I'LL BE RIGHT HERE

Chapter Forty Three

"If you've got no trust, then what do you got?"
(From: 'The Art of the Steal'.)

-x0x-

Now…

"Pick up the radio," Meek snapped. "Tell them to keep their distance."

Sidekick Number One glanced around uncertainly and then lunged for the pilot, dragging him to his feet. "You. Boat Pig. Do as he says."

Boat Pig? Shawn cocked his head at the colourful idiom. The pilot was an older man with a weather-beaten face and the kind of neatly-trimmed seafarer's beard that ought to belong on a box of frozen fish. Why would bacon even enter the equation?

Giving Sidekick Number One a sour look, Captain Birdseye moved to obey. Minutes later, the three back-up vessels slowed their approach and cut their engines, bobbing up and down beside each other in a nauseating manner. Dark blue figures lurked on board and held secret consultations that were no help at all from Shawn's perspective.

So near and yet so far.

His ears were still ringing but he filed that under the heading of 'Things I Can't Fix At The Moment' (a list that was far too long already), and set his mind to thinking of a plan, since attacking the man in a rage had failed him so completely. Hemmed in by the new arrivals on one side and the Copernicus on the other, Meek was going nowhere. He was a sea rat caught in a sea trap – but rats were sneaky and Shawn had no doubt that this mangy specimen would chew off his own leg (or preferably someone else's) if it meant that he could wriggle free.

The image was disturbing enough to occupy Shawn's thoughts for several minutes. By the time he shook it off, Meek was already reaching down to grab him.

"Human shield," Shawn nodded, pressing a surreptitious hand to his aching gut in an effort to keep the pain at bay. His legs were unbelievably shaky and he hoped they wouldn't fail him. "Sure. I get it. You find a move that actually works, you stick with it…"

"Shut up," Meek told him tersely.

Shawn was so tired of hearing that phrase – and what was the point in holding back when everything he did just seemed to make things worse?

"I was being nice," he grumbled. "Not that you deserve it…" Rambling on, he let the words spill out of him like verbal confetti, all floaty and distracting. Meanwhile, his brain was multitasking on another level, pulling ideas out of thin air and immediately discarding them when they proved to be impractical. This one was stolen from an old episode of 'seaQuest DSV' and, sad to say, he didn't have a giant submarine to hand. That one involved a wet suit and 007 in flippers. Never say never, Shawn thought wryly. The third one (his personal favourite) called for Lassie and Jules, an impossible shot and a great deal of luck, so that was out as well.

Then he had an apostrophe.

Epiphany?

I've heard it both ways, he decided. The new plan came from so far beyond left field, it smacked him on the head before he even saw it approaching. It was brilliant. Almost poetical. And it had worked several times before – admittedly when Shawn was twelve, but that was a detail he chose to overlook. Besides, some of his best ideas originated in grade school. Since then, of course, it had also failed him in a big, big way, but who was counting, really? That was just a blip. A moment of weakness. The plan itself was sound and, to tell the truth, he had been longing for a chance to try again. All it would take was a few sneaky hints, some careful manoeuvring and a healthy dollop of trust. Well, trust he could do, in spite of the last time – and everything else was a cinch. In fact, thanks to Meek and his selfish need to place another warm body (and awesome head of hair) between himself and a hail of bullets, Shawn was perfectly situated.

Care for a dance, Eddie? Shifting his weight, he pretended to stumble. It wasn't hard to fake. A fortuitous sneeze made the move seem even more natural.

"Sorry," he mumbled, sniffing, as Meek adjusted his grip. Five sharp fingernails dug into Shawn's arm and broke the skin, but he barely noticed. There was triumph in his heart. Already, he had shuffled several inches in the right direction. A few more subtle feints like that and he would have the man exactly where he wanted him.

"Stop squirming," Meek demanded.

"I'm sore. And cold. You threw me off the ship, remember?" In the midst of his complaining, Shawn caught his father's eye and winked to reassure him that a new play was in motion. Henry looked startled, and then composed his features.

Twisting round to stare at Meek, Shawn managed to nudge him a little further to the left. Now they were halfway. His confidence swelled and he stuck out his chin. "How are you doing back there?" he said cheekily. "Me, I love a good cruise – I worked for a week as a waiter on the Pacific Princess until the captain canned my ass for playing 'The Floor Is Lava' across all the fancy tables in the Moonlight Lounge – but I gotta say, this is no fun at all. I know you're disappointed too, and I don't blame you. Let it all out, Eddie. Don't hold it in. You'll feel so much better. Colonic confession…" His eyes were wide and innocent but the flow of words was ruthlessly effective. Meek bristled (apart from the raw patches where Shawn had ripped out his sideburns).

"I know what you're trying to do."

I doubt it, Shawn smirked to himself, keeping his imaginary cards close to his chest. He feigned a careless shrug, incidentally moving them both another inch as he did so. Now Chief Vick was squarely in his line of sight. Her face was pale and her frown was unhappy. Raising his eyebrows, he offered her a tiny smile. "Chief," he said. "Don't look so worried. Meek here is a clever man. I'm sure he can turn the tables on this crazy situation."

That's what I'm afraid of, said the look in her eyes.

"You do have a plan, don't you, Eddie?" Shawn continued. "A good plan is worth its weight in gold… or genuine space dirt. Am I right?"

"What you are is an idiot." Meek's tone was dangerous. Shawn didn't care. He was close… so close…

"Let me table a motion," he suggested. "Hands up everyone who thinks that you should just surrender and let the chips fall where they may? No more pesky hostages; no more threatening people when they look at you cross-eyed. No more lying. No more me. You're feeling it, aren't you? Tell me you're not tempted."

Several hands had risen in the air by this point. The highest belonged to Henry.

"Boss…?" said Sidekick Number One from behind them, sounding hopeful. "He does have a point. The alternative isn't so…"

"Quiet!" Meek snapped at him. "Can't you tell when a frightened man is trying to save his own skin?"

"I'm not the one who's frightened. Not anymore." Shawn spoke in a voice that made him sound so calm, he almost believed it himself. "You think I don't feel you shaking? Too close, Eddie. You let me get too close. We should both lay our cards on the table and come to some kind of arrangement. Nobody here wants to end their day in a body bag. That's not a good look for anyone. Set us all free and the chief here might cut you some slack. She's a good egg…" He grinned at her shyly, and blushed when she blushed.

"Have you finished?" This time it was Meek who turned them both away from Karen and the other hostages. Shawn was thrilled by his good fortune. The deal was done. The board was set. The pie was on the cooling rack. The hot dog was in the napkin…

"No," he said happily. "One more thing. Did you know that Gus is a table?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Gus. Is a table," Shawn repeated, almost breathless with anticipation – and he shoved with his whole body, up from the soles of his feet, fighting against the weakness in his limbs and sending the two of them toppling backwards in the mother of all trust falls…

…as an unexpected shot rang out and someone squealed in pain.

-x0x-

A/N: When Shawn mentions 'The Floor is Lava', he's talking about the original childhood game, not the series, which wouldn't have existed at this time.