Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction / Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Dégager: The Saiyajin Pet ❯ The Perfect Crime ( Chapter 9 )

Dégager: The Saiyajin Pet

By Orchideater

AU, Gk x Vg

Rated R for some explicit sexuality

DBZ and all DBZ characters property of Akira Toriyama and official licensees

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Chapter 9: The Perfect Crime

Vegeta clenched the steering wheel in a vise grip as he wove through the crowded streets and cursed the city traffic. Jitters of rage from the heated battle with his wife still wracked his body, but the accompanying adrenaline euphoria came moreso from dreadful inspiration. He couldn't possibly work today; he had to get home and think, and calm down.

The dark, vengeful thoughts that slithered across his subconscious in the past had returned, building, growing stronger, and congealing into a terrible plan. He couldn't believe what he was considering- couldn't believe he was actually thinking seriously about taking a man's life. The inclination both terrified and exhilarated him.

He should have done this ages ago, as soon as he learned of the saiyajin's talents with ki. Kakarot had distracted him so much from his ultimate goal of retrieving Buruma.

When he first heard of the shady pet shop, he had felt strangely drawn there, true, but he had visited on the pretense of buying some sort of large, savage cat. The cat would have been for show, to impress others, and kept only as a power fantasy- the fantasy of keeping a killing machine under his control. Like many jilted lovers, he had daydreamed hungrily of the many painful ways he could destroy the man who had replaced him. He never dreamed he would have the will or the means to bring that mad, half-cocked imagining to life.

With the saiyajin he had the perfect means to accomplish his ends. Buruma would see that he meant business, and never dare to cross him again.

Vegeta arrived at the mansion and rushed up to his study, shutting and locking the door behind him as if in hopes to shut out his burgeoning bloodlust and the emotional hurricane he'd been put through as of late. He slid down to the floor with his back propped against the door and tried to even his breathing, and gather his thoughts.

Long minutes of anxious quiet passed before he rose, retrieved a manila folder from deep within his file cabinets, then returned to his place on the floor. He opened the folder and strewed its contents across his outspread legs and across the carpet. All the information he could possibly need lay before him: the man's picture, place of work, car, apartment, times for when he usually left work, and the gym he and Buruma frequented. Months ago, when he'd found out who Buruma was dating, he'd researched him almost to the point of stalking, out of pure angry curiosity and the belief that he must know his enemy.

He stared at the documents, determining that the best time to act would be tonight, then paused to deliberate. Would this really set everything right? He had done many terrible things, but this was murder. Even he had never stooped to something so base. Kakarot for some reason thought him a good person, and Vegeta had enjoyed hearing such from him. Could he destroy even that illusion, so that every last person in the world would know of his corruption?

I'm trying to get away from Kakarot, not please him! Vegeta argued. He had to find out sooner or later that I'm just a bad egg. I will do it because I can, and because it needs to be done.

It's not so simple as erasing one side of a love triangle, his conscience lamented. You can't erase Kakarot's love for you, the fourth side.

That's fine, he argued back, he loves me so he'll do as I ask. He'd do anything for me, to keep me happy.

And would you be so quick to take advantage of him?

Vegeta ground his teeth in silence for several minutes as the images of tenderness and camaraderie between them came back to him. Finally he slapped himself hard across the face. No more ridiculous sentimentalities; no more playing around! He had to be strong. That thing was an animal- just an animal- and meant to be used. His desires for the creature would pass as soon as Buruma returned. They were a damaging perversion; if he wanted his life back, they had to be stamped out.

No matter how good they felt.

He needed Buruma, needed her to restore stability in his life and to shield him from the desires he felt toward Kakarot.

Without her, he knew he just might give in to the saiyajin. The effort it took to resist exhausted him.

Vegeta wanted the dry, predictable order of before. He had experienced a taste of love for the first time, for he knew that was indeed what had been growing between himself and Kakarot, and found it dangerous and frightening. He feared losing himself in the vulnerability of emotions.

His resolve wavered again. Did Buruma truly deserve this? Years she had stood by him, uncomplaining, for the most part, and been a good wife. Now she seemed to have found what she'd been looking for in this other man. Damn her for finding happiness when he felt so miserable and confused.

He let his head fall back against the door with a thud, and ran a hand through his hair in indecision.

What you're considering is horrible, his conscience told him. You stand on the edge of a precipice, a hair's breadth away from corruption of the soul. Once you fall, who will be there to catch you? You are one step away from becoming a monster.

Maybe he should just let Buruma go and be happy, and try to find another way to cope.

Unfortunately both his ego and his insecurities chose that moment to step to the forefront, materializing in his mind's eye as the one he both hated and still desperately sought approval from. His father.

The harsh, demanding voice reproached him, criticizing him as usual, mocking and ridiculing him for his hesitation.

Look at you. You really have become a sentimental little fool. How many times do I have to tell you that an Oujisama takes what he wants, and to hell with those who stand in our way?

What the hell kind of son have I got? I always knew you were weak, little man. You can't even control your emotions, and your perversions are taking you over. Absolutely pathetic.

Did you think I would tolerate having a fag for a son? What a disgrace to our family; you disappoint me at every turn! Go on, give in to the beast. Will you attend cocktail parties with your oversized pet on your arm, and introduce him as your lover, the missing link? What a joke! I will disown you for the shame of learning I have a simpering, ineffectual, impotent fag for a son!

Prove yourself to me. Remember the sweet kiss of power. Be a man and take what you want, and make things right!

Vegeta's heart slid into the abyss.

"I will, Father."

His face hardened with renewed determination. To hell with everybody. To hell with Kakarot, Buruma, and her man. His mind had set. He would do this without regret, and enjoy it.

His father was right; this was just what he needed. The momentous weight of risk thrilled him, and it felt so good to concern himself with something other than the battle with his traitorous body. He felt invigorated with single-minded purpose, to know that he was finally taking action for a solution to his problems.

Freed from moral restraints, he set to work.

Hours later he paced slowly down to the greenhouse and quietly opened the door. Kakarot still slept on the ground right where Vegeta had left him, looking utterly dejected.

Upon seeing the big saiyajin the pangs of desire that struck him once more only served to strengthen his resolve, and convince him this course of action was necessary.

"Kakarot."

The saiyajin jumped in startlement and hopped to his feet. He stood and swayed for a moment, dizzy from waking and changing position so suddenly, and tried to focus.

It was already late in the afternoon, but Vegeta never came this early for him. Once his mind cleared, he tried to further apologize for his impetuousness the night before. Kakarot assumed he would still be angry about the unsolicited kiss, but Vegeta seemed quite pleased with himself, strangely calm and self-possessed.

:: Vegeta, I- ::

Vegeta waved a hand to silence him. "Listen to me for a moment. You know, Kakarot, I've been doing some thinking, and I think it's high time you make yourself useful around here. All you've been doing is fawning over me and eating all my food. I've got a little job for you. Would you like to do something for me?"

Kakarot nodded eagerly.

"Wonderful. Now, you know Buruma, the woman you don't like?" he asked, fishing for a paper in the manila envelope he'd brought.

:: Yes. ::

Vegeta held out a computer print of a state-issued photo. "See this man? Remember his face. He's a friend of hers, and he's been causing me nothing but trouble."

:: This man threatens you, Vegeta? :: he asked, an edge of panicky concern tinging his voice.

"Yes, he's quite a threat to me. I would like for you to get rid of him."

:: You mean, to kill him? ::

"That's right. Can you do this for me?"

Kakarot frowned and cocked his head, studying the photo. :: Yes, easily. But... most humans object to killing their own kind. Are you sure it's necessary? Is he dangerous? ::

"He's stolen from me, and he threatens me. I would be so happy and feel so much safer if you were to take care of him for me. No one else will. And you want to make me happy, don't you?"

:: Of course, Vegeta! ::

"Very good. Now, you think you can identify him?"

:: I think perhaps I already know his scent. Would it have been on the Buruma woman when she came? ::

"Scent... you can distinguish people's scents? Yes, if there were other people's scents on Buruma, his would have been the strongest."

:: I can detect scents that have been there recently... just like I know you've been with her today.::

Vegeta faltered for only a moment, then smirked, deciding that the element of competition could work well for him. "So do a good job, then, if you want to return to my favor."

:: Yes, Vegeta! ::

"That's what I want to hear. Now pay attention. I want you to do exactly as I say."

---

Yamcha cradled his sore jaw. Two weeks without any incidents whatsoever, and then on the same day two prisoners panic and try to escape after their sentencing. The second had given him a backwards headbutt in the face. Ugh, all the crazies come out on a full moon.

Yamcha told himself that he'd endured his share of misfortune for the day, so now he could relax and enjoy the rest of the evening with his beautiful girlfriend. He needed to clean up and change clothes, then they could meet for a late dinner. Hopefully she had calmed down by now. At the gym she had been nearly frantic, telling him over and over to be careful and watch out for anything out of the ordinary.

He maneuvered his car into a space, and set the alarm. His apartment building had no parking lot, which forced residents to scrounge for spaces on the street, and tonight he had to park more than three blocks away.

Not thirty steps toward his destination he knew he was being followed. A faint tapping on the pavement, a slight rustle of leaves, and an unnatural rush of wind betrayed his traveling companion. The noises, all so imperceptible that they were felt more than detected by the senses, would have gone unnoticed had he been absorbed in thought.

The sidewalk was shady, lined with thick hedges and trees on one side and the street with its line of parked cars on the other. The foliage made for beautiful landscaping, but in the dark twilight it also made a perfect cover for any criminal who wished to jump a pedestrian.

The noises, which lasted so briefly in stops and starts, had ceased completely now. He came to a halt and peered over his shoulder. Nothing.

Few people were out on the street that night. A couple strolled away from him on the other side of the street, engrossed in their own conversation. Far down the path, a man he'd passed earlier still walked in the opposite direction. Nothing could be heard but a siren in the distance, and the faint drone of cars on the main streets. He resumed walking homeward, thinking perhaps he had only imagined the noises.

Rustle. Swish! Tap-tap.

No, someone was definitely there.

The intermingling sounds finally ended with a lone rustling noise. Silence again.

Tap- Vvvmm- Rustle.

The hairs raised on the back of his neck as a nervous knot began to form in his stomach. He had been followed before- rarely, but it happened. Most often convicted prisoners and their families blamed the judge, but if they couldn't reach the judge sometimes they tried to take out their frustrations on others involved in the proceedings, such as the bailiff who took them away. Once four friends of a convicted gang member had followed him, shouting obscenities and throwing beer cans. They had been all talk.

This situation was different, and the follower strange. A mugger, possibly, but they worked by ambush, grab, and dash. A mugger should have jumped him by now. Buruma's warning came to mind. He knew it could be a thug sent by her ex, but what type of thug operated this way?

He paused and turned again, only to be met with the sounds of the city, and an empty street. He meticulously scanned the area behind him and found nothing out of the ordinary.

A car turned from the street far ahead and drove toward him, its headlights blinding Yamcha and illuminating the darkness in its path.

Great, he thought, I'll be able to see better. The car lit up the sidewalk, bleaching the bushes and trees, but not penetrating past their exterior. Nothing. Only the sound of rolling wheels on asphalt, the dwindling hum of the retreating car's engine. He walked backwards a few steps, so he could still observe the way he'd come, then reluctantly turned to continue on his way...

Rustle.

And immediately turned back, just in time to catch a glimpse of leaves quivering in the tree he'd passed, as though something had recently disturbed them. No way a hood could just leap into a tree like a cat!

Then perhaps it could actually be an animal. What large animals could climb trees... a cat... a monkey... or some strange escaped zoo animal? Did it follow him because it thought he had food? Yamcha squinted up into the branches but the frustrating darkness yielded none of its secrets. He felt as though a ghost was tailing him. Dammit, what was going on?

He began walking again, and crossed his arms over his chest, one hand inside his jacket to rest discreetly upon the handle of his gun. Thank god he had it with him tonight. Sweat broke on his forehead and the knot in his stomach twisted as the sounds began again.

Tap- vssh- tap- vvvmm- tap- vsh- tap- VVSSH!

Yamcha gasped as a gust of wind grazed the back of his neck, as if his pursuer had come within inches of him and pulled back. He wheeled around as quickly as possible, face tight with anger and rising anxiety, and almost saw it: for a split second he saw a blur rippling the air like heat waves on a hot summer's day. It was hiding somewhere in that tree, he knew it. He had the impression that somehow it moved too fast for the naked eye to detect, like a hummingbird's wing in flight- the wing was there, yet could not be seen. How could anything move its entire body so fast?

He walked faster, heart rate and breathing speeding up until he saw with relief that he was almost home. There was his apartment building. Only a hundred more feet to the front door...

WHAM!

Struck suddenly by a tremendous invisible force,Yamcha felt himself fly through the air and landed hard, knocking all the wind out of him.

He reeled as stars sparkled across his vision, and choked soundlessly for moments before finally drawing in a rattling breath. Whatever it was had knocked him off the sidewalk into the very shady, very secluded courtyard behind his apartment complex. No, correction- he had been thrown over the six foot gate of the courtyard, which was locked every evening at twilight.

He remembered that he was not alone. Yamcha scrambled to his feet and drew his gun, looking wildly in every direction, and moved to stand under the decorative antique street lamp that illuminated the center of the garden courtyard.

Something... something... there has to be something... there!

Between the tallest bushes, near the ground, shone the yellow glint of eyeshine.

Yamcha stared at the golden disks. Human eyes could not shine like that, and yet it seemed to move with intelligence and purpose. He couldn't just shoot into the darkness, since there was still a chance it could be human, or maybe an animal that thought it was just playing with him.

He tried to steady his voice. "Come out! I see you there; I know you're there. Come on. If... if you're a person, I've got a gun, so come out slowly. Why the hell are you following me?"

Long moments of silence passed as Yamcha continued to stand rigidly, facing down the eyes that never looked away, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. The only movement came from the moths dancing about the street lamp.

Finally the luminous disks rose slowly, until they hung high in the air like twin fireflies. A figure moved out of the blackness.

It is a man! No...

The figure stepped forward into the dim light just enough for Yamcha to discern a huge, powerful form, covered with a reddish pelt and shock of dark hair. A long tail made leisurely coils through the air behind him.

Yamcha's mind momentarily went blank, at a loss for understanding.

"A... A werewolf is after me? He doesn't look like... This makes no sense. Is this a... is this some sort of... prank?" Yamcha whispered to himself.

The creature stared back, motionless except for his tail.

"What do you want?"

No answer.

"I said, what do you want?"

The creature only tossed his head and looked down his nose at him.

"Th-that's some costume you have, pal. That's Hollywood-professional quality," he laughed weakly, trying to convince himself though gut instinct told him that was no costume.

"Listen, this is a gun, you understand? A weapon. They can kill people. You try to come at me again and I'll shoot you. So just stay right there." He dreaded leaving the circle of light, but knew he couldn't stand there indefinitely. He thought of calling for help, but that might only bring more people into harm's way. And the back door was only feet away... He fiddled in his pocket for his keys, and began to back away toward the rear door of the building.

The creature shifted, and his tail began to lash. Those eyes narrowed intently like a hunter centering his prey in the crosshairs.

"Hey! I said don't move!"

The creature hunched its shoulders, leaned forward, and took a step, and Yamcha could sense he was building the momentum for a strike.

"I said-"

The creature vanished.

BLAM!

In a split second Yamcha felt a hand take hold of him tightly, and fly him back to the darkness of the trees. The creature held him suspended by the neck in front of him, glaring unflinchingly up into his face as he squirmed helplessly and clawed at the hand, struggling to draw breath. The gun lay discarded in the bushes, knocked out of his grip from the force of Kakarot slamming into him.

Kakarot held up his other hand, palm wide and fingers pressed tightly together, as it hissed with the charge of ki. Yamcha's eyes grew wide with horror as an unfamiliar voice sounded inside his head.

:: You offend my chosen one. I give you five seconds to make your peace with God. ::

Yamcha did exactly that.

Three clean strikes and the deed was done. Kakarot dropped his unpleasant handiwork, and gave a funereal blessing and small bow of respect.

:: Be at peace. ::

He then leapt to the protruding roots of one of the larger trees and crouched down, hands splayed against the ground, and sent a searing wave of ki across the entire courtyard, bubbling the soil and sweeping over the ground, over the body, snaking up the trees and bursting the bulb in the lamp.

Alarmed voices were heard, as well as closing doors and pattering footsteps. Kakarot reformed the shield of ki around his body, and just before the first people arrived on the scene to investigate the gunshot, he vanished into the night.

---

Buruma drove toward Yamcha's apartment with her heart full of fear. He hadn't shown up for their dinner date, hadn't called, didn't answer his phone. Maybe it was a family emergency, she thought, maybe he's helping a friend, maybe, maybe...

All hope was abandoned when she saw the first flash of an emergency light. Buruma left her car in the middle of the street and dashed toward the lights. A knot of over a dozen police and emergency vehicles came into view, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. She shoved through the people and attempted to break through the yellow police tape, but an officer caught her by the shoulders.

"Whoa! Ma'am, we need you to stay behind the line. No unauthorized civilians allowed in a crime scene."

"What happened?! I have to know!"

"There's been a death, ma'am. We're looking into it. Right now I need you behind the line."

"Who is it!?"

"I'm sorry, we can't release that just yet, we need to notify the family-"

"Was his name Yamcha Rengetsu?"

The officer blinked at her, then looked over to another officer who'd overheard. He gave the first man a nod. "That's... that's the name on the victim's driver's license."

"NOOOoo! Oh god, no no NO... oh Jesus, no... Yamcha..." Buruma collapsed to her knees, hands clasped tightly over her mouth as her face crumpled. The officer hailed several other policemen and knelt down with her, offering her a Kleenex and laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she continued to sob.

They led her to a quiet area to question her once she had calmed down enough to speak.

A tall, plainclothes officer with sandy hair pulled back into a short ponytail took in the scene as he passed by, then approached the lead investigator and displayed his badge.

"Officer Orcot. I just got here. What's the story so far?"

"Well, it's one of the strangest cases I've ever seen; it's like the damn X-Files in here. No one witnessed any of it, and so far we haven't found a trace of useful evidence, no fingerprints, footprints, hairs, fibers- nada. We've got a woman who says she saw the victim walking home- said he seemed on edge- but that's it. The body's been carved up into sections, but the cuts weren't made by any typical knife or blade, and one strike looks almost as though it was made by claws, or fingers, so there's the possibility of animal attack, though we've got no idea what animal could have done it."

Orcot frowned. "Animal attack..."

"The problem is none of the nearby zoos are missing any large or potentially dangerous animals, and there've been no reports of loose exotics roaming the city. We're pretty convinced it was an attack, if not a murder, because of the gunshot, but we also can't rule out the possibility of some sort of localized freak electrical disaster- see the broken light? The entire area has been- burned isn't quite the right word- more like singed by a strange electrical force. The grass is stiff, almost crispy, and the air smells like ozone."

"I can tell you right now that this was no accident."

Both men turned to look at Buruma. She had stilled into a zombie-like stupor, but had listened in on their conversation.

"This was a murder. A cold-blooded murder. And I can tell you exactly who did it."

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Chapter 10: Faced with the aftermath of an unconscionable crime, will Vegeta meet his end, or a new beginning?