Chapter Twenty-One:

Remember to Strut

A row of sports cars pulled up in front of The Catch, led by a silver Porsche convertible. A human woman was in the front passenger seat, checking her make up in a compact mirror. Her skin was bronzed sun glow from spending all day in tanning salons. She checked her nose, proud of her brand new septum piercing that matched her platinum blonde hair that showed a shadowed brown at the roots. Her over-filled lips were painted a bubblegum pink. She adorned her lids with rhinestones and dramatic eyeliner, bringing out her dark brown eyes. She was short, covered in tattoos and showed off enhanced curves that she dressed in body contouring clothing. She tapped her long acrylics against the edge of the convertible and opened the door, stepping out in high heels. Her driver was another woman, a mon. She wore an oversized black, long sleeved shirt, a mini skirt, black thigh highs and flats. Her skin was a deep slate gray and her eyes were hellish red, with slits for pupils. Her hair was impossibly long: black, straight hair that was past her knees. However, the most disconcerting part about her was her zipper like teeth that were a bright gold. She was petite and small—shorter than a lot less curvy than the human woman with her. She was of the Banette line, having the mon's golden pom-pom shaped tail. The human woman smoothed down her tight dress and strutted towards the entrance of the restaurant. The Banette girl followed her, along with twelve other people, coming out of their respective cars. The woman tapped on the door and Gloria approached the front, looking out. She swallowed hard and opened the door, letting them inside and escorting them to the balcony where Vinchenzi was dining with his boys.

"Sir," Gloria said, "You have a visitor."

"Oh for the love of Arceus, Gloria…" Vinchenzi complained, setting down his utensils. He sipped his wine and stood up, seeing the woman and her entourage enter. "You must be Natasha Mikhailovich," he said, shaking her hand. She returned the handshake, smiling at him.

"And you must be Vinchenzi Star," she said in her thick accent, "It is…finally nice to meet you. This is my best friend and partner 'in crime,' BeBe Natalia."

"Hello," the Banette girl said. Her voice sounded whispery and ethereal, with the echoes of the damned in each word she uttered. Vinchenzi shook her hand as well and went to his seat. One of his boys, the Kingler man, got up for Natasha to sit, while everyone else in her entourage simply stood around the table, quietly.

"Dinner?" Vinchenzi asked, patting his mouth.

"Ah…I'll take some wine, actually," Natasha said, smiling sweetly, "Do you have Malvasia?"

"Yes," Vinchenzi said. He snapped his fingers at Gloria and the waitress nodded and left, going to fetch a glass and bottle. In a few minutes, she returned with the wine, pouring Natasha a glass.

"Thank you dear," Natasha said, sipping the wine.

"So, you're from Kalos," Vinchenzi began, "What's it like this time of year?"

"Trash," Natasha said, setting the cup down, "Humid, sticky and constantly raining. New Palm City is a nice change of pace. It's comfortably warm, dry and always sunny. I needed this. Besides, Kalos is a bit…high strung for my taste."

"Ah," Vinchenzi said, taking a bite of his ravioli, "So I've heard."

"Yes, yes," Natasha agreed, looking around at his boys. They were all water types. That was amusing enough. Natasha surrounded herself with a multiplicity of people: humans of all ethnicities, mons of all types. She liked to think herself egalitarian in that way. "Let me cut to the chase," she started, "I am…nearing forty, and I do not like small talk."

"By all means," Vinchenzi said, patting his mouth, "Cut to the chase."

"This is just a formality," Natasha said, swirling the wine around in her glass, "You know, to understand…the culture of New Palm City. It's a very…how do you say it…a party city…great nightlife, high life…all that sort of stuff. I am from Kalos, the party scene is only…okay. Anyways…" she sipped the wine, popping her lips, "If there are any boundaries…I always try to knock them down."

"Elaborate," Vinchenzi said, taking another bite of his ravioli.

"I'm letting you know, that this place, New Palm City—it's mine now. I have no interest in sharing any sort of turf as I run this game. Now, I can tell," she looked at him up and down, "That you are a man of wealth of taste. So, we can do this very easy. I write you a check—a huge onetime payment—and you…how do you say it….skedaddle? Yes, you skedaddle from here. And I set up shop here."

Vinchenzi and his boys stared at her.

"Excuse me?" Vinchenzi said, "You interrupt my dinner for this bullshit?"

"I called in advance—hardly an interruption," Natasha cooed, "Or is it an interruption because you don't like what I said?"

Vinchenzi gave her a disgusted look, "The fuck is this shit? You outta your fuckin' mind if you think I'm leaving New Palm City. This is my city. I was born here and I grew up here. The hell's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Natasha said, "You're just competition. And I tend to buy out my competitors. Or snuff them out."

"You talkin' really big and spicy for some lame skank from Kalos," Vinchenzi said, clearly angry.

"The sun is down and my heart is freezing cold," Natasha said, "I could not care less about how indignant you become. It is a matter of business. We can't both be here. And as far as I'm concerned, I'm bigger, I'm better and I move much more product than you even hope to see in your entire lifetime."

"Get outta my restaurant," Vinchenzi said, annoyed, "Leave before I have your ass thrown the fuck out!"

"I don't think so—"

Vinchenzi withdrew his pistol from the back of his pants and pointed it at her. All his boys did the same, pointing at her entourage, who had their guns out now also. Natasha looked calm, even though she was staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Do you really think this is going to scare me?"

Vinchenzi clicked off the safety and cocked the hammer.

"Don't be stupid," Natasha said, "Think about what you're doing."

Vinchenzi hesitated for only a microsecond before BeBe whipped her long hair around, snaking it around Vinchenzi's wrist and ripping the gun from him. Natasha dove under the table as everyone started opening fire. The Kingler man was shredded instantly in the crossfire. He crumpled onto the floor, riddled with holes—a bleeding lump of viscera now. Vinchenzi ducked, crawling to retrieve his gun. He wasn't remotely fast due to his below average speed stat. Fuck! He thought. When he grabbed his firearm, he heard a body drop beside him. Vatio was shot dead and so was Bubba, the Bibarel man. Vatio's face was a total nightmare—multiple bullets had gone through his skull, whereas Bubba was bleeding out from his chest and spine, slowly dying. Vinchenzi got to his feet, seeing six of his men sprayed up, laying on the ground in all sorts of mangled positions. The only ones standing were Indy, the Inteleon man and a man of the Greninja lineage who'd gone by the name Glen. They were by the edge of the balcony, their semi-automatic pistols pointed straight at Natasha, who came out of the shootout unscathed. Two of her own members of her entourage were injured and one had their brains blown out all over the floor, but otherwise, it looked like she came out victorious. Vinchenzi breathed heavily, seeing his world crumble before him. No…fuck! No! Bubba took his last breath and closed his eyes, lying still in a pool of his own blood. Natasha was smiling, covered in the blood of everyone else but herself.

"You are outgunned," she said gaily, "If you want things to go well, you should probably drop your weapons."

Vinchenzi looked at the gun in his hand and stared at her entourage. They were armed with submachine guns and semi-automatic pistols. One of them in the back had been holding a fully automatic rifle, pointed straight at him.

"Go fuck yourself," Vinchenzi spat, dropping his gun. Indy and Glen dropped their weapons as well.

"I rather not," Natasha said, picking up Vinchenzi's pistol and handing it to BeBe. Two human women of her entourage grabbed the other firearms. "Everybody wants to rule the world, yes? Well, everybody can't be me, love," she taunted.

Indy exchanged looks with Glen and then looked at Vinchenzi. He glanced over his shoulder. The balcony overlooked the ocean. He could smell the salty sea air and feel the ocean breeze.

"Alright, kill them," Natasha said, flicking her hand. As they opened fire, Vinchenzi took a few shots. His high defense stat protected him from an instant kill shot, but it still hurt like all hell. Indy and Glen jumped over the edge of the balcony, diving into the water and swimming the fuck away. Vinchenzi followed them, limping and falling over the edge. Natasha watched him fall into the water and held up her hand, indicating for them to stop shooting. Vinchenzi was hurt badly, but he'd live. He hit the water, a plume of blood rising to the surface as he sunk. And with that, he (slowly) swam away, going as far as his injured body could carry him. Natasha stepped over the shattered glass and the bullet shredded bodies and looked at Gloria, who was quivering in the corner of The Catch. She grabbed a cloth napkin from one of the tables, wiping the blood off her face and a bit of her makeup along with it.

"Do you want a job?" She asked Gloria.

She nodded quickly, still trembling.

"Then get up and follow me," Natasha said, walking out The Catch, her peoples following her without question. Gloria got up and trotted out with her. Natasha got into her Porsche and sighed, ringing out her hair free. BeBe got into the driver's seat and pulled off while Natasha lit a cigarette and sighed happily, feeling proud.

Vinchenzi reached the beach by twilight, gasping and groaning. Indy and Glen were there waiting, smoking and talking amongst themselves. They'd been waiting for little more than an hour. Vinchenzi fell down, rolling up his shirt. The bullets were still in him and he was bleeding, but not enough to die from it. But it was still agonizingly painful.

"Fuck, fuck…" Vinchenzi spat up some blood, holding his side, "I need these shits removed."

Indy reached into his pocket, taking out his smartphone. But it wouldn't turn on. "Damn…my shit fucked."

"That's why you put your shit in plastic you fuckin' idiot," Glen said, taking out his phone and dialing for Vinchenzi's physician. "Ay, come by the beach near Oceanview Parkway. Bring yo' tool, the boss needs to be worked on."

Vinchenzi wheezed, "Fuck me. That dumb bitch really…fucked me."

"Yeah man," Indy said, looking uncertain. He was a skinny, tall blonde that had his hair tied up in a man bun and shaved at the sides wit clock shadow. He had golden bedroom eyes and a handsome countenance. He sported the fin and tail of those of his line, the Inteleon line. He wore a black suit and button down, with dark gray jeans and shoes. They were waterproof.

"Ugh…f-fuck…" Vinchenzi stammered, "I hate this shit. I'm gonna kill her. Who is she even? Natasha…whatever the fuck her last name is. Stupid red bitch. I hate Eastern Kalos cunts like her."

"First we gotta get you patched up," Indy said, taking a drag, "And we'll hit back, boss."

"She took out most of my boys," Vinchenzi hissed, "But…I ain't down for the count yet."

"Prolly should lay low," Glen advised, "Natasha Mikhailovich…she's wanted in all of Kalos," he looked her up on her phone, "She has one of the biggest operations in that region. Her father was the late Sakha Mikhailovich…he was uh…the head of the Mikhailovich mob family…was killed one of their opposition…and they fund…eh, Team Flare? The fuck…"

"I don't give a fuck," Vinchenzi said, peeling off seaweed from his shoulder and throwing it aside, "I know who she is. I don't care. She can't come up in here and try seizing me."

"I agree," Indy said, "But she's…rich. Way richer than you, boss."

"Yeah," Glen said, "And well connected."

"I got my own connections," Vinchenzi retorted, feeling emasculated. Indy took a drag and coughed. Before anyone could say anything else, a small, blue car pulled up by the roadside. A middle aged human man stepped out, carrying a medical kit. He sported a shaven head, a neat beard and a tattoo on the back of his neck. He made his way over to the trio of water types, slipping on his gloves.

"Sup," Indy said, stepping aside so the doctor could pass.

"Pietro…" Vinchenzi droned, "Did you bring—"

"I have a full restore sir," he said, setting down his kit and opening it up, "Lie back and lift up your shirt."

Vinchenzi followed the doctor's orders and Pietro pulled out some forceps, tourniquet and a scalpel. He first wrapped the tourniquet and then began carefully removing the slugs from Vinchenzi torso. They had not pierced any artery, not because they had missed, but rather his defense stat being high enough to withstand such internal damage. He was meticulous, removing one bullet. There were three more, however. He disinfected his tools and tried again, getting the second slug out, grateful that the bullets had not shattered into pieces. He rinsed and repeated until they were all gone, leaving just ugly, gaping wounds. He disinfected the gunshots, earning a horrible cry from Vinchenzi. Pietro ignored his protests and got out the full restore and began spraying. In a matter of minutes, the bullet holes had shrunk to tiny pinpricks. The pain still lingered, but it was less extreme than it was. He sprayed some less harsh disinfectant on the pinpricks and wiped the blood clean. Vinchenzi exhaled loudly, looking relieved. Pietro stood packed up his tools, took off his gloves and shook the hands of Indy and Glen.

"Thanks doc," Indy said.

"Yeah, thanks Pietro," Vinchenzi whispered, shakily getting to his feet. Pietro nodded and made his way back to his car, pulling out and driving off. Vinchenzi looked around at the beach and then out at the infinite stretch of blue. Indy and Glen were fast swimmers. But Vinchenzi wasn't, rather, he was a strong swimmer, able to make it through storms and monsoons despite his less than fast pace. His slitted eyes began to glow as he started dancing. He jumped about and moved at a steady but jerky pace. He finished, lifting both hands into the sky. The clouds started to bellow and boil, thickening into gray stratus. There was a low roll of thunder and then, a sudden downpour. Indy enjoyed the water, while Glen was indifferent to the rain. Vinchenzi lowered his arms, letting the water roll off his sky blue skin. It felt so…refreshing and reinvigorating.

"Let's go," Vinchenzi said, walking into the water and then diving in, swimming faster now that had been raining. Indy and Glen followed, submerging themselves and plowing through, trailing behind a blindingly fast Vinchenzi.

"Why the fuck is it raining," Jasper complained, closing the convertible Buick so the seats wouldn't get ruined. "Niggas said sunny all week…lyin' ass moffuckas." He sighed, walking back inside the Kabana. Haze, Rapier, Chanel, Sticks, Parker and Barry were sitting in the lounge area, talking, joking, drinking and smoking.

"Torto Tella is garbage!" Parker insisted, "I hate that nigga! Just cuz he big niggas wanna suck his dick."

"Just like how niggas suck Lector Trode's dick cuz the nigga can run faster than a supersonic jet," Chanel pointed out.

"He's the fastest nigga in the game," Parker said, "It's called speedball. Why do these slow ass niggas keep gettin' signed!"

"Cuz they good defense and they can intercept! Trode not doin' none of that shit! He's a ball hog. A lot of them fast niggas are!"

Jasper sat down, gesturing to the waitress. She hurried over to him, smiling.

"Yes sir?"

"Ciroc, peach," he said.

"Yes sir," she said, walking off to place his drink order.

"Most these niggas on some lame fuckery," Chanel continued, "I hate speedball."

"Yet you watch it," Parker pointed out.

"Yeah cuz that's all you dumb niggas talk about. I like basketball, football and tennis—"

"You like tennis, bruh?"

"Yes, I like tennis," Chanel said.

"Oh yes, human dominated sports," Rapier sneered, "Speedball is the only game where mons predominately play."

"Yeah nigga—cuz y'all niggas suck at basketball. Not my fault most of y'all slow or can't jump."

Jasper scrolled through his phone, only vaguely listening to their conversation. He had a notification. He clicked it and it was a text from Fauna.

Fauna: did u threaten Turk?

What the hell

is wrong with you?

Jasper: yeah I threaten that fuck nigga

The fuck?

U pregnant

deadass?

Fauna: we're divorced!

The fuck u care?

Jasper sucked his teeth, pinching his nose between his index and thumb. Fuckin' stupid bitch…on Arceus I'ma kill this Turk nigga…

"You good bro?" Haze asked.

"No! My thot ass ex is shoving her new boyfriend in my face," Jasper hissed.

"…Didn't you cheat on her—like a bunch of times—?"

"Not the point," Jasper said, coughing a bit, "I gotta let these niggas know."

"Nah just let it go bro, he prolly ugly."

"He IS tho," Jasper said, putting his face in his hands, "Like damn bitch!" He cleared his throat and smiled at the waitress when she placed his drink in front of him. He took a swig of his vodka and enjoyed the slight burn.

"I'm gonna put the video on Poke/Gram from a sock puppet account," Chanel said to Barry, who nodded in approval.

"Using a burner, yeah?"

"Yep, doing it now," Chanel chirped, on a different phone from hers, "Gon' expose that cheatin' ass hoe."

"I feel kinda bad that we sabotaging the first mon commissioner," Rapier pointed out.

"Nigga, who cares? She's a cop," Jasper scowled, "Fed ass bitch. Fuck her." He took another swig of his Ciroc.

"Yeah, fuck her," Parker said, taking a drag of his cigarette. He called the waitress over, asking for a club sandwich.

"Right away sir," she said, walking back to the kitchen. Chanel burst out laughing, startling everyone. She was looking at her burner phone.

"First comment, err'yone: 'wow she got an ass'." She continued to laugh raucously. Haze snorted and Parker began cackling. Barry sipped his water, hiding a small smirk as he did. Rapier rolled his eyes but admitted it was kind of funny. Jasper looked fairly amused, chuckling to himself.

"Second comment, 'holy shiiiiiiiiiiiet,'" Chanel read. She turned off her phone, leaning back in her seat, putting her feet up, "She done, fam."

"Good," Jasper said, "Now we gon' have to find someone to replace her. Not a mon."

"Ay," Haze said, nudging Jasper, "I got a few niggas who'd be down for a commissioner job."

"…Deadass?"

"Yeah," Haze said, looking smug, "I'ma reach out to them later. And trust me, you ain't gon be payin as much as you had to do with Lourez."

"Bet," Jasper said, taking his final swig of his vodka. He called the waitress over her, "Sweetheart, another."

She took his glass, "Yes sir." She about-faced and walked off. Chanel's main phone buzzed and she checked it, getting a notification. She took her feet off the table, her eyes wide.

"Ayo!"

"What?" Haze asked.

"The Oceanview niggas," she began, "They was found shot dead in The Catch." Everyone instantly went on their phones, checking news sources and feeds. Jasper scrolled through the articles, his eyes wide as he did. The images were graphic. He sucked his teeth at that display, however. Reporters were quick to post gory, graphic images of minorities all over the place, but hesitated with white humans. It was gore and torture porn, in his view. But he couldn't help but feel a tad amused at the sight of the Oceanview mob blown the fuck back.

"Damn the place crawlin' with 12," Haze said. The waitress came back with Jasper's drink and he thanked her. He took a quick sip.

"Ay tho…who killed these niggas like that, tho? Just pull up and peeled all they caps," Chanel said.

"They releasin' the names of the niggas who died," Haze said, scrolling through his phone, "Vatio Villigama, Rico Esposito…"

Jasper listened out for Vinchenzi Star, but as Haze went through the list of people who were killed in the shootout, Star was absent. Fuck, he thought.

"They don't give no fucks about protectin' mons identities out here," Sticks said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. He blew out excess smoke, "Just releasing names, showing photos."

"Yeah…" Haze said, "Ion like these niggas…but its…kinda disrespectful…and gross."

"They always do shit like that," Chanel said, "If you not human or white, they gon' smear your image in death. They don't care. 'Look, more mons in organized crime,' as if that shit is just…easy to do and come naturally to niggas."

"They don't go no leads. As usual," Barry said, sipping his water again, "This is…very graphic, Arceus…one of them had their face blown off."

"Yeah and the Kingler nigga, he look like cheese," Parker said, "Damn how many times they blew this nigga back! Niggas from the Kingler line be havin' good defense too… they really washed this nigga."

"Yikes," Sticks said, "It's a massacre."

Jasper threw back the rest of the Ciroc, "Yeah. Dempsey mentioned something the other day."

"What?"

"Niggas from Kalos pushin' up," he said, "Big time weight movers. They tryna claim New Palm City."

"Oh shit…them niggas from Kalos don't play," Chanel said, "You gon' have to strap up soon, bro-bro."

"Ay do you think you still gotta pay off that loan?" Parker said. Jasper looked at his phone, scrolling through his newsfeed.

"I have a feelin' I know what Vinchenzi gon' try do next."

He burped softly and got up, looking out the Kabana's window, watching as the rain poured down, soaking the whole world before him.

What goes around…comes around, nigga. He smiled to himself, lighting a cigarette and taking a triumphant drag.

Let's see you try and collect now you fuckin' shark

I know what you gon' try doin'

And we'll see. We will see.