(Bellamy POV)
To understand what Doflamingo wanted from me, one must at least be passingly familiar with the seedy underbelly of society and its black market.
It should be clear to anyone with a working brain, that as long as the government prohibited something, a market would arise for precisely that something, be it goods, services or anything else under the sun. As a general rule, such markets tended to be decentralized, owing to the nature of those involved and the difficulty in maintaining large and extensive supply lines beneath the government’s notice.
However, if there was a rule, there was an exception. Or multiple exceptions in this case. Criminal organizations which had grown too large, too powerful or too useful to be rid of, were often tolerated by the World Government.
A prime example was the Joker, Doffy’s black market identity, but despite being one of the largest players in the game, he was far from the only one. He had rivals, which included illustrious names like Bathory Eliana, Gild Tesoro and Prof. Michael Orwell Riarty.
Clashes between these individuals were common as they competed for influence and market share, but rarely if ever did their main fighters get involved, for that would be a very costly undertaking where the benefits usually did not outweigh the risks. As a simple example, if say the Joker and Gild Tesoro were to expend their strength and resources battling each other, the others could potentially swoop in to take out both of them while they were still spent. Hence, rather than risk everything on a single roll of the dice, they used proxies, subordinate organizations and hired help to take potshots at each other. Thus, Doflamingo reaching out to me was par for the course as far as black-market dealings were concerned.
The background for this job was as followed. One of Doffy’s agents had gone missing in Gild Tesoro’s territory while trying to set up a branch office for the Joker’s weapons smuggling ring. Apparently, the head of Tesoro’s local subordinate gang had objected to this and kidnapped the agent, escalating the situation not insignificantly.
This was where I came in and my mission was simple at the first glance. I was to head to St. Poplar, contact the kidnapper and hand over a ransom. Now, one could ask why Dellinger didn’t do it himself, but apparently negotiating the release of a minion’s minion with a minion was beneath the notice of a direct subordinate of Joker like Dellinger.
And judging from the look in the kid’s eyes, I didn’t have the option to refuse. OG Bellamy, why, oh why did you have to fly Doffy’s flag? Your decisions were coming to bite me in the ass.
But when a scary and most likely insane man sent his equally deranged murder-child to tell you to jump, you didn't ask how high. You simply jumped. Especially as Dellinger was fully capable of very easily killing all of us on his own. Additionally, most of the old hands on my crew were overly excited at the prospect of finally being given a mission by the Doflamingo, a sentiment that the original Bellamy would have shared.
Meaning, that if I were to refuse and Dellinger for some reason didn’t try and kill me, I’d have to face some awkward questions as to why I had refused a mission from my own hero. I was already fairly certain that my crew had noticed that I was acting differently but that only our recent successes were suppressing their curiosity.
Right, time for a team meeting.
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(Ross POV)
Everyone else was so excited about this mission, but it was a sentiment Ross didn’t share. Never mind that they had just recently survived a dangerous situation. Almost none of his crewmates knew how deadly the underworld could be to those not native to it. They hadn’t experienced it, not like Ross had.
He’d been born there. He’d been raised there. And before he’d escaped, he’d almost died there. The slums were not a kind place for children and fools, something Ross had tried to make clear during the team meeting.
“We must assume that they will know who we are and that we’re affiliated with Doflamingo.”
If what Dellinger had said was true, the influence of the enemy extended to every inch of the entire island. There simply was no chance in hell that they could sail into port unnoticed and unrecognized.
“Thankfully, not even they will know the faces of all the members of our crew. They’ve never seen us and most of us don’t have bounties. To be perfectly frank, most of us aren’t important enough for them to keep tabs on. For most people, trying to keep a profile on every member of every subordinate crew or affiliate would require too much effort for marginal gains at best. It is just an unrealistic undertaking. At best, they’ll know that the Bellamy Pirates consist of two bounties and a total of eight members.”
At least, they wouldn't be able to remain recognized if they arrived on the New Witch’s tongue. But what about civilian shipping?
Thanks to Laki and Aisa joining us fairly recently, their information is very likely outdated. If two of us, or even one of us travels separately to St. Poplar on a regular cruise liner, it should be possible to sneak in without their notice.”
And if the rest arrived on their ship at roughly the same time? The watchers would just count the number of crew disembarking and report back that all members of the Bellamy Pirates had just arrived. That way no one would pay attention to a random tourist on another ship.
“Captain, we’re essentially going in blind. We need to gather information on what we’re facing. Send me. I grew up in the slums, so out of all of us, I know my way around that world the best.”
Which is why Ross found himself walking down the gangplank of a luxury cruise ship, playing the part of one of those rich assholes, who had frequented his father’s establishment before smoking themselves silly. A role which included having a girl hanging off his arm.
“Captain, if what Ross said is true, one more person needs to travel separately to reduce the numbers they’ll see on our ship. I grew up in a brothel. I’m also familiar with how the streets work.”
And it worked, as far as Ross could tell. Out of the corner of his eye, he counted no less then four informants watching his crew disembark three piers down the line. Mani was doing a marvelous job tittering away and making moon eyes at him, being the very picture of arm candy for any potential onlookers. Her words however, were unmistakable.
“This doesn’t mean anything. You try anything and I promise you, I’m going to rip off your balls and feed them to you.” Not that Ross was interested in the first place, but after that? He wasn't going to touch Mani with a ten foot pole if he could help it. No, Ross would rather have someone more…genuinely gentle and feminine.
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on it.” Ross whispered back, Mani looking insulted for a fraction of a second before her vapid smile returned to its place. Then she was giggling and slapping his chest, much more painfully than it probably looked, acting as if he’d just told her the world’s most hilarious joke.
And so, the two wandered up and down the market, looking at wares, observing the various disguised gang members and keeping their ears open to the deluge of conversations around them. It was a bustling market, hundreds of stalls selling thousands of wares with too many tourists to count rummaging for anything that may catch their eye. And while the tourists were thus distracted, others were rummaging through their pockets and bags, lightening the burden the tourists would have to carry around.
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Consciously ignoring a painfully inexperienced child’s attempt to pick his pockets, Ross tried to follow the path of the loot, attempting to identify the nodes of the network. Once you had found the holder, it was a relatively easy task to single out the transport service and follow it back to base. Slinging an arm around Mani, the two began ambling after the kid, all three of them moving at a sedate pace. In this business, you didn’t run if you didn’t have to. If you did, it usually meant you had something valuable on you and you were so much more visible in a crowd. Both of which could drastically lower your life expectancy.
The place they ended up at was a pub. It wasn't very original and one of the most cliché bases of operations, but this was the case for good reason. Nobody really batted an eye at people coming and going, nor was it uncommon for someone to spend hours in there, nursing a mug of ale.
Ross ‘carelessly’ reveals the gold in his wallet, his secondary one as his first had been bait, something the barkeep took notice of with a subtle glance. Information was then transmitted via a series of pre-arranged signals, not all of which Ross caught. He also had no way of understanding what was being said, but he could take a guess. How was he to be treated? As prey or as a customer?
While Mani was off doing her own thing, flirting with the local enforcers, Ross decided to make the decision easy for them. Putting on his most sleazy smile, he rubbed his thumb and index finger together.
“Say, where can a man get some of the good stuff?”
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(Rivers POV)
People almost never looked up. This went double for sentries, whose job it was to keep an eye on the crowd. Hence, it wasn’t too unusual for them to dismiss the somewhat large and somewhat purple bird flying circles above their city.
“I want you on overwatch. Blow the whistle if you see anything, long-short-short-long.”
Rivers wasn’t Ross or Mani. He couldn’t tell who was a gang member and who wasn’t, but thankfully he didn't have to. Rivers’ job was to prevent his crew from walking into an ambush, something that was all too easy in the slums. But unlike individuals, a large grouping of fighters was much more difficult to hide.
So far? Nothing.
Rather than ward off ambushes and raining death from above, Rivers had spent the last three hours watching his captain and five of his crewmates have fun shopping. Aisa in particular was having the time of her life, flitting from one food stall to the next, eagerly trying out everything she could get her hands on.
He did wonder what they were going to buy. Laki had wanted some tools she needed to properly work with the dials and Eddy had wanted a new sword, preferably one of the named blades if he could get his hands on them. And as Muret had pointed out, Laki & Aisa very much needed a whole new wardrobe in a style that could hide their wings.
“Also, make sure that nothing happens to our ship.”
Right, the ship. Some quick looks confirmed that nothing had changed since the last time he had checked, which had been five minutes ago. Nobody was on the deck, the ship was still moored securely and apart from the guard Bellamy had hired for the day, nobody was even near their pier.
Still, it was a good thing that they left Shura in one of Water Seven’s prisons. Mayor Iceburg had happily agreed to safekeep their prisoner and even provided a pair of seastone shackles. Bringing him along would have required that someone stay behind as a guard, which would have made them vulnerable. In a situation like this, it was best not to split up any further.
Speaking of which, Rivers let his gaze travel over to where he'd last seen Ross and Mani. They were too far away for Rivers to see their faces without his new scope but judging from their unhurried steps, likely there was no emergency yet. Huh, was that…they had picked up a tail.
Shouldering his new rifle, Rivers fixed the man in his crosshairs. He was a smartly dressed fellow, decked out in a nice blue suit. Rivers could burn a hole in his head right now if he wanted to, and he wouldn’t even get that fancy suit dirty with the rifle Laki had modified for him. She had assured him that his new gas projectile, which the captain called a plasma bolt, would cauterize any wounds immediately.
However, he didn't need to take the shot and Rivers unshouldered his rifle when the guy veered off, after confirming that Ross and Mani had met up with Bellamy. If you asked him, meeting up in the middle of the street was careless, but what did he know?
He was just a sniper on a bird, not an expert of the streets like Ross claimed to be.
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(Sarquiss POV)
Ross and Mani had returned from their intelligence gathering mission and dragged them all into a quiet alley. Well as quiet as an alley could get in a tourist hotspot.
“As Dellinger told us, there is a branch of Gild Tesoro’s organization here. But what he didn’t tell us was that the branch is more like an independent associate gang and exerts de facto control over the whole island. The government, the law enforcement, the economy…everything.”
Sarquiss blinked in surprise. This could potentially be really bad. Thank goodness they were just here to ransom a prisoner.
“The leader’s name is Crack A. Barrel, third generation owner of Crack & Spice, a major liquor production and distribution company.”
That had to be a front. There was no way that Ross would be this worked up about a legitimate business, no matter how big.
Then, someone tugged at his pants. “Not now, Aisa.”
“As you might have already guessed, it’s a front for his main enterprise, which is drugs. Everything you could ever want or imagine, in any quality and quantity the customer desires, he has it and he will sell it.” Ross explained, causing Sarquiss to sniff disdainfully.
The Bellamy Pirates may be buccaneers but he did have standards. He had born witness too often to what drugs could do to people and the miserable state they all ended up in eventually. It was the dirty little secret of their otherwise boring hometown.
“But, people are co…”
“His customers include criminals, nobility and even the marines. A little coin and the locals were falling over themselves to tell us about the man. Most of it is useless but the one thing that may be useful is what happens to those who fail to pay for his drugs.”
“He sells them.” Mani interjected. “They aren’t useful for much, being completely addled by then, but nobles like to use them for hunts. Something about being barely any different from wild animals.”
Ah, bloody hell. Sarquiss could feel himself become slightly queasy at the mental image. Not even pirates delved that low.
“Uh, guys…there are…”
“But not all of them. This is only a rumor, but apparently the man has a habit of purposefully addicting talented individuals and hiring them in exchange for supplying them with drugs. The latest acquisition is supposed to be a marine vice admiral.” Mani whispers.
“Nothing quite as fancy as that, my dear. It was only a rear admiral and a newly promoted one at that.”
Bloody fuck Hewitt, you were supposed to keep an eye out. Blocking the entrance to the alley were four brutes wearing full face masks. And standing before them, leaning on a silver topped cane was someone, who to his mind embodied the words ‘elegant elder nobleman’.
“Good day everyone. Captain Bellamy, was it?” the man gave them a slight and mocking bow. “I am Crack A. Barrel. Welcome to St. Poplar.”