Chapter Four: The Search
Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters from The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest. They all belong to Hanna-Barbara. However, this story is mine, as are all the characters seen here that did not appear on the show.
Please note: Dialogue marked by angle brackets indicate that a character is speaking in Hindi.
Hadji followed Hiranmayi into the Littlewoods department store so that she could tidy herself after her fall, then waited impatiently as she browsed through the displays of ladies' clothing.
We have time, the young woman insisted. You know how long those wedding processions always last.
Just do not take too long, Hadji replied.
An hour later Hiranmayi and the Sultan emerged from the store to see that the procession had finished passing long before and that Tungesh and Jessie were nowhere in sight.
Perhaps they decided to go to the chai house to wait, suggested Hiranmayi. Hadji nodded, and they walked to the little café. Unfortunately, the people they were looking for were not there. They decided to wait, but after about twenty minutes, the Sultan began to feel uneasy. He did not trust the minister's son "as far as he could throw him," to use one of Race's sayings, and if anything happened to Jessie, Hadji knew that her father would never forgive him!
Hadji stood up. Let us return to the last place we saw them. It is possible that they have gone back there and are waiting for us to return. He and Hiranmayi left the chai house and headed back to the street corner where they had last seen Jessie standing. They ran into Tungesh about five minutes into the fifteen-minute walk.
Hadji was alarmed to see the minister's son standing alone on the sidewalk. Where is she? he asked without preamble. Tungesh hesitated, then launched into a convoluted story about how he'd lost her in the crowd as they'd searched for him and Hiranmayi. Hadji listened first with disbelief, then anger. How could you have "lost her in the crowd"? he demanded as he glared at the young man standing before him. In his mind, the Sultan saw an image of the pale-skinned, flame-haired woman standing alone in the midst of a throng of dark-haired, dark-skinned people. It is not as though she blends in! He squelched his rising fear and anger with a few cleansing breaths, but he could feel those sensations simmering just below the surface as his emotions did more and more often lately.
Hiranmayi was looking at Hadji with alarm, and he schooled his features into a less fierce expression, although a vertical crease was still visible between his dark eyebrows.
Tungesh took his sister's arm and said, My humble apologies, your Highness, but my father insisted that I have Hiranmayi home by two o'clock. We must leave now, or we will be late.
Hadji glanced at his watch, which showed that it was about twenty minutes after one p.m. I request that you assist me in locating Jessie, he said tightly.
Tungesh colored a little and shifted his eyes to avoid Hadji's gaze. I am sorry—I cannot. He tugged on Hiranmayi's arm and led her away. The young actress looked back toward Hadji with a sad expression on her face. The Sultan returned her look impassively, interpreting her expression as guilt that she'd abandoned him to search for Jessie alone. After a moment, Hiranmayi faced forward once more.
Hadji pulled out his cell phone to try to contact Jessie yet again. He received the same response he had the last three times he'd tried to call her: a tinny recording of a female voice saying: "The person you are trying to reach is out of the service area or has turned off the phone. Please try again later, or leave a voicemail after the tone." He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. He knew she had global service; all the members of the Quest team did. Why would she turn her phone off? For that matter, why hadn't she tried to call him?
Inner calm, he told himself sternly. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth several times. Panicking will not help Jessie if she is, indeed, in need of help. You cannot cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water. He decided to return to his car on the chance that she might be waiting for him there. Jessie was resourceful, and it was logical to assume that she would go back to the place she would be sure to encounter him. He turned on his heel and strode purposefully down the sidewalk. He had walked about three blocks when he spotted a flash of blue on top of a trash pile in the alleyway he was passing. Hadji walked over to the object, and when he saw that it was a woman's purse made of denim, he picked it up. The shoulder strap had been cut, and he saw that the side pocket was embroidered with red and yellow roses, just like—
Apprehension twisted the Sultan's stomach as he opened the purse and pulled out a brown leather pocketbook. Inside it were a few traveler's checks, no cash, and…Jessie's face smiling at him from her Maine driver's license. He closed the pocketbook with a snap and held it tightly in both hands for a moment while he gained control of the anger that rose in him, then he carefully put Jessie's wallet back into her purse. Tucking the purse under one arm, he pulled out his cell phone once again, this time to call his mother.
Jessie hadn't been this mad since last April Fool's day, when Jonny had super-glued her toilet seat together so that it was either all the way up or completely closed. Benton had grounded him for a week for that little prank, but both the doctor and her dad had gotten a good laugh out of it at her expense. This situation hardly compared, but she was just as angry.
She had no idea what time it was, but she figured she'd been wandering around for about two hours. Her scraped palms burned, her bruised knees ached, and one of her pant legs had been torn when she'd been knocked down. Her feet were starting to hurt from hours of walking. She was hungry and thirsty, but she had no money with which to relieve those conditions. She was tired, too. The sun might be up, but her internal clock was telling her that it was the middle of the night. Her eyes burned, and she blinked several times to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall.
Get a grip, Jess. This is not the worst thing that's ever happened to you. She thought back to the time she'd nearly died from inhaling some bacteria that desiccated a person alive until his or her body shut down. Fortunately, an antidote had been found, but she still had occasional nightmares about the pain she'd endured during that incident in Malenque. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear. Then she continued on her way, even though she had no real idea where she was going.
She really hated being lost. The feeling of mild helplessness it produced in her made her feel weak and a little foolish. Hadji would probably say something like "one is never lost," followed by some obscure literary quote, but Jessie was lost. She was afraid she might be walking in circles, but she wasn't sure because so many of the roads didn't have signs. In addition, many of the little streets she passed looked so much alike that it was hard for her to keep track of where she was. She knew she was away from the main part of town, because there were considerably fewer people around. Jessie was fairly certain she'd wandered into a residential area, although she did see an occasional vendor hawking wares on the sidewalk. She had asked a few people for directions but hadn't been able to make much sense of the information she'd received. She had a hard time understanding the heavier accents of some of the city people, and since she didn't know the names of the streets she was on, the instructions she was given didn't help her much anyway.
She'd decided that her best bet was to find a police station. She could report the theft of her purse and hopefully, get in touch with Hadji or Neela. Unfortunately, it seemed that police stations in Bangalore were few and far between. She marched along wearily for a while, scanning each street for something or someone that could help her. As she was about to cross yet another street, she heard a shout behind her, so she turned to see three men approaching her.
The oldest look to be around twenty-four or twenty-five, and he appeared to be the leader. He was dressed in a manner similar to that of Tungesh—black slacks and a white dress shirt—although this man's clothes were not as clean or well-made as those of the minister's son. The two younger men who stood slightly behind him wore traditional off-white cotton trousers, collarless shirts and leather sandals. All three were wearing turbans.
"You lost, girl?" The leader asked Jessie in broken, heavily accented English. She hesitated, trying to understand what he'd said. He repeated his question in a louder voice as he stepped a little closer to her.
"Yes," Jessie finally replied, gathering from the expression on his face that 'yes' was the answer he'd been hoping for. "I'm trying to find a police station. Will you take me to one?"
"What you are giving us?" He demanded.
My eternal gratitude, she thought sarcastically, but said instead, "If you can help me find
a police station, I'm sure that I can arrange for you to receive some kind of reward."
He advanced on her, but Jessie stubbornly held her ground. He put his face very close to hers, but she resisted the urge to push him away from her. "You are giving us something first. Then we are taking you to police." The other two men snickered behind him.
Jessie was alarmed. Surely we aren't alone on this street—someone will see what is happening and scare these hoodlums away. She forced herself to hold the man's gaze. She knew that if she broke eye contact, it would be seen as a sign of fear, and she refused to give this jerk even that amount of power over her. "My purse was stolen. I don't have anything to give you right now—but I will once I find my friend."
"I am not wanting money," he murmured into her ear.
Jessie's blood ran cold at his words. "I'm sorry," she said as she backed away. "I don't need your help after all. I'm sure I can find the police station on my own." She quickly glanced down the unpaved street. All she saw was an old, turbaned man near the corner with a broom in his hand. He nodded once and retreated into the doorway behind him. Jessie felt a little twinge of hope.
Her eyes jerked back to the men before her as the leader lunged at her. Her seven years of Tae Kwon Do training kicked in, and she reacted automatically. Her right foot flew up to catch him in the groin, and she could almost have laughed at the look of shock on his face. As the man crumpled, she delivered a crescent kick to the side of his head, knocking him sideways so that he wouldn't land on her when he fell. His two cohorts eyed her uncertainly, but she paid them no heed as she kicked the fallen man in the chest, hoping to put him in enough pain that he wouldn't come after her right away.
The more heavyset of the hoodlum's followers decided to make a move and threw a punch at her. She sidestepped it and yanked on his extended arm in an attempt to throw him, but he seemed to anticipate her move and leaned away from her; the combination of his strength and weight with her less-than-perfect stance didn't give her the leverage she needed. She changed tactics and thrust her palm towards the center of his face. His nose broke with a crunch that made Jessie's stomach turn. She'd never done that before, and the sound and sensation sickened her. The wounded man shrieked and began to sob as he swung wildly at her. She blocked his first two punches but took a third in the gut when she backed into the other goon, who'd come around behind her to hold her in place.
She bent over involuntarily, gasping for breath. This didn't hurt so much in class, she thought. She was afraid of what the men might do if she stopped fighting, so she didn't stop, even as she struggled to breathe. Since she was already in a good position for it, she rammed her head into the stocky man's belly. He was more solid than she'd expected, and the impact made her neck hurt. He went down, landing on top of his leader. The first man was still on the ground, and had been heaving up the contents of his stomach, but when his associate crashed down on him, the man's head hit the sidewalk with an audible thunk, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Compelled by her forward motion, Jessie landed on top of the big man, and the guy who'd been holding her fell onto her.
Jessie was repulsed by the feeling of being mashed between the bodies of two sweaty men who could have used a few lessons in personal hygiene. She struggled to extricate herself, but the man on top of her had woven the fingers of one hand into her braid, and she couldn't get free of him. She turned her head and sank her teeth into his forearm—the only part of him she could reach. The man screamed and released his grip on her hair. His blood flooded her mouth and she gagged as she strained to pull herself from the pile of men on the ground. She had almost gotten out of the pile when the man she'd bitten wrapped his hands around one of her thighs in a painfully tight grip. She kicked out, and her foot caught him in the jaw, causing his head to snap back. He crumpled into insensibility on top of the heap.
Outraged, Jessie scrambled to her feet and glared down at the men lying on the ground. Two of the three appeared to be unconscious. The man with the broken nose stared at her with fear in his eyes. "Come on," she urged in a low, harsh voice. "I dare you to get up—I dare you." The heavyset man responded to her taunt by closing his eyes and turning his bloodied face away from her.
Jessie's head snapped up as she heard the shrill sound of a police whistle. About damned time! She turned to face the uniformed men running toward her. All five of them slowed uncertainly as they saw her. Her fire-engine-red hair burned with orange and gold lights in the hot afternoon sun. There was no more hair out of her braid than in it, and it hung in a wild mane around her face. Her mouth and cheek were smeared with bright red blood, and her clothes were spattered with it. Her green eyes were narrowed in fury, and her fists were clenched at her sides. She looked like a madwoman, and the officers were afraid to approach her.
The old man who'd nodded at Jessie earlier hobbled past the group of policeman, broom still in hand. He was talking loudly in Hindi, but Jessie had no idea what he was saying. One of the officers addressed her in perfect British English. "He says you fought these men—he says you fought like a tiger."
"I was protecting myself," Jessie said defensively. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, but only succeeded in further smearing the blood on her face. The metallic scent and flavor of the bright fluid was making her feel light-headed. "They wanted to hurt me."
"You did an excellent job of protecting yourself, Miss. I am Detective Ravindra. Perhaps you would like to come with me to headquarters and tell us what happened? You must file a report if these men are to be punished."
"I would be happy to." Jessie turned to follow him, but the old man placed his hand on her arm and said something in an urgent tone, gesturing at his face.
"He would like to offer you the opportunity to clean your face and hands," the policeman translated. He then added, "I think it would be a good idea."
"Please tell him, yes, thank you."
After the detective did so, the old man crooked a finger at her and let the way to his tiny house. It had only two rooms and a minimum of furniture. Jessie followed him inside, and his elderly wife took charge of the shaken young woman. The old lady washed Jessie's face, hands and neck with hot, soapy water, then gave her a cup of mint tea. While Jessie drank the hot beverage, the grandmotherly woman combed and re-braided Jessie's hair. The detective waited patiently in the main room and chatted with the old man. Finally, Jessie was ready to go to the police station.
Later that afternoon, Jessie sat on a hard, wooden chair, waiting for someone to come pick her up. While she'd been giving her statement to Detective Ravindra, another officer had recognized her from the description on the missing person report filed by the Sultan's mother The detective had immediately place a telephone call to the palace, and Jessie had been elated to hear Neela's relieved voice on the other end of the line.
"I will come pick you up right away. Do not leave the police station until I come for you," Hadji's mother had said.
"Don't worry—I'm not going anywhere," Jessie had replied with a watery laugh.
Forty minutes later, she was still waiting. She closed her eyes against the harsh, greenish, fluorescent lighting, and tried to tune out the buzz of noise that was the sound of the station hard at work. Now that the adrenaline rush had worn off, she was exhausted. Her limbs felt leaden, and her body ached. She figured they were going to need a crane to haul her butt out of the uncomfortable old chair.
Jessie drifted between sleep and wakefulness, and thinking she was dreaming, she didn't respond when her name was called. "Jessie!" called an urgent voice a second time, and the young woman's eyes snapped open when someone touched her. Neela knelt before her, her brown eyes bright with unshed tears. Anand stood behind Hadji's mother, his dark face etched with concern
Neela gripped Jessie's hands tightly, and a tear trickled down the older woman's cheek. "Let's go home," she said in a quavering voice.
Jessie nodded, afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would burst into tears. Anand moved to help her stand, and she gasped as her battered body protested. They left the police station after Neela signed some papers. Jessie sat in the back of the grey limousine with Neela. Hadji's mother put an arm around Jessie's shoulders in comfort, and the girl leaned against her gratefully.
Suddenly, a strange realization passed through Jessie's weary mind. "Where is Hadji?" she asked, struggling to sit up.
Neela stroked Jessie's hair to soothe her. "When I told him you had been found, he expressed his relief and said that he would be home this evening after his meetings." Neela's voice sounded strangely subdued.
Jessie felt a rush of disappointment that Hadji would not be waiting for her at the palace, but she shoved the feeling aside. She was leaving in less than a week, so it was best if she didn't let herself fall— She stopped herself. That was one thought that was better left unfinished. She settled herself at Neela's side and closed her eyes to sleep out the drive to the palace.
I'd like to offer a huge, extra special !Thank You! to my friend Alta, who was so very helpful to me while I was reworking the fight scene. Her technical advice was invaluable, and I hope you all enjoyed reading the new, more accurate description of Jessie's altercation with the street thugs!
Author's Note: Just for future reference, in my story, Jessie and Hadji are based on the first season characters both in appearance and attitude. I never liked second season Jessie; she was too much of a wimp, and that pink thing she always wore was so ugly! Also, I think the first season characters are all better looking, with the exception of Race, who, in my humble opinion, looked better in the second season.
Also, in my world, Jessie is a tough chick. Don't get me wrong: She isn't cold, or anything like that, but she is definitely not a sissified girly-girl. She has to be tough because she grew up in a man's world, and she has too much pride to appear weak in front of the men in her life. I really feel that Jessie is a strong, but still feminine woman—I don't believe the two characteristics are mutually exclusive—and I hope this comes across clearly in my writing.
Thanks again for reading this! If you like this, please review it. If you don't like it, tell me why!
