Indiana Jones and the Lost Painting

Chapter 1

Bedford, Connecticut

October 20th, 1982

Indy's Oldsmobile Cutlass edged its way onto the freeway. With such tight traffic, no one was particularly eager to let anyone else on the road, as if one more car would further grind movement to a halt. But Indy didn't have time to wait behind other cars. He had barely a half hour before the start of tonight's game, the final battle between the Cardinals and the Brewers.

The other drivers on the road didn't take kindly to Indy's driving as he weaved his way between cars pushing his way into different lanes to wherever the currents of traffic flowed best. The owner of a Trans Am even rolled down his window to yell, "You'll get yourself killed old man!" But Indy wasn't too worried about a little fender bender. He had been through worse.

Over the years, friends had encouraged him to drive less, let others take trips for him. They worried about his right eye, which no longer worked and was covered in a patch. As a rejoinder, he claimed that if the state of Connecticut saw fit to grant him a license even with his limited field of vision, then they shouldn't worry.

As traffic started to clear, he noticed a car hugging his rear bumper. It was the Trans Am. Clearly the man was upset enough to tailgate the driver who had cut him off. Even as Indy took his exit, the Trans Am was right behind him and uncomfortably close. Indy figured that the man would drift away to his own destination as their paths diverged.

But as he pulled his Cutlass into the parking lot of Stiff-Drink-Liquors, the Trans Am followed. There were stranger coincidences, though.

It wasn't until the man, face beet-red under a large pair of sunglasses and an unruly mustache, marched towards Indy that he realized he was in the middle of a road rage incident. "You could have killed someone, grandpa! They should take your goddamn license away, you one-eyed bastard. You shouldn't be driving if you have to wear an eyepatch." Before the man could get too close, Indy had swung his car door open clipping the assailant in the knees. With the door between them, he sent a quick jab right into the man's nose.

The man recovered quickly, fueled no doubt by his anger, and managed to reach out to Indy grabbing him by his lapels. Before he could take a swing, though, he was interrupted by a third party.

"By George, vat in ze vorld are you doing," an elderly lady yelled out, stopping the assailant cold. She had a thick Eastern European accent. "Zis man ees twice your age. And you're trying to beats him up? Surely, your mother taught you betta."

"This doesn't concern you, woman," the assailant said.

"It sure does. Us old people haz to stick together."

Now it was time for Indy to try and keep her from injecting herself into the scuffle. "Thank you, ma'am, but it's not necessary." He told himself that he was looking out for this woman, making sure she didn't come to any harm, but in truth, he didn't like the idea of this old lady, with her hunched shoulders and headscarf, coming to his aid.

The woman shuffled over next to Indy. "And if you're going to beats up him, then you haz to beats up me too!"

The man looked back and forth between the two elderly figures before deciding it just wasn't worth the trouble. "You better get off the road before you kill someone," he said to Indy as a parting shot.

"Ze nerve of people like dat. I swear to you, it vasn't always like dis. I've lived in dis country for over forty years, and in ze last couple of years, vee lost zomething."