Hey there. So, this story isn't dead, far from it. It just needed some maturing. You'll also notice (or not) that I changed the title. An awful thing to do, but I feel better about it.
There's still no beta reader around, so be aware of odd grammar.
I have to thank all the people that sent me some sympathy. It was very supportive. Enjoy.
Chapter 13 - New life, old friends
When Yamcha realized his own fingers were drumming on the desk out of nervousness, he took a deep breath and forced his hand to rest flat on his knee. He felt like suffocating despite the coolness in the room and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. From the grey color of the walls to the plastic plant in its black pot, everything in the office looked sinister to him. He tried to soothe his uneasiness by remembering the two past days he'd spent with Bulma in that queer mansion downtown. Yet, the stark reality of his banker's office would keep stinging his nerves, no matter his efforts.
M. Enma was nothing near a clown and Yamcha was reminded this trait as soon as the man stomped into the office and sat wearily his huge self on the chair opposite from the desk. His broad shoulders bulged under his dark suit as he leaned wordlessly over the papers he'd brought with him. He put on his glasses, sliding them on top of the bridge of his nose with a stubby finger, and kept silence for a while. Yamcha didn't dare to speak and just held his breath until he was done reading.
Enma cleared his throat and this single sound had almost Yamcha jump out of his skin. "I'm told you'd like to borrow us more money," Enma stated while raising a stern face.
He had a disbelieving frown that froze Yamcha to the bones, but the baseball player was able to prevent his voice from shaking. "Yeah. I - You heard about that game my team won some days ago? It earned me an extra bonus and needless to say, I intend to get some more."
Enma nodded. "That would be a good way to repay all the money you already owe."
Yamcha leaned back in his chair in a casual manner. "Exactly what I thought, but, you know, meanwhile I have to keep going on, so-"
He interrupted himself at the sight of Enma taking off his glasses and rubbing his face into his giant palms. "Yamcha, you've been playing base ball for about 10 years and you haven't spared a single zeni. Are you aware that your career is about to end? You should come to a wiser standard of life," the banker pointed out.
The words knotted Yamcha's guts a little bit more. "I still have some years ahead," he objected sheepishly.
The harsh gaze of Enma's black orbs stopped him from speaking further. "I'm trying to give you a good advice and you're free to ignore it but don't count on me to follow you into your madness," the bulky man growled.
Yamcha blinked in disappointment. "Does that mean you won't lend more money to me?"
Enma repressed a bitter chuckle. "Not only that but I mean to remind you that your last payment is late. If you don't find a solution within the week, you'll have to give back your credit card."
Yamcha cringed and watched him with horror. Enma didn't look affected though. Instead, he stood up as a way to let him know the talk was over. "If you don't mind, I have other clients to see, now," he concluded in an uncaring voice.
"Sure," Yamcha murmured as the man was already gone.
The baseball player left the bank with a weary step wondering how he'd found himself into such shit. Deep down his mind, he knew there was nothing to wonder about though. He'd always been aware that he was somehow rushing down the hill even though he'd never admitted it clearly. He'd always hoped that he would gain some marvelous treasure at gambling all by knowing that it would never happen.
As he walked down the streets he mulled over his situation. He needed dough before the end of the week. He'd already given back his luxury car and he was hellbent on keeping his credit card. He sat on a deserted bench a block further and took reluctantly his phone out of his pocket. He toyed with the device for a while and ended up dialing a number with a sigh.
"Yep?"
Puar's careless voice twisted Yamcha's guts a little bit more and for an instant, he couldn't utter a single word.
"Are you home?" the baseball player eventually asked as he felt unable to go straight to the point.
"Not yet. I told you I'd be out tonight. Are you all right?"
Yamcha shut his eyes. It was foolish to think that his nervousness would go unnoticed by Puar. At that point his friend was almost able to read his mind without seeing his face.
Yamcha plucked up the courage to resume the talk. "I - Did you pay the rent this month?"
"You're broke," Puar stated coldly.
Yamcha lowered his head and kept silent at that. There was nothing more to say after all. He heard Puar's sigh on the phone. "I've been offered a job as teacher in a night school. Do you think it might help?" his friend carried on.
Yamcha bit his tongue. Puar's voice wasn't tinged with the slightest hint of disapproval and it hurt oddly even more than an angry lecture. "I need 2.000 zenis before the end of the week," the baseball player answered with a blank voice.
This time, Puar was the one to keep silent.
"I'll pay you back, I swear," Yamcha added in a hurry.
He got no reply at first and he feared Puar would just hang up and left him in his own. A dull panic froze his stomach, but Puar resumed at last. "I have some sparing. I'll give you what you need and you won't pay me back. You never did before, did you?"
"Puar, I swear. This time is -"
"You won't. What I want in return is that you stop your crap. I asked you to do it before. I asked as your friend, as your brother. I yelled, I cried, I begged but you never listened. Now consider that I pay you to stop. I hire you to stand still and have a normal life. Just work and TV nights. Nothing else. Do you accept the job?"
Yamcha was speechless. His heart was torn apart by his friend's words. How came that Puar felt like he had to buy Yamcha's sake?
"I need to hear the words," Puar insisted after a wile. "I really need it."
"Deal done," Yamcha grunted shamefully.
Puar had an unexpected chuckle. "Cool. You'll have to call me boss from now on," he replied. All the sad concern in his voice had faded in a heartbeat and Yamcha loved him for being so strong.
"Then, have a nice evening, boss. Thank you," he answered.
When he hung up, Yamcha felt drained. He felt miserable too. Puar had always been a sort of guardian angel to him and yet, he was getting weary. The baseball player was aware that this was the last time Puar would save him for Yamcha was definitely too much of a tough work for a guardian angel. It would be the last time Yamcha would need Puar though, because he'd made the decision to change his way of life more than a week ago.
He'd almost died then - Twice in two days - and it had been something deserving attention, even for someone as dense as him. Should his life end tomorrow, what would remain of it? Some tears and a lot of debts and troubles. Even Puar would have a much easier life without him. Yamcha had decided to move on.
First he'd used his extra bonus to pay all his gambling debts - Nappa's debt before anything else. Truth was he'd hoped Enma would grant him some more credit to make it through the month but it hadn't turned out so well and he had now to rely a last time on Puar. Yet, gambling was over and he would work hard to have his team win further in the national Championship. No matter Enma's point of view, he knew he could do it and the bonus would help him pay back the bank and Puar.
Then he had also decided that he would propose Bulma. Thinking about it, he'd never been able to stick around a girlfriend so long and it could only mean that she was the one. He'd been afraid to give up to his freedom so far but he'd realized that the freedom he'd always hold so dear had never earned him happiness. He would never build anything with wind. Furthermore, marrying Bulma would allow them a more normal life and it was exactly what he'd just promised to Puar - To have a normal life.
He pocketed his phone and forced a smile on his face. If he could hold on, his life would turn more cheerful very soon.
He stood up and made his way to the next bus station. The bar where he was supposed to join Kakarott wasn't far away but he was unfamiliar with the bus lines and he ended up being late. When he entered the place, he was relieved to see that his friend was still there waiting for him while reading a book.
Yamcha walked to his table and sat opposite from him, snatching him out of his book.
Kakarott grinned at him. "There you are. I thought you'd forgotten me,"
"No - I - I had something unplanned in my way. How are you? What do you drink?" Yamcha replied with unease. There was no way he could confess that he no longer had his amazing car and he had to take the bus.
"I had a beer, but trust me it's awful. You should order something else," Kakarott explained.
"I'll follow your advice, then. I'll have a scotch," Yamcha agreed while his eyes wandered on the place in search for a waiter.
"Miwa!" Kakarott called with a wave of his hand.
Yamcha cringed at the name and the sight of the waitress answering the call froze definitely his blood. Her hazel eyes and her smile were exactly like in his memory. She was wearing an apron embroidered with the name of the bar around her own name and a short skirt underneath.
"My friend finally came. Could you bring us two whiskey? Mine with ice. What about you Yamcha?" Kakarott claimed.
Yamcha hardly dared to look up at Miwa. When their eyes met, he knew she'd recognized him. Of course, she had. What did he think? Her smile had faded somehow but she wouldn't unlock her chocolate orbs from him. The color of her eyes had always reminded him of chocolate - everything in her had always been so sweet in a way. He blinked and averted his look from her. "Ice is fine," he muttered by contemplating his fingers.
"Good. Two whiskeys with ice. I'm starving. Could you bring us something to eat too?" Kakarott resumed.
Miwa cleared her throat. "Sure. Would sandwiches do?"
Yamcha was relieved that she pretended she didn't know him. She was obviously nervous though, tapping her pen on her notepad.
"Great," Kakarott approved with a grin.
When he was sure she was gone, Yamcha lost any interest in the study of his nails and looked up at his friend. "So? How did it work out?" he asked while trying to keep Miwa out of his mind.
"Well, the bargaining was pretty rough but thanks to your money and with the right strings pulled for it, Vegeta and I could do it. Nappa is basically a businessman first and foremost, and in the end we agreed that the matter was over." Kakarott replied.
"A businessman, huh? I have to admit I didn't see things that way the night I had one of his henchmen with his knife pressed against my throat. Yet, I owe you much guys," Yamcha sighed. Nappa was actually a brute with a liking for violence but Yamcha had also been aware that the Saiyan had also a liking for money and he would never have given up to the dough Yamcha owed him, so after the fight at the club, Vegeta, Kakarott and he had to settle the situation with him. Kakarott had offered to go see him and give him Yamcha's money, claiming that Vegeta would know the right people to organize a safe meeting. Yamcha was glad to see it had worked out well. It was one less concern in his new life.
Miwa showed up carrying a tray with a plate and two glasses. While she rested the plate and the first glass on the table, Yamcha looked up at her once again. This time, he wasn't caught off guard and he didn't feel so shy. She was as beautiful as ever and he still remembered that what was to be seen when she was dressed as a waitress was only a tiny bit of her real treasures. Something was stinging his stomach as he thought about the brief time she'd been his. She was the carefree type and she was refreshing. Something he had sworn not to taste again since he had Bulma. Bulma was beautiful too and she could be refreshing but she was nothing near carefree to say the least.
The waitress watched him silently all by serving the order. Her lips were twitched in a mischievous pout he knew too well - like a way to say things she wouldn't word. When she was about to put the second drink on the table, Kakarott reached out for the glass in an attempt to help her but unfortunately, the glass toppled over and half of the whiskey landed on his knees.
"Damn," Kakarott exclaimed with a sudden jerk.
Miwa's eyes widened in horror. "Sorry," she muttered all by holding back the empty glass and avoiding it to fall on the ground.
Kakarott stood up at once, eager to get rid of the ice. "Shit," he growled while contemplating his soaked trousers. Miwa handed him a small towel to whip the liquid impregnating his clothes.
"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "Let me take you to the rest room, we'll try to fix that."
"Don't bother. I'll do it on my own. I'll be right back," he replied gently.
Miwa watched him in concern as he walked to the restroom, then she turned back to the table and moped it up carefully. "Lucky me. Your friend is a cool guy," she said to Yamcha.
He nodded but she wasn't looking at him, busy with her task. He couldn't unlock his eyes from her. Her silky honey hair reminded him of another time and unnoticed to him, a smile stretched his lips. "How are you doing?" he asked after a while.
She paused her cleaning and stared up at him. "I'm fine as you can see. I found that work about six months ago and I live some blocks away from here now. Maybe I'll go back to university next year," she told him.
"That's cool," he stated although it wasn't exactly what he aimed to know. "Living with someone?" he added.
She had a half-smile and leaned back over her work. "No. You know me. Too restless. I think I scare guys."
He chuckled. "I wasn't scared by you," he objected.
"You ran away all the same though," she shrugged carelessly.
He had a playful frown. "I didn't run away. We just - we just stopped seeing each other."
She finished drying up the table and contemplated the result. Then, she turned to him. "Just like I said, I'm too restless, so I will always end up with restless guys. Scared or not, they'll move on without me. Now if I have to be honest, I don't really mind. I figured out I don't need a guy by my side. Well… maybe when I walk home by night with some perverted maniac lurking around in my neighborhood, but else I'm doing great..."
She chuckled but he wasn't fooled by her laugh. He scanned her eyes in search of bitterness, yet found none. If anything, she sounded resigned and for some reason he felt sad for her. Maybe she sensed it because she grinned at him. "I enjoy my life like that. I really do."
"Walking you home if you don't feel safe is something I can do for you," he offered. He didn't know why he'd told her that. Maybe he felt somehow guilty about the way their relationship had come to an end. They'd been together for a month and then, he had to go on a trip with the team. When he'd been back, he hadn't brought himself to call her back and he'd moved on to another girl. Just like that. Thinking about it, he'd been pretty coward and yet, she never tried to get any explanation from him. Maybe she'd been fine with the situation or maybe she'd just suffered in silence. Either way, Yamcha considered he owed her something.
She raised an eyebrow. "You sure have better things to do than to walk me home. My duty will only be over in an hour or so."
"Don't worry. I can wait," he insisted.
She shrugged with a smile. "As you wish."
With that, she went away with her tray and Kakarott's empty glass. Kakarrot wasn't long to come back. He sat down on his chair with a sigh. He contemplated the clean table and grabbed his phone still resting on it to check out if it had been splashed in the process. It seemed all right and he pocketed it back. "So? Did you see Vegeta? I heard he'd been hired by your girlfriend. You still don't wanna tell me who she is? This mystery really makes me curious."
Yamcha shook his head slowly. "I told you I can't for now. You'll know soon enough though. But I met Vegeta as a matter of fact."
Kakarott had had a large beam. "How is it going? Do you think it will work out? I know this guy isn't always very - huh - friendly."
Yamcha chuckled. Bulma had claimed he wouldn't last 24 hours but he made it so far. Just like Kakarott had said he wasn't the most cheerful man on Earth but he bid pretty well. He'd survived a day of shopping with Bulma and Yamcha had been actually pretty happy to have him by his side to go through the chore. "I wouldn't worry about that. If he doesn't die out of exhaustion, he might make it," Yamcha replied.
Kakarott had a knowing smirk. They were interrupted by the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. He took the device out and gave it a look for a while. His features turned stern. "Hey, sorry man. Some troubles. I have to leave you already," he announced then.
Yamcha raised an eyebrow. "Nothing serious, I hope."
"Dont' worry. I just have to go," Kakarott answered while getting up and grabbing his jacket and bag. "See you."
As he was about to leave, some weird doubt popped up in Yamcha's mind. "Hey, Kakarott. What did you say your job was?"
Kakarott looked down at him in surprise. "Me? I'm a photograph. I work for a firm dealing with distance selling of rubbishes. Why do you ask?" he explained casually.
Actually, Yamcha didn't know for what reasons this question had come to his mind. He'd figured out Kakarott would have a much more thrilling job. He shrugged absently and waved goodbye.
When Kakarott was gone, Miwa came back with a new drink for him. Yamcha couldn't help but enjoy the sight of her puzzled hazel eyes. He smiled at her. "Leave the glass to me," he offered, "I still have an hour to kill."
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