Young Offender, Part 20:
"Holy... Moses..." Jet mumbled, as they pulled up to where the private plane rested in the middle of a secluded area. The only thing was, it had been a plane; now, it was a flaming twisted wreck that nowhere resembled a plane.
At a distance, Jet could see the giant loading up the two twins in the back of the car he had driven away in. The giant teen's face was grim and angry. He looked up at them, and then jerked his head towards a tree several feet away, one that's top was already engulfed in flames.
"Ivan," Francoise shouted in Jet's ear, franticly pointing to where the boy sat under the tree, totally still. Jet launched himself out of the truck and ran towards the tree. He was barely conscious of the sounds of their would-be assassins getting away in the distance. He was two feet away from Ivan when he felt himself tossed backwards, almost into the truck. Jet shook off his shock and approached again, slower and stopped at that point.
"Ivan, come on, you're about to burn! Come on! Let's go!"
The boy fixed Jet with an empty expression and shook his head. Francoise then scrambled up and knelt at that point where Ivan's inviable boundary was set. She tried reaching towards him, only to have her hand block in midair.
"Please, don't do this. We're still free!" she said.
The boy said something in what Jet now knew to be Russian. Jet shook his head and said, "Come on! You get up right now! I ain't playing around, kid! You'll burn to death!"
"Stop this! You'll never have to go back to those people. Just have some faith in us. We want to work to make your dream possible!" Francoise shouted. Ivan seemed to start a little. The the flames from the tree and the plane all died as a blue wave of light lapped over them.
Ivan rose to unsteady feet and Jet gasped. The artificial skin on Ivan's arms and around the collar of his shirt was marred by burns and gashes. His over-sized clothing was singed, torn, and stained with blood. Ivan got control of himself and walked over to them. Jet didn't have a hint of what the kid was thinking.
"Are you hurt?" Francoise asked timidly.
"Let's go," Ivan said. They walked back to the truck where Albert leaned against the side. Ivan and Albert stood silently facing each other for several minutes. "You saved me. What you've said before about losing your wife, and the example of what you've been living through, has shown me how to live. You have such dignity through it all. Thank you."
Albert nodded. "You know, if you did have to kill those men, it wouldn't have been your fault."
A wide-eyed flash of terror crossed Ivan's face, then he appeared not so lucid, as if he were on a high. Next was crushing shame, which Jet had never seen Ivan express before. Ivan shook his head and whispered, "I did something far worse to them than kill them."
Jet shivered a little at the pronouncement. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Ivan had done, but judging by Ivan's severe attitude, it must have been a truly repulsive nightmare.
It was Albert that reached out and patted Ivan on his shoulder. "Come on. We've got to get moving. This town isn't safe."
They reached the airport in Melbourne two days after their attack. They had all been very silent the whole trip. Everyone had withdrawn into themselves; their concentration was on self-preservation. It was Jet who broke their dazed muteness with a volatile fit of vandalism that didn't take Francoise off guard like she thought it would.
The minute they pulled up to a deserted wing of the airport, Jet hopped out of the driver's seat and spun around, looking for something. The other three got out of the truck. Once they were out, Jet lunged at the truck. With a powerful growl, he punched the truck's passenger door. His cyborg muscle knocked it clean inside the cab with a sickening crunch.
He balled up his fists and slammed hard into the hood of the truck. It squealed and crumpled down; scraps and steam flew everywhere. It cause Francoise to step back, bumping into Albert's firm chest, Ivan sank to his knees. She found herself sharing Jet's disappointment and ire as he kicked the wrecked truck so hard it tumbled on its side.
Jet fell to all fours, panting. He shook his head and looked up at them. "We'll never be rid of them." His bleak tone mirrored Francoise's fears.
"So now are you willing to hear me out? Now do you understand?" Ivan asked, crossing his arms. Francoise looked at him with curiosity. "We have to fight against them, not run from them."
"All I want is to leave. Don't talk to me about that shit, kid," Jet said, standing again. He went over to Albert and let the man lean on him. "We need to get to Kaminari."
"As you wish," Ivan said. Cool azure surrounded them. Francoise gasped as she realized they were in a totally different place. She barely had enough time to catch Ivan before he collapsed on the cobblestone street.
"There. G Kaminari," Francoise said, doing her best to support Ivan as she read the plaque on the red door across the narrow street. The morning was sweltering, unlike where they had been one minute ago. I had been a cold, dark night in Australia. It was very disconcerting to Francoise, but she knew they were safe, for now. Plus, there was humidity everywhere around them. The heavy scent of the sea lingered strong in Francoise's sharp awareness.
"That house?" Jet asked.
"Villa. I hear Italian being spoken in a market a little ways down the street," she corrected.
"Oh great," Jet grumbled, shifting Albert under his arm and marching across the street. Francoise felt a blush on her face, seeing Jet kick at the door rather than knock properly. She kept glancing about in worry. Finally, the young electronics engineer came to the door; a shocked look hit his face.
"You people don't look so good. Come in before all of Palermo knows you're here."
"Palermo? You mean we're in Sicily?" Jet asked in Italian, darting in the vine covered townhouse with Albert. Francoise followed with Ivan and managed to shut the door.
"No... Palermo Texas," the man replied in Italian and with heavy sarcasm, his eyes rolling. Jet looked irritated, but too exhausted to make a tart response. The man lead them up three flights of stairs to an attic laboratory. Francoise shivered, remembering an old horror movie Jean-Paul had taken her to. The setting in the movie had high ceilings with wooden beams, cobwebs all over the stone walls, tables with electronics everywhere, and in the middle of the room was a metal table. Kaminari's secret lab was the same.
Kaminari nodded to the table and said, "Put him up there so I can get a good look at him."
Jet complied. Albert took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "Kaminari?"
"One and the same. What's wrong with the kid?" he asked, jerking his thumb towards Ivan.
France sat him in a chair and checked his vitals. He was ice cold, which meant he was in deep sleep. Francoise turned to Kaminari and said, "He'll be fine. He just needs to rest."
The man nodded and rolled up his sleeves. "Alright then. Get out so I can work."
"But..." she stared.
"Gilmore and Kozumi may not mind, but I do. Now get lost," Kaminari said. "There's food in the kitchen. Nothing good. I'm a lousy cook." The man was now inspecting Albert's eyes.
Francoise grabbed Jet's elbow; his eyes were glued to Albert. The German man gave Jet a smirk and waved his metallic, right hand weakly. "Go eat and get some rest. I'll be fine."
"That self-detonation de..."
"Jet! That's my own affair. Now go," Albert said, in a low, icy tone. Francoise tugged Jet with her out the door. She lead him to the kitchen and found some lukewarm porridge and apples. They sat in silence and ate with no complaints.
"After we fix Albert up, we've got to figure out how to get some cash, lots of cash, and move. You know, Montana is a big state, or maybe someplace in South America, until we can make a solid plan," Jet said.
"You heard what Ivan said. They'll keep after us. We have no way to just earn money without staying in a place long term. We have to figure out how to make a living without staying in a place for very long."
Jet slammed his fist on the table and glared at her. "I know that, but I'm not going to run from them any longer! I have the start of an idea. I need to sleep on it, though."
"I'm so tired," she agreed. "When Albert and Ivan get well, we need to decide what to do."
Jet actually helped Francoise with the dishes. They walked into Kaminari's parlor; they pulled the drapes after looking around the street. Very few people were about, to their relief. Francoise watched Jet flop in an armchair and fall asleep. She couldn't resist any longer. She slumped on a settee and quickly fell asleep, too.
Albert sat up on the table and stretched. Kaminari handed him a loose, white, linen shirt and dark brown slacks. He put the shirt on and slid off the table. Next the slacks. "So everything is the same?"
"Yes, are you sure about that big bomb in your chest?"
Albert paused and then nodded slowly. "It won't set well with the others. I didn't want them to ever know about it."
"Too late, now. But, it's your choice to still have it," Kaminari said. "By the way, you'll want to rest a few days. Your organic parts will need time to heal. Plus..." Kaminari jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where Ivan was slumped in a chair. "I think he needs to rest. I'm going to check to see he hasn't gone and messed up my work. May need to give Kozumi a call."
"Fine," Albert said.
Albert helped Kaminari get Ivan on the table. He turned to leave before he had to watch the man tinker around in Ivan's brain. He quietly walked downstairs and found Jet and Francoise in the parlor, both asleep. He looked back and forth between them and finally got an afghan off the back of the settee.
He dragged it over Francoise and turned to Jet. He gingerly shook Jet's shoulder, because he knew better than to startle the redhead awake, especially since Albert could see Jet's jaw was clenched and his eyelids were twitching.
Jet inhaled and sat up, ramrod straight. His blurry eyes looked confused. Albert jerked his head towards the staircase; Jet silently followed him up to the second floor. Albert peeked behind a few doors and then lead Jet through a bedroom towards French-doors. Albert cracked them opened and walked out onto a balcony. Jet followed and closed the French-doors.
Albert glanced around; he judged it to be late afternoon. He chose the balcony because it faced a secluded courtyard with a fence high enough to protect them from prying eyes. He sank to the floor of the balcony; Jet sat beside him and fished in his pocket. He flicked a cigarette out towards Albert and got himself one.
"Thought you'd quit," Albert teased.
"Screw that, man," Jet mumbled, reaching over to light Albert's cigarette first with his Zippo, then his own. He took a long drag and gave a half cough.
Albert had a question burning in him since they had faced down the assassin cyborgs. "Jet, I need to know, would you have gone with them if there were no choices left?"
Jet's face squished up, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then shook his head as if he were utterly exhausted. "Yeah... I would. And would you have killed that guy who was going to shoot me?"
Albert felt cold in the pit of his stomach as he nodded. "Yes. I would do it, and would do it again without hesitation."
Jet was ill at ease; he raised his knees to his chest and wrapped his lanky arms around his legs. He took another puff as his face colored. He took the cigarette between his fingers and pointed the fingers at Albert. "Listen, I'm tired. I'm working shit out in my head, so get off my ass. We have things we need to get straight."
Albert nodded in agreement before taking a drag on his own cigarette. "Staying in one spot is risky. We need to be on the move. All the time," he said in German.
"Which comes to the question of money. I think I have a plan about that and something else, but I want to talk to Ivan first," Jet replied in flawless, reflexive German. Albert took note of the hard work.
"We need to stay here a few days. I'm too tired, and Ivan isn't up to it."
"Yeah, I know, but we need to get on the move soon," Jet insisted.
"You're contemplating something Francoise wouldn't like?" Albert asked, ashing his cigarette.
"You could say that," Jet confirmed, and then adopted a dour expression. "It would be for her own good." Albert took a deep breath and found himself trusting Jet, in spite his better judgment.
Albert noticed Jet shiver, then Albert realized dusk was setting. Jet felt the air around them more actuality than Albert. He ground out his cigarette and enjoyed the companionable silence between them under the starry, Mediterranean night.
To be continued.