"Anne?" Joe asked, completely aghast. "What on earth-"
She cut him off with a dark look, then glanced at the old man.
The man lifted a piece of sausage to his mouth, the image of composure. He chewed slowly, then swallowed.
"It's very rude to speak without greeting your host, Joseph Hardy." The man's voice was growly, soft, and ice cold. Joe shivered, despite the heat of the day. Anne picked at her own breakfast, but her face was a mask, showing no emotion.
"I assume you know who I am?" The man asked, taking another sausage.
Some juice slipped down his chin. Joe looked away in disgust.
"You're Raymond Stokes," Joe replied, keeping his gaze fixed at the horizon. "You killed Eunice Coleman," he said, his voice heavy with contempt.
The man finally looked up at Joe. "Now, now. I didn't actually kill her." He pointed his fork at Specs. "Specs did that. I'm a businessman, not a killer."
He took a sip of milk, which left a white mark on his upper lip. "Killing is a messy business. It tends to multiply. Eunice Coleman stole valuable information from me, so she was eliminated. However, she hid that information before my men could recover it. Shayne Wilson got a hold of it, so he had to die as well.."
Stokes finally took a napkin to his face. He dabbed at the corner of his mouth. Joe didn't find him any less disgusting with a clean face.
"What about Clarke Neil?" Joe asked.
Stokes leaned back. "He got the attention of the greatest threat to my empire I've ever seen."
He lit a cigarette. "Do you know what that is, Joseph?"
Joe scowled at him.
"That would be the Hardy Family." Stokes said. "My business has been thriving and growing for years, and now, all of the sudden, one family turns my empire into eggshells. My speakeasy is exposed, my weapons are threatened, and even my police force crumbles."
Stokes reached a fat hand over to Anne and tipped her chin up. Anne's face was an emotionless mask, but Joe saw her mouth tighten ever so slightly.
"Luckily, Anne came to The Leslie and told me everything. She was always such a good sport. Especially when it comes to little Charlie."
Joe tensed. Anne seemed almost repulsed by Stokes, so why would she betray them? Or was she blackmailed? "Where is Charlie?" Joe asked threateningly.
Stokes chuckled. "Oh, I would never hurt Charlie, don't you worry about that. You see, Charlie's father is my son- Nathan Stokes."
"What!?" Joe gasped. He looked accusingly at Anne. "You said you didn't know that guy."
Anne didn't look at Joe, or at anyone for that matter. She just stared, dead-eyed, at the cold piece of toast on her plate.
Raymond Stokes tapped a bit of ash from his cigarette onto a fine silver ashtray. "You see, Joseph, the Stokes family is everywhere. No matter how many detectives and simple-minded maids get grand ideas about justice and the law, my family will always be untouchable.
Stokes had a tendency to monologue. Joe huffed, waiting for the point. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked warily.
Stokes smiled, exposing at least three gold teeth. "So you can understand what happens to people who cross me."
He signaled with a lazy hand and Specs took a knife from inside his jacket. The cigared man grabbed Joe's arms and pinned them beside him.
Joe struggled to break free as Specs approached with the knife, his glasses glinting in the sun.
"Stokes, stop, he doesn't know anything!" Fenton cried, struggling wildly against his own bonds.
Specs grabbed Joe's chin, holding his victim's head in place. He raised the knife slowly, as if contemplating how to carve a piece of meat.
"Please, don't!" His father interjected, pleading desperately.
"Where is the folder, Joseph?" Stokes asked, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.
Specs gently dragged the point of the knife down Joe's cheek. It didn't break skin, but sent shivers up Joe's spine.
Joe glanced at his bound father. Fenton's eyes were wide and scared.
Joe would hold his silence if his father asked, but all the same, he would rather not be tortured and maimed.
But his father was not saying anything. Instead, he was frantically pulling and twisting his wrists, tied to the chair.
Suddenly, Joe understood. If Stokes got a hold of the folder, the mobster would have no reason to keep the Hardy's alive. Once he had the folder, he would kill them both.
Specs ran the knife point down Joe's cheek again, harder this time. Joe gasped in pain as it cut into his face.
His body seemed to react on its own. He lifted both of his legs off the ground, and kicked Specs as hard as he could.
Specs flew back, and the force of the kick caused Cigar-man to stumble back slightly. Specs took a moment to stand up again. His usually immaculate slicked back-hair was tousled and his expression was livid.
He punched Joe in the stomach, and Joe doubled over. Joe strained and pulled to free himself, but the cigar man was just too strong. Joe struggled to raise himself, but he heard Stoke's mocking laughter. Joe stood up straight with effort. Specs had his arm raised for another blow, but then, two things happened simultaneously. Fenton wrenched both of his hands forward, causing his chair to break entirely. At the same moment, Anne pulled a gun- seemingly out of nowhere, and shot Raymond Stokes in the chest.
Stokes was pushed back into his chair as a gruesome spot of red ballooned over his chest. His eyes were wide, but he still wore a sick, amused grin.
For a moment, everything was still.
Anne looked to be in shock. Her hands were trembling, and her mouth was open, as if she herself couldn't believe what she had done.
Specs and Cigar man also froze. Fenton was the first one to come to his senses. Brandishing a broken chair leg like a club, he strode forward. Specs tried to cover his head, but Fenton was too fast. Specs dropped to the deck like a stone.
Joe wasn't idle during this attack. Using the cigar-man's distraction to his advantage, he finally twisted out of the man's grip. Once he was clear, Fenton hoisted the club for another attack and bashed the vast man upside the head.
The change of power had occurred in less than ten seconds, and Fenton, Joe, and Anne were left alone on the deck.
For a moment, the three of them just stood there. Then Fenton dropped his makeshift club, clutched his injured shoulder, and swore loudly.
"Dad!" Joe chided, though he was almost giddy with relief.
"Are you okay, Joe?" Fenton asked, exhausted.
Joe smiled ruefully, putting a hand over his cut cheek. "I will be. But what do we do now? We have to move fast, there are still men on the boat, and these guys might wake at any time."
They both looked at Anne.
She was staring at Stokes in horror. She dropped the gun on the breakfast table like it was red hot. "I killed him." She gasped. "I didn't really mean to-"
Fenton took the gun with his good hand, and helped her to her feet. "You saved my son, Anne. We owe you our thanks. But we have to go. Now."
Joe searched Stoke's pockets- found another tiny revolver, and then searched the other two men's pockets. The cigar man just carried more cigars, (which caused Joe to wrinkle his nose), and Specs carried what seemed to be a full arsenal. Joe took two more guns from his jacket and socks. He found a blackjack, brass knuckles, and three more knives in his pockets, and he even found a grenade in his shirt pocket..
Joe showed all this to his Dad in astonishment. "It's like disarming Germany!" Joe exclaimed.
Fenton helped gather the things, and they began their flight around the deck. The death of Raymond Stokes would not go unnoticed for long.
Inevitably, a cry of rage rang out from the bow. Soon, an alarm was sounding all around them.
A door burst open in front of them, and two armed men appeared from behind it. Fenton quickly fired off a shot and one of them collapsed.
Joe raised his own gun. "Oh, I'm going to be very traumatized after this!" He fired it, and the other man retreated.
They continued running, and finally reached a row of small lifeboats. Fenton reached for it, but Anne halted in alarm. "Lifeboats?! I thought we were going to get Charlie!"
Fenton and Joe were aghast. "You mean he's here?!" Joe cried.
Anne seemed confused at their consternation. "Obviously! Why do you think I was just sitting next to Stokes like a slug?!" She yelled.
Joe clutched his hair anxiously. "You brought your baby to a murderer's boat?"
"Of course I didn't bring him!" She almost shrieked. "What did you think, I brought my son to this hellhole?"
Joe groaned in frustration. "Fine!" He tossed her a gun. "You help Dad get a boat down. Don't let anyone kill him. I'll go get Charlie. I'm the fastest out of all of us."
Joe ran back to the same door where the two men had come from, not waiting to hear approval from Anne or his Father.
He stepped over the man his father had shot and into the inner hallways of the ship.
Seeing as Charlie was Stoke's grandson, Joe guessed he would be held in one of the upper cabins. Joe ascended a flight of stairs, but as he rounded the corner he ran into another gunman. Without thinking, Joe punched him as hard as he could. Of course, he hit him with his sprained wrist, causing him to cry out in pain even as the man was knocked unconscious.
Joe didn't stop running. He knew his yell would attract attention. He checked one cabin door- it was an opulent, stunning room. And it was completely empty.
He headed to the next door. A man appeared at the top of the stairs behind him. Joe grabbed one of the knives in his pocket and hurled it at the man.
Not until the knife was in midair did Joe realize he didn't unsheath the thing. It hit the man, not stabbing him, but knocking him backwards. The man disappeared down the stairs with a yell.
Joe grimaced. "This is violent!" He exclaimed to himself as he opened the next door.
The cabin was just as nice as the last, but there was a boy sitting cross-legged on the floor completely devouring a package of cookies. Crumbs lined his face and he seemed happy as a clam.
"Charlie!" Joe said, striding across the room.
The boy looked at him in sticky surprise, then pointed to the corner of the room. "Man!" He exclaimed.
Joe looked to where Charlie was pointing, and saw, as Charlie described, a man. A sinister man with slapjack in hand. He lunged at Joe.
Joe sidestepped the attacker, and drove his shoulder into the man's stomach, delivering a flawless football tackle.
The man fell to the floor and Joe fell on top of him. He managed to hit Joe with the short club once before Joe got in a hit of his own. Once Joe literally had the upper hand, it was easy to subdue his attacker.
Joe fell back off of the unconscious man, and took a few deep breaths.
Charlie had stood up, and offered a cookie to Joe. "I don't like him. Do you know where my Mommy is?"
Joe took the cookie with a grin. "Yeah, I know where she is. Should we go see her?"
The little boy nodded seriously, in awe of his rescuer.
Joe crammed the cookie in his mouth and swept Charlie up in his arms. He flipped the boy over his shoulders and into a piggyback. "There are going to be more bad men. Hold on, and you'll be alright."
"Okie dokie."
They ran down the hall at breakneck speed. Joe held on to Charlie's legs whenever he could, but sometimes he had to duck around corners or repel attackers. They made it to the deck, and Joe dashed towards the railing. Fenton and Anne had successfully lowered the lifeboat to the water, and they were now waiting anxiously in the boat.
"Charlie!" Anne exclaimed when she saw her son.
Joe put one leg over the railing to descend the rope ladder leading down, but he heard a bullet wizz over his head. Retreating, he saw Specs, bloody and angry, leading a veritable hoard of armed gangsters. Joe whipped Charlie around his torso so he could shield the boy with his body. Charlie buried his head in Joe's shoulder as he sprinted down the deck. More shots sounded behind them, and Joe zig-zagged across the deck, trying to avoid getting shot.
Suddenly, another group of men appeared around the corner. In a few seconds, Joe and Charlie would be trapped and completely closed in. That wasn't an acceptable option.
"Hold on tight, Charlie!" He commanded.
Joe reached into his pocket and grabbed the grenade. Praying he wouldn't lose his grip on the boy, Joe wrenched the pin and dropped the grenade on the deck.
He held Charlie in a vice grip and leapt off the deck of the yacht. An explosion sounded behind them and propelled them towards the water. Joe felt heat on his back, and then the icy coldness of the ocean below.