Chapter Four: The City of Lost Souls
"But why India? Rock was flying over the Pacific, Joe!!"
Polly was frustrated that, rather than searching for her missing, and presumed dead, cousin, Joe was instead flying to India. But Joe wouldn't respond to her; he kept twisting knobs on the console, looking for radio frequencies. Sometimes, she mused, it was easier talking to a brick wall.
"City Control, this is Sky Captain requesting permission to land."
"Oi! State yer bloody business flyboy, and be quick about it." The voice on the other end was gruff and contemptuous, with a thick Cockney accent.
"Tell Jolly Roger I need to speak to her immediately. Tell her it's about Rock."
There was a muffled conversation on the other end, and when the operator returned, there was a measure of civility in his voice.
"You're cleared to land in hangar A1, guv. Be quick about it."
Joe steered the plane through a thick veil of clouds before pointing out their destination to Polly.
"There it is Polly, the City of Lost Souls."
It was a vast island of bizarre technologies, hammered and welded into a jagged, labyrinthine metropolis. Four giant rotors mounted below the flight deck kept the place aloft, and although it reminded Polly of the British helipad she had visited with Joe on their last adventure, this one had been built on and repaired so many times it bore little resemblance to those gleaming English models. Polly blinked hard in disbelief, amazed and revolted by the sight of the ramshackle fortress.
Joe and Polly were now close enough to see in detail the bedraggled tenements that consumed the flight deck like a cancer. A motley community of rogues, scoundrels, and expatriates shuffled through the makeshift streets, going about their daily business. Toward the stern of the vessel, huge spires tore at the atmosphere like steel claws. The flag of the city, a cutlass angled in front of a crescent moon, flew proudly from a pole on the highest spire. The Warhawk dipped below the flight deck and drifted into the complex hive of hangar bays that all visitors were required to land in.
On landing, Joe found eight barrel-chested thugs, all armed to teeth with clubs, knives, and pistols, stoically waiting for him. "This way, Cap," said security leader, a grizzled behemoth whose right hand had been replaced with a machete blade. They marched off to an elevator waiting for them at the far end of the hangar and were whisked away to their meeting. Polly used the commute to take care of some unfinished business.
"So, were you runnin' around with her before or after Frankie!?"
Joe's thoughts were focused elsewhere. As if waking from a dream, he shook his head and faced her, urgency reflected in his eyes.
"It's not like that Polly, not with her. We'd been on some missions together when Jolly said she loved me. I told her I didn't feel the same way, that I loved..." Joe paused, choosing his next words carefully as they all stepped off the elevator. "Let's just say she doesn't take rejection too well. Jolly's not a good person, Polly. She's eccentric... violent."
The party walked in silence down a corridor of unpolished metal, pockmarked with bullet holes. They approached a large double door, emblazoned with the City's emblem and left ajar in anticipation. Joe grabbed Polly's arm and whispered a warning.
"Polly, please, let me do the talking. I don't want to see you get hurt."
A sultry voice suddenly hissed from inside the room.
"Sullivan, I told you I'd kill you if I ever saw you again. For your sake, this had better be good..."
Stay tuned for Chapter Five: Hell Hath No Fury