Chapter 21
The War of Water 7
London calling to the faraway towns, now war is declared and battle come down
London calling to the underworld, come out of the cupboard, you boys and girls
London calling, now don't look to us, phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust
London calling, see we ain't got no swing, 'Cept for the ring of that truncheon thing
London calling to the imitation zone, forget it, brother, an' go in alone
London calling upon the zombies of death, quit holding out, and draw another breath
London calling and I don't wanna shout, but when we were talking, I saw you nodding out
London calling, see we ain't got no high, except for that one with the yellowy eyes
The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in, engines stop running and the wheat grows thin
A nuclear error, but I have no fear, 'coz London is drowning, and I, I live by the river
-"London Calling", The Clash
~0~
The gunshot ripped the grey daylight apart.
He was moving even before the man shot but he still felt the bullet rip a searing line of pain and blood across the skin of his cheek and felt the hot blood drench him as he moved forward. A second slower and he would have lost his right eye. A few seconds slower and he would have departed from this world. Just another victim of the streets and the brutality of power.
The barrel of the gun swung toward him, the black ridges trained, and he lunged forward. The second bullet whirred angrily over his head and the ricochet which spiraled out in the air made his ears ring. He had only a half-second to wonder why Kaku hadn't bothered to muffle the gun with a silencer. But then he was in cutting distance, and really, that was all that mattered in the world.
Kaku's face turned and Zoro saw his mouth grimace as the steel blade slid deep into his hand and drank blood. The cut should have taken the man's hand along with the weapon, but the sandy-haired bastard was as quick as a viper, he was quick and wily, Zoro had to give him that. Kaku snatched his body away at the last second, and the sword only bit in halfway.
The pistol clattered to the floor and the pebbled blood droplets splashed it seconds later. Zoro stepped in neatly and with a quick, neat movement kicked the pistol across the floor. It hit the chain link fence and just barely managed to slip through the few inches of space between the chain and the floor. It landed, lazily spinning, to a rest a few feet away on the other side.
He looked up, flushed with the victory, "Looks like you're unarmed, Agent."
The man spat to the side and pulled back his suit, reaching for something. Zoro didn't give him a chance, knew he couldn't gamble like that, not here where the stakes were too high. He was honing in, lips peeled back in a snarl, eyes narrowed, and cords standing out in his neck and arms. Looking into that dark barrel of the Magnum .357 which swung at him was like looking into the eye of the abyss. He knew that gun would not open a nice, neat hole in his flesh. The bullets of that particular gun would rip him apart. That gun was no gentlemanly Colt or police-issued Beretta. That gun would render him unrecognizable.
Zoro slashed again, a cut which should have ripped Kaku's body open. His swords barely managed to snag the very tip of Kaku's side as the other man whipped himself back to avoid the fatality. Kaku repaid him by firing—the weapon in his hand roared, but Zoro threw himself to side and Kaku's shot missed.
Except, he felt the heat and wind of the passing bullet as it grazed his back. The smell of singed cloth also alerted him to how close it had been. When you felt the fire of the bullet's trail—you can't really call that a miss. He glanced back, sickly fascinated, and saw the smoke protruding from the hole in the brick wall.
"Now—can't distract yourself, can—"
Instinct caused him to hurl himself to the ground even before the man's words had registered. The second bullet shattered the window behind him. And his ears rang with the shriek of the blast. It was frightening how rapidly the scenes were shuffling through his eyes—there was no time to think about anything but survival. He couldn't even feel the gash on his cheek; was senseless of the drying red crust forming on his tan cheek like a blood tumor.
Zoro lunged again and tried for an upward thrust, using all the brunt force of his upper body in order to rip three steel blades through the man's chest, to plunge the swords through skin and flesh, muscle and organ, to mangle beyond redemption. To kill.
He dodged the third and last shot by zigzagging when Kaku's lips grimaced slightly and the muscles in his arms stood out in anticipation of the fierce recoil—when he gave all the signs of a man about to shoot. The bullet buried itself in the dumpster behind him and then he felt the resistance that only a human body can give and then he understood that he was killing a man.
Kaku doubled over and spat out a mouthful of blood, but all the same one hand came up and wrenched the blade out of his side and stumbled back. The Magnum had hit the ground when the blade had sunk in three inches and lay forgotten on the concrete ground. More blood spotted the dirty gray. Red roses blooming in the waste land.
Shuseii, the heavy sword, was a deep crimson the last five inches or so. He glanced up from it to the bloody man in front of him. Kaku was bent over only slightly, one hand pressed to the injury, and his eyes were distant, already leaving. He was trying not to smile, but failing.
The squareish-nosed man barked some laughter, "You don't know what you're doing. None of you. You don't know just who you're against. You'll never survive."
"Shut up," Zoro said, not unkindly, and stepped forward, the toe of his boot hitting the Magnum. He glanced down at it.
"And all for what? A cheap arsonist who was born damned? Who's as damned as his father? A woman who doesn't deserve to live? She's as demonic as her mother!" Kaku snarled, his eyes narrowing. A fresh dribble of blood ran over his teeth and down his chin. He looked slightly rabid, but his face was kind. It was a strange combination—as if something normally gentle had run insane.
"Shut up, someone like you wouldn't understand," he could have said more, but an immense silence seemed to have settled on the scene and he was enough of a swordsman to respect it. The silence of the dead. He kicked the Magnum away; it hit the chain link like its ill-fated predecessor but unlike its counterpart, it refused to go under and away. The silver barrel rose up and snagged in the wire. He cursed and made a mental note to remember that it was there and still loaded. Kaku glanced at it and Zoro saw the man's adam's apple go up once as he swallowed thickly. He gathered himself.
Kaku darted to one side, meaning to make for the exit of the small dead end from which he had entered. Zoro was after him, wolflike. But then the sandy-haired man turned his head to the dumpster quickly and changed his course, veering toward the shit pile of junk that the neighborhood had been accumulating for God knew how long.
The man almost stumbled and fell over a child's dirty, abused play oven and then he was scrambling for something in the trash, hands pushing aside more junk.
Something had caught his eye and when Kaku turned around, he understood what it had been. The squared-nosed man was grinning widely, a trifle unsteadily. The grin would have been handsome, even charming if it had not been ruined by the red glazed teeth. There were two carpenter's saws in his hands. One gripped securely in each hand. They were rusty, the metal was slightly bent, and the handles were chipped and looked more than a little uncomfortable to grip. But they were the double-edged saws that carpenters love, flat and rectangle-shaped, with flat, even, toothless blades that made them more like massive razors than saws. No swords, they, but he cursed bitterly whoever had left those things there. But hell, he should be grateful, this was Water 7; it was a wonder that Kaku hadn't rifled through the rubbage and pulled out an Ak-47 or a snub-nosed Uzi.
"Don't be an idiot," he said instead, and pointed a sharp steel tip at the bleeding man, "You're injured and smart enough to know that that shit isn't going to hold up long against true steel. Put those down and if you give up, I'll consider knocking you out instead of killing you."
"Have at it, then," the man answered, and held the steel rectangles out. The stance was eerily professional, the textbook way a nitoryuu user handled weapons.
Zoro didn't hesitate. He lunged, catlike. But this time, Kaku met him with his carpenter's blades and the sparks flew. To his fury, the other's blades held well the weight of his steel and Kaku even had enough devil's cocaine in his ballsack to attempt to push him back. Zoro allowed a wolfish grin to surface and he shifted his feet for a better stance, muscles in his forearms and biceps bulging with the effort to hold Kaku. He might end up dead—but he loved a good fight.
"Surprised that I can handle swords?" The dark-suited agent asked, smiling in a way Zoro didn't much care for. It was a kind of smile Zoro expected murderers of the worst ilk to have. "Didn't think there were other swordsmen besides you?"
He ignored the jibe and settled for a furious clashing of blades before they settled in a deadlock again. And this time he spat, "You don't look so well, Agent. Careful, or your wound is going to kill you." It was true. Kaku's skin was ashy from the blood loss and pain. Zoro couldn't see the extent of the damage since the dark suit hid everything, but he remembered how his hand had gripped the hilt and pushed it through shifting flesh and warm blood vessels.
The dueled furiously in the small alley, watched only by the broken window and the razor wire illegally spun around the chain link fence to discourage would-be trespassers or adventurous teenagers. Kaku's carpenter blades held their own surprisingly well and were maddeningly double-bladed, casting his own swords at a disadvantage. But they had no pointed tip and their reach was short; Zoro had to fight to keep the gutsy sandy haired man at a distance who, fully aware of the short range of his ad-libbed weaponry, desperately tried to keep the duel close to his body—enough to render his swords clumsy and retrograde.
"I find it incredible that you've managed to get under Lucchi's skin enough to finally issue me to dispatch you, You've come a long way," Kaku cried out, the mirth in his voice all but apparent. He was still pale and the sweat beading his clammy forehead seemed unhealthy on such a warm fall night, but his brown eyes sparkled and Zoro felt his frustration raise a notch. The slimy bastard should have been dead fifteen minutes ago, dead, broken, bloody and propped up on the brick alley wall with the dismantled Magnum in his lap, the stars reflecting off his glazed-over eyes. But infuriatingly, this man was still here, fighting him evenly with two pieces of shit he had scavenged from an impoverished neighborhood rubbish heap.
"We'll get Ace and Robin back, bastard," he snarled back, slashing viciously. "You motherfuckers have gone too far."
Kaku sensed him up the ante and his pants escalated as they danced that heady and deadly dance, "Still upset about that are we? For two worthless pieces of trash? They're not going to live much longer, you know—Lucchi's already decided. I give them two weeks; Portgas even less before there are some unfortunate accidents."
Everything slid into slow motion from then and Zoro felt the world go achingly numb as the words rebounded within his skull, bouncing back and forth. He didn't even feel the blade as it sliced across his torso, almost parallel to the lines of his stomach muscles. The blood he spat out was slimy copper. There was only that paralyzing wave of thought which shrieked—Oh, you're going to kill them you bastard—
He saw everything silently, as if he had turned deaf or as if the sounds of the world were reaching him through cotton-packed ears or a thin membrane that pulsed. He only knew that when Kaku whipped his ridiculous little blades around, he reversed his own and bet everything he had on a sword-shattering maneuver which Kuina's father had taught him, years and years after his daughter had made her ill-fated run to retrieve her polishing stone and decided to take the stairs.
Zoro knew that his swords were most likely strong and vicious enough to shatter the poor carpenter's blades if they were thrust in a perfect sword-shattering technique, but he wasn't sure. And if they didn't, then the momentum of the slice would leave him with his chest exposed, arms holding the hilts to the side. Perfect for a blade, to cut open his chest—or slit his throat open in a red, gaping mouth. He had never used the technique in combat before, considering it too foolhardy, too ludicrous to carry out—didn't even know why he chose to do it. But he sealed his fate when he gambled and drew his swords back to assume the position, even as Kaku's blades flew forward and he noted the uplifted sneer on Kaku's face.
He executed it perfectly.
They shattered in large fragments and Zoro felt the blade of his katana vibrate. And then Kaku was screaming, raising an unbelieving hand to his shocked face. Two fingers were missing—his pointer and birdie-flipper—and the ring was hanging on by a tendon. Blood streamed from the mutilated hand; he wasn't sure if it had been his sword or the exploding fragments of the carpenter's blade that had done the deed and deprived the man of his appendages—and he supposed that in the end, it didn't matter. He supposed nothing ever did at that point. It was a thought he would think again, many times, after the dust had settled and they had counted the bodies. After he had run like the devil, tears stinging his eyes and running down his cheeks to catch Sanji, only to collapse in a boneless heap at the end and pound the concrete with impotent fists because he had been too late, too late, too late to make it all right, to save both of them.
Yes, he would rethink that thought often, turning it around in his head and examining its facets. Like a jeweler does when a suspicious diamond enters his shop and he scrutinizes it sharply, trying to decide if it's authentic or just another joker in the deck.
Now, at the time, he barely registered it. Zoro didn't flinch as he plunged his two blades into the man's body all the way through until the hilts slammed into the man's dark suit. Kaku sagged and leaned over, almost as if he wanted to bow to Zoro and thank him for the duel—and puked up blood. It was obvious that the only thing supporting his broken body was the very steel that had impaled him.
Zoro snapped his arms back and withdrew the blades cleanly. The Agent crumpled and fell, coughing and spitting blood with every wet-sounding hack. He stood still and watched Kaku's chest heave until the other managed to start crawling away, heading for the chain link fence. Zoro glanced up and his blood ran cold as he spotted the forgotten Magnum .357 caught on the edges of the chain link when he had tried to kick it away. His equally-forgotten guitar case lay there too and Kaku pushed it slightly on his crawling, torturous path to the gun.
He could have beaten the dark-suited Agent to the weapon anytime, but for some reason he thought might be instinct, he let Kaku go and watched quietly, breathing heavy. His swords were dripping the man's lifeblood and if the man wished to die by his own hand, then Zoro would let him. But the second the Agent swung around the long barrel—the fool would die. Simple as that.
Kaku reached the Magnum and managed to pick it up with his unmangled left hand. He was still crawling and all Zoro saw was his back and the back of his sandy-orange hair, still hidden by the black baseball cap.
"I—"
The voice was tremulous, bloated with blood. And, Zoro realized, not without some wonder, that it was still amused. It was little more than a whisper.
"I—I would—would," A wet sound that could only have been Kaku hawking blood onto the cement, "have—for—organization—died."
"Yeah," he grunted, and he became aware of the front of his hoodie, soaked with blood and the throbbing pain in his cheek, back, and forearm where Kaku had nipped him. "You don't have much choice anyway. Even if I hadn't shish-kabobed you, Lucchi'd would've killed you himself, eh? You'd have died anyway."
He could tell from the prop in Kaku's head that the Magnun had just been inserted into the already-dying man's mouth. It was either a slow death from blood loss—with a chance of being found by Rob Lucchi—or a self-fed meal of lead bullet. Kaku had guts; Zoro had to give him that. At least it was more dramatic then a cyanide pill. Kaku would go with a blast and a bang; not with a whimper.
"Nothing personal…," he said quietly and waited, standing erect, almost to a salute, "You should have picked your job more carefully—maybe a zookeeper," He thought he heard a small chuckle before the man pulled the trigger. And he waited until the crash of the gun came and Kaku's head disintegrated.
~0~
He placed his blades in the guitar case, not bothering to wipe the sticky blood off. Kuina's father had told him that a blade must never be touched unless it was with blood or silk. He hadn't been precisely loyal to this mandate, but he had tried.
The guns were a lost cause. He couldn't reach the one behind the chain link and he had no heart left to pull the Magnum from what was left of Kaku's head. There had been enough blood and killing today. The alleyway looked like a scene from a war movie. D-Day or Antietam, Blood all over the floor, blood all over the wall, blood on the shattered windows, blood on the shattered blades and shattered glass, a prone body with no recognizable head and a barrel in what used to be its mouth. Blood everywhere, blooming like flowers.
The neighbors must be cowering in their dark homes, pretending that no one was home. Later, after the danger had passed, everybody would claim to have been there, in the very midst of the battle. But now, all was silent. The evening had chased the sun almost all the way to the tip of the horizon.
Zoro slipped the case shut and snapped it. The swords clinked together mutedly when he swung the case up off the floor. He glanced back at Kaku, once, before he turned and lost himself in the streets.
~0~
Lucchi's face twitched once when the news was brought to him by the ever-efficient Kalifa Borbujas. She of the clean habits and the never-ceasing bubble baths. It was a little twisting of the mouth and a wrinkle forming between his arches eyebrows, and then it was gone. Then his pale bearded face resumed its deadly solemn expression. The face of a judge or of an executioner.
"He shot himself in the mouth? Are you positive?" There was distaste in his mouth, a chilling species of contempt.
"The Grand Line deputies found him," Kalifa said, and raised a rigid hand to push her glasses up her nose, "They called upon hearing gunshots and sounds of swordfighting in an alleyway near the Jaya tenants. A small alleyway off Dial Street. They found Kaku's body—it was obvious he took his own life, though the PD ordered an autopsy on account of the damage to his body inflicted prior to his death."
"Roronoa," Lucchi breathed, tracing a finger down his pigeon's back, "I told Kaku to watch that kid and to…dispatch…him if the chance afforded itself. And…he…fucks…it…up." The last was a guttural growl and Hatori cooed softly in disapproval.
"It was a messy scene," Kalifa agreed and glanced at the file in her hands, "And both guns issued to Kaku had disappeared. Captain Smoker issued a statement to me saying that he believed that Cipher Kaku—"
"It's obvious what happened, Kalifa," Lucchi interrupted, "Kill him as soon as he shows his face. Splash his picture on the newspapers and on the television screens—I want him completely isolated. Set watches on everyone's houses—"
"We do not have enough men for that," Kalifa cut in icily, "I'd have to ask the Grand Line PD and obtain Captain Smoker's approval."
"I'll a have a government unit out here by tomorrow," Lucchi snapped, "For now—you, Jyabura, Nero, Wanze, Kamadori, and Fukorou will take this onto our own hands. Blueno—"
"—Has already left for the little chimp's house. I understand he'll take care of that little monkey sometime after he comes home from East Blue High," Jyabura drawled from where he lolled on a seat near the door, his jacket open. "Or maybe sooner if he can't help himself."
"The only good thing I've heard all day," Lucchi said, allowing a thin smile to filter through his pale lips, "That leaves—Zoro Roronoa, Usopp Sogeking, Franklin "Franky" Thomas, Iceberg Thomas, Kohza Ermalu—Robin Nico will be transported in a week and I personally will see to it that she does not live the month out after they've gotten everything they want from her. The others die for the weight of their crimes. Krieg, Buggy, Arlong, must be all killed soon before they think they're off the hook. Their top associates, must also be hurried along to the next life." The way Rob Lucchi smiled as he said this, it was obvious that he believed that either there was no next life, or that if it did, it must be very unpleasant.
"We must eliminate all the undergrowth. Later, we can focus on the Supernovas. Now, I want all those old gangs burned out. As for the man who started all this—for the crime of arson and multiple homicide, Ace D. Portgas will ride Old Sparky before he's legally old enough to drink beer."
"Yo-oi!" Kumadori broke in, frowning, looking like he wanted to apologize for the interruption and maybe commit suicide for it while he was at it; "I thought California outlawed that as cruel and unusual! Capital punishment is only death by legal injection!"
"I know that, idiot," Lucchi said, grinning, showing too many teeth, "It's the thought that counts."
~0~
We have to promise that we'll follow our dreams, no matter what.
Ace had said that to him long ago; when they had met as kids. When he had been a tiny little rugmonkey, fascinated by the color of his boogers. Believe it or not Ace had not liked the sight of him at all when they had first met—two cast off little kids at the local, rundown YMCA. The man he now thought of as his older brother and for whom he'd lay his life down for had thrown him a nasty, disgruntled look the second he had wandered too close. The other had been playing around the edge of the small field, near the fence which separated the yard from a few untamed acres which lay on the outskirts of the city.
"Get lost snotnose; this place ain't for little twerps like you, beat it."
Ace hadn't been much bigger himself, but he already had that aura of grimness beyond his years. The scowl twisted across his freckled face as he surveyed Luffy and Luffy remembered the interest which the older boy had triggered in him. It must have been his appetite for adventure which had drawn him unceasingly after the raggedly Ace D. Portgas.
"Where are you going? We're not allowed to leave the yard." He had demanded of Ace when the freckled boy had lifted a part of the fence and squeezed under it with all the dexterity of a still-growing boy.
Ace had smirked, "Get lost baby. Go away and don't you dare follow me. Fuck off." The f bomb rolled off his tongue like it had always been there and Luffy felt his eyes fill with unshed tears at the sacrilege.
But of course he had followed.
They had grown up together after that—along with the other boy, Sabo, who had died before they could really grow up and become strong. Sabo's death had taken a toll on both of them. But what mattered was that Ace had been there for him, had been his older brother and his best friend through it all. Even when Ace had become old enough to learn to watch the girls and to shave the hair off his otherwise smooth cheeks, even when Ace became a gang member and learned how to break the law and how to dismantle a gun and how to make a Molotov cocktail in less than a minute with nothing but a bottle, a wick, and oil—even then Ace had been there for him. Always. He knew that Ace would always be there for him if he needed his brother.
But now, Ace needed him. Ace had always been the older brother, the protector, the responsible one. The one who came running to kick ass if Luffy was being pushed around or to help cover the mess up if Luffy was a little clumsy. Now—the time to repay was here.
Expensive penthouse apartment; rich, influential and powerful grandfather aside—there was more he could do then sit around and help in minor ways. He leaned his head against the penthouse's window and looked out over the city landscape, at the grayish, no-color of the Grand Line. The sun was barely peeking over the tallest skyscrapers and casting golden-yellow light across the urban jungle. Another day, another day. And Ace was imprisoned in Impel Down County Correctional and City Jail. His older brother wouldn't be seeing the sun rise up today—and if he did then it would be from a gritty exercise yard with jail wardens patrolling the edges.
The time had come to end this idiocy. Things were simple, or so Luffy understood them to be. Ace needed to be freed and that was all. It didn't matter how many people's asses he'd have to kick or even if he might end up in trouble himself. Like Zoro. Zoro loved Ace as much as Luffy did and he had already fallen deep into the quagmire.
"Ah, really man? No shit, that? Ah, fuck me…yuh, no man, I've been shacked up with this G of mine, nah you don't know him, nah, you don't, uh-huh. Yeah, no fuckin' man."
Luffy turned his head a little to see Gin out of the corner of his eye, pacing up and down near the sleek and expensive entertainment center, one hand hooked in his belt loops. His bare chest was thickly roped with muscles, and old scars criss-crossed the brown skin. He glanced at Luffy and gave the thumbs-up. His thick lips curled up in a smile. Luffy lifted a hand back in return and moved away from the window—picking up his windbreaker and backpack as he moved toward the door.
Gin was nodding into the phone, a triumphant, nearly predatory gleam in his dark eyes. "Ah, really? Most of the guys, eh? I'm glad to know that man, I really am. I thought everybody fuckin' hated my guts for losing to Hawkeye. But the boss—nah, he can't be—I know, I know he fucked me over but that's—hey wait—"
Krieg's man glanced up and covered the cell phone with one hand as he opened the door to the penthouse and stepped out into the hallway, "Hey, Luff! You heading out already man?"
Luffy nodded, "Yeah, school."
The other grinned, "I got great news—well, great for me. I'll tell ya when ya get back, all right? I might not be living here for a couple more weeks. But I'm not sure—could be just a couple idiots straight-trippin'."
He smiled and swung the door shut, "See you later, Gin."
He saw the large cow as soon he stepped into the parking garage where his car was safely stowed away. It was a bulky man, broad of shoulders and chest, a torso roughly the size of a wine casket. All above an absurdly delicate waist and shapely legs. It looked as if someone had shoved the giant of a man in front of a steam roller which had flattened the man from the waist down. His hair stuck up at the ends in two identical tufts like the horns of a bull. The large cow was standing in front of his car.
It was a private penthouse and only a few cars were parked in the large garage. No one else was present except the cow and Luffy felt the slow kick of his heart increase as he approached. Lunchbox in one hand and jingling car keys in the other; Jansport backpack stuffed with more food on his back.
"Move, cow," he ordered, coming to a stop a few feet away from the dark-suited interloper. He had an idea that the cow was from CP9 and from Lucchi—the man he had reserved for himself. And his ideas were usually right. CP9 hadn't taken Ace—but they had taken Robin and they would have no mercy from this quarter. Anyway, their hands were not entirely clean of his brother's blood. They had not killed Ace; but his brother had certainly been put through an inferno. Chopper had managed to tell him some of the details of the hospital's report. Luffy's blood had boiled.
And Robin. They had met only a year or so ago. She had been quiet, secretive, almost cold to him and he had taken it on himself to find more about the quiet woman who seemed too sad to be so young. She was one whom he'd fight to the death to protect—and it had been this cow who'd taken her away for stupid reasons—because she had born to so-and-so and knew such-and-such. If Robin was damned because her mother had been in some sort of communist revolutionary tomfoolery—then how damned was he? He knew damn well whose blood ran in his veins.
The cow opened its mouth—or it seemed to drop open slowly like a creaky drawbridge drops over the castle's moat—and the deep, husky baritone boomed out, "Luffy D. Monkey…you are quite the nuisance to our boss." Each word was sonorous, fundamental.
He didn't blink, "Move cow. I'm only gonna say this once. Get out of my way. Of our way." His hands didn't drop the lunchbox, but his fingers loosened and flexed, loosened and flexed.
"Lucchi has given me my orders, boy. They will be carried out. You are to be liquidated."
The cow shifted his stance and Luffy gently tossed the lunchbox away, letting it slide on the floor until it hit the wheel of his BMW. He stretched his long legs out until the tendons screamed and the bones in his ankles crackled.
He wasn't a bad man—hadn't set out to hurt Enel; hadn't set out to kill Crocodile or give a pounding to Buggy and Kuro when they had got mixed up in his path. But when he had seen what they were and what they had done and what they planned to do—he couldn't stop himself. Wouldn't stop himself. Luffy hadn't even bothered to clean up his tracks or go out of his way to make some attempt to make sure he wouldn't be caught. It wasn't that he wanted the notoriety—fame was fleeting, he didn't care to make a name for himself that way. He had simply left it to fate.
He would do the same here. The cow was already moving toward him, strangely rapid for such a large man. Luffy shrugged out of his backpack and flung it after his abandoned lunchbox. Their hands slammed together, fingers intertwining like lover's hands, the muscles jumping out with the tension from his tanned skin.
Luffy stared blackly into the wells of the Agent's eyes, and understood that his death was written there.
~0~
The two men were arguing with the other two men—all carrying conspicuous oily-yellow bandanas or towels hanging out of their back pockets or tied around their tattooed biceps like their quaint form of Visa passports. They were conducting a small spot of agricultural and pharmaceutical business in the environs of a small, dirty corner park that fine morning. Mohji had said he wanted only ten ounces; his dealer was complaining that he only had a six but that he would throw in a couple of tablets whose substance he wasn't quite sure about, but he had been assured that they would take the user to distant galaxies so whaddaya say, eh?
"No! No!" Mohji complained, running a hand distractedly through his wild mane of hair which was going prematurely grey, "You know how much stress I have as a lion trainer for the zoo? Of course Richie wouldn't ever hurt me—but still! I need a couple more ounces—this won't last at all especially since Cabaji is such a hogger! He's been even worse since he got that little visit from Blackbeard's collector couple months ago. Can't trip right, idiot."
The dealer didn't look happy, instead he shook the small baggie with the white tablets inside suggestively, "I need to get rid of these—err, I mean, but these are good, too! Come on, do a guy a favor, rookie."
Mohji bristled, "Oye—watch your mouth, bastard."
The man snickered, "Ay, I can't help if Buggy was beaten to shit and then you came crawling to Don Krieg. Rookies need to take the advice of the older members and I advise that you try this shit out."
Mohji's friend suddenly elbowed the smoldering man in the ribs, "Oye—check it out."
The dealer—a very fat man with a face almost as flat as a slab of rock turned ponderously in the direction the smaller man pointed and his thick lips sneered, "Ay, look what we got here—punks. Punks trespassin' on our turf. Do they really think they can get away without breaking a few bones? Whaddaya think, rookie?" He tucked the baggie back into his massive hoodie with all the deftness of a magician tucking the colored handkerchiefs up his voluminous sleeve.
Mohji giggled, "If I take out a few idiots then maybe Krieg will give me more notice. I was Buggy's right-hand man you know! I'm a man used to being the top-dog." He turned in the direction of the swaggering men and called out gruffly, "Hey! Hell off this place—Krieg's men here are doin' some business transactions and we can't be bothered by lunkheads! Whose are you—Blackbeard? Moria? Hancock?"
The fat man sighed and pushed Mohji to the side with one meaty hand, "You're as badass as Justin Beiber Mohji." He sucked in breath until his dusky face was florid and bellowed, "The fuck off our land motherfuckers unless you want us to beat the living shit out of you pussies!" He strode up to them and the three men flanked him, arms swinging. "Fuck off dickfaces!"
The man in front of the invaders didn't stop until they were only a few feet away and then he smirked. The four Kriegsmen didn't need the blue bandanas or the sun tattoos on the men's bodies to recognize Arlong's deadly children. The burly, bulging muscles; the thick-barreled bodies which hit the six foot mark and passed it were all the men needed to know the content of the blood which ran through those Gyojin's veins.
"Oye, get lost. This place ain't for little kids. Go jack off in the library if you want to have some fun," the fat man in the middle growled. Only a very brave or a very stupid man could have said that to the three massive men in front of him—and it would do well to know that the speaker was not of the courageous variety.
The man in the middle glanced at his friend on the left and they exchanged a sinister look, full of cruel amusement, "Eh? We have some nutless fucks wanting to throw us off this place! What do you think about that brother?"
"Nyuu—" the man said, puckering his mouth strangely, "I—I am not…very happy about that Kurobi. Well, I don't think I am—I can always tolerate it—like that time that man ripped my hair…"
"Ah, shut up Hachi," Kurobi sighed and turned back to Krieg's group, "You four—I'm only gonna say this one time so listen up—Arlong's taking over this shit here. You Krieg's men are nothin', ya got nothin'. You're all dead men." His gruff voice whipped out like a lash.
"Bullshit!" the fat man ejaculated, face flushed with rage, "Bullshit, stinky fishmen! All you freaks come from some tiny Pacific Island where all ya do is fish and hunt like savages an' ya think ya' can fuck with us—Krieg's gang?" He was cracking his knuckles ominously.
"Kurobi's just telling the truth," the man on the left said, his voice darkly sinister, "Everyone knows that Krieg's nearly senile—and if I hear that slur cross your lips again, I'll rip your tongue out of your head, idiot. Chu."
"I want to see you fucking do it—or are you all just bullshit like the rest of the freaks in your little circle jerk gang?"
Kurobi stepped forward, Chu and Hachi flanking him. Their broad chests, shoulder to shoulder, nearly overlapped the four men. He stepped forward deliberately and there was a pause before he said slowly, deliberately—
" Fuck you."
~0~
"Yes, yes! I'm getting down the stats, don't worry! Argh—don't hit me Doctorine!" The unruly young man who looked in the neighborhood of his early teens flapped his clipboard up in an attempt to protect his head, covered with a messy swap of hazel brown hair, from the clutches of Dr. Kureha.
"Little punk!" Dr. Kureha cackled, a hand up poised to strike, "If you're getting the information from the patients then what the hell are ya doing here in Ward F? The patients are down in the other wing ya idiot! Ya weren't trying to sneak a peek at your little criminal buddy Portgas, ehh Chopper?"
"No! I swear I wasn't! I was going to get some more latex gloves! We ran out in Ward F!" Chopper said, rushing breathlessly through his excuse, "I needed some, stat!"
Kureha jabbed a finger in the small intern's chest, "Have you forgotten that the supplies are in the closet you passed two doors down?"
"Ah! Right! Thank you Doctorine, I completely forgot!" The intern fled back down the hallway from the old doctor with a hand on her hip. She watched as he threw open the door and rummaged through it until he found a new, unopened box of latex examining gloves.
Chopper glanced down the hallway—a quick, sneaky peek—only to see the Doctorine glowering at him. He swallowed audibly and rushed off towards the ward in which the new, barely omitted patients were being checked. They had come into Hiruluk Medical Center and Hospital only ten minutes or so before and Chopper had seized the opportunity to see if he could snatch a moment in the confusion to pass a word or two with Ace. But apparently the Doctorine had known exactly what had been running in his mind and had beat him to it.
The name on his little metal nametag reflected the hospital's fluorescent lights as he trotted down the hall quickly, the latex glove box clutched to his chest. Antonio Chopper. Also known as Tony or Tony Tony or just Chopper. He had been working afternoons for over two years now in the Hiruluk Medical Center as an assistant and later as a true intern.
Four men had been admitted this afternoon and he, who had known what was what and who was who since he had started hanging out with Usopp, Luffy and the guys—recognized the faces instantly. Krieg's men. Someone had put some bad hurt on them. Mohji—a scruffy old guy whom Chopper didn't particularly care for—had a dislocated jaw. He was the best off. The others shared between them a broken arm, a gash in the chest which would need stitches, and internal damage which would have the man seeing blood in his pee for a few weeks.
The four men had been clamoring unprovoked aggression from Arlong's gang—the three hardcases whom Chopper knew well—Kurobi, Chu, and Hachi. Everyone knew them. They were the only three of the most violent of Arlong's creed.
Chopper burst into the small examining room in which the guy who needed stitches was lying down on the hospital bed complaining to a nurse, "—and so we were all minding our own shit, yeah? And these mofos come outta nowhere! I mean fucking nowhere and start calling us names and all this other shit, we were like—guys, calm down, we're not looking for trouble here, we're good citizens—" He looked up when Chopper entered and demanded, "Ay—you the cops? I got three names fer ya—Arlong, Kurobi, Chu, and Hachi, they're the bastards—"
"Errr, no, I'm an intern," Chopper said, waving his hands around, "The police is on its way though so don't worry. Just calm down so you don't injure yourself anymore."
"Eh? A'ight." The man scratched his chest and winced, "fucker pulled a switchblade on me; that shit's illegal ya know? Damn right I'm making a statement. I got my fucking right, my fucking Miranda, ya know?"
The nurse nodded and soothingly murmured affirmations as she cleaned the gash out of the man's chest. Chopper tore off the cellophane of the box and stuffed the glass canisters full of latex gloves. There were still a couple pairs left in there—certainly enough to last the day, but he had seized on it as a workable excuse to go see if he could sneak into Ace's room. The freckled man had been checked in only a few days ago and the Doctorine had expressly forbidden him to enter the room or even to go see his friend.
"You're not allowed to, Chopper…and I don't want you to see the poor boy until he's healed."
"All—All right Doctorine." But he was a bad liar; even worse than Luffy.
"Ay! You—Intern! Have I seen you before? Somewhere?"
Chopper jumped and nearly upset the canister with the tongue depressors as he turned around, already sweating, "What? Me? Seen you somewhere?" His voice was nearly a squeak.
"Yeah, I got this feeling that I've seen ya before," the man narrowed his eyes at him and Chopper scratched at his head furiously, "Somewhere?" The nurse was taking his blood pressure and she looked up and admonished him quietly. The man ignored her and crooked an eyebrow at Chopper, "You're not—" he paused and crooked his eyebrow even higher, "—ya know, was' that word?—affiliated?"
Chopper looked away and then back at the man's face, "Errr—me? No…this is the first time—I mean, no, I haven't, I'm not!—I'm an intern!" He seized on the abstract explanation like a drowning man seizes a life saver.
The man looked suspicious, "Was' that?"
"It means he's studying to be a certified doctor right now," the nurse said helpfully, standing up and going to the sink after shooting Chopper a smile, "He works at the hospital as an assistant and soon he'll go to a good medical school, maybe Johns Hopkins!"
"Eh, no shit?" The man shook his head and the wariness faded, "you're a smartass, huh? Hmph, you're definitely not a—nevermind, forget I said anything, eh? I thought-nah, nevermind—the drug's messing with my head, I'm thinking stupid things," He shook his head, laughing and muttering to himself, then looked up sharply, "Drugs as in—the shit you foo's gave to me, nothin' else. I didn't say nothin' else."
The nurse frowned, "Chopper is not a smartass, he's an intelligent young man with a bright future ahead of him, we at the hospital are all—"
"Yeah, whatever ya say ho—say, does this place have a kitchen? Can ya get me something?"
Before the nurse could get offended and snap out a retort about the man's own obviously limited intelligence, the door swung open and a burly, smokestack of a man walked in. His presence was a physical impact, a quick, brutal punch to the groin. The man on the hospital bed straightened up noticeably and his hand went up half-heartedly as if he had had the incredible urge to salute. Chopper hastily retreated to the room's corner, hoping that the man would miss him.
"You the cops? Cuz'—"
"My name is Captain Smoker of the Grand Line PD," the smoker grunted, and crossed his arms across his broad chest, "I'm here to take your statement and ask a few questions, Mr. Vasquez. Number one being who did this to you?"
"Arlong's thugs," the guy said, affecting an outraged citizen face, "We was just minding out own business—"
"Cut the bullshit."
"Officer—"
"Get to the point."
A sulking expression appeared on the man's face, but he shut up and continued, "Well, we got into a little spat with them and these three thugs tried to beat the shit out of us for no reason! Arlong's wanting to take over the whole damn city, that fishfreak."
"Spare me your racism," Captain Smoker growled and took the clipboard from his Sergeant's hands, "Arlong,eh?"
"Hachi, Kurobi, and Chu—I've seen those idiots around. We coulda took 'em but that Kurobi pulled a knife on me!"
"Where?"
"Eh? Oh, the park near East Blue High. The school? What's it called—Laboon Park? Yeah, that's the one."
Smoker scrawled the names down and handed the clipboard back to Tashigi, "Exactly what the other three said. It's definitive." He glanced back at the man, "We'll give out orders to arrest them. If we find them and manage to set them behind bars you might get a chance to be in the same jail with them, Vasquez."
"Same jail?"
"Vasquez I can see your dilated pupils from here," Smoker grunted, half in amusement, then turning to Tashigi, "Let's go."
"Hey! Explain your—"
The Captain swept the hospital room door shut on the man's cries. He turned to Tashigi and the Sergeant saluted immediately, "Captain Smoker, should I send in the reports at once?"
Smoker walked slowly down the hall, "If you want Sergeant. I doubt if it'll make a damn ounce of difference in the long run…" he paused and jerked a thumb at the closed door, "That idiot's just the beginning of many. This little tussle in some kiddie park troubles me a hell of a lot more than anything has in a long time."
Tashigi pushed up her glasses, her eyes dark, "It could just be an isolated case of violence."
"Hopefully," Smoker said, "But I've found that usually it's not what we wish it to be. This was a definite case of faction aggression. Arlong knew damn well what those three members of his were up to. He's too much of a sly and coldhearted bastard to let things like that be out of his control. Krieg's been an ailing cause for a while ever since Mihawk took it into his head to coldly murder every single one. Arlong saw that and proceeded to hone in to take while the taking is good."
Tashigi pulled out a small notebook and rifled through it¸"Laboon Park…it was marked by Krieg a while back. See his mark? Officer Jango went out to document it." She held up the small official book to show the mark to her Captain.
"I know that Sergeant." He started off down the hall and Tashigi quickly followed, "Arlong won't stop now. They'll kill all of Krieg's men down to the last one if that's what it'll take. But you know what'll happen before that happens?"
The Sergeant shook her head, her face pale.
"Blackbeard's rejects will either fizzle out or someone will seize the chance and become the new leader. Then they'll swoop in to try to take a bite out of Krieg before Arlong snatches it all up. Then they'll try to destroy each other. And the rookies and warlords—the Supernova and the Schichibukai as they call them in the forces—they'll get excited from all the bloodshed and try to get away with anything while our hands are full with the gangs."
"And Lucchi?"
"He's just as worse. All he'll do is kill whoever he thinks goes against the little utopia breeding in his head. They're just as worse. At the end of this; there's going to be a lot of bodies." Smoker shook his head, "Do I have to remind you Sergeant that we must follow our own idea of justice?"
"No Captain," Tashigi saluted, "And how long do you think we'll have before…all this happens?"
"Are you blind, ditz?" Smoker grunted, "It's already begun to happen."
~0~
As soon as the steel-gray haired Captain had shut the door, Chopper had sneaked out from where he had squeezed himself in between a file cabinet and a model of the human skeleton and carefully inched open the door to hear the almost inaudible sounds of the Captain and his pretty Sergeant speaking.
The conclusions that the Captain had drawn were almost identical to his own. Arlong's move had been deliberate. And though Chopper wasn't able to hear the two after they had moved down the hall, he was certain that Smoker had reached the other conclusions he himself had drawn almost as soon as he had heard the beat up gangsters complaining. Krieg would fall and that would be the first domino in a series of many, many dominos.
And it just wasn't a terrifying prospect in the future, a scary eventuality. It was happening. It had happened.
Chopper peeked out into the hallway and sneaked out, ignoring the nurse calling his name. Maybe now he could snatch a moment to see if he could see Ace. The Captain and the Sergeant were leaving—Doctorine would most likely see them off.
His hospital slippers made little squeaks as he sped down the hall, his brown hair sometimes falling over his equally brown eyes. The hallway sped by and he jumped the stairs three by three.
Arlong! Why him? He had been a fairly quiet faction for as long as Chopper could remember and for as long as Zoro could remember and the other members. Arlong was—by general consensus—one of those men who did things best in the shadows, away from the light. His massive bribes to the police and to the government were well known. So why the sudden violence?
It all seemed incredibly ominous. First Blackbeard's obscene betrayal and the way he had betrayed his own adopted son and all his children; then—this.
Chopper's feet skidded to a stop as soon as he rounded the corner to go onto Ace's wing. The Captain, the Sergeant, and Doctorine were all standing, still as stone, in front of Ace's room. He turned to leave, heart thumping, and saw Doctorine's head turn—
He dived behind the wall but already he heard Doctorine's old, shrill voice, "I see you Chopper. You're not very good at hiding dear."
"I was—I heard a noise—" He was already backing away, palms sweaty and scrotum creeping up to his body. Doctoring would be furious; this was twice now in a day that she had caught him trying to deliberately disobey her.
He heard Smoker, "Who's that? Intern?"
"Yes, he's been wanting to see the infamous Ace D. Portgas," Kureha said, "Well then Chopper, come on out and get your sorry ass over here. If you want to see the poor boy so bad, then see him."
Chopper fought an urge to flee, but forced his feet to travel along the short hallway to where Doctorine and the Captain stood in front of a hospital room. He had never specifically told the Doctorine about his pact with Blackbeard and about his need to see Ace because they were friends, but she was far from stupid. He hoped beyond hope that she would say nothing in front of the Captain.
"I'm sorry Doctorine—" he stuttered as he approached, but the Doctor gestured toward the room with a small grimace of pity.
"Look then, Chopper."
The Captain fixed a cold eye on him and Chopper shivered and diverted his gaze, his heart already thumping with the nearness of Ace.
It was one of those rooms with plate glass walls with blinds which could be opened and closed to reveal and hide the room. The blinds were open.
Ace looked like he was sleeping in the elevated hospital bed. The typical IV drips and slew of monitors and panels were arranged around him like furniture. The man's black hair was messy, it fell around his face and closed eyes in a black sprawl. Chopper's eyes ate him up. There were faint bruises on his face and arms, faint purple and yellow blemishes; besmirching his clean skin and snow-white hospital clothes.
His right arm was handcuffed to the arm of the bed. Chopper made a small noise in the back of his throat and his eyes welled. It seemed like he was always crying, bawling like a little baby while his friends were the ones really hurting—he needed to grow up. Maybe if he wasn't always fooling around with medicine mixtures, and looking over x-ray diagrams, and studying for exams; maybe he would have been there to protect his friends.
"Your friend, kid?" The Captain asked, voice like sandpaper.
"N-No," he choked out, and because he felt as if he had denied Ace and betrayed him, he reneged and blurted out, "Yes he is! He is!"
The Doctorine sighed, "They went to school together, Captain."
"Is it safe for him to be here?" Smoker asked.
"I keep a good eye on him, Captain. He wouldn't do anything stupid, would you Chopper?"
"Hasn't woken up yet?"
"Two moments of lucidity, Captain. I find that encouraging relative to the state you brought him here."
"Hey, Kureha—Lucchi brought him in like that."
Chopper heard it all as if through a film of grime. His eyes were glued on the still, abandoned form of Ace. The firebug looked weak, defeated, vanquished forever-folded up like a broken doll and put to rest.
"Chopper?"
"Huh?"
"The patients need you," Kureha said gently, "Go on."
He went, walking like an insomniac in search of dreams.
~0~
The cow was blunt, rock-hard, Luffy's knuckles were raw from the times they had met the concrete resistance which was the cow. The cow waded into the battle like a cow would chew its cud—methodical, relentless. Luffy didn't give ground and they grappled in the shadows of the deserted parking garage. The cow was almost a foot taller, but Luffy didn't care—he did his best to kick its ass.
But the dark-suited man was imperturbable, refusing to let any of his defenses down, dodging when he should, blocking when he could, always closing in, waiting for an opportunity. He could feel his frustration and fury rise with each solemn look the cow threw him. He should quit playing around and send the cow straight to hell—for Ace, for Robin, for everyone.
The heat increased and Luffy launched himself into a fusillade of attacks; his fists swinging, his lithe torso rotating with the force of the roundhouse kicks and punches which he had learned and practiced since Ace had accepted him and taught him how to fight for what he believed in.
The cow tried to slam him into the car, but Luffy dexterously twisted out of the thrust and threw the cow off. He saw his opening—and before the cow could twist with that spooky rapidity, Luffy sent his clenched fist rocketing into the blocky jaw. Straight up the chin—he felt the reverberation in his bones as the flat, crack rapped through the air. The cow grunted and his head flew up, his arms swung out and Luffy launched a sandaled foot into the cow's stomach—he could almost feel the shape of the intestines and how they shifted and collided as his leg drove in.
The man gargled and spat a pellet of spit and blood onto the cement as he doubled over, hands clenched over his injured midregion and Luffy grabbed the man's head by the tufts of hair which looked like horns; brought the resisting neck down and swept his leg up, his knee slamming brutally into the man's chin as his hands pushed down.
This time, Luffy felt the bones break, felt the jaw crumble away and skew and the large cow collapsed. Luffy hopped away, breathing hard, the sweat running into his eyes. Once he had managed to get a punch in, the cow had had no chance. The Agent was groaning, struggling to get up, one hand clutched to his dismantled jaw, the other reaching out to Luffy, whether in an effort to seize him or in supplication Luffy didn't know or care. He dropped to his knees—the one which had hit the cow's chin throbbed already—and fisted his hands in the man's suit.
"Saawww!" The cow gargled, Luffy paid no mind and securing the flailing body in a secure grip, brought the large head down and slammed it, nose first, into the concrete. There was another crunch—Luffy had an idea that that was the cow's nose retreating into his head—and then the cow was still.
Everything was still, except for the rapid tattoo of his heart and his pants. His hands were still fisted in the cow's hair and he released the heavy head slowly, dropping it back into the pool of blood. Luffy got up, legs a little shaky. He had no regrets.
"Holy shit Luffy!"
Luffy turned, Gin was racing from the garage's stairwell, face drawn in shock.
"What the fucking hell happened, is that man dead? You killed him?" Gin dropped to his knees and fumbled for the man's neck, fingers searching for a pulse, "Nah, Luffy, guy's deader than a doorknob; only thing tickin' is his watch." Gin snatched the man's wrist and put two fingers on the bump of wrist, "Damn Luffy, you offed him, what the fuck happened? What are you going to do?"
Luffy shrugged, "That guy's the guy who messed with Robin and her mom; the one who's working with that other bastard to mess with Ace and everybody." He fixed the strawhat back on his head and looked down at the prone body unfeelingly, "He was going to kill me…but I killed him first."
"Damn Luffy," Gin repeated and cast a furtive look around, "We gotta get rid of his body, man. This is CP9, right? That you were talking about? They find out and you're dead. Who is this?" The man struggled to shift the mountain of flesh and rifle through the dead man's pockets.
"He'll know as soon as he sees me again," Luffy said, shrugging, "Lucchi will. And then maybe he'll come after me himself. Hopefully. That way I won't have to look for him."
"Shit, I come down to see if I can sneak out to the store and buy some cigarettes, and I find out that you've killed a guy," Gin grabbed the cow's suit and began dragging him towards Luffy's car. "C'mon help me get this shit into your trunk."
Luffy crooked an eyebrow, "What are you going to do with him?"
Gin gaped as he struggled to shift the bulk, "What d'ya mean? Do you want to go to jail? If anyone sees this, then they'll cuff you and throw you behind bars—they won't care that it was in self-defense! I doubt even you could get away with this! Open your trunk will you?"
He pulled his keyring and popped open the BMW's trunk. Gin was probably right; it'd be best if Lucchi had less to work with. As for him, he would be fine. His hands were not clean, but his heart was. It was either the cow or him, and Luffy wasn't going to die, not when his friends and family needed him. He stooped to seize the cow's broad shoulders and lift him into the trunk.
Gin folded the cow's legs in, his forehead beaded with sweat, "All right, let's drive. I know a good place to dump him."
~0~
Krieg's man drove and Luffy rode shotgun. After they had sopped up the blood and thrown the contaminated towels into the trunk along with the agent, Gin seemed to calm down and he even clapped Luffy on the shoulder and smiled.
"This isn't the first time I've seen a body Luffy, don't worry, I'm not freaking out. I can handle this."
Luffy nodded and refrained from adding that this wasn't the first time for him either.
Gin rolled the BMW out of the parking garage, "You'll have to get this car cleaned or have it mashed into a little cube. No way that much blood is going to come out of the upholstery, trust me. Forensics these days can find out anything."
"Lucchi won't bother with that," he replied, knowing it was true, "Lucchi doesn't play by the rules." Shanks had said something similar to him when he had been a little kid, back then. He had been talking about pirates…and how they didn't play by the rules, and maybe that was bad, but at least they didn't pretend they were good.
"Yeah, but gotta take precautions man," Gin said. The man rambled on and Luffy leant half a ear to his talk. He could tell that something else was on his mind, but that Gin wasn't sure if he should say it or how he should say it so Luffy just nodded and listened, exerting some of that will to silence that he so rarely used.
The place where Gin chose to dispose of the Agent's body was a small side road, A deep trench, filled with undergrowth covered it, and weeds and trash blocked the narrow gulley from the road. The street was abandoned, the closest things were buildings and the back of some apartments.
They made short work of it.
Luffy paused, "Aren't you going to hide him?" Gin had just shifted the cow's bleeding body halfway into the culvert.
"Nah, I know this place. Some of Arlong's guys come here to pass the waterbottle and shoot the breeze; they'll find him soon."
"You want that happen?" he asked, surprised.
"Yeah," Gin replied and untied the yellow bandana from his head and dropped it. It covered the cow's broken face and hid from view the worst parts of the damage. But immediately, the yellow bloomed with flowers of crimson, sticking to the area, the lack of nose, obvious. "I want them to see that. I got a call from my friend this morning, right before you left—remember? Krieg's pretty much finished—the man I most admired of anyone. Arlong knows it and openly beat the shit out of four of our guys."
Luffy said nothing, letting Gin talk.
Gin didn't beat around the bush, "The guys—the rest of them want me to take his place; you know, Krieg's. And—I think I'm going to."
"You? Aren't you too young?" Luffy asked bluntly.
Gin flushed, "Maybe. But that doesn't matter—I'm going to, I've decided. Krieg was the number one man in my life—and I think someday he'll realize that I did it for him, to preserve his legacy. I can't live if I see him fall, humiliated. I want to be there for my men when the shit goes down, and if all goes right then we'll come out it stronger than before."
He glanced at Luffy, "I'll be able to help you with your brother. Krieg has enough firepower, bullets, and sawed-off shotguns to blast the police department to Timbuktu. We just don't have that many men. Hell, for what you've done for me, you give me the word and I'll storm the hospital where he's at, man. Just give the word. Just give the word."
~0~
Zoro's eyes bored into Jango's. The crooked policeman shrugged again, "I didn't hear myself, but I heard other people say that they heard other people say that when Lucchi found out…about both of them…he rage was…was great indeed. I heard the man throttled the guy who brought him the news that both Agent Kaku and Agent Blueno were killed. But Smoker's playing that information close to the chest; he's got a special team working on that case."
He leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on Usopp's work table. It had been three days since he had fought to the death with Kaku, CP9 Agent. Jango had been unable to come report—and unwilling, though Zoro had assured him that his services were still needed and that the pay was still the same.
Jango pulled back his long grey hair, "Ay, Zoro, I know I've been working with you guys since forever, but I don't know if I can anymore—things are getting too complicated, I don't wanna end up like Kaku."
"Kaku died because he tried to fuck with a very dangerous man," Zoro said shortly, "And because he tried to fuck with people who didn't deserve to be fucked with. We still need you Jango."
"Aw man," Jango complained, "I'm just a traffic cop—and who's 'we' anyway? Blackbeard defected on you chumps; you guys don't have a leader anymore—I don't even know why I'm talking to you; I always talked to Blackbeard himself, or Burgess, or Laffite, or the old Doctor. Where's my money anyway?"
Zoro tossed the wad of fifties on the table and Jango snatched it up, "You'll report to me now, allright? I want to know when Ace is getting out of that hospital and when Robin is getting transferred, think you can handle that?"
"Eh, probably. I still got my contacts," Jango's skinny fingers flipped through the bills, "Whoa, feeling generous?"
"You'll see more of that if you keep at it," Zoro answered, "Blackbeard might have betrayed us, but we're still a gang. Remember that." It was important to keep the grease in the wheels, to try to keep the machine rolling. The money he had obtained from selling some of the pistols that he had collected from other members. But he didn't know how long he could keep that up—Blackbeard had undoubtedly abdicated with everything—all the weapons, the money, the drugs.
The rat smirked respectfully, "Are you the new leader?"
"No," he said immediately, "But you'll report to me, understood?"
"Yes sir," Jango said, busy with the money, forgetting that he was at least twenty years Zoro's senior, "I'll get to you as soon as I can about Nico and Portgas and everything I can find out. When I do, I'll send word to meet you through the usual channels."
"Wait, Jango," he interrupted, "Are you sure about Blueno?"
"Saw the bodybag myself when they loaded it into the van," the informant agreed, "He was found near some apartments, Some of Arlong's smalltimers reported it—claimed it was Krieg, the bandana was there and all. Except—you know anybody can buy a scrap of yellow cloth. Not everyone could have killed that guy though. Tooke four paramedics to load him up. Guy was a fucking goliath."
"Arlong…Krieg…Ace…Lucchi…Robin…." Zoro muttered, "How do they all fit together?"
"Simple boss," Jango shrugged The money had disappeared. "I heard the new Captain talking about it—he was talking with the fucking hot Red Line Police Captain Hina, that woman can cuff me anytime—he said, and I quote—"
"Smoker?"
"Yeah, that man, He said," Jango screwed his face up, tilted his head, and began reciting, "Lucchi's not even the problem anymore. He just came in and set things going—devil's advocate. This place was ready for some guy to light a match—there was enough gunpowder to blow it all away anyway. What we're seeing is the cause and effect of his tampering. That's what the Captain said."
The captain was a clever bastard. Zoro mulled over the thoughts and came to an agreement with Smoker's theorem. Lucchi had just been the lighter landing on a trail of gasoline. How things had happened, it would have happened anyway, but perhaps it would have been less bloody, less genocidal.
At last he looked back at Jango, "Thanks. I'm through." And stood up.
Jango scrambled up and grinned, "No problem. I'm happy to be of service, you know. I'll get on the other things as soon as I get back."
After the corrupt informant had exited out the back door, Zoro stood a little while more in the empty garage and pondered, hands in his pockets.
There wasn't much he could do if everyone decided to run insane. They all should know that one attack would lead to retaliation, to counterattack, to revenge, to point, counterpoint. There wasn't much he wanted to do at this point except bring Ace and Robin back; to save his friends and keep them safe.
And oh, fuck, to keep Sanji the fuck out of it all.
Maybe…I should just…not call him, not talk to him, ignore him, pretend he doesn't exist. Ace was right—the less between us the better. If they find out, even I won't be able to stop him from being dragged into this shit.
He paused, and took out his phone, glanced at the smooth front.
One call. "I'm fine." Or "Can't talk, but will you posted." "Be careful." I'll leave a message since he's probably at the Baratie.
Instead he put his phone away.
I should just forget about him for now.
I should just tell everyone I fucked him and that too bad Ace is locked up so he can't pay me $500. He'll be pissed, but no one would ever suspect—
Stop it! He'll be fine. Lucchi doesn't even know he exists.
The garage door creaked open and Zoro turned and saw the longnose peeking at him. He sighed, "Usopp…"
Usopp held up a weird contraption; it looked like a mechanized drinking glass, "I made it myself—it catches all the acoustic sound waves hearable by human ears and can transmit them through the thickest walls."
"I would have told you anyway, idiot."
The man ignored him, "Zoro…I was thinking…well, you know—Jango did bring up a valid point."
Zoro stared at him blankly, "What the hell are you talking about?"
Usopp blushed and stammered, "Well, you have to admit that it's been on all our minds, and that maybe, even if you were against it—it would help us, and help everybody—"
He was getting irritated, fast. There was too damn much in his head at this point and Usopp might as well have been posing riddles. He kneaded his forehead and groaned, "Out with it, longnose, just—spit it the fuck out, please."
"Be our new leader—" Usopp blurted out, "Be the Blackbeard! Be our boss!"
"You're insane." Zoro snarled, flabbergasted that the sharpshooter would even consider it, "Me? Me? The least thing I want at this point is to become a gang boss—hear me? The least thing. And why me? I was the least committed of all you guys—you think I want to be chained to it forever? That—no. No."
Usopp's face had fallen throughout his outburst, "But Zoro, Jango's right. We're not a 'we' without someone at the top—nobody knows what to do, we're all lost. We need someone—if not, we're not gonna be able to do—"
"Why the hell don't you become the new boss then, idiot? I'm sure you've always wanted to be bigger than what you are."
The sharpshooter shut up and Zoro clapped a hand to his eyes, "Fuck. I—I'm sorry. But Usopp, I can't deal with this right now—you understand what the hell we're all going though—and you come and tell me to just up and proclaim myself gang head. I feel like I'm losing my mind."
Usopp smiled wanly, "We all feel like that—but I'm not going to back down on this. We won't survive without a boss. And you're the best man we've got. Everyone knows you did Kaku. And we're proud."
Before Zoro could answer, his phone went off. He grabbed it and saw it was Franky calling. The adrenaline kicked in and he flipped it open and pressed speaker.
"Ow! Yo, Zoro-bro! You there?" Franky's boisterous voice rang through, clear and carefree.
"Here Franky—what's up?" Zoro glanced at Usopp.
"I'm going to kick some CP9 ass right now so—"
"What the hell! Franky—"
"Can't talk much Bro, this weasel-looking guy wants to shoot me in the nuts. I think he wants to coax me into the back of his van—but I doubt he's going to molest me in there!"
Zoro's blood turned to ice in his veins, "What! Where are you—what's happening! Tell me!"
Franky laughed, "I'm going to kick his ass—"
There was a pistol shot and Zoro's heart lurched even as Usopp cried out.
"Sorry bros! Missed him! I just wanted to let you know so that if I kick it then tell Bakaberg that I love him like a Bro and that he should marry Old Monster Kokoro and so give Chimney and Gonbe a father! I'm going to hang up now—"
"No! Where are you ,you fucking pervert!"
Zoro heard faintly in the background, a thin, nasal voice screech, "Put that thing away or I'll shoot, I'll shoot!"
"Galley-La!" Frank roared jubilantly and hung up.
He looked up stupidly at Usopp; the sharpshooter was beyond pale but he fumbled the phone out of Zoro's hand, "I'll call Kohza to take us; you don't have your bike, huh?"
"No, I left it at Valentine's," he said, "But I have my swords and that's all I fucking need."
Usopp's ear was pressed to the phone as he spoke urgently with Kohza—the sharpshooter was fumbling in one of the cabinets in the garage. He kept on dropping things and cursing, "No—tell you when you get here—Franky's in trouble, man—you gotta take us, just get here!" He hung up and tossed the phone to Zoro.
Zoro raced to the door and he turned back, glaring at Usopp who was still wading through junk in the cabinet. "What the hell are you doing, Usopp? Let's go!"
"We're not going anywhere until Kohza gets here," Usopp snapped, "And I'm—ah!" The sharpshooter pulled out a large metal tool box, "Got it!"
"You're going to fight with a hammer and chisel? Leave that shit and c'mon!"
Usopp plunged a hand into his shirt and pulled out a key on a chain. There was a click and Usopp swung the top up, his face oiled with sweat as he gingerly put his hands in. There was another click and Zoro saw Usopp holding something which looked too big, and too large to be a gun.
"What the hell is that?"
"It's my Uzi. Me and Franky assembled it."
"You're going to kill yourself with that shit."
"Maybe," Usopp said, hefting it, "But at least I'll take more than a couple with me."
~0~
For all the cook knew, Zoro Roronoa could have been dead and rotting in his grave for these past few weeks with a bullethole in his forehead. He had heard nothing—no phone call, no message, no hurried visit. It was only then did he realize how far removed he had been from Zoro's world. He had only come close because of Zoro, and now that that man was gone, the door had swept shut and he had been left out of it.
There was also that strange, insidious feeling of alienation. As if everything he had lived through with and because of Zoro had been a dream, a long and delirious hallucination. Or perhaps Zoro had fulfilled his little bet and was now yukking it up with his cronies about how easy Sanji had been to lay, and how he had really believed that they were in love.
Stupid. I'm fucking stupid.
Zoro wasn't here because he was up to his neck in chaos. Sanji didn't need the greenhaired man to tell him how it was. He could just open the newspaper and see the disturbing reports of gang warfare which had increased to unheard of levels. The hospital had declined to comment about the number of patients admitted.
Home was unbearable—it reminded him too much of Zoro and it had become unhealthy how often he checked the phone for messages. The Baratie was where he lived now—spending hour upon hour in the kitchens, in the dining area, in the storage.
Today was no different. The dining hour was as busy as ever, customers talked nosily amongst themselves, the click and clatter of silverware dominated and the chefs bellowed gustily in the kitchens.
"Oye! Sanji! Love-cook!" Patty called, banging his way through the kitchen's doors to where he was stirring a chowder on the oven, "Some guy's in the dining area—wants to talk to you. Table 45"
Sanji felt a worm of apprehension coil in his stomach, "What? Who is he?"
"I dunno. Old guy. Fat. Ugly."
"What?" he said, the description ringing no bells, "I don't know anybody like that."
"He wants to talk to you; maybe he just wants to compliment the soup. But that's hardly likely," the chef grunted. "Your soup bares a remarkable resistance to my liquid diarrhea."
"Shut up!" Sanji wiped his hands and marched out. Who the hell wanted to talk to him? He cast a look around when he opened the door in the direction of Table 45. He couldn't see that well from here, but the man sitting at the small, circular table for two was a broad-chested man, fat, and with a crazy afro of wispy white hair. He was looking around nervously, eyes wide, a big grin on his face, showcasing his obnoxious buck-teeth. The stark, dark blue suit he was wearing was ill worn, shoddy, and unfit.
Sanji recoiled inside from the image, and walked briskly over. The man saw him coming almost immediately and the shit-eating grin widened.
"May I help you sir?"
"You the sous chef Sanji Blackleg?"
"At your service," Sanji said curtly and inclined his head a few degrees. "How may I help you today?"
"Actually you can help me in two ways kiddo!" The man said, his voice annoyingly high-pitched, "You can find me some ramen noodles—which you don't have on the menu—and you can sit down and talk with me a while. But first, bring me a huge plate of ramen noodles, sha-ha-ha-ha, a big plate of ramen noodles! Big plate!"
He felt his scrotum crawl to his belly at the smile which was not quite sane and the laugh which was definitely not; and he bowed again, letting a thin sickle of a smile part his lips. Had he really thought he wasn't in this?
Sanji bowed again, and said smoothly, "Right away sir. I will be delighted to make you something you won't be able to resist. A house special." He turned on his heel and strode back to the kitchens, rolling his sleeves up, flexing the muscles in his hands. His balls were tight, the hair at the nape of his neck stood up, and the ice in his spine chilled him. But it was to be expected.
~0~
Stroke my beard; whaddya say?