Noir

Chapter Nine – The Stranger

The Stranger

I shivered inside the red silk dressing gown, my self wrapped around the warm mug of coffee the leather jacketed figure had just handed me. A fireplace sat in front of me, mercifully unlit. I had seen enough pyrotechnics to last me a lifetime.

Above the mantlepiece, an ancient map hung, framed and protected from the elements by a sheet of glass. In the reflections, I watched the pegs dance, snaking blocks tracing the lines etched across it so many decades ago.

“The name’s Warren Rabbit,” the figure said, emerging from the hallway, depositing his hat on the stand in the corner. “You’re damn lucky I was out there, otherwise you could kiss that sorry hide of yours goodbye. Oh,” he added, sitting down in the faded armchair beside me, “and you can kiss that coat of yours goodbye, too. It’s got so many burns on it it looks like it was attacked by a swarm of dragons.”
“S’mine,” I said, stubbornly, clinging to what earthly things were left to me.
“Suit yourself,” Rabbit replied, getting up from his creaking seat “The remains of your jacket are on the hatstand. The gun seems fine – as does the hip-flask.” He studied my small relief.
As he pottered over to the cabinet, I looked at the photos on the walls around me.

“Ah, the tomb of Zuma,” Rabbit said, noticing my roving eye. “It was to be my greatest exploit. Not that it turned out like that, of course. Brandy?”

I accepted the tumbler with a trembling hand as the gentleman continued. “I’m an archaeologist, by trade, though of course a little treasure hunting on the side never hurt anyone. I had uncovered the find of the decade, perhaps even century, and was just about to extract one of the largest gems anyone has discovered in the South American jungle, when my hat fell off, triggering some undetected booby trap.”

“Of course, I still made it out, though barely, clutching the enormous gem and trying not to lose my hat as the traps chased me all the way out of the tomb. It was as big as my head – no, bigger, I tell you.”
As I watched him tell the story, the pegs swum in front of his face. I convulsed, feeling the nausea rise, and Rabbit looked at me briefly with an air of concern. The feeling passed, and after a while he continued.
“So when I finally emerged into the daylight, who should be waiting there but a bunch of goons, holding my pilot hostage. At first I thought they were the agents of the fascists or some such thugs, but their accents were more eastern European, perhaps even Scandinavian. It took me a few years afterwards to discover who they really were, and how they had followed me through the jungle. It was three years after the event that I first stumbled across the name ‘Bjorn’.”
He watched my eyes widen, and smiled gently, sipping his liquor.

“Of course, they stole our plane, forcing us to trek for miles down the Guayllabamba before we persuded a jungle tribe to boat us downstream and back to civilisation.”
He drained the rest of his brandy, and placed the glass down on the side table with a thud. He stood suddenly, staring up at the map.
“I have spent years, decades, chasing these criminals, but to little avail. Impressive, then, that you managed to untangle their web so quickly, though I see their little game has taken its toll on you.” He turned to gaze dispassionately upon my trembling hands and wild eyes.
“I have another lead. You know of The Hu?” He paused briefly, but continued before I could reply. “Yes, of course. They are performing in the city tomorrow night. Their lead guitarist, Master Hu, is an accomplice of Bjorn’s little crime syndicate. It is rumoured that Bjorn himself will be in attendance.” He paced to and fro in front of the dead fireplace. “All this, of course, is hearsay. However, it is the best lead we have right now. The only problem is that I don’t know how to proceed, exactly, given that only I am in fit shape to…” He stopped, noticing with concern my silhouette making for the door, the remnants of my overcoat already slipping over my shoulders. “Where are you going?”
I turned, the shadow of my hat covering my stubbled, charred features.

“I’m going to rock somebody’s world.”
The door swung shut, and I staggered into the cold night, my path laid out before me like a line of blocks, and I the steel ball of vengeance.