Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
The Borneo rainforest is 130 million years old. That means it's the oldest rainforest in the world. It's home to about 15.000 species of flowering plants, 3.000 different kinds of trees, 221 species of terrestrial mammals and 420 species of birds. A refuge for all creatures great and small, the Asian Elephant, the Sumatran Rhinoceros, the Bornean Clouded Leopard, the Hose's Civet, the Dayak Fruit Bat... and a certain doctor who fled from the USA to escape lifelong imprisonment after being directly responsible for the death of at least twelve people, almost half of them children.
Doctor Philipp Daphne had betrayed people who had not only trusted, but also been completely dependent on him. He had preyed on the most defenseless: Weakened from disease, close to death already, his greed had delivered the final blow. There was no doubt in Junior's mind that he deserved to die.
Guerrero couldn't have cared less.
The only thing that pissed him off was the fact that the doctor of all places had chosen the jungle of Borneo as a hideout. And to top it all, he was residing in an ancient temple, exact location unknown. Guerrero really hoped that his source was erring on that point. Junior was already crazy enough as it was; he definitely didn't need some Indiana Jones bullshit setting to additionally fuel his high risk mentality.
Unfortunately his sources tended to be accurate. Probably had to do with the repercussions they had to face if they weren't. In this particular case, however, Guerrero would have been more than willing to let it slide.
The closer they came to the backcountry, though, the clearer it became that there indeed was a temple in the heart of the jungle – a refuge for haunted souls, striving to turn a fresh leaf. Everything indicated that after about two years of aimless to and fro, Dr. Daphne's flight had ended there. The locals called the place candi penuh harapan.
"If that's Indonesian for Temple of Doom I'm out", Guerrero decided grimly. They had reached the very outskirts of civilization now, a logging town by a grimy red dirt road. Their plan was to enter the only bar and introduce themselves as lost souls looking for the meaning of life. Hopefully somebody would point them in the direction of the temple.
Guerrero thoughtfully rested his eyes on Junior, who was steering the jeep with an enthusiasm that he had previously thought only five year olds could muster. The airstream was tousling his blond hair, his skin was carefully tanned… at least he had left his ridiculously fashionable sunglasses at home, but nevertheless he looked so much like an American sunnyboy poster child, the mere idea he could be haunted, lost or desperately striving to change his life was ridiculous. Their cover would blow in no time.
… … …
The bar was a dimly lit shack that smelt strongly of tuak, the local beer brew, rice wine and the sickly sweet smoke of rokok kretek cigarettes. Several rather big dogs were enjoying a sunny spot on the grimy floor, snoring deeply, despite the ruckus a group of card players in the back produced. Guerrero and Chance sat down at the bar and ordered kue sus kering.
The waitress was a good-looking woman of the kind that in a couple of years would put on too much weight, but for now she was a sight for sore eyes. Which of course didn't escape Junior's notice… Guerrero groaned inwardly.
"We're here on business, dude, remember?", he muttered.
"I'm just blending in", Junior replied, giving him that million-watt-smile that usually opened so many doors for him.
"Not cool, dude."
Junior sighed in frustration – Guerrero didn't understand a thing. If he managed to charm the waitress a little, she'd probably tell them where to find the temple without that ridiculous "lost souls"-cover. The idea that someone could break with everything and seek refuge in a temple, of all places, to find some sort of "inner peace" was totally alien to him.
All this talk about meditation, balance, karma… New Age bullshit. He had spent enough years out on the street to know that what Joubert was currently giving him, a trade, a home, appreciation, was what really counted in life. Not some abstract ideas about morals that only people born on the bright side could afford.
Anger rose in Junior as the "born on the bright side" thought stirred up some deeply buried memories. Images from his hellish childhood days flashed up in his mind like lightning in a pitch black desert, causing his adrenalin level to rise significantly… which probably played a part in the sequence of events that unfolded in the next few minutes.
Guerrero had barely time to register that Junior had somewhat tensed up when the shattering of glass from the corner of the gamblers had both of them whirl around. The sleeping dogs woke up and jumped to their feet.
One of the men had grabbed the waitress by her wrist. She was angrily yelling at him, trying to break free, but another man had sneaked his arm around her waist and pulled her backwards so that she landed on his lap.
The waitress screamed in outrage, finally managed to wrest her hand free and used it immediately to deliver a resounding slap to the man's face. Angry and humiliated he grabbed her hair and violently tore at it, bending her backwards – she cried out in pain, struggled…
Junior stepped in.
He had jumped up so fast, all Guerrero could do was race after him. Junior, however, definitely had the longer legs and was already punching the hair-grabbing guy in the face when Guerrero finally managed to reach him.
Predictably hair-grabbing guy's buddies didn't take kindly to some orang asing sticking his nose into their business.
Neither did the waitress.
Or the dogs.
The woman released a hail of expletives on Junior and Guerrero. Apparently she was bilingual when it came to swearing – they could clearly make out "jackass" and the F-word.
Apparently hair grabber was her husband and as much as she hated his guts, nobody had the right to punch him in the face except her.
The dogs let them know in the universal language of baring their teeth and growling that they were significantly pissed off, too.
And all that with the card players drawing their Parang Pendeks – Indonesian bush knives.
This called for a strategic retreat.
But would Junior willingly turn tail? Darn, another dilemma! Guerrero's instincts told him to leave the idiot behind, should he insist on fighting this out to keep his male pride intact. On the other hand, leaving Joubert's favorite behind would, should he ever find out, be equivalent to signing one's own death sentence.
"Guerrero! Brother Dave and the window!" Junior whirled around, delivered a powerful kick to hair grabber's chin and punched his buddy in the gut. Guerrero understood, knocked out the guy right next to him, pushed him towards the now madly barking and ready-to-attack dogs and raced to the small window Junior had pointed out to him.
Apparently strategic retreat was not too alien a concept to Junior after all…. Not badly thought out, Guerrero had to give him that.
... ... ...
They ran down the street till they both couldn't breathe anymore. Nobody seemed to follow them.
Good.
But unfortunately they had left all their stuff behind except the basic weaponry they had attached to their bodies.
Great.
"Idiot", Guerrero spat. "Hope the adrenaline kick was worth it."
The anger that was still raging inside Junior urged him to grab the smaller man by the throat and explain to him in no uncertain terms that he had behaved perfectly in congruence with their cover – lost souls would very likely step in when a woman was in danger, wouldn't they?
But Guerrero would probably stab him with one of his knives before his fingertips could ever touch his skin. Psycho or not, Junior had to grant Guerrero one thing: He was one of the best in the business. Disgruntled he trudged after him.