No Romance Chapter 7

Chapter 7. Conversations with Golbez

They all heard Jack utter a gasping, strangled cry as he dropped. The sound fell with him, but was cut off early on.

“WHOoooaaaaa...”

Then silence.
Blake’s face turned stupid, his mouth open in shocked shame and apology.

“Boss! I’m sorry!” he said, looking back and forth between the empty cliff and Golbez.

“It doesn’t matter. I have no son!” Golbez’s voice boomed, containing the rough, scratchy feeling of sandpaper.

Confusion turned the heads and blinked the eyes of all the guards, and Blake too. Things had turned very strange very fast.

“Oh wait,” said Golbez, thinking. “Do I?”

All eyes instantly swooped to the edge of the cliff. A hand had reached up and gripped the edge, exactly where Jack had been thrown off.  The whole circle watched as Jack’s full form appeared, hoisting himself up onto horizontal ground. After crawling sufficiently away from the edge, Jack rolled over onto his back.

“A...tree,” he gasped. “Growing...out of the cliffside. Only one there on that whole cliff. Thanks for dropping me there...big man.” And he coughed.  

Golbez, standing up in the jeep, started to laugh, a great big belly laugh that made everyone else uneasy.

“Now I remember! I do, I DO have a son! So that’s what this chase has been all about! Apologies, my boy!” Then he changed his tone considerably. “And Blake --- how dare you drop my little boy off a cliff! Why, he could have been killed! No pen and paper for you until tomorrow!”

Blake looked stricken. “I’m...I’m really sorry, Golbez.”

“How dare you talk to me! And call me by my pagan name! Get back in the car, now.”

Blake, crestfallen and ashamed, walked back to the jeep and retook his place in the driver’s seat.

“Jackie, old boy!” said Golbez to Jack, who was pulling himself up to his feet. “Come over, come over!”

Jack, after testing his breathing, his muscles, and his back to make sure nothing was seriously hurt, did as Golbez bade, and walked slowly to the jeep, completely unsure what to expect. Here was his father, boss of a crew of smugglers, leader of a whole troop of men armed with assault rifles who had imprisoned him and shot at him many times. And Golbez the man himself: Who was he?

This was a very important question, for Jack had indeed come to “visit family” (as he had admitted perfectly honestly to Annie) in order to find out more about himself. And so it seemed that both he and Annie had taken their trip for the same reason: investigation.

“Stand there, old boy. Let me get a look at you.”

Jack stood outside the jeep, face ever covered in masculine stubble, black jacket hanging loose around his frame, whole body covered in dirt and scratches, and looking up at his father who stood inside the jeep, one foot up on the car frame. Sun-beaten brown skin, a colorful Hawaiian shirt filled with blue skies and white seagulls covering a belly as bulbous as a woman carrying triplets, and camo-colored fatigues tucked into black boots on his feet. Then the face, about sixty years old, glasses more reflective of light than conducive to his eyes, white hair with a continuous beard framing his whole face like a lion’s mane, voice like sandpaper but full of charismatic flamboyance and occasionally revealing a long-forgotten Scottish accent.

Golbez took in Jack, peering at him strangely, almost suspiciously.

“Wait, don’t I have two sons? No? Okay, one son then. I have one son. Yes? You’re sure about that? Because I don’t recognize you at all. What’s your name again?” he said, hand pensively on his chin. “Ruggles, or summat? Ruggy, is it really you? Little Ruggy? ...no, really, I don’t know who you are.”

Jack took this in stride. He had been anticipating this moment for a long while, and was surprised to find himself not nervous at all. Just uncertain.

“I’m Jack McDowell, Malandra’s son,” he said. “I didn’t know the father I lived with wasn’t my father at all. He was my step-father. I was going through something of an existential crisis when they told me. I thought I should come out here and meet you. To figure things out.”

“Uh huh,” said Golbez, as the whole crowd of guards continued to watch silently. “How’s your mother?”

“She’s fine.”

“Interesting. Because I had her killed six years ago.”

The whites of Jack’s eyes shone bright as he opened his mouth in...uncertainty.

“What---”

“I’m joking, my boy, just joking!” Golbez said with a few more belly laughs. “Come! Join me in my throne-car. Hop in the backseat, next to the good-looking one.”

Jack’s eyes flashed over and met Paula’s. She smiled in her sultry way.

“Yes, Jack, come on back here and sit next to me,” she said, patting the empty seat next to her.

Jack was annoyed, and showed it in his fixed, narrowed eyes. But he did not disagree, only sighed, as he hopped over the side and into the car.

“Well come on, then lads!” Golbez said to the group at large. “Let’s pack it on up and go home, and cook for my newfound son a fatted calf.” He finally sat down in his seat as Blake started up the jeep. “What an enlightening day this is turning out to be!” he remarked cheerfully.

“So I’m not to be killed, then?” Jack said as the whole troop of cars started moving, throne-car in the lead.

“Why would you be killed?” Golbez said from the front seat.

“For killing a good number of your men.”

“Oh, you mustn’t worry about that, laddie. They aren’t real people. Just pawns.”

Jack found it refreshing to talk to someone who understood.

He really is my father, then, he thought.

“So what...” Golbez said. “It’s been...a couple of years?”

“Has it? I don’t think so. I think it’s been more like thirty. But my memory could be wrong...”

“Then you’re definitely my son. My memory’s a bit wonky, too.”

Jack sighed. Clearly. It was then that he realized how inanimate his own face was, and how disinterested he must look right now. Color and vigor weren’t his style, he supposed.

“Also,” Golbez said, “before we go any further, burn the fog off my eyes on this one: do you or do you not work for me in some department or other?”

“I don’t,” Jack said.

“Well, huh,” said Golbez.

The occupants of the jeep then entered a rather quiet phase, as if there were nothing left to say. The only sound made was the vehicle rumbling down the dirt road, heading west back to the facility. It felt a bit awkward to Jack, and he wondered why. Perhaps it was because two of the people in the car with him had recently done damage to his skull, and very well could have been trying to kill him.

But they all seemed to respect Golbez. And it seemed they had nothing personal against him. Then Blake spoke up, putting words to this very notion.

“Mr. McDowell, I would really like very much to apologize for manhandling you before,” Blake said in his soft voice, barely audible over the engine.

“Don’t apologize, Blake,” Golbez said. “It just makes you look weak. What if you have to battle him in real hand to hand combat later on? He’d know what you’re like inside and destroy you with a well-chosen word!”

“Uh, thanks,” said Jack. “It’s...it’s okay.”

“He does bring up a good question, though, Jackie,” said Golbez. “Jackie you said your name was, yes?”

“Just Jack.”

“All right if I call you Jackie?

“I’d rather ---”

“So, Jackie McDowell, why in the hell do you spell your name so blasted rebelliously?”

“You mean without the A? McDowell?”

“Aye.”

“Just the name my mother gave me,” Jack said, a shrug in his voice.

“Ah, a parting shot from dearest Malandra. You do know you hail from Scots, don’t you, old boy? Damned micks.”

“I never thought about it before.”

“Well, I suppose we can talk about that later. I would like a nice fireside chat with you tonight. Make up for lost time, and all that father-son stuff that’s been lacking these past thirty years.”

Golbez seemed to be accepting this whole thing quite readily. Jack wondered why.

“Hard to make up for thirty years’ time, don’t you think?” Jack said.

“Well, isn’t that what I’m supposed to say? Anyway, do me a favor and add an A. Make it a big Mac. None of this ‘Mc’ business.”

“Sure,” said Jack, though he never actually followed through on this.

“Speakin’ of names, though, laddie, this one’s is Blake.”

“Yeah, he mentioned.”

“W.W. Blake,” Golbez said with gusto. “His first name is William. Care to guess what his middle name is?”

“Wordsworth?”

“No, it’s Wgerald. Good guess, though.”

“Gerald?”

“No, no, Wgerald. With a slightly silent W in the beginning. It does sound like ‘Gerald’. I can understand the confusion.”

“Oh,” said Jack.

“And the good-looking one next to you is Paula. Ain’t she a kicker?”

“We’ve met. Don’t you mean ‘looker’?”

“That too.”

“Oh, Jack, do you really think so?”

Jack didn’t meet Paula’s eyes, but he knew she was staring at him. He could make out that smile in his peripheral any day. He looked away, into the thick, dark, foreboding jungle, thinking about Annie. Hiding in the facility somewhere? Or maybe just hidden away in the facility somewhere, by someone else? Was she working for Golbez Industries, or against?

No doubt this whole thing would make great material for a journalism piece.

“Here’s a question for you, uh...wait, what should I call you?” said Jack, still uncertain.

“Call me pops.”

“Not going to call you that.”

“Call me sir, then, or Boss. Or both.”

“Neither. ‘Golbez’ okay?”

“You call me Boss or you’re walking home, young man!”

Jack paused, letting Golbez’s mind drift forward and forget.

“Here’s a question for you, Golbez. How and why do you have so many soldiers?”

“I’ve wondered about that myself. They just show up every now and then, it seems. And I take them. Like children, poor little orphans of the world, sweet and gentle souls, a lot of ‘em are. And let me tell you, you can never have enough problem-solvers.”

“How do you pay them?”

“Gold.”

“Gold? What can they possibly do with gold, or any kind of money at all on this island?”

Golbez shrugged. “Who knows? But they seem to like it. Quidquid, I say. Anyway, don’t mention gold around Vanasmas, the one who came to you in your cell. He might get jealous. Doesn’t know about it yet.”

“Vanasmas? I couldn’t figure that guy out. Who is he?”

“Oh, I’ll introduce you two properly at dinner. We’re going to have a feast tonight! We do every night. A FEAST. It might be a regular dinner, too. Wouldn’t know yet; my time travel machine only goes so fast.”

“His term for progressing through time at a normal pace,” Paula whispered in Jack’s ear.

Wait, what what what? Jack scooted quickly away from Paula. How had she suddenly gotten close enough to whisper in his ear?

“Please...please keep your distance. I like my space,” Jack said, defensive.

Paula drew back cooly into her corner of her seat. “The boy is afraid,” she informed the rest of the car.

“Afraid of you, Paula? You bet he is!” said Golbez with a laugh. “She’s dangerous, old boy. Very dangerous.”

Jack, unnerved, frowned. He had heard that line before.

“I once tried to force myself on her,” continued Golbez. “That’s when she turned from a looker into a kicker, in my eyes. That’s where her foot went, too, right between. Broke my nose right well, she did! Good girl. I found her...well, I forget where I found her, but she replaced my personal hitman, who left me thirty-one years ago. It’s taken me this long to find a suitable replacement, and she’s better in every respect.”

“And you stay with him?” Jack asked Paula incredulously.

“Sure,” she said. “Nothing to be afraid of. Golbez likes women defending themselves against him better than the ones that just let it happen. I have pretty good job security as a result.”

“There’s a fair question, though,” Jack said a little more loudly. “Are there any other women on this island?”

“There sure are!” boomed Golbez. “My dear old Mother MacDowell. Your grandmother, old boy. I take care of her in her sweet old age. I’ll have you meet her sometime, too.”

“And of course there are females in the native tribes, but we rarely see them,” said Paula in a quieter, but not quiet, voice to Jack. “I prefer it that way. This is my island. Me and my boys.” And she winked.

Jack felt more and more unsettled in the presence of these people. He had never gotten to know his enemies very well before, and now doing so he felt almost dirty. It was Paula especially. He was---no, not afraid. Jack wasn’t afraid of anything. He just...didn’t like how attractive she was being. And how disquieting it all was.

“Mr. McDowell,” said Blake, still a little shaky, from the front. “I would again like to apologize. Shall I quote you some Keats or Shelley as an offering of peace from the deepest recesses and alcoves of my heart and the swirling gales of the Western Winds---”

“No!” Jack shouted, suddenly alarmed, and he felt cornered in the jeep. “No Romance! Please.” His demeanor calmed as he took some deep breaths. “Do you know any Owen? Or Eliot?”

“I’m afraid not,” Blake said, disappointed, feelings clearly hurt. “They’re not to my liking, not very much, no. My heart lies with nature, with the red flaming flower stars of this glorious, ennobling jungle.”

“Shush, Blake,” said Golbez. “Remember what I said earlier.”

“I think I’d just appreciate some silence for now,” Jack said, eyeing all three warily.

“Silence! You won’t find that in my kingdom, old boy!” And Golbez laughed more belly laughs. “We should be approaching the Moon Base shortly.”

“Moon Base?” Jack said, confused, and having only Paula’s eyes to meet.

She locked eyes with him and after a second smirked condescendingly. Then she gave a nod, indicating the villa now discernible through the trees. The jeep seemed to be traveling past it.

“But first, down to the launchpad,” Golbez said with childlike excitement as Blake turned the vehicle right and down a steep slope. After leading down a ways, it came out of the trees and into the open beach. Very near where Jack had seen this vehicle before.

“The launchpad is his garage,” Paula said softly. “You’ll see why in a minute.”

There, now THAT voice sounded like Annie. With a not-very-well-thought-out smile he turned to her, expecting one thing and finding another. This other had in her face the confidence and power of a woman who could bring nations to their knees. The woman. And he jumped in his seat.

“He really is afraid!” Paula said to herself, face bright with genuine delight.

“I’m not afraid,” Jack said, breathing irritatedly through his nose. “I’m not afraid of anything. I’m cautious.”

“You didn’t seem to be cautious when I caught you in your camp and marched you through the jungle at several gunpoints.”

“You weren’t making eyes at me then,” he said.

“Oh, afraid of women being women around you, then?” she said, amused. “I’ll just have to---”

“We’re here! Seatbelts on, everyone!” said Golbez.

“Wait,” Jack said, noticing his surroundings and finding them very dark. “Why are we in a cave?”

“About to take off, old boy!”

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Jack said. “Not the---”

“Oh hush, you big baby,” said Paula. “We’re just in a secret cave bored into the cliffside that takes Golbez’s personal vehicle into his personal garage.”

Lights came on all of a sudden, and it certainly looked like a personal garage. Grayish-blue metal plated the walls with all sorts of plugs and tubes and locks tracing across all sides. Draped across much of the walls were bright curtains of purple and gold, an obvious effort to spruce up the place and add form to function. Directly in front of the jeep hung a giant portrait of Golbez himself.

“Dr. Aperture designed this for me,” said Golbez, as a platform beneath the car began rising slowly. “He’s into all sorts of science over at the Laboratory of Doom and Divinity. A man of magnificent science. A studier of science and all of science’s ways. He turns science into a science.”

“Is he a scientist, then?” Jack said dryly.

“Do you want to walk home, boy?” Golbez snapped.

The lift took them up three stories, where it opened up to what looked like a small enclosed parking garage full of fancy sports cars with very expensive hood ornaments and decals. Blake drove the open-top jeep into a special slot that gave them plenty of room to get out. Paula led the way to a door at the far end. Blake and Golbez came after her, and Jack was last of all, feeling (appropriately) like an outsider, and wanting to stay that way.

“Where did all the other jeeps go?” Jack asked, just thinking of them.

“Here and there, nowhere and everywhere,” said Golbez, not really paying attention.

The door before them opened up to the world. Paula held it open for Blake and Golbez but stepped away before Jack got out. He had to push the door open for himself. Life was hard on Jack McDowell, sometimes.

Jack came out to find himself on top of the cliff, right next to the villa, a gust of wind blowing through his hair. He went to the cliff’s guardrail and leaned on it, looking out. The view was so open and magnificent that it seemed indecent. One got a look at the entire smuggling facility, every nook and cranny, and of the sandy shores of the cove and the large giraffe of an island across the watery way, connected to the isle by the railroad bridge.

The sun wasn’t setting yet, but it was getting there, casting that irritating kind of light that indicates the sun is going down and the day is almost over, but not yet sunset so there is no spectral beauty, and not yet nighttime so there is still more work to do. Jack hated this time of day. He turned around with a sigh.

...And found himself face-to-mustache with an old man who seemed to have three bushy caterpillars stuck on his face. Jack instantly backed up but didn’t, as he had nowhere to back up to. The man’s breath was horrid, but he was shorter than Jack so it missed his own mouth and nose for the most part. Even so, Jack kept his face directed upwards, so as to take in as much fresh air as possible, saltiness be damned. This was the man he had seen earlier, before prison, keeping watch over the whole facility from the villa’s height. The one with the bushy white mustache, and eyebrows that were almost mustaches themselves, being exactly the same full, bushy shape. He wore a white cowboy hat atop his head and was in the process of...sniffing Jack.

Given the man’s eyebrows, Jack couldn’t quite meet his eyes, not until one of the brows raised up and exposed the eye behind it in the same way one might push aside a tapestry to reveal a hidden passage.

“Enwudryoodoinheer, unfella?” was the basic sound that came out of his mouth when he spoke. Jack wasn’t sure whether if the man was foreign or if he was just an epic mumbler. Either way, Jack didn’t see the mouth open, just the large mustache wriggle.

“Excuse me?” Jack said, his expression turning from awkward surprise to tread-on annoyance.

“Yuherdlefrazzinme!”

“Not quite,” said Jack, very uncomfortable and trying to sidle out from North’s imposed bodily presence.

The eyebrow lowered, and, together with its twin, narrowed on Jack McDowell. The old man reached to his waist, where Jack looked and found a holster with a revolver inside.

“North!” came Golbez’s voice from a little garden lobby outside the villa, stopping the old man’s movement and causing his neck to crane around. “Keep yourself away from the boy! He’s allowed! One of us!”

The old man left Jack with a leery eye and started limping his way to Golbez.

“One of us?” Jack said in a low voice, more to himself than anyone else. “That doesn’t quite sound right. ‘One of us.’ No, no it doesn’t.”

And yet he followed after the old man to the threshold of the garden entrance, where Golbez stood waiting.

“What’s the report, Northy?” Golbez said.

The old man grumbled something like “enga...haditwitol Running Rat...bastdturkylemn featherboy.” Then a few other things that couldn’t be even spelled in this language.

“Uh huh,” said Golbez, patting him on the shoulder. “Well, still keep watch, just to be safe. Take care of your compound, you hear? I’m depending on you.”

After making his report, the old man limped back to where he had been originally, standing at the cliffside railing where Jack had seen him before, watching over the whole of the facility.

With sufficient distance between Jack and North, Jack opened his mouth to say something but forgot his line. Luckily Golbez covered for him, answering the question that should have been asked. (Jack appreciated Golbez knowing his place in the story so well.)

“That’s ol’ Norrigan ‘North’ over there. Keeping his eyebrows on the populace, on everything. This is his stewardship. The west bay, what we call Butterknife Bay.”

Norrigan “North” East spoke like he was from the South and walked like he was from the West. By “West” is meant the Old West. The one with cowboys and horses aplenty but no horseboys, for some reason. It’s the place that had spurs and cacti and things. Dry, arid, you know? We’re not talking about Western Civilization. That’s an entirely different topic. Don’t get started on that. No, it just must be made perfectly clear that North is and is from exactly as has been said.

“He walks with a limp,” Jack observed.

“Yes,” said Golbez. “The only duel he ever lost.”

“He’s a sharpshooter?”

“Aye,” said Golbez. “Best you’ll ever see in action, if it should come to that. Those eyebrows are his greatest weapon. Used to be a math professor, he did.”

“Who did he lose the duel to?”

“Why, me, old boy! Why do you think he sticks around? I pay him with my presence. He’s been loyal to me ever since he lost that duel.”

Jack stored this information away like a can of peaches, except without the can and without the peaches. Just the information. But as he followed Golbez inside, he wondered if and hoped that they’d be serving peach pie for dessert.