Edwin Jarvis
“Well, now, this is all kinds of exciting, isn’t it?” Howard whispered, delighted. “I haven’t had so much fun since the war.”
Jarvis closed his eyes for a moment. “I assure you, sir,” he responded dryly, “this is nothing like the war.” He was careful to keep his voice low. The whole point of them going in a separate direction was to be noticed, but only after they had gained sufficient distance from Chief Sousa and Miss Carter. If Mr. Stark kept talking, they’d never manage to stay hidden for that long.
Howard leaned past the edge of a large red shipping container, then yelped when his hand pressed against the hot metal. Twisting back, his elbow struck the container’s side with a loud bang.
“Who’s there?!” came the surprised shout, and Jarvis fought off the beginnings of a headache as two large men came around the corner, glaring at them and cracking their knuckles.
“Why, hello there, fellas!” Stark greeted, giving them his most charming smile. Sadly, while it might work to woo the ladies, these men were obviously not cultured or from polite society. Jarvis yanked his employer back by his suit jacket right before he would’ve ended up with a broken nose.
“I’m terribly sorry, sirs,” he apologized, “we appear to be lost. I don’t suppose you could direct us to the marina?” He barely managed to stumble backwards before he got his head bashed in. Well, he supposed that answered that question.
Swinging his own fist, he managed to clip one of the men upside the head. He resisted the urge to apologize – or gloat, and instead dodged around him, putting the other man between himself and the guy’s friend.
“Sir, I suggest we make a run for it,” he said, grabbing Howard, who was standing up from where he’d apparently fallen when the other guy had hit him. His cheek was already bruising.
“Agreed,” he managed, then took off, Jarvis close on his heels. The men chased after them, shouting into their radios.
Jarvis dove between two containers, his feet slipping in water and something far less pleasant, but he managed to stay on his feet and keep running. Howard cursed behind him. “I just had these shoes polished,” he complained.
“Regrettable, I’m sure,” Jarvis replied, wincing as he got a stitch in his side. The pounding of feet behind him kept him moving. “I think maybe we should head back for the car,” he suggested.
Howard turned a corner and skidded to a stop, then pulled out a modified handgun. He didn’t even bother to aim, just pointed it down the alleyway. A brilliant red light shot out of it, and men screamed, crashing into each other and tripping over their own feet as they struggled to get away. “So that’s what that does,” Howard said after a moment, peering around the corner. Jarvis didn’t look; he didn’t want to know. “Ah, now would be a good time to make our way back to the car,” Howard said next.
Jarvis sighed quietly; so not dead then. Unconscious, perhaps, but not dead. Straightening up, he smoothed out his jacket as best as he could.
“I couldn’t agree more, sir.”