Chapter 25: Found You, J. Geil!
The police officer was meticulous, patting down every square inch of Jonas's body, absolutely convinced he was hiding a weapon. Jonas, however, remained perfectly calm, letting the man work. He wasn't worried in the slightest, because...
His eyes darted to a dark corner of the tavern. Crouched in the shadows, invisible to the mundane eye, was [Maw], the revolver held firmly in its shadowy jaws. For a Stand user, hiding contraband was child's play.
After finding nothing on Jonas's person, the officer, still unconvinced, turned his attention to the travel bag. He unzipped it and began rummaging through its contents.
"Officer, really," Jonas said with an exasperated sigh. "I'm just a tourist. Why would I be carrying a gun?"
A full minute later, having found nothing, the officer finally zipped the bag shut, his face a mask of bitter disappointment. "I thought I had a major bust," he grumbled. "Turns out that drunk was just seeing things..."
As the officer left, Jonas's brow furrowed. He suddenly realized something.
Hol Horse!
The tavern was now empty. He stepped outside, scanning the bustling street. But of the blond cowboy, there was no sign.
A dark expression crossed Jonas's face. "Twice," he muttered. "That slippery bastard has gotten away from me twice."
He had been counting on that cowboy for more information. Now, he was back to square one. He summoned Maw, but the creature just spun in circles, sniffing the ground. The trail was cold. From his previous experiments, Jonas knew Maw's tracking ability only extended a few hundred meters.
It seemed he would have to find J. Geil the old-fashioned way.
As Jonas was once again asking around, a new figure approached him. The man reeked of stale wine and garbage.
"Hey, mister," the homeless man rasped, his eyes shrewd. "You lookin' for the fella with the two right hands?"
Jonas's gaze hardened. He was instantly on guard. Another assassin? Or just an opportunist?
"I am," Jonas said, his voice flat. "Do you know where he is?"
The man's grimy, wrinkled face broke into a hideous, ingratiating smile. "That I do," he said, rubbing his hands together. "That I do."
"Tell me," Jonas demanded.
"Easy, easy," the man said, his eyes darting to Jonas's pockets. "A man's gotta eat. And I haven't eaten all day. Perhaps... you could spot me enough for... say... a month's worth of food?"
Jonas relaxed. Not an enemy Stand user. Just a greedy beggar.
He sighed and pulled out his wallet, flashing the thick wad of multi-colored bills. "Where is he?"
The man's smile widened until his face looked like a crumpled paper bag. "I saw him! This morning, clear as day! He was headin' toward the village of Pont-Vieux. Don't know what he's doin' there, but that's where he went."
"Pont-Vieux. I understand."
As the day wore on, the sky began to darken. Ominous, heavy clouds gathered overhead, and the low, distant rumble of thunder could be heard. A cool, damp wind blew through the streets, scattering the oppressive heat.
School let out. Sherry and her friend, Amelie, walked together, and the first heavy drops of rain began to fall.
"See, Sherry? I told you it would rain," Amelie said, pulling two umbrellas from her bag and handing one to her friend. "Looks like it's going to be a big one, too."
Sherry smiled, opening the umbrella. "I just hope we can make it home before we're soaked."
Pont-Vieux Village.
In a quaint, old-fashioned house, a plume of smoke rose from the chimney. Inside, Jean Pierre Polnareff was in his element, stirring a rich boeuf bourguignon with one hand while flipping a perfect, sizzling steak in a pan with the other. The kitchen was filled with a mouth-watering aroma.
He crossed his arms, a look of immense pride on his face. "Magnifique!" he declared to himself. "Another ten minutes and it will be perfection! Just in time for Sherry and Amelie to get home."
Drip... drop... drip...
The rain was now falling in earnest. Sherry and Amelie hurried down the country path, laughing as they dodged puddles.
"What kind of present do you think your brother got you?" Amelie asked.
"With him, who knows!" Sherry giggled. "But I'm sure it will be..."
She stopped. A figure had emerged from the rain and was blocking their path. A tall, gaunt man with long, stringy hair and narrow, predatory eyes that leered at them. The rain, which was now a downpour, seemed to slide off him, as if he were wrapped in an invisible coat.
And the man... he had two right hands.
A low, grating voice slithered from his throat. "Well, well... what a treat. Young, pretty girls... they're always the most delicious."
Sherry and Amelie were frozen in terror. This man, in this place, saying those things... he was a monster.
As their minds frantically tried to process how to escape, their terrified reflections stared back at them from a muddy puddle on the path.
And in the reflection... something else appeared.
A mummified, bandaged Stand materialized in the puddle, standing right in front of Amelie's reflection. It raised its right hand, a short, wicked blade extending from its wrist. It lunged, plunging the blade deep into Amelie's reflected image.
In the real world, Amelie's eyes went wide. She let out a choked gasp and looked down. A massive, bloody wound had inexplicably torn open on her back, gushing blood. She collapsed to the ground, paralyzed by shock and pain.
"AMELIE!!!" Sherry screamed, dropping to her knees to help her friend.
The man, J. Geil, began to walk toward them, his laughter a wet, hacking sound. He leered at Sherry, his gaze crawling over her. "Oh, yes... and look at you. Such perfect, white skin... such a young, tender body... this is why I came to France."
With J. Geil advancing, Sherry desperately tried to pull Amelie's arm over her shoulder, to lift her, to run. But she was just a girl, and her friend was a dead weight. She could barely get her to her knees. Escape was impossible.
J. Geil was almost upon them, his decayed, lecherous hand reaching out for Sherry.
Just as his fingers were about to graze her shoulder, a brilliant, focused beam of light cut through the rain and gloom, illuminating him and casting a long, dark shadow on the ground behind him.
Suddenly, a wound exploded on his outstretched hand. Blood splattered.
"GYAAAAAAHH!" he shrieked, clutching his hand as a soul-deep agony flared up his arm.
He looked down. At his feet, his shadow was writhing. A small, black, rat-sized creature was viciously tearing at it.
He looked up. Standing a few yards away, his face a mask of cold fury, was Jonas Jourdan. In his hand, he held a bright, powerful flashlight.
"Found you," Jonas said, his voice a low growl. "J. GEIL!"