Author's Note:
Hi there Dwellers of the Twilight,
It's been in my heart to write a Black Lagoon Fan Fiction since I read El Baile Del Muerte. I started by figuring out the timeline. Here's what I came up with:
November 1993: Chang and Balalaika fateful duel.
1994: Benny Joins the Lagoon company
Winter 1996: "Black Lagoon" and "Ring-Ding Ship Chase"
Spring 1996: "Rasta Blasta", "Das Wieder Erstehen Des Adlers", and "Calm down two men" events.
Summer 1996: Bloodsport Fairy tale events (In that part of the world, they have higher precipitations in May through October)
Autumn 1996: Goat, Jihad and Rock'N Roll events
Winter 1997: Fujiyama Gangsta Paradise
Spring 1997: Greenback Jane events
Summer 1997: El Baile Del Muerte events (Volume 6: Diego Lovelace's gravestone shows he died on August 1996)
Autumn 1997: The Wired Red Wild Card events.
if you're reading after 2019-03-11, this is an updated version. I improved the grammar and corrected many errors. A compiled copy of this fanfic will be published under ArchiveOfOurOwn.
Honest to God Gunslinger I
December 1993
It's strange how a place seems to change when you stop calling it home. Dutch was still a teenager when Malcolm X and Martin Luther King were on every front page. Blacks always complained about New York, but he always liked it. It's almost ironic that white teenagers nowadays consider hanging out with black people "cool." They even go above and beyond to act and dress like them.
He docked in New York, before heading to the destination, because he needed a gunman for the job at hand. The company was doing well, and he could afford a long-term gunman. There was only the annoying matter of whether he can find a person he could trust. Hotel Moscow, the triads, Casa Nostra, and others kept on offering "help." He was aware of what's lurking beneath that word would never be good for business. His company was built on neutrality, and he liked it that way.
This job was commissioned by Chin. He didn't like the guy; he barely introduced himself before proposing a "long-term" cooperation. Dutch didn't blame the man for trying. Most of those who hire him them the first time do. What annoyed him was Chin's smirk at his refusal. Another pair of guns never hurt anyone. Depending on the perspective, of course.
In normal circumstances, he wouldn't have accepted Chin's commission. However, in the wake of Balalaika and Chang's duel, it was wise to stay away from Roanapur while the dust settled. Chin's shipment just gave him an excuse to stay away for a month give or take.
He didn't know if old Paul was still kicking. If Paul was not able to provide services, Chin's shipment was going to have to wait. He made sure to include a "late-delivery" clause in their contract, as Chin's assurances were not up to his standards.
He pushed the bar door and went to a table in the corner with a "Reserved" sign on it. He sat down and looked at the barman who was faking detachment. The barman stood up as if he didn't notice him and opened a door behind him labeled "Personnel Only." He disappeared for five minutes. He came back and sat down with the same detachment.
Paul insisted on these routines. Anonymity was to Paul's business what neutrality was to his. When you live on the edge, you have no choice but to base your life on fragile things.
Paul emerged from the front door, five minutes after the barman sat down. "They go to the other side o'the world to make a name for themselves! Ten years later, they come running to ya! " Said Paul, smirking while he pulled the chair opposite his.
"Who are you, my mom?" He said, mirroring Paul's smirk "And it was twelve years."
"Not black enough, and last time I checked, I didn't have a vagina!"
"Doesn't keep you from menstruating."
"Haha! Never gonna let go of that hemorrhoid story, will ya, Dutch-boy?"
"Until some people get off heir high horse."
"What brings ya here? Not my bloody ass, I hope."
The barman set down a bottle of Bacardi and two glasses. Paul narrowed his eyes and fixed Dutch's. Dutch nodded in acquiescence. This made the barman turn on his heels. This was another of Paul's Routines. Glasses will be filled, terms will be discussed. If those glasses are emptied, it meant that a deal was made.
"I have a shipment. I need a gunman."
"Not satisfied with the sender's assurances?" Asked Paul, filling the glasses.
"Nosy types are..."
"... aren't too popular" Interjected Paul "I know. I just need to know what my employee needs to know."
"Payment already made. If shit hits the fan, kill everything in sight."
"Hmm... So what you need is a pure gunman."
"Pure? You don't hear this word often in this line of work."
"Oh! That's was I used to think too before I met her..."
"Her?"
Dutch didn't know many women in that line of work. He thought of Balalaika as an exception.
"Yes, but let me tell ya... She got more balls than twenty men combined!"
"I wouldn't call a woman with balls pure..."
"I didn't say she was a pure woman, nor a pure human for that matter. Word in the street: she killed her own father. She's a pure gunman. Those Berettas feel at home at her hands. You get the best return on investment on her bullets."
"Ex-military?" asked Dutch, thinking of Balalaika.
"Not even close!"
"What?!"
"That's what I tell ya! Self-taught! All of it!"
"What did she do before this?"
"When I asked her that, she said the girl she was before she took up the gun was dead."
"You accepted someone who doesn't even go through the trouble of faking their past. Getting careless with recruitment policy?"
"Oh! You would have accepted too! You'll beg me to take her full-time when you're done. Of course, I checked her background. The first time she was seen with a Smith & Wesson, she was twelve."
"You're gonna give me a nut-job to protect my life!'
"Like you're not one yourself."
"There's nut-job, and there's straight-up broken."
"We're all broken, Dutch. Some of us fixed themselves, but we all have fault-lines. Let me tell ya: whatever she used to piece herself back together, made her one hell of an honest-to-god gunslinger."
"Gotta check her first."
"You know that's not how things work around here. Have you ever been dissatisfied with my gunmen?"
"I hired your gunmen more than a decade ago. Quality drops over time."
"Oh ho ho ho. You and I know that this place ages like wine. So is that side of the world you went to. This bar may as well be an extension of Roanapur."
Roanapur. A place where people know they gotta trick each other to survive and they're not shy about it. Eat or be eaten, like the good old times. Not that the outside world has progressed above that. It's just that people in Roanapur are honest to themselves about it.
Dutch brought the glass up to his mouth and downed it slowly. Paul did the same.
"She gets out of prison tomorrow" Announced Paul.
"What the fuck!"
"You didn't ask. You're losing your edge. By the way, my prices went up."
"Eat or be eaten... Eat or be eaten..."
Paul Smiled. "Nice seeing ya Dutch. As Compensation, take the rest of the Bacardi. Drown your sorrows." He said while scribbling where they were supposed to meet the following day.
Paul called the day before, telling her he had found work for her. It was a job of his that landed her there in the first place. Doesn't she get some kind of a vacation for that? "Your time in jail is your time-off" was what he said when she protested.
"Fuck you, Paul!" she shouted to no one in particular, as she replayed the conversation in her mind.
"Can I be Paul?" said Sonya, the guard who she fucked over ten times over the past two months.
"Fuck off! You twisted Bitch."
Sonya giggled as if she was paid a compliment, and handed her the forms she had to sign to get back her clothes.
She returned the form. Sonya didn't even check it and gave her a plastic bag with her clothes in it.
"You know... I wore your underwear" Said Sonya.
"You didn't masturbate in it, did ya?"
"One way to find out..."
"Fuck you!"
"Always," Sonya said, blowing a kiss in her direction.
She went back to the bench and changed her clothes, while Sonya was watching her. "All that for cigarettes..." She thought. She left both of the prison underwear and her own in the plastic bag and returned them to the pervert.
"Don't stay out of trouble," said Sonya suggestively.
She dismissed her and went on. As she was making her way through the long corridor, toward the exit. She ached for cigarettes. Real ones. Not like the one that bitch smuggled for her.
Paul was waiting for her outside in a black sedan. A huge black dude was sitting beside him in the passenger seat, his arms crossed watching intently in front of him. At least, he seemed to, she couldn't tell with those sunglasses. "Perfect! if he gloats over his cock, even once, I'll smash his balls" she thought to herself.
She got in the back-seat. Paul gave her a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She allowed herself to block reality for a second, inhaled as if there was no tomorrow. Paul waited until she exhaled and settled herself.
"Meet Dutch, you'll be working with him for the next week."
Dutch just nodded. She looked at him through the front mirror. "The silent type, eh? He thinks he's better than the rest of us..." She thought. "Let's put him in his place..."
"So, Mister Dutch..." she began, mockingly.
"Just Dutch."
"What kind of a first name is Just?"
"I meant you can call me Dutch."
"It was a joke!"
"Not funny."
"You fuck!"
"Rebecca!" Interjected Paul.
"What!"
"So this is Rebecca," Said Paul, ignoring her laments. "Never mind her temper. Despite how she looks, she has nerves of steel when it counts."
"And you're saying I am losing my edge... Gotta question your recruitment policy..." Sighed Dutch.
"What's your problem you fucking Negro!" she shouted.
It was Paul's turn to sigh " From mister to negro... Quite the shift. Dutch thinks you can't handle a dozen of armed guys. You don't give a good first impression, Rebecca."
"Who gives a fuck?" She retorted.
"Why don't you make me eat my words, Revy?" Challenged Dutch.
"I'll make you eat co... Wait! What the fuck did you just call me?"
"Told you you'll get along just fine," Paul said, laughing.
They drove to her room at the Bronx. They waited as she went up to her room the get her gear.
"Are you gonna tell me she's on her period?"
"Don't let that front fool ya. When she's really upset, you won't hear squat from her"
Dutch knew Paul was eccentric. He was too, in a way, and that's why they got along. The difference was that Dutch knew where to draw the line. Paul never thought of drawing the line.
Her room stunk of her own dirty laundry and rotten leftovers that were left there for weeks. She held her breath and went in to pick up her guns, bullets and cleaning kit from under her bed. She stuffed everything in a satchel. Put on clean clothes; a black T-shirt, underwear, torn-up jeans at the left knee, a jean jacket, and sneakers.
"Hey, Rebecca! Are you here?" A voice called out from the hallway. It was Jimmy, her Landlord.
"For fuck's sake!" she muttered.
"Where the fuck were you? It's been two..."
"Jail! Got out this morning. I'm moving out. So long Jim."
"What? You have to pay me and give me a month notice."
"Can't afford it. You're on your own buddy."
"What the fuck are you on about?"
"Can't pay ya. Call the cops if it makes you feel better."
Jimmy knew the least troublesome option was to let her go "Just pack your things and .."
"Done!"
"What?" He said raising his eyebrows eyeing the filth behind her.
"Picked the babies. That's all I need."
"You had babies in there?"
"Yes, and they missed their mommy so much!" She fished for a Beretta from her satchel, kissed it and raised it pointing between Jimmy's eyes. He froze. "BAM!" She mimicked. Jimmy stumbled backward before falling on his rear. "Thanks, Jim. Real pleasure" She waved while making her way downstairs.
She found Dutch waiting for her outside the car.
"Need a new place, Paul. Jim said he needed to make repairs."
"Ain't that a shame... I'll find you something after the job. You'll sleep in Dutch's boat until the job is done anyway. Dutch will explain everything. Behave yourself. Bye"
"You're not gonna drive us?"
"Boat is docked near Tiffany and Viele. You can go on foot."
"Fuck you!"
"You too," he said, the car already in motion. "Good luck Dutch!"
"Thanks" Replied Dutch.
Dutch and Revy stood there. Neither said a word until Paul's Sedan was out of view.
It was Dutch who broke the silence. "Let's get along. For a short while, at least."
"Yeah! Let's" She felt that Paul was right. Dutch seemed the right kind of fella. He had a job, and he needed it done. That was all.
They walked in silence until they reached where the ship was docked. Dutch showed her the cabin. It had a small bed and a small fridge. He showed her where he kept the weapons. It was the most exciting part for her. Dutch liked how her eyes awed at each piece of his collection. A "pure" gunman... He was yet to see what Paul meant, but he didn't know many that would awe at such a humble collection of guns. He carried many weapons on the boat. It's too risky when you don't have crewmates. Besides his Smith and Wesson Model 629, he had: a PM-63 RAK, a Heckler & Koch G3A3, a Remington 870 Marine Magnum, a Remington 700 Sniper Rifle, a Gepard M3, an M79 Grenade Launcher, an Arwen 37 and an RPG-7. Nothing above the necessity.
"Wah! Dude! You know how to keep a girl interested" She examined the Gepard M3 as if it was some kind of pony. "I hope I'll get to use this baby. You keep them all in good shape, I gotta say"
"I'm thinking of hiring a gunman. If you impress me in this job, I might whip up an offer" He said smiling.
She raised her eyebrow. "And why would I be interested? I mean besides these babies, I don't exactly like you..."
"I'm well aware that the employer gotta impress the employee as well. I see we already have something in common. "
She liked his answer. It's not like she was looking for a new job, and she liked Paul. Paul didn't ask a lot of questions. But the way he operates, she couldn't help but think that he knew more about her than what he let on. That made her uneasy, but she could live with that. A little unease is nothing compared to what she went through.
"Do we?"
"Not liking one another."