First Job: Blackmail

"Now see? This is the muscle I need, right here. This young thug. Already back from whacking a thorn in my side and bringing me back my girls, and without the slightest difference between now, and when he left. Tough, disciplined, and dangerous. Just the guy I like."

Enrico Fornes sat behind his desk, smiling and smoking a cigar, resplendent in his expensive silk business suit and shining gold necklace. A mid-level capo in the Anarak Syndicate, Enrico was a man who was accustomed to being both hands-on and being powerful and able to exert his will. The best word for him was thin; he had thinning black hair atop his thin face, a thin nose, beneath thin eyes that were always slitted, with a thin mustache over thin lips that were always clenching a thin cigar when it wasn't held in his thin hands. Those were mounted on thin, bony arms and attached to a thin body and equally thin, bony legs. The only thing about Enrico that was "large" and "thick" was the chrome .45 magnum revolver that sat in easy reach, capable of blasting a grapefruit-sized hole in someone. An old, uncleaned stain to the "young muscle's" left on the wall was a testament to how fast and sharp Enrico was at using said revolver. Just to add to the warning, a figure stood behind Fornes' chair, dimly visible in the shadows behind the desk, an obvious bodyguard.

The young muscle himself was a relative newcomer to the criminal world, and despite his relatively famous exploits, he was not well known. After all, he had been nothing more than a simple minion to the feared and mighty Sorceress Edea, and almost all memory of her rule focused on her, and not her personal assistant. A shave of his thick blonde hair and the growing of a beard, plus the judicious use of clothes that didn't fit his previous appearance had helped mask his appearance, and he looked like a totally different person. It might have helped that part of the Galbadian peoples' devotion to Edea's short-lived rule was through her magic, and a number of Galbadians had reported a strange "haze" in their minds when they remembered that time, a haze that helped cloud over who he had been.

Enrico Fornes, therefore, had no idea that the "young muscle" who was doing his dirty work for him was in fact Seifer Almasy, ex-SeeD cadet, ex-Sorceress' Knight, and the former general who had commanded the entire nation's military for a couple of months. And that was a good thing; if the Anarak Syndicate knew who he was, they would also know that a number of very angry and wealthy people who had suffered due to Seifer's "indiscretions" in Esthar and Trabia had a series of generous bounties out on his head, dead or alive, roughly totaling in the area of five million gil.

"Okay, kid. You've done good," remarked Enrico, in his distinctly urban Galbadian accent. "I know you've got the muscle to handle jobs involving taking out street punks, but I need a little more effective grunt work out of you. I can always get my associates and soldiers to do the squeeze on pimps like that mess you left in the street. But you . . . I can tell things. I need you to do something . . . Specialized."

"Like what?" Seifer replied calmly, waiting for Enrico to explain things. He was the type to be unusually verbose, even judging from the explanation as to how to kill Whitey D earlier that day. Seifer normally didn't have much patience for people who didn't cut things short, but he knew to listen to someone as dangerous as Fornes, even if he disliked working for him. After all, the Anarak paid him reasonably well, especially for a brand new off-the-street enforcer.

"I got a friend. He's working in the armored trucking business. He gives me a tip about some fresh gil, hot off the presses at the mint on the southeast side of town, being shipped to a bank on the far end of town. He's also done me a nice favor and made sure that the truck's gasoline tank is . . . lightened, so to speak. The truck will be leaving at precisely 9:30 PM tonight, and stop for gas shortly afterward. You follow that truck, wait for it to gas up, and then bring it, and its cash, to that little garage we've got on the east end of town. You get a five percent cut of the money, which should be about fifty grand for you. Understand?"

"Just fine," Seifer grunted, suddenly feeling like he wanted to get the hell out of this room and get on with the job. Something inside him churned at the notion that he was actually doing petty theft for this skinny crook, something the old Seifer never would have tolerated.

"I'll be back after I get your money," Seifer finished bluntly, and turned and walked out the door without another word. He avoided slamming the door, managing to contain his disgust at the thin gangster and his even greater disgust with himself as he walked out of the repurposed warehouse and out into the waning sunlight of Galbadia City. The ex-knight-turned-mafia soldier walked over to the chap blue sedan he'd stolen a few weeks ago and repainted, and drove off, again wondering why he had sunk so low.


Inside Fornes' office, the capo settled back in his chair, puffing his cigar thoughtfully. He glanced to the side, at the enforcer who had hovered over his shoulder in the shadows behind his chair.

"What do you think, Nicholai?" asked Enrico. The figure behind Enrico's seat shrugged, and scratched the thick black beard and mustache that marked his face. The man stepped out from behind the shadows, head bowed in thoughtful consideration. Nicholai was from Trabia, a tough, unforgiving place, and before joining the Anarak Syndicate he'd been an agent and spy (and, according to some reports, an effective assassin) for Galbadian Intelligence. He was one of the most trusted men in the Syndicate, and just as dangerous as trustworthy. Clad in an expensive but rugged black suit, complete with a long coat and black gloves, the enforcer looked like any other mafia gorilla, but the careful and deliberate way he carried himself set him apart from the thugs and low-level capos and officers employed elsewhere by Anarak. His eyes were shaded behind dark sunglasses, and that facelessness, combined with his deliberate demeanor and calm, dark voice, made him an imposing figure.

"Something troubles him," Nicholai said, shaking his head. "I think this one is principled. He does not like working for you. Perhaps it's the business he doesn't like, or maybe he just finds you personally unacceptable, but he not happy working with us at this point."

"So, should we . . . Retire him early?" Enrico asked, and Nicholai quickly shook his head.

"Many people who work for us aren't happy with their lot in life," answered Nicholai. "We should hold judgment. He is very mercenary, whatever his principles may be, and our money matters more than his displeasure with us. As long as we pay him well, he will be worthwhile."

Enrico nodded, tapping his cigar on its ashtray, considering and agreeing with Nicholai's words. Few within Enrico's particular crew realized how much their continued breathing rested on Nicholai's character judgment, and this kid, this punk they had no name for, had just been favorably judged. He'd get to live . . . for now.

"One thing I want to know, Nicholai," Enrico added. "Find out his name. I don't like not knowing who someone is before they join us. Figure out who this kid is."

"Naturally."


The heavy armored truck pulled into a gas station barely five minutes after it had left the mint. As the guards got out, one going inside to get some snacks while the other pumped fuel, Seifer quietly parked his sedan several blocks down the street, well behind a restaurant. He stepped out and focused, casting a hasting spell on himself, and quickly left the parking lot. The ex-SeeD ducked into back alleys as he moved through the intervening city blocks, not wanting to step out into the open streets and the crowds and cars of freshly awakened Galbadians. The spell allowed him to move quickly, and within a couple of minutes Seifer was in sight of the gas station.

A quick glance and examination showed a single security camera mounted above the pumps. Seifer noted the camera and the direction it was facing, and walked out toward the pumps quickly, keeping out of sight and approaching so that the camera wouldn't spot his face. The pumping guard was finishing up with his gas and was replacing the nozzle when Seifer walked up to him and grunted.

The guard looked up, to see Seifer looking down. The guard looked down, and saw Seifer's boot. Then the guard saw sky, and Seifer was leaping over him as he fell to the pavement.

A second later, Seifer was in the truck, had gunned the engine and slammed the door, and was screaming out of the parking lot. The guard inside only became aware that something was wrong when he stepped outside with a bag full of doughnuts and saw only his unconscious partner and no truck.

GCPD was on the scene in fifteen minutes, but the robbery had been so fast and so quiet that they had nothing to work with; no evidence, no suspects, and no van; by the time they had gotten the call about the stolen van, Seifer already had the vehicle off the streets and in an Anarak Syndicate garage, ready for chopping. Quick, clean, precise, effective.

Thirty minutes after the theft, a taxi pulled up to the restaurant that Seifer had parked behind, and the ex-SeeD exited, paying the driver a hefty tip with his newfound money, and walking toward his car, parked well away from the other vehicles in a quiet part of the lot, with few lights and a lot of shadows, just the way Seifer preferred it.

As he neared his car, however, he heard another vehicle rolling up close to him, and glanced behind him to see a blue and black police cruiser driving by, the letters "GCPD" emblazoned on the side. Playing it casually, he stepped toward his car and opened the door, quietly wondering if the cops suspected him.

The police car stopped directly in front of his car, and he heard the door open. Seifer paused, and looked up at the car for a moment, effecting his best "honest citizen confronted by the police" expression. The car's driver, a dark-skinned man in the black uniform and blue jacket of a Galbadia City police officer, stared right back at him and smiled.

"Almasy," he said with a self-satisfied grin, and Seifer froze. One hand started to drop toward his side, where he kept a handgun ready for just such an occasion.

"Who?" Seifer asked, pretending to be confused.

"Don't play stupid with me, Seifer," the cop said, still grinning. "Yeah, I know who you are, all too well. Get your hand away from the gun, now." Seifer sneered.

"Make me, jackabalbllible-"

The rest of Seifer's response was cut off as the passenger window of the police cruiser rolled down and a pair of shock tazer cords stabbed into his chest, pumping the ex-cadet with thousands of volts of electricity. Seifer's body jerked spasmodically and he fell backwards against his car. Both passenger doors opened, and a pair of men in ashen and black urban camouflage stepped out, one holding a shotgun while the other had a pistol holstered at his hip and a tonfa in hand. Aside from their uniforms, they wore black flak vests and caps, along with sunglasses and head-sets. The soldier with the tonfa viciously grabbed Seifer and slammed him onto the hood of his sedan, while the second camouflaged man leveled his shotgun at Seifer's head and ominously pumped the weapon.

"Asp," Seifer managed to flubb out as he regained control of his body enough to speak, recognizing the two men's uniforms, as well as the silver serpent shoulder patch they wore on their upper arms. They were Asp soldiers, agents of the largest private military company in the world, even bigger than Garden and SeeD, though not as individually as powerful. Seifer had heard that Asp had been hired to supplement the GCPD in the wake of Caraway's ascension to rule Galbadia, and now he was getting a firsthand look at them.

Mercs and some asshole cop who knows my name jumping me . . . shit.

"Now this, gentlemen, is a piece of work right here," said the officer as he walked around his police vehicle, still smiling. He slowly shook his head. "The man himself. Seifer Fucking Almasy." He walked forward, nodding as he neared Seifer's spot on the hood of his car.

"You know, I have to hand it to you. I respect a man like you, as dangerous as you. I didn't want to believe it myself, but after hearing you were in town, I had to check up on it myself. And sure enough, here you are, the former leader of this entire nation, a street criminal jacking trucks and whacking pimps. Amazing."

"How did you-"

"Find you?" answered the cop. "Ways and means. I've got some friends, who know some people, who happen to know who that mysterious blonde knight with Edea really was. Rumor's flying around the city about a blonde mafia gorilla with phenomenal strength and I checked into it. That goatee and haircut might fool the ordinary Galbadian citizen, but for someone like me, it doesn't happen."

"And who's the lovely jackass I'm speaking to?" Seifer growled, and the cop chuckled.

"GCPD Sergeant Fred Johnson," answered the cop. "But you can call me 'sir.' I, on the other hand, will be calling you 'bitch.' Because that is exactly what you are, bitch." Johnson walked forward, leaning over Seifer, and stared right into his eyes.

"You see, I know all about you. I know who you are, I know what you've done, and I can so very, very easily make one phone call and have every bounty hunter, mercenary, hitman, and pissed off member of a special interest group on this continent coming here trying to claim the bounty on your shaved head. But I won't." he straightened up, smiling again.

"As long as you stay on me and my friends' good side, we'll be all right, understand, bitch?"

Seifer grunted, and Johnson nodded. The shotgun-wielding mercenary immediately smashed the stock of his weapon across Seifer's face. Blood erupted from his nose.

"I said, do you understand me, bitch?"

"Yeah, I gotcha just fine, asshole," Seifer responded.

"Good," answered Johnson. "And just to make things clear, that little bitch of yours, down at the hospital? The one who's barely hanging on to life because you had a price on your head and she got in the way? I know about her too. And if I decide I'm displeased with you, I'll let everyone know that you do have something important to you, Almasy. And you know what might just happen to her."

Johnson nodded again, and the shotgun-wielder smashed Seifer across the face a second time, and the tonfa-wielder grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him up, before throwing him to the pavement.

"We'll call you if we need you, bitch," Johnson finished. He turned and stepped back into his car, and the Asp soldiers moved to follow him, but not before one of them kicked him in the ribs for good measure. Seifer lay on the ground for a moment as he heard the cruiser's doors slam shut and the vehicle start to drive off, and slowly stood, touching his nose. His fingers came away bloody, and he frowned, casting a quick healing spell on his face.

"Bastards," he muttered under his breath. He shook his head, surprised someone had caught up with him that quickly.

Maybe I should just get Fujin and Raijin and skip town first chance . . . .

That would be the logical thing to do, but something inside him rebelled against the notion, of retreating from any fight, even against an enemy supposedly as dangerous as this Johnson cop and his Asp cronies. The only other time he'd fled was when Squall and Garden had confronted him at Balamb Harbor, and that was when he had an army of Galbadian troops under his responsibility.

Seifer settled into the driver's seat of his car, shutting the door, and sat back, closing his eyes. He didn't want to retreat, and every instinct in him told him to meet these bastards head on, to drive after Johnson's car and slam him into the pavement and show those bastards that they didn't fuck with Seifer Almasy.

But that desire was tempered by what Johnson had said, and the fact that he was right, and Seifer did have a weakness: Fujin and Raijin, who were at Riener Memorial Hospital across town, Fujin recovering from wounds she had suffered - protecting him - during the last encounter with bounty hunters after the price on his head.

After a couple moments of sitting there behind the wheel of his car, Seifer Almasy shook his head and started the engine. What had happened to Fujin was his fault, and he had to pay for it. Half the reason he was working with Enrico and Anarak was to pay for their hospital bills.

What the hell does this Johnson guy want with me, anyway?

That thought struck Seifer as he pulled out onto the busy nighttime streets of Galbadia City. His first thought - that they were going to use him for police work - was quickly quashed. If they were using him for honest cop work, they would have hauled him in and given him a job directly; that was how Galbadia worked, blunt and direct. But here was Johnson plus goon-for-hire pounding him into submission and extorting the possibility of work out of him. The answer, Seifer realized a few moments later, was painfully clear: Johnson was a corrupt cop, and that meant he was going to extort dirty work out of Seifer. Great; more assassinations and transport jobs, and he wasn't getting paid, either.

Thoughts of ditching town once again wormed their way into Seifer as he crossed the city. He dismissed them; Fujin was still in critical condition, though stable, and couldn't be moved. Until he could get her out of town, he would be stuck with Johnson's threats hanging over his head, and he certainly couldn't risk letting bounty hunters or corrupt cops go after his friends in their current state. After all, there was nothing to stop Johnson from trying to collect the bounty on Seifer's head after his usefulness had reached an end. Not to mention the dangers of working with Anarak . . . .

Thirty minutes of similar thoughts brought Seifer across town, toward the Riener memorial Hospital. He parked and got out of his car, and walked inside the building. A short elevator ride took him to the third floor. He walked down the antiseptic hallways, passing nurses and cleaning crew, counting the numbers on the doors until he reached 324, Fujin's room. He quietly rapped on the polished institutional wooden door, and when no one answered, he stepped inside.

Raijin was sprawled out on a recliner, most distinctly asleep, head inclined back and mouth hanging open. Stubble marked the big, dark-skinned man's chin, and he looked like he needed to take a shower sooner or later. Seifer only spared Raijin a moment, and then looked to Fujin, where she lay on the hospital bed.

Guilt, an almost alien emotion, washed over Seifer as he looked at her. Her skin was pale, paler than normal, and her steel-gray hair was lip against the white pillows. She was asleep, both eyes closed, her decorative eyepatch safe in the cabinet beside herbed. He saw a very subtle motion of her chest as she breathed; it was shallow, but stronger than it had been for the last couple of days. An angry red scar traced from the left side of her chin down her throat and underneath her white hospital gown, one of the injuries she'd suffered a week ago during the battle that had hospitalized her.

Seifer walked over toward her, and touched her cold hand with one of his own. The chill shocked him, but he could feel her pulse within her veins. The former cadet looked over her, and closed his eyes, his other hand reaching up to his face and touching the bridge of his nose.

My fault. All of this is my fault. My sins, but you paid the price. Fujin . . . I . . . I'm . . . .

" . . .sorry," he managed to say, his voice like a broken whisper shattering against the still air. He pulled his hand away from his nose and eyes, and his fingers came away damp and warm. He stared at his hand for a long moment, eyes still burning, and settled down in the chair beside Fujin's bed, and sat there, still and unmoving, until the fatigue and long day and night finally took their toll, and brief oblivion engulfed him.


-


A/N: Anyone who was around waaaaay back when I first started posting here may remember an old story about Seifer trying to atone for his sins, and how Fujin being injured was a big part of that story. Let's just say the plot is getting recycled a bit, eh?

Several of the characters encountered in this chapter are based off similar characters from other "crime stories." Nicholai, for example, is based off Josef Vorinov from Mercenaries. The others, as well, have their own clearly aped crime characters as well.

The Asp agency and mercenaries are something new I added in. They'll be much more important later on, and I plan to carry them over to another project I've got waitingin the wings.

An additional note: several characters will have noted accents in this story. SinceI can't explain what they sound like in narraration, I'll explain here.

"Urban Galbadian" is New Jersey/Italian. The people of northern Galbadia and especially Deling/Galbadia City talk like people from the New York/New Jersey area. "Southern Galbadian/Timber" is Texan/Southwestern USA. "Dollet" isa catch-all accent for the various accents used in the British Isles and Ireland. Imagine it as you see fit and appropriate for a character speaking such an accent. 'Trabian" is Russian/Scandanavian. (no, Selphie won't have a Russian accent here. Ew.) "Estharian" is a catch-all East Asian accent. The "Estharian" language itselfwill be Japanese, as will the written characters. This is just to help you imagine what is being spoken if I write someone speaking orreading "Estharian."Balamb and FH have no specified accents. All of these will bereferenced in this story or other, related ones later down the line.

Also, one last thing: while this story is primarily focused on the underworld and crime families, that won't be the only thing you'll see in this story. In fact, expect elements of romance, suspense, and maybe even horror to show up...

Until next chapter...