Splitting Heirs

Tale Spin Fan Fic

by Katie Sullivan

Chapter 10

12 Oct 1945 -- 3:26 A.M.

A bruised and very worried Don Karnage lay in the dark, staring blankly upward at the ceiling of his cell.  The striped prison uniform itched, adding to the sensation that he was crawling out of his skin.  He tried to rest, conserving his strength for whatever the future brought, but his feet demanded to pace.  Finally, he obliged them, forcing his aching body to stand.  There was scant room for pacing in the little cell, so he soon found himself merely standing at the window, looking out at the city.

From this, the third floor of the Cape Suzette police station, he could see far into the city.  The skyscrapers of downtown, dominated by Khan Tower, shone brightly in the moonlight.  Beyond them, he could see part of the cliffs.  Somewhere out there was his wife, and, quite possibly, his child.

He hoped.  He hoped against all logic that they were all right.  It was one of the those rare moments in his life when he almost regretted his long history of wrongdoing, for perhaps then some divine power would have mercy on him.  Almost.

Instead he had to take destiny into his own hands.  He had done everything he could.

He grasped the cool bars of his cell and held back a sigh.  Everything.

But would it be enough?

He worried for his child, of course, but the face that was burned into his mind was that of his wife.  Scarlet was his Lady, his love, his partner in crime, his confidante, his counselor, his friend, his soulmate.  If something happened to her...

Karnage whirled away from the window, repelled by the thought.

No.

He had already lost a brother.  His parents and sister were so far away, and not just geographically... Scarlet was all he had left.  The only person who understood him.  The only one who really, really cared.  She was the bright, shining star in his past, the light of his present and the beacon of his future.

He sat down heavily and closed his eyes.  Being poetic wasn't helping anything.  It only made him feel more depressed...and slightly embarassed.  Although he would have performed Hamlet is a chicken suit in front of the crew if it would have helped Scarlet to survive...

She had to survive!  She and the child.  His child.  Their child.

Sweat began to dampen his fur, and his pulse raced.  Panic gripped him like an iron claw.

"Maldito sea," he whispered with an agonized frown.  ["Dammit"] He had to stay calm.  He had to stay focused.  He had to maintain his dignity.

Everything would be fine.  It had to.  Lady Luck had thwarted him before, but not this time.  This time the dread pirate Don Karnage would triumph!

He kept telling himself that, only half-believing it, until the anxiety episode passed.  It would be all right.  She would be all right.  The child would be all right.  It was his, the next in a long line of great pirates.  It would be strong.  It would be all right.  Everything would be all right.  And somehow he would find a way to be with them both.  And everything would be all right.  All right...

He laid back on the lumpy cot and put a hand over his eyes, silently repeating the mantra in every language he knew until sleep finally claimed him.

12 Oct 1945 -- 8:39 A.M.

Scarlet awoke in her own bed aboard the Iron Vulture, utterly disoriented. She looked around. Katarina was sitting in a nearby chair with a large book. Her husband was nowhere to be seen. She looked down. She was still pregnant. Very pregnant.

"What the...?" she mumbled.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Katarina said.

"I... I'm not in labor. Am I? I mean, I don't feel like it... But I thought I... Huh?" she babbled, rubbing her eyes.

Her sister turned back to her book and read aloud. "'Braxton Hicks Contractions. Periodic contractions that do not represent true labor. Can begin as early as the first trimester but are more common near the end of the third trimester. They are irregular, usually painless, and of low intensity. Often confused with labor.' In other words, false alarm."

Scarlet shook her head to clear her clouded brain. "Oh." She couldn't think of anything more profound to say.

"We're back at Pirate Island. The crew's licking their wounds. And, knowing them, probably literately... Ratchet's got most of the damage to the Vulture fixed already. I just wish he'd bathe as efficiently..."

"Felipe?"

"Arrested. We heard it on the radio."

She put a hand over her eyes. "Oh, no. But he's not injured?"

"Didn't say."

"We've got to get him out of there."

"Sure thing, sis. Any ideas how the hell we're supposed to do that?"

Scarlet frowned. "Hey, I just woke up. You expect brilliant strategy?"

"I never expect anything brilliant from you," Katarina teased.

"Ow!" Scarlet winced.

"Contraction?"

"No. Foot." She nudged and rubbed until the baby moved again. "I sure wish it would quit that!"

"Hey, it doesn't cry, it doesn't fill diapers, and it doesn't drool all over the place. Enjoy it while you can, sis."

12 Oct 1945 -- 4:07 P.M.

As a hybrid, Don Karnage had experienced his share of humiliation. Being paraded through a courtroom in handcuffs and stripes was one of the worst. He took great pride in the way he dressed, and the cheap, striped prison uniform did not suit his tastes. He was without his sword, his crew, his freedom, his plane, his wife--

Scarlet. Was she all right? Was their child all right? What was happening?

Before he could let his mind run through the same old litany of questions, the door in the corner opened, and the rhinoceros bailiff announced, "All rise for the honorable Judge Warner!" A portly male sparrow in a powered wig strode into the room and took his place on the high bench. His imposing black robe sent an unwanted image of an executioner through Karnage's mind.

"The Province of Cape Suzette versus Felipe Karnage, preliminary hearing," the judge read from the docket in front of him. "The defendant is charged with piracy, hijacking, armed robbery, disturbing the peace, assault, kidnapping, counterfeiting, vandalism, thefts too numerous to mention, willfull destruction of property, mail fraud, operating an airplane without a license, extortion, impeding the delivery of the mail, illegal use of government radio frequencies, trespassing, smuggling, destruction of government property, treason, littering and the murder of Lorenzo Calaveras. These charges are gathered from Usland, Cuba, Italy, Spain, Aridia, Walla Walla Bing Bang, and others pending. How do you plead?"

Karnage's lawyer stood. He was a wiry ferret with a nauseatingly tacky green tie and thick glasses. Karnage loathed being represented by a mere public defender, but he had no way to access his ill-gotten fortune. They got along well enough, after the initial arguement over the insanity defense. Karnage was livid at the suggestion that he might be crazy, and the lawyer, Hertz, soon dropped the topic. His next suggestion was pure brilliance, and the pirate couldn't wait to see the reaction to it in the courtroom.

Hertz straightened that hideous tie and addressed the judge. "Your honor, my client pleads no contest, on account of the fact that, as a non-citizen, he cannot be tried in our legal system."

An outraged murmur grew amid the audience, but the judge quickly silenced them with a rap of his gavel. "Counsel, what are you saying?"

Karnage allowed himself a smirk as Hertz continued. "Your honor, my client is not an Usland citizen. His place of birth of Cuba, and he has never claimed Usland citizenship. Indeed, he is not even a current resident. His place of residence, Pirate Island, whereever it is, is not within Usland waters. As such, his only true citizenship is still Cuban, and we have no jurisdiction."

The audience got even more agitated, and a reporter who had smuggled in a camera took a snapshot before being dragged away by a pair of guards.

The judge banged his gavel down until it splintered. "Order, order! Counsel, surely you're not suggesting we let Mr. Karnage go free?"

"It is Don Karnage, and roll the R!" the prisoner muttered.

"We have no jurisdiction over him," Hertz said simply.

The judge frowned deeply and regarded the pirate with a look that cast doubts on his impartiality. No one in Cape Suzette liked Karnage, and he was no exception. Finally, he said, "You are right of course, Mr. Hertz, but this does not mean we must let him go scot-free! Rather, I shall see that he is turned over to the Cuban authorities, to be tried in his country of citizenship. Until such time as he can handed over to them, he will remain incarcerated here. Court is adjourned."

"Een-car-sir-what?" Karnage mumbled to his lawyer.

"Locked up."

"That's what I figured. Curses! Then what?"

Hertz shuffled his papers, stuffed them into his briefcase and closed the claps. "Then you'll be deported to Cuba to stand trial."

Karnage swallowed and looked away. Cuban prisons were not nice places. And it was on the other side of the world from here...from Scarlet...from his child... How could things have turned so horribly wrong?

The bailiff took him roughly by the arms and led him through the swinging gate and out of the courtroom. As he was marched through the doors, he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Cloudkicker. He had come to gloat, had he? Karnage narrowed his eyes fiercely at him, but the boy was strangely apathetic.

The bailiff gave him a shove to keep him moving, and he stumbled, his sense of balance thrown off by the handcuffs and ankle chains. His cheeks burning with humilation, he allowed himself to be led back to his cell. The guard roughly removed his shackles and handcuffs and slid the heavy barred door shut behind him. Emotionally drained, Karnage flopped down onto his bunk and closed his eyes. My kingdom for an aspirin, he thought.

13 Oct 1945 -- 2:19 P.M.

Scarlet sat in a sofa chair, alone in her cabin, and stared gloomily at the Cape Suzette Gazette. The headline jeered: KARNAGE CAPTURED!

Apparently an editor somewhere liked alliteration as much as he did.

She sighed for the millionth time and put her head back against the chair, closing her eyes.

If only there was something she could do. Some way to free him, or at least get a message to him. But if she showed her face in the city she'd be arrested, too. Her child would not be born in prison, she vowed.

Cape Suzette's defenses had quickly been repaired, and although the Dutch Tunnel remained closed, Khan's air force and the cliff guns were back to full operational status. Even if the newspaper was exaggerating somewhat, the Iron Vulture was in no shape for another assault. And neither was the crew. Morale was down, several pirates were injured, and without the Captain discipline was at an all-time low.

Scarlet subconsciously felt her hand, where her wedding ring should have been. In the past few months she had been too swollen to wear it, but now she felt its absence more keenly than before. The treasury was packed with fresh plunder, but all she wanted was her husband back, safe and sound, at her side.

And now they were sending him back to Cuba. The other side of the world! For punishment. She knew her history well enough. Pirates swung from the gallows, and were left for the seagulls.

Her heart ached and tears welled up in her tired eyes. She felt so helpless. So useless. So...fat.

Scarlet saw only one option for the foreseeable future. Cry.

16 Oct 1945 -- 9:26 A.M.

Don Karnage was miserable. He hadn't slept. Hadn't ate. Hadn't had a moment's peace of mind in days. And now he sat alone in an empty room, chained to the table, awaiting the arrival of the Cuban emissaries who would escort him to Cuba. And there, with all likelihood, he would be executed. Cut down in his prime without ever even seeing his child. He buried his head in his hands in despair. He'd never see Scarlet again. Nor the Iron Vulture. Pirate Island. His crew. His plunder. Carlotta. Vincenzo. His parents. His sister.

He was wallowing neck-deep in self-pity by the time the door opened, and a jailer entered. "The Cuban officials are here," he said gruffly. Footsteps, as more people entered the room.

Karnage lifted his head and looked up, then froze in surprise.

There, dressed in a plain black suit and smirking like a snake with a mouse-shaped bulge in its midsection, stood Don Gonzalo Karnage. His father.

And beside him were his Uncle Joaquim and his cousin Miguel, each managing to look sufficiently stern. He caught a glimpse of a smile in his cousin's eyes.

He was so utterly flabbergasted that his voice was nowhere to be found. Don Gonzalo winked and stepped closer. "Este hombre no hable ninguna palabra del Espanol, verdad?" ["This man (the jailer) doesn't speak a word of Spanish, does he?"]

Karnage numbly shook his head.

"Bien." Keeping his tone formal and unfamiliar, he spoke in their native tongue while the jailer unlocked the prisoner's chains. "So, my son, you've gotten yourself into quite a mess, haven't you?"

He nodded.

"Well, you may not deserve it, but your mother and I decided to pull a few strings to help you. It's as I always said, Cuba may own Cabo Orgulloso on paper, but the Karnages rule it. We have influences in high places, don't forget. Anyway, keep your mouth shut and play along."

Karnage continued nodding, still completely unable to form a word in reply. The jailer disintangled his chains from the table and checked his handcuffs, then handed the keys to Don Gonzalo.

"Here you are, sir."

"Gracias," he said solemnly. "The government of Cuba thanks you," he said with careful, obviously-practiced pronounciation.

"Come." He roughly grabbed his son's arm and lead him out of the room. In a dream-like state of detatchment, the stunned prisoner obeyed.

16 Oct 1945 -- 2:47 P.M.

Kit Cloudkicker walked into Higher For Hire looking somewhat stunned. Rebecca looked up from her memo pad. "Something wrong, Kit?"

Baloo was sitting in the sofa chair reading the sports section of the newspaper. "You look like ya seen a ghost, Lil' Britches."

"I, uh...went to the police station, you know, for the reward money they had mentioned, and, I, uh--" He reached into his pocket and withdrew a check. "They gave me twenty thousand dollars." His shocked expression drained away, to be replaced by a giant smile. "With the money I've already got saved...I've got enough now to buy my own plane!"

"Ya mean it?" Baloo gasped.

"Yeah!"

Baloo cheered and rushed forward, picking him up for, quite literately, a bear hug.

"Oh, Kit, that's wonderful!" Rebecca said.

"What one are ya gonna get?"

"I've been looking around...like for the last ten years...and I want a Conwing L-19."

Baloo scratched his head. "They're up to 19 already?"

"Actually, they're up to 23, but I can't afford a brand-new one." Kit stared at the number of zeros on the check. "But I can afford a plane." He was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant, and his smile momentarily faded.

"What's wrong, Lil' Britches?"

"Nothin', Papa Bear. I just kinda wish-- Aw, nothin'. Never mind. I'm gonna go make some phone calls." He smiled again, stuffed the check back in his pocket and jogged upstairs.

Baloo watched him go. "I woulda thought he's be bouncing off the walls," he said, lowering an eyebrow. "I know I would be," he muttered.

Rebecca paused thoughtfully amid her paperwork. "Maybe it's the way he got that money."

"Helpin' to beat the Air Pirates? Heck, he did great! What's to be upset about?"

She shrugged.

Baloo lowered his voice and winked. "Now, I'm gonna go buy that kid a pair of fuzzy dice. Can't have a plane without fuzzy dice."

She smiled and sharpened a pencil. "All right, Baloo. Just be back in time for the five o'clock delivery."

He stopped in the doorway. "C'mon, Boss Lady, gimme a break! When was the last time I missed a delivery?"

"Yesterday."

"Besides that."

"Last Tuesday."

"Yeah, well...aw, fine. I'll be here," he said grudgingly, shutting the door behind him.

Rebecca shook her head fondly and resumed her paperwork. Upstairs, Kit dialed the phone number of the nearest airplane dealer.

Chapter 11
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