Mutt Williams and the Wrath of the Golden Goddess

Chapter 1: The Quest Begins - Mutt

Mutt Williams roared through the narrow streets of Dhaka, his Harley skirting every blanket, basket, and cart with ease. He grumbled to himself, annoyed at his father. There he’d been, just two days before, laying on a beach in Fiji, flirting with a pretty island girl, drinking pineapple rum from a little glass with a pink umbrella, when some skinny little egghead had run up waving a manila folder. “Mr. Jones!” he’d cried, gasping in the heat. He’d stopped next to Mutt’s lounge chair and bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. “Mr. Jones, sir,” he panted, “I have - “

“The name’s Mutt,” Mutt had snapped at the young man. “Mutt Williams, ya got that? Mr. Jones is my dad. Kind of,” he’d added with a shrug. “Anyway, whaddaya want?”

“I’ve an urgent message for you from your father!” the man had said, holding the envelope.

Mutt had sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Can’t you just tell him you never managed to find me?” he asked. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?” He waved his hand in the direction of the bronzed beauty serving drinks.

“He said you might say that,” the man said, straightening up. “He told me to tell you, ‘If you come help me, I’ll introduce you to a pretty redhead’.”

“He said that?” Mutt asked, not sure if he should believe it.

“His exact words, sir,” the young man had replied.

And so, Mutt had taken the envelope, which contained nothing more than a plane ticket to Bangladesh. -Typical Indy-, Mutt thought to himself. -Vague and mysterious at the most inopportune moments.-

Mutt stopped at a small hut selling curry. “Hey,” he called to the owner. “You ever heard of Nadir Mazatlan?” He watched their faces stare at him, completely blank. It took him a moment to realize why. Mutt mentally slapped himself, then repeated the question, this time in Hindi.

“Oh, yes,” the owner replied, also in Hindi. “He lives in the alley off of Black Crow Way.”

“Ah,” Mutt nodded knowingly. Then, “And which street is that, exactly?”

The man smiled, seeming to take pity on him. “Two streets to the left. The alley is across from an opium house.”

“Thanks,” Mutt said gratefully, accidentally switching back to English. The man seemed to understand, however, and dismissed him with a wave and a grin.

After several failed attempts, Mutt managed to find the house. He felt silly for not having seen it before. It was plain and small by American standards, but downright opulent for the slums of Dhaka. He got off his bike and wheeled it up to the door. The knocker was in the shape of Ganesh. He banged the trunk against the door, then waited. Several moments passed. Then, a minute. Then two. He knocked again, harder this time. Another few minutes passed. Mutt sighed, then propped his bike against the door. He took a few steps back, and, shielding his eyes against the sun, called, “Dad!?! Professor Mazatlan!?! Anybody home!?!” He walked back up to the door. “Anybody?” he repeated, his voice low. Mutt sighed again. “Well, what the hell…?” he muttered.

He knocked a third time. He waited ten seconds, then tried the handle. It was unlocked. Mutt glanced around, but the people in the streets were so busy with their own errands that no one was watching him. He went back to his bike. He unzipped the bag on the back, pulling out a heavy chain and padlock. He wrapped the chain across and through his bike, making it completely immobile. Then, he locked it, and slipped the key onto a chain around his neck. Finally, he went back to the door and, opening it slightly, slipped inside.

Mutt shut the door behind him, and took a few tentative steps in. The floor was covered in thick, dark red carpet, for which Mutt was grateful. He crept forward, looking around nervously. He was trying to tell himself that he’d been invited, that he wasn’t *really* breaking in. Meeting his dad had made him want to be less of a delinquent, and he was trying to give up some of his old ways. But some habits were hard to break, and if the door had been locked, Mutt wasn’t positive he wouldn’t have just got out his lock picks and remedied the problem.

He walked past another Ganesh figure, this one made of green-veined white marble. It was on a stand of mahogany, and at it’s feet were strewn dried flowers and candles in varying degrees of use. It wasn’t just decoration, then, it was an altar. “Cool,” Mutt said, then winced at how his voice echoed from the stone walls. He looked around and realized he was still in the foyer. He scoffed at himself. “Chicken,” he muttered, the strode forward.

Just as he approached the door to the hall, it swung open, revealing his father and a very tall Indian man.

Mutt jumped back, his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, I swear, I wasn’t touching anything!” he exclaimed.

Henry “Indiana” Jones, Jr. laughed at his son’s fright. “We heard you knocking, kid, but we were in the basement.” He clamped his hand on Mutt’s shoulder, who lowered his hands, looking slightly embarrassed. “Son, this is Professor Nadir Mazatlan. Nadir, this is my son Henry Jones, III.”

“It’s Mutt,” the boy said, shaking the Professor’s hand. “Mutt Williams.”

“Williams?” Dr. Mazatlan asked in English, his accent lilting.

“It’s a long story, Nadir,” Indy said with a wink. “Come on, let’s get the kid up to speed.”

Mutt followed them down the hall. “So, what did you need me for, Dad?” Mutt asked, striding quickly, trying to keep up with the taller men. “I mean, you called me away form some important stuff.”

“Important?” Indy chuckled, glancing back at him. “Watching island girls bend over to serve you cheap rum is important?”

Mutt blushed, and frowned. “Hey, *you* told me to go to Fiji.”

“Yes, to study the native culture, NOT the native party scene.”

“Whatever,” Mutt said, shrugging. “Anyway, you called me away from the place you told me to go, AND you said something about a redhead, who I have yet to see.”

They arrived at the door to the basement. “Well, then, son, you’re in luck,” Indy said with a mischievous smile. “She’s right in here.”

The door opened, and Mutt followed his dad down the stairs. The basement, it turned out, was an extensive library, and at the center, bent over some books on a large table, stood a young woman with flaming red hair.

Mutt froze. The girl was about his age, wearing a tight pencil skirt and white Oxford shirt, the top two buttons undone. Her hair was the deepest, richest red he’d ever seen, and tumbled down her shoulders in shining waves.

“Lillith,” Indy said. The girl straighter, and Mutt saw eyes of a cat-like green behind thin, rectangular glasses. “Lillith, this is my son.”

Indy nudged Mutt, who stumbled forward and held out his hand. “Hi,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m Mutt Williams.”

“Mutt,” she said slowly, her voice showing distaste. She took his hand with obvious reluctance. “I’m Lillith Brody.”

“Brody?” Mutt turned to his dad.

“She’s Marcus’s daughter,” Indy said.

“With who?” Mutt asked. “I mean, I thought Marcus never married.”

“With my mother,” Lillith said, taking a few steps forward. “She was a lounge singer from Rio.”

“Ah.” Mutt put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Lillith’s look of disdain was making him nervous and fidgety. “So…” he continued, looking around, “anyone want to tell me what I’m doing here?”

“Well,” Lillith began, turning back to the books on the table, “as you may know, my father passed away several years ago. His will has since spent those years in probate, as we apparently have several relatives we’ve never heard of.” Her voice was wry, and a frown creased her otherwise perfect forehead. “His will was only recently authenticated. He, of course, left everything to me.”

“Of course,” Mutt agreed quickly. “Go on.”

She gave him a commiserating look, then continued, “When I began going through my father’s things, I found a journal.” She held up a small, worn lather book. “What we found in it was very interesting.”

“What’dya find?” Mutt asked, his interest piqued.

“A map,” Indy said. “What looks like, for lack of better words, a treasure map.”

“To what?”

Nadir stepped forward. “To the Golden Goddess.”

“Really?” Mutt asked. “I’ve heard of that. Supposed to be a statue of Kali, right? Made of pure gold? By Tibetan monks, if I’m not mistaken.”

Indy laughed. “That’s right.”

“But I thought that was just a myth,” Mutt said. “I mean, it’s just like the supposed ‘Treasure of the Founders’, it doesn’t exist.”

“Well, Marcus thought it does,” Indy said, “and he left explicit instructions on how to find it.”

“Kay,” Mutt said slowly, “well, that’s cool and all, but I’m still not seeing where I fit in.”

“Look, kid,” Indy said, stepping forward, “I’m too old for this tomb-raider crap. It’s time for the next generation to take over. That’d be you.”

“Whoa, wait a second,” Mutt said. He took a step back, raising his hands. “You want me to go to Tibet on some wild goddess chase? No way, old man, I got much better things to do.”

“Yeah?” Indy asked. “Like what?”

“Well, like… fixin’ my bike, and… and other people’s bikes. And - “

Indy interrupted him. “I want Lillith to go with you.”

Mutt dropped his hands, and looked over at the girl. She glared at him and crossed her arms, emphasizing those undone buttons. He looked back at his dad, who was smiling slightly. “I hate you,” Mutt said. “I hate you so much.”

“Whaddaya say, junior?” Indy slung an arm over Mutt’s shoulders and gripped him tight.

“I say ‘Don’t call me junior’ is what I say,” Mutt replied, pulling away from Indy.

Lillith sighed. “I told you, Dr. Jones, I can go by myself.”

“You cannot go by yourself, Lily, your father would come back from the dead just to take me with him.” Indy turned to Mutt. “Come on, kid, this is your shot. Remember, last year, you asked me for a quest?”

“Well, yeah, but - “

“Well, now you’ve got one.” Indy took his off his brown fedora, and placed it on Mutt’s head. “Make me proud kid.”

Mutt glared at his father from under the hat’s brim. “I can’t even express my hatred for you right now.”

Indy just laughed.

*************


Hey, guys, chapter 2 is almost done, I hope you like it!! Please review!!