Author's Note:

Hi there Dwellers of the Twilight,

So we'll be getting a continuation for Black Lagoon next month. In the meantime, I hope you'll enjoy this

Ratings and Reviews will be a great help.

I hope you keep reading. I got the plot for five arcs ahead (titles to be worked on): "Revy in Roanapur", "Benny's recruitment", "Revy's fallout with Benny", "Aftermath of Rock's recruitment", and "The ugly shirt".

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 II

December 1993

It was 2pm when Dutch finished showing Rebecca around the boat. He decided against proceeding to tell her about the job, and what was it she was supposed to do. He never needed to verify Paul's claims. There used to be a mutual trust between them. A subtle ceasefire, to be more precise. They both held each other weaknesses. Now that he set up his business elsewhere, it seems that Paul judged that keeping each other satisfied was not as necessary as it used to be. Paul already got him twice that morning, but those were like little friendly jabs. Friendly or not, he needed to restore the balance. He needed to assess Rebecca's abilities. He couldn't afford to accept faulty service.

"Aren't ya forgettin' somethin', Big Guy? Old Paul may have said I'd tag along on yer little trip, but I ain't said I'd do. I'm the one puttin' her fuckin' ass on the line here! Who do I get to shoot?" Rebbecca said, cutting his trail of thought

Dutch felt divided upon hearing this. He was pleased that she took the initiative to ask about the job. That showed professionalism. However, he was displeased at her phrasing of what she required to do. It suggested she enjoyed shooting people.

"First, let's see how much of a shot you are," he requested.

She grinned. She apparently had complete confidence in her abilities. She pulled a Beretta from her satchel.

"Nah! Here, use mine. I gotta make sure you know how to handle unfamiliar guns."

She took the gun. It was a Smith Wesson Model 629. A double-action .44 revolver. She checked the cylinder. There was one bullet.

"Got more ammo?" she inquired.

"Didn't think you need more. It's one target. I guess I got my hopes up," he said, feigning disappointment.

She scowled at him. He didn't mention it was one target. She couldn't believe she thought for a second he was a decent guy. Her first impression was spot-on: he thinks he's better than everybody. "Once the fuckin' gig's over, he's over too," she thought. "What's the target?" she inquired, not making any effort on hiding her exasperation.

"She's got a temper, but she's professional," Dutch thought before displaying a satisfied smile. He got a glare as a reply. He got an earpiece from the dashboard and threw it to her. "Follow me," he instructed. They went above deck. He motioned to where he wanted her to stand, told her to wait for his instructions. He made sure that she was at least at two-arms-length from anything that she could hold onto on reaction. He wanted to test her thought process in unfamiliar situations, not her reflexes.

He went back to the dashboard. "Do you read me?" He inquired, putting an earpiece

"Loud and clear!" She replied blankly.

"Kill me a bird," he instructed, mirroring her blankness.

"Come on! Gimme a challenge'ere!" She said taking aim after selecting a bird that was soaring high in the sky. She opted for a two-handed aim. She preferred pistols since it was easier to use them one-handed. As she steadied herself, she felt the deck vibrate underneath her sneakers. She removed her finger from the trigger instinctively. The boat started to move. She looked around to find something to hold on to as she felt it gain in momentum. It was mere seconds before the boat was in full speed. She couldn't keep her balance on the deck. The sneakers she wore didn't help. The unhandy revolver made things worse. Dutch was watching her from the window of the pilot-room. He admired her tenacity as she struggled to get a grip.

He heard a gunshot and thought the gun must have gone off. He brought everything to a full stop. He felt robbed. Despite everything, he had high hopes for her.

"What the fuck is that?" She shouted.

"You'll be on deck duty. You need to be able to shoot moving targets in chase situations. Guess that was too much to ask." He said almost sympathetically.

"Guess again, you cocksucker!"

"Bullshit! Your gun went off... You're fired."

"I said I got the bird! It's right overthere!"

"Then go fish it."

"For fuck sake!"

"Either that or..."

"Fine!"

He was amused by how obedient she was. He sat up and went topside to fetch the lifeboat so she could fish her proof. However, nobody was upon deck. Then he realized what went on upon seeing the earpiece and the revolver on deck. "You've got work ethics, I give you that." He said crossing his arms. He watched her perform an impossible crawl with clothes still on. "She's a swimmer, alright!"

Five minutes later, she was on the deck again, and Dutch was examining the bird's corpse.

"You've got a good aim. I'll give you that"

She didn't dignify his statement by an answer. She was annoyed by Dutch's little masquerade. She promised herself she would break his smug grin once the job's over. She intended to nip a shotgun or two to teach him a lesson. Dutch on the other hand was pleased. "Alright, alright... I'm sorry you go a little wet..."

"Wet! I'm fucking soaked, you twat! You'll pay for it!" she fumed.

"I don't remember telling you to swim for it. We've got an inflatable boat for that kinda situations. You get 5k as a consolation fee."

"Euh... You better for it out right now"

"Paul has it... I've planned a bonus for you if you behave. 30k on top of your regular rates. So far you earned your first 5k. "

"Tsk!"

"Well now, you'd be no good if you catch a cold. Go dry yourself and your clothes. There are towels and a dryer in the cabin. I'll explain the mission when you're done."

She decided to let him go for the moment. You can't find many guys that would give a bonus for performance. Whether he keeps his teeth or not remained to be seen.


Clothes dried and put back on, she called on Dutch. He appeared at the cabin door with a bunch of maps and blueprints. The blueprints proved to be boat charts.

"Our contact is guerrillas from the NPA. Apparently, they train their recruits in Cuba." He started explaining while putting a pliable table in the center of the cabin and laying the maps on it.

"Why? Not enough space in China?"

"I guess it's more psychoanalytically motivated. You train your recruits away from the motherland and stimulate an artificial patriotic feeling. Could also be that they are less monitored in Cuba. But that's none of our concern. They don't trust the local cartels with their deals. They go above and beyond to import goods from "trustworthy" traders. By "trustworthy" I mean Chinese. I gotta question their judgment though. Chin is bad quality, even by Chinese standards. No offense."

"None taken. Never been to China. I assume Chin is the other end of the deal."

"Yes."

"If he's scum, why take him up on this?"

Dutch made a sly grin. "I'm just a delivery boy. I reply to the highest bidder."

"So you assume those guys don't know who they're dealing with. They might fly off the handle if they don't like what they get. You don't wanna be a collateral."

"And that's where you come in."

"How many people are we talking about here? Never mind their numbers. If they go against us in the jungle, we're toast!"

"That's why we need an escape strategy if shit hits the fan. I laid down the groundwork. The pickup spot is Isla Cantoy. A little island near Cancun. 8.5 Kilometers in length and 3 square kilometers. We'll be at a running distance from the boat wherever we dock. That weakens their home field advantage. They can't station many guerrillas there, as the Island belongs to Mexico, but we can't count on that."

"So how many days before we get there?"

"A week. We're gonna have to make a couple of stops to refuel."

"A week!"

"Don't worry. I got something for you to do in the meantime..."

"And What's that?"

"You have to understand the sea jargon. It'll be the death of us if you don't understand what I tell you." He said, pointing to the boat charts.

"What?! Are you telling me to study!"

"I sure am."

"Fuck you!"

"Your other assignment is to come up with the escape strategy. You've got the guns, and here are the maps."

"I'll give you my strategy alright! Kill everything that moves. Even you! Especially you!"

"If you're wasteful with the bullets, it's coming out of your fee. We'll go over your homework in two days. Help yourself to anything in the fridge," he said, leaving the cabin.

"He's gotta be shitting me..." She grumbled while making her way to the fridge. All that was there was canned food and beer. "Help yourself to anything you want! I swear there's always a catch with this bastard!" He reminded her of Paul. Paul's intentions were always hidden. When they first met, she couldn't tell he was running a mercenary agency. She always smelled blood on a person from miles away. Yet, with Paul, she couldn't tell if he killed anybody himself. His statements were always accompanied by a balanced smile. You could never tell whether he was lying or not. The only time she thought he said something from the heart is when he brought up someplace called Roanapur: "It's heaven for the Devil."She woke up feeling sick. The boat rocked all night and beer didn't help her sleep. They arrived at Sandy Hook Bay. Dutch knew somebody at the US Coat Guard. They docked there to refuel. It also explained why Dutch could sail a torpedo boat down the East River and Lower Bay without worry. She thought: "The bastard must have many tricks down his sleeve." She stayed on deck while the boat was being refueled. She enjoyed the sea breeze. Her jobs usually took her to stinky joints. This was a welcome change. Dutch joined her after he finished refueling.

"We'll have to make two other stops before we arrive. First one at Myrtle Beach, and the other at Miami. Let's go grab a bite before we set sail" he gestured to her.

She followed him without a word. There was something on her mind. Be it the alcohol, or the lack of sleep, she couldn't chase the idea of Roanapur from her mind. She wanted to see that place. She never lacked work with Paul, and with people always having somebody to kill. With the number of jobs she did, money was not an issue anymore. She could go any day and buy herself a house in the suburbs and try to live a normal life. She wasn't normal though. She crossed the line a long time ago. She was still a brat when she pulled that trigger. From time to time, she sees feathers floating around in her dreams.

They went to a diner near the Coast Guard station. They both ordered burgers and fries. They ate in silence.

She decided to break the silence. "Hey Dutch... Since you and Paul go way back... He mentions a place sometimes... Roanapur... Do you know it?" She would have liked to read his expression, but those damn sunglasses were in the way.

"You dumbass..."

"Wh..."

"Calm down. We'll talk in the boat."


Before going back to the ship, Dutch bid his Coast Guard guys farewell. He liked it when people owed him their lives and delivered on their gratitude. Few do, but those who do are the grease that helps the wheels of his business turn. Revy was waiting for him in the pilot room. He wondered what that bastard Paul was filling her little mind with. Has the old fart gone senile?

When he got in the pilot room, he found Revy sitting on the floor, with a beer and a cigarette.

"What the hell were you thinking? That diner is full of Coast guards..."

"What the fuck are you chewing me for? Besides, they're your buddies, aren't they?"

"It's a graveyard."

"What?"

"Roanapur. It's a place ain't for you... You still have life in you."

"But Paul said..."

"Forget what Paul said. He hasn't been there in fifteen years. That place is for people who have nowhere else to go."

"Nowhere else to go... huh?"

"Listen, kid. No more. You've got a job to do."

Revy knew there was no point in pushing it. She knew one thing though. When somebody refuses to talk about something it's either a gold mine or dirty laundry.