And so, while Shades kept land keenly in sight in his binoculars, the rest scrambled to bind the two vessels together for towing, lowering the sails to reduce wind drag, acutely aware of time running out every step of the way.
Once they were ready, Monkey Business got underway, the Maximum in tow. It was slow going, as the Maximum was the larger of the two, but it was still almost daylight as they worked their way closer to the island. Relief washing over them visibly once they were close enough that Shades no longer needed binoculars, for, now that the adrenaline rush was over, the hunger had not only gone to his legs, but his arms, as well. As they approached, they could see that this side of the island was mostly beach, but as they gradually rounded the shore, they soon spotted more buildings, followed by rows of docks that marked the harbor of what appeared to be a modest seaside community, to their further relief.
Up close, they could tell that the place consisted of a rather eclectic collection of building styles, as if each one was an outward expression of its builder’s personality. It made for quite a sight as they tried to keep an eye on the docks looming ahead. Just as encouraging as the sight of buildings that didn’t look abandoned was the sight of a proportionate population out and about.
Stopping near an outer pier that could support a ship the Maximum’s size, they could see that the vessels that plied these waters were every bit as diverse as the they had seen at larger ports. As the Maximum could no longer move under her own power, several people on shore helped haul the ship into position as Monkey Business nudged from the other side. Once securely moored, they staggered over to the dock on shaky, famished legs.
“You people like to cut it close, don’t ya?” Rude Bones remarked as they disembarked, the same crew helping him secure his own ship in the next slot.
“Yeah, I suppose we do!” Shades laughed, scratching the back of his head at getting pegged so quickly.
“Welcome to Para-Para,” the old man informed him. “The Isle of Castaways.”
Bandit taking one whiff of the old man up close, and very openly moving upwind.
“Para-Para…” Max mused, seeing that Justin also recognized that name, recalling the first from his parents’ travels, but not the other.
“Isle of Castaways?…” Justin had heard of the former, but not in connection with the latter.
“Least that’s the oldest name anyone knows,” Rude Bones explained, “but in my time here, they be callin’ it the Isle of Castaways. Anywise, I brought ya here, a’spite the risk, so let’s see the color of yer money.”
“Why don’t we discuss payment over dinner?” Shades suggested. “As we haven’t had a decent meal in days. I’ll even buy you a drink.”
“It’ll take more’n a couple drinks to get me drunk enough to forget me money,” he warned them.
“I assure you, we meant nothing so devious,” Ma’Quiver told him. “So, know any good place to eat around here?”
“Well…” Rude Bones thought it over for a moment, then agreed, rattling off his own list: “The Hang Ten’s got the best seafood and drink around, and this new place, Bankshot’s got some good grub, and I guess Café La—”
“Bankshot!?” Shades lit up at that name, and Max caught it a moment later.
“You’ve heard of it?” the old man cocked his head. “But it just opened a few weeks ago, run by some newcomer named DJ…”
“Deej?” Shades pondered. “Could it really be?…”
“Ya know him?”
“Yes, but not from here,” Shades replied.
“Could you take us there?” Max requested.
“Sure thing!” Rude Bones said as he led the way. “Wanna make a little wager on whether or not it’s the same man?”
“Not really,” Shades replied, in spite of both names turning up in the same place striking him as entirely too convenient to be coincidence.
“You’re no fun,” Rude Bones muttered.
“So,” Justin asked, wanting to get a jump on the local authorities before any aspect of their visit could possibly go sideways, “who’s in charge around here?”
“Nobody,” Rude Bones answered.
“What do you mean, nobody?” Justin’s eyebrow raising right along with the tail end of his question.
“Just what I said,” he replied. “This place was founded by generations of castaways. Built this place from the ground up, they did. The one thing they all seemed to agree on was that they didn’t want a bunch of laws like where they came from.”
“A real anarchy…” Shades thought aloud, already deciding he would look into this a bit more before they left.
“No laws?” Justin’s incredulity more than obvious. “How does that work?”
“It works because everybody here would rather talk things out amongst themselves than havin’ somebody makin’ laws against everything left an’ right.”
“I see.” In his travels, Ma’Quiver had seen these sort of arrangements on ship crews, and even some very small communities, but never on quite this scale.
All the while, they made their way down a broad, unpaved road weaving through the center of the seaport, which was about the size of a small town, finally arriving at a large island lodge built of dark wood beams.
“This is it!” Rude Bones told them, pushing open a pair of double doors underneath a hand-painted sign that read Bankshot, a gust of bass and ambient rhythm pushing past them as they entered.
The interior was better lit than any of them would have expected, in spite of the dark wood walls. Most of the floor was occupied with tables, with a bar off to the side, and several pool tables near the back, and a massive jukebox prominently displayed near the entrance. There was a young woman behind the bar, but Rude Bones led them past her, on to an open door on the opposite side of the bar.
Leading out into an open space next to the building, with additional tables and an open dance floor. Against the outer wall was a stage, configured for both karaoke and live performance, currently set up for the latter, with enough outdoor PA to match the sound system inside. Framed by towering palm trees on either side was a sweeping view of a stretch of beach below, and a tropical island sunset beyond.
Max spotted him first, moving among the scattering of guests seated at the tables, lighting torches on poles now that it was getting dark enough for effect.
“DJ!” he called out, waving to him. Bandit also perked up in recognition.
“Oy! DJ!” Rude Bones shouted, pointing to the others, “These guys say they know you!”
“Deej!” Shades laughed, elated to see his first friend and ally in this dimension alive and well, and clearly liberated from his former confines.
The same deep ebony skin. The same burly black dreads. The same warm, welcoming eyes and smile as he turned to greet them. Gone was the cheesy uniform from the old Bankshot, replaced by more casual attire, though the name Boss DJ was still embroidered on one side of his shirt.
“Max?” DJ tilted his head slightly, but the sight of Bandit made it unmistakable. “Shades, you too, mon?”
“Dude!” Shades slapped hands with him. “What are you doing here?”
“What can I say?” DJ shrugged. “Your escape plan worked.”
“That’s great!” Max told him. “We were afraid you wouldn’t make it in time.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that easy,” DJ assured them, “but we were running out of time. So, what brings you to the Isle of Castaways?”
“You know, going off to see the world and all that jazz,” Shades answered. “I told ya we’d be doing something interesting once we got out.”
“If ya call bein’ dead in the water interesting,” Rude Bones snorted mockingly.
“Yeah!” Justin shot back, “well we were doin’ just fine before that!”
“And who are your friends?” DJ inquired.
“This is Justin Black,” said Max. “You remember how I was looking for somebody before I ended up in that weird place? Well, this is him.”
“I’m so glad you made it, mon,” DJ told Justin. “Max was really worried about you. It is an honor to finally meet you.”
“And this,” Shades said as the two shook hands, “is DJ Rachid, owner and proprietor of Bankshot. And this is our newest passenger…”
“Dominik Ma’Quiver,” he introduced himself. “I was just along for the ride.”
“And what of your friends?” DJ asked Shades. “Have you found John or Amy?”
“No. Actually, I was kinda hopin’ maybe you’d seen either of them.”
“I see.” DJ shook his head. “I’m sorry, Shades. I’ve been here for several months, but I’ve not seen or heard of anyone like either of them passing through lately.”
“So the search is still on,” Shades said, more to himself than anybody else.
“Well I’ll be damned!” Rude Bones crowed. “You guys really do know each other, don’t you! Guess I should be glad I didn’t make that bet! Anyhoo, while ya’ll be catchin’ up, I’ll just be headin’ over to the bar to collect on that drink. Don’t forget, it’s on your tab!”
“While you’re at it, order us some food!” Justin more fell than sat down at one of the empty tables. “If I don’t eat something soon, I’m gonna fall on my face!”
“I’m sorry to impose,” Max explained, borrowing a page from Shades’ diplomatic playbook, “but we haven’t eaten in all day, and even before that…”
“Say no more!” DJ turned to Rude Bones, saying, “Tell Jill this order’s on da house! Think of this is my way of thanking you for helping us escape from the curse. Tonight will be all-you-can-eat!”
“Don’t mind if we do!” Shades laughed as he and the others sat down as well, and Rude Bones ran off with all the enthusiasm free food could inspire. “So tell me, Deej, how’d you score a swank joint like this one?”
“The previous owner retired not long after we came here,” DJ told them, “and he was looking for somebody to take over the place. But anybody who might already had their own shop, so when I explained about Bankshot…”
“He saw a kindred spirit,” Ma’Quiver filled in.
“Right,” DJ nodded, “and having live entertainment on a regular basis sealed the deal.”
“Retired?” Max cocked his head quizzically.
“Yes,” DJ elaborated, “Lester had saved up a good amount of money over the years because he always wanted to go see the world, it was his other dream besides owning a club, so when he had enough money, he bought himself a ship. Before he left, he told me that he didn’t believe in waiting until you’re an old man to live your dreams.”
“Damn straight!” Shades agreed, wondering if his friend hadn’t just distilled his entire experience in the Sixth Dimension into a single sentence. Looking over at the instruments on stage, he asked, “By the way, you keep saying ‘we’— does that mean it’s safe to assume that Rod and the band made it, too?”
“Of course!” DJ laughed. “I would not abandon them in such a terrible place. But it was a close call.”
“Glad to hear it,” Max replied.
At that moment, a young woman, the same one they had seen tending bar earlier, came bearing a tray of appetizers and glasses of water, setting them down on their table, saying, “I was wondering what that old scoundrel was up to when he said it was on the house… It really is you guys, isn’t it?”
“Um, yes…” Shades was pretty sure he had seen her working in the back of the original Bankshot, washing dishes and occasionally waiting tables, but as she bent over to set out his and Max’s drinks, he couldn’t believe he never noticed how generously endowed she was for someone so petite. Thankful for his sunglasses, keeping the conversation from turning awkward as she turned to serve the rest of the group. She was short, though not quite as much as Justin, and slight of build, with short, wavy black hair framing a face that probably looked younger than her years, and eyes that definitely looked older. “I think I saw you around back at the mall…”
“As you probably guessed,” DJ told them, “Jillian Kincaid was also a victim of the curse, but, unlike you, she wasn’t wanted by Security, so I could offer her a job there.”
“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” she told them, holding her tray up against her, almost up to her chin, though whether shy or self-conscious, it was hard to tell from such a brief conversation. “Thanks to you, we were able to escape. The least we can do is give you and your friends the best meal I’ve ever made. And I’m so glad to see your kitty’s doing so well, too, Max.”
Bandit also perked up as she patted him on the head and offered the big cat a cracker.
“Don’t let her modesty fool you,” DJ said as she bowed slightly and took her leave, “she’s one of the best cooks this side of Centralict, and now that we have a real kitchen, I assure you, you ain’t tasted nothin’ like it!”
“Guess we’ll see how it stacks up against Justin’s cooking,” Shades remarked as they all dug into the modest assortment of appetizers, asking through a mouthful of crackers, “So how did you manage to escape? I thought the bookstore was closing down behind us.”
“We almost didn’t make it that far,” DJ told them, his ordinarily jovial tone taking a somber turn. “You see, after the show…”
…Bankshot after closing time. The lights dim, the speakers silent. Twylight “backstage” in their makeshift backroom studio, Jillian cleaning the kitchen. The crowds all gone as DJ mopped the floor behind the bar to the tune of some old lounge piano softly tinkling on a small stereo on the counter. More work than usual, but also Bankshot’s best night in a long time thanks to the Twylight live show.
It was the sound of footsteps approaching the counter that first told him something wasn’t right.
He looked up to see three Mall Security guards walking up to him, having apparently let themselves in. At this hour, he already knew this could only be trouble.
“You are the proprietor of this establishment, correct?” one of them asked as they lined up across the counter from him in an openly imposing display.
“I am,” DJ replied, keeping his tone as level as he could manage while being taken by surprise. “So what brings you here at such a late hour?”
“We’re looking for a pair of criminals who’ve been causing trouble around here,” the guard said, brushing past all pretense of formality. Whipping out a pair of surveillance photos of Shades and Max, he asked, “Have you seen either of these two men, or a black-and-white panther? They are both armed and dangerous, and one of them is wanted for the murder of a maintenance worker not too long ago.”
“I see many people come and go here,” DJ told them while pretending to scrutinize the pictures. “I see a lot of faces, but I’m pretty sure I’d remember if anybody brought a panther in here…”
“Don’t play games with us,” the guard warned him. “They’ve both been seen hanging around this establishment. We know they’re hiding out somewhere in this neighborhood, and it’s only a matter of time before we catch them.”
Fearing the worst, DJ reached into his apron pocket, tossing out the crumpled napkin on which Shades had scribbled down his risky new escape plan. Which he was originally planning to take a look at after closing the club. Now all he could do was hope it would still be there to retrieve when this harrowing confrontation was over.
“We’ll leave these with you,” the guard resumed, “to refresh your memory. You keep an eye out for them.”
“Of course,” DJ replied. “If I see either of them,” silently hoping all the while that their escape would work so it would never come to that, “I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“You better,” the guard said as the three of them turned and walked away, “because if we catch them here, you will lose your permit.”
As they took their leave, DJ resisted the urge to even look at the trashcan until after he was done closing up, then fished out the napkin to show it to the others…
“…I was so afraid they would come back before we could make a plan of our own,” DJ told them, “and when we didn’t hear back from you guys, we had no idea what to make of it. Did your plan work, or did they get you? After talking it over, we decided to take the risk.”
“These guards sound a lot like Nikopolas,” Ma’Quiver remarked, though he had already heard some of this from Shades and Max.
“Yeah, they’re a real’ great bunch of guys once you get to know ’em.” Shades nodded.
“Speaking of which…” DJ looked over at the door.
Despite being on the edge of his seat listening to DJ’s riveting account, or perhaps because of it, Shades’ eyes were drawn to a figure stepping out the door and striding toward the dining area. The fact that he wore a black t-shirt probably didn’t help, as it completed the look from his mind’s eye. Even the expression on Max’s face as he looked up to see what his friend was so alarmed about only served to confirm his own recognition. Justin simply glanced back and forth between them, trying to figure out who this newcomer was, and why those two looked like they were expecting a fight. Even Ma’Quiver slid his chair back, tensing up.
“Look out!” Max shouted, even as Bandit bounded back to his feet with a wary snarl, “It’s the guards!”
Author's Chapter Notes:
the Isle of Castaways
