CHAPTER THREE

Posted by HANNIBAL KING from ausfire.austin.ppdi.com on February 02, 1999 at 10:40:49:

I hope you don't mind me joining in guys, but here goes;

The rain hit Indy's car relentlessly as he drove the short distance to Cianelli's lodgings. He cursed the rain and then cursed himself. Indy's shoulders were locked in a tight knot of muscle - the tension was almost bearing down on him like a solid, tangible object. He cursed the rain and then himself. There was little, or no reason for him to be feeling so uneasy. His mind drifted back to his last trip to India.

DELHI, 1936:
Indy crawled along the side of an old crumbling warehouse. Far below him the streets of Delhi were awash with the tide of human life that inhabited it. His mouth was set in a line of grim determination. The wounds on his back were aching and the bandage around his knuckles was seeping fresh blood. He stopped at a window. Inside the building, almost directly below the skylight, was a beautiful but slightly spoiled looking blonde. She was wearing the dirty remains of a white tuxedo and she was tightly bound to a wooden chair. Indy watched as she struggled against her bonds. A dirty rag was stuffed into her mouth and tied round the back of her head. Indy smiled grimly. Things had started going wrong as soon as they had arrived in Delhi that morning. It had been a long journey to the city from Mayapore village, seeming even longer because of his companions outbursts which had been becoming increasingly irritating with each successive one. The heat had been too hot, the elephants had been too grey. Willie Scott was, and always would be, a prize class pain in the ass. Indy's feelings of attraction had given way to an almost tangible and solid feeling of intense dislike. Their arrival in Delhi had been the limit. Shorty had immediately started playing with some street kids, he had developed an instinctive knack of knowing when to "amscray".

"This is it? This is civilisation? Look at this place Indiana, it's filthy! Ooh, I just bet I'm going to catch some horrible disease! Leprosy! I'm going home with leprosy! Who's going to pay to see a singer without a nose?" the blonde woman spun round and faced Indy - her eyes blazing with petulant anger. Indy smiled reassuringly.
"Willie" he began.
"What now? What bullshit are you going to try on me now? Ever since we left Pankot you've been telling me that when we get to Delhi every thing would be fine! Now look at us!"
However, before he had a chance to answer, a group of Indians had swarmed over them. Indy had grabbed the first thug and punched him straight in the middle of the face. Both men yelped in pain. One because of a broken nose, the other because of fractured knuckles. Indy turned to see a group of the thugs carry Willie off, before his world exploded into dark oblivion.
He had come round with Shorty standing anxiously over him. His little friend helped him to his feet.
"What happened Shorty?"
"Dr Jones! Bad men come! They take Willie away!" Shorty began to babble excitedly. His limited English deserting him as the story unfolded. In time Indy had ascertained that the men who had taken Willie worked for a ruthless and much feared crimelord called Imran Roshann. A gun runner, an opium dealer and a white slaver. It had been a simple task to track this gang to an old abandoned tea warehouse.

Willie struggled against her bonds. She had developed more than a slight aversion to the whole Indian sub continent. The men who sat before her, playing cards, were not in the slightest bit perturbed by her muffled protestations. The ropes were rough and very uncomfortable. She was not having a good day.

Indy moved forward. He slowly drew his revolver. Suddenly he heard the splinter of dry wood. His stomach lurched as the window frame gave way.
"Oh shit!" Indy started somersaulting down towards the floor.

Willie heard the breaking glass and then the profanity. She rolled her eyes. It could only be Indy. She didn't even bother attempting to twist her head around as she heard the unfortunate archaeologist hit the floor behind her.

Indy hit a pile of old burlap sacks and rolled to the floor, he immediately looked up to see seven rifles pointed straight at his face. He swallowed and tried to invoke some authority into his voice.
"Let the girl go!"
A cultured and rich laugh drifted over towards him. Indy squinted at the tall man who had entered the room.
"Dr. Jones! I am Imran Roshann. I had no idea that this caterwauling blonde was with you! Please put your gun away. Your exploits at Pankot Palace have earned you a reprieve!" Roshann held up his hands and his men retreated. Indy got to his feet.
"The cult of Kali was an . . ."
"Abomination!" Indy ventured
"Embarrasment!" Roshann finished "Dr. Jones, we have lots to talk about!"
Indy slowly walked forward. Roshanns men were untying Willie.

The harsh sound of a trucks horn brought Indy out of his reverie. He winced to himself. Lately he had been living more and more in the past. In a few minutes he'd be with Cianelli.

Follow Ups:

Re: CHAPTER THREE walker 14:57:38 2/02/99 (1)
- you seem to have the indy character down. bhc 09:02:16 2/03/99 (0)

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: I hope you don't mind me joining in guys, but here goes;

: The rain hit Indy's car relentlessly as he drove the short distance to Cianelli's lodgings.  He cursed the rain and then cursed himself.  Indy's shoulders were locked in a tight knot of muscle - the tension was almost bearing down on him like a solid, tangible object.  He cursed the rain and then himself.  There was little, or no reason for him to be feeling so uneasy.  His mind drifted back to his last trip to India.

: DELHI, 1936:
:   Indy crawled along the side of an old crumbling warehouse.  Far below him the streets of Delhi were awash with the tide of human life that inhabited it.  His mouth was set in a line of grim determination. The wounds on his back were aching and the bandage around his knuckles was seeping fresh blood.  He stopped at a window.  Inside the building, almost directly below the skylight, was a beautiful but slightly spoiled looking blonde.  She was wearing the dirty remains of a white tuxedo and she was tightly bound to a wooden chair.  Indy watched as she struggled against her bonds.  A dirty rag was stuffed into her mouth and tied round the back of her head.  Indy smiled grimly.  Things had started going wrong as soon as they had arrived in Delhi that morning.  It had been a long journey to the city from Mayapore village, seeming even longer because of his companions outbursts which had been becoming increasingly irritating with each successive one.  The heat had been too hot, the elephants had been too grey.  Willie Scott was, and always would be, a prize class pain in the ass.  Indy's feelings of attraction had given way to an almost tangible and solid feeling of intense dislike.  Their arrival in Delhi had been the limit.  Shorty had immediately started playing with some street kids, he had developed an instinctive knack of knowing when to "amscray".
:   
:    "This is it? This is civilisation? Look at this place Indiana, it's filthy! Ooh, I just bet I'm going to catch some horrible disease! Leprosy! I'm going home with leprosy! Who's going to pay to see a singer without a nose?" the blonde woman spun round and faced Indy - her eyes blazing with petulant anger.  Indy smiled reassuringly.
:   "Willie" he began.
:   "What now? What bullshit are you going to try on me now? Ever since we left Pankot you've been telling me that when we get to Delhi every thing would be fine! Now look at us!"
: However, before he had a chance to answer, a group of Indians had swarmed over them.  Indy had grabbed the first thug and punched him straight in the middle of the face.  Both men yelped in pain. One because of a broken nose, the other because of fractured knuckles.  Indy turned to see a group of the thugs carry Willie off, before his world exploded into dark oblivion.
:    He had come round with Shorty standing anxiously over him.  His little friend helped him to his feet.
:    "What happened Shorty?"
:    "Dr Jones! Bad men come! They take Willie away!" Shorty began to babble excitedly.  His limited English deserting him as the story unfolded.  In time Indy had ascertained that the men who had taken Willie worked for a ruthless and much feared crimelord called Imran Roshann.  A gun runner, an opium dealer and a white slaver.  It had been a simple task to track this gang to an old abandoned tea warehouse.

:      Willie struggled against her bonds.  She had developed more than a slight aversion to the whole Indian sub continent.  The men who sat before her, playing cards, were not in the slightest bit perturbed by her muffled protestations.  The ropes were rough and very uncomfortable.  She was not having a good day.

:    Indy moved forward.  He slowly drew his revolver.  Suddenly he heard the splinter of dry wood.  His stomach lurched as the window frame gave way.
:    "Oh shit!" Indy started somersaulting down towards the floor.

:    Willie heard the breaking glass and then the profanity.  She rolled her eyes.  It could only be Indy.  She didn't even bother attempting to twist her head around as she heard the unfortunate archaeologist hit the floor behind her.

:    Indy hit a pile of old burlap sacks and rolled to the floor, he immediately looked up to see seven rifles pointed straight at his face.  He swallowed and tried to invoke some authority into his voice.
:    "Let the girl go!"
:     A cultured and rich laugh drifted over towards him.  Indy squinted at the tall man who had entered the room.
:     "Dr. Jones!  I am Imran Roshann.  I had no idea that this caterwauling blonde was with you!  Please put your gun away.  Your exploits at Pankot Palace have earned you a reprieve!"  Roshann held up his hands and his men retreated.  Indy got to his feet.
:     "The cult of Kali was an . . ."
:     "Abomination!" Indy ventured
:     "Embarrasment!" Roshann finished "Dr. Jones, we have lots to talk about!"
:      Indy slowly walked forward.  Roshanns men were untying Willie.

: The harsh sound of a trucks horn brought Indy out of his reverie.  He winced to himself.  Lately he had been living more and more in the past.  In a few minutes he'd be with Cianelli.

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