Jack had been flipping through what was called a magazine, trying to keep up with the going-on's in this world. It had news in the title, after all, so it had to be informative. He didn't exactly understand everything, as the 17th century lacked hybrid cars, iPods, and global warming, but he caught on enough.
It was on page 13 that the nasty black spot in Jack's palm started to surface and the pirate looked at it horrified. Hadn't they gotten past the spot? "Apparently not," he grumbled to himself, heaving his body up with a sigh and stepping out into the rain filled streets to meander towards Jones' hideout. Only, he actually called on one of those scary metal beasties and made it take him to Venice Beach. The driver kept eying Jack's choice in clothing, but the man was too nervous to pay him much mind. What did Davy want now?
No sooner had Jack stepped out of the cab (and pay the driver) did it speed off, leaving him to wait for his caller.