Thank you for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following! This chapter is a little flashback to how Law got involved with the mob in the first place, hope you enjoy.
Ultra special extra thanks to Grey / therealslimshady on AO3 for their fabulous artwork from the first chapter! Please check it out, post/92869152497/if-everyone-in-the-room-hadnt-been-so-distracted
Five months ago Law's life changed drastically.
He was just an average internationally acclaimed cardiac surgeon. And he was bored. Very, extremely, dangerously bored.
The only time he could really do whatever he wants was when he's deliberately avoiding his 'real life,'
otherwise he's consumed by business dinners and schmoozing with hospital directors or whatever other scheme his father has cooked up to improve his career.
He often got the feeling that his life had been planned out to the last detail, and he was only there to act out the part.
Even his rebellious phase, if that's what you could call it, seemed to follow a script. Tattoos, some piercings, a lukewarm attempt at differentiating himself from others' expectations. His parents were apoplectic, but it amounted to almost nothing in the end. Whenever he mingled in polite society he had to leave the earrings at home and keep the ink covered.
So when any chance to escape his life appeared, he grabbed it with both hands. Sometimes the impulse led to him making so-called bad decisions, which explains why his closest friends have absolutely no worthwhile social status. His parents would be appalled if they knew he was mingling with the lower classes. He liked to imagine their reactions sometimes, just for entertainment purposes.
It all turned abruptly around on one of the nights that Law chose to blow off his social obligations to unwind. He was out with his favorite nurse, Shachi, one of the few people he might actually want to call his friends, walking the few blocks from the bar back to Shachi's tiny studio apartment.
It happened to be one of those stifling hot muggy nights that he loathes, summer's last shot at making the people suffer. They had decided to go out, even though Law hates going out, because the bar down the street was the closest place with a working air conditioner unit, and Law wasn't ready to let a late summer heat wave drive him back to his lifeless penthouse.
Apparently everyone else in the neighborhood had the same idea, and the bar had been packed, but they spent a slightly-less-than-completely-miserable few hours drinking cold beer and enjoying the indoors. By the time it had cooled off enough outside to consider leaving it was already well past midnight, and Law had imbibed enough to feel pleasantly relaxed. He strolled along beside Shachi, neither of them in any hurry to get back to Shachi's cramped and stuffy apartment, and the nurse continued his well-worn rant about "those shithead interns" that he had started before they even left the bar.
Law was only half listening, since Shachi never needed any input once he had a few drinks and got going on everything and everyone that was a piece of shit at work. He already knew Law agreed wholeheartedly.
Besides the occasional car the street was mostly empty, and his attention meandered over crumbling curbs and dim street lights while he considered how many more hours he could put off returning home.
Two shots fired into the night, followed by a third after a beat, shattering the quiet and Law's inner calm all within seconds. He and Shachi froze in place on the sidewalk.
"That was-"
"Fucking shit-"
They both start to exclaim before being drowned out by squealing tires that were so loud they could only be from the next avenue over.
Shachi recovered first, his EMT training kicking straight into high gear, and he took off in the direction of the commotion at a dead sprint. Law found himself chasing after him before his brain could catch up with a plan of action, instantly sobered from the spiking adrenaline but acting on pure reflex.
He rounded the corner of an alleyway that Shachi had disappeared into, and had to take a moment just to comprehend the scene in front of him.
Shachi was on his knees on the grimy concrete in front of the biggest hulk of a man Law had ever encountered in person. If the man hadn't been wearing pants and a suit jacket—who on earth was his tailor, Law thought inanely—he would have assumed they had just stumbled across the botched drive-by poaching of a 400 lb Congolese gorilla.
And the oddities did not end at his sheer size. The man's hair was long, black, and wild, spilling down his back and overgrown into sideburns that tufted out from either side of a heavy jaw, in a style that could only be called a mane. His face was terrifying, even while knotted in agony, with shaved off eyebrows replaced by black flame tattoos. The stranger looked outright fiendish, and that was not a term Law often used after his residency in the trauma unit.
However, it was hard to take the time to be intimidated when there was work to be done.
Shachi was already administering first aid to one of two apparent sustained gunshot wounds. As Law's brain caught up with the rest of him, Shachi was applying pressure to the man's thigh, clearly the more serious injury than the shallow wound seeping blood on his side.
As medical professionals they were legally required to summon the authorities in this sort of situation, but from his appearance alone it was obvious that this beast of a man did not walk on the right side of the law. Of course Law was not normally one to stereotype, but facial tattoos generally spoke for themselves. Anticipation that he hadn't felt in years, maybe not ever, was stirring in his gut, and his mind was cycling with the possibilities.
So he only watched imperiously as Shachi staunched the bleeding and murmured assurances to the victim. It spoke volumes of his tenacity that the man was still conscious, despite almost certainly having a bullet lodged in his leg and another graze wound on his ribcage where the second shot had miraculously only touched him. An inch or so to the left and they would be dealing with a sucking lung wound, and the stranger's prospects would have been much dimmer.
He had to hand it to Shachi; the nurse was more competent during a crisis than most military doctors. Calm under pressure, deft, confident, all skills that he couldn't have picked up solely during his stints as an EMT and ER staff. Those talents were exactly what made Law take notice of the ex-EMT in the first place, but he still never failed to be impressed when he watched Shachi in action.
He was able to slow the bleeding within a minute with literally no equipment besides his own two bloody hands and the victim's belt cinched tight over the femoral artery.
"The bullet is embedded," Shachi said tightly.
Law nodded absently, having already reached that conclusion.
"We can extract it at your apartment," he said in reply, as if it were an obvious conclusion and not a wildly inappropriate—and highly illegal—suggestion.
Shachi must have detected the eager undercurrent in his voice, and was understandably wary, "My place? You're not calling an ambulance?"
At the mention of ambulance, the beast of a man stirred and groaned, "No cops, just- just call-" but he couldn't seem to articulate who to call.
Shachi's gaze flicked between the victim on the ground and Law, standing in the mouth of the alley. His eyes said "Are we seriously doing this?" but his mouth was pressed in a grim line, already dedicated to following Law's completely absurd plan.
"Well then," Law said, sliding a hand through his hair. His pulse was thrumming in his veins, and he was much more excited than afraid. He pulled in a shallow breath and took out his phone, pressing the key to speed dial the only other person he could trust to follow him without question.
"Penguin, are you still at the hospital? Good. I need you to bring me some things..." and he rattled off a list of emergency supplies. Sterile gauze, all the trappings for an intravenous setup with antibiotics, coagulants, and plenty of opioids, tweezers and needles fresh from the hospital's autoclave. The morphine would be the riskiest item to procure, being a controlled substance, but the pharmacist should have no trouble adjusting the records to make a small amount vanish from the hospital's supply.
Law ended the call. He had the vague idea that his hands should be shaking, but years of precision on the operating table guaranteed that his hands never shook. An unfamiliar feeling was filling him up, spreading out from deep in his chest.
Oh, he thought. This is going to be fun.
-x-
Luckily the man was still awake enough to hobble along as Law and Shachi each got one of his huge arms around their shoulders, because Law was pretty sure there was no way this beast could fit in the back of his Lexus. They half-dragged him around the corner and down the last block and a half to Shachi's apartment building. It took twenty minutes for them to haul him up two flights of stairs, and Law could only thank god that by then it was three in the morning and no one else in the building seemed to be awake.
By the time they managed to make it into the safety of Shachi's room, all three of them were streaked with blood and exhausted. The stranger was mostly unconscious and they had to spend another five minutes shoving and pulling him onto the bed.
"You're buying me new sheets," Shachi complained as he cut away the man's shirts and pants with a pair of utility scissors. "And a new mattress. This was the worst idea." More blood was already smearing everywhere.
Law smirked at him from where he was scrubbing his hands in the kitchen sink. He was in an excellent mood, and it was only his impeccable self-control that prevented him from bouncing on the balls of his feet.
There was a knock on the door before he could reply, and they both went completely still for a moment. Law turned off the faucet, and Shachi dropped the scissors and stealthily crossed the room to check the peephole.
"It's Penguin," he announced with relief, and opened the door the bare minimum to allow the other in. "Hey man, glad you could join us in Dr. Crazy's shittiest operating theater."
Penguin slid through the doorway. He was wearing jeans and a scrub shirt, with his hat pulled down low over his eyes, and was carrying a backpack that Law assumed held all the supplies stolen from the hospital.
"Yeah sure, so will one of you fill me in on what the hell is going on now?" Penguin said, clearly annoyed that Law had refused to tell him anything over the phone, but he immediately spotted the huge body spread over Shachi's bed and stopped dead. "What the fuck?"
Law stepped around Shachi, hands held up to avoid touching anything. "Please tell me you remembered to bring gloves," he said, fully intending to circumvent the part where he was supposed to explain himself. At the very least Penguin wouldn't demand any answers until after the patient was stabilized.
Penguin blinked at him, then silently dug into the bag, pulled out a fresh box of latex gloves, and tore it open before he offered it to Law.
Law snapped on a pair and turned on his heel, going over to the mystery gunshot victim. "Shachi, sterilize the superficial injury and then set up the IV. Let's start with the average dosages for a 230 lb adult male and work from there, but don't skimp on the painkillers. Penguin, please get the instruments ready. I'll begin on the bullet entry wound now." They quickly moved to obey his directions. Law had a particular brand of self-assurance that gave him absolute control in any operating room, even when that operating room happened to be his friend's cramped studio apartment.
Once the procedure was underway it was easy for them to slip into the flow of it, despite the less than ideal setting. Penguin balanced the tray of scalpels and rods and tweezers on Shachi's dresser, and Shachi managed to hang the IV off one of his clothes hangers. It took a surprisingly short amount of time to niggle out the bullet, still in one piece, from where it had buried into the muscle and then stitch and dress the wound. It was all over before Law was really ready to stop working. The thrill of doing something so far outside of the highly controlled and regulated hospital environment wasn't even close to fading.
Law stepped back and peeled off his gloves, watching over as Shachi applied the last of the bandages. He checked the IV again, and decided to add another dose of penicillin just because it seemed like Shachi hadn't dusted in a while.
The stranger had stayed completely out of it during the entire operation, in no small part due to the elephantine dose of morphine and sedatives they had administered. Law studied him carefully. Penguin hadn't brought any hospital gowns and Shachi was a third of the size of the guy and had absolutely no clothes that would fit, so they would just have to leave him in the underwear that he had come in with, his pants and shirt having been cut off of him an hour ago. He really was an ugly son of a bitch, but Law was quite intrigued.
"Where are his things?" he asked abruptly. Penguin started from where he had been dozing off on the couch, and Shachi looked up from checking the fit of the bandages.
"I put them all on the chair," Shachi jerked his thumb at one of the kitchen chairs that had been dragged over. Law shamelessly rummaged through all the pockets of the bloody, cut up clothes, and uncovered a cellphone, wallet, keys, and handgun. He deposited the gun disdainfully on the laminate counter, before rifling through the wallet, which revealed a substantial amount of cash, a few credit cards, and a driver's license for one Jean H. Bart. Law glanced over at the giant currently sprawled over Shachi's bloodstained bed. The sneering picture did seem to match.
Law sent Penguin home with profuse thanks, and he and Shachi took turns napping on the couch and watching over their strange patient. Neither of them wanted to find themselves alone with the man when he finally woke up, and Shachi kept one of his kitchen knives close by.
None of it was necessary, in the end. Mr. Bart woke up shortly before noon and was soft-spoken and very appreciative, though slightly confused as to where he was. Law explained what had happened the night before and how they had found and brought him to the apartment for treatment, before introducing himself as only "a doctor" and Shachi as "a nurse" who were only interested in being good samaritans and were not particularly inclined to turn victims into the police.
Bart raised an eyebrow at that but didn't ask any questions, besides where his phone was.
It turned out his phone had run out of battery overnight, so Law gave him his own phone to borrow while Bart called one of his associates. Half an hour later someone knocked at the door and Shachi checked the peephole.
"Holy shit, no way!" he said, before opening the door wide. "Bepo! Hey man, how've you been!"
Law watched, dumbfounded, as another huge man stepped into the apartment. This one wasn't quite as tall as Bart, and he had snow white hair. Bepo, apparently, seemed skittish as Shachi tugged him farther into the room. "I haven't seen this kid since high school! I guess the rumors were true, you started working for the mob? That's crazy! Oh, this is-" Law gave Shachi a sharp look as soon as he realized the nurse was about to introduce him, and Shachi took the hint, "Uh, this is a doctor I work with. Anyway, small world, huh?" Bepo glanced over at Law, and then at Bart, before giving Shachi a little shrug, "Um... yeah."
Bepo had brought a small duffel bag with some new clothes for Bart, who slid them on with a little difficulty. Then he makes some calls off of Bepo's phone, while Law and Shachi politely pretended not to listen. Jean isn't ready to start walking around just yet, so after Shachi changes the sheets on the bed (stuffing the old ones intro the trash with a not-so-quiet "ew"), he settles back down for another few hours of recuperation.
Shachi had to leave for his shift at the hospital, Law waved him away when he tries to suggest taking the day off, and Bepo left with a quiet promise to come back at six o'clock.
"So," Jean said, once they're alone, "How much do I owe you for the treatment?"
Law shook his head, "Like I said, we're just a pair of good samaritans. No payment necessary."
"I'm afraid I must insist," Jean replied, "My family doesn't like to be in debt."
Law settled back into his chair, watching Jean thoughtfully, "I don't want money, but you could answer a few questions for me, if you would be so kind."
Jean considered him for a moment, then nods.
Law leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "Was last night a drug deal?"
"No, that was just a little altercation. No drugs." Jean said.
"What is it your family does then?"
"Loans, mostly. Solving people's money problems."
"Does that usually carry such a high risk?"
Jean chuckled, "You ask a lot of questions for a doctor. You know, my boss values people with your kind of skills and discretion, you could do real well for yourself working for him."
Law sat up, that was exactly what he had been driving at, but he didn't want to seem too eager or it might put Jean off, "I don't think-"
Jean interrupted him, holding up a huge hand, "Take some time to think it over. If you're interested in doing some more off-the-books work, with appropriate compensation of course, just give me a call."
"Right, I'll think about it," Law said.
He didn't have to think about it, his mind was already made up before Bepo returned to help Jean downstairs and out to the waiting car. He didn't tell Jean yet of course, merely sent him off with fresh gauze, bandages, and a prescription bottle full of oxycodone.
He told Shachi and Penguin about the offer the next day, and predictably they freaked out, but only for a few minutes. They couldn't believe he would consider working for criminals, and he can't believe they would expect him to pass up such a golden opportunity. How often does a world-class surgeon cross paths with a mobster? It was truly a once in a lifetime event.
Eventually he convinces them that it's a great idea, he's always been persuasive, but they take it upon themselves to help him out by "keeping an eye on him." Shachi would stay with him on a daily basis, and Penguin said he would be more comfortable handling things on the hospital front. Law was a bit perturbed they thought he couldn't take care of it all on his own, but he was impressed by their loyalty. He had to thank his lucky stars that he had at least two people who wanted to watch out for him no matter what.
A few days later he called back Jean Bart, ostensibly to check up on his condition, but eventually they got around to discussing the offer and Law drops hints that he's interested in learning more. He met up with Jean in some craphole diner, discretely passed him a new bottle of oxys, and they talked.
Jean asked him where he's getting the drugs, and Law explains the system he worked out with Penguin. Law asked Jean shrewd questions about what he could expect from the family business, and Jean answers faithfully while skirting around the exact details. He seemed to like Law, and near the end of the meeting he slid a fat envelope across the table. Law opened it and looked in, it appeared to be at least $10,000 in a neat little bundle.
"Don't worry, it's all clean," Jean said. "My boss really appreciates you doing all this for me. Have you made a decision about taking on more work? He'll make it worth your while."
Law put the envelope back on the table, "I don't need money, what else can your people give me?"
Jean smiles conspiratorially, "You're a pretty smart kid, aren'tcha? We can get you whatever you want: drugs, sex, weapons if that's your thing. Exotic animals, 'lost' original artwork, VIP access anywhere, shit you can't find anywhere else in this city. So, interested?"
Yes, Law was definitely interested. He didn't need any of that stuff either, but he wanted in no matter what.
Jean said he would have to set up a meeting so that Law could be introduced to the director of operations for the organization. Law took the money in the end, just to be polite, and left Jean at the diner, to wait on his phone call.
-x-
Jean called him a week later, giving him an address in the warehouse district and telling him to be there at 4 o'clock the next day. Law showed up ten minutes early, dressed his best in a light gray suit and black tie and looking damn sexy if he did say so himself. Shachi insisted he go with him, as backup or a body guard Law didn't quite know, and they met Jean and Bepo outside of a rundown manager's office.
Jean indicated that only Law was to follow him inside, so Shachi waited reluctantly out front with Bepo while Law entered the building.
He was led to a small conference room in the back of the office, to find three men already waiting for him. Law wasn't sure if it was normal to require so many people just to approve a new doctor, but he wasn't about to question it in such a serious atmosphere. It was tense. Jean introduces him to Crocodile, the family's underboss, who was representing the boss' interests.
Law is almost giddy. While Jean looked like your everyday thug, Crocodile looked like a genuine mafioso straight out of The Godfather: cigar clamped between straight white teeth, a hardcore scar right across his face, hair slicked back and an expensive suit with a silk tie. He had look that said "you are shit on the sole of my $2000 Armani wingtip," and Law is hit with the sensation that this is the real deal. Crocodile was obviously rich, powerful, and oozing danger; a man that would gain absolutely nothing from putting up with any shit from a rich brat, no matter who that brat's daddy is.
Crocodile gestured across the table, "Please have a seat," and Law accepted the only chair left, acting completely at ease despite the tension emanating from the three mobsters. Jean poured him a drink and stays standing off to the side. Law took a sip, and used his high society upbringing to maintain precise control.
"Thank you for meeting with me today," he said politely.
Crocodile didn't accept his thanks. "Let me introduce my associates. This is Marco, Jean's capo." A sleepy-eyed guy who was slouching his seat, head shaved aside from a small plume of beach blond hair and dressed in a midnight blue suit nods at Law. A gold-plated lighter appears in his hand and he lights a cigarette with a deft flick of his fingers.
"And to my right is Daz Bones, another of our capos."
Daz Bones was another huge man, with dark tan skin and massive shoulders, and light colored hair cropped close to his skull, who sat still and impassive in his charcoal gray suit and skinny black tie. He gave no indication that he noticed Law existed.
"We must thank you again for the care you provided in Jean's time of need. He has informed us that you might be interested in a long term position in our organization, as we are currently short on medical expertise. I have a few questions for you on behalf of our boss, Whitebeard, if you don't mind." Crocodile said, introductions at an end.
"Of course," Law acquiesced graciously. This was the most interesting job interview he had ever had. And also the first one where he wasn't one hundred percent certain he would get the job.
What followed was a brief series of questions and answers where Crocodile felt out whether Law is a tool that the Whitebeard family can use. Law answered as succinctly and confidently as possible, and tried to refrain from coming across as too arrogant. He kept his hands on the table, occasionally taking a sip of the scotch in his glass, and met Crocodile's eyes unflinchingly.
Crocodile seemed satisfied with his responses. "I will consult with the Boss, but it seems we may be able to arrange something. Do you have any questions?"
Law threaded his fingers together, this was the part that made him nervous.
"I have some conditions. I can prove I am a board certified surgeon and medical doctor, but I have a public reputation to maintain, so I must insist that my identity remain strictly confidential. Also I will need to have maximum control over my work, so I would like to use my own people as assistants and to obtain the necessary supplies. However, I will need you to provide me with a workspace, something that can accommodate a file system and an adequate examination room. If these terms are acceptable then I am amenable to any other reasonable arrangements."
Crocodile regarded him with the flat reptilian stare of his namesake, cigar burning steadily in his teeth. Law could feel Jean shifting nervously at the side, or maybe his bullet holes were starting to hurt. Daz Bones is glaring at him like he wanted to bore holes through Law's skull. Only Marco seemed completely relaxed; he blinked lazily.
Law had spent a long time on equal footing with powerful men, so being assertive in front of a mob underboss came more easily than it might have otherwise. He met Crocodile's stare with a look that conveyed one hundred percent confidence that his conditions are reasonable and deserved. For the most part he really was confident, but there is, however, the unavoidable doubt that he had crossed a line and any second he was about to get kneecapped for his insolence. He was not sure exactly how much provocation was required for that.
"I believe we can work with that," Crocodile said finally, and stood so that he can look down his nose disparagingly at Law from across the table. Law stood as well and smiles, waiting for his next cue. Crocodile blows out a cloud of cigar smoke and slid his hands into his pockets, "We'll be in touch." With that he walks out of the room, with Daz Bones following close behind. Marco trails out after them after a beat, fiddling with his phone and completely ignoring Law.
After going toe to toe with those three, Jean Bart didn't seem so scary at all. Jean assured him that the meeting went well as he escorted Law back to the entrance, and that he should expect a call within the next few days. He and Bepo went off their own way, and Shachi demands all the details of the meeting on the ride back into the city. Law played it like it wasn't a big deal, but under his skin he was practically vibrating with anticipation and apprehension. The encounter was a damn thrill, and he could certainly see himself running with that crowd, wearing sharp suits every day and in the company of lethal accomplices.
-x-
True to Jean's word, he got a call on the new phone he bought just for work three days later.
"Dr. Trafalgar," a deep drawl greeted him.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up at the sound of his name, "Yes?"
"This is Marco, we met the other day."
"Ah.. hello," he said. Of course Marco would be one of the people entrusted with his real identity.
"I'm calling to give you the location to your new clinic. One of my men can meet you there tomorrow afternoon to give you more details, if that's convenient?" Marco asked.
"Yes, of course." Marco then gave him an address and a time to show up to get the information on how the clinic was to be run.
He brought Shachi with him again just because he's not sure exactly what he's getting into, and shows up on a weekend afternoon at a grungy storefront, sandwiched between a laundromat and a Vietnamese takeout restaurant.
Marco's man turned out to be one Portgas D. Ace, a cheerful guy with a perpetual cheeky grin, who was a stark contrast with the oppressively serious air of his higher ups. Ace gave him the keys, and all the details on what records Whitebeard expected him to keep, what he needed to know about the fraudulent permits, and what to do if the cops showed up. Law was set up with an entire private medical clinic front. The finances are fudged, and they don't accept any new patients. Along with some licensing and permit magic the clinic is rendered invisible to the law and the public, but Law can still use it to order medical supplies all under the guise of being a legitimate clinic.
The building was old but in acceptable condition, and Law was impressed that it actually has a nice office and pair of exam rooms. Ace informed him that it was the location of the family's previous doctor, who was mysteriously 'disappeared' a few months ago. That was not a comforting thought, but Law was already making plans for what furniture he would need for his new office.
Ace also gave him his own phone number, and for a few other of Marco's men, along with Daz Bones in case Marco can't be reached (but don't expect much help from that guy, he's a real asshole about doing anybody a favor). Ace seemed like an easy going and genuinely friendly guy, so Law tried to press him for a bit more information about the family and what to expect, but Ace evaded most of his questions and Law is left with little more than he already knew.
The very next day Law was open for business.
He told the hospital that he's leaving to go into private practice and will only be available for consultations, but no longer available to be on call for surgeries anymore. He told his parents that he's decided to open a health clinic that offers low-cost care for the economically disadvantaged. His father already thought that he lacked ambition, but since Law was staying on as a surgical consultant and charitable endeavors make the family look good, he was okay with it. Mr. and Mrs. Trafalgar could care less about visiting the actual clinic itself anyway.
Shachi lasted a few weeks pulling double shifts at the hospital and the clinic, but eventually he quit his legit job as a nurse and committed full time to working for Law. The money was much better at the clinic anyway, and he was soon raking in over two thousand a week of tax free cash.
Law never actually met Whitebeard himself, and only saw Marco on occasion as his main business contact. He didn't end up wearing a suit every day either, preferring jeans and his white coat over a t-shirt, but the laid back setting suited him. At the end of the day, he genuinely enjoyed his work. The life was good, and Law took to dealing with gangsters like a duck to water. On every level it was exponentially more satisfying than high-stakes operations on old rich men's failing hearts.