Chapter 4 : Vodka Negroni
Shovelling tauros dung was not very high up the list of how I might scrape by whilst devising my ingenious plan. Yet it was one of the few jobs that couldn't quite be automated. Not yet, anyways. Sabrina's small army of psychics all drove the bulls insane with their constant telekinesis. The machines were even worse, spurring them into inconsolable rage.
I packed more shit into a shovel, flinging it far over my shoulder and beyond the fence. My partner, Zachary, would be using his staryu to hose down the hill, into the river. What we were doing wasn't technically legal, not by the municipal laws of Saffron. However, as the river went downstream to Celadon, nobody in the city really gave a shit. Pun intended.
It had been four weeks since I'd arrived in the big city. With a few introductions from Koichi and his pupils, I'd gotten myself a dingy little flat on the outskirts of Oldtown District. Sure, the amenities were terrible. Yet the faucet water was clean and the beds were a lot softer than the jail cell's. Criminal defendants, especially of assault, take what they're given with perhaps a touch more humility than others.
We'd been in the fields since daybreak. A couple of flimsy sandwiches in my jacket pockets and a thermos of soup to keep my bones warm in the chilly autumn weather. I had to tear my other shirt, the one soaked in Professor Rowan's blood, into makeshift gloves for my hands as the wood of the shovel dug into my palms.
Nevertheless, it was still work. Work that paid fairly well, considering they didn't even do the standard background check. Pay was given via envelope, from a guy named Butch whose name told you exactly what he looked like. Nobody was shortchanged or scammed out of their honest labour. Everyone left at the strike of four, some to the local drinking holes and others to their families back home. As for me, well I tended to stick with the former, despite not partaking in any of their habits. Not anymore, at least.
"So I'm sayin' Joey, listen. I wouldn't go near a dumb Johto bloke even if he held ma mama's ashes in a jar. I'd say fuck 'em. Keep the damn jar. Treat her nice, with respect y'know? Probably send some guys out to rough him up though. Keep ma hands clean, y'know? But them Kimono Girls? They do somethin' to me. Something real funny." A giant man named Gregor spoke, with a booming voice that filled up the whole room.
"Sure that's your heart feelin' funny?" another man, Simon, laughed while wiggling his index finger. Gregor slammed him in the upper arm with his fist, eliciting a wheeze of pain and chuckling all around the table. "You hit like a goddamn tank, Greg. What'd you do time for? Assault?"
"That would be the new guy. Decked this old timer while drinking his booze. What kind of sissy does that, huh?" Joey said, point towards my direction. I was on a stool by the bar, sipping at my cider. At the mention of me, everyone gave me the once-over, trying to get a feel for who I was. Always sitting there, drinking alone. Always watching. Honestly, pretty fucking creepy. "What'd the geezer do, huh? Sleep with your missus? Show her a real good time?" Another round of laughter.
My ears burned red yet a coldness swallowed my heart. For a week now, I had tagged along these men, listening to their stories and their blatant debauchery. Some of them, like Peter, were simple fellas trying to keep people fed back home. Others, like Joey, were like stains on the Kanto name. People like him, they would only serve to be a hindrance. An obstacle to overcome in my grand scheme. I knocked back the rest of my drink before wiping my mouth with my sleeve.
"You don't know shit," I said, standing up from my seat. "He got what he deserved, my fist through his nose. If I could go back, I'd have done a lot worse. Probably wouldn't be drinking with you gentlemen," I spat out the last word with undue venom. "Professor Rowan. Ever read a paper, nimwits? Guy from Sinnoh, wears a fancy brown jacket with that stupid moustache of his. Yeah, I got him good. Smacked him upside down for calling me a leech. Calling all of us pigs and imbeciles. Why? Because we're Kantonian."
I wasn't planning on a speech. Not there, especially not then. Yet the focus of their conversation had shifted to me. I wouldn't get a chance, not naturally anyways, to rile them up. To really get a feel for who to use and who to roll over once the chips were down. So once I was done, I sat right back down on my stool. The bartender, who held my next drink, was staring at me with his eyes wide open. I gently pried his fingers from the glass then took a long swig.
Joey was the first to react. He grunted, throwing down a couple of bills before grabbing his coat to leave. Gregor was quick to follow him, though he turned back my way a few times on the path to the door. The rest of their drinking buddies, however, they were giving me all of their attention. Something I could use, most definitely.
"What are you, a three-badge trainer or something? Kid, you got a pair of cojones on ya. Sit down before you get yourself killed," one of the guys from another table said. His buddies were nodding in agreement, though slow to react. That was all the confirmation I needed. A bunch of Kantonians, slightly drunk. The perfect setting.
"I don't have a single badge on me. I've never battled before. Not like the way you think. Hell, I probably couldn't get one badge if I spent the next ten years of my life playing by the rules. Their rules," I pointed towards Saffron Tower. "How long's a guy gotta shovel shit for the folks in their suits and their rules to give him the time of day? Huh? How long do we have to lick their boots and dance to their fucking tune?"
"Yeah!" someone cried out from the back. I had to resist the urge to find out who this was, my first vocal supporter. The theatrics weren't done. The spotlight still on me, for the right way to use it.
"I know I'm done. I'm fucking done. If there's a way to change things. Even if it's a sliver of hope, then I'm gonna seize that opportunity like it's the Holy Grail of Arceus. Cause that's the only way we get things done here. Here in Kanto. Do you see it?"
More voices in the background. A lot more nods, some people even raising their drinks. I knew I just needed a little more, something realistic. A first step that they could relate to. These bums and hard knockers, they just needed a target to paint and a ringleader to follow.
"Has anyone here been to the Saffron Museum?"
Seven o'clock PM. About an hour after the place had closed off the public visitors, instead only letting in the rich potential donors and socialites. People who had the dough, or the connections, to browse the collection with leisure. From my vantage point next to the wastebins, it looked like only a half dozen people were there that day. Perfect for my plans.
In my jacket, I held a scrap of paper with that day's League schedule, carefully filched from my parole officer's desk. None of the names mattered to me, except one. Sabrina Miercole. Currently at a League meeting at Indigo Plateau. Even with teleporting, it would take her seventeen minutes to arrive here in person. Seventeen minutes to enact the next phase of my operation.
Drunk revelry. There's something fascinating that happens to the human mind when inebriated. More specifically, anyone that tries to get a read on a drunk man's thoughts are met with a barrier of incoherent ramblings. This was why I needed the guys from the stable, and needed them pissed. They'd be my battering ram, my decoy.
I spotted them turning the corner and heading towards the front doors. About two dozen of them, liquid courage in hand and slightly slurring in speech to boot. The perfect distraction. Even as I was watching from the side, a pair of museum security was tensing up at the commotion. They wouldn't call for backup. Not yet, anyways. Fear of losing their job to the psychics kept them from getting any kind of support from the outside. They would try to handle this on their own. I prayed that their stubbornness would hold out for a while longer.
Once my rioters were mere paces from the main doors, I pulled out my stolen shovel and rammed it into the hinges of the window. This wasn't precise work, not by any means. Yet the blade held, and I managed to pry apart the doors.
The room I entered wasn't a part of the museum, not officially anyways. A lounge for the facility caretakers to maybe get some rest during their inhumanely short breaks. The latest gym battle was on the television, Sabrina facing off against some rising star from Pallet. I couldn't care less about that, instead I used my shovel to break apart the door to the main building. It was almost ironic, the place with the least security being where the lowest-paid workers were stashed away. For the price of their arrogance, the museum would pay. Dearly, I hoped.
It was a quick trip to my destination. I used a flashlight to check my map, taking just a few turns and a flight of stairs up to the second floor. A rather grotesque painting of a lickitung in the wild greeted me to where I wanted to go: The Darkest Lariat Exhibit.
Rows of glass cases in the room, filled with rare and expensive items. Everything ranging from a pair of black gauntlets said to have been worn by Agatha during her first challenge against Oak, still smoking from the hellfire her Pokemon spewed in battle. The academic in me was burning with curiosity, yet I knew that I only had about ten more minutes before shit really hit the fan. There was one goal, one objective in mind. It wasn't the gloves, no.
A single exhibit at the very end of the hall, a black gem the size of my two fists put together. That was the prize I sought. The entirety of my plans rested on its acquisition, it belonged at the crux of my new destiny. Unlike the other objects in the room, there was no layer of psychic protection covering the gem. No matter how powerful the psychic, the jewel refused the shelter. A Dark Gem, glistering under the faint indoor lights. Dug straight from Unova, on loan to the Saffron Museum for the next two months. Only a layer of Hoenn glass protecting it.
And I had the goddamn shovel.
It didn't take much to break through the glass. My only trouble was in picking the right spot, so as not to damage the gem in any way. Outside, the shouts of my makeshift army going body-for-body against the security soothed me. They were still keeping the authorities busy, a stroke of luck on my part. I plucked the gem from its stand and gingerly tucked it into my satchel.
Then came the hard part. I removed a few bottles of Sinnoh whiskey, stolen directly from Al's pub. I made sure to rub off any of my prints, using the remainder of my rags to both drench and plug the entrances. The first bottle was ready, so I held a lit match up against the tip. Flames licked down the piece of fabric at an alarming rate. I quickly flung it down the hallway, in the direction of the main lobby.
BOOM!
A ringing as a few columns were toppled by the impact of the explosion. One of the indoor balconies gave in entirely, crushing a marble bust of Professor Oak. Sorry, Samuel. I lit up another pignite cocktail, this time aiming for the inside of the Darkest Lariat exhibit. It pained me to do it, all those precious artefacts in potential harm's way. Yet if my calculations were correct, most of the valuables were under a layer of psychic protection. The fires would just make it really hard to figure out what was missing.
Six minutes left. I had one last bottle of vodka, which I would have to use as a backup. I stuck my last rag into the entrance, giving it a little shake. This one would have the biggest punch, I just felt it. I ran as fast as I could down the hallway, back downstairs and near the lounge. The window I had pried open was ajar, curtain billowing with the wind and smoke from upstairs. I whispered an apology to my minimum wage brethren as the final cocktail soared through the air into the lounge as I exited, completely decimating the insides. They could always take over one of the many VIP sitting rooms, I figured.
Once I was back in my hiding spot by the dumpsters, I felt safe enough to try and catch a glimpse of my rioting compatriots. About ten of them were shackled to the ground, a Kadabra waving around its spoon. Another six were still struggling, losing but not out of it yet. On the sidelines, Peter was battling two growlithes with his poliwhirl. Despite the type advantage, they clearly looked to be on their last legs.
I knew he would probably get jail time for this. Especially with my added arson to the mix, for a sentence longer than I was looking at. I felt a trace of regret for escalating things. Maybe the plan would've gone just fine even without the explosives. Then I saw it, in the corner of my vision, the lady with the floating hair approaching them.
Sabrina Miercole. Daughter of Master Koichi and current Gym Leader of Saffron Gym. Her eyes were glowing a bright white as several kadabras floated around her in unison. Instantly, Peter and his poliwhirl were brought down into crumpled heaps of mass, unable to bear the weight of her psychic powers. She looked pissed. As pissed as a woman with two freaking glowing eyes could manage. I knew that there was a time and a place for me to be, anywhere near the crime scene certainly wasn't it.
I made sure to check my gem, the prize of all my endeavours, before turning tail and running in the other way. I held the Dark Gem to my chest, clinging to it desperately. My sole hope of getting out of this with my mind intact. Even now, I could feel the tendrils of her power encircling me and everyone else in the city. She wanted answers, demanded them. Somebody had blown apart one of the city's most important tourist attractions. Her city, which was known for its tough stance on crime. An unfathomable crime, at that. Despite the preciousness of its cargo, most of the stuff from the museum couldn't be resold without instantly getting caught.
Only somebody like me, who didn't care about the money, would pull off something stupid like that.
Yet the Dark Gem was secure, in my possession. Phase one of my plan had gone off without a hitch. I made it all the way back to my apartment, catching a train to Oldtown while trying not to look too out of breath.
I removed the gem from the inside of my coat, its surface was as glossy as a newly forged obsidian. I could see swirls of latent dark energy underneath the exterior, begging to be let loose. I placed it gently on my small kitchen table, next to another spoil of mine. The rusty Pokeball from the near brush with death.
There was only one way to claim authenticity in this world. Pokemon. A tool for the most ordinary man to become extraordinary. A privilege for those who could afford it, the bond, and raising a Pokemon despite all the responsibilities it entailed.
The time for hesitation was long over. I knew I needed this abra, my one shot at making it to the top. I could still feel its anger towards me, simmering inside the cool metal of its capsule. What do you do when you steal a Pokemon and try to use it as your own? How do you prevent it from murdering you outright?
Simple, my friends. Indomitable willpower and a shit ton of trial and error. As the title of my favourite Kantonian essayist's memoir goes: Subjugation, the Art Form.
A/N: So I guess I'm back with Mergers & Acquisitions by popular demand. Thank you for that one dude who PM'd me with a rather heartwarming review of both this and Catastrophe 23. I may not update as frequently as I would like, yet to know that someone out there has enjoyed my work is a burst of inspiration to continue. Be sure to check out Danse, Darling, my current main fic!