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luckystarchibichibi: Well, here's your chapter. :) Updates on a bi-weekly basis! And yes, I pictured that entire scene in my head, and even I found myself chuckling a bit.
ASLfangirl: Actually, yes. I can already see differences between the previous characterization of Luffy vs. the rewrite version. Previously, I sort of wanted to keep Luffy's canon personality in character. We all know that he's... very random. But then, after the moment when Ace died, I could already see that Luffy is really capable of a lot of drama (when it counts). So, for this version, I thought that I could still keep Luffy in character, but I can still balance it with a bit of dramatic seriousness to make him more... "real?" Something like that. The result is pretty much what you read. :) Glad you liked it. Oh, and yeah. Classic Buggy and Shanks moment.
Time to get this chapter started. It's a slightly longer one than the last, but I think you guys are already used to that.
Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or anything really. I wish I did. My OTPs would have been as canon as Korrasami from Legend of Korra. That would have been great.
Chapter 3: The Newgate Family ~ Marco Phoenix ~
Laboratory D—also known as "Punk Hazard" by those who really know of the potential dangers created in there. It's a government facility that's famous for research and scientific advancement, specifically for military warfare. Deadly weapons, heavy artillery and toxic fumes that can freeze the human nervous system with just one false sniff—for years, all of those have been made in there by top scientists and weapon development specialists gathered from all around the world. Having a strict "No War Policy," the Japanese wanted little to do with it, but the national government was placed under pressure by a number of mostly Western countries, especially with issues like the so-called "War on Terror" in the Middle East as well as some pressing problems in maritime security.
Heated debate, however, ended relatively quickly the moment Lord Newgate stepped in, and it's his word that tipped the scales. In the end, by his recommendation, the Japanese government had Punk Hazard built in the outskirts of the special administrative region of Shin Sekai—otherwise known as "New Japan" in the international sphere—which is a rising Asian power with a rich supply of resources and industry, friendly foreign policies, a high GDP and GNP per capita as well as an increasing economic growth rate to boast about. So, it's here that the wealthy foreign powers run their businesses, pooling investments for each project designed in the famous yet highly controversial weapons facility.
Except now, it's in partial ruins—about one-fourth of the entire facility was burnt to the ground after a major explosion happened. Every news channel, both foreign and local, had a full news coverage of the incident, blaming it on faulty laboratory procedures which, thankfully, didn't cause the release of lethal radiation. Efficient cooperation between the government's disaster management team and the local fire departments managed to extinguish the flames before they could reach the radioactive materials that were stored in another area.
Of course, the media caters to the public, and the public's only allowed to know so much. Only a handful of people know the truth, and one of them happens to be Lord Newgate. When he found out that the research facility that he partially funded—the same facility that also provides a huge source of income from the Family's weapon trades—was actually infiltrated by unknown terrorists, he was beyond furious.
The doors open, and I can hear dozens of feet shuffling along with bits and pieces of ongoing conversations. Chair legs are being dragged across the floor as people file into the room and takes their assigned seats around the long table. Once more, I review through a couple of files at hand, stopping to frown at one in particular.
Serial ID No. S-0098596
Current Status: MISSING
"Odd" is very much the understatement. The fact that the terrorists didn't even bother causing crippling amounts of damage like a radioactive explosion or a full-blown shootout when they certainly could meant that they intended to leave Punk Hazard alive that night. Something was stolen in that laboratory, and whatever it is exactly, it must have significant importance for Lord Newgate himself to call for an emergency meeting.
"S—zero, zero—hey, what's that?" Without warning, a pair of hands press down on my shoulders as someone leans closer, and I immediately shove him off.
"Something." I don't have to turn around to know that Ace is probably scowling right now.
"Yeah, I know it's something," he grumbles, "It has to be something if we're all here at two o' clock in the morning. Hey, Vista! Tell me something about S—zero, zero, something."
Vista who just took his seat a few chairs away gives a wry smile. "Well, Señorito," he says with a sharp roll of his tongue, "I know many codes that begin with S—zero, zero, something."
"Alright. Tell me what went missing."
"Unfortunately, your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps, you should ask Squado. Might be one of his weapon projects stored in Punk Hazard."
"None of my designs begin with those digits," Squado says as he arrives with a pushcart, "Safe to say, they weren't after my latest models." I can already smell the freshly brewed coffee steaming from the large dispenser along with the warm basket of bread and pastries. Somewhere in the middle of those empty cups is a large teapot, specifically for the Head of the Family who isn't as fond of coffee as the rest of us.
Ace grabs a sticky cinnamon bun before wolfing down the first few bites. Then, he takes his seat on the chair that's next to Lord Newgate's. "At least. It'd be a total pain in the ass if some group of terrorists got their hands on those mini nukes you've been working on. Has anyone even bought those yet? Last time I checked, the price that Marco set for those things in the black market was practically robbery. Even for us, and that says a lot."
I take one cup and begin serving myself some coffee. "Name me another Family who has direct access to nuclear weapons without having to seek internal military connections."
Ace quirks an eyebrow. "I'm sensing that that's a rhetorical question?"
"Exactly. We work by supply and demand." To be honest, though, they're not really meant to be sold. Lord Newgate just wants to remind the "lesser families" of their places.
"It disturbs me, then, that they weren't aiming for those." Vista rubs his chin. "It would mean that whatever was stolen is far, far worse."
Squado sniffs, rolling his eyes. "And, if the Head Intelligence of this Family is just as clueless as the rest of us are, then that's a clear sign that we are all screwed."
"Mi amigo, you wound me!" Vista places a hand directly above his heart in a display of dramatic emphasis. "But, no matter! Words are just words. I know that you have faith in my skills and that our long friendship holds a special place in your heart."
"Keep talking. Want me to pour acid on your coffee, fiore bastardo?"
Cue in a hard slap and the howl of pain that follows it as I take another drink and shuffle some papers.
"Dammit!" Squado swears between a string of Italian curses, "Stop pulling on my ear, you cross dressing harpy!"
This just earns him an extra hard tug from the irate maidservant. "One more word from you, and I'll shove you inside your own roasting oven!"
I set down my cup after drinking, shaking my head. So, the Head Maid of the house is attacking the Head Chef? No surprise there. It's already become an established fact that Izou has some uncanny ability of being within earshot whenever Squado chooses to verbally abuse the gardener—even when he thinks that she isn't around.
"Izumi, Squado's only joking!" Vista chuckles. "We all know that the man just has a dry sense of humor!" How someone as intelligent as Vista can misinterpret constant verbal abuse and the frequent knife throws as signs of friendship are beyond me. Either the man has the patience of a saint or he's that dense.
Yet, when it really comes down to it, the two are best friends. Again, how? I don't really know. I already gave up trying to understand those two and their dynamics a long time ago.
Squado grumbles after finally being released while Izou's gently murmuring to Vista, "Only I have the right to call you a flower bastard." After placing the files back inside their envelope, I look at those two, and I can see Izou carrying a tray with two cups of coffee as she stands by the gardener's side. She offers one to Vista.
"Sí, gracias," he says while taking it, "Double with only a teaspoon of sugar?"
"Of course."
Happily, the gardener plants a kiss on her hand. "Mi Izumi, you are too good for me." The woman chuckles heartily at his comment as I clear my throat and pass them the files.
"None of that during the meeting."
As Vista drinks from his coffee and begins going through the files one by one, Izou scoffs. "Yes, Marco. No need to remind us. We're mature adults, after all. Not a couple of teenagers running on hormones."
"The loud noises behind my bedroom wall don't count?" Squado probably has a lot more to say, but he leaves those words unsaid after Izou flashed the hilt of her gun from her pocket.
"Forget what Marco's saying, Izou," Ace waves before suddenly raising the volume of his voice, "We all know he's just a big prude!"
"Don't worry, mi amigo," Vista adds as the other servants in the room laugh, "There is a value in waiting until marriage." I can already feel a migraine approaching.
Izou rolls her eyes. "Please. I don't want to hear that from you."
"Ah, but I don't hear you complaining, mi amor."
"Touché."
I begin to rub small circles around my temple. I swear. If it's not Juzo, it's Ace, and if it's not Ace, it's Vista. "I am not a prude. I just don't want that woman to get any ideas." Someone needs to clearly explain to those three that my disinterest in relationships does not mean prudery. Especially to Juzo, and especially to—
"What ideas?" The surrounding laughter instantly dies down, and I cannot help but groan. "There's only one idea! It's marriage, you know?" I've already lost count over the number of times that I've wanted to bang my head against the table today. Really, the only redeeming point of this moment is the satisfaction of watching Ace nearly choke on his second cinnamon bun.
Next to me, Whitney's giggling, and I know that she won't stop until I notice her. Slowly, reluctantly, I turn my head to look at her, and I'm greeted by her usual cheshire grin as she pulls a chair and sits next to me. As always, Haruta's by her side, holding her hand like a small child who's overly attached to her mother. She's carrying a coffee mug, too, and I knew that it wasn't for her when she places it directly in front of me.
"We brought you coffee." Whitney smiles.
I cast a wary glance at the drink, watching the seemingly harmless wisp of steam rise from the murky dark liquid. "I already have my own, thanks." I wouldn't trust anything that Whitney would give me personally. The first and only time I did, I ended up locking myself in my room and spending a full hour under a cold shower to nurse a particularly painful and unsettled erection. Horrible day indeed.
And, because Haruta was carrying it, I wouldn't rule out the possibility that it's overly spiked with a combination of different laxatives.
"Oh, that's too bad," Whitney says while flashing Squado a dangerous, poison-sweet smile which causes him to shiver.
"Sestra, if he doesn't want it, I can have it," Haruta offers quickly, "I don't want what you made to go to waste."
"Such a sweet girl." As Whitney turns around to add the milk and sugar, I narrow my eyes as Haruta throws me a hissing glare which quickly reverts back into a happy smile when the older woman gives her the overly sweetened drink. That brat.
"Oh, what's wrong my little pineapple?" I don't hide my discomfort at the fact that Whitney has her arms wrapped around one of my own. "That's a mean face you're giving Haruta. Haruta is a good girl, you know." Little does she know, the "little angel" has a smug look on her face as she happily drinks up her coffee. "I know what will put you in a better mood. Let's get married now?"
I point to her chair briskly. "We have a seating arrangement. Follow it."
"Actually, she can have my seat!"
"Juzo—" How Whitney's smiles can reach levels beyond manic is something that I don't want to ponder on. "You will take your original seat. Now." Juzo dying a very gruesome and painful death is a more appealing thought, though. Even more appealing if it's by my own hands.
"Hey, I really don't mind," Juzo says while chewing on a frosted donut, "I just want to try some of these donuts, and you know—live? Oh, hey these are really good—"
"Well, since Juzo brought it up, perhaps I can suggest a revision in the seating arrangement, then?" Vista raises, and I can feel the hard twitch from the corner of my mouth. The man will take any chance that he can get if it means keeping Whitney as far away as possible.
"You might have to save it for later," Ace says, "Dad's already here." There's a heavy slam of the door, and a roll of footsteps that fall like thunder. We all stand up in unison as we watch the Head of the Family make his way to the large empty seat between mine and Ace's.
"I apologize for the impromptu meeting, but this is an urgent matter that requires our attention." The authority that distinguishes Lord Newgate's voice is still there, yet for some reason, it feels much more weary—as if the full burdens that come with age finally struck him hard. From the very way he carried his teacup after Squado gave it to him to the way he asked us to take our seats, I can tell that something's wrong. Very wrong. All that previous anger dissipated, and now the man's left trembling.
None of us speak. The only sound in the room comes from the loud clinking of silver against china as Lord Newgate hastily stirs in a sugar cube while cursing under his breath. Any care he usually places in handling his tea is forgotten as the noise becoming more unsettling.
While some continue to watch him, others are exchanging glances among themselves. I can see Juzo silently mouthing something that looks like "What happened?" to me. Ace is sending his look of concern as well, but I merely shrug. Haruta gives her mentor and older sister figure a hand squeeze, but Whitney—I can easily tell since the mad woman refuses to leave my side—has this tiny smile hidden behind pale, nimble fingers. My eyes narrow. If anything, she's the only one here who seems to be highly amused by this.
The shrill rattling comes to a stop with Lord Newgate raising his head. "Ace." Just one word—one name—has all eyes fixed on both father and son, and Ace practically stills. Previously shaking lips are calm now as the Head of the House begins to drink his tea without a single scolding admonishment—and that's rare because he's not the type to use the silent treatment. Ace knows this, too, and if this is slowly killing him, then I'm not surprised. He opens his mouth to speak, only to be silenced when Lord Newgate sharply raises his hand. The older man's hardened expression is anything but readable.
Then, he finally sets the cup down on his plate, and only a few words rumble from his throat. "Ace. Please leave."
Chair ends screech against wood as Ace immediately rises from his seat, and he doesn't care that he's being gestured to remain silent again. He stares directly at his father who remains undaunted.
"Why?" The question was thrown at Lord Newgate who eyes him sharply, calculatingly.
"I won't require you to be here this time. Go back to sleep, Ace."
"Why?" Ace repeats, "What's so special about this meeting?"
"It's a different matter altogether, something I feel that you shouldn't be involved in."
"And, you're not answering the question—why?"
"It's too dangerous."
"Define 'dangerous'—"
"Ace—"
"Because I think I've seen 'dangerous' already," Ace snaps quickly, hands landing smack on the table, "You've always been honest with me. What else is dangerous? I've seen things. I've done things. Our 'clients' who come to us for favors? They're all slime balls, and you know it. Paid assassinations, smuggling, drug cartels, weapon brokering, gambling circles and death threats? Getting at least fifty percent kickbacks in some shady business operations that we sponsor? Paying the less powerful families to do the dirty work we don't want to be associated with? We're not exactly saints here, and nothing we do is considered safe."
"You are the last person who should tell me that," Lord Newgate replies heatedly, "But, enough! I will stress this out for you just one more time—this is dangerous. Even for you."
"You're singling me out here!"
"And, for good reason!"
Ace's temper must have fully snapped because he's already gone past half-screaming. "What was stolen from that laboratory? That's what this is all about, isn't it?"
"I will not answer that, and you will—"
"And, what's the worst that can possibly happen? What makes this so different? Some enemy turf war ripped out from Hollywood or—"
Like a powerful sledgehammer, Lord Newgate slammed his fist onto the table, drawing terrified looks, some uncomfortable movements from others and an abrupt silence from Ace whose rage shrinks in comparison to his father's legendary temper. The sudden and unexpected force makes the table tremble and the glassware shake as if threatening to shatter. In contrast, the chandelier above remains still, but that can change if things get worse.
"There will be no more questions," Lord Newgate says harshly, face fuming red while pointing a shaking finger towards Ace, "Not another word. I don't want to hear another word from you about this, and I don't want to hear a word from you until daytime. You will go back to your room, you will sleep, and you will forget about this entire ordeal completely. It does not and will not concern you. You are hereby dismissed from this meeting. Immediately."
Ace continues to stare at him. Defiance is still burning in his eyes, a distinguishing detail about him that Lord Newgate's never blind to.
"As Head of this Family," he adds firmly, "That is an order, Ace."
It's no use to argue, and experience probably taught him this. Wordlessly, and almost mechanically, Ace stands up, refusing to look at anyone as he makes quick strides to take his leave, but not without slamming the doors nearly off their hinges. His seat's left vacant now with only a plate of breadcrumbs and a half-finished cup of coffee as telltale signs of his presence. Izou's regarding the now empty chair sadly, and knowing her, she'll stop by Ace's room after the meeting just to check on him. She's always been the motherly one.
When he first entered, he was grim and apprehensive. Now, he's a time bomb that's ready to explode. Lord Newgate's hissing and spitting out what sounds like Italian curses while the color of his face keeps shifting among several shades of red and purple. Only a few of us can actually comprehend what he's saying, and I know that he ordered for more tea only because Squado suddenly sprang up from his seat to grab the large teapot.
It's obvious, though, that he's not completely in his right state of mind.
"I-I'm sorry, Master," Rakuyo who has absolutely no knowledge of Italian stutters after Lord Newgate barks some strange sounding orders at him, "I-I don't understand wh-wha—"
"I SAID TO TURN THAT BLOODY PROJECTOR ON!" Rakuyo immediately scrambles to do as told. Across him, Namur—fearing the Head of the Family's wrath—takes this as his cue to open his laptop and connect it to the projector.
To everyone's relief, Lord Newgate starts to calm down as he takes his second cup, and the room is quiet as he does so. An unspoken agreement for silence is in the air with everyone choosing to save the gossip for later and to remain as composed as possible—with only Whitney as the group deviant. Laughter tumbles from her lips as she giddily rocks back and forth on her seat, and despite being clearly visible to him by a few seats, Lord Newgate ignores her. Sanity—or the lack of it really—was never that woman's finest trait.
"Marco. Have you received the video file from Iceberg?"
I pull out the USB from my pocket. After an affirming nod from Lord Newgate, I pass it to Namur who plugs it into the laptop and starts the video.
The video—medium quality at best—doesn't even last long with everything happening in a span of seconds. A guard's bloody corpse was thrown against the corner, and judging from the wounds, he must have been shot a few times. Then, a number of men wearing robber masks run down the corridor. Only one wasn't wearing a mask, but before I can get a better look at him, he raises his gun and shoots the camera. The screen goes pitch black, and Namur replays the video, but this time, in slow motion.
Lord Newgate's eyes never left the screen. "Is this all?"
I nod. "It was the only one Mr. Tom's men could recover. Their guess was that most of the cameras were disabled by an enemy hacker."
"Names. I need names."
The unmasked man appears again behind screen. I take one last glance at him—at his pale and hulking figure with long matted hair, piercing cold eyes and a sadistic grin that lacks a few teeth. He shoots the screen once more, but that very last glance is all that's needed to cast away any doubts from my mind.
"Blue Jam." The name is enough to break down the silence of the entire room into dreaded whispers.
Somewhere behind me, I can hear Vista nervously clearing his throat. "Marco, that is a name that I have not heard of for the longest time—thankfully—and it's not a name that should be taken lightly."
My glare causes him to draw back slightly. "It's Blue Jam. I know who I saw."
He shakes his head. "Blue Jam—whose real name still remains unknown—has faded into obscurity years ago. No one's heard of him since. He has become somewhat of a legend in criminal underground, a horror story never to be spoken of."
"Rumor has it that the reason Jack the Ripper was never caught was because he fled from England for some other country. They say Blue Jam is his descendent from some poor hapless woman that he murdered anyway," Squado adds, "Well, whether that's true or not, Blue Jam is certainly this generation's Ripper."
"But, it can't be him!" Izou interjects while shooting her head towards me, "Blue Jam died years ago!"
"Nope. Marco's right. It's Blue Jam," Juzo says. He's next to Namur, dragging the cursor towards the screenshot of Blue Jam before the camera was shot, and after he presses a few keys, the screen zooms in. Juzo's mouth starts hanging. "Shit. Marco, look at him. It's like he hasn't aged a day."
It's true. His disheveled hair—which should have been gray by now—is still black. His face carries no wrinkles, and his tall, muscular built is still fit and strong. It's like time has forgotten him after thirteen years, and I'm staring at some twisted, old memory. From the back of my head, I can still hear the distant sounds of mad laughter.
I'm fighting back the sick bile-like sensation that's rising until my throat.
"Oh. He's not dead, then." Whitney tilts her head in a show of curiosity. "Are we dealing with a ghost?"
"Not just," Lord Newgate mutters weakly, his face turning pallid as he clenches the handle of his tea cup, "If it is Blue Jam, then this can be the Krieg Family that we're dealing with—and they have stolen that data. It's just as I feared."
"Something is bothering me about all of this. Lord Newgate, permission to speak?"
"Permission granted."
Haruta nods in polite acknowledgment towards Lord Newgate, a light frown marring her features. "This is a really well executed operation, and we're not dealing with amateur thieves employed by an enemy family. They must have had an inside person. They also had to know which building didn't contain any radiation tanks because they needed to make a large commotion and get out of there alive. See, if the goal was just to steal something, it could have been done quietly, but what they did was over the top. If anything, I think bombing Punk Hazard was just the warning shot."
"You're saying that they're trying to send us a message?" Lord Newgate raises.
"There's just too many coincidences that it makes you wonder, my Lord." The room falls silent again, but there's that laughter which the silence amplifies even further.
Haruta stands up from her seat, heading towards the laptop. She undoes the slow motion effect, replaying the video for the third time, her frown deepening.
"See, look at this." She pauses the video on Blue Jam's face. "Why is it only one person who's unmasked? And, of all people, it had to be someone as infamous as Blue Jam—never mind that he hasn't aged. Maybe he really is dead, and this is just an imposter who's trying to drive us on edge. That's suspicious. In fact, this entire video is suspicious enough."
Izou's eyes widen. "That's because it's the only video that could be retrieved, isn't it?"
"Exactly," Haruta points, "It's the only video that Mr. Tom managed to retrieve. If the enemy had a professional hacker, he or she would have been able to bypass Punk Hazard's standard firewall security. Dismantling CCTV camera operations would have been no problem, and even if it was, the inside person could have done it manually. So, how is it that this video in particular was the only one to be taken?"
Vista frowns, crossing his arms. "I see. So, it's not that the enemy hacker couldn't disable all the cameras. It's just that he or she chose not to. Therefore, this video could serve as some form of bait."
"And, they're just waiting for us to take it. They're not being reckless. The Krieg Family wants us to follow after their trail," Haruta adds, "The only thing we're missing, though, is a clear motive. What are they really trying to accomplish?"
No one's offering an answer to that. Instead, everyone turns to the Head of Family, waiting for him to state the next move.
"Hahahahahaha…!"
Lord Newgate's lips form a thin line, the number of creases on his forehead growing. He shifts on his chair and sinks back, musing distantly.
I clench my fists. Stop. Stop. It just doesn't stop…
"What exactly have they stolen?" Vista asks, holding up the files, "I checked the files. It didn't even go into detail about it. Just a report on how it was stolen."
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha…!"
Lord Newgate's expression darken. "That's because it's classified as top secret data that only a handful know about, myself included. Consider it a set of blueprints, highly important and highly dangerous, especially in the wrong hands. If this was really their form of bait, then they chose a good one. It should not reach Don Krieg."
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha…!"
Get out…
"As of now, retrieving that data is the number one priority, but at the same time, we can't jump into the disadvantage. Vista and Izou, coordinate with the Blackleg Family and gather intelligence. Trace Blue Jam's possible route after he stole the data and his present location. Haruta, strategize and outsmart Krieg. Come up with the retrieval plan along with a few contingencies should the Krieg Family try to take the upper hand."
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha…!"
Get out of my head…!
"Whitney. You're on standby."
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha…!"
Get out. Get out. Get out…!
A dark chuckle escapes Whitney's lips. "An assassination?" she asks coyly, "Because I'm no good at interrogations if you're looking to get answers from Blue Jam."
Shut up.
"I require nothing short of one. Retrieve the stolen data and kill Blue Jam—imposter or not. The fact that he's alive, and somehow hasn't aged at all, is a major threat on its own."
"Let's play a game."
No. Shut up.
"I'll show you some ways to kill, and then you can kill me. If you can."
Just shut up! I'm not like you…!
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…!"
SHUT THE HELL UP!
"Marco," Lord Newgate's words are threading carefully, and it occurs to me that I just stood from my seat, "Are you alright?"
The palms of my hands are flat against the table as I lean against the wood, my back hunching. My coffee has been knocked over, and it's growing cold as it spills across the table and onto the floor. I'm catching my breath, frantically searching from right to left. Did my words suddenly slip? Everyone's watching with pale faces.
But, the laughter stopped.
"Hand me the job," I find myself saying, "I'll kill him."
Haruta immediately stands up, her eyes flaring with belligerence. "What are you saying? That Sestra isn't good enough? That Lord Newgate's making the wrong decision? You may be second-in-command here, but Lord Newgate's the Head of this Family, so he has the final say in things! You—!" But, she doesn't continue. Whitney quietly places a hand over her shoulder, and when the younger maidservant sat down, she turns to me with an expression that causes the room temperature to drop.
"So," Whitney begins coldly without her cheerful mask, her natural thick accent revealing itself, "You're saying that I cannot kill him?"
I return the icy look with one of my own. "I'm saying that I'd rather kill Blue Jam myself."
"You're not the only one here who wants to."
"Get in line."
"That will be enough," Lord Newgate raises before Whitney can fire another response, "I'd rather not send more people out. Most especially the two of you."
Whitney and I never break eye contact as we mumble out our apologies. We sit back down, and I resign myself to withdrawing a handkerchief from my pocket and cleaning the coffee spill I caused.
"I'm sorry, Marco, but Haruta is right. My decision is final, and it still holds," Lord Newgate continues, "Whitney still carries out the assassination, and you will remain here where you are mostly needed by all of us. Should Whitney fail—or, Lord forbids, gets killed in the process—then I will personally send you to finish the job."
I throw Whitney a look, seeing the satisfied smirk curling on her lips. "That won't be necessary, Lord Newgate. No one survives." No one dares to contest to that.
Lord Newgate clears his throat before eyeing me. "I will repeat my question. Are you okay, Marco?" he asks as I finish up cleaning. I tell him that I am, and even if his look remains dubious, he doesn't ask again.
The meeting eventually ends, and when I check my watch, I note that it's nearly four. At this point, we're all exhausted after some more role assignments plus a heavy discussion on some issues regarding that stolen item.
Barely anyone speaks to me as we take our leave, and that's fine with me because after that emotional roller coaster of a meeting, I don't feel like talking. As I head towards my quarters, though, I can hear another pair of footsteps accompanying my own, and I know that I'm not alone.
To see that it's Whitney doesn't surprise me, but this time, Haruta's not tagging along with her.
"Don't worry, Marco," she says in a sing-song voice as she makes a slow—almost predatory—approach, "The two of us were just overreacting with ourselves. I'm not that selfish. Never with you."
I stand my ground. I know what she's trying to do. Take a few more steps back, and I'll be driven towards a corner. She's very fond of trapping others. "I'd rather not deal with you right now."
She captures my lips, but the moment's brief because I instantly pull away. She merely chuckles. "I know. We're both tired. Your room?" Her eyes glimmer with mischief, but that disappears when I draw a switchblade from my pocket and hold it against her throat.
"I said I'd rather not deal with you right now." Her lips form another smirk, but she takes this as a sign to step back.
"I can't sleep knowing that you're bitter because of me." She sighs, and I continue to eye her warily. "I just want you to know that I won't be the one to kill him, if that's what makes you happy."
"You're going against an order?"
"Not really." She giggles before her voice drops several octaves so that only I can hear her. "After I'm done with him, Blue Jam's nearly dying body will be my gift to you, and you 'll deliver the killing blow. It's only right, yes?"
I don't respond, but she takes my silence with satisfaction. With one last good night, she departs, and I'm left alone to ponder on thoughts of murder—cold, violent and relentless murder. Revenge served to the highest degree which I'll be this close to achieving. All I need is to be a bit more patient.
And, when I arrive at my room to close my eyes and catch a bit of sleep, I dream of laughter. Harsh and cruel laughter as well as endless, tortured screaming.
Traffic's considerably lighter than normal despite being rush hour. It just makes the trip to the Baratie even easier for me. I don't even need a GPS. Heading there is as familiar to me as the way back to Newgate Mansion. I can probably give someone directions over the phone while cooking up some rather complex snack, and that person will probably make it there—assuming that he or she has a general sense of direction.
The traffic signal turns green, prompting me to shift gears and drive forward smoothly. I swing the wheel to the next left before continuing down a road already memorized. Around five more minutes until we arrive, judging from the pace. Cars, trucks, and other vehicles follow their respective lanes in an organized fashion, moving at uniformly moderate speeds with the occasional driver signaling for an overtake.
Lord Newgate's in the middle of a business call. The speaker in the other end must be a local businessman if he's speaking in Japanese which, although fluent, drops hints of an Anglicized accent if one listens a bit closely. At the very least, he does take pride in being able to express himself clearly to some of the thriftiest business locals of New Japan. The person speaking, however, must not be one of them because the call ends with a gruff remark from Lord Newgate who begins to mumble in vexation about half-based proposals and reckless expenditures.
Speaking of phone calls…
"Pardon, sir, but I just want to inform you that Izou received a call from a 'Mr. Akagami' earlier this afternoon. You were already busy in the office, so he said he'll call back."
"Akagami? Never heard of him. A salesman of some sort?"
"He said he's a social worker, dealing with orphaned children and child custody cases."
"Is he interested with Ace?" His tone is immediately apprehensive, but he calms down slightly when I tell him no. "Another one looking for sponsors, I reckon. Have him know that I don't often do charity."
"Izou said Mr. Akagami insists on seeing you in person. He wants to discuss with you about something highly important, but he wouldn't mention exactly what it is over the phone."
"What's new? The man must be an investigative journalist in disguise. If there's no room, but the man's still fairly interested, just squeeze him in for the next month. I will give him ten minutes." Another addition to the long list of names still waiting in queue, then. It happens when you try to set a meeting with arguably the most important man in the entire region.
He's in a better mood when we arrive in front of the Baratie. The black BMW door is opened by a porter who instantly greets Lord Newgate upon recognition. He's entering the restaurant now, so I take the car a few blocks down the road where the nearby parking building is located. After paying the valet, I begin to leisurely stroll through a brightly lit avenue, making a slight adjustment to the collar of my coat when it gets chilly.
What I notice about the Baratie is its location—smartly chosen and very scenic. The very heart of Grand Line City is its large commercial district which stretches from Red Line Bridge all the way to Alabasta Square where all the major banks and multinationals are situated. Somewhere in the middle is Sabaody Road, the high-end hotspot for businessmen, professionals, and a lot of rich tourists who crowd the streets.
Tonight's no exception. A number of women pause in midstride to gauge the worth of a line of designer clothes behind the glass windows of large boutiques. Large groups of people are crossing the pedestrian walk towards a certain direction—probably heading towards Skypeia Mall which is still several blocks down—and as I wait by the sidewalk, I notice tourists emerging from the doors of a nearby hotel before filing in two straight lines in front of a double-decker bus. Down the road are a chain of restaurants and bars, including the one that I often frequent during my off days. I pass it, noticing people's eyes glued to the large screen TV that's featuring a live football game.
Eventually, I find myself in front of the largest and grandest looking restaurant which resembles a ship with large thick masts, three decks and a large fish as its head. It looks ready to sail, just sitting by the river that separates Grand Line from East Blue City, and it welcomes it guests with lights, music and a giant wooden cutting board where "The Baratie" is printed in neat script.
The next thing I notice is that the owner of the restaurant, Monsieur Blackleg, is a proud French man at heart, and he took the liberty in making his restaurant as French as possible.
Inside, the Baratie looks like a French opera house, reminiscent of the one in the Phantom of the Opera, and its ceiling—where a glass chandelier hangs—is painted with fresco to depict a picturesque blue sky. The work of art features baby cherubim sitting on the clouds, carrying baskets of fish and watching the diners blow with innocent curiosity. On the champagne-colored walls are imitations of works featured at the Louvre and candid photographs of scenes in both Paris and the countryside, decked out alongside with the number of news clippings, magazine articles, reviews and awards that the restaurant received over the years. Vases of fresh irises have been placed on every table, and in the back balcony, people are enjoying a garden of them while having candlelight dinners by the riverside. Waiters—who speak so well in French that it's as if proficiency in the language is the number one requirement of the job—are busy taking orders and serving a full house of customers that are sitting in anticipation for their meals. The restaurant may as well have a French flag displayed, but that would have looked ostentatious.
It's a proud five-star restaurant and the most lucrative out of the circle of restaurants aligned with Whitebeard Corporations, but Lord Newgate's not here to talk about the restaurant's finances or for a casual dinner with its owner. Word has it that the Blackleg Family just received information about the Krieg Family, and Monsieur Blackleg, head of the most secretive family in the international criminal underground, is more than willing to share this to his closest ally and family cousin.
Seeing that Lord Newgate is nowhere in sight, I begin towards the near-empty bar area. Tonight, an orchestra of string instruments is playing on center stage, accompanying a man who is singing a French ballad with a voice as rich and as smooth as velvet. I take my seat on a stool, and I'm almost surprised to see who's tending to the bar at this hour.
"So, from sous-chef to barkeep? How's the demotion coming along?"
Sanji snorts at my comment, and he takes a swig of his red wine before answering coolly, "Very funny. I can enjoy a wine break, can't I?" When I shrug my shoulders, he places down his wine glass and takes a cocktail shaker plus a few drinks. A moment later, he slides me a glass of fresh Piña Colada on the rocks.
"The usual for Monsieur Pineapple Head, on the house."
"Very funny." I take the glass for a sip. "But, thanks." It tastes great. Just the right amount of tangy sweetness and alcohol, and the ice just makes it even more refreshing. "How's school? I heard from Ace that you had an interesting day. Hope the sauce doesn't stain the shirt permanently."
"For your sass, I'm changing my mind about treating you, you know," Sanji scowls as he leans against the bar, continuing on his wine, "And speaking of Ace, I didn't see him a while ago when Uncle Edward arrived. Far as I know, we don't have homework, yet."
"He's running a few errands right now. Not sure if he'll make it tonight."
"What kind of errands?"
"Collecting some money debt and then meeting up with someone. Claims to know something about his brother."
"Nine years of searching, and he's still at it. He's dedicated. I'll give him that."
"Not sure if it's dedication or just pure stubbornness." At that, Sanji ends up laughing, but before he can further comment, the booming voice of a familiar man starts shouting.
"Sanji! Break's over, bastard! We have a large group of paying customers, and they need food!"
Sanji rolls his eyes, muttering something in French before gulping down the last of his wine. He excuses himself, leaves behind the kitchen doors, and shortly after, Patty and Carne take his place in the bar area.
"Piña Colada as usual." Patty narrows his eyes towards my glass. "Did Sanji just treat you?"
"Stingy as ever, Patty."
"And, snarky as always, Phoenix. Don't forget to tip."
"Great to see you, Marco," the smaller man, Carne, says good naturedly, "Lord Newgate and Monsieur Blackleg are already settled in one of the meeting rooms." I take another sip from my drink and nod. Then, gaze shifting from left to right, Carne leans closer and utters in a low voice, "Our man's correct?"
"Verified with our own sources. This 'Gin' person really did his tracking research."
Patty snorts. "Bastard's a sneaky one. He knows his way around. So, what? Going to kill the son of a bitch while he's still digging through snow?"
"We've already sent a team after his trail."
It's been a week since the meeting, only a few days since Whitney and a few others left for Russia, and still no news of Blue Jam's death. Sources said that Blue Jam intended to leave Moscow for one of the backwater regions of Russia, and one can guess that that's where the Krieg Family is currently operating. Either he changed direction or he's now in hiding. We may even have been misled.
But, my hopes aren't dampened, yet. If anything, they only fuel into more painful longing. I have to be patient, I tell myself, and every night, Whitney reminds me this. I remember each of her promises.
"You will be the one to deliver the final blow. I promise you that," she spoke soothingly over the phone the other night, "Patience, love. These things take time, but when it comes, the wait will be worth it. You—we—will have revenge."
I slide the empty glass towards Carne along with a couple of bills for tip. This seems to satisfy Patty who immediately scoops them up and begins counting. A greedy glint flashes in his eyes.
"I'm guessing there are updates from your associates. Monsieur Blackleg called on a short notice, and Lord Newgate cancelled one of his late-night office meetings just for this," I say.
"It's a secret among the Monsieur, Lord Newgate and our sources," Carne answers, "But, what I can tell you is what I know—and that's what's happening in Europe as we speak. Trouble's brewing."
"So, I've heard. Vista brought up the topic for discussion during breakfast."
"You're aware of what's going on."
"Slightly," I admit, causing utter shock in Patty's and Carne's expressions, "I had to leave the conversation early. Business to attend to for Lord Newgate, and I had to bring Ace to school."
Patty looks ready to smack my head, but he doesn't follow through with it. Probably because of my generous tip. Instead, he smacks his own. "Bastard! Of all the things to miss out—" he stops himself just as his voice was about to reach higher volumes, looks to and fro, and then hisses, "Well, what do you know so far, then?"
"A warehouse bombing, the police discovery of an illegal smuggling unit plus a string of nighttime murders and disappearances that started ever since the heir of a Spanish mafia family suddenly vanished without a trace. Sounds like a secret turf war's going on." Vista's always in the know about the current events in Spanish Underground. No surprise there, considering that's where he's from.
Carne nods in agreement. "The Corazon Family. One of the very old and powerful mafia families still living today."
"What else, then?" Patty raises an eyebrow.
"Well, everyone knows what happened to the Dracule Family in their estate."
"And, have you heard of what's happened in Russia? In England?"
"Afraid not. I must have left at that point." I muse on it. Russia? Blue Jam. England? Was Lord Newgate aware of it?"
Out of habit, Patty jerks his head, searching again for any eavesdroppers before he begins. "Well, let me tell you. The Bartholomew Family? Dead. All of them. Went on a trip to Russia, but just as they were emerging from their private plane—" He makes a gesture of a gun pointing towards his own head and then an invisible pull of a trigger accompanied by a flick of his wrist.
The Bartholomew Family? We've had a few dealings with them in the past, and they were a small but respectable sort to be considered small-time allies from Portugal. "A possible vendetta?" It happens. After all, it's families like them who have their large share of hidden enemies.
"Possibly, but you know what's funny? And this is where you have to remember the Rocinante Family. No one—and I mean no one—has found the body of Kuma Bartholomew, heir of that Family. It's like he vanished into thin air, too."
I frown. It's easy to see now where Patty's going at. "And, in England?"
"I'm sure you're familiar with the Whitehorse Family."
"We only deal with them if necessary." The Whitehorse Family is a rival of the Newgate Family for power in English Underground, but a minor one at that, and our relationship with them is rather colorful. If Lord Newgate calls them "fresh upstarts," the Lord Whitehorse calls us "ambitious despots." Whenever Lord Newgate creates a successful venture, Lord Whitehorse would brand him a "thief among thieves." If a connection is secured, they'd come out with more connections to boast about. And, whenever Lord Newgate hosts a party, Lord Whitehorse wouldn't attend out of spite, only to organize an even "grander" party soon after, and to his major expense. All of this to the good humor of Lord Newgate who even makes the Whitehorse Family the butt of his jokes to some of his allies.
Well, if something really happened to that Family, I don't see Lord Newgate getting angered. He'll probably only care to gloat behind offered "support."
"They might have bitten off more than they can chew this time," Carne says, shaking his head, "To make enemies out of the Spanish mafia."
"What did they do?"
"Well, to their defense, their Heir was attacked, just like the others, and they acted within their rights. Luckily for them, Cavendish Whitehorse wasn't kidnapped, but they found that the abductor spoke in Spanish. From there, they drew conclusions."
Big mistake. "That's like accusing the yakuza because the assassin happens to be Japanese, and you know the local yakuza want nothing to do with us."
"Perhaps, a mistake from their sources or one side has to be lying. Well, you know the Whitehorse Family is unpopular among some families, and I suppose some are trying to take advantage of the mess in Spain just to get rid of them. Now, it looks like the Italian mafia are backing up some of the Spanish due to some marriage ties and existing alliances."
Patty snorts. "The poor bastards. Since Lord Newgate has Italian blood, now's a good time to call on you guys for his influence—"
"Trust me. We're probably their last resort." And, even if the Whitehorse Family were to go down on their knees, I sincerely doubt that Lord Newgate would act. Especially if the Italians are involved. It will mean dealing with the rest of the Allerick-Marcellino line, and loyalties and old familial ties can be strained. No, Lord Newgate's too shrewd a man to risk something as "unprofitable" as that.
Carne blinks. "I heard they're trying to seek the protection and counsel from the Dracule Family—"
"Mon Dieu, are they crazy?" Patty bursts into laughter, "Of all families! They're better off getting favors from polishing Lord Newgate's shoes!" He wipes a tear that slid from his eyes, "Carne, we all know that the Dracule family hates the English families."
"It's true," I add on a sour note. The Dracule Family's another powerful mafia family, based on France, and our relationship with them is only civil because of our alliance with the Blackleg Family and also because the Dracule Family considers Lord Newgate—I quote—"more Italian than a common Englishman in blood."
"Well," Carne shrugs, "Perhaps, one from their previous generations married a Dracule which is usually a good reason—"
"And, that person must have been chopped off the family tree! That's what happens when a Dracule marries an English! Besides, how can they?"
Patty pauses in his laughter, his face turning pallid, and his lower lip quivers. Whatever he's thinking of, it must be terrible. "I mean—that is to say—after what has happened—" He suddenly breaks into French.
Not understanding, I glance at Carne who adopts the same expression. "And, what a scandal! Terrible news!" Then, he looks at me, eyes widening and whispering several tones down," In fact, Sanji doesn't know this, but his cousin—the Heir of the Dracule Family—h-he'll be arriving next week!"
"Well, he is alive, and the Dracule Family is trying to take extra precautions for its heir."
Carne nods. "Yes, but it's more than just security, Marco. You've heard from the news everything, right? Well, there's a larger story behind it—a huge scandal of some sort which—that's your phone, isn't it?"
Indeed. The tone's growing increasingly louder as it begins to vibrate inside my pocket, as if angry that I've been ignoring it for just a few seconds. After excusing myself from the two chefs, I press the receiver button and place the phone behind my ear.
It turns out to be Vista.
"Marco—" and he's short out of breath as he speaks, "We've been compromised." His breathing is haggard. This causes me to freeze. Has he been shot?
I grip the handle of my cellphone. "Where's Ace?"
"Knocked out… chloroform—they tried to sell him out—"
"Vista, where are you now?"
But, he doesn't answer. The last thing I hear is a string of gunshots fired, and immediately, the line goes dead. I try to call back, but there's no answer. Before I can try one more time, I receive another call.
"I'm on my way to Impel Down," Izou says before I even say anything, "Juzo went ahead. We're tracing signals from Ace's and Vista's phones. Squado told me that they're still together." So, Vista called Izou first, didn't he? Of course.
"Keep monitoring them and hurry." One look from me has Patty nodding towards Carne. "Vista thinks they're after Ace. I'll inform Lord Newgate quickly."
There are no more exchange of words. Izou hangs up, and I follow Carne towards the second floor where Lord Newgate usually holds his meetings with Monsieur Blackleg. My legs carry me, marching fast, but my mind's sprinting in a marathon as different thoughts begin to wrestle with each other.
Punk Hazard, the stolen data, a video's hidden message, Blue Jam, heirs of powerful families suddenly disappearing and the sudden rise of turf wars—it's like what Haruta said. There are just too many coincidences happening at the same time that they can't be just mere coincidences at all. There has to be a connection somewhere, and at the rate this is going, all of these signs can only boil down to one person.
Don Krieg.
~*~ Omake ~*~
-Haruta and Ace sitting down with looks of concentration while playing a game of chess-
Ace: -seemingly at the point of giving up as he moves his knight- Check.
Haruta: -quickly moves her queen and knocks down the king- And, check mate!
Ace: Oh, come on! Fifty four straight wins to zero?!
Haruta: -giggles- If it makes you feel any better, Young Master, you're slowly reaching Lord Newgate's level!
Ace: You beat him in about fifteen moves. With me, less than ten. Seriously, how did you get so good?
Haruta: Well, I practice a lot.
Ace: Really? With who?
Haruta: Marco.
Ace: Marco? He plays chess? With you?
Haruta: He's just deadly.
In actual reality…
-crashing sounds and angry, frustrated screams heard across the halls-
Izou and Whitney: -running towards the noise until they spot Juzo watching Haruta in her rampage-
Izou: What's happening here?!
Juzo: Well, Haruta was just playing chess against herself again, and she spent about 59 minutes on a stalemate, but she broke out of it when she somehow managed to outsmart her own tactics, and now she's lost one pawn before completing the one hour mark. And, you know, whenever something wrong happens, she just blames—
Haruta: STUPID PINEAPPLE, THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! –blindly throws chessboard, and Izou and Juzo had to dodge this-
Whitney: -unaffected- Aww, Haruta can't stop thinking of my precious pineapple, and she just wants to spend time with him! I know exactly how she feels! Ten minutes, and I miss him already…
Juzo: –pulls out a video camera-
Izou: Okay. Juzo, what are you doing?
Juzo: Taking a video documentary. I already have a title—"The Newgate Manor: Secret Files." Should I do some epic Russell Crowe narrating or should I do something like a Samuel Jackson impersonation? What about Morgan Freeman?
Izou: Juzo. I think you should go in there and help her or—if you don't want to—call for actual help? Do something useful? Maybe an appointment with a therapist, even? I mean, let's face it, Haruta's a special case of—
Whitney: Izumi! How could you say that? I don't want my little Haruta to see some quack doctor who'd just take advantage of her! I think she's perfectly fine just the way she is!
Izou: On second thought, I think I'll schedule two appointments.
Juzo: Okay. But, first, let me finish this video.
Izou: And, why?
Juzo: So, the good ol' doc will know what he's dealing with.
Izou: …
Juzo: I'm just being nice that way. I don't want to be a douche bag about this.
Izou: -face palms- ... I cannot believe that I'm going to say this...
Izou: ... Carry on.
Author's Note: This wouldn't be a rewrite if Juzo's randomness wasn't here. In my world, it is essential. :))
Oh no. Ace is kidnapped? Apparently, in this rewrite, the Krieg Family actually accomplished that? Looks like there's more danger here.
So, this chapter is pretty much a more expanded version of Marco's chapter from the last version (but with more details, more exposition, more intensity and a smarter writing style). I already like Marco's "dark side" from the last version (and I know that he's also popular among many of my reviewers), so I thought I'd already establish that early on. Of course, more to come. I've always enjoyed the theme of insanity in my stories (and it's funny because I'm a psychology major). Dear Lord.
Also, a message from my favorite French boy here, Sanji: Je Suis Charlie.
It's an odd coincidence that the chapter I'm posting this week involves some mentions of terrorism and other related plots. And, I know from my Story Stats that I have a number of people from France who reads this fan fiction, so here's my way of expressing my solidarity to those who are affected in any way by the tragedy. :(
Also, next chapter in 2 weeks again! Dropping reviews will be very much appreciated! :D