Young Offender, Part 45:
"Eights wild," Guy Licursi mumbled, tossing the cards one at a time around the rickety table. Frank took up the hand he was dealt and studied the worn cards, arranging them to see he had a good possibility for a full house with threes and jacks.
Before Frank took a sip of warm beer, he was startled by a pounding on the Licursis' apartment door. He finished his sip and refocused on his cards. More pounding.
Guy bellowed, "Toni, get the damn door, for crying out loud!"
Frank ignored the dirty look his cousin, Antonia, shot her husband as she marched from the kitchenette, past them, to the front door. Frank tossed in a few chips, as did the four other men sitting around the table. Cards were traded as she wandered back from the front door.
"Oh... geeze, Toni... not another salesman. It's ten at night," Guy whined, more attention was on his cards than his wife. Frank could tell Guy thought he had a good hand. Sweat appeared on his forehead.
Antonia made an irritated grunt and waved a business card in the air. Her thin face looked confused. She wandered onto the kitchen.
"Frank! Come on... you in?" Guy snapped. Frank yanked his attention back to the cards. He smiled, tossing more chips in. The cards were called. Frank placed his full house down to get disgruntled groans from Guy and his guests. "Okay, you bastard... go fetch beers then."
Frank chuckled and lumbered towards the kitchenette. He yanked open the refrigerator and asked, "What's shakin', Toni?" She was so quiet; he looked over to her examining the business card.
"Antonia?"
She looked up, wearing a vexed expression. She glanced towards the doorway; the other four men were back to playing poker. She handed the business card to Frank and whispered, "Those two men were looking for Jet. Once again, those guys are coming around."
"Oh," he whispered back. "You didn't tell Guy about them?"
"Are you kidding? Guy would blow a gasket if he knew. I mean, thanks to Jet running away, Guy was looked over for a promotion to Sargent. He's still working the beat because that kid couldn't keep his nose clean. And now these people..."
"Who are they?" Frank asked, reading the card. Just a name and local address. He looked up to see her face grow grave.
"I think some international cops or something. They're always pretty vague. I think he's in a lot of trouble now. They've said he's running with some really bad people. If Guy knew, he'd blow a gasket."
"Listen, Toni, you do have a good kid. He got mixed up with the wrong crowd when he was twelve. Guy didn't exactly help the situation. I'm sure the girl he's with now wouldn't hurt a fly," Frank mumbled, cracking open another beer.
Accusing suddenly filled Antonia's eyes; Frank silently cursed his big mouth.
"What girl? I never said anything about a girl. Have you seen Jet?"
"Well... let me explain..."
Albert reacted instantly and lifted his hand into the air towards the plane pursuing Jet and Jean-Paul. He had to stop them from the chase and give Jet a chance to get some distance. He fired and hit the plane. The plane burst into a fireball. Francoise's scream startled him. She ran forward, but he caught her elbow.
"Why did you do that!" she shouted, pounding a fist against his chest. Rain started drenching them both, plastering her blond hair to her forehead and hiding the tears Albert knew were in her eyes.
"Come on," he said, tugging her towards the jeep.
He quickly started the jeep, not able to see anything in the sky when lightning flashed. A sinking feeling hit his stomach; he cursed his hasty action and prayed Jet was safe. He knew Jet was rash, but he was also tough as nails. He hoped after two years Jet now relied more on common-sense than boldness.
Jet landed, clenching Jean-Paul to his chest, albeit awkwardly; the blow back from the exploding plane was trouble. It was dark, but he spotted a rocky overhang. He dragged Jean-Paul with him and got the tall Frenchman to sit.
"Are you okay?" Jet blurted out, kneeling beside Jean-Paul.
"What did you ask?" Jean-Paul asked in French.
Jet growled realizing he'd used English; he then asked in French, "Are you doing okay?"
"Fine. I've been through worse. I do need a medic." Jet heard Jean-Paul wince.
"Aw man... please don't be hurt! She'll kill me!"
"Francoise?" A flash of lightening illuminated their hiding spot. Jet could see Jean-Paul was stunned. "What?! How could you bring her here? I thought you would be a responsible fellow! This is a war zone!"
"Hey! Don't yell at me! In case you didn't realize it, your sister is a grown-up! And pigheaded! Once she gets an idea in her head, I can't talk her out of it!"
"Still! What about Herr Heinrich? Where is he?"
"Hey, he don't own us," Jet snapped.
"I thought he, being older, would keep you two out of these situations."
"I said he don't own us," Jet snapped, flopping backwards on his rump. He glared towards where Jean-Paul sat in the dark.
"Fine," the man finally snarled. Jet felt his stomach turned to pure acid. There was anger to; didn't Jean-Paul understand he was doing all of this for Francoise? Jean-Paul finally said with cold determination, "We need to get going and find Francoise."
Jet quelled his feelings. Jean-Paul and he were feeling the same and had the same goal, just a different way to get there. Jet clenched his teeth together and then a deep pang hurt him with the aching still in his gums. Why did the Black Ghost have to keep him silent for three long months. It created a change in him he didn't know how to cope with and he was so frustrated with.
"No, not yet. We're better off staying put," Jet insisted.
"What?"
"Yeah, Al will find us. He'll have an easier time if we stay put."
"But Francoise?"
"She's in good hands with Albert. Sit back. It won't be long," Jet promised. He drew his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his lanky legs. "Albert hasn't ever let me down. He'll be here."
Loud claps of thunder were the only thing that punctuated the silence between them. Jet lost track of the time, but kept his senses aware for any danger.
"Over there!" Francoise shouted pointing towards the right. Albert jerked the steering wheel towards where she directed. Several minutes later they pulled up in front of a dark, rocky overhang.
"Albert!" Jet shouted from the darkness.
He jumped out of the driver's side and jogged over to where he heard Jet. Rain lightened up, but the ground was slick with mud. He stumbled slightly and continued towards the dark.
"Jet, damn it! Where are you!" Albert shouted.
"Jean-Paul!" Francoise shouted, chasing after Albert. Out of the deep dark, Jet stepped out supporting Jean-Paul. He could see them illuminated by the jeep's headlights.
"No time! Let's get out of here, Frannie," Jet snapped. They both quickly helped Jean-Paul into the back of the jeep. Francoise got in beside her brother. Before Jet got into the passenger's seat, Albert gripped his shoulder and swung him around. Jet had a guarded, yet startled, expression. Albert smirked and gave Jet a light smack on the cheek.
"Doing your best Sir Galahad impersonation again, hun?" Albert teased. "Last time you were the one shot."
Jet's mind was still in a daze. He shook it off and waved his hand at the jeep. "You can chew my ass later, he got banged up!"
Albert nodded, watching Jet scramble to get in the jeep. Albert promised himself later was going to come.
Albert breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the aide station medic finished wrapping up Jean-Paul's arm. The blond Frenchman sat on the edge of a cot, flexing his left hand.
The medic station wasn't sanitary in the least. It was a dim dugout with a canvas tarp overhead with wounded men and busy medics around. A few medics gave glances towards the slight woman kneeling at the edge of the cot, holding Jean-Paul's hand. After all, this wasn't a place you normally saw a young woman.
Albert nodded to himself, confident he could let Jean-Paul's wary eyes watch after Francoise for a while; he needed to deal with his other constant companion, and he could tell the Arnoul siblings had a great deal to discuss without his input.
He left towards an impromptu motor pool and quickly spotted Jet perched on the jeep's hood, smoking in the dim light of the moon. Albert was relieved the rain had broken so they could make a quick escape. Inevitably, there would be a lot of questions asked about Jet's casual lies about being war correspondences that wouldn't add up.
He cleared his throat rather than speak; Jet appeared too deeply wrapped into his own thoughts. Jet looked up, his expression grew tense, so Albert gave him a smile and shook his head.
"Don't worry, he's fine. It was a small wound."
Jet's shoulders slumped as he huffed out a large sigh. He pointed his two right fingers towards Albert's nose, cigarette clenched between them, and worked up a glare. "Cram any lectures, Albert! I didn't have a choice."
Albert held up his hands and waved off the attack. "I'm not going to lecture. You did the right thing."
Jet slowly clamped his jaw shut and gave a jerky nod. "Damn straight! We need to help keep people, especially Francoise's brother, from getting killed."
"I said you were right. You saved his life, it was very brave."
"Then what were you about to bust my chops for? Are you going to say I'd end up dead acting like a hero?"
"You never let me finish what I was going to say," Albert replied with calm to Jet's firy antagonism. Jet clenched his lips and crossed his arms. Albert could sense there was some part of Jet that had closed off and was now defensive; it worried him because Jet hadn't been like this in months.
"Well, then lay it on me, daddy-o?" Jet reverted to English slang, not a good sign in Albert's judgment. The language was used to keep him, Francoise, and Ivan at a distance, highlighting that Jet was emphasizing his non-European status in their group.
"I was about to say I wasn't surprised by your heroics. It was a good judgment on your part, but your rashness still could get you killed."
"How 'bout your... rashness, Heinrich? You shot down the plane! What if I would've been closer? You could have killed Jean-Paul."
"You weren't, and I knew those men could have killed you. That's why I acted. Why are you trying to start an argument with me?"
Jet glared, hopped off the hood of the jeep, and started to walk off. Albert said, "Jean-Paul confirmed it was Black Ghost agents on the plane. Rather Merchants of Death to be precise." Jet paused, took a couple of jerky steps backwards, and swirled to face Albert, nose-to-nose.
"I didn't want to hear that," Jet said flatly.
"I've never lied to make you feel better, and I never will. Grow up, because we have to move, quickly. Let's get back to our base and make plans," Albert said no louder than a whisper.
"Fine. After that, I'm going to beat feet back to the Big Apple 'cause I ain't jumpin' bad with the Black Ghost. Dig?"
"No, I don't understand, if that's what you mean by 'dig.' I haven't seen you like this in a long time. What's on your mind? Why would you want to go back to New York all of the sudden?"
"Trollin' for skirts... for all you need to know," Jet snapped. Albert shot him a disbelieving, side-long glance; Jet had eyed a few young ladies on their travels, but never once approached one. Obviously, Jet had some purpose in New York he was feeling torn up over. It was futile to try to communicate with Jet until he was ready.
Albert turned to walk away, but said over his shoulder, "Get the jeep ready. I'll get Francoise and her brother. Hopefully, we can get out of here before the Black Ghost shows up again. It wouldn't be pretty if they got a hold of Jean-Paul... or any other people we know."
Albert didn't miss Jet stiffen at the last admonishment, before he left to get Francoise and Jean-Paul. There was restlessness and anger in Jet, and, after Albert's time with Jet, he knew it would lead to a dangerous situation because his volatility made him a loose canon.
To be continued.