Chapter Nine - An (Un)Eventful Evening Of Surprise

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney.

It was almost as if Patrick hadn't eaten in weeks as he reached for the still-steaming pizza box for the sixth time that evening. Grease oozed down his chin as he took an enormous bite out of the Hawaiian slice of heaven he'd been hanging out for. Pizza was a great excuse for a distraction, if only just a brief one, to make up for the disappearance of his brother's beloved machine.

He then felt Elizabeth's dark eyes upon him.

"Di'ya wa' so'?" Patrick asked, mouth full, mozzarella cheese dripping from the corners of his mouth.

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth asked, unable to make any sense of what he'd just said.

Patrick gulped down loudly. "Did you want some?" he repeated.

"No, I'm fine, thankyou," Elizabeth replied, unable to take her eyes off the stringy matter adhered to his face.

"Oh well. Your loss, " Patrick shrugged.

Patrick glanced at Elizabeth's petite frame as she sat in the armchair she'd claimed as her own. Vincent's recent Make Sure She's Well Fed lecture replayed in the back of his mind, somewhat disturbing him. Damn. Where's the logic in that if she chooses not to eat? Patrick refused to be held responsible for her actions, knowing for a fact that Vincent would never forgive him if he allowed her to starve

"Sure you don't want some?" Patrick sighed, his conscience getting the better of him.

"I said I'm fine!" she snapped.

"Not a pizza fan then, huh?" He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his sweater.

Elizabeth glared at him. This man was disgusting beyond belief.

It was eleven o'clock at night as dim lights lit the abandoned parking lot insufficiently. Out of view from the main highway, there in the shadows, the two men got down to business. The cold air stung their trembling fingers.

Carl nervously rubbed his hands together. The click of his lighter could be heard as he lit his much-needed cigarette.

Bobby held the gun in his hand, aiming it straight at the trunk. "You open it. I shoot him. Got it?"

"He stopped singin' ages ago, Bobby. We don't gotta do this," Carl said.

"What the hell's wrong with you? Don't got the guts to do in Depp?"

"I just reckon we should bribe him or somethin', ya know," said Carl as he breathed in the smokey air.

"We been through this, Carl. Best to get rid of him."

"What about his kids? And his--"

Bobby's patience was running out. "Hurry up and open the goddamn trunk!"

Carl stomped out his cigarette before reluctantly removing the key from his jacket pocket. He glanced down at the small key contaminated with his fingerprints, and moved closer to the trunk.

The key barely came into contact with the aperture, when suddenly the trunk miraculously opened. Bobby and Carl stared, flabbergasted at the sight before them.

There was Jack Sparrow sitting in the trunk, without a care in the world.

"How'd he do that?" Carl whispered.

Bobby shrugged.

"What does it take to get a decent sleep around here, eh?" Jack asked.

"Sorry 'bout that. This idiot here don't know how to shut up," Bobby motioned towards Carl.

"Is that so?" Jack asked, yet not believing a word of it.

Carl stood back, shifting his gaze between Jack, Bobby and the ground he couldn't even see.

"Anyway, get back to sleep. I bet you gonna sleep so good, you ain't gonna wake up. How ya like the sound of that?" Bobby suggested, a grin planted across his face.

"Ah, now that is a brilliant idea," Jack replied, "Though one would suspect that you two men are in fact conspiring to eradicate a certain pirate."

"What gives you that idea?" Bobby asked innocently.

"Perhaps the pistol in your hand may have given that away," Jack replied, with an animated hand gesture towards the pistol which continued to point in his direction.

Shit, Bobby cursed at himself.

"We ain't gonna kill you. We just want your money," Carl quickly added. "And your drugs."

Bobby glared at Carl. This was not part of the plan.

"That's not what I said," Bobby argued.

Carl was desperate. "C'mon, Bobby. Let's just take the goods and run."

"Like hell. He'll sue us for all we're worth - which ain't much," Bobby responded.

"We gonna be someone's bitch for sure," Carl mentioned, more to himself than to anyone else.

Jack interrupted, light-heartedly, "Ye know, I wouldn't mind an equal share in said money meself."

"Shut it, Depp," Bobby said calmly.

Jack's brow furrowed. He was confused even more-so than he was before he entered the abyss - or maybe not. Jack always had a plan… even when he didn't have a plan.

"What say I make ye a deal, eh?" Jack proposed.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "What the hell?"

"Say, we split the plunder 75-25. Since ye be requiring my services to attain said money - in which case I'll be pocketing 75 therefore leaving you with 25 - 'tis extremely feasible in my opinion. What do ye say to that?"

Carl looked to Bobby. Is Depp for real?

"Quit being so goddamn piratey. It's gettin' right up my ass," Bobby complained.

"I imagine that would be rather uncomfortable for ye, mate," was Jack's reply.

The phone rang, awakening Patrick from his sleep. He pulled back the covers, threw on a robe and raced towards the kitchen where the cordless phone awaited him. He picked up the receiver.

"Yeah?" Patrick answered groggily.

"Patricia hasn't returned any of my calls," replied a disgruntled client.

"She doesn't do after-hours. Call back later," Patrick said, glancing at his wrist watch. Now wasn't the best time.

"No, I need to talk to her now!"

"I'll let her know you called," Patrick yawned.

"This is urgent!"

"Look, I know you're in a pickle right now, but hey, that's not my problem."

This is not happening, Patrick thought as he slammed down the receiver.

His brother was right. This so-called wonderful idea of a hot-line was indeed a desperate measure. Never did he think it would get so completely out of hand. Mentally kicking himself, he wondered what possessed him to allow these crazy-folk to reach him at Vincent's house.

Patrick rested his elbows upon the kitchen counter, thoughts buzzing around in his head, as he stared out the window into the night sky. He didn't even hear Elizabeth's feet upon the linoleum floor, approaching him from behind.

"I want answers," Elizabeth's demanding voice broke the silence.

Patrick spun around to face her. "Yeah, well as I said earlier, I don't have them."

"I'm serious. I won't leave this alone until I know what's going on. Where can I find Will?" Elizabeth inched towards Patrick, slowly closing in on him.

"Give it a rest." Patrick sighed and turned his back to the persistent woman. Ignoring Ms Swann seemed to work best in situations like this. He could only hope they wouldn't happen so often.

Elizabeth couldn't believe this! There was no way she was going stand by and do nothing while her Will is in danger and nowhere to be found. He could be hurt! Awful images tugged at her as she imagined the worst, unable to shake it from her mind. No one was willing to help her this time. She must do this alone.

One step after the other, Elizabeth Swann cautiously inched closer towards the man with his back to her. One wrong move could cost her everything. Everything she wasn't willing to give up. She took a deep breath, the fresh air filling her lungs. There she stood directly behind Patrick.

A rush of adrenaline came over her as she clutched the heavy golf-club tightly in her hands. This was her only chance. For Will. For their son. For them both.

With one mighty swing and all the force she could muster, Elizabeth struck the oblivious Patrick in the back of the head with the metal object. Before he knew what hit him, he collapsed onto the kitchen floor.