A/N: Yay! Another chapter! We meet even more boys in this one, and a tiny bit more is explained. It's the chapter after this where the exposition really starts, so you should hang around. Also, a certain Italian shows up then as well. Don't go anywhere, haha. Anyway, enjoy!
"So… you're really from the past?"
David stared into his third Nosebleed and didn't reply. He was pretty sure he'd gone into shock.
Evidently, Cowboy figured the same thing. "Snipes, let him alone. This is kinda some deep shit, y'know?" The tall boy reached over and switched David's alcohol for a tall glass of water. "Let's ease off on the booze, huh?"
2032. That's just not possible. This is some sick joke. Have I landed in one giant role-playing community? It isn't 2032. But for some reason, time-travel seemed to be the only excuse that would cover all the questions rising in his mind. Why the sun is so big. Why I'm suddenly in the middle of a desert. Why everyone talks and acts weird. That guy must have crossed over to get Les and dragged him back – that's why the car was waiting.
Oddly enough, his brain quickly came to accept this idea – he had thought his mind would be more critical. It probably has something to do with that drink…He considered that idea for a moment, then reached over and grabbed Jack's Nosebleed and tossed it back before the tall boy could protest. After a brief grimace, David let out a sigh and rested his forehead in his hands.
"You all right there, Davey?" Cowboy asked, leaning back and gesturing for the bartender – another boy with dark curly hair, a large nose, and a limp – to refill his glass.
David raised his head. "In one day, I was late to school, failed a Physics test, saw my little brother kidnapped, was nearly fed to rabid dogs, and found out that I jumped thirty years into the future without knowing it. How the hell do you think I feel?" He asked bleakly before letting his head drop back onto his palms. "It's David, anyway."
"Yeah, Davey. So," Cowboy accepted his new drink from the barman, and took a swig. "You wanna tell us about what happened to your bro? Maybe we can help."
"Help?" David asked, incredulous. "How? I have no idea where they went!"
"We'll deal with the helping part, Davey-boy. You just tell us your story."
With a sigh, David gave in. If it turns out that they can't do anything, I've only lost a few minutes of talking and my only hope. If they can help, I've got a lead and a bunch of potentially homicidal, dog-loving, bloody-nosed, psychos from the future on my side. He wondered which was worse.
When David finished his tale, Cowboy was silent for a moment. "Snipes, Snitch, check the car. Sputchy, see if you can track down our man, find Skitts' car, and get in touch with Mush. Don't worry, Davey," he said with a slight smile. "We'll find little Les."
As he watched four guys hurry off (hadn't Cowboy only named three?), David was surprised to find that he did feel slightly reassured. The unquestioning competence with which Cowboy dispatched orders, the calm and quick exits of the boys indicated, and whole air of unworried interest – it all made him feel like these boys knew what they were doing.
David himself was a wreck. He was hot, dirty, and tired – not to mention depressed, anxious, terrified, and more than slightly inebriated. He had no idea what to do, but he felt terribly guilty sitting in a bar when he should be out hunting for his brother.
When he expressed these fears to Cowboy, the taller boy laughed slightly and waved a lazy hand. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about that, Davey. We're taking care of that right now. Besides, if you were out there-" he thrust a finger at the doorway "you'd probably be suffering from dehydration and sunstroke, and in no position to help your bro. So relax and let us do all the hard work."
"But…" David protested, then couldn't find anything to really protest against. "But why are you helping me? I mean, what do you care about my brother or I?"
The other boy widened his eyes playfully and stuck out his lower lip. "I'm hurt, Dave. That's the problem with your time. Everybody's so suspicious. Can't a guy do something nice, once in a while?"
"Thus says the same guy who threw me in a cage with rabid dogs and threatened me repeatedly with handguns."
Cowboy shrugged. "We had to make sure you weren't one of them."
Rolling his eyes, David snorted. "Them, them, them. No one has even really told me who they are. Yes, I know they're the Compound-" he held up a hand to forestall Cowboy's explanation. "But who are the Compound? Or is it a what?"
Looking awkward, the other boy sighed. "It's kinda hard to explain. They're the bad guys."
"Bad enough to feed me to rabid dogs and beat me with rifles?"
"They ain't rabid. They're quite well-behaved, actually. We use dogs to figure out who's from the Compound. There's some kinda smell or behavior that sets them apart, and the dogs don't like it. And we wouldn't have beaten you if you hadn't run."
"Well, what was I supposed to do? I thought you were going to feed me to the dogs for a crime I'd never heard of, not help me find my brother!"
Cowboy had the good grace to look slightly guilty. "Sorry about that, but we didn't know that you didn't know."
David was saved from having to reply, but the return of Snipes – the kid with the cigar – and the tall boy with the huge teeth who must be Snitch.
Snipes smacked his fist on the table as he reclaimed his seat. "Car's clean – even the treads and the running board. It's a '32 S12 AMG Mercedes with no plates, 256 miles on the odometer, and the power cells are about three-quarters full. There's only a few prints in the interior, and they all look like they belong to the same person. Each one is smudged or partial, so we can get a proper match. But they're small – like from a kid." Snipes nodded to David, who's mouth suddenly went dry.
He drained half of his previously untouched water, as Snitch leaned forward. "That ain't it though. The car was clean, but the ground wasn't." The tall boy placed a small black dot – about the size of the head of a thumbtack – on the table and grinned. "Found this on the ground near the bumper. Must have dropped out during the switch. It's a bit crushed though."
Everyone leaned forward to inspect the black dot. Cowboy grinned. "Good work, boys. Snodds, Swifty," he nodded to the two boys who had previously been dragging David around. "You guys take that car out to Race with my compliments. Drinks for everyone on the house!"
As all the boys cheered and mobbed the bar, Cowboy leaned across the table to David. "Here, come on. We'll see what Sputchy has for us, then drop by Race's hideout." He slid out of the booth, and led David out the side door.
Around to the opposite side of the building from the dogs, was what looked like a storm cellar. With a grunt of effort, Cowboy heaved one of the heavy metal doors open, gesturing for David to precede him down into the dark depths.
David found himself in what looked like one of those pictures from his history books, with the computers that took up an entire room. Admittedly, it was a small, cramped room, but it was still covered floor to ceiling with beeping machines and monitors. There was a skinny metal table in the center, and a bare bulb shed light on it from above.
The room was occupied by two boys – alike only in that they both wore glasses. One was thin and blond – looked vaguely Dutch or Swedish – and the other was more built, with wavy brown hair that kept flopping in his face. They were both seated in rolling chairs, and seemed to be competing in some sort of relay race. One would inspect some piece of gadgetry and mutter, then the other would scoot off to check out another bit, before muttering back.
David watched in fascination as the boys motored back and forth – listening to headphones, peering at screens, typing briefly at keyboards, muttering – until Jack cleared his throat. Both boys – if one was Sputchy, who was the other? – glanced up, and grinned. They Flintstoned over to the intruders, and began talking excitedly.
"Oh Jacky, we're so good-"
"Guess what we found?"
"Really you should pay-"
"We had to look-"
"Us for this wonderful-"
"Everywhere you could-"
"Job we do at such short-"
"Imagine. But we-"
"Notice all the time-"
"Finally managed to-"
"Just out of the good-"
"track that info you-"
"-ness of our hearts."
"Wanted us to find."
"Boys." Cowboy – Jacky? – interrupted, holding up a hand. "I think you're scaring Davey, here."
Both boys peered at David – who was indeed blinking in confusion – and smiled. "Sorry, Dave." Said the blond-haired one.
"We kinda run over each other." Put in the other.
"Only when we get excited!"
Cowboy grinned. "Y'see, that one with the blond hair is Dutchy, and the one with the brown-hair is Specs – both those names are kinda self-explanatory – but they spend so much time together, and you always need to tell them both something, so we just started calling them 'Sputchy' as a conglomerate."
"Like Bennifer."
"Who?"
David smiled. "Never mind."
Specs and Dutchy raised an eyebrow at each other, and then Specs rolled forward. "Well, what we were trying to say earlier, is that we found that stuff you wanted, Cowboy."
Dutchy scooted backwards until he came to a slot in the computer wall which had been spewing paper, and removed a few sheets. "A vintage '05 Ford Mustang GT – black with Shelby stripes and Xenon window scoops – was found abandoned just outside Jersey City about 10 minutes ago. No one anywhere nearby, but the dust is all stirred up. Looks like they took off in a helicopter."
David was surprised that they had gotten the news so fast, but looking at the entire room filled with equipment, he figured that if anyone could, it was Sputchy.
"And the other stuff?" Cowboy prodded.
"We let Mush in on the news – he says that Snyder and the Delancys left the Compound early this morning and haven't been back since. They were driving a black '32 Mercedes. He says he'll try to get in touch as soon as they get back."
Specs rolled back to the pile of papers accumulated from the spewing slot. "We found your man, Jack, but it ain't good news. He's at his safe house in Juneau. No communications, and all the way across the country."
Cowboy swore colorfully – using several words David didn't know – and slammed his fist into his palm. "Well, keep an eye on him. If there's some clandestine way you can contact him, do it. If not, let me know the minute we can. Depending on how this turns out, I might send someone up to get him."
Sputchy looked properly impressed. "So this is serious shit, huh?" Dutchy asked.
Specs smacked him lightly over the head. "Of course it is, stupid! Young Les Jacobs has been kidnapped, possibly by the Compound. Think about it."
Dutchy rubbed his head. "Oh. Right."
Jack reached into his pocket, and tossed the black dot to them – they both reached up to catch it, and ended up holding it in their linked hands. In such an excitement to find out what it was they had collectively caught, they leaned over their hands and promptly clonked heads.
But apparently this happened a lot, because they each absentmindedly rubbed the sore spots and continued pouring over the black thing.
"Is this…" began Dutchy, and for once, Specs didn't pick up the question.
"It is." Cowboy assured with a grin. "Snitchy found it outside by the car."
Specs smiled. "Best present ever."
"It's a bit damaged…"
Specs held it up to one eye, then sighed and clipped a magnifying lens onto his glasses. With one strangely enlarged eye, he peered at the black thing. "I don't know if we can work with it like this."
"Take it to Race." Put in Dutchy. "Have him fix it, then send it back to us and we'll tap it."
"Assuming that's what you want us to do."
Cowboy smiled and palmed the tiny dot. "Yup. We're on our way to Race right now, so I'll drop it by." He lead the way back into the sunlight, as the collective Sputchy resumed their muttering relay race of information.
"So what was that you gave them?"
"It the earpiece that Snitch found."
"Earpiece?" David asked, confused.
"You know, like a… mmm, what did you call them in your day? Like the speaker of a telephone in your ear."
"Oh yeah, we had those. Well, only in spy movies, and they were never wireless."
Cowboy smiled. "Well, in the past thirty years, there've been some changes."
David looked out at the flat and desolate landscape that had once been his home city. "I'll say…"
A/N: Well? Whaddya think? Reviews please? Pretty, pretty, pretty please… A huge thank you to my lone reviewer, the lovely hobbit1400 (enjoy the suspense dear, the exposition is on its way. Not that it does much to improve the situation…). Everyone else drop me a comment pwease. Much obliged. I'll be back in the States when I post again, so let's hope I remember. Cheers lads!