Disclaimer: i do not own jurassic park, any of it charaters or islands ( would be fucking quality if i did though )
Soooo this is my first ever fic and i hope you enjoy
Puryt plz review : D ( i asked nicely )
Chapter One - A Stranger's Proposal
The barman paused as the doors swung open, revealing a thin man wearing a black suit with no tie. He seemed oddly out of place in the small bar, and the barman noticed that the stranger's top button of his shirt was undone. He seemed particularly uncomfortable with the heat. The stranger gave the barman a cursory nod before slowly, the well-dressed man looked around the small bar. His eyes lingered on a man hunched over the bar further down. It had been almost impossible to find this place, and now that Lewis Peterson had arrived, he realised that it was the perfect place for a well-known hunter to hide. It was close to the Amazon rainforest, which meant easy access for the hunter, and yet far enough away from society for very few people to come to it.
"What do you want?" the barman asked, towel slung over his shoulder.
Carefully, Peterson headed to the man leaning on the bar. There were at least a dozen empty beer glasses next to the man, and a cowboy hat perched on his head, hiding his face from Peterson's view and Peterson was sure he knew what face would be under the hat.
"Is… anyone sitting here?" he asked, nervously.
The man didn't move, and Peterson took in the man's ruffled appearance. The once white tank top the man wore was now stained brown in places and there were several tears along the man's side. His shorts weren't any better. The pockets were worn through and stretched, with even more stains, only this time, the stranger was sure that these stains weren't mud from trekking through the jungle. About the only part of the man that didn't seem over-used were the near pristine sandals the man wore. Peterson forced himself not to step back from the strong smell emanating from the man, he had finally managed to track himself hunter, and he was not going to loose him.
"Excuse me?" Peterson tried again, this time eliciting a groan from the man.
His hand twitched, then reached out and grabbed the nearest glass. Peterson slid into the seat next to the man and watched him tilt the glass to his lips.
"Are you a hunter?" Peterson asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
The man paused then, and set the empty glass down on the table. For a moment, Peterson thought he was going to leave, but the man looked over at the barman, who served up another glass of cheap beer.
"I have a proposal for you," Peterson said, leaning in closer to the man.
"Not interested," the man said, and gulped down the entire glass in one go.
"Actually, I think you will be," the stranger said. "You're currently on a hunting trip, am I right? Hunting jaguars out in the rainforest?"
"Tagging," the man corrected, breathing out a sigh. "These days killing a jaguar is worse than killing your own parents, everyone knows that. And I said, I'm not interested."
"Then at least hear me out," Peterson tried, moving as close to the man as he could.
"You've got until I finish my next beer," the man told him, tilting the glass he had just finished to the barman.
"You have hunted almost every animal on the face of this world," Peterson began, and eyed the rapidly disappearing beer. "Except maybe one. A dinosaur."
The man's eyes glanced to Peterson's face, before he finished the glass and placed it on the bar in front of him. "There are no such thing as dinosaurs anymore, they died out millions of years ago."
Peterson raised an eyebrow at the man's certainty. "Are you sure?"
"Isla Sorna does not exist," the man answered. "It is simply a rumour, a myth, a legend or what ever you want to call it."
"I can assure you," Peterson said, reaching into his pocket and extracting a thin wad of paper. "Dinosaurs truly exist, and so does the island of Isla Sorna. It was no cover up."
The man looked down at the photographs Peterson had put in front of him. Peterson watched the man's face, searching for anything, but this man was well-versed in hiding his emotions. A hunter's need to be, particularly if they come across a lethal animal in the wild and need to convince it that they are neither food nor prey.
Peterson's eyes ticked to the man's cheek, and the man's eyes narrowed. For a moment, Peterson thought that the man was going to leave, but instead he flicked the photographs away and raised his glass to the barman, signalling for another beer. Dutifully, the barman brought a fresh glass and began clearing the others away.
The doors swung open, bouncing against the wall, and several men entered. Peterson turned and glanced at them as they made their way to the bar. The barman stood back, washing out a glass as the group proceeded to make themselves at home in one of the booths at the back of the small establishment.
The barman placed the glass on the bar and knocked the wall. A woman with a white apron on came though the door at the back of the bar and headed to the booth the men were in. From the fact that they were speaking rapidly in what Peterson could only assume to be Spanish, or some form of it, he guessed that they were locals, and from the look on the woman's face, they were also regulars.
"What would you all like" the young woman asked, a pad of paper and a pen in her hands.
The first man, already half drunk replied, slurring his words slightly as he looked her up and down. "Some of your ass, bitch," he said, reaching out for a feel.
The woman rolled her eyes and smoothly moved out of reach, "To drink…" she clarified.
A more sober man, sitting opposite his friend, shook his head ruefully. "Sorry about him, he's a bit drunk already. And the drinks will be six pints of your finest lager and a whisky, no ice."
As the sober man finished talking the drunken man lunged at the woman, grabbing her roughly round the waist and pulling her to his knee. She screamed in surprise and immediately began to fight against him, but he was too strong, and held on tightly.
"Hey boys looks like I've pulled for tonight" the man laughed at his friends. Two of the others laughed as well, as the sober man shook his head again.
The barman leaned close to Peterson and whispered. "Do you think your friend could help my daughter get away from those men? Because if you do you can get free drinks tonight."
Peterson turned to ask the hunter but he was gone. Surprised at the man's swift and silent departure, Peterson turned back to watch the girl to see if she was ok but the hunter stood next to the table, blocking his view of the drunken men. He appeared to be talking to the drunks, and Peterson noticed the girl was standing behind the hunter, a scared look on her face.
" You, my drunken friend, are a pig," said the hunter, glaring down at the others.
"Who the fuck do you think your talking to, shrimp?" the man replied, his voice starting to rise in anger.
"Well let me ask you something, how many of you people are drunk?" asked the hunter politely, not giving the man time to answer him. He glanced round the bar, at the barman's grim face, Peterson's surprised look and at the terrified girl standing beside him. He turned back to the man, "It looks like it's just you, so I would say that I'm talking to a drunk man."
The man got to his feet, unsteady but angry and swung a fist that could have been a punch had he been sober at the hunter. The hunter's calm face seemed to move so slightly to the left in the man's vision, enough for the man to wander whether he'd thrown his fist in the right direction. Scowling, he pulled his hand back, shoved his shirt up his arm - exposing a black tattoo - and threw another punch. This time though, the hunter didn't move, merely brought his hand up, grabbed the man's tattooed arm, turned and threw him to the ground. He landed in a roll and cracked his head on the bar.
"Don't start what you can't finish, boy," the hunter laughed cruelly, a cold glint in his eye as he stared down at the man.
"Am gonna finish you right now," replied the man, spitting on the floor as he stood. He leaned against the bar, glaring drunkenly at the now smiling hunter.
"Try me," dared the hunter.
The man threw himself at the hunter, a knife suddenly appearing in his hands. Surprise didn't even flicker across the hunter's face - he had predicted this move from the start - and he was ready for it. He sidestepped the man's swing, just like he had done before, grabbed the man's arm once more, only this time, instead of throwing the man to the floor - and possibly onto the knife - his hand came up and the heel of his palm slammed into the man's face, shattering his nose.
Blood sprayed everywhere as the man fell to the floor and the hunter turned away, wiped his face with the back of his hand and walked away as if nothing had happened.
Sighing, he headed over to the bar, picked his hat up and placed it back on his face.
"Hey shithead!" one of the man's friends yelled.
The hunter turned, glared at the men, and then looked down at the man lying on the floor. Heaving another sigh - tonight looked like it wasn't ever going to end - he turned back to the men and removed his hat.
"KO!" he declared, holding his arms wide. He tilted his head to one side, "Anyone else wanna fight?"
The light flickered over the man's features, highlighting his face a sick yellow in colour, and making the pink scar stand out even more. The other men's eyes widened in recognition and they hastily apologized, grabbed their friend by the ankles, and - not even bothering to pick him up - dragged him out of the bar. The doors banged shut behind them.
Peterson sat in shock at what this man had done. First he makes fun of a drunk man, fights said drunk man with a smile on his face, and then knocks them out with one damned punch. The hunter reached past Peterson to his last glass of beer and downed it. He thanked the barman, who simply nodded, not asking for money after promising him free drinks. Peterson turned to the hunter, who was almost at the door.
"So then, Mr…er…hunter, are you interested in the job?" asked Peterson, tentatively.
"My name isWolfe," said the hunter, and disappeared through the doors.
Peterson quickly stood and followed, hoping that Wolfe hadn't gone too far. Once outside the bar, he looked around, and found Wolfe leaning against a large pick-up truck. The dim light filtering from the bar fell far from where Wolfe was, and Peterson couldn't help but shiver as Wolfe took out a large hunting knife and looked at it in the dark. Moonlight glinted off the blade.
"So!" Peterson called, reluctant to leave the safety of the light. "Are you interested?"
Wolfe didn't say anything, but placed the knife back wherever it came from and stepped towards the American. He stared at Peterson for a moment, his eyes searching for something, and Peterson felt his own gaze drawn to the strange scar on Wolfe's cheek.
Wolfe raised a finger, "I have on condition," he stated.
Peterson's face broke out into a brilliant grin. "So you'll come? I promise you-"
"One condition," Wolfe repeated, and glared down at Peterson until Peterson caught on that he needed to hear the hunter out, otherwise there would be no deal.
"What is it?"
"I bring my own gear," Wolfe stated, and climbed into his truck.
"That's fine with me," Peterson agreed, grinning again. Wolfe started the engine, and Peterson was forced to leave the light as he stepped closer to the vehicle to tell the hunter one last thing. "The plane leaves in a week from San Jose airport! At four pm."
Wolfe nodded and Peterson watched him pull away. Once he was out of sight, Peterson reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. It was answered on the first ring.
"Boss, I have good news!"
"So tell me and stop fucking around."
Wisely, Peterson told him, "I got us Andy Wolfe, the hunter."
"I know who Andy Wolfe is, you little shit, and he had better show up or your ass is grass and I will be the lawnmower."
Peterson couldn't stop shaking as his boss ended the call. Once his brain registered the dial tone in his ear, he let out the breath he had been holding and headed over to his own battered rental car, climbed in and drove off. Still shaking, he loosened his tie and prayed that Andy Wolfe would show up the following week. It had taken long enough to find the famous hunter, he only hoped that all the searching would be worth it.
well that is the end of chapter on now can you please review ( i am obsessed with this review thing ainta )