Chapter 3
Unlikely Meetings
"Go on home darlin'," Ellie told Genevieve, shouting above the din of the bar, "it'll still be a while yet before they drink themselves into a coma." The customers were raging loudly, legs flung on tables and punches being thrown. "You sure you'll be alright by yourself?" Genevieve yelled back, gathering the coins a man who's skin was darker than the bar itself threw at her. "Oh sure," Ellie said, "I can handle 'em," Genevieve patted Ellie on the back sympathetically before ducking under the bar and an airborne chair and hurrying out into the night.
She wove through the narrow streets, her head pounding. Brigand was a bastard. Anyone with half a brain could tell as much. But putting her in this situation was unforgivable. It was either accept his despicable proposal or a trial and subsequent jail.
She stepped across a wide puddle in the thick mud that made up the winding streets of the so-called city. Sort of reminded her of her home as a child.
How was she supposed to get aboard Jack Sparrow's boat? It might be difficult to find him, much less get him to trust her. She had found a job working in a bar just inside town. It was inhabited entirely by pirates, which scared her just a little.
Ellie ran the bar, the Hurricane, almost entirely by herself. She had listened carefully to the drunken ravings of the pirates for any news of the infamous Jack Sparrow and supposedly one of the young women who lived above the bar, Sam, said that he would be back probably the next day because he owed her money. You keep thinking that honey, she thought, the day she would trust a pirate would be a sad day indeed.
Sighing, she wiped her hands on the apron over the bright red billowing dress she wore as she made progress in the dim light. It was well past midnight and she was exhausted. At least she still had some money left in order to keep her room down the street. Most of the drunks were passed out in shadowy corners and didn't move. Lanterns dangled from every building, throwing soft orange light into orbs near every doorway.
She didn't notice the shadow that seemed to follow her down the alley towards the hostel. Up ahead there was a fight going on. She just ignored it. There was no point in fighting over a prostitute when there were plenty to go around. As she brushed past what she thought was an unconscious drunk, a dirt caked arm snaked around her waist. She extracted herself fairly easily because the man was weak with liquor. However, she stumbled into the middle of the scuffle that had been going on. One of the men grabbed her around the waist, his other hand holding the short dagger that he had been gesturing wildly to her throat.
"Well aren't you a pretty li'l thing," he growled, his voice gravelly.
Genevieve held her breath, rolling her eyes annoyed at the drunken man as he breathed heavily on her. The other man smiled at her disgustingly while the young prostitute melted into the shadows quietly.
"You don't know who you're messing with," Genevieve said quietly, her spine stiffening.
"Oh don't I?" the man asked, the hand that was wrapped around her waist moved to her hip suggestively.
Genevieve's heart pounded as she heard a rifle being cocked.
"Let go of her," a voice said. The owner of the voice was enveloped in shadows, but the pistol was shining in the lamplight of the now silent alleyway.
"Get out o' here, whoever you are," the man said, pressing the knife closer to her throat until she gasped. How typical, she thought, a woman walking down a dark alley is asking for trouble.
"I said let go of her," the man said again, his aim never wavering. It was pointed directly at her, or rather, directly at her attacker.
"Aw, screw it," the man said, letting go of her, "she ain't worth it." She spun around and punched the man hard in the face. "Shows what you know." He stumbled and fell to the ground clutching his nose where blood spurted from it as he scrambled up and raced away, staggering. She grinned when she heard the other man run away, scared of a young girl in a dark alley.
She had all but forgotten the man who was hidden in shadows. When he stepped out of the darkness she gaped at him. He was covered in dirt and grime, his hair long. He still held the pistol high. She stared at him, goggling for a moment.
"Ca-can I help you sir?" she asked, using over-sweet politeness.
"That depends love," he said, rubbing a thumb over his chin. "How much money do you have on you?"
"You can't rob me!" She glared at the man, appalled, his eyes searing into hers and unconsciously put her hand in the pocket of her apron where her meager payment and a small dagger both sat.
"Of course I can," he said, a small smirk landing on his dark face. "It's just a matter of which you value more, your gold or yourself." He cocked the pistol hammer slowly so that she could hear it echoing in the now-silent alleyway where everyone had disappeared.
"I don't have any money," Genevieve said, keeping her face immobile and faced him bravely as he trained the gun at her.
"Liar," he said. "Fortunately I know how to cure liars." He sauntered forward, and circled her mockingly. He slid a proprietary arm around her waist and she could smell him. Although she was sure he hadn't bathed in probably a month, he smelled of musk and smoke, which was surely from the pubs he frequented by the scent of his breath.
"Don't touch me," she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper.
"Why love, don't you like it? Ladies can't seem to resist ol' Jack," she could sense that he was smiling at her behind her back.
Genevieve shoved his hand away and spun around, "I doubt you know many ladies."
Jack frowned at her, obviously insulted, "now tha's not very nice. I didn't insult you did I?"
"No, you didn't insult me, you merely tried to rob me."
"Which brings us back to your inept attempt at deceit," Jack said raising a finger and wagging it at her, taunting, "shame on you." He still held the pistol clutched in his long-fingered hand but it was pointed at the ground loosely.
Genevieve smiled at him charmingly as she moved closer, sliding an arm around his neck. "I'm so sorry." She grasped at the gun in his hand at tried to yank it loose. Before he let go of it the pistol fired at the ground and the shock of it sung up her arm. She staggered back, aiming the gun at him but was surprised to see him grinning.
"Now what exactly are you going to do with that, darling?" he asked as he drew a broad sword from his belt.
Damn, damn, damn it all to hell.
Genevieve heard someone racing towards them and spotted a larger man who was loping down the alley. He had graying hair and a red bulbous nose which glowed.
"Anything wrong cap'n?" the man asked solicitously, his words slurred.
"Nope Tal, I got everything I came for," Jack said, nodding towards Genevieve.
Genevieve backed away from both of them, the pistol still clasped in her cold hand. "Wait a second," she said, holding up both hands and allowing Tal to grab the pistol from her. Jack merely grinned at her, "walk now or be carried, love."
"What do you mean?"
He gestured towards her with his sword. "You're gonna come for a little ride on me ship, the Black Pearl, dear. Now you can either walk, or Tal here can carry you."
I know, I know guys. I have that really bad habit of cutting the story off before it gets to be good. Anyway, I should be posting again soon, so tell me what you think!
