Chapter 21
Three days later
Four weeks before the fight
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Smile like you mean it.
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-Part 1-
The dark blue first light of the break of dawn shined upon the hill behind Higher for Hire. Kit was already up, awake, dressed, and mentally planning out his itinerary for the day as he counted the money he had socked away under his bed, in his closet between the wall, in his go-bag, and above the back shelf behind the air vent. If someone was to ever rob him, one storage of money would likely act as a decoy for the other three larger sums he had hid in more clandestine areas; he had been robbed before and he wasn't about to let that happen again. If someone wanted to take all his money, they would have to know what they were looking for.
Before he knew it the yellow light of the sun illuminated the land outside and shortly thereafter Ms. Cunningham and Molly entered the building, vocally announcing their presence just as Kit sealed the air vent, tugged on it to ensure security, and ran downstairs to greet his mom and her daughter. "Let me guess, you haven't eaten yet?" Said Ms. Cunningham as she folded her arms. Kit merely shook his head 'no'. "Kit" she said in a tone that subtly asked, "Why do I bother?", "if I am going to go through the effort to make you breakfast the night before, the least you can do is eat it before I get here." Ms. Cunningham made her way to the refrigerator and pulled out Kit's breakfast which consisted of a single egg, a slice of bacon, and a piece of buttered bread, placed it in the plate warmer on the stove in the kitchen and turned the gas on, within 10 minutes it was ready to eat.
In the meantime, Kit and Molly listened to an early morning news report while Ms. Cunningham sifted through the mail which had arrived yesterday until Kit was called to the table. Molly was all ready for school and had been since she and Ms. Cunningham had left their apartment, her hair done up, the blue pig ties securely fastened to each ear and her clothes neat and clean and ready for the day. Kit had already gotten dressed as well, brushed his teeth, and normally would have been wearing his green sweater with a brown patch on the right arm but instead had adorned his red sweater that Baloo had bought him. Ms. Cunningham and he had gotten into an argument a few days ago about its cleanliness. "It never gets dirty!" he had said knowing that just a couple months ago it had been overly stained with his blood. "But you wear it every single day!" she responded. "I'm not taking it off!" he obstinately shot back indicating that to him this sweater was more than just a simple sweater. "Hmmm….you will when you go to sleep tonight". Ms. Cunningham thought back to the first day she had met him, he had been wearing it then too, that and his hat which she had quickly found out had come from Baloo a day earlier. "Fine, you win." She schemed.
Later that night, when he was bathing, she went into his room, picked the sweater off the ground, folded it, and secreted it away into her backpack as she and Molly were going home. The next morning on her way back to Higher for Hire she and Molly had walked in on a half-naked Kit who was wearing just his brown cargo pants and had been frantically turning the entire place upside down searching for it. Panicking as if his life depended on it. At least, he was until she told him that she had dropped it off at the dry-cleaners. He was more than disgruntled at her to say the least. But that was before she had told him that she was having it premium cleaned at the same place in which it had been repaired after it had been torn and bloodstained so horridly during the night he had ran away from them after the Daring Dan incident. She couldn't help but wonder why he had not just grabbed his red sweater that Baloo had bought him; he had after all never acted like this, or to this degree, before Baloo's accident. She considered asking him why he was so worried about a simple sweater but, upon remembering how Molly acted out when she had thought that Lucy, her cherished doll, had gone missing, she ultimately decided against it. Molly had thought the world was ending and was near inconsolable until Lucy had been found, and even then, it had taken Molly some time to recover from her fit. She suspected that it was the same sort of thing with Kit. She could clearly recall how she had seen the permanent crisscrossing bloodstains on the white lining of the inside of the green sweater right before she had called to report his being a victim of child abuse and that was when she pieced it all together.
During his time in hell aboard the Iron Vulture, that green sweater was the only thing that protected him and softened the blows against his back. It was no surprise that he had developed a psychological connection to that sweater in the form of a sense of security. In the same manner, the red sweater was also linked to a sense of security and safety. Baloo had saved his life multiple times and offered him a parental love and affection he had never felt nor experienced before in his life, but when Baloo had ceased to be around, that sense of security went with him.
The radio had been left on while Molly played with her train, Ms. Cunningham watched the clock and took care of a few administrative housekeeping duties, and Kit ate his now warm breakfast. The news reporter, in the middle of other white-noise-nonsense, had provided an international update from the political state of Houndland and how the new leader there was ushering the country into a new age of prosperity to allegedly "last for the next 1000 years" and judging by last year's Olympics which were held there and the fact that their influence had been growing across their continent, spreading even across the ocean into Usland and even into Kit's school, it had a good chance of happening. Just a few days ago, there had been a seventh-grade boy at school, a Houndland Shepard, handing out red armbands with a black symbol on a circular white background to the student body that resembled the new Houndland flag along with invitations to a nearby Houndland Rally that night. Kit had considered grabbing one but they were all gone before he had even the chance to ask. From what he had heard, the rally had been as entertaining as it had been inspiring.
However, the following stories were much closer to home. Whenever the subject of sky-pirates came across the radio Kit always perked up and listened intently for what he hoped not to hear, today was no different. He dropped his fork and ran to the radio and cranked it up just in time to hear something mentioned about how the cliff-guns had repelled another attempted invasion of Cape Suzette last night by some as of yet unnamed faction of sky-pirates.
Ever since Don Karnage had been locked up along with most of his crew, a power-vacuum had formed and Karnage's old previously dominated territory was up for grabs by anyone strong enough to take it and stronger still to keep it.
The number of other pirate factions in the area which had come out of the woodwork or had newly formed was rather startling. This in combination with the fact that Gibber, Karnage's main advisor and Ratchet, Karnage's main mechanic and renowned mechanical genius had somehow escaped with the Iron Vulture and then had managed to seemingly mysteriously vanish off the face of the map – something about it powering up and taking off out of the impound lot before it could be scrapped, had the authorities at a loss as to how all the tight security measures in place had been breached without even a single alarm or eye witness. And all of this made Kit perpetually uneasy, though as long as Karnage was still behind bars and accounted for he had nothing to fear.
For as deranged, cruel, and sometimes even downright cowardly as Karnage was, his presence in the skies had ironically made things safer than they were at present. It had become apparent that fear of Captain Don Karnage along with his influence spread far and wide and had kept the other pirate factions in check. For anyone in the cargo transit business, such as Higher for Hire was, this increased danger had literally ushered in a golden age as now pilots could name their price for shipping and as a result businesses could and had to charge many times more for shipping just to pay the pilots and crews who were now placing their lives on the line for what used to be rather trivial runs, not that the businesses were complaining as this also meant larger profits for them as well. Unfortunately, Higher for Hire was missing out on all the booming business opportunities, no pilot – despite Ms. Cunningham's ads to recruit a new pilot – meant little to no business. Why would any pilot want to come work for some small independent company for lower pay when they could go to Shear Khan or someone else and make five times as much money or more? And this is where Kit's secrets began.
Every day was an opportunity. He was making money hand over foot, more money than he had ever made in his life in one sitting! The pilots were always eager for a little "under the table" help and little had changed down at the docks since his air-hobo days aside from the fact that he was two and a half years older, a little bit stronger, a whole lot faster, and a couple of inches taller, but he knew what he was doing and how the game was played. Be it at the docks of Freeport, Marshal's Island, some other port in some other country far away, or here in Cape Suzette, it was all the same and so were nearly all the pilots, always looking for someone else to do their heavy lifting. He was sure the others down there looking for work didn't like him, but he did not care, he wasn't there to make friends, not this time around. He was worth two of them, and his wages proved it. When he had agreed to help his first pilot, they were skeptical of only hiring just one, but they shook hands on the agreed job, time, and pay rate and to renegotiate the following day and each day thereafter for the same or a better deal and because he was able to work solo, they paid him much more because he saved them the trouble of hiring more folks and also from having to watch them for theft. But Kit made it clear that he was looking to make as much as possible as quick as possible and that as soon as someone came along who would pay him more, he would take it. The pilot understood. The pilot also agreed to his odd time constraints. Everything started routine at first, simple jobs, but on the third day of his working he had been approached by another pilot who had seen him in action.
"Hay kid." He had said to him. Kit turned around after setting a small barrel down at their destination port; it was around 11:20am. "Yeah?" answered Kit cautiously to the deep voice. He was being addressed by a Bull-moose who had the largest set of antlers on his head he had ever seen; "how was this guy able to fit in a cockpit?" He wondered to himself.
"Name's Clement. How'd ya like ta come work fer me?" The Bull-moose smiled at Kit with teeth white as ivory as he walked toward him, stopping a few feet short so as to not get in the way of Kit's present job, the smoke from a cigar in between the fingers of his left hand trailing up behind him; he flicked it and the wind carried some ash into the salty water below.
Kit eyed Clement as he continued, "Depends" he said as he set down a crate, and turned to walk back onto the seaplane that bobbed next to the dock with the ocean fluttering beneath it. "What 'chu offering?" Kit yelled back so as to be heard at his distance.
"Forgive me for sayin' so, but even though we specialize in slightly different markets, your current pilot Mr. Jameson and I share the same route for the moment. This has given me the chance to watch you in port and in the air both days and I have to say that I find it rather peculiar that you never complete the return trip." Kit perked up at the presentation of this detail from a total stranger. He turned to look at him as if to ask, "What do you know?" He had thought that, even though he was in the air, no one would notice him because no one was looking for him. "I see I have your attention" Clement continued. "For the past two days I have watched the back end of Jameson's plane open up just long enough for someone to jump out the back, but each time I never saw a parachute. Now, that happens once, ok, someone lost a fight onboard and was suddenly 'shown the exit'; wouldn't be the first time that kinda thing has happened. Twice in a row, something fishy is goin' on if ya catch my drift, and besides, that ain't no way to be disposin' of no bodies, especially over land. Three times…"
"But there hasn't been a third time." Kit remarked ruefully.
Clement folded his hands with a side frown, flicking some ash from his cigar as he did so, "Yet. But I am willing to stake an entire paycheck that there will be in about" the Bull-moose looked at his watch, taking another puff on his cigar, smoke exiting his mouth and nostrils when he spoke, "two and a half hours. Two hours and twenty-five minutes to be exact. And…" Clement paused and just observed the boy work for a moment to allow everything he was saying to him the opportunity to sink in. When seeking recruits Clement always approached with a demeanor that conveyed a sort of friendly intimidation; as though he should be respected, could be trusted, but that he was also not to be crossed. Usually when he was this specific in his descriptions with people he had just met, the person in question became spooked or on edge and he was looking for such signs to be displayed by this particular boy in front of him. Once he saw them he would know to ease back on the pressure, to lighten up, and apply "the butter", but this kid never displayed such a reaction, this kid was as relaxed as they come and something different apart from the rest. Surly he was old enough to know that he should be worried. At a loss for a conclusion, he continued his sales pitch. "…I wanna know, where're you headed in such a hurry that you can't wait for the plane to land, and also how you never get hurt doing that?"
Kit set down another container of cargo and slid back the dolly which he used to assist in its movement before wiping the sweat from his forehead and looking at this stranger who was certainly doing a lot of talking. "Well, that's not really your business, now, is it? You said you wanted me to come work for you. Why me and not some other hobo or day-go around here lookin' for work? What's the job? What's the pay?"
"Insolence? Arrogance?" Clement thought when struck with such a mature response from so young a kid. "No. Wisdom. Let's see where this goes. Even if he lasts just a few runs, the payout will be worth my time. And if he likes money like he claims, he will be back for more." The Bull-moose gazed upon Kit as if he was sizing him up for something even if there wasn't much of the short kid to size up.
"Kid, it's obvious to me that you've done this sort of thing before, and it's hard to find dependable workers these days, especially those who are as young as you, and the fact that you come with a unique skill to somehow bailout without a parachute just makes you even more marketable; my superiors will gladly pay a hazard bonus for someone who is willing to jump out the back of a perfectly good airplane."
Kit placed a final container down by the dock just in time to see his pilot, Jameson, approaching from registration; he was still out of ear-shot of his and Clement's conversation and he made a stop by the dock master to talk some more business.
"How much of a bonus?"
"Up to five dollars or more depending on the cargo." Clement placed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Kit remained silent however his face became animated with surprise until he wrangled his wild mind back to the here and now where it belonged, however this slip in discipline did not go beyond the notice of Clement. "This all sounds too good to be true. What's the job, what's the pay? Five dollars ain't nothing if I'm getting paid pennies." Kit made his way back up the loading ramp and laid the dolly back in its secure spot, poured himself a glass of water from the water cooler at the back and sat down to rest while he could before Jameson arrived to tell him which boxes to load up for the return trip.
"Your job will be much the same as it is here more or less and you may also be sent to bail out the back to make a flash-drop somewhere. There are some rules but we can go over them once you're ready to work. And as for the pay…." Clement hesitated in an attempt to decide what to say what with not knowing how much Jameson was paying him, "…you will be making much more than Jameson can pay you. So, what d'ya say?" Clement held out his hand, "Drop this fella and come work for me and make the big bucks."
Kit eyed Clement's hand hanging in the air and reached out his own but closed his fist and pulled back his hand at the last moment. "I have a job to finish here first." Kit saw Clement's eyes narrow and met his with a pair of his own. "I promised Jameson a day's work and that is what I will give him. But I make a new deal everyday. Be at the Cape Suzette docks tomorrow morning. If you're there, we will talk, if not, then I guess this all really was too good to be true." Kit stood, turned, and walked up the ramp of the airplane just as Jameson turned the corner of the dock, and made his way onto his craft.
"Howdy Clement" Jameson stated as he casually strode on by him.
"Good to see ya Jameson" he responded. He turned to leave and as he did, he smiled maleficly. "Got 'em!" he thought to himself, pulling his arms back in the air as if successfully hooking a fish.
-END Part 1-
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-Part 2-
The ride back
The cargo bay ramp was beginning to close and Kit turned to follow Jameson back into the plane, "Mr. Jameson, I haven't loaded the return cargo yet."
"That's 'cause we ain't got none." Jameson sighed before entering the cockpit like regret and responsibility were pulling him in two different and equally distasteful directions. "Kit, come to the cockpit."
Kit cocked his head to the side. "Umm….okay" he said as he made his way to join Jameson in the cockpit of the Experimental Lockheed XC-35 water modified cargo plane; climbing into the copilot seat and buckling up, Kit just barely containing his excitement to finally be within eyesight of the helm of such an advanced craft.
"You ready?" Jameson said as he started the engines. Kit's wide white toothed smile and obvious anticipation of the flight ahead giving Jameson his answer and within moments from water to wind, they were airborne and on their way back to Cape Suzette.
After the land had passed by and given way to open sea, Jameson spoke up. "Kit" Jameson said, sounding strangely conflicted. "Do you know how I got this plane?"
Kit was seated in the copilot seat, his feet on the edge of the seat and his hands resting on his knees, his elbows on the arm rests. He turned to look at Mr. Jameson but kept quiet and just shook his head 'no'.
"Through hard work and dedication. I busted my butt every day to learn all I could so I could earn as much as I could and advance myself as far as I could go. But most importantly, I never took any shortcuts even though the chances were there. After my time in the Great War, I came home, started my own aviation business, signed back up for the Air Corps as an experimental pilot, and from what lessons I learned over my life, I was able to make the money I needed to buy what I needed and what I wanted for my business and for myself. Do you understand what I'm tellin' ya?"
Kit was paying attention to Mr. Jameson but was quite confused as to where this was coming from or where it was going. "I….think so."
"Good. Then stay away from Clement."
Kit was shocked, now where did that come from? Two seemingly unrelated topics pulled out of thin air. Kit's eyes squinted and he looked accusedly at Jameson with confusion, "Wait, what? Why?"
Mr. Jameson heard the sharp change in tone of the boy next to him but kept his cool. "Because he's no good Kit. Him and the people he works for. They ain't nothing but trouble. Trouble makers causin' trouble for their clients, those who work for them, and the law. You stick with good honest work; and go to school. Now, I ain't tryin' ta be your dad but…"
"You're right! You're not my dad! So, stop telling me what to do with my life!" Something had set Kit off. He had gone from calm and content to listen to hyper-defensive and enraged in seconds and then suddenly he knew what was going on here and why he was so angry so abruptly; or so he assumed. Even though Kit was making more money than he would be working with someone else in the back, Jameson was still saving money by paying only a single helper for the day. He knew that if Kit left, he'd have to pay more money for more people. So why then was he risking a loss of a hard worker and with him a loss in profit?
"Yeah, you're uh, you're right" Jameson conceded. "I didn't mean to overstep."
"Then what exactly were you trying to do?!" Kit thought to himself, fighting the urge to snap back.
Jameson had never had children, at least none he knew about. He, like the other pilots, did frequent the House of Ill Repute and did spend a number of nights with a number of ladies there during the Great War, he had been younger then, ready for life, ahead of the game, and full of lust and vigor and desire, and living each day with the knowledge that it could very well be his last certainly did place a certain perspective on things. But as the war ended he found himself with a life expectancy that far surpassed his original anticipations. And so, he grew into the man he became and with the fiery ambitious passions of youth having long since faded giving way to the stretch of time known as middle-age he found that he was having to live with the consequences of the choices he had made. He had never had a family beyond his wife of whom he was lucky by all meanings of the word to have found and snagged. One night after work he had stepped into a tavern with the self-destructive intent to drown his sorrows until he could no longer hear the endless gunshots and roaring cannons assaulting his mind when she walked in. He looked at her, she looked at him, he asked if she wanted a drink, and the next thing he knew they both said "I do". She had passed a few years back, leaving him alone. They had talked of having a child, but it never happened. He had considered the idea of adopting himself one and showing the tyke the ways of the air, but he didn't know the first thing about raising a kid, and so it remained just that, an idea. Looking at the kid next to him, though he was still a child, he was still just a hired hand for a day. And personal life business was off limits; still though, he had done what he had thought was the right thing by the kid.
There was stillness in the cockpit for a few minutes. Nothing but the deep rumbling buzz of the engines outside to break the silence. The Ice between the two remained until Kit saw the time on the control panel and checked the navigational charts; 1:45pm on the dot. "Mr. Jameson, this is my stop." Said Kit stoically as he unbuckled and reached into the back of his shirt for his Airfoil.
"Alright." He said as he pulled a small roll of cash and a quarter out of his pocket, handing Kit the agreed upon amount of eighty-five cents per hour for five hours of work. Once the exchange was done, Kit placed the sum in one of the secure zipper pockets of his pants, made his way to the back, and pressed the button to open the door. "See ya tomorrow Kit, be safe." Jameson yelled from the cockpit.
Kit eyed him from the back. "No, ya won't." he muttered under his breath, knowing full well he didn't hear it. He did not want to work for Jameson again or anyone for that matter who kept adding rules to the Cloudkicker Rulebook. He had surrendered his free will to others long enough, it was time that he take back control of his destiny and be the master to forge his own fate.
Kit approached the tip of the open ramp and felt the wind pass by his legs as he looked down and over the land below, butterflies filled his stomach and his hair stood on end as a combination of fearful excitement and anticipation filled his being; this was his favorite part of the day, and it was a long way down. Sure, he had yet to sneak back into school in time for Algebra class which started in a little less than half an hour, but for now, these next few minutes were his. His time to clear his head, to forget about his problems, and to get his mind right for his home life and for Molly. He turned around, crossed his arms across his chest, closed his eyes, and with his airfoil firmly grasped in his right hand, let himself fall backward and out of the plane. As he fell, he danced with death and flirted with danger all on his own terms. He was about 9,000 feet up and had a good ten seconds to freefall and take it all in before he opened his eyes, stabilized himself, opened his airfoil, and started surfing down to his destination. He looked around and once he saw Shere Khan's tower he quickly gained his bearings steering a few degrees to land in the secluded forested area a few blocks from the school.
Over the next twenty minutes, he recovered his backpack from its hiding place in the woods, collapsed his airfoil and replaced it in the pocket in his shirt, made the few blocks walk, and emerged back on school property just as the class-change bell rang. As far as anyone knew, when he stepped into Algebra class, he was just another student at just another school going through just another normal day.
-END Part 2-
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-Part 3-
The next morning at the Cape Suzette docks
Money, it had been why Clement had gotten into this business, "How does three forty sound?"
"A day?!" said Kit with a disappointedly surprised high pitch voice.
"No" said Clement with a chuckle and a shake of his head. "An hour. On top of your five-dollar flash-drop bonus." Clement shifted his weight and took a puff of his cigar. Money was why he was still in this business; it was how he attracted others to it including some crooked cops.
Kit's eyes bulged and he nearly choked at the idea of making three dollars and forty cents an hour. Of course, it wasn't anywhere near top-dog pilot pay but then again, he wasn't a pilot yet. He began to think of what he could do with that kind of money; he could save up and have flight school paid for before he was even old enough to get his license! "What's the catch?" he asked inquisitively, he wasn't about to make another Don Karnage deal. "Also, I have some conditions, time limits. I have to be back by-"
"No catch kid" Clement interrupted, "just follow the rules like we discussed. Do what you're told and when, complete the deliveries, never look in the packages or ask what's in them, and you'll be fine. Besides, I already spoke to Jameson about your conditions and time limits, I can assure you that your schedule will not be a problem; just let me or your pilot for the day know when you want more" Clement said with a sparking smile. He could see the gears in Kit's mind turning. He was going to agree to the terms of employment; the money always hooked them and it was what got those who became greedy or careless killed.
"So, wha'd'ya say?" Clement held out his hand, "It's a deal then?"
-END CHAPTER 21-
