This is a fanfic. All Labyrinth characters belong to Henson, et al.
NIGHT HAWKS
Chapter One
Solving the Hoggle Problem
Problems always seem bigger in the dark. Hoggle's problems were growing with the twilight and the sodium streetlights' jaundiced yellow glow was only making things worse. The dwarf was walking briskly away from The Café with his coat pulled tight around him, collar turned up and hat brim tipped down. His highly polished two-toned wingtips clicked on the cracked and weathered sidewalk as the streetlights turned his bright white hatband to urine-yellow. Hoggle had big problems.
His nerves were getting the better of him, and who could blame him? He still wasn't sure how he had gotten himself into this position. Hoggle certainly couldn't help that he liked nice things, could he? He held up his hands and inspected the rings on his fingers; big chunky gold bling with impressive stones and ornate settings. He clenched his fists and shook his head. A fellow should have nice things. A fellow should be wearing nice pinstripes instead of some old cast-off rags. A fellow should be wearing a nice grey homburg instead of some ratty little cap. A fellow should have nice wingtip oxfords instead of old clodhoppers. A fellow should have enough bling to catch the eyes of the ladies. A fellow should be living in a nice apartment instead of some old shack. A fellow should have nice things.
Hoggle was pretty sure he shouldn't go back to his nice apartment. The Rat was well aware of Hoggle's current address. Hoggle's old shack was occupied by a bunch of reefer smoking goblins now and while they would certainly welcome him in ("Got any herbs, man?), they would also quickly inform The Rat. He needed to get off the streets, but where could he go? For the present, he would have to keep moving and hope he didn't run across any of The Rat's henchmen.
He feverishly pondered his options as he hurried along. His former friend, The Enforcer, likely would not want to help him and might, in fact, cause serious problems for Hoggle. His unfortunate betrayals had worn the behemoth's patience thin and he declined to disturb The Rat's Enforcer.
While he bore no malice toward Hoggle, The One-Eyed Pimp would be even less help. While The Pimp would happily assist Hoggle, he did not live alone and word would quickly spread concerning Hoggle's whereabouts.
That only left the girl. She was a forgiving sort, particularly since Hoggle had been… of assistance to her on several occasions. Unfortunately, it was a treacherous route to her door.
Hoggle paused and glanced quickly to the left and right as he came to a corner. He had been walking in random directions for more than an hour. It was full dark now and a neon sign on the opposite corner advertised "The Peach Pit" where mostly-naked females of various species gyrated within. Hoggle stared at the sign in horror, realizing he should have been paying more attention to where he was going in his preoccupied rambling. The Peach Pit belonged to The Rat. Hoggle shrugged down, hiding in his upturned collar and turned around to beat a hasty retreat.
"Where ya goin', pal?"
Hoggle froze in terror. Two large specimens, clad in well-cut business suits stood before him. A click and scrape on the sidewalk behind alerted him to the presence of additional beings a mere second before his arms were seized by rough hands.
"How coinky-dinkle of yous to be perambulatin' down dis 'ere pa'ticklar street, Mr. Hog-tied," offered one of the large specimens. Hoggle could now see that the large specimens were trolls, big trolls, and rather human looking trolls at that. Aside from the greenish hue of their rough and pockmarked skin, and of course, the red irises of their eyes, they looked much like stereotypical, Hollywood, 40's gangsters that would ice their own grandmothers for a dollar, would be expected to appear.
"It's Hoggle," he replied in a subdued voice.
"I'd say it's going to be Pork Chops by the time the evening's over," replied the second troll with a grin as shiny and frightening as a Studebaker's dented chrome grille approaching at a hundred miles an hour.
Hoggle gulped and meekly accompanied the quartet of trolls as they made their way across the pavement to the scuffed and peeled-paint door of the Peach Pit.
"Right this 'ere way, Mr. Hog-butt," said Troll Number One with a smile like a crocodile sitting in front of a plate of chocolate covered chickens, as he held the door for Hoggle and his decidedly un-gentle captors.
"Watch your step, Bacon Bits," said Troll Number Two.
Hoggle was ushered through a short hallway into a room of neon light and raucous noise. The part of Hoggle that liked nice things couldn't help notice the gilt and glitter trimming the ornate columns around the raised stage where a sparsely clad lavender skinned nymph danced a passable, albeit slowly paced, lindy hop all by herself. An appreciatively hooting and cackling crowd of assorted beings applauded her efforts, as scantily dressed waitresses dispensed flagons and mugs of ale.
A three piece band consisting of nattily dressed goblins with a drum set, a bass and an upright piano provided an astonishingly tight and tidy backdrop for the nymph's exertions. The elderly female goblin playing the piano was stomping a jingle bell bedecked leg while singing a little song about not sharing her jellyroll. The drummer with frizzled red hair and chains on his feet was keeping time on the snares. The bass player was only about two thirds the height of his instrument and stood on a small stool to reach the frets. The openings into the hollow body of the bass fiddle were stuffed with crumpled paper money of various colors and origins.
Hoggle stared at the bass with avaricious eyes; the sight of all that cash temporarily blinding him to his dire situation. Most skin dives didn't spend the money for live music. Leave it to The Rat to have all the nice little extras.
"Come on, yous," said Troll One walking past the spectacle without a glance. Hoggle's escorts hustled him along toward the back of the room and into a grey stoned hallway. They proceeded along the hall until they reached a hefty, roughhewn, wooden door with a sullen, sentient, doorknocker.
Troll Number One spoke to the knocker. "Open up, we needs to see da boss."
The bronze faced knocker glared at him. "O uck urvelv," gargled the knocker around the large ring hanging from its mouth.
"How would you like to be sheet metal?" asked Troll Number Two.
The knocker blanched to a brassy sheen and opened the door.
Hoggle was dragged unceremoniously through the door and deposited in a heap in front of a large wooden desk with a gleaming stone top. He looked up with extreme trepidation to see a dreaded figure sitting in an imposing leather clad chair. To Hoggle, he was The Rat; to those more fortunate, he was The King of the Underground, alias The Goblin King, alias The Royal Pain. No one dared to call The King by his given name. Well, almost no one.
The King stood up and walked around the desk. He was a striking presence, dressed in a navy blue, pinstriped Zoot suit. Elegant silver chains hung from his pockets down to well past his knees. A very nice blue tie and a bronze medallion graced his white silk shirt. Fluffy, golden hair of irregular length, caressed the wide shoulders of his immaculate suit. Odd, asymmetrical blue eyes blazed with rage from under the brim of his hat. The huge feather protruding from the hatband seemed to quiver with his anger. The King was justifiably proud of that big feather, He had grown it himself while in his owl form. He stopped in front of the trembling Hoggle, crossing his arms and placing one grey, silk-gloved fingertip on his chin. His elegantly shod foot tapped with irritation.
"Hello, Hog-in-the-bog," he menaced in a voice like straight bourbon poured over cracked ice.
Hoggle nearly fainted. Frantically gathering his wits, he scrambled to his feet and bowed before the King.
"Why Your Majesty," he simpered like a little girl at a tea party. "How nice to see you."
"You wouldn't be trying to avoid me, now would you?" purred The King.
"Of course not," said Hoggle. "I just had some business to attend to, then I was going to come right over."
"Would that business include telling someone about MY business," said The King in a tone as silky as a bride's inner thigh.
"NO!" gasped Hoggle in fright. "I would never…"
"You would absolutely, you little vermin!" roared the King in sudden outrage. He paused and continued in a deceptively soft manner. "You would tell my competitors about my business. You HAVE told my competitors about my business. You've cost me time and money with your careless tattling, Hog-soon-to-reek."
He stepped closer to Hoggle and kneeled down to eye level with the cringing dwarf.
"But I suppose a fellow should have nice things…"
Hoggle was shaking like a leaf on a paint mixing machine.
"I hope the enticements you received for betraying me were worth it," The King continued in soft tones. "But I'm most upset about some things, some stories, that you've been telling someone else. A certain young lady…"
"I've told her nothing!" screamed Hoggle, suddenly aware that things were much, much worse that he had thought.
"Nothing? Nothing?" said The King softly. Suddenly The King screamed right in Hoggle's face. "NOTHING?"
Hoggle was too scared to move. The King stared at him in silence for a moment and then flicked Hoggle's nose with a gloved finger.
"Tra la la," whispered The King. He stood and walked away, returning to his seat behind the desk.
"Handle this," said The King in a voice like a velvet covered sledge hammer.
The trolls stepped forward and gripped Hoggle's arms.
"Come along, Sausage Patty," said Troll Number Two.
Hoggle babbled and whined as the quartet of trolls trotted him out the back door and across the alley to the weedy gravel parking lot. He was hustled into the back of a black sedan that looked as if the factory where it was built had been scared by a crate of tin foil. The sedan had chrome like bunnies have fur.
Troll Number One took the wheel and guided the black car out of the parking lot. They drove for a long way. Trolls Three and Four sat silently on either side of Hoggle in the back seat. Troll Number Two was riding shotgun and he sat halfway turned in his seat to make the occasional threat to Hoggle in a companionable manner.
"So, Ribs, we'll be fitting you with some concrete shoes this evening. You like loafers?"
"Listen, Pork Nuggets, have you had any swimming lessons? Because they aren't going to help."
And finally, "So, Ham Slices, how long can you hold your breath?"
When they finally arrived at Municipal Sewage Treatment Plant Number Four, Hoggle was near petrified with fear. Trolls Three and Four dragged him from the back seat and marched him over to the fence surrounding a fetid pool.
Trolls One and Two hopped the low fence and grabbed Hoggle as Trolls Three and Four handed him over. The smell from the pool was getting serious.
Troll Three walked off into the darkness and in a few seconds returned with a couple of concrete blocks. With the assistance of Troll Four, he secured and locked Hoggle's feet onto the blocks with a couple of short lengths of chain.
"Dese are more like sandals, den shoes," said Troll Number One. The other trolls ignored him.
The quartet of trolls carried a loudly protesting Hoggle and his concrete footwear over to the stinking pool and unceremoniously dropped him in. He landed solidly on the bottom. The pool reached only to his knees.
"Start walkin'," said Troll Number One,
"What?" gagged Hoggle.
"To the other side," said Troll Number Two.
"What?" retched Hoggle.
"Don't be such a baby, it's only about two feet deep all the way across. It won't ever get any worse than neck deep," grinned Number Two. "Now get moving."
"It's gonna take forever with these concrete blocks," moaned Hoggle, with tears streaming from his half-closed, burning eyes.
"Dat's da whole point, idjit," said Troll Number One rolling his eyes.
The trolls retreated back across the fence and returned to the car. Trolls Three and Four pulled two lawn chairs from the back of the car and made themselves comfortable a safe smelling distance from the rancid pool. Trolls One and Two got into the sedan and drove away.
Hoggle sniffed and gagged. He laboriously lifted one foot and set it down. He had gained about six inches. The pool was about a hundred yards across. Trolls Three and Four smiled at him from a safe distance. He felt as sad as a snake looking at three miles of broken glass.