“Alright, Lucky,” Mad Dog whispered in detest as he approached the sailor. “What’s this grand plan ‘o yours?”

“Shh,” Lucky hushed, poking his head from the cover of the alley to survey the pirate blockade before them. “Let me think.”

“Oh, come on!” Mad Dog grimaced in annoyance. He had grown tired of the constant starting and stopping weave that his comrade had led him on. Lucky hadn’t divulged anything to them. Not a word. He had come to believe that there wasn’t a plan. “Ye need to start spilling, mate. Otherwise, I’m leaving. I was doing just fine hiding out in me little hole. It was a fine hole. A bloody good spot. I have no interest in fighting a rotten battle tonight! So, start spilling!”

“Shh!” Lucky screamed through a whisper. “They’re going to hear us if ye don’t pipe down.”

“They can’t even see us!” Mad Dog grumbled, pushing past the pot bellied sailor and prancing out into the open road. “Yoo-hoo! Ye filthy maggots! We’re over here!” Satisfied with the lack of attention, he twirled back to the group, waving his hands about in a dramatic display. “See?”

Bang!

With a scowl forming on his brow, Lucky’s meaty paw grabbed hold of his comrade’s collar, pulling him back into the shadows. He slammed the sailor to the wall, holding him firm with his wrist to the man’s throat. “Shh!”

Mad Dog’s face paled to a sheet as his body trembled against the wall. Each and every muscle twitched and shook as Lucky loosened his grip; leaving the rattled man to fend for himself so he could go back to scouring ahead.

“What’s the matter?” Boomin Bill asked, planting himself in front of the frazzled sailor.

“Shock has probably got ‘im,” Eight Toes explained, joining his mate in studying their friend.

“Is that so? Shock got ya, mate?”

Mad Dog answered with only a trembling lip. His mouth had dried to a barren desert. No words could be uttered even if he tried. He slid down the wall as his legs crumpled before him.

“Yeah, that’s shock alright.”

“How does one deal with shock?” Boomin Bill asked, turning to Eight Toes for an answer.

“Simple, mate. Ye slap ‘im.”

“Slap ‘im? What’s that supposed to do?”

“It knocks the sense right back in ‘im. I mean, look at ‘im! All sense has left that noggin of his. Ye give it a good slap, it’ll bring that sense right back.”

“Ye really think so?”

“Have I ever steered ye wrong ‘efore, Bill?”

“Well…”

“Just slap ‘im. What harm can it do?”

“Alright,” Bill said with a shrug. He lowered himself to eye level with the cowering sailor, raising his palm high to the heavens. He flexed his fingers wide, his lungs filling with air from his mouth as he readied himself to deliver the blow.

Smack!

Mad Dog flew to the side, his ear scraping the wall as he plummeted to the ground. His cheek throbbed to a beat red print. His eyes blinked once, a swift flick of his lids like that of a butterfly’s wings. Air fled to his lungs in a mad rush as he pushed himself to a ball on the darkened soil. “My hand!”

“No, mate, that’s yer head. Bill, I think ye knocked too much since in ‘im. Ye better give it another go and knock a bit of it out of ‘im.”

“Okay,” Bill shrugged once more, raising his hand for another blow.

“My hand!” Mad Dog screamed, throwing his hands to his face to block the incoming attack. A shimmer of moonlight filtered through the man’s paw, illuminating a small red cavity in the middle of his palm.

“Wow!” Eight Toes exclaimed! He pulled Bill away, rushing to the injured fellow in two large strides. His boney fingers pried the broken paw from his friend’s face, pulling it to his own to examine. “Yer, shot, mate!”

“M-m-my hand!” Mad Dog stuttered, watching his friend’s twig like neck cock to the side as his head twisted about the wound.

“Mate, that don’t look good!”

“Shush!” Lucky urged, turning to the rambunctious crew.

“But Lucky,” Eight Toes interjected, pulling the wounded hand into the light of the moon. He raised the stub of his finger behind the hole, poking it through the bloodied cave and wiggling it before his comrade. “I think Mad Dog needs some medical attention.”

“My hand!” Mad Dog cried, tears bubbling up in the corners of his eyes.

“We’ll all need medical attention if ye lot don’t shut up!” Lucky yanked the wounded hand from Eight Toe’s grip, slapping the scrawny sailor atop his head with it before tossing it back to swing at Mad Dog’s side. He pulled the group around him, forming a small circle in the shadows of the alley. “Now pay attention. There are only two men on the bank. We can take them. The shadow of the clouds will mask our voyage. We just HAVE to be quiet.”

“Quick question,” Bill interjected. “What do we do from the bank?”

“We will have to swim.”

“Uh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Eight Toes mumbled. “But we have a slight problem, Lucky.”

“What now?”

“Well, you see, I might not have the proper capabilities to, uh, make this underwater voyage.”

“What are ya blubberin’ on about, mate?” Boomin Bill asked, his face scrunching to a confudled glare.

“I’m not quite the floatable vessel that you lot think me to be.”

“Spit it out already.”

“I uh… I can’t swim,” Eight Toes replied through a reddened face.

“For fuck’s sake,” Lucky grumbled. “Fine. You will be our distraction.”

“Wait,” Eight Toes stammered. “Distraction?”

“Yes, mate. You will give our pirate friends over there a pretty little light show.”

“Bloody ‘ell.”