stomach growling, "Eat time! Come on May, tonight, lets dine like rich folk. We can snatch a pair of shoes on the way." May looks down at the floor and stares at his exposed feet and tries to wiggle his, numb, frostbitten toes.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will continue to read for further updates (Every Saturday, Wednesday, and/or Thursday). Writing is often times a thankless task but we need those weird riddle guys..
