Unfinished Business part 2

“You must be wondering why I gathered the three of you. Ryan Bennings: former child-celebrity and smartest man in the world. The Cavalier: armored vigilante and protector of New York. Farrell Creed: private investigator from Winghaven, often considered the strangest city in America. You three men have one thing in common.”

“A set of testicles?” Ryan asked.

“Surprised to hear you got a pair,” Creed told him.

Cavalier turned to them angrily, “Guys!”

Zenith scowled at them, “As I was saying, you three have something common, you apparently worked together to capture Rex Robinson and turn him over to the U’ntari during the Resurgence.”

“So you’re mad that we got him and you didn’t?” Ryan surmised.

“As you know, I once saw Robinson as the only man who could be considered close to an equal. I spent many years trying to prove I was superior to Robinson and before I could enact my magnum opus, victory was snatched from me by you three.”

“Yeah, we’re real sorry ‘bout that,” Creed said dryly.

“Despite my newly cloned body, I cannot prove my merit against Robinson, so the next best thing is to prove it against you men. If I defeat the men who defeated Rex Robinson, then my life’s work will finally be complete.”

“You beat us already, didn’t you?” Cavalier asked, “You captured us and put us in a cell. I’d call that proof that you’re superior.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Then how ‘bout we don’t play the game,” Creed barked, “We forfeit, okay? You win.”

“No!” Zenith roared, “You must be challenged both physically and mentally by my plan… A plan that was meant for Rex Robinson! You shouldn’t have taken my victory! You made yourselves targets!”

Ryan turned to his two allies, “Forget trying to reason with him. Guys like this feel like they can subject everyone to their bullshit because their intellect gives them a false sense of importance.”

“Sounds familiar,” Creed grumbled.

“You’re gonna need my help to survive, just so we’re clear.”

“I’m not gonna enjoy this,” Cavalier said quietly.

“Within the past week, I’ve orchestrated a set of challenges for you to complete,” Zenith stepped to the side, displaying the teleportation platform he used to track-down and capture the three men. “I will let you use this teleporter to take you to your destinations.” He began typing on the teleporter’s console. “Obviously, the natural inclination would be to escape once you’ve teleported away, but I advise against that.”

“Lemme guess,” Ryan began, “You’ll kill our loved ones if we escape? Set off a bomb? Release a plague?”

“Perhaps all three,” he told him sternly, “You’ll have 24 hours to complete the tasks and report back here. As I mentioned, you’ll take the teleporter with you and each area will contain a set of clues to be deciphered before advancing to the next location.” He pressed the lever on the side of the console and the wide platform disappeared in a slight flash. It reappeared inside their cell, the three men spaced out around it. “The coordinates are already set for your first location,” Zenith informed them. “All that needs to be done is to press the lever on the side. Once there, the screen will display a clue. I’m sure you can go from there… if you’re capable.”

“Pretty sure of yourself,” Cavalier said.

“I absolutely trust you will all falter and die before this contest ends.”

“This is insanity.”

“Perhaps, but you have no choice.”

“We gathered that much.”

Ryan examined the console – a key pad and a series of strange navigational tools. At the top of the console was a screen displaying a set of numbers. “Seems pretty self-evident,” he stepped onto the platform, hands placed on the console. The Cavalier stepped up next. “Good luck, gentlemen,” Zenith said. Creed raised a middle finger as he stepped onto the platform, “Yeah, thanks bud.” Once everyone gathered on the platform, a lever was pulled and they disappeared.

There was a flash of light and the three men caught the briefest glimpse of a dimension within their own space, filled with light and little else. When they felt solid ground under their feet, the first thing they noticed was a dark sky over an unrecognized city. They were on the roof of a one story building and they could hear music inside. Before any questions could be asked, the console of the teleporter lit up with a message:

Clue #1 – It’s not New Jersey

Creed stepped off first and examined his surrounds, “Well, I guess we know we ain’t in New Jersey.”

Ryan sighed, “Insightful observation, Creed. Thank you.”

“Anyone see any familiar landmarks?” Cavalier asked as he looked at the surrounding buildings.

“No, but I can tell we’re on top of a bar,” Creed explained as he listened close to the sounds below.

“How can you tell?”

He shrugged, “Sounds like a bar.”

Ryan motioned toward a fire escape leading to a back alley, “Let’s go find out.” They went down the metal steps, soon exiting the alley and wrapping around the building to find the front door. As Creed suspected, it was a bar, but the architect suggested a European one. The name above the door was “The Queen’s Quim”. Ryan took a look at the signage, “A bar with a funny, vulgar name that insults a queen… My guess is one of the Irelands.” He pointed to the Belfast Ale ad in the window, “Possibly Belfast.”

“Zenith teleported us right on top of this building. I’m guessing whatever we gotta do, it has to be done in there,” Cavalier began, “We might as well duck inside and see if there’s anything that draws our attention.” When they opened the door, they saw a bar full of men mostly wearing Linfield FC soccer t-shirts, sweaters, or scarfs. One group seemed to be having a drinking contest. Two more were arm-wrestling. Others were having a heated argument. It was a loud and rough place. The bouncer at the door gave them a suspicious glare, but said nothing. It was obvious that he wasn’t there to check IDs, he was there to make sure the fistfights remained outside. There was a single, surly bartender serving drinks; behind him was a shelf full of alcohol, a mirror, and a curious display case. The case contained a jersey that had the name Bailie on it as well as a signature. Ryan noticed a picture on the wall of various players (mostly players for Linfield), including the aforementioned Noel Bailie. The rest of the wall was cluttered with more Linfield memorabilia.

“So it’s a hooligan bar,” Ryan told the others, “I don’t know much about the sport, but I’d say Linfield’s their team and this Noel Bailie guy is their favorite player. Check out the signed jersey up there.”

“I think I got it,” Creed said, “The clue… it ain’t New Jersey. Maybe it’s an old jersey. Zenith was referring to that shirt up there behind the glass.”

“It’s worth a look,” Cavalier told them and led them to the bar, “Let’s have a chat.” The bartender looked at them suspiciously. Cavalier was in his armor and Ryan had his long duster jacket and belt containing various gadgets. Creed blended in slightly better, although the American biker look wasn’t fashionable in a hooligan bar.

Creed slid up to the bartender, “Yeah, we’ll have three singles of Jack.”

The bar tender’s face scrunched up in contempt, “Jack Daniels?”

“Yeah.”

“If ye drink whiskey in here, it’s gonna be Jameson or Bushmills,” he grumbled, “No bloody American shite!”

Creed appeared offended by the bar tender’s attitude, but before he spoke, Cavalier placed a calming hand on his shoulder to stop him. Then he politely told the bartender, “Sure. Three Jamesons.” The bartender said nothing and set three glasses in front of them.

Creed looked at Ryan with a smile, “You’re buy’n right?”

“I’m sure my credit is more than adequate here,” he replied.

Ignoring the snide comments, the Cavalier looked up at the blue jersey behind the glass and wood case on the wall. He decided to strike up a conversation as the bartender poured the drinks: “So you like Linfield, huh?”

The bartender gave him a look and glanced at the jersey on the wall, “The fuck ye think?”

“I, uh… We like Noel Bailie and we were wondering if we could take a closer look at the jersey up there.”

“You’re as close as you’re gonna get,” the bartender turned to take care of another customer.

The three of them took their drinks in hand and stared at the case. “How do we even know this is what we’re looking for?” Cavalier asked out loud.

Ryan took a drink, “It’s a cherished piece of fabric inside a Northern Irish pub where, I’m sure, at least one murder has happened within the decade. I’m certain this is where Zenith wants us to go.”

“Right or wrong, we gotta find a way to take a look at that thing,” Creed scratched his beard, deep in thought.

“We’ll wait until the bar closes,” Cavalier explained, “Then, we can sneak in.”

“We only got 24 hours and there’s a lot more quests for us to complete,” Creed reminded him, “Sure we got time for that?”

“Good point,” Cavalier thought for a minute, “Listen, I’m gonna pull the fire alarm. I need you to -”

“Linfield sucks!” Ryan shouted loudly.

The entire bar went silent and without even checking, the three men knew all eyes were on them. Ryan happily and loudly added, “Noel Bailie is totally overrated.”

“What’re you doing?” Cavalier asked in a frustrated whisper.

“You’re gonna start a fight,” Creed warned.

Ryan pointed a finger at Creed, “Oh, and this guy watches American football. He told me soccer’s for pussies!”

Cavalier and Creed looked out across the bar room. The hooligans all began to crowd around. Their eyes were filled with rage and some of them brandished bottles and chairs. “No way are we gonna talk our way outta this,” Cavalier told him. Creed positioned himself so that he was back-to-back with the knight, “Let’s make this quick and go home.” The entire bar rushed them at once.

The first hooligan swung a beer bottle, but Creed shattered it with a right-cross, then threw a left jab to knock the man out. Behind Creed, another hooligan ran at Cavalier with a knife. Cavalier brought his heel into the man’s knee, forcing him to fall forward just before an armored fist rendered him unconscious. “Chair,” Creed shouted as a chair was hurled their way. He ducked and Cavalier swung a battle axe into it, slicing it in half in mid-air. When Creed popped back up, he upper-cut an attacker, sending him sliding across a table before toppling it. The bartender pulled a bat from underneath the bar and took a swing at Cavalier. He caught the bat with one hand and pulled it out of the man’s hand where it flew across the room and hit an oncoming hooligan, then he pulled the bartender over the counter and to the floor. A second later, he brought his boot up, knocking him out. The bouncer jumped into the fray next, tackling Creed at the waist and pushing him against the bar. Creed slammed a knee into the man’s face before throwing him into another table and a set of chairs.

A hooligan leaped off some furniture and launched himself into the air, a chair held over his head. Cavalier caught and redirected him, body-slamming him through a nearby table. Behind him, Creed caught another enemy and hurled him over the bar where he hit the liquor shelf, shattering several bottles and the mirror. Cavalier caught the knife-hand of another attacker, “Creed! Incoming!” He swung the man around, sending him toward his ally. Creed lifted his boot and brought the man crashing to the ground. Next, a whiskey bottle was smashed over Cavalier’s head, doing nothing against the helmet. In retaliation, Cavalier grabbed the man and bounced his head off the bar. Nearby, Creed grabbed a hooligan by the collar and head-butted him before shoving his unconscious form into a booth. It appeared their attackers were all unconscious, but then they notice a figure shuffling toward them.

The bouncer, recovering sooner than expected, shot to his feet, now armed with the bartender’s discarded bat. He roared in fury and raised the weapon above his head. Creed and Cavalier brought their shoulders together and threw simultaneous punches. The bouncer took both fists to the chin and was sent into the center of the bar where he fell unconscious.

“Great teamwork, guys.”

Cavalier and Creed turned to see Ryan sitting across the room, the glass case shattered and the jersey now in his hands. He took a shot of whiskey in victory and gazed at the shirt.

“You think that was funny, don’t ya?” Creed growled.

“Yes,” he answered bluntly, “And I’m sorry but, I think it’s safe to assume, this wasn’t your first or last bar fight. Not exactly new territory for you.”

“You could’ve helped,” Cavalier snapped.

“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“From what I hear, you ain’t much of a lover, either,” Creed grunted.

“Okay, that was a little personal.”

“Your little distraction could’ve gotten someone hurt!” Cavalier said angrily.

“Couple of tough guys like you teaming up? Nah. You guys looked really cool, by the way.”

“Hold on a sec,” Creed grabbed the drink on the bar and took a shot before slamming the glass down, “So you got the thing. What’d ya find?”

Ryan raised the jersey, “Oh, it turns out we had the wrong assumption. Nothing’s here.”

“What?” Cavalier shouted.

Ryan snickered and waved an apologetic hand, “Sorry. Bad joke. I definitely found something. My intrusive thoughts got the better of me.”

Creed grabbed the glass again, “I need another one.”

“So what do we have?” Cavalier asked in an exhausted tone.

“This was taped to the back of the jersey,” Ryan held up a piece of paper that displayed a series of numbers, “And I’m pretty sure they’re coordinates.”

Continued…