Pre-emptive Despair

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important." -Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince

Bar-tending wasn't bad. All you needed were nerves of steel and a good enough memory to remember all the stupid drink names and their ingredients, and that first one was always more important than the second.

Nelson leaned against the bar with one hand, his face impressively impassive as he waited for the group of women ordering drinks to stop giggling and make up their minds.

It had it's drawbacks too, of course.

"I'll have a Bloody Mary."
"Bloody Mary's are disgusting! Julie! Get something yummy!"

"Ooh, ooh, Julie, get me a Mai Tai!"

"Screaming Orgasm! Screaming Orgasm!"

"I fucking like Bloody Mary's."

"Nononono get a Pina Colada."

"Screaming Orgasm!"

"Fuck a Pina Colada, I'm getting a Bloody Mary."

"What about some White Russians?"

"Screaming Orgasm!"

"Will you order already? And get Laura her Orgasm so she'll shut up."

Running out of patience, and seeing several other customers who wanted to order, Nelson rubbed a hand across his forehead to repress his irritation before breaking up what appeared to be the start of a mini cat-fight over drink selection. "How about I make a recommendation?" he said, interrupting the women and gaining their attention. "I'll surprise you and I bet you'll all love it."

Stunned by the interruption only for a nanosecond, the women giggled and battered their eyelashes. The one doing the ordering nodded her head enthusiastically. "Sure! What a nice man," she crooned, obviously already close to being completely hammered. "But they better be gooood."

Feeling like there was a big wire-bound ball grating on the insides of his skull, Nelson grabbed four glasses and filled them with ice. Leaving the glasses he combined rum, blue Curacao, pineapple juice, cream of coconut, and roughly one cup of crushed ice into a blender and hit high. As he waited for the blue mixture to smooth out, another staff member poked him in the shoulder as he walked past.

"No more for them after this," he said, eyeing the group of women as they laughed obnoxiously and harassed the men around them vying for drinks. One of the women looked close to being sick. Nelson was about to give an affirmative when his co-worker continued, "Oh yeah, and someone's on the phone for you. A Bart Simpson?"

Nelson almost spilt the ice he was tipping out of the glasses onto the floor. He looked up at the other staff member that he currently couldn't recall the name of. "Did he say what for?"

"No, but he sounded weird. Out of breath."

A roll of anxiety flowed over Nelson's shoulders and down his arms, forcing him to stop pouring the drinks in case he dropped something. "Can you finish this off for me?" he asked, stepping away even before his co-worker agreed.

Nelson darted into the back room and headed for the the wall-mounted phone. "This better be an emergency," he muttered under his breath. But before he even got close he saw another of his co-workers standing right there with the phone receiver in her hand. Nelson watched in disbelief as she hung up and started casually dialling a number.

"Hey, that call was for me."

His co-worker, Anna, turned and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, but the line was dead. Figured it was free."

"Oh." Nelson stood rigid and confused until Anna turned back to the phone to make her call. The question of the urgency of Bart's call wasn't an easy one. Bart could have forgotten that Nelson's work was an emergency-only number and hung up once he recalled, could have been trying to prank call just to annoy him, or it seriously could be an emergency. Either way he had to make sure.

Still waiting quietly for her call to connect, Anna was checking her false nails out, flicking the long tips with her thumb to check their strength. Nelson took the steps necessary to reach and plucked the phone straight from her weak grip.

"Hey!"

"Excuse me," Nelson drawled airily as he pushed his way to the dial-pad, pressed the hang-up lever, and punched in his own phone number. "This is a very important call. Thanks for understanding."

"Asshole," Anna muttered, her heeled work shoes clacking on the wooden floor as she strode away.

Ignoring her, Nelson focused on the call. The dial tone rung on and on until his own voice told him to leave a message. And leave one he did. "Listen here, Simpson, you better have had a good reason to call me at work. If you don't pick up the phone right now I'm blowing off work to come home, and you do not want me to do that if there isn't an emergency." Nothing. "Pick up, damn you, or your ass is in so much trouble." More silence. Nelson gripped the phone a little tighter. "Aw, fuck it," he spat, slamming the receiver back down into it's slot. Turning away from the phone and the wall, Nelson looked at the faces of his surprised co-workers.

"Sounds like someone's got boyfriend troubles," Anna said sarcastically in a sing-song voice, a smile playing with corners of her lips.

Someone else laughed in harmless humour. Nelson didn't think it was especially funny.

"I'm leaving. Can someone tell Charlie when he gets back?"

Anna tutted, clicking her tongue in a patronising manner, and walked out front to deal with the customers, but another raised his hand and nodded. "Yeah I will. You're on the late shift, aren't you? I'll cover for you."

"Thanks," Nelson said distractedly as he headed for the back entrance. "I owe you."

Once outside Nelson lost his cool and ran for the road to hail a taxi. He usually walked to and from work and his apartment to save the money but he wasn't going to waste the time right now. The streets were fairly empty save for the odd car rolling down the tarmac, in no hurry while the roads were so clear. Nelson jogged down the road, hoping to catch a taxi faster if he moved to a busier street. Just as he was about to dash back to the bar to use the phone there to ring a taxi company, he saw yellow. The car was forced to screech to a stop as Nelson practically ran straight for it, not caring in the slightest if it wasn't in service or was already taken. He yanked open the back door, relieved to see it empty, crawled in, and pulled the door closed behind him before he looked up at the somewhat startled face of the driver. "Oxford street, please. Fast as possible would be appreciated."

Without a word the driver faced the road and, not before starting the meter, eased his foot onto the accelerator. Despite the fact the driver went as fast as he legally could and the streets were almost barren, Nelson still felt antsy. He cricked his neck several times, feeling morbidly uncomfortable to be sitting so still with so much adrenaline urging him on. Through the windows he counted the street blocks down. Six. Five. Four- no wait that's five. Four. Three. Two. One...

"Here'll be fine."

When the driver pulled up to the curb Nelson already had his wallet out. He glanced at the glowing numbers on the meter, grabbed a bill that was just a little more and practically threw it at the driver with a, "Thanks!" before he jumped out of the car.

The door to his apartment complex was intact. That was the first thing that came to Nelson's mind as he headed for it, already pulling his key out. Inside he jogged up the stairs, feeling more and more like he'd left work for nothing.

"If that bastard isn't bleeding or something equally as critical when I get in there he so will be," he muttered under his breath. All ire fled the moment he saw his apartment door, however; it was open more than just a crack; the wood around the knob splintered.

Nelson pushed past it and was inside in an instant, his brown eyes scanning the interior of his apartment for Bart. Everything was quiet, like the kid had never even been there in the first place. He checked the bedroom, the bathroom, he even stormed into the toilet, but he wasn't there. Bart wasn't there. Nelson's mind went blank.

"What do I do now?" he asked himself, his voice low in the silent apartment. "He's fucking gone. What do I do?"

Making his way back into the kitchen, Nelson checked the counter where he'd left his phone and the number for his work on top of the phone book for the blond in case of emergencies. It was all still there, sitting on the opposite side of the counter-top than he'd left them, but still there. He'd hoped the phone at least would be gone.

As Nelson stared at the counter-top in a state of shock, he noticed something strange about the yellow post-it note he'd scribbled his work number on before leaving for work. He reached out and ran his fingers over it, feeling the almost invisible elevated bumps underneath the pen ink. When his fingers reached the edge he flipped it over to reveal a singular word scrawled in terribly rushed handwriting.

BOB

Nelson sucked in a breath and held it there. There were two things that single word could mean. One, Bart was taken by Sideshow Bob, or two, Bart wanted Nelson to contact the clown and beg for his help. Both were bad. Very, very bad.

"I don't exactly have the guy's number or address, Bart," Nelson murmured darkly, cracking the fingers of his left hand by his side, using his thumb to push down at the knuckles of his curled digits until they popped. "And how am I supposed to know whether I'm asking for his help or if I'm bashing his head in for kidnapping you?"

Groaning in frustration, Nelson scrunched the piece of paper up in his fist and shoved it carelessly into his pocket. His blood felt like it was flowing around his limbs faster than normal- like a rushing river, working harder because there were obstructions blocking his veins, so icy it felt warm. That felt minor though compared to the overwhelming anxiety and guilt that flooded his chest and tried to sink his heart amidst their waves.

Stuck in a helpless guilt-fest, Nelson didn't hear the light knocking on the front door until it became louder and a voice joined in. "Hello? I'm looking for Nelson Muntz...? The door's open so I'm just going to come in now."

Nelson whipped around and watched as his headmaster walked into his apartment. A red wool scarf was wound loosely around his neck and his grey coat lapels were clenched together in the front by white knuckles.

"Mr. Harris? What the hell are you doing here?" Nelson demanded, his muscles relaxing. And at this time of night? he added mentally.

Eric smiled pleasantly at Nelson and stopped just inside the doorway. "Nelson. Ah, yes, I remember you now that I'm looking at you. You're the one who dumped poor young Davis in a yard trash can that time. He couldn't get out, you know. Other kids filmed his attempts and posted it online."

Nelson frowned, confused. "Is that why you're here? No disrespect sir but that was over four months ago, and everyone knows Davis is an annoying little shit who takes pictures up girls' skirts with his phone when they're not looking."

Surprisingly, Eric smiled again, this time in humour. "Oh I know. Why do you think you didn't get into trouble."

No less confused, Nelson nodded and drawled, "Riiight. Well, Mr. Harris, this- whatever 'this' is- was great and all but I've got something really important to do right now so..."

"I'm here about Bart Simpson," Eric said, his face suddenly very serious. "You were seen with him at school the other day when the fire alarm went off. Your teacher reported you missing afterwards. I need to know if you're aware of where Bart went that day."

Nelson blinked at his headmaster, suspicion creeping in. "Why? Is something wrong? And if so why are you looking for him?"

"It's complicated. Please, do you know anything?"

Nelson looked away. "No. I don't."

There was long a pause before Eric sighed. "You're lying; I can tell. Bart's here, isn't he? Look, I know all about what's going on. Bart will be fine seeing me." He shifted his weight so he could look down the hallway that led to the only other rooms in the apartment. "Where is he? Bart!"

Gaze slicing back to the older man, Nelson crossed his arms. "What do you mean you know all about what's going on? Bart told me everything but he didn't mention confiding in his- our headmaster."

Eric met Nelson's sceptical look and pursed his lips. "I found him at Robert's house and they told me everything. I was the one who took Bart to school the day the fire alarm went off and he disappeared. I haven't seen him since. Robert wouldn't tell me where he went so I had to track him down again. Look, just tell him I'm here. Is he sleeping or something?"

"He's not here."

Eric rolled his eyes. "I know he's here already, so drop the act."

Shaking his head, Nelson ran a hand over half of his face. "You don't understand. Yes he was here but now he's not. He was taken- I think."

Eric's shoulders dropped an inch. "What? Wait- you think? When?!"

"Just now. He called me at work but hung up before I could get to the phone, so I left, but when I got home the apartment door was open and he wasn't here," Nelson said in a rush, stabbing his hand through his hair now. Remembering the note he pulled it out of his pocket. "I found this."

Eric approached him swiftly and took the note. He glanced at it, turned it over, and frowned. "Bob?"

"Yeah, either that clown spazzed out again and kidnapped him or Bart wants his help."

Shaking his head, Eric smoothed out the note. "No, I was at Robert's house today. Bart isn't there."

Finally making the connection between 'Bob' and 'Robert', Nelson snatched his phone off the counter and pocketed it. "Then you need to take me to his house. We obviously need his help."

Eric's head snapped up. "Robert's? I don't think so. That man has done quite enough."

"Do you have a better idea? Do you know where those sons-of-bitches might have taken Bart?" Nelson demanded, raising an eyebrow at the man when he stumbled over excuses. "Listen, I don't like the palm tree either, but we've got to do something and Bart obviously thinks that the guy can help."

Looking like Nelson had just asked him to jump off a cliff to his certain doom, Eric licked his lips and folded the post-it note until he couldn't again, staring at an empty wall. "Fine." He slid the paper carefully into his pocket and finally settled his eyes on Nelson. They looked tired. "Fine. Come on then, my car's outside."

-~X~-

Sideshow Bob's house was nicer than Nelson would have expected. For a criminal he had nice digs. It was one of those modern joints you see sprouting up overnight, the types you think must be really nice and new inside. It wasn't huge or anything but it was still...nice. More than any one man should really need. Not Nelson's cup of tea but whatever, not everything was.

Eric's car was nice, too- all shiny and clean. During the drive Nelson had tried to find a speck of mud on the hood or the windshield, a leaf or a pebble or something on the floor, but he found nothing. It felt weird, like Eric was about to turn to him any minute and look at him like he was a pile of trash or a giant stain and take a dust-buster to his forehead.

They pulled into the clown's driveway and Eric put the car in park and tugged up the handbrake. He glanced at Nelson briefly before getting out, his car door thudding softly back into place after him. Nelson got out too, wasting no time in striding up the the front door and knocking loudly. Eric joined him in front of the door, his face impassive. Nelson waited a full ten seconds before bombarding the door with another set of firm knocks. When no one answered Nelson knocked harder.

"Where the heck is he?"

Eric shrugged. "I don't know. Probably ignoring us. He doesn't like either of us, you know."

"The feeling's mutual," Nelson said unfavourably, then, much louder, "Hey Bob! Answer the door! Or else I'll chuck rocks through your windows until you do!"

Not five seconds later the door was wrenched open. Bob was a mess. He had bags under his eyes, dark and pronounced, his hair was limp, and his clothes were ruffled and wrinkled. His expression however was perfectly murderous. "If you don't get off my property right now I'll throw a rock through my own window, call the police, and tell them you did it."

"In other words," Nelson said slowly, "Fuck off?"

A muscle in Bob's cheek twitched. "Precisely."

Eric took a step forward. "Bob this isn't a social visit. We have something important to say."

Bob's scathing gaze switched to Eric. "And you'll be saying it to the pavement unless you leave right now. It's past midnight for god's sake you crazy fool."

Seeing Eric's livid face, Nelson butted in."We need your help. Bart needs your help."

The redhead scoffed and raised a hand to rub a few fingers over one eye tiredly, his tall figure shifting to lean against the door frame. "He's not my problem any more, boy. He's yours now so you deal with him, and if it's not too much to ask, leave me alone while you're at it."

"We can't really do that," Nelson said. "Because we don't actually know where he is."

Bob's hand came away from his face and his eyes flicked open wider than previously. "What do you mean?"

"He's disappeared," Eric explained. "I finally found Nelson's address and turned up just after he arrived home himself, having been called by Bart at his work. Bart had hung up before Nelson could answer so he rushed home, only to find his apartment empty. There was only this, scribbled on the back of the number he used to call Nelson." Reaching into his pocket, Eric pulled out the note and passed it to Bob, who took it without hesitation.

Eyebrows furrowed, Bob stared at the one word long enough to read an entire letter. When he tore his gaze away at last he looked down at Nelson. "This is true? There's nothing else?"

"It's all true. And that's all he left behind, besides a shirt of his- he borrowed mine. I don't know what happened, but whatever it was it must have been that gang-leader guy, Mark's doing. We need to do something."

After another glance down at the note in his hand, Bob slowly nodded his head. "Yes. Yes it would seem that we certainly do. Come in." He backed away from the door and allowed Nelson and Eric entrance into his home.

Eric went immediately to a love seat and sat down like he'd done it a million times before. Nelson followed suit and found a seat close by. Bob didn't seem able to tear his eyes away from the post-it for longer than a minute. The man wandered into the lounge room without looking where he was going, but didn't sit down. He paced the floor slowly, his long legs carrying him far quickly nevertheless.

"This isn't good," he murmured, his expression thoughtful. "He has probably already been delivered to Mark by now, if it wasn't Mark himself who found him. We've possibly got a small window of opportunity, after which we will probably never see him again, police or not."
"We should call the police," Eric blurted. The man looked like he had seen a ghost; his face was as white as a sheet. "This has gotten too serious. They've kidnapped him! We're not well enough equipped to deal with this- we're not- we need to contact the police."

"I know Bart didn't want us to do it," Nelson added. "But I agree. Bart's life could be at risk here."

Bob nodded slowly, seemingly in some sort of daze, not looking at them. But then as if snapping out of it he shook his head furiously. "No, no, that wouldn't be a good move to make. Not now when we have such a small chance of getting him back alive; such a short amount of time. It would take the police too long, what with all their formalities and nonsense. By then who knows what could have become of him."

Eric scowled at the redhead. "Oh yes, and of course if we call the police you'll have to explain just how come you were keeping the boy hidden away in your home, wouldn't you? Oh no, we wouldn't want that."
"This isn't about me," Bob shot back, narrowing his eyes at Eric threateningly.

Nelson sat up a little straighter. "If we don't get the police involved then what do we do? Sit around and argue?"

"No," Bob said, turning his back on Eric and levelling Nelson with a look of determination. "We go get the Simpson brat back ourselves."