Chapter Twenty Two: Attempted Murder
The North Wind had made their way to the Penguin Eyes headquarters. On the way there, Hans was rather astounded by how much things had changed in the past eleven years, as he should have been, having been in complete isolation. He seemed as if he couldn't decide whether he wanted to look out the window or if he wanted to listen to Shortfuse's (slightly) embellished version of history. Shortfuse didn't seem to notice his confliction.
More than anything, though, he seemed anxious to see Skipper. Eleven years away from the man he loved and in a few minutes, they'd be reunited. Anxiety didn't even begin to capture what he was feeling by that point. They'd called, but there hadn't been an answer, which made it all the more suspenseful being that it was a surprise. A surprise visit from a man who Skipper had thought was dead for over a decade.
Hans expressed the hope that Skipper still felt the same way, that he still wanted to be Hans' partner, that he hadn't found someone to replace him. No one mentioned Julien, or Skipper's very obvious feelings for the alluring dancer, in hopes that the three of them could somehow work it out and there wouldn't be any turmoil. Classified in particular was no fan of excessive drama, especially of the romantic flavor.
By the time they pulled up to the Penguin Eyes' building, Hans was stirring in his seat nervously and tugging at his fingers. He stared at the dirty, beaten up two story structure in wonder, almost in complete disbelief of it's merit.
"Is this really where Skippar lives? It's so..." He questioned, trailing off.
"Yes." Classified responded shortly. "I know, it's quite rustic - especially for someone as legendary as him, but I suppose that's part of the ruse to seem normal. As normal as you can be in New York, that is."
"Legendary," Hans repeated in astonishment.
He still couldn't quite grasp that he and Skipper were 'legends' to the much fresher CIA agents. He knew he'd been good at his job, but to be a hero, or even a martyr for their work, was astounding.
Classified knocked on the door, but of course, there was no answer. Just an empty echo of his knock. He blinked in surprise. "...That's strange."
"Maybe they're not on the first floor," Corporal proposed, glancing to Hans.
"Well of course not. There is no first floor." Classified glared at the locked door. "Last I checked, it was all barred up. I'm sure they could hear us from the second floor, anyway. How else would they receive guests?"
"It doesn't look like they left." Eva frowned, narrowing her eyes. "Their car is here…"
Classified picked the locked door with ease and peered up. All the lights were off. Sending a suspicious glance to his team and the very concerned Hans, he ascended the wooden stairs. Aside from their creaking footsteps, it was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Hans glanced around at the eerie home, nervous as he could be.
Where was his beloved Skipper?
Where?
They silently came to a consensus to give a brief search. However, they didn't have to look very far; Classified froze as he entered the kitchen. There was serious evidence of a struggle, pots and pans everywhere and broken glass all over the floor. Unfinished food was sitting on the counter, probably from when they'd been preparing lunch. He growled immediately, holding Hans back from stepping in. Corporal poked his head in from Skipper's office. Judging by the dire expression on his face, the other rooms looked about the same.
"Alright, looks like there was trouble." He muttered in conclusion. "Blowhole probably caught onto them… I'm surprised he didn't bother to clean up after himself… He probably planned to have this building destroyed altogether."
"Blowhole got to them?" Hans freaked out. "No no no - we have to get him away from Skipper!"
"We will." Classified responded calmly, before turning to his comrade. "Eva?"
"Yes sir." She pulled out a small black tracking device marked 'K'. She examined the light. It indicated something in particular to her, even though to everyone else in the room, it meant absolutely nothing. "It seems that they're not very far. We can make it to them in about ten minutes, if we leave now."
Classified smirked. "I knew you wouldn't have shaken that Kowalski's hand for no reason."
She grinned back, before leading the way to the Penguin Eyes team.
"Kowalski, location?" Skipper muttered as he helped pry Private from the sewer opening.
"We seem to be in downtown, at a midpoint between our house and the Park Zoo." Kowalski glanced around; his voice was strained as he helped Private reach the surface.
"So which one is he at?" Private sent the two of them thankful glances, smoothing out his crumpled shirt and straightening his bowtie.
Kowalski sighed. "It's a tactical move on Dr. Blowhole's part. He wants to confuse us, but I'm sure he actually just went back to his private facilities back in Hoboken… That's where the string of emails came from, last I checked. There, or to his vacation spot in Havana, but I don't think he'd go that far, not on such short notice with so many variables to account for."
"Hoboken? As in Hoboken, New Jersey?" Maurice rose a brow in disbelief. "That's where Clemson is hiding? In the same place as the people he's runnin' from?"
"Huh," Private mused. "I suppose that's sort of clever."
Maurice ran a hand over his face in dry exasperation, looking more weary than ever. "And I'm guessin' they brought Julien there too… Just great. How are we gonna get there in time, assumin' he's still… Y'know…? We don't got a car, unless we wanna make the run back to your place..."
Skipper drew in a quick but deep breath, and Kowalski immediately winced. He turned to Maurice and whispered, "I'd cover your ears if I were you."
Maurice did so quickly, and just in time too. Skipper pressed two fingers into his mouth and whistled so loud that traffic briefly slowed down for people to rubberneck the private investigator and his ridiculously loud whistle. Maurice was honestly surprised no windows broke. A cab quickly pulled up to them, and Skipper finally stopped (even though he did, everyone's ears continued to ring).
"Where to, fellas?" The deep voiced man inquired.
"We gotta get to Hoboken, asap." Skipper replied as he entered.
The rest of his team - and Maurice - followed suit. It was a bit of a squeeze, but they made it work. The driver didn't seem to mind.
Private was frowning. "Skipper… Not to be rude, but I thought you said you'd never willingly go to Hoboken?"
"Not since Lola." Skipper nodded solemnly. "But I think this is emergency enough for me to make an exception."
"You boys aren't a huge fan of Jersey, huh?" Their driver grinned. "Me neither."
"It's a crime-ridden cesspool." Skipper muttered in what he considered to be complete objectivity. "Normally, I'd rather gouge out my own eyes instead of going there."
Their cab driver laughed, maybe a bit too loud. He lowered his sunglasses, peering into his mirror and seeming to look somewhere behind their car. He then hid his eyes once more and kept his eyes - hopefully - back on the road.
They continued on in silence for the next ten or so minutes, before their driver spoke up again. "Now, you boys wouldn't happen to be the Penguin Eyes, would you?"
Skipper and Kowalski exchanged a mildly surprised glance, before Skipper cleared his throat. "...We are. You recognize us?"
"Yeah, you could say that," the driver laughed, and suddenly he was speeding up.
"Oh dear - could you perhaps slow down a bit? You're driving quite like Rico!" Private exclaimed, holding onto the door.
Rico nodded and mumbled in agreement, but their driver only laughed louder and sped up even more. It was clear by then that he had negative intentions, something dangerous in mind for his customers.
Skipper, who was sitting in the passenger seat, glared at him and surged forth, ready to attack. The driver countered by grabbing his wrist and pushing him backwards. He had one hand on the wheel, and one holding back Skipper's closed fist. Skipper used his free hand to try and commandeer the wheel, but the cab driver sped up more to make him lose his balance. By that point, their car was aimed towards a brick building. If he didn't veer, which he didn't seem keen on doing, they would crash. And at that speed, they probably wouldn't make it.
"You maniac!" Skipper snapped. "You'll die too!"
"I wouldn't count on it," he sneered darkly, and he suddenly twisted Skipper's arm. "The name's X, by the way. Officer X. And your little buddy, Dr. Blowhole, isn't gonna let me die anytime soon."
Kowalski glanced out the back and saw another car following them, full of red officers. He wasn't sure how their plan was supposed to work, but he knew that they had one, and that was good enough to scare him. That, and Officer X's confidence. Anyone who could smile while driving a car over 90 mph towards a solid wall of brick had an intimidation factor to them.
Skipper had enough of Officer X's shenanigans. He twisted his arm out of X's grip and punched him right in the throat. X hadn't been expecting that, coughing and swerving as he momentarily lost control. Skipper brought his legs up and kicked X right out of the door. Officer X shouted as he made contact with the ground and rolled. Skipper smugly assumed that he'd probably broken the arm he'd landed on, and took control of the wheel. He turned just in time, barely getting them away from the wall and back onto the road. Kowalski cast a look behind them and was relieved to see that the red officers had stopped to examine Officer X. As far as he was concerned, this was the last they would see of that crazy homicidal taxi driver.
Eva looked unhappy. The light on her tracking device had changed from a soft red to a deep blue, and instead of being solid, it had started to flash. Her teammates weren't particularly sure what this meant, but to her, it didn't seem to be good news. Eventually they had pulled over from a busy street downtown and stopped by the side of the road, where she stood outside and glared at the piece of machinery.
The sun was just beginning to set behind the city buildings, which made the mood significantly more ominous. Hans was beginning to wonder if his life was ironic enough that, as soon as he escaped Blowhole's captivity, Skipper would be murdered by his previous captor and the two really never would see each other again. It was a fear he'd experienced for years, but now he was so close to Skipper again… The idea that his freshly renewed hope would be so quickly crushed was devastating.
"Well, they were here." Eva muttered. "It seems like they were underground at some point, but aren't anymore."
"Underground? Like, in the sewers?" Shortfuse's lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but knew he shouldn't. "...Cool."
"So zey're probably not with Dr. Blowhole…" Hans commented in mild relief, ignoring the youngest member of the North Wind. "Where are zey now?"
Eva sighed, deflating in a very tired sort of way. "From here? About twenty minutes east, assuming we follow the speed limit."
Classified's brow lowered in annoyance. "Why, they're at least halfway to Hoboken by now!"
"Exactly." Eva replied tiredly. "And it's still rush-hour."
"We should've taken the chopper." Corporal muttered as the five of them returned to the van.
As they got in the vehicle to leave New York, all Hans could think of was how he hoped Skipper hadn't disappeared, as people sometimes did.
