Pleased be advised that this is where the realism goes out the window. There isn't really a way to make the police procedural part of this story mesh with the One Piece part without you readers suspending your disbelief. Everyone is going to do some illegal shit but it's all going to turn out okay without any legal ramifications because that's how I've written it. *flies off into the sunset*

Chapter Twenty-One

The precinct was in chaos. A task force had been pulled together, handpicked by Smoker himself, and while those detectives and investigators gathered in the large conference room, officers rushed about answering phone calls and doing as much damage control as they could. Interns and office assistants did what they could, but because no one really knew anything, no one had any direction besides keep the station from falling apart.

Barely an hour had passed since Dalton had brought his phone with the picture of Penguin to Smoker. They had intended to keep it quiet, but an email had been sent to the station's general mailbox only a few minutes after Dalton had received his text containing the same photo and that fire had been impossible to put out. Frankenstein had wanted this chaos and had ensured he would get it.

Now, Dalton stood in Smoker's office, speaking as calmly as he could into his phone.

"We will do everything in our power to get him back, ma'am, I promise. Thank you, we'll talk soon."

Taking the phone from his ear, Dalton hit the "end call" button and slipped the device back into his pocket. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his pointer finger and thumb and sighed heavily. Penguin's foster mother had remained calm and collected for the most part during their conversation, but he could hear her underlying terror in the way her words were tight and clipped.

"How is she?" Smoker asked. He was sitting at his desk, the office phone crushed between his ear and shoulder. He had been on and off with the mayor for the last fifteen or so minutes.

"Strong," Dalton said softly, "she'll be all right."

Smoker grunted and turned back to his computer. "Good. I need you to speak to the task force before you head out to do whatever you have planned next. You said they may have something at the morgue?"

Dalton nodded, "It's possible but nothing's for certain. I have the feeling we're sitting on something important. Otherwise, why would this guy snatch someone so high profile? Break his method? We must be close to a break and not even know it."

"Okay, how much time do you think we have?"

"No idea. This isn't anything like what I would expect from him. Penguin could be fine, just being held in a basement somewhere, or we could already be too late."

Smoker let out a huff and turned back to the phone. "Yes, I'm still here." He looked back up at Dalton and said under his breath, "Get going, I'll hold things together here."

Dalton turned and left the office as Smoker started growling into the phone at some unfortunate aid. A few pairs of eyes looked up at him as he emerged, but they all quickly turned away when they saw the determination set on his face.

The task force was gathered in the large conference room. When Dalton entered, all eyes were fixed on the board at the head of the room, and a single man speaking in a calm and clear voice. The man's light brown hair was cut short in a military fade, and his eyes were clear and bright behind dark, round glasses.

"He's keeping his victims in cold storage for a least a few days, most likely to make dismemberment easier. This pattern was broken with the eighth victim, Kady Johnson, but there's still no clear reason why."

An officer towards the front of the room raised her hand, and the blond man at the board pointed to her.

"Is there reasoning for why he takes the parts that he takes?" she asked. "Or is it random?"

"The medical examiner is still trying to determine that," the blond man answered. "We'll know when they know."

At this, the blond man's gaze moved to where Dalton was standing and his eyes widened. "Detective Dalton," he said.

All eyes turned to him and Dalton wasted no time. He moved toward the front and met with the blond man, shaking his hand.

"I'm detective Koby, Smoker's got me and my partner in charge here so you can get out on the streets."

Dalton nodded, "Thank you. Are you just going over the basics?"

Koby nodded. "It's all we really know. Can you tell us why you think he took Pen—I mean, Petruzziello?"

Smiling softly, sadly, Dalton said, "Just call him Penguin."

Dalton took the room through what little they had gleaned over the last two weeks. The photos on the board were good reference, and the information Chopper had collected about the chemical compound sparked many questions. When Dalton figured he had shared everything he could, he shook Koby's hand again.

"I have your number," Koby said. "I'll text you if I have anything."

Dalton thanked him again and slipped out.

Smoker wasn't in his office when Dalton returned to the main floor, so he moved to his own desk to get his coat. When he glanced over at Penguin's desk, an overwhelming sadness and helplessness came over him and he had to stop and breathe for a moment. It wasn't often Dalton was overcome by emotions, he was not in the habit of letting his personal feelings get in the way of his job, but this? His partner? It was almost too much.

Then he noticed Penguin's notebook. It was sitting on a stack of files off to the side of the computer screen. It was standard issue, a simple black notebook with the SPD logo stamped on the front and containing perforated pages. Penguin carried it with him whenever they were on duty.

Taking the notebook, Dalton opened it and flipped through the pages. Penguin's writing was messy and all over the place, but it was clear enough to follow and the notes were well thought out. The first quarter of the book was just notes on basic investigation, and as Dalton glanced through them, his heart tightened.

Keep the predispositions in check. It's a thing that happened, not a thing you think happened. Follow the evidence and let it tell the story.

All entrances and exits. ALL of them. A dog door is an entrance if it's more than 12 inches wide.

Call the victims by name.

It's okay to say you don't know.

The notes were not things that Dalton had directly told him, they were more observatory. Penguin had been studying him, following literally in his footsteps. A warm rush of pride swept Dalton up, but at the same time, his heart was breaking. Penguin's potential was astounding, and if something had happened to him, it might be partially Dalton's fault. Dalton couldn't live with that, and so standing there in the middle of the precinct, with his partner's handwritten words at his fingertips, Dalton strengthened his resolve. He would find Penguin. He would save him.

The notes toward the middle of the book were written in haste, probably done when they had been on the road, or during an interview. The information had been separated into lists—dates, locations and other assorted features. When Dalton came to the list of alibis, he stopped and read over the names. Almost all of them had been scratched out, save for three, and one of them, Moria, had been underlined several times with a note in red pen scribbled in the margin next to it.

This dude's full of shit

Dalton glanced at the name again, remembering the interview, and remembering he had felt the same way. The guy had been lying through his teeth. The interesting part though, was Dalton wasn't quite sure what he had been lying about.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. When he looked at the screen, the number was unlisted.

"Dalton," he said.

"Dalton!" it was Shachi. His voice was muffled, wet, agonized. "I—I just heard. I didn't know, I didn't think to say anything I should have called you but she was turned away from me and—and—"

"Shachi," Dalton said gently, "calm down. What are you trying to tell me?"

There was a broken sob and a wet sniff through the receiver and then Shachi started again, slower this time.

"Last night, Penguin was getting handsy with this chick, and I didn't think anything of it cause Penguin's like a lady's man, you know? But then he disappeared! So like, that chick left with him and was the last person who saw him, or she's been taken too, right?"

Something stirred in Dalton's gut, something electric. "What did this girl look like?"

"I don't know! I didn't really see her face!"

"Can you think of anything I can use?"

"Uh," Shachi sniffed again, "long brown hair, green dress, gold shoes. I don't know, Sanji got a better look at her. She was tall—"

"Wait," Dalton interrupted, that electric feeling started to sing through him, tingle in his fingertips, "Sanji saw her?"

"Yeah, Sanji got a good look, you should ask him."

"Thank you Shachi. I'll call you when I know something."

He hung up and thumbed through his contacts, selecting "Sanji" and tapping the send button.

"Yeah, but zucchinis sometimes look like cucumbers."

Sanji laughed again and slid an arm around his husband's shoulders. "It doesn't matter babe, I'll use the cucumbers, it won't kill us."

Zoro grumbled under his breath, not really upset but playing it up for Sanji's benefit. The swordsman knew that if he acted like he was frustrated at messing up the groceries, Sanji would play along and try to make him "feel better".

"Let's just make popcorn. I like popcorn."

Sanji laughed again and squeezed him affectionately. "Later. I'm worn out from the sparring, I need protein."

"Oh, you're worn out?" Zoro grinned, turning his head to ghost a kiss on Sanji's neck. "I didn't think I went that hard on you. You need to lie down?" Another soft kiss. "I have some protein you can h—"

Sanji shut him up with a kiss on his lips. "You're such an idiot," he smiled when they parted. "Get me a can of broth from the pantry, would you?"

Zoro sighed dramatically and turned around. "Fine." As he moved away, Sanji slapped him on his ass and he yelped, feigning injury. "You're so rough with me."

Chuckling, Sanji returned to the stove and the stir fry and wondered how he had ever gotten so lucky.

His phone rang from the living room and he called out to Zoro, "Babe, can you get that for me?"

He heard Zoro respond from the pantry and then his footfalls as he crossed into the living room. He answered with a quiet "Hello?" and then there was silence for a few moments.

When Zoro returned to the kitchen, his face was grave. "It's Dalton," he said.

Law was throwing things. Smoker's things.

What surprised Dalton, however, was the patience with which Smoker dealt with it. The aging captain was sitting behind his desk, elbows resting on the wooden surface, and hands folded together over his mouth. He watched as Law seethed and tossed another book across the office with enough force to dent the wall on the other side.

Dalton had never seen Law so angry, not even when he had come to him after watching a mafia underboss murder two of his friends right in front of him. That time, Law had been helpless, unable to do anything, just like now. Once again, he was forced to wait, to stand on the sidelines as someone he knew and cared about was being hurt.

Despite his actions, when Law finally stilled and spoke, he sounded calm, collected even. He did not shout or curse or scream like one would think, instead, he merely straightened his shirt and then slid his hands into his pockets.

"You can't do this," he said.

"I can," Smoker said, "and I am. This is the very definition of compromised. This is your brother, you can't be a part of the—"

"—So I'm just supposed to sit around while he's out there?" When Law turned, Dalton could finally see his eyes. They were tortured and dark and terrifying. "I'm just supposed to go home and do nothing and hope that you guys find him? How the fuck am I supposed to do that?"

Smoker had wanted to keep this new turn in the investigation secret for this very reason. Law had been a damn good officer, and he was an even better doctor, but both Dalton and Smoker knew that he was also volatile. Calm and cool one moment, but the next he could be taking your head off, literally. Unpredictable actions were good for undercover work, but not when it came to above the board investigations. Someone like Law, with his background, and his instability, and connections, could compromise a case in a matter of seconds.

That did not mean Dalton didn't completely feel for him.

"Go home, Law. Calm down, get some perspective. You can't be a part of this anymore."

"I can't even help Chopper with his part?" Law's voice finally started to raise in volume, if only a little. "I can't even go to the morgue and look through medical records?"

"No," Smoker said softly. "I'm sorry."

"God damnit," Law ran a hand through his hair and did a small, pacing circle. "Fine. Fine, you son of a bitch, I'll go." He looked up then and fixed Dalton with a look that actually chilled the detective to his bones.

"You call me the instant you find something."

Dalton nodded to him. "I will."

Law turned then and he pulled the door open with enough force to get the blinds slapping loudly against the glass. He was about to slip out when Smoker's voice stopped him.

"Traf!" he growled.

Law turned back, that look of pure rage and hatred still on his face.

Smoker did not seem phased by it.

"Go surround yourself with people that care about you. Friends, family. Get support from someone you know can help you through this… difficult time. You understand?"

That look of hatred slowly started to slide away as Law began to understand what Smoker was saying. His eyes widened slightly, and his mouth opened on a question, but then shut again.

"Yeah," he said softly, his eyes glancing to Dalton, and then back to Smoker. "Maybe I'll… take a few days. Clear my head."

Smoker nodded once. "You do that, son. Come back when you feel like you've got it under control."

Law looked at Smoker for a moment, his eyes betraying what he was feeling. A confusing mixture of grief and sadness, loss, but also a glimmer of intense gratitude. He straightened, nodded slowly, and then closed the door behind him.

Dalton turned to Smoker. "That a good idea?"

Smoker shrugged. "We only have so many resources. Kidd's got more. We're at the point where I just want to catch this guy."

"If they find him, they'll kill him."

"Yeah probably," Smoker leaned back in his chair, "but we'll be here to pick up the pieces."

Dalton sighed and nodded his head but he never got a chance to respond because the intercom beeped loudly from Smoker's desk.

"Sir?" a young male voice said.

"What is it?"

"Dalton's witness is here."

Dalton headed for the door. "Sanji," he said.

"Detective!" Smoker said behind him, and Dalton turned.

"Good luck."

Dalton gave him a makeshift salute and exited the office.

Bypassing the elevators, Dalton flew down the stairs and moved toward reception. He could already see the bright yellow of Sanji's hair, and, not surprisingly, the green of Zoro's as well. There faces were stony, determined as they turned in his direction. They reminded Dalton of the hardened soldiers he had commanded back when he was overseas in Iraq and Afghanistan. Thinking of Penguin, Dalton envisioned a movie scenario where he deputized both Sanji and Zoro before the three of them road out to meet the bandit gang that had made camp in the distant hills.

He didn't have the ability to deputize anyone, but Dalton had no misconceptions that what he was about to do was basically the same storyline. Penguin would be proud and pissed that he had missed it.

"You two," Dalton said, voice low and commanding, "come with me."

Just like he knew they would, Sanji and Zoro followed without question.

Law: He's got Penguin

Kidd: I know

Law: How the fuck do you know I just found out

Kidd: Nami texted me a few minutes ago

Law: How the fuck does she know?

Kidd: Who cares what are we doing?

Law: I'm on my way to you now

Kidd: Ok
Kidd: Hey we'll find him

Law: Your damn fucking right we'll find him

The harsh light stung his eyes as he woke from another bout of drug induced sleep. His head was aching, something pounded at his skull directly behind his eyes, clouding his vision. His eyelids were heavy, like they were weighted down with globs of wet cement.

His mouth was fuzzy, and the inside of his cheek was burning. He tested it with the tip of his tongue and found impressions of his teeth. Sharp pain shot through his face when he pressed against them, and the taste of copper was strong again as blood flowed from the wound.

He turned his head, causing a bloom of pain at the back of his head. The ache that remained trickled down his neck to his shoulders, making him moan in discomfort.

"Fuck…" he said softly. His voice was hoarse.

The light above him made it hard to see the room where he was being held. He had tried the last time he had awoken but to no avail. Whoever had him didn't let him be conscious for long, just enough to feel the pain in his head and in his mouth, to feel the binds that held his arms and legs.

He closed his eyes again and let himself relax. They must be monitoring him if they knew whenever he woke up. Maybe the trick was to make them think he was still out, or at least had passed out again from pain or dehydration or whatever. Damn, speaking of, how long had be been here? Hours? Days?

No, couldn't be days yet, his mouth was sticky and foul but there was still saliva.

Shit, now he was thirsty. Stop thinking about it.

He controlled his breathing, tried to make it look like he was back asleep or unconscious. He listened, trying to hear sounds of construction, water, music, anything that would give away where he was. There was nothing. He breathed in deep, trying to determine if there were any smells he could identify. There was metal, and rust, but also a strong chemical smell, like in a hospital.

Well, of course there was a chemical smell, the guy killed you with chemicals and then cut you up like a fucking pig in a butcher shop.

Suddenly, he didn't feel so calm. Suddenly, he was terrified. His heart started racing and his stomach rolled with nausea. His lungs tightened around a breath that he suddenly couldn't take.

He didn't want to die.

And he really didn't want to die here in this crazy room with the harsh light and the smell of chemicals all around him.

Tears collected at the corners of his eyes and he felt a sob catching in his chest. Is this what the other victims felt like? Were they kept like this for a while? Alone and terrified until the killer came and injected them with their death? Did he talk to any of them? Did any of them know what was going to happen?

He hoped Dalton would use his body to crack the case. Hopefully his murder would be the one where this asshole fucked up. That would be great. Maybe Frankenstein leaves a fingerprint on his eyeball, like in Red Dragon, or maybe he could manage to bite the killer and swallow some of his DNA and Chopper would find it during the autopsy.

Thinking about Chopper made him think of Law, and that in turn made him think of Shachi.

What was Shachi thinking right now? Did he know? Would Dalton question him? Ask him about what he saw at the club?

What had Shachi seen at the club? He'd been so drunk he couldn't remember what happened. Had he been dancing? Who was he dancing with?

A girl. A pretty girl.

Harley.

Harley Monet had been there. She had kissed him. They had left, heading to her car…

…then what?

The door opened and it startled him so thoroughly, he twitched on the table. So much for making them think he was asleep.

"So, how's our little bird?" a raspy voice said. It was familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"Headache," he said, "got any Aspirin?"

The voice laughed, something high pitched and profoundly annoying. "Monet said you were charming. I see it now."

Cold dread coiled in his gut. "Is she okay?"

That laugh again. "Okay? Of course she's okay. She's watching you on the monitor. She lets us know whenever you wake up."

That cold dread suddenly turned to ice. Of course, Monet. She had been kissing him, sliding into his lap, running her hands over his chest and into his hair, and then she had whispered "I'm sorry," so softly he almost hadn't heard. Then there had been a needle, a prick in his neck, and then pain.

Monet had done this.

She'd played him.

Something about that upset him so deeply, he almost couldn't breathe. How had this happened? How had he miscalculated so badly? Was it just because she was beautiful? No. No way, there had to be something else.

"Bull shit," he growled, and his eyes opened. The light seared his vision but he managed to turn and see a figure standing a few feet away. Large, familiar, silhouetted. "I don't believe you."

That laugh was grating, clawing at all his nerve endings. He wanted to punch it in the face.

"Poor, poor little Penguin. Tricked by a pretty face and a pare of heels! So predictable."

Angry, frustrated, and terrified, he closed his eyes and relaxed his body. As much as he wanted to believe Harley had nothing to do with this, he knew it was just his wishful thinking. Fine. That was fine. Didn't matter if he was about to die anyway.

"Go fuck yourself," he said.

That terrible laugh was the last thing he heard before he felt another pin prick, and then there was nothing but blackness.

Dalton pushed through the doors of the morgue with Zoro and Sanji close at his heels. The man at the desk said nothing as they passed, seeming to understand that they had no time to sign in or get passes. As the three of them made their way through the offices and desks, several pairs of eyes glanced up at them, but they quickly turned away. Dalton paid them no mind, they knew what was at stake, and would not care if he was cold or unfriendly at this particular junction.

Chopper was in his office, piles of papers and files stacked around him. Behind him, there were two boards, one cork, and one white. Both had photos and medical charts pinned or taped to them, and the whiteboard had bits of Chopper's neat scrawl written in between reports in black pen.

When the three entered, Chopper looked up, and surprise and astonishment flashed across his face.

"Dalton?" he said. "Z-Zoro? Sanji?"

"Sanji's the last one that saw Penguin," Dalton explained. "He described the woman he was with and I'm pretty sure it's Harley Monet."

Chopper's eyes widened. "What?"

"Yeah," Dalton motioned with his hand. "You have a photo in the files?"

"Uh, yes," Chopper shuffled papers and then pulled out a picture of the brunette. He came around from behind his desk and handed the photo to Sanji.

"Oh yeah," Sanji nodded, "that's definitely her."

"Shit," Dalton murmured.

"Who is she?" Zoro asked.

"The assistant to the guy who makes the murder weapon," Dalton answered.

"Woa, what?" Sanji looked at the photo again, as if he had missed something in her face. "I thought you were thinking she'd been abducted too, but you think she's in on it?"

Dalton nodded, "Can't see how she's not. I'm just angry because both Penguin and I didn't like her boss for it at all, and I still don't feel right in thinking he's doing it."

"I don't…" Chopper said suddenly, but then trailed off when the others looked at him.

"Don't what, Chopper?" Zoro asked, and Dalton noticed his voice was disarmingly gentle.

Chopper looked at his friends, and then at Dalton. "I'm pretty sure he's not our guy."

"Did you find something?" Dalton asked.

Turning back to the files and the two boards behind his desk, Chopper took a breath. "Well, I've been looking at the medical records, going through some of the connections that the lab techs put together for Penguin's search, and I found a few disturbing coincidences."

"Like what?" Sanji asked.

Chopper turned back and eyed both Zoro and Sanji before he turned to Dalton. "Not that I mind, in fact I'm glad you're both here, but should we really be going over details in front of civilians?"

Dalton actually smiled. "Well, Smoker just basically instructed Law to go get help from Kidd, so I'm overlooking the fact that these two aren't technically law enforcement."

"We're like…" Sanji searched for words, "consultants? I guess you could say?"

Zoro smirked, "Right. We're experts in ass-kicking."

The corner of Chopper's mouth turned up and he shrugged. "Works for me. Okay, look at this." He turned to the board and the photos of the eight victims. Beneath each photo was a short list of things in the black dry erase pen. "We thought the victims had nothing in common, but they actually do. Each one had a minor injury or at least a complaint corresponding to the part that was taken. For example, Donald Kim, the third victim, pulled a muscle in his right leg—the one that was taken—about a year before he was killed. He was seen for it, prescribed some pain killers and a few days rest. Ying Yue, the fourth victim, had her hands taken. She had gone to the doctor previously for arthritis pains in her knuckles. Jamal Nassar, fifth victim, had his feet taken. Like I told you before, he had been seen on several occasions for plantar fasciitis." He turned back to the three men standing on the other side of his desk.

"It could all be coincidence, but it's not likely. Not if it's every victim and each injury or complaint happened within the last year and a half."

"Jesus," Dalton breathed. "Where were they seen?"

"It varies," Chopper said. "They're all patients at Harborview or Virginia Mason, but none of them have the same doctor."

"Shit, what are we not seeing?" Dalton ran a hand over his face, frustration fraying his nerves. They didn't have time to be floundering like this.

As Chopper sighed and sat in his chair, Zoro moved closer to the board and slipped his hands into his pockets.

"Plantar fasciitis…" the swordsman said softly. "That's the thing at the bottom of your foot, right?"

Chopper nodded. "Yeah, swelling in the tissue that's connected to the heel."

Zoro grunted and turned back to the board. "Some of this stuff isn't minor. You may think it is, Chopper, 'cause you're a doctor, but something like arthritis can fuck up someone's life."

"I've had plantar fasciitis," Sanji added, "It's killer."

Chopper nodded. "I just meant life-threatening. I wasn't saying—"

"—No, no, we're not arguing with you, Chopper," Zoro turned and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like that."

"We're just observing," Sanji said quietly. "Sometimes doctors see so much terrible shit they forget that normal stuff that happens to normal people is sometimes terrifying for them."

Chopper nodded, relaxing his posture. "Yeah, I guess if you haven't experienced it before and don't know what it is, you might…"

When Chopper didn't continue, Dalton glanced at him. The young doctor's eyes were widening, his breath had stopped. Realization came over his features and as Dalton watched, Chopper shot up and started shuffling through the files again.

"Chopper, what is it?" Dalton asked.

"Sometimes, even if it turns out to be something easily treatable and non-life-threatening, when you don't know what's wrong, or if something hurts real bad, you go to the emergency room."

Zoro and Sanji stood straighter, suddenly intensely focused.

"Does that change something?" Dalton asked.

"Help me," Chopper said, holding up a piece of paper from one of the victim files. "Look through the other victim files for this specific paper."

They went to work, and sure enough, in less than a few minutes, they had corresponding reports for each of the victims. Chopper pasted each directly below each of the victim's photos and took a step back.

"Shit…" he said softly. "Oh my god… no…"

"What?" Dalton asked. "What did you find?"

Chopper pointed to the first victim's paper, and then the next, and then the next. "It's so simple I missed it. I didn't even think... Each victim, every single one of them, visited the emergency room at Harborview between December of 2016, and January of 2017."

There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Sanji said softly, "That's your emergency room, Chopper. You worked there during that time."

Chopper nodded slowly.

Dalton came closer, moved around the desk and placed his hands on Chopper's shoulders. He was shaking, his breath hitching like he was about to cry.

"Chopper," he said gently, "what else?"

Chopper took a breath and his lips trembled. A trickle of tears ran down his cheeks and he slid a hand up into his hair.

"Look here," Chopper pointed to a specific box on the first victim's paper. Dalton moved in closer to take a look at where Chopper was pointing. It was another doctor's signature, large scrawl, loopy.

"Hogback…" Dalton said softly, dread filling his gut like lead.

Chopper nodded, his voice anguished as he replied. "Every single one of the victims was his patient during their emergency room visit. Every single one was there during the time he was testing his drug."

"Holy shit," Zoro murmured behind them.

"That's the fucking doctor you got fired, isn't it?" Sanji asked.

"I didn't get him fired," Chopper sobbed, "I got him promoted."

"No, no, Chopper," Dalton turned Chopper around and held his shoulders. Dalton looked into his eyes and spoke as gently as he could. "You got him away from patients, away from potential victims and into management."

"And now he's killing people on the street!" Chopper cried. "He's got Penguin and I could have done something! I could have stopped him if I had just paid attention!"

"Wait, wait," Sanji said as he shuffled through papers, "didn't you rule him out? I thought Law said something about alibis?"

"Someone's full of shit," Chopper growled wetly.

That sparked a memory in Dalton's mind and he let go of Chopper to pull Penguin's notebook from his jacket pocket. He turned to the page with the alibis Penguin had compiled and turned it around for Chopper to see.

"I think you're right," he said softly.

Chopper took the book and looked over the notes Penguin had made. He sniffed once and returned his gaze to Dalton's.

"Oh my God," his face grew hard and the tears abruptly stopped, "he was right under all our noses the whole time."

Dalton nodded and took the book back. "Can you get me an address?"

Chopper nodded. "I'll text it to you. Get out of here, head to the hospital first."

"Okay," Dalton lifted his hand to run a thumb across Chopper's cheek. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Chopper whispered and tilted his head up to kiss Dalton on the lips. It was sweet and tender, and over way to fast.

As Dalton headed out of the office, Zoro and Sanji followed him, waving to Chopper and promising to return when things calmed down.

"So, um…" Sanji said as they made their way outside.

"Did you just…" Zoro added.

"Yes, I did," Dalton said as he pulled out his keys. "You can kick my ass later."

Sanji laughed at his side. "Why would we kick your ass? That was the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

"I might still kick your ass," Zoro murmured, but when Dalton glanced over his shoulder, the swordsman was smiling.

When they reached Dalton's SUV, he opened the driver's side door and turned to them. "I can't legally take you with me, but if you just happen to be there when it goes down, I mean… what a coincidence that would be, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah," Sanji nodded, "that would be weird, huh?"

Dalton pulled himself up into the seat. "Well, I guess I'll see you later?"

"Yup," Zoro said.

"Later," Sanji said.

Dalton nodded to them and slid the key into the ignition.

Chopper: Its Hogback

Law: What the fuck

Chopper: Dalton is on his way to the hospital
Chopper: Don't get in his way. We have to do this by the book
Chopper: I'm just telling you so you can go find Penguin

Law: Thank you

Law pushed the door open with enough force to send it crashing into the wall. All eyes turned to him as he entered the club and moved towards the bar. Kidd was waiting for him, combat boots laced, coat on. He was obviously packing.

"It's fucking Hogback," Law growled.

Bepo turned to Kidd, as did Shachi, Drake, and the others. Bartolomeo stood behind the bar, hands in his pockets, jacket on, looking like he was ready for a fight. Kidd finished whatever was in his glass and then set it back down on the bar top.

"We're waiting on one more," he said calmly.

They didn't have to wait long. The front doors swung open only a few seconds later, and Luffy came waltzing in, straw hat on, a rare look of seriousness settled on his face.

"Okay," Luffy said, folding his arms across his chest and looking around, "explain what's happening in short sentences."

TBC