The Smuggler's Way, Part II

Grimm wondered if there were ever a more wretched hive of scum and villainy than Old Gritty's Legitimate Tavern 'n' Underground Fight Shack. It was the kind of place mothers warned their children not to wander near; the kind of place sailors joked and jawed about, jabbing each other in the ribs as they dared their mates to venture inside. It was an absolute garbage dump of a place. Grimm loved it the moment he stepped inside.

They'd had to cross to the far edge of the warehouse which, as far as Grimm and company could tell, was a perfectly legitimate operation, if somewhat ramshackle. It would have been easy to miss the entrance to Old Gritty's had one elected to count the salty sea dog perched on a stool near a door in the back among the usual seafaring rabble that populated the place. He was a big guy, a hound of some sort, all cuts and scrapes and bruises, a living scab of a man clad only in ragged trousers and a rawhide belt, through which was looped a thick, knotty shillelagh and an oversized keyring.

The sea dog -- Grimm realized this moniker was somewhat literal in the man's case -- sniffed the air as the bull and his friends approached. He spat into a spittoon that, by Grimm's reckoning, had not been cleaned in weeks; he wiped his jowls with the back of his arm and cleared his throat. "Who are ye, that trot straightaways to Old Gritty's?"

"I'm Grimm," said the bull, feeling like he was in his element for the first time in days. "We're expected."

"Avast, ye saucy madcap! If'n parley await thee, where be yer writ of passage? Eh? I survey ye! Report, sir! Where be thy writ? Hmm? Where be thy paper or stone?"

"Paper or... stone? Like... umm..." Grimm looked at his companions. "Wait, are you asking me to bribe you?"

"Triton's beard, ye mountebank! Do ye see an outstretched hand before ye? Eh? A wanting palm? Nay! I need yer writ!"

"I think they're supposed to give you some kind of proof you're allowed in," Joy whispered.

Grimm nodded. "Uh -- Marcella?"

Marcella rocked on her heels. "I literally spoke to my contact a few minutes ago, and she said we could come in." She puffed out her cheek. "C'mon, man, you should remember me! I just talked to you!"

"Aye, I was weak to fall to a siren's spell! How do I know yer the selfsame marsupial without a writ?" The bouncer waved them off. "Bah! Bah, I say! Hie thee gone, callipygean temptress!" He spit into the rusted urn.

Grimm raised an eyebrow. "Umm. You could just let us in --"

"Hie thee gone, ye great beast!" He turned his bloodshot eye toward Joy. "Ye too, ye scrimshawed wench!"

Marcella sighed. "This is ridiculous. My contact didn't give me anything to let me back in. What are we gonna do?"

Joy tapped her foot. "I'm getting annoyed."

"That's unlike you."

"Well --"

Grimm tapped his chin. "I've got it!" He turned to the bouncer. "Hey, buddy. Wanna fight?"

Joy and Marcella rolled their eyes in unison.

The bouncer guffawed, a great squawking sound that was not dissimilar to a knife being sharpened. "Look at ye, ye great bloated man-o'-war! Ye must needs be moon-touched! Call me Lump, the great golden scrapper of the Houndstooth Navy! And ye, a wee bairn playing at scrappin'? Away ye to the field and pick up yer hoe --" The rest of his insulting tirade was swallowed up by a sudden squeak as Joy grabbed his crotch and squeezed.

"Listen up, you big, dumb cliche. You're going to shut up, let us in, and you're not going to tell a soul. Got it?"

The bouncer -- Lump, apparently -- groaned. "H-hark! I beg thee --"

Joy twisted harder.

Grimm's eyes watered in sympathy for the bouncer's predicament. Then he remembered that the big bastard deserved it, so he stopped feeling so bad. "You better do what she says," he said, grinning. "If you're at all attached to your balls."

"U-unhand me jacobs, ye maniacal harpy!"

Joy twisted again, squeezing so hard the bouncer looked liable to pass out. "Let. Us. In."

"Aye! Aye! Yer will be done!"

Joy released Lump's testicles. He collapsed onto his stool and sat there, panting like the dog he was, holding his wounded crotch with his meaty paw. He grabbed his keyring and tore it from his belt-loop before running away, weeping like a child with his hands between his legs.

Joy happily received the keyring. "Thanks!" She handed it to Grimm. "I think we're good now."

"Th-thanks," Grimm said, leading the charge downstairs. "That was --"

"Amazin', Joy!" Marcella grinned. "I thought you were gonna rip that mook's peaches off with one twist!"

Joy giggled. "Sorry! I guess I have anger issues I need to work through."

"Well, they really helped us out," Grimm said, flashing his bovine companion a smirk before descending the stairs. "Keep on your toes. We don't know what kind of trouble might await us... then again, what am I saying? You're a bandit --" he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Joy -- "you're an assassin" -- Marcella -- "and I'm fucking huge. And awesome. We'll be fine."

The sign above the door read OLD GRITTY'S TAVERN N FIGHT SHACK. Someone had scrawled LEGITIMATE before TAVERN and UNDERGROUND before FIGHT in what appeared to be crayon. "Helpful," Joy mused, as they stepped over the threshold.

"See? It ain't so bad," said Marcella, as an unconscious pig came crashing against the wall inches from her head. "'s got character."

The place was an absolute wreck. Three separate fights had already broken out, with a fourth and possibly fifth on the way. Pirates, sailors, every scabrous, roughnecked freak one could imagine, tumbling and grappling with one another with no regard for the safety of the other patrons.

Grimm watched a hulking tiger bounce a coyote's head off the bar, then toss him over it; the barman merely stepped out of the way and resumed cleaning a mug. A chip-toothed crocodile kicked a yak square in the balls, only to then be wrestled into a headlock and slammed into a support beam; only feet away a scrappy orangutan was dragging a wild-eyed marten across a billiards table.

"Huh," Joy said simply, watching with vague admiration as an athletic leopard woman hoisted a chubby ram onto a far table and mounted him. "Oh, my," the cow murmured, giggling, as the leopard lowered herself onto the ram's rod.

"Nice!" Marcella pounded her fist into her open palm as a fight broke out between two bears over a spilled beer. "What a place!"

"Reminds me of McMorrigan's," Grimm and Joy said in unison. They looked at each other and grinned.

"So where's this contact of yours?" Grimm asked, folding his arms across his broad chest. "He's not one of these guys, is he? 'Cause if he is, I don't think we'll be talking for a while." He gestured with his head toward the crocodile, who was sprawled unconscious at the yak's feet.

"In the back," Marcella said, pointing toward the far wall. There was an alcove with a door in the far corner of the room; Grimm noticed that the brawlers appeared to steer clear of the general vicinity of the door.

"Want a beer first?" Grimm asked, licking his lips, suddenly thirsty.

"Yes, please!" Joy was already climbing onto a bar stool. Grimm and Marcella joined her at the bar. She slapped the counter. "Three beers!"

"Coming up!" The barman was completely at odds with the riff-raff that patronized the bar. Whereas his customers were completely unwashed, filthy mongrels, the barman wore a smartly pressed shirt, clean trousers, and had clearly bathed before his shift. He was a reptile, one of the few Grimm had seen in a while -- they usually stuck to their own lands -- with grey scales, a dark black beard, and a long, pointed tail that flicked mildly behind him. His glasses gave him the appearance of a kindly librarian or accountant.

The barman quickly and efficiently poured the beers and served them to the trio. "Three beers," he said with a nod and a smile, "for our bovine friends and -- say, haven't I seen you before?"

Marcella nodded. "Was in here a while ago, shug. Here to talk to Cap'n Black."

"Ah, yes, Captain Black. Well, you're welcome to take the back entrance any time you'd like. But first, please enjoy a frosty beverage, courtesy of Old Gritty's Legitimate Tavern and Underground Fight Shack."

"Where exactly is this... 'Fight Shack?'" Grimm asked. "It's not that, is it?" He gestured toward the impromptu wrestling ring the rowdy patrons had formed about six feet from the bar.

"No, sir!" The barman laughed. "The Fight Shack is located in the back, by Captain Black's lodgings. It's currently booked for a private event, which is why our clientele have elected to... take out their aggression on the tavern floor." He looked dispassionately at the brawling patrons.

"Who is Captain Black?" asked Joy. She took a big swig of beer, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm after. It suddenly occurred to Grimm that, despite Joy's sensitivity and sweetness, she was still a bandit, still as rough-and-tumble as anyone he could meet.

"Only the scourge of the seven seas, madam!"

"So we're about to meet a famous pirate?"

"Yep!" Marcella grinned. "Excited?"

"I've met plenty of pirates," Grimm grumbled. "They're not so great."

"Jealous?" Joy giggled.

Grimm scrunched up his face. "I just think pirates are... overrated, that's all."

Joy and Marcella were both giggling now. "Somebody's jealous," Joy teased, bumping Grimm with her mug. "I'm sure you'll be just as famous as Captain Black one day."

Grimm rolled his eyes. "Whatever. We ready?"

They finished their beers, left some coins on the counter, and headed toward the back of the tavern. They left the fighting behind and headed through the door, down another (short) flight of stairs.

"This way," Marcella said, leading them past a big gate that, judging from the huge circular room beyond, must have been the entrance to the "Fight Shack." The trio walked straight until they came upon a small, unassuming door. "This is the Captain's quarters." She knocked.

"Who is it?!" roared a voice from the other side of the door.

"Marcella. The kangaroo. From earlier?"

"Ain't no such thing as a kangaroo!"

Marcella sucked in a breath. "I'm here to see the Captain," she said, tempering her withering disdain.

There was silence on the other side of the door for a few moments. Then: "Well, come on in, y'blasted fictional beast!" The door swung open.

Marcella led them inside.

The doorman, an unfortunate wretch of a toad standing a full foot-and-a-half shorter than Grimm, made a sour face as the trio walked in. He scratched his arm, belched, and closed the door behind them.

The room was in sharp contrast to the stale-smelling sty behind them. The floors were freshly polished, the walls free of cobwebs and stains, the sconces newly lit; there didn't appear to be a dirty surface in the whole room. The fact that it was absolutely filled with treasure didn't hurt, either.

The toad wasn't alone. At last six more pirates were busy moving about the room, carefully stacking coins, studying heaps of exotic jewelry, folding maps and atlases into scrolls. Grimm could not discern a theme for the races represented, coming to the conclusion that this was a real rag-tag operation.

"Cap'n'll see you now," said a portly rhino. "This way."

They followed the pirate to a room off to the side. He opened the door and ushered them inside.

Grimm's eyes went wide. The Captain was not what he expected.