Chapter 8 - One Flew Over the Sparrow's Nest
Kingston, Jamaica, 2015
The figure slouched against the wall of the murky Jamaican bar squinted as he up-ended a glass. He ran a careful finger around the inside and licked it, gingerly.
He dropped the glass and sat back, sighing. It shattered on the table.
From across the room, a woman was laughing. Jack could see her friend elbowing her, her hand pressed against her mouth, hiding the laughter. Trying not to to make it obvious who they were laughing at.
He pulled the bandanna from his head, and looked at it. Ridiculous. An all too shiny, all too clean parody of what he once wore. Of what he once was. An open white shirt that was too fresh, too white, wasn't right, either. Days were when he wore shirts so grainy, so faded and so crusted with sand and sea salt they'd be yellow. Now...
"Something wrong?"
He looked up, sharply. A hand went to a cutlass that wasn't there. The man in the leather jacket smiled, wanly.
"Mind if I take a seat?"
Jack waved his hand, drunkenly, as the man sat, ignoring it. He smiled again. The same smile. The same...lifeless, mirthless smile.
"Jack Sparrow, formerly of the piratical rank of captain." the man said, plainly, placing a steel case on the table, and scattering glass shards onto the floor.
"Who wants to know?" Jack slurred, raising an eyebrow. His hand was searching under the table. Pulled open a leather satchel. Found what it was after.
The man in the leather jacket smiled the same smile again. "I represent a Company, Mr Sparrow, that has a great deal of interest in you."
"One moment, if you please," Jack slurred, waving the words away. "There is one thing I believe you should know first. One very important thing, that may just change your entire life until this point."
He waved the hand again, drunkenly, and blinked. The man in the leather jacket sat back, bemused.
"Mr Sparrow, please..."
The hand came down, along with the knife clutched in it. Jack cleared the table before the man in the leather jacket had even had time to realise, and snatched the steel case.
With a flourish, he bowed.
"You will always remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow."
He fled.
The man in the leather jacket grimaced, rising, and then stopped. He looked down at his hand, as though realising for the first time.
With a sigh, he wrapped a hand around the knife's handle. Horn, ornate, carved. Old. Fitted. He pulled it free and examined his hand.
It wasn't bleeding. It couldn't. He didn't have any blood to bleed.
The man in the leather jacket turned and followed Jack Sparrow.
"You can't escape, Jack."
Jack stopped, and rolled his eyes. The man in the leather jacket walked, paced strides, calling to him with the same, cold, measured, mirthless voice.
"You don't belong here. I know how that feels."
Jack spun, angry. He jabbed a finger into the man's chest, stopping him. "You don't know the half of it."
The man in the leather jacket grinned, wanly. Jack sneered and walked away.
"I know that you found the Fountain of Youth, Mr Sparrow. That you can't age any more. That my employers put a great deal of effort into finding you again."
Jack stopped again, and closed his eyes. The man in the leather jacket continued.
"It isn't so nice being a pirate in the modern world, Mr Sparrow. People aren't so free as they once were. Open the case, Mr Sparrow."
Jack found the clasps on the steel case and unfastened them. They were locked, but it didn't matter. He'd had centuries to ensure locks didn't get in his way. He opened the case.
Inside was a handgun. A collection of passports in a plastic folder, all with his picture, all with an assortment of names, countries of origin. A leather wallet of credit cards sat in one corner of the case. Visa, American Express, Natwest...all under different names, different banks. An array of cards promising car hire in every state, every country. Privileged guest access for a wide variety of hotels, all under different names.
He shifted through it, carefully. Slowly the contents vanished into his sleeve, which bulged as he went.
Underneath it all was a paper folder. He flicked through it. There were the details of a case. A mission.
Someone wanted to hire him.
"The Company is very interested in your co-operation and future employment with them, Mr Sparrow."
Jack turned on the man in the leather jacket. He snapped the case shut and threw it back to him. The man in the leather jacket didn't blink as it hit him in the stomach and fell away.
"I don't think I'll be doing that though," Jack leered, stepping back. "Savvy?"
The man in the leather jacket smiled, wanly. His arm came up. He snapped back the safety on the handgun he was holding.
"No tricks, Mr Sparrow. We want your honest employment, or we will happily terminate your existence."
Jack jumped back, arms waving. He found the handgun from the case and tucked it behind his hand. He knew more about slight of hand than some hired goon from some shady company that knew a little too much about his past. He'd had alot of practise.
"You can't kill me, remember? Fountain of Youth, and all that. So how about you put that piece down, matey?"
The man in the leather jacket didn't move. "The Fountain stopped you ageing. It did nothing for your...shootability."
Jack nodded. "Well done, matey, well done, well noticed. Unfortunately..."
The man in the leather jacket shot first. Jack yelped as the gun was shot from his hand.
He looked from the gun on the ground to his hand and back to the man.
"That was fast."
"Dead fast," the man in the leather jacket agreed.
"I suppose I could see my way to doing some small business with such a keen shot as yourself," Jack allowed, sucking his fingers. The bullet had glanced his knuckle. It hadn't even hit him. "Might I ask what said Company is so desirous of my presence that they send so...able a man such as yourself?"
Owen Harper holstered the handgun and smiled, wanly.
"The East India Trading Company, Jack. Welcome aboard."