Given his first choice, Officer Johnson would have beaten the insolent slave who had caused him so much trouble until it knew its place. He wanted to see the humbled, pained, defeated look in the slave's face when he was done. He wanted to assert with force which of them was in the right, and which was in the wrong. And there is no saying what might have happened if Officer Johnson had crossed paths with the slave by chance; would he have dared do as he wanted when the consequences might be the loss of his own job? It was an unjust world, according to Officer Johnson, where he was suddenly being accused of something so ridiculous as 'undue harm' when all his life it had been his duty, a duty he was commended for, to keep slaves in their place. But then, an officer of the law knew better than most that the world was unjust, and maybe, just maybe, the penalty for vengeance would not have been worth the momentary elation. He probably would have still beaten the slave, but nothing that could be considered 'undue harm'.
But it was not chance, for Security Guard Johnson to cross paths with the slave. He was being paid to not simply put the slave in its place but to remove it completely. Far from asking him to avoid 'undue harm' he was being asked to do 'irreparable harm'.
In some, very odd ways, this was lucky for Jack. If Wilkins had only wanted Jack too injured to continue on at the bank, as first suggested, Johnson would have taken the chance given him to complete the original beating which would have ended in extreme 'undue harm' removing Jack from being able to work. But his orders being what they were, Johnson did not dare beat Jack. Because his hope was that, without witnesses, he could arrange things to suggest an accident had occurred. No slave is 'accidentally' whipped, however, when the slave is meant to be completely alone.
Instead, Johnson had to arrange things to plausibly be an accident. Perhaps, the scene will suggest, the slave tripped, bumped its head in its fall, and it is only misfortune that its head ended in the sink, underwater. A very unlikely accident, but an accident, nonetheless. Yes, people might suspect…but after all it is only a slave. Even if caught red-handed, what Johnson intended was not called murder, not by the law. It would be willful destruction of City property. And that is assuming no one accepts his plausible claim that he was trying to help him out of the water, not hold him in it. And if no one finds Jack until much later, well, an accident is less trouble than having to find someone, accuse them of the act, and all that messy business that would likely end in no real evidence anyway. Much easier to call it an accident from the start.
So it could be called lucky that Johnson was not going out of his way to cause Jack pain. It was rather unlucky that he was causing it anyway. The blow to the head aside, being manhandled and Jack's own struggles to escape were causing horrific pain even through Mary Poppins' medicine due to the wounds he already had. And drowning is not painless either; already his lungs burned. So perhaps it could not be called lucky, after all, that he was not being beaten on top of this. That Johnson was killing Jack cannot be lucky or unlucky as it was entirely intentional and premeditated.
Jack thrashed wildly, and Johnson was going to have quite the time trying to stage things after to look like he hadn't thrashed at all due to the headwound, because sudsy water was going everywhere. Desperate to escape, Jack almost managed in the first moments to get free, drenching himself and Johnson. Adrenaline is a fine friend in a moment of extreme peril, and lent him strength while masking the pain. But Johnson was stronger, and had the advantage of surprise, no wounds to speak of, and positioning. Jack never did manage to lift his head above the water, and he was rapidly losing strength, his thrashing growing weaker and weaker with each passing moment. Soon, there would be no thrashing at all.
Meanwhile, the Banks family was largely moved out of their house. They had spent the morning transferring furniture to storage, and it almost felt like a fun party when they had an early lunch picnic where their dining table used to be. At least, the children found it fun and the adults followed their lead to keep things as joyful as they could be. Oddly, it was not even entirely faked. Even adults can find fun in picnics, in being together as a family, and in letting go of all the stressful hope they had struggled with for the last few days. The house was gone, but they were together and it would be enough.
"It's funny, having our picnic here instead of in the park!" Georgie said, for perhaps the third or fourth time, because he was still young enough to find repetition soothing instead of tedious.
"You said that already," pointed out John, who was now old enough to not find it soothing. Besides, as his older brother, it was his duty to let Georgie know when he was becoming annoying.
"We should go to the park, this afternoon," Annabel suggested, before things could devolve into an argument. Then, sighing a bit, "But I suppose we are too busy moving for that."
"Nonsense," Michael refuted instantly, making all three children turn to him with surprise and hope. "If this is our last day in this house, then we should make it the most wonderful day possible."
"That sounds like a lovely idea to me," Jane put in. Then, "What do you think, Mary Poppins?" Jane actually found it a bit daring to ask, still somewhat feeling like she should be deferring to Mary Poppins as her nanny and not like the woman was actually her brother's hired servant. She was rewarded by her daring by a smile. Mary Poppins was sitting on the floor with them, of course, though she somehow made it seem natural whereas both Michael and Jane kept having to shift about, being unused to it.
"Of course we must," Mary Poppins agreed, and as if that were the signal to the end of the picnic, she was standing and helping to arrange the children. "John, your hair needs combing before you are fit to be seen in public. Annabel, wrap our blanket up so we can shake the crumbs out for the birds. Georgie, be sure to get your kite."
So Annabel started to careful wrap up the blanket they had been sitting on so that the crumbs would stay inside and not fall all over their former dining room floor, John allowed Mary Poppins to produce a comb and have a go at his hair, while Georgie charged up the stairs to find his kite. Michael and Jane watched, bittersweet smiles on their faces.
"I will just give the house a final cleaning," Ellen suggested, "While you are at the park."
"Oh, nonsense," Michael said, only just ahead of Jane saying, "But you are coming with us, of course."
Then they were on their way, and it would not be the last time they would visit this park but it would be the last time they took this exact walk to reach it. Or that was what was going to happen, until Michael noticed exactly what kite Georgie had gone upstairs to fetch.
"Jane!" he said, "Do you remember?" And he held it up. It was the very kite he and Jane had made, so many years before. It even still had the 'Votes for Women' tail their mother had attached. Of course, it had clearly had rough times since, and been mended with new paper. Michael felt himself go soft at the sight of his own artwork, featuring his own family, complete and whole.
He felt, almost, as if there had been holes in his life. And no one could call moving in with his sister and losing the family house ideal but…but all the same, it was starting to feel as if Mary Poppins had come along and stuck new paper into the holes and now things were mending at last. Different from before, but still able to fly.
And then he held the kite up to the light.
The Banks family did not spend their afternoon in the park.
Michael's car was not meant to fit four adults and three children, and not only was it far from the midnight deadline, it was still hours before the bank even closed. Technically speaking, there was no reason for anyone to go except Michael, perhaps with Jane for support. His children could have safely stayed with Mary Poppins and Ellen. Somehow, it never even occurred to them that anyone should stay behind. They had started for the park as a family and now they were going to the bank as a family. Michael held the kite secure. Annabel still held her bundle of the blanket, mostly because they all forgot about it until they had gone too far to get rid of it short of dropping it on the ground, and Annabel was too well brought up to do that.
The walk to the bank took half an hour, between Georgie's shorter legs and Michael's distracted way of looking all over the kite at the various pieces of the bank document instead of where he was going. It would be nice to say that, once they reached the bank, Michael paused. That he went down to the basement instead of up to the top floor, heard the commotion, and burst in on the murder attempt. Or perhaps Jane, having suddenly remembered Jack and wanting to check on him, would be the one to step in. Or even Ellen, feeling out of place and seeking out slave quarters, might stumble upon the scene. But it was not to be, seeing as Johnson was in the process of smacking Jack across the head at almost the same moment Michael was holding a kite up to the light and being smacked, metaphorically, in a more serendipitous manner.
As Michael held up the kite, Jack fell. His head was pushed under water, and he fought and thrashed violently and uselessly. And his strength waned, and his pain waxed, and his struggles weakened, and slowed, and dark spots were flashing in his vision, and even the high sound of the singing teakettle was fading in his ears, and his lungs burned with his efforts to not breathe where there was no air, and they burned from him breathing a bit anyway and, and the world was fading, as if it were the world dying and not Jack, and as awareness began to leave him his struggles ceased entirely.
And it was at this moment that Frank burst into the room, shouted something along the lines of, "You sweeping piece of mare!" (mare, being shortened from nightmare and 'night' rhyming with a rather cruder word).
It is not usually a good idea to give a war cry in that manner before trying to swing at someone, as it gave forewarning. In this moment, however, Johnson had his hands full with holding Jack in place, and by the time he had the sense to realize perhaps it was more important to let go of Jack and defend himself, Frank was already tackling the man to the ground.
Unfortunately, Jack never noticed the sudden lack of anything holding him down, and made no effort to free himself. Fortunately, gravity worked in his favor and he fell down anyway.
If the world had a true sense for the dramatic as can be found in theater or film, Jack would have already breathed in water, and would lay, unbreathing, for perhaps minutes, until his friend could press the water out and force him to breathe. Jack would cough, sit up, and somehow behave as if he needed no further medical aid and there would be no lasting damage after going a significant amount of time without breathing while his lungs were full of water.
This being the real world, where prolonged unconsciousness and no oxygen could have real and harmful consequences even if Jack survived, like brain damage or lung damage, it was good that this did not happen. Jack had breathed in some of the water during his thrashing, but not a deep lungful of water. He had begun to lose consciousness, and his oxygen levels were certainly low and concerning. But he did not fall and lay insensible and await resuscitation. He fell, rolled onto his side, coughed and sputtered a bit, threw up, coughed and sputtered a bit more, still felt the burn in his lungs, in his sinuses, in his chest, felt a sharp pain in his ribs, a duller one in his wrist, an uncomfortable stiffness across his back, and finally, still wheezing and gasping for breath, he opened his eyes.
Frank had started the tackle with the upper hand. Unfortunately, it was not some average man off the street he was attempting to take down. The former officer was trained in combat, not just as a police officer but as a former soldier. Frank took him down hard, but things had turned since. They had rolled about, first one on top then the other, each giving glancing blows, but now Johnson had the upper hand, and he was about to use it. It would be nearly impossible to stage a scene with two accidental deaths. But it would be worse if accusations could come against Johnson from a living slave. Better to kill them both and figure out how to arrange things after. Perhaps…perhaps one slave killed the other and then attacked Johnson when he discovered the crime?
Jack saw this. He knew he had to act. But he felt as weak as a kitten. Any attack he did was sure to be ineffective. If Frank, who was strong and capable and uninjured, could not handle Johnson, what could Jack do?
Johnson was just in the process of getting his hands around Frank's throat and was starting to press when Jack acted. And it's true, Jack's arms were weak, and he did not have the strength or angle to effectively hit Johnson in a way that would have made him let go. But it turns out, having a very full, very hot teakettle made up for a lot of body strength.
It was still whistling, and almost too heavy for Jack to handle. He had no time for deep consideration, so he did the first thing that popped in his head, which was to pour the scalding hot water over Johnson's back.
This could have gone rather badly for Frank, too, and if Jack had had time he might have aimed for somewhere less close to his friend. On the other hand, there was a lot of poetic justice in listening to Johnson's scream of pain as Jack got him in the same place Johnson had earlier beaten Jack. And by fortune, it did not inadvertently also scald Frank, because Johnson reacted to the sudden and extreme agony by collapsing over Frank instead of rolling away.
Jack was, for the most part, a forgiving person and not prone to violence. For instance, he had once, in defense of his friend, gotten between him and a bull whip and allowed himself to get hurt rather than attacking the one wielding the whip. But Jack had had a very trying week, and had just almost been murdered, and if he kept pouring until the kettle was entirely empty before dropping it on Johnson's back, well, one could blame the fact that he was still not fully recovered from his near drowning and so not entirely in control of his own actions. The fact that he found unusual satisfaction in doing so was beside the point.
Johnson screamed as if he were being boiled alive, which is certainly what he felt like was happening, and Frank had little difficulty pushing him over afterwards, only suffering from the feeling of very hot but no longer boiling hot water dripping down to him as he did so. Then, while Johnson was still screaming and trying to curl himself away from the pain, Frank staggered to his feet, just in time to stop Jack from falling a third time.
"Here," Frank said, gruffly, his own throat a bit bruised even if Johnson hadn't yet had a chance to really squeeze, and he half pushed Jack into a chair. The other chair had been knocked over during all the goings-on, and Frank rightened it and sat down himself. Johnson finally stopped screaming to make pathetic whimpers instead. He was still curled in a corner and making no effort to go for them again, so they let him be.
"You okay?" Frank asked, his own face pale as he reached out a hand towards Jack, his own hands shaking as everything of what had just happened and what had almost happened seemed to crash over him at once.
"Will be," Jack answered, though that small effort had him coughing again, and that in turn had him clutching at his ribs.
"Sure you are," Frank said, giving him a look with a dubious expression which suggested he thought otherwise. But instead of suggesting medical attention, he sighed and looked down at where Johnson was still whimpering pathetically. "So…what do we do about him?"
"Report him, I suppose," Jack managed to rasp out, albeit with a gloomy bit of reluctance. They both looked at the man, then looked at each other.
"No one is going to believe he attacked you first," Frank said, because they were both too used to the ways of the world. If Johnson insisted that he was attacked by two slaves, then that would be the accepted story.
"I…can get a Citizen to back us up?" Jack said next, which was an unusual and rather unlikely plan under normal circumstances. Except, under current circumstances, they actually knew several Citizens who might be so inclined. Mary Poppins, for instance, though an unsure character witness as one never knew when she would come or go. Surely she would care enough to intervene, since she was still in town? Then there was Jane Banks, who had SPRUCE to help her back them up. And Michael Banks had already helped Jack out once.
So instead of shaking his head at Jack's painful optimism, Frank just gave a rather helpless shrug and said, "Worth a shot, I suppose. Would be easier if we made sure he had nothing to say." He jerked his head in Johnson's direction. Johnson might be in a world of pain, but he was not likely to actually die from that, and would be very capable of giving his own version of events.
Jack just shook his head, because talking was painful in the moment, but if he had spoken he'd likely have said something like, 'We can't just kill him now. Even if he intended to do that to us. Not now. It wouldn't be defense now, it'd be murder. And we're better than that.' And if he had said something like that, perhaps Frank would have liked to say something like, 'You're better than that. I'm ready to get my hands dirty.' But the very fact that Jack couldn't talk made Frank feel like he had to be the sort of person Jack clearly expected him to be. Maybe it would make things easier to kill Johnson, and it would certainly ease the horrified anger currently filling Frank as time passed and he began to truly comprehend what had been prevented. But it would upset Jack, and that was the last thing Frank wanted to do. Sometimes, Jack just being there made his friends into better people because they didn't want to disappoint Jack.
That didn't mean they had to sit in the same room as Johnson and listen to his whimpering, all the while wondering if the man was only biding his time before he could attack again.
There was still no one about downstairs when Frank stood and helped Jack along. The nurse was out, too, and they were certain of this because that was the first place Frank tried to take Jack.
"How…how did you come?" Jack thought to ask, leaning against the wall while Frank annoyedly rattled the locked door to the nurse's office. Even if she was out, she could have left them access to medical supplies.
And it was a good question, because Frank should have been nowhere nearby, just like all the other slaves and the overseers and the nurse. In fact, Frank should have been working in the mailroom on a completely different floor, and Jack had not made near enough noise for him to have heard anything even had he been in the hallway.
"Funny story, that," Frank answered. Then, "You know, I think I know who we should talk to."
"Who?" wheezed out Jack.
"We need to take this all the way to the top. To the Director of the Bank."
Jack could be forgiven for looking at Frank as if he were the one potentially suffering from brain damage.
"…Wilkins?" he asked, then coughed hard enough that it took some time to hear the answer.
"No, the real Director," was the answer.
If it weren't for Johnson, incapacitated but very much alive in the tearoom, Frank might have left Jack to recover in the slave storage room while he enacted his plan. As it was, he helped him along to the elevator. As they walked, he shared the story of exactly how he had known to come to rescue Jack just in the nick of time.
