I found the whiskey all right when we arrived at his place. I couldn't help admire how welcoming his home was. He had little nics and nacs that seemed to be salvages from archaeological digs he'd probably been a part of. He told me to wait in the living room as he took care of something. I sat on the couch and looked around. A picture on the side-table next to me caught my eye. I picked it up and examined it. It was a dark photograph of an older man and a child. I assumed they were father and son, but they both looked as if neither wanted anything to do with each other. Then again, there was that look that showed they were family. A hand pulled the picture away and replaced on the table. I looked up and saw Dr. Jones was standing there.

"Whiskey?" I offered, holding up the bottle. I was glad to see him smile and not be angry with me for snooping in his things. But I wanted to know who was in the picture.

He placed two glasses on the coffee table and sat in an armchair across from me. "That picture is my father and I," he said knowing I would ask, "Were weren't the closest family you'd find. In fact, we hadn't spoken to each other for about twenty years until recently."

"Your little adventure with the Cup of Christ?" I suggested, pouring a generous amount in each glass. I saw a slightly surprised look on his face. "I know a lot about your adventures, Dr. Jones. Most of your company I know by name."

"Then why are you here?" he challenged.

I paused in thought. "I want to know what really happened," I said, "not just the bloated stories of a journalist who wasn't even there." There was more to it than that, but I'd tell him the truth later.

"Well, I already told about my little adventure with the Arc," he said, "You want to hear about the Thugee cult?" He paused, and rubbed his head. "To make a long story short, I've been to Hell and back, literally."

"No that's not what I mean," I said, "I want to hear you account of what happened. And the true story behind the Holy Grail. Please, I've always wanted to know." I forced the most pleading look I could. I was never very good at manipulation, but hell, it was worth a try.

"Really?" he said, "so you're one of those people who can't sit with the story their handed."

"I'm sick of reading the Nazis' account of everything," I grumbled, "They're quite powerful in the Middle East, you know."

He nodded and took a drink of whiskey. "Fine," he said, "I'll give you stories, since that's what you want. Some of it's hard to believe…Hell, I'm surprised I've lived this long." With that he went on with his reenactments of his experiences as an archaeologist.

Space in time...dun dun duh!

"…The Grail was gone, Elsa was gone, my father finally respected me," Indiana concluded, "That was my last 'great adventure' for an all-powerful artifact. As fun as it was, I don't plan on another in this decade."

I couldn't help but laugh. "But it seems so exciting," I argued, "You got to see so much, experience so much. Who could ask for more?"

"You've obviously never drank the blood of the Kali," he mused.

"That story was a little farfetched," I said, "He pulled the heart out of a living man? You were whipped with your own bullwhip? I admit that I don't believe it entirely. Magic rocks? Fortune and glory?"

"What, are you saying you need proof?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair slightly.

"Well, yeah," I said, "if you want me to believe you. What kind of proof would you give me? You have one of the lost Sankara stones?"

"No," he said. He stood and took off his shirt. He turned around and I almost screamed at what I saw. On his back were many welts and lash marks from a leather whip. I stood, reached out, and touched a long gnarled scar almost as if to make sure I was seeing what I was seeing.

"Okay," I whispered, "I believe you." I sat down, filled my glass again and downed my third glass of whiskey. I'm not usually much of a drinker, but there are occasions.

He pulled his shirt back on. "Adventure's not as great as it sounds in the books," he said, sitting back down. He took the bottle from me to prevent me from drinking too much. "I think it's time you headed home," he said suddenly.

"Oh, that's what I forgot," I said, "about going home…I was wondering if you…Look, I can't afford a dorm. I can't afford anything, let alone my books. I was planning on asking my teacher if he could help me with that. I wasn't planning on my teacher being Indiana Jones. Do you think you could help me pay for a hotel or a cheap apartment near the university?"

He was still for a moment, apparently taking this information in. "You what?" he began, "Wait…You barely have enough money for college and you didn't plan to have a home? How the hell did you have enough money for a ticket from Cairo?"

"Look, I worked for a museum curator…a librarian," I said, "He was like the father I never had. So when I told him I wanted to go to college in the states, he bought me a ticket and helped me raise money for funds. I was able to pay for the class. Look, I just need a place to go to at night. I'd rather not sleep on the streets."

"I don't know of any apartment complexes near enough to the university where you could walk to it," he said with a sigh, "I don't plan to drive ten miles out of the way to give you a ride. I don't know what to tell you…"

I went into a slight panic. "Then…then do you have an extra room here?" I asked, "I'll pay you rent. I'll get a part time job, or something, to pay you. Hell, I'll sing on the street corner and hold out a hat for money. Please something…anything!"

He rubbed his temples. "I don't have an extra room," he said, "in case you didn't notice, this is a small house." He thought for a long moment, silent other than his tapping foot. "Look, I guess you can…sleep on the couch or something, if your that desperate. I'm not going to ask you for rent, but you need to get a job to buy your books."

I smiled wildly and jumped up happily. "You are a nice man," I said. I walked over to him and hugged him tightly around the neck. "I'll help you around the house, or something. Anything I could possibly do to pay you back."

"Just don't quit school," he said, standing and pushing me away from him, "If you quit school or get kicked out for any reason, I'll kick you out of my house."

"I promise, I would never dream of quitting school," I said, still relieved that I didn't have to beg on the streets. I danced around little. I got slightly dizzy from the whiskey and fell to my knees with a small yelp. "You are a nice man," I repeated when he offered a hand to help me up.