This is a fanfic. All Labyrinth characters belong to Henson, et al.
NIGHT HAWKS
Chapter Four
The Woman in the Red Dress
When the woman in the red dress walked into the Peach Pit, the musicians skipped a beat, the dancers missed a step and the customers caught their collective breath. She wore a black wool fedora with a red band and feather cocked at an angle on her sleek brunette hair. Black strappy heels encased her feet and silk stockings wrapped a pair of legs that went all the way up. Those that did not know her were struck by her beauty and the cool confidence shimmering in her green eyes. Those that did know her realized that the evening might get very interesting and dangerous. The timid paid their tab and scurried out the door. The brave ordered another round and waited for the fireworks.
She stalked across the room and headed down the hall to the wooden door.
"Open up," she said to the door knocker holding a large bronze ring in its mouth.
"O uck urvelv," said the knocker around the ring. The knocker was very new on the job and sadly didn't know any better.
She grasped the door knocker's nose and held tight. The knocker held its breath as long as it could but then gasped for air. She yanked the ring out of its mouth and before it could say a word began slamming the ring down over its head.
The door knocker screamed and cringed and the door slammed open on its hinges. The King, who had been lazily parked in his chair, leapt to his feet, conjuring glitter and crystals all over himself in his fright. His glass of bourbon was upset, his snappy hat fell off and he lost his place in his girly magazine.
She shoved the ring back into the door knocker's mouth and glared into its stunned eyes.
"You just watch what you say to a lady," she hissed with fire sizzling in her ferocious green eyes. She stomped into the room.
The door knocker whimpered and the door slammed shut. A dim sound of applause could be heard from the other side of the door, as a group of brave souls that had got up to watch the festivities expressed their approval.
Ludo the Enforcer, who had walked in moments after Sarah, also applauded loudly. He even hooted a bit. The crowd regarded him nervously, but no one left. With Sarah on the scene, and now The Enforcer as well, there would be endless possibilities for great stories of mayhem to tell for years to come. The gleeful spectators knew that having stories of this caliber would mean that they would be welcome at every drinking establishment in town and never have to buy their own drinks again. Provided, of course, that the spectators survived the actual mayhem.
Sarah turned to survey The King. He was sadly aware that he had lost any advantage he would have ever had in this conversation. Glitter was everywhere, crystals were hovering about in a ridiculous manner. He became aware of one hovering right in front of his left shoulder. He lifted his right hand in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner and popped the offending crystal. He was further disheartened when it showered him with more glitter. He took a long breath.
"So," he said with a large and cheesy grin. "Have you come to apologize for your inexplicably rude behavior in ignoring me at The Café?"
"I had an interesting conversation with a mutual friend," she snapped, disregarding his opening gambit.
"If you're talking about that idiot, Hogbog," The King snarled, "he's no friend of mine."
"Who said anything about Hoggle?" she said, narrowing her eyes, placing her fists on his desk and leaning toward him with menace. "What exactly might he have to say, Jareth?"
Jareth, King of the Underground, was pleased to hear her use his given name. In fact, he was as pleased as an aardvark with an exterminator's license. Anyone else, he would have made disappear with malice aforethought, but the lovely Sarah could call him anything she wanted. He was so taken with his name on her lips that it took him a moment to realize he had made a tactical error in assuming their mutual stool pigeon friend was Hoggle. Obviously he was still in shock from the surprising assault upon the obnoxious door knocker.
He frantically tried to think of anyone else who might have been having conversations with Sarah that would reflect badly upon himself. He was drawing a blank. Sweat was beginning to pop on his brow as his brain stuttered to a halt under her icy emerald gaze.
"I've got to pull myself together," he thought.
"Nuts to you," replied his brain and instructed his hands to remove their gloves and pet her silky brown hair.
Through sheer force of will, he ordered his hands to keep their gloves on and stay off the hair.
"Well," she said in a frighteningly soft manner. "What does Hoggle have to say, Jareth?"
"Never mind Hoggle," said Jareth, as his blown out faculties regained enough steam to resume chugging again. "Who is this mutual friend with the big mouth? More to the point, what are you upset about, Precious Thing?"
"Did you divert a truckload of goblin ale for yourself? And by divert I mean STEAL, GOBLIN KING?" she roared the last three words.
"Well, even if I did, and I'm not saying I did, what concern is it of yours?" he replied in his haughtiest voice, trying not to stare at her chest.
"Did you know one of my trucks was stolen?" she said softly, "a truck carrying a full load of Old Squeaker's Finest Goblin Ale?"
Oops. He did not know that. He did know some very stupid henchmen were going to find themselves in a very smelly situation, though. And who the devil had squealed about this… unfortunate mistake?
"Really, Sarah," he soothed. "Surely you know I wouldn't dream of causing you any distress in any way."
"Oh, of course not," she replied, "but just to satisfy my curiosity, I believe I'll examine the stock of ale in this less than fine establishment."
She turned and headed for the door. The knocker heard her coming and desperately flung the door open.
Jareth grabbed his hat and slammed it onto his head backwards. The feather in his hatband protruded to the front and made him look like a panic stricken unicorn as he scrambled around his desk in a limb flailing dither, crashed into a couple of glitter filled crystals, thus further decorating himself in a scandalous manner, and chased her down the hall.
The gathered assembly of brave souls retreated to a safe distance as Sarah headed for the bar. Every bar stool was immediately emptied, as customers grabbed their drinks and scampered out of the way. The musicians stopped entirely to watch, took up their complimentary drinks and lit cigarettes. The current dancer, a kangaroo woman named Sweet Matilda, hopped over to the edge of the stage and sat down to catch the show.
The elf bartender froze in place. His only exit was cut off when Sarah came striding behind the bar.
"You," she said, pointing a terrifying finger at him. "Where do you keep the ale?"
Behind Sarah, The King was frantically motioning for silence, but the bartender knew where the greater danger was; right in front of him, waving her finger, in fact, so he merely stood aside and pointed to the massive built-in ice chest under the bar.
She threw open the door to the chest and stared at the contents.
She stood looking down at the chest in complete silence for several very long seconds. A hush had fallen over the Peach Pit. No one wanted to miss a word. Spectators leaned forward, holding their breath in anticipation. Jareth felt a bead of sweat run down his back. The atmosphere was as tense as a rubber band holding up a bowling ball.
"Well, if it isn't Old Squeaker's Finest Goblin Ale," she said quietly. A collective gasp came from the crowd. They hadn't been privy to the conversation in The King's office, so they didn't understand the significance of the brand name, but they still felt that this was probably an important plot point.
She turned toward The King. He was standing behind her, wadding the end of his magnificent blue tie in trembling hands.
"Now, Sarah," he said in his most persuasive manner, "I had no idea that was in there. I'm sure there's been a terrible mistake."
"Oh, I'm sure," she smiled up at him. Now that she had him cornered, she intended to torment him.
He backed away from her as she stepped toward him. He didn't have much room to maneuver and quickly found himself pinned against the counter running behind the bar. Sarah checked the angle of her fedora in the mirror running the length of the wall above the counter and then stepped forward again. She took hold of The King's biceps and pressed her body against him. He was wide-eyed with lust and fear. He dropped the end of his tie and cautiously put his arms around her, just because he couldn't help himself.
She felt something very hard against her abdomen.
"WHAT'S THIS?" she shrieked with indignation. "WERE YOU PLANNING TO USE THIS ON ME?"
The drummer, perhaps the most alert goblin in the crowd, began a drum roll on his snare.
She thrust her hand down the front of The King's pants and grabbed onto an extremely rigid object. She yanked the object out of his pants.
The drummer hit his cymbal in a perfect sting.
A near silent pandemonium erupted behind her as the spectators writhed in their seats and flailed about on the floor, simultaneously choking back screams and gasps, too afraid to make a sound, but completely unable to hold still in their shock and glee. Drinks were spilled, chairs were overturned, backs were pounded, pants were wet, but not a word, squeak or garbled choke of gibberish was uttered.
Sarah inspected the snub-nosed 38 revolver in her hands.
"Seriously, Jareth, do you not know that is the worst possible place you could conceal a loaded weapon?" she asked.
Jareth was as immobile as a block of terrified ice. He was unarmed and outmaneuvered. His hat had fallen off again. His hands quivered loosely on her waist.
"There's only one bullet in this thing," she said.
More pandemonium occurred behind her.
She glanced down and noticed that there was still a significant bulge in his britches.
"What else have you got in there, wise guy?" she snapped and dropping the revolver on the counter behind him, she stuffed both hands down his pants and began rummaging furiously for weapons.
As she felt around in the confined space, she gradually became aware of a few things. Firstly, the only thing she had found, was most assuredly supposed to be there; it was wonderfully warm, silky smooth, extremely firm and rather hefty. Secondly, Jareth was clutching her upper arms with a vice-like grip; his head was on her shoulder and he seemed to be completely out of breath. Thirdly, she was beginning to feel rather warm in certain areas.
"I'd be happy to use that on you," Jareth gasped.
The room erupted into cheers and thunderous applause. Elves and trolls formed a deliriously happy kick line by the door, while goblins wept in each other's arms. This surely would be the story that paid the way for all of their drinking for the rest of their lives.
Sarah's face was as red as her dress. She let go of Jareth's weapon and removed her hands from his pants. She walked briskly from behind the bar and began to stomp across the room.
"Ludo," The King panted. "Stop her!"
Ludo hung his head, refusing to meet The King's eyes.
"Sawah fwend," he said.
Sarah paused at the door.
"I'll send you the bill for that ale," she said, "AND the truck!" She threw the door open and disappeared into the night.
The King leaned quietly on the bar, glaring at the door. The noise quickly dissipated. With Sarah gone, The King was once again the most frightening being in the Peach Pit, and he appeared to be very upset. The spectators hastily and quietly made their way out the door and into a new world of free drinks. Matilda, the dancer, hopped over to the musicians and accepted a hit off of the bass player's reefer as they all quietly congratulated the drummer on his showmanship.
It became very quiet. The King was still doing a slow burn, when there was a sudden screech of tires on pavement. Sirens and lights filled the air.
"Raid!" yelled the musicians and everyone beat it for the back door.
As The King bolted down the alley, he sadly realized that he had forgotten his snappy hat. He transformed into his owl form as he rounded the corner and flew away, hooting disconsolately.