Chapter 9
"I still think this is fuckin' insane," Zoro muttered from the corner of his mouth, slouched against the car seat. Nami elbowed him.
"First off, insensitivity much? Second off, this is the only shot we've got at getting Luffy and apparently Ace out of that place, according to Sis and Franky. Where the hell do you suggest we get our supplies from?" she hissed.
"Not an international crime boss; that's for damn sure."
"He's not a crime boss, exactly," Franky said. "Er, well, he kinda is. He's just an old dude who likes to take care of his own."
"Even if it means destroying large federally-owned property and stealing from the rich to give to the poor," Robin said.
"So a modern-day old fart version of Robin Hood? Yeah, that inspires confidence(!)" Sanji said.
"Nami, I'm kind of scared," Chopper muttered, pulling his hat down over his ears.
"Don't worry, Chopper," Robin said, smiling slightly. "Edward Newgate is a very kind man to those who show him and his friends no disrespect. We are merely asking to use his resources, and we do not intend to show any disrespect, so we have no reason to fear for our well-being."
"You say that, but Sanji's gonna say something offensive, I just know it. Probably Zoro, too," Chopper muttered. Robin had a hard time trying to prove him wrong.
"We're almost there," Franky called to the rest of the occupants of the van. Seven people were difficult to cram into a van that was meant to hold about six-and-a-half people. Luckily, Chopper was tiny enough that he fit into the middle seat in the back between Robin and Usopp. Nami and Zoro took the middle seats (Zoro was the only one who refused to wear a seat belt) and Sanji had called shotgun from the get-go.
Franky pulled into a crumbling parking lot by an old HQ warehouse that had gone out of business years ago.
"Oh, hey! I remember this place!" Nami said. "My mum used to take me out here to learn how to drive, 'cause there were no cars around to get in the way! And around Christmas, the Salvation Army uses the warehouse to hold all their boxes and gifts and shit for the poor people… I used to volunteer." She smiled, clearly remembering happier times. "I used to get so pissed when the other people who were volunteering turned out to be stupid and inefficient. I had to go back behind them half the time and fix whatever they fucked up." The others exchanged glances.
"Well," said Franky, "it ain't no Salvation Army in there this time." He pulled around back and parked by the loading bays. "Out the car, everybody!"
They clambered out, some more gracefully than others (Chopper damn near had his face collide with the pavement, bless his little heart). Franky trotted up to the massive corrugated steel doors and knocked. "OYAJI! YA IN THERE?" he bellowed.
The door slowly retracted upwards as someone behind worked the pulley.
"That you, Franky?" A face popped out from under the rapidly rising door.
"Thatch! You sneaky old bastard! What are you doing in this state? Aren't there a good three warrants for your arrest here?"
"Nah, only the two. Nothing I can't handle. It's good to see you!" They clapped each other on the back and traded jokes about Thatch's facial hair and how it didn't seem to 'match the drapes'. Their behaviour was remarkably similar and one might almost swear they were related, if it weren't for the part where, aside from the basic shape of the hair, they looked nothing alike.
"Hey, man – I'm sorry you guys had to come all the way out here for us. We really appreciate it," Franky said.
"Oh, we're not here just for you, so there's no need for your thanks. Truth be told, we've had a bunch of other meetings lined up today. Good thing you're not early."
No-one chose to ask why it was a good thing they weren't early. Chopper just looked all the more terrified.
"Hey, Oyaji!" called Thatch. "Guess who?"
"Is that Franky?" asked a truly monstrously tall man, sitting on a crate by the back of the warehouse, drinking what appeared to be high-quality booze and surrounded by rough-looking men and very pretty-looking girls. It had to be Edward Newgate himself. "Now, what would he be doing here and why would he drag some children still in their diapers, I wonder?"
"Is he talkin' 'bout us?" Zoro asked Nami, voice full of not-so-hidden venom.
"Just let it go for now. It's for Luffy." Zoro huffed, but shut up.
"Oyaji, I know it's been forever since we've talking properly and all, and I know it would probably be better to just sit down and catch up or something, but I've got a bit of serious problem and we need some stuff that, far as I know, you're the only one with access to. Any chance we could get at your suppliers? We'd pay you, of course," Franky said.
"What kind of 'stuff' do you need, and why do you need it? If it's something only I have, then it can't be anything legal," Newgate observed.
"Ehehe… yeah. About that. Here's what we need." Franky handed over the list. Tall as Franky was, Newgate still had to bend a little to take the piece of paper.
As he read over the list, Newgate began chortling deep in his throat. "What the hell kind of operation are you planning that you need this? It promises to be interesting if you're actually planning on using half of what's here."
Franky grinned slightly. It wasn't a 'no' yet. "One of our friends and then a friend of his got chucked into a loony bin for political reasons and we're of a mind to get both of 'em back."
Newgate paused, then looked up and fixed the group with a piercing stare.
Nami froze and began to mentally panic. What had they done wrong? If he rejected them now, they were screwed. If he took offense, they were screwed. Were they even going to get a chance to fix what they had done wrong, whatever it was?
"…Which 'loony bin' might this be?"
"Er…" Franky fumbled with the name. "…Greenburgh State Psychiatric Hospital."
"I knew it," Newgate muttered. "It would seem you lucky dogs are the second people today to ask me for assistance with that particular institution. I'm assuming you're asking about the same two people, as well."
"Wait…" Nami said. "If we were the second group… who was the first?"
"That would be me," said a deep voice from off to Newgate's left. Marco stepped out, Norm and Norma slightly behind him and looking uncomfortable. "I'm a friend of Ace's. You would be friends of Luffy's, then?"
"You're Ace's friend?" Zoro asked, finally content to speak up with someone who did not control the fate of what he considered his only friend. "Then why the hell did you let what happened to him happen?"
Marco bristled. "I wasn't there. From what I saw on the security footage, you're the guy Ace talked to who got him into all this, aren't you? Well, guess what, prick? I'm the guy whose night shift Ace took for two nights, and if I'd been there, I'd have chucked your sorry ass clean out onto the streets and called the cops, and Ace would be just fine right now."
"Well, I was pretty interested in setting my friend free at the time. I'm pretty sure you can fucking relate, seeing as how a security guard somehow started consorting with what's generally viewed as the other side of the law."
"Don't you get started with me!" Marco snapped.
"Both of you, shut the hell up," Newgate ordered. "My old ears ache enough without listening to idiots try to kill what few remaining neural connections they have functioning. Both of you want the same thing. Both of you came to me to get it. Judging by the whole bit where you lot –" he nodded to Franky and the group "- need various fancy instruments of nefariousness to achieve something or other, I think it's safe to guess that you have a plan. Marco, as it stands, we do not. What harm is there in at least hearing out what they have planned, hm?"
"It is not our plan, sir," Robin said, stepping forward. "It is Ace's. The night he was locked away, he related his views to two of our own, and explained a device by which both he and Luffy could hypothetically be freed. We will happily explain the details, should you require it of us."
Marco looked intrigued now. "He came up with a plan on his own?"
"Yes."
"…How good is it?"
Robin simply smiled. "Very good, sir. Ace has a flair for covert action, it would seem."
Marco grinned. "Then let's hear it."
Ace barely registered the change in environment when he was carted out of his room in a wheelchair. His bloodstream was too full of sedatives and his brain wasn't functioning properly for him to do much but blithely wonder how they were going to get anywhere in a wheelchair if there was no elevator.
He tried to point this out to whoever was wheeling him around, but it came out mixed-up mumbled gibberish, much to his irritation. To a drunkard, it might have made sense, but to a normal person, no such luck.
…Oh. They were going to carry him up the stairs. That worked, too. He was too drugged up to care about the indignity of it all. He was carried to the first basement into the infirmary.
The doctor, a severe-looking man in his sixties, waved a hand in front of Ace's eyes to no avail.
"He's really out of it. How much did you give him?"
"175 milligrams."
"The hell? You should only be giving him that much for pre-op, and I certainly don't plan on cutting him open. And that's each injection?"
"Well, yeah."
"How many total?"
"Three times; one every three minutes for nine minutes."
"Shit! Well, if you Manager Marshall wants to pump the poor kid full of sedatives, that's his business, but when he borders on making him a damn vegetable, I have to voice my concerns. Cut the dosage to 100 mg for three injections, if that." The doctor flashed a torch into Ace's eyes to check his pupils, then took his pulse, writing down what he found. He rolled up Ace's sleeve and wrapped the band around his bicep to take his blood pressure and wrote the result for that down, as well.
"All right then, Mister Ace. Can you hear me? Blink if you hear me."
Ace blinked slowly.
"Good. At least you can understand me. Can you speak?"
Ace let out a low murmur that was intended to be speech.
"I'll take that as a no. I'm sorry they used so much pentobarbital on you. I really don't know what the hell they think they're doing. I'm going to try and steadily lower what they give you, all right? That ought to make it easier to move and speak." The doctor sighed and scratched the back of his head. "I don't know what the hell has gotten into management these days. I'm going to see if I can't get you transferred to a psychiatric hospital that isn't full of incompetent nimrods."
"Nnnnno…" Ace said.
"Hm?"
"No… don't…" Ace whispered.
The doctor looked Ace in the eyes as best he could. "…If you say so. I hope it's you talking and not the drugs. I'll check on you again in a week." He went out in the hall and fetched the orderly to carry Ace back down to his padded prison.
If only they could hear the endless curses rampaging on the inside of Ace's head.
(A/N): AWW YEAH. WHAT NOW, LIFE? TRIPLE UPDAAAAAAAATE.
Anyway, I'm getting a whole shit-ton of fillings tomorrow… and it's my parents' anniversary. They're going to be all mushy the whole day; I just know it, and I'm gonna be drugged out of my mind. Ace, my man, I completely sympathise.
