Cork Ireland, Thursday night
It was nighttime in Cork, Ireland. Also raining. Which made it a good time for anyone who wanted to walk around a shipyard without easily being seen.
Will was one such person, as the darkness kept him out of sight right up until the point he was able to hit the security guard over the head and knock him down to the ground, unconscious.
It wasn't dark enough that Will didn't see Ricky's cross look. "What are you trying to do? Kill the poor bastard?"
"Sorry," Will said, though he wasn't really.
"Drag him someplace where he'll stay dry," Ricky said, his tone making it clear it wasn't a request. "And make sure he's breathing, for the love of Pete."
Tuko nodded as he and Will went to tend to the guard. "Right you are, boss."
Ricky shone his flashlight on the container numbers. "We're looking for 9-1-0-9. The numbers are on the side here. Supposed to be the third row back."
"Hey, boss!" Will called when he finally spotted it. "Over there!"
Ricky walked around the container to rejoin his men. He watched as Tuko cut the lock from the door.
"I figured I'd keep a case for myself," Will said, not that anyone had asked him.
Tuko snorted. "What are you gonna do with a dozen iPads? You can barely use a computer."
"Ah, what do you know?" Will retorted. He fell silent as they opened the container... and found it completely empty.
Ricky was less than pleased. "What the hell?"
"Maybe we got the wrong number," Tuko suggested.
"No, the number's right," Ricky said. He swung the beam of his flashlight around. "Something else is wrong."
Just then Ricky's light came across someone at the back of the container. A young man, shirtless, and handcuffed to the wall.
Ricky and his men looked at each other, then walked up to the prisoner. Ricky was the first to speak. "What the hell are you doing here?"
The man turned to look at them with a blank expression.
Ricky wasn't having it. "Where are the iPads?"
"You heard the man," Will added. "How'd you get in here?"
The blank look changed to fear and confusion.
Tuko stepped forward. He lifted his tick, ready to strike the stranger. "Maybe this will jog your memory."
The man raised his hand defensively. A flash of electricity burst from his hand, shoving Tuko away from him and into the container wall.
Will stared in shock - no pun intended. "What the hell was that?"
Ricky pointed his gun at the stranger. "Who the hell are you?"
The man looked at his hands, then up at Ricky. A necklace with a strange symbol hung from his neck, the light finally picking it up.
"I said, 'Who are you?'" Ricky demanded. "What's your name?"
The man shook his head in confusion. "I don't know."
***
The man of course was Peter, but it was Peter without his memory. For the moment this made it difficult for Peter to refer to himself in narrative form. Luckily the person doing the typing had no such problems.
The person doing the typing also didn't have to wait an entire week to tell you that Ricky and the boys took Peter back to the Wandering Rocks Pub. Way back, like into the back room. There they tied Peter, still shirtless, to a chair. Then splashed water on him. We may now all pause a moment to appreciate and thank the gods called "fanservice" and "Milo Ventimiglia's personal trainer." Then we rejoin our story, already in progress.
Tuko punched Peter. Ricky said "He's awake." Possibly to stop Tuko, possibly to state the obvious.
Peter actually had no problems with anyone who felt like stating the obvious since the obvious was less than what he currently had as far as knowledge went. He looked around the room, having no idea where he was. Blood tickled from cuts around his mouth, ear, and no, anything but the hair. "Where am I?" Peter asked.
Tuko replied to this by letting Peter know he was in the quaint little town of Two More Punches. Though he called it, "Home."
"You took something that's ours, boyo," Ricky said. "Just tell us where you stashed the iPads. We'll cut your binds. You'll be on your way. As square a deal as you're likely to find."
"I didn't take anything," Peter told him. He might not have his memory but he was certain of that. Where would he have even hidden them?
"Right," Ricky said, scoffing. "With the thousands of shipping containers coming through Cork harbor every day, you just happen to be having tea in the one we were sent to rob."
"I don't know how I got in there," Peter told him.
"You might wanna consider remembering, boyo," Ricky said. "You're in a bad spot."
Peter certainly knew that much, but that was really about it. He didn't know anything about what Ricky was talking about.
Ricky, finally realizing that Peter wasn't going to give him an answer, motioned for Tuko to take over.
The sound of more punches filled the back room.
Will was one such person, as the darkness kept him out of sight right up until the point he was able to hit the security guard over the head and knock him down to the ground, unconscious.
It wasn't dark enough that Will didn't see Ricky's cross look. "What are you trying to do? Kill the poor bastard?"
"Sorry," Will said, though he wasn't really.
"Drag him someplace where he'll stay dry," Ricky said, his tone making it clear it wasn't a request. "And make sure he's breathing, for the love of Pete."
Tuko nodded as he and Will went to tend to the guard. "Right you are, boss."
Ricky shone his flashlight on the container numbers. "We're looking for 9-1-0-9. The numbers are on the side here. Supposed to be the third row back."
"Hey, boss!" Will called when he finally spotted it. "Over there!"
Ricky walked around the container to rejoin his men. He watched as Tuko cut the lock from the door.
"I figured I'd keep a case for myself," Will said, not that anyone had asked him.
Tuko snorted. "What are you gonna do with a dozen iPads? You can barely use a computer."
"Ah, what do you know?" Will retorted. He fell silent as they opened the container... and found it completely empty.
Ricky was less than pleased. "What the hell?"
"Maybe we got the wrong number," Tuko suggested.
"No, the number's right," Ricky said. He swung the beam of his flashlight around. "Something else is wrong."
Just then Ricky's light came across someone at the back of the container. A young man, shirtless, and handcuffed to the wall.
Ricky and his men looked at each other, then walked up to the prisoner. Ricky was the first to speak. "What the hell are you doing here?"
The man turned to look at them with a blank expression.
Ricky wasn't having it. "Where are the iPads?"
"You heard the man," Will added. "How'd you get in here?"
The blank look changed to fear and confusion.
Tuko stepped forward. He lifted his tick, ready to strike the stranger. "Maybe this will jog your memory."
The man raised his hand defensively. A flash of electricity burst from his hand, shoving Tuko away from him and into the container wall.
Will stared in shock - no pun intended. "What the hell was that?"
Ricky pointed his gun at the stranger. "Who the hell are you?"
The man looked at his hands, then up at Ricky. A necklace with a strange symbol hung from his neck, the light finally picking it up.
"I said, 'Who are you?'" Ricky demanded. "What's your name?"
The man shook his head in confusion. "I don't know."
***
The man of course was Peter, but it was Peter without his memory. For the moment this made it difficult for Peter to refer to himself in narrative form. Luckily the person doing the typing had no such problems.
The person doing the typing also didn't have to wait an entire week to tell you that Ricky and the boys took Peter back to the Wandering Rocks Pub. Way back, like into the back room. There they tied Peter, still shirtless, to a chair. Then splashed water on him. We may now all pause a moment to appreciate and thank the gods called "fanservice" and "Milo Ventimiglia's personal trainer." Then we rejoin our story, already in progress.
Tuko punched Peter. Ricky said "He's awake." Possibly to stop Tuko, possibly to state the obvious.
Peter actually had no problems with anyone who felt like stating the obvious since the obvious was less than what he currently had as far as knowledge went. He looked around the room, having no idea where he was. Blood tickled from cuts around his mouth, ear, and no, anything but the hair. "Where am I?" Peter asked.
Tuko replied to this by letting Peter know he was in the quaint little town of Two More Punches. Though he called it, "Home."
"You took something that's ours, boyo," Ricky said. "Just tell us where you stashed the iPads. We'll cut your binds. You'll be on your way. As square a deal as you're likely to find."
"I didn't take anything," Peter told him. He might not have his memory but he was certain of that. Where would he have even hidden them?
"Right," Ricky said, scoffing. "With the thousands of shipping containers coming through Cork harbor every day, you just happen to be having tea in the one we were sent to rob."
"I don't know how I got in there," Peter told him.
"You might wanna consider remembering, boyo," Ricky said. "You're in a bad spot."
Peter certainly knew that much, but that was really about it. He didn't know anything about what Ricky was talking about.
Ricky, finally realizing that Peter wasn't going to give him an answer, motioned for Tuko to take over.
The sound of more punches filled the back room.