Recognition

Rock was walking down the street, one of many in the slum city of ranpour. Buying oranges from a local vendor the same as always, Revy would no doubt complain he'd been swindled but he liked to think he'd gotten better at this game since he'd first tried his hand.

"That'll be three bhat"

"Three? I saw you sell the same for half that just yesterday." Rock responded indignantly. Perhaps he hadn't mastered the game yet. Not this part of it anyway, his old friends would no doubt be amused he couldn't swindle hapless locals, before falling over themselves learning that he'd been the one to be swindled instead.

The aged thai fruit stand vendor looked at rock in the eye's, searching him out, giving little away. That was the way of things in Ranpour, everyone searching for a weakness, exploiting whatever they found, whenever they found it. It was a miracle the naked greed hadn't caused the city to become a mogadishu, schools somehow existed, even a semi-official church ran services. That the damn nun's sold weapons or happened to have a nice arrangement with the central intelligence agency of the United States, didn't let them escape the charade, the act of going through the motions, perhaps even in genuine affection for their calling.

The walk back to Black Lagoon's office seemed to take forever as Rock lost himself in thought, consumed with questions, always questions. What was he doing here? Why had he let himself be taken in by pirates and then happily joined the crew? Would Revy ever look at him as something other then a 'retarded japanese businessman'?

Moving past some pedestrians, who were likely all heavily armed, ranpour being the living embodiment of the american first amendment, Rock felt a slight tingle go up his back, hair standing up in a sign of some ominous occurrence that would surely strike him.

Rock glanced to the side, to his left sitting at a nearby restaurant, one of the few open air eateries in this accursed city, sat a man. This man was pudgy, caucasian and wearing clothes that put him in the company of fictional men like Tony montana. Probably sniffing coke on his off time to boot. Rock thought as he studied the man, the feeling of recognition, that he should know this man. The eye's were covered by a pair overly large sunglasses, again in keeping with the motif of his suite, which harkened to the nineteen- seventies. The suite though looked new, mean of course that this gentleman had poor taste, his receding hairline told Rock that the man in question was probably in his early forties and trying to relive the glory days of youth.

'Better go say hello. But how do I do it without seeming out of place?' Rock mused. The idea hit him as he stared down at his small cache of oranges, being an employee of Black Lagoon meant running errands like an intern, just like a japanese businessman would for the higher ups. Weather it was for kissing ass in hopes of promotion or the luck of being the most junior hire of the group. The key here was that he could also use his employment to make introductions, his company's work being the hook to establish contacts, it had worked as a businessman, Rock felt it should work well enough with this fellow. If nothing else, hearing a voice might help put a name to the face he'd been so sure he'd seen before.

walking over to the edge of the open dinning area, itself outlined with a chest high concrete wall, sporting bullet holes here and there, Rock made his pitch.

"Excuse me sir. My name is Rock, I'm with the Black Lagoon company, we specialize in transporting and protecting valuable items. You look like someone who could make use of my...I mean our service." Rock explained. The nagging fact that he never sold himself but always the group of pirates he was with grated on him a little, he'd never say so or show it outwardly but Rock was rather skilled. Problem was his part in the great game meant he didn't use said skills...at all.

The man tilted his head forward and looked at Rock with an air of suspicion. The brown eyes boring into Rock's own, just like the fruit seller, just like Revy, Dutch and Benny. They all searched but all they ever saw was the innocent, naive pupils of a japanese businessman, bouts of crazy antics with helicopters notwithstanding.

'Great! This guy probably thinks I'm a cop or something...not like the fat bastards really much of a presence. Only an idiot would just walk up like this.'

"I look like a man who is in shipping da? You say I'm dressed well, great Mikovich looks that good from there." The man now known as Mikovich pointed at Rock's previous whereabouts.

'...I know that voice. But it can't be him. There's got...to be what a few hundred people with that name attached to them?.' Rock thought as his pulse quickened. The memories, the lost opportunities, his family, his secret. It was all coming back to him now.

"Hey! I asked you a question? I look good yes? You have business cards, maybe I give you call and have my men give you goods. You not cop are you?" Mikovich's eye's narrowed, one hand going below the table, likely to reach for a gun should the man feel it was needed.

"What? No No! I'm just a numbers guy, the real head of operations is an american named Dutch, We've also got a computer specialist and a trained assasen." Rock said as he waved his hands to pacify the building tension. By some miracle it worked, the badly dressed, balding gangster of sorts, believed him. Believed Rock, Believed in the mild mannered japanese man. Seeing was believing, even if what was on display was an utter lie.

"Hmmf. How do I know you good? You have ref.."

"References? Plenty for you to contact . Black Lagoon only does the best work." Rock said in fluent russian.

Mikovich's eyes went wide and a smile came to his face.

"How does a japanese man know the language of the motherland? Its a welcome change, all these people want to speak is english, not my special. The girls don't need to speak and the product is plentiful, money is the language of the universe my boy." Mikovich said as he took another swig of his alcholic beverage. His brow perspiring from ranpour's heat, the smell of liquor at last making itself obvious to Rock.

This was the same with everyone. Balalaika, Chang, various contractors, countless stupid faced businessmen from numerous firms inside and outside japan. How did Rock know how to speak with people? speak their languages, know their cultures and negotiate away hardened enemies from the brink?

"I'm a...or was a japanese businessman. I learned that it was better to speak to people in their own language, it opened more doors abroad for my firm. I've always sort of had a thing for them, mother said it was only thing I had a talent for."

"Ha. I had a mother who said all I did was drink and fuck up my life. She's in the ground and I'm on top. What else can you do? You haven't given me a damn name yet either...perhaps your mother was right and all you can do is talk. Maybe your over selling." Mikovich said cockily.

"She wasn't always happy with me but I shined in a lot of..unconventional ways. In addition to russian, English and Japanese, I also speak proficient Spanish and Romanian with some Thai thrown in for fun." Rock said with a pleasant smile. Like a proud student trying to impress a teacher or wow a judge at a competition.

Mikovich hand pounded his table, causing several patrons to look at him and by extension Rock. It was doubtful someone who knew him would be here, they'd probably say he was 'that guy who hung out with two hands', revy's limp wristed tag along in a suite.

The image he portrayed pissed him off but at the same time, it allowed him jobs, audiences and information he wouldn't get otherwise. So it all worked out for Rock. Give the man a gun and he'd drop it, offer him a weapon and the black Lagoon gang would tell you he didn't know which end the bullets came from.

"Who the fuck know's you? You could be full of shit and bad vodka for all I know, Oleg Mikovich's time is too valuable to be wasted on small fish." Mikovich sneered. In his eye's rock was dodging, avoiding the question, ignoring him. The reality was Rock was listening, watching and taking in Mikovich's every move and detail, because they'd met before, long ago in a different life at a time that now seemed to belong in another world.

Rock looked straight at the man before turning and beginning to walk away. Rock's change in character was a bit odd, but Mikovich didn't know him well enough to notice, all that mattered was that Rock had confirmed Mikovich to be his man. So with a glance backward he responded cockily. "Ask Hotel Moscow about us or the Triades if you're still not convinced." The organizations obviously were known to Mikovich, their was no way you wandered into Ranpour and didn't know them, or their fearsome leaders.

"I..I'll call them and see what they say. Then you get work." Mikovich said in poor english.

'Don't worry Oleg, I have a feeling you'll be providing me with a lot of work.' Rock thought as he headed in a new direction. Down several blocks into a crappy abandoned building on a street corner, a quick cautionary glance his only moment of hesitation in going in. No one was around and if they were, they'd just assume he was going here to get high, or get the means to get high in due time.

Making his way to the ransacked kitchen, its valuable appliances and metal pipes long since stripped away, Rock found a loose floorboard in the left most corner and pulled it up. The result was dirt, the house itself having been an extremely old, haphazardly put together boondoggle of add-ons. The original bathroom had probably been a hole in the ground, or an indoor outhouse. Rock could care less, the man cupped his hands and began to dig scoops of loose dirt.

He'd had this box with him for months now, sometimes he'd dig it up just to make sure it was still him, just to hear a sound or listen to the voices of old friends. Upon uncovering the box he pulled on the handle, lifting it out of its grave and setting it down beside him. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, Rock unfastened the latches keeping the metallic box closed up and slide the top away to reveal the contents of the box.

Within the box where a few precious items. A cell phone, a music box, a pistol and most important of all, pictures. Pictures of him when he was younger, pictures of him with a different name and a different outfit, a picture of two brothers drinking together. Tears came to Rock's eye's as he traced the outlines of the picture, itself becoming worn from folding and transit inside coats, boxes or the occasional wallet. Black Lagoon would never see this box or the contents, it would raise too many questions and Rock wanted the game to go on as long as he could, but now with Mikovich here, it may all come to an end.

AN: This is a one shot I wrote several months back that I figured I'd throw up on the net before I move and don't have access to the web like I do now. The basic premise is that Rock is in fact much more then a business man. That he and Hotel Moscow share a common home which neither have visited in a long time. I've had this idea in my head and I'll probably run with it some day but for now I'm throwing this up for you all to guage my writing and weather I can write black lagoon ff. To summarize Rock was a small fry in the KGB, was abandoned post-callapse and is from the northern japanese islands the soviets took at the end of world war two. Thoughts?