By Monkey

Chapter 12

Tough Choice

     Indiana Jones sat up on the rocky promontory.  His arm throbbed and he was still coughing up water as he fruitlessly searched his eyes around the river.  He knew that he couldn’t really expect the satchel, with not only the Inca treasure map but also his beloved .455 Webley handgun, to just come floating down the river to him.  He knew it was lost forever in the churning waters and he’d never see it again.

     So he was surprised when he did.

     The trusty old leather satchel, that had seen the inside of almost as many tombs as the Grim Reaper himself, was cascading down on the surface of the river directly towards him.  Unfortunately for Jones it was still attached to the struggling body of ‘thin man’ who fought to save himself from the vortex between the two rock formations just as Indy had only a few moments ago.

     He was coming directly towards Jones, and this presented the archaeologist with a dilemma.  He was in a position to reach out with a helping hand to the little criminal, but wasn’t too sure if he should.  If he didn’t he’d never get his satchel back, but if he did…well, despite the fact that ‘thin man’ no longer had his .25 caliber, Indy still wasn’t sure, with his broken arm, if he could take the man down.  But Jones’ dilemma became a moot point before the ‘thin man’ ever reached him.

     A sudden swirl of the churning river water threw ‘thin man’ in the other direction.  He plowed face first into the promontory on the right hand bank of the river, where he clutched tightly to the rocky face.  Then he slowly climbed up.  The wet, dripping satchel still hung from his shoulder.  

     The man at first didn’t even see Jones on the other side of the raging waters.  He did a quick double take and then spun around to face him.  For a moment, he seemed at a loss as to what to do.  Then he took a few menacing steps towards Jones and reached in his pocket for his handgun.  But it wasn’t there.  Then he opened Jones’ satchel and awkwardly fumbled around for a moment before producing the Webley handgun.  He aimed at Jones and pulled the trigger.

     CLICK!

     Jones just stood there and stared him down.  He couldn’t help thinking how much the swarthy little man looked like a drowned rat.  Blood still streamed down his face from his broken nose, and he spat blood down on to the rock at his feet as he glared at Indiana Jones.  But without his oversized sidekick and his handgun he was significantly less threatening.

     Indy wanted the map back. 

     The two men stood on opposite sides of the chaotic, murderous waters that boiled in the vortex between them.  Twelve feet separated them, too far for either man to jump.  ‘Thin man’ pulled the trigger of the Webley again.

     CLICK!

      “It’s empty!” Jones shouted from across the water.

     CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

      “Deme la ma’scara!”  The little man shrieked as he fruitlessly pulled the trigger over and over.

        “Why don’t you just throw it at me?” Jones taunted, hoping that ‘thin man’ might do just that.

      ‘Thin man’ gazed down into the raging waters that separated them, and then at the empty gun in his hand.  The look of defeat was evident in his eyes.  In frustration he brought his arm back, as if to throw the gun at Jones, but then stopped.

     He smiled coldly, “Si amigo, you would like that eh?”  Then his face took on a whimsical, almost philosophical expression, though Indy doubted that much in the way of deep philosophical thoughts ever passed through his little brain, “No amigo,” He said, opening the satchel and dropping the Webley inside.

      “This time you win Doctore’ Jones.  I guess you still have your magico.” He said.  Then he slung the satchel over his shoulder and turned to walk away.

      “Wait!” Jones shouted after him.

     The man turned back around, “wait for what?  You win Doctore’ Jones!  Today the gods of the Andes have smiled on you,” then his eyes narrowed, and his teeth came together in a grimace, “but if ever you return here gringo Jones, you will take your last breath with my hands around your throat.”

     Jones stared at him with a level gaze, “that’s fine….. Amigo, but right now you’ve still got something that belongs to me,” he gestured with his hand at the satchel, “and I want it back.”

      ‘Thin man’ stared back at him incredulously, and then broke out into laughter.  When his laughter finally subsided he glared at Jones, “you go to hell!” he said, and then turned around again to walk away.

     The thought of losing the map, a map which Indiana Jones had every reason to believe could lead him not only to the Disc of the Sun, but a horde of other Inca treasure as well, compelled him to act.

      “I’ll give you the mask!” He shouted.

      ‘Thin man’ stopped in his tracks, and turned around.  He gazed over at Jones as if looking at a mad man, “you will give me the mask,” he paused, and then lifted the satchel from his hip, “for this?”

     Jones held up Payahuatac’s mask, “Yes.  You give me my bag, and I give you the mask.”

     Indy almost could not believe the words that came out of his own mouth.  But despite the value of Payahuatac’s death mask, and the hell that he’d gone through to retrieve it, the treasure map held forth the potential for so much more.

      ‘Thin man’ smiled malevolently, “OK amigo, you throw me the mask, and I’ll throw you your bag, eh?”

     Jones shook his head, “sorry …Amigo, it doesn’t work that way”.

      ‘Thin man’ kneeled down on the rock and opened the satchel.  He reached in and pulled out the Webley, and then its holster.  He set these down on the rock platform and rummaged around inside some more, “what is it in here that is so valuable to you Doctore’ Jones?”

     Then his hand found the map.  He withdrew it and opened it.  It was wet and soggy.  ‘Thin man’ carefully unfolded it and studied it with uncomprehending eyes.

      “This?” he asked incredulously, “What is this?”

     And then it dawned on his dim-witted brain.

      “Ah, it is a map eh Amigo?...a treasure map?”

     From across the raging vortex of water between them, Indiana Jones reached down to his hip with his one good arm and pulled out his tightly coiled whip.  He spilled the leather out on to the rocky promontory and then reared back and let loose.  The leather tendril of the whip flew across the chasm in between and landed at the feet of ‘thin man’.  It had just barely enough length to make it, and Jones took care not to snap the whip so that it stayed where he placed it.

      “Pick it up!” Jones commanded, “Tie it on to the strap of the bag! Put the map, and the gun back inside!”

      ‘Thin man’ looked across at him, “As you yourself said Amigo, it does not work that way.”

      “Shut up and listen!” Jones shouted more forcefully, “Tie the whip to the handle of the bag.  Then you can put your foot on the whip and hold it down.  Then I’ll throw you the mask,” Jones paused for a moment, “but don’t expect me to throw it right to you.  You’ll have to move to catch it.”

      ‘Thin man’ seemed to comprehend the scenario that Indy put forth, “and then to catch the mask I will have to take my foot off of your latigo eh Amigo?”

      “That’s right ….Amigo!” Jones shouted back.

      ‘Thin man’ stared at Indiana Jones for a moment, “But Doctore’ Jones, you already have the mask.  Why?  …Why would you give up the gold and jewels in your hand for a…, a piece of paper?”  He then held up the map, before folding it back up and returning it to the satchel along with the gun and holster.

     The question was a conundrum that Indiana Jones couldn’t quite answer, “Just hurry up or I’ll change my mind,” was all he could say.

      ‘Thin man’ nodded his head slowly, smiled grimly, and then tied the end of the whip to the strap of the leather satchel, keeping his foot down hard on it.

      “There Doctore’ Jones”, he said and gestured down to the satchel lying on the rocks at his feet.

      “How do I know it’s tight?” Jones asked.

      ‘Thin man lifted the bag to show him the knot, keeping his foot down on the length of whip.  He pulled on it to show the archaeologist, “It is tight Doctore’ Jones, now throw me la Ma’scara!”

     With his left arm hanging broken and useless at his side, Indiana Jones would have to depend on his right to do all of the work.  He kneeled down on the rocky promontory and laid the handle of his whip down.  He then picked up the Death Mask of Payahuatac, feeling pangs of uncertainty as he gazed into its fabulous, glimmering, bejeweled countenance.  Then he placed his boot down on to the handle of the whip to keep it in place, and cast his gaze once again across the river to where ‘thin man’ stood.  Jones could swear the man was salivating.

     He hated what he was about to do, but he had no other choice.

TO BE CONTINUED…

The Indy Experience.com is maintained and updated by fans of the Indiana Jones films, and is in no way affiliated with Lucasfilm or Paramount Pictures.  Copyrights and trademarks for the Indiana Jones films, books, articles, and other material are held by their respective owners and their use is allowed under the fair use clause of the Copyright Law.  Design and original material are Copyright © 2002 - 2006 The Indy Experience.com.  The Indy Experience.com is proudly hosted by Nexcess.net.  Contact TIE.c's Webmaster: webmaster@theindyexperience.com.