DISCLAIMER: I do not own Black Lagoon, it's characters, locations, yadda yadda. I do however own all characters, locations, yadda yadda that are not part of the Black Lagoon universe. So if you don't recognise it, chances are I own it.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way :)
This is a story I wrote based on the first two episodes of the anime in order to flesh out a character (namely Laguna) for a novel I was going to write for my University course. At the moment that novel isn't going anywhere, but I did like this story, so I decided to start up a fanfiction account and upload it to see what other thought of Laguna and his setting. If people like this story, then I may write up other episodes, but for now, I hope you enjoy what I've already written.

Note: This story is going to assume the first episode of Black Lagoon happened late 1990, possibly early 1991. This is primarily based on the the date on Diego Lovelace's tombstone (1991) and the mention that his death occured last October as of the first apparence of the Lagoon Company crew in the manga's El Baile de la muerte arc. Revy also mentioned Rock's been with the crew for a year as of the Greenback Jane arc. Also assuming that other events were going on in Roanapur at the time of Diego Lovelace's death (I'd guess around the time of the Goat, Jihad, Rock'N Roll arc in the Manga canon, or the Greenback Jane arc of the anime.) I could be wrong of course, but for now this is the time I've set for it.

#1
THE JOB

"So what's the job?"

"Hush. Vait moment. I vont to finish ice cream."

I regarded my companion from behind tinted shades, before sighing and returning my gaze to the ocean beyond.

Like most of the denizens of Esperanza's innards, the man couldn't have looked more out of place here, sitting with me outside one of the many beach side ice-cream parlours, licking messily at the ninety-nine cent vanilla cone and ignoring the uneasy stares of his fellow patrons.

It might have been almost comical, watching this heavy set man with bulging muscles, slightly tanned skin and skinhead hairstyle devour the helpless ice-cream, drops of vanilla dripping onto his shabby Hawaiian shirt and shorts. It would have been comical…until you noticed the handgrip of a handgun poking out of his pants.

I don't doubt for a moment a few strange looks were sent my own way, curious eyes taking in a pale, clean shaven man with neat dark hair and dressed in a black buttoned down suit and tie, grey eyes watching the world from behind tinted specs. I ignored them.

"Okay. I am done," it almost sounded like a grand announcement as my companion popped the last of the cone into his mouth and began sucking at his ice cream covered fingers one by one. "I have job for you. From Bratva."

I'd figured it was the Russian Mafia today. The mook's heavy accent and broken English had told me that much.

"It's been pretty quiet recently," I regarded him quietly as the Ruskie retrieved a box of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, "What needs cleaning up?"

Esperanza was a small city; taking up an entire island all of its own just off the coast of Colombia. Once dreamed by Spanish settlers to be a haven from the laws set down in their lands and that of the New World, it was a now a metropolis of secrets and pacts. A place where the Russian Bratva, Italian Mafia and Colombian Cartel vied for control of the city's innards while her actual government turned a blind eye, keeping a thriving tourist industry towards the shining façade that was the outer ring. Those that lived here knew where the line was, the place where the shiny happy place that was Neuvo Esperanza made way for the darker shades of Ninguna Esperanza. It was an aptly named place of no hope, and the city council knew better than to tread there, just as the leaders of the gangs knew it was worth the bribery to stay out of the lands of new hope.

But sometimes, underlings from either side would begin to think they knew better. Occasionally a mob war would erupt just that little bit too close to the edges of the ring, near enough for the gunshots to be heard over the sound of children's laughter and the beachside arcade machines. On the other hand, a cop too good for his paycheque might suddenly decide to try and expunge the grim of the corrupted from this city. And sometimes someone just needed reminding that things had to be kept on a roughly even front.

Which is where I would usually come in. I'm normally a…garbage man of sorts. I clean up the mess of the Ninguna side when it spills into the sunlight, and stop those of the Neuvo side from trying to push back the dirt. I'm good at my job; I've taken out more then a few share of idiots from each side of this four way balancing act. It's probably one of the reasons I've managed to survive this long.

But lately, things had been…quiet. Mostly due to the Chekov incident. Everyone was still licking their wounds and trying to rebuild their lines and miniature empires. A peace such as this was refreshing I guess, but bad for my business all the same.

"No clean-up," the Russian shook his head as he lit up. "Transport work. More of a babysit."

"Then I think you have the wrong man," I slowly got to my feet, "I'm not much of a babysitter…"

"Please, sit," my companion indicated to the chair I'd vacated. "Please. Ve understand vork been lax lately. Ve need outsider. Please, sit."

A skinhead with etiquette. Just when I thought this city couldn't surprise me anymore. Nonetheless I remained standing, watching as the Ruskie went back to his cigarette.

"Tell me what the job is."

"You take job?"

"I think about it."

He seemed vaguely insulted as I mimicked his speech pattern, but he shrugged as I sat back down on the scuffed metal chair.

"Like I say, baby-sit job," he paused for a moment to take another drag, his eyes following a young pair of buxom teens in strips of cloth that apparently was to be taken for swimsuits as they almost seemed to bounce by. "Ve need outsider. Not from Bratva. Can't know. Thought of you."

"So what's the job?" My patience was wearing thin.

"Boss heard rumours of another branch. Hotel Moscow. You know Roanapur yes? Make Esperanza look like fucking Shangri-La."

I closed my eyes. I'd heard of Roanapur of course; a shit hole along the coast of Thailand near the entrance to the gulf. Like the Ruskie said, things might be bad in Esperanza, but that place took it to a whole new level. There were no garbage men like me there. There was no need. The only way you could fix Roanapur was if you nuked the place. Not that anyone ever would, even if they could get their hands on a city buster. It was a capital of crime, something for the scum of the Earth to aspire to, such scum including those that wallowed in the depths of Ninguna Esperanza.

It was however, no place for me. I turned back to the ocean.

"What about it?"

"Problem is Hotel Moscow Boss. Bitch named Balalaika. Too big for boots if you get drift."

"Do you want me to…"

"No, nothing so stupid," the Ruskie grunted, somewhere between a laugh and a choke on his own smoke. "Bitch Balalaika ex-military. Paratrooper. You get nowhere near her. Not even kilometre. No, Boss vont you to slow her down. Baby-sit. Transport."

"Like I said, I'm not a damn courier," I scowled slightly, my tone sharp. "You can tell Varenkov if he wants a mess cleaned up, that's fine, but I'm not one of his fucking lapdogs. If he wants an outsider to go halfway across the world just because some bitch is getting his panties in a twist, I'm sure the Cartel or Mafia would gladly lend him a mook…."

"But times are hard no?" the Ruskie smirked, eyeing me, "Been quiet since Chekov. Been quiet here. Been quiet in Ninguna. No good business yes? Might be vhile before fucker toes the line again."

I smirked and turned my gaze to lock with his over the rim of my glasses, "It might be you."

"HA!" several children at the nearby tables jumped at my companion's short laugh. "Boss pay me enough to keep trap shut and follow orders. Pay you more though, if you take job."

I watched him carefully.

"How much?"

"Six grand now, if you take job. Ten more if you get job done. Four more still if you do something special."

"Twenty grand huh?" I smiled slightly. "I think I might like this Balalaika lady. Anyone that gets Varenkov to dish out that much cash can't be all bad."

"Peh. She too big for boots, Boss says. Making us look bad, most because of Chekov. This job slow her down a bit."

"You still haven't told me exactly what this job is about."

The Ruskie took one last drag from his cigarette, before tossing it out into the street before us. He then proceeded to grab another from his box with his yellowing teeth.

"Like I say. Baby-sit job. Boss has contact. Says bitch Balalaika planning to steal something. Disk from big company in Japan, Asahi Industries. No know vhat on the disk though. Ve vont you to make sure disk stays away from bitch Balalaika. Either get it to destination or destroy it. For bonus though, get it to Boss. Big bucks made there yes?"

I frowned at him, folding my arms across my chest.

"I'm not fond of travelling away from here. I don't like getting away from this city."

"Vhat, you think things fall apart without you?" the Ruskie laughed coldly as I adjusted the buttons of my suit. "There more garbage men, garbage man. You no special. You vone in thousand other. You lucky Boss give you job. Vhat makes you think you special…"

His voice died as I pulled a of sidearm from it's holster hidden under my suit jacket, his face visibly paling as he found himself looking down the barrel.

The parlour went silent.

"Walther P88 Custom." my face was set, eyes watching my companion over the rims of my shades, "semiautomatic, fifteen round magazine. A little heavy maybe and the slide stop can be a bitch sometimes, but still amazingly accurate. Of course at this range I don't think it's much of an issue."

"H-hey…no so hasty…" the Ruskie swallowed thickly. "I kid, yes? Kid! You good at job! Superb! Best in business!"

My scowl darkened. This was one of those aforementioned idiots that might one day toe the line between Neuvo and Ninguna. I might do myself a favour if I pulled the trigger right now.

That said…

"Um…excuse me sir?"

I glanced back into the open parlour, taking in the hesitant teen behind us, his hands wringing the apron he wore over his pure white uniform.
"Um…Firearms aren't permitted on the boardwalk, I'm…going to have to ask you to leave. Also, you should know it's illegal to smoke on these premises, so it might be best if your friend also left," He winced heavily as I stared him down, his eyes darting to the nearby tables. "Also, you're scaring our customers."

I followed his eyesight to the table behind the Ruskie, where a family of four stared wide-eyed at the scene before them, the mother pulling her young son a little closer under my gaze.

I paused for a moment more, before smiling quietly and returning the pistol to its holster. I wasn't about to discharge a weapon in broad daylight anyway. The paperwork alone would be a nightmare. Besides, I wasn't going to get paid if I offed the Ruskie here and now. Bullets aren't free after all.

"Tell Varenkov if he can get me in, I'll do the damn job," I rose from my chair, my companion sighing in relief as his entire form visibly sagged. "But I'm not his lackey, understand? I'm not adding babysitting to the list of things I do around here."

"Yes, yes. I understand." the Ruskie nodded vigorously. "I tell Boss. You go to Port tomorrow, eleven sharp. Seaplane vill vait for you there. More information there."

"Good. Now get out of here."

I smiled as I watched the heavy man scramble to his feet and make a dash down the road. It was nice when all it took to get a mook under control was the threat of a bullet through the skull.

I turned to the young vendor, still rooted to the spot, still wringing his apron madly. Beside him, the family of four were quickly finishing their ice creams and making a quick escape in the opposite direction of the Ruskie.

"You been here long?"

"Um…" the teen recoiled slightly, "Around three months I think. M-my Uncle runs this place and…"

His voice faded slightly as I reached into my jacket, his face visibly paling until I withdrew…my wallet.

"Sorry for the trouble," I pushed several fifty dollar bills into his surprised hand, "and welcome to Esperanza."

The Chekov Incident was the integral plot point of the original novel. As such, it will only be referenced, but not ever explained (In case I do actually get the damn thing published.)

Laguna's primary weapons of choice are duel Walther P88 Customs. The Walther P88 was a semi-automatic high capacity military and law enforcementpistol that was in production from 1988 to 1996, when it was replaced by the Walther P88 Compact. It featured a double stacked magazine and chambered 9x19mm Parabellum rounds and also used a unique combination ambidexterous decocker and slide release. One major setback of the P88 was the weapon's slide stop; It was thought to be hard to reach and manipulate, requiring the user to shift the gun in hand to operate (although this is according to wikipedia not personal experience). Laguna's P88s have been customised to get around this, although the problem isn't completly solved, and he is going primarily by trail and error. Both the P88 and P88 Combat are fully ambidextrous.

I hope that was informative. If I decide to make this a full series, I may transfer such info to my author profile.

I hope you enjoyed it so far. With any luck, the next chapter will be out same time next week.

Thanks for reading. Any reviews or feedback (short of flames because those are just pointless.) are always helpful.

DKD