Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Crimes Of The Heart ❯ Chapter 1

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

~ Kiya Sama ~ [1]masque83@hotmail.com

Totally and Completely AU

Disclaimers: Do not own, so please do not sue.

~ Denotes thoughts

CHAPTER ONE:

Another slow night. Typical. The bar was barely at minimum capacity. A
few stragglers here and there, the usual suspects, no one worth taking
a second notice at. An occasional brawl would break out and Krillen
would have to throw them out by either calling the police or having to
threaten them (if he could beat them up, that is.)

Krillen was proud of his bar. It might not have been as big as those
other big shots uptown, but it was good enough. On a good night,
business was especially healthy. Krillen's Shack was the best place
for the average man and darn if he was going to let anyone take it
away from him. He frowned as he polished another glass cup, he had
been receiving threats from the Don's organization. They had been
sending several men to threaten him to close down his bar and each
time he had refused. He doubted if he would have survived this long if
he hadn't cut that blasted deal with them. He had reluctantly agreed
to sell their bootlegged alcohol and had transformed his back offices
into a sort of impromptu meeting place for them. Problem was, the
other crime organization belonging to Piccolo knew about this and was
also out for him, as well.

~ Shsssh! Why me? ~ The poor man thought wearily.

Just then, a gust of wind ushered in yet another straggler. Krillen
watched absentmindedly as the figure, hunched in a long, black
trenchcoat, walked up to the bar and sat himself on the available
stools. Krillen found himself looking into sharp, obsidian eyes, as
the man raised his face in his direction. It was a hard face. A face
that had known difficulties....hmm... a face that looked eerily like
that of ..... ~ Nah! Probably just my imagination.~ he shrugged off,
mentally.

"So, what will it be, sir?" he asked amiably enough. Long years of
working in bars had taught him never to speak with an attitude. For a
moment, he thought the man wouldn't answer, until he finally replied
in a deep, almost raspy voice,

"I will have the strongest thing you have got."

"Alrighty then." Krillen replied, as he turned around to get the
"special". These were served only to the very brave. (Another gift,
courtesy of the Don.) Tequila had no chance against it, and it looked
like the stranger could use the strong drink. Pouring the dark liquid
into a glass cup and watching from the corner of his eye, Krillen
studied the mysterious man. The coat he wore didn't look too rich;
neither did it look too shabby. He also noticed the small overnight
bag he carried. ~Probably a businessman from the east.~ Another thing
Krillen was pretty good at, was reading people. Experience had also
taught him to keep his ears and eyes open and he could tell where each
of his customers was from. Strangers were rarely welcome to the town,
and he made a mental note to keep an eye out for this one. He looked
like trouble. A quiet, but dangerous prospect. Krillen wasn't sure if
he would inform his new boss about him. He decided that he had better
keep this one to himself, after all the guy seemed decent enough.

"Here you go. The strongest thing you will ever have. Enjoy." He spoke
cheerfully, passing the drink to the silent man.

"Thank you."

Krillen watched in amazement, as the man threw back his head and
downed the drink in a gulp. Good Lord! Most men would have passed out
from that, by now. He nodded numbly as the man gestured for another.
Again the man finished the drink in another quick gulp. Shaking his
head in awe, Krillen leaned forward and smiled,

"Gosh man! You are the only one I have seen that can finish a
`service' that fast. What are you? An alien?"

A small smile graced the face, as the man shook his head.

"Hey Krillen! Could you turn the TV up some? It looks like those boys
are at it again!" One of the customers yelled from the back.

"Okay! Okay! Keep your shirt on, Marcus!" Krillen grumbled, as he
leaned up to adjust the volume on the large TV that was kept in the
bar. He watched in fascination with the others, noticing that Mr.
Mystery Man was also watching as well,

"We have breaking news from downtown, as it seems like the High Museum
of Art has been robbed again. We now head over to our correspondent,
Holly McCain. Holly?

"Yes, Cynthia. I am standing outside here in the downtown area, as the
High Museum of Art has been robbed for the second time this year. As
you remember, earlier in the year, a prized antique believed to be
worth over a million dollars, was stolen. The police are yet to find
the culprits and now, even after millions of dollars have been spent
on tightening security, it seems like yet another prized artifact has
disappeared. This artifact was the rare piece of art from Leonardo da
Vinci, worth over twenty million dollars. The police are trying to pin
this on the crime families of either Piccolo or Don Bejita...."

Krillen was so engrossed in the news that he didn't notice the flinch
from his mysterious guest or the tight grip he held on the glass.

"Darn! Those Piccolo boys sure work fast, don't they?" one of the
customers began. "I bet you it's one of them. Those boys are the best
there is."

"I wouldn't be so cocky, if I was you. Why, everyone knows that no one
can top the Don's boys...." And then the age-old debate began. Who the
better crime family was, who had more police records and so on and so
forth. Krillen sighed in irritation, as he turned back to look at his
mystery guest, only to be faced with an empty bar stool, a twenty
dollar bill and the cold gust of winter night air.

Taking the money quickly, he dashed out to see where the man might
have gone. All he saw were the usual prostitutes that stood at the
street corner and a few other night crawlers, the man in the
trenchcoat was nowhere to be seen.

12.30AM: Two silent figures crept along the wall leading up to the
Monticello National Treasury. Dressed from head to toe in black,
except for small patches for eyes, they leapt over the high fence,
landing gracefully on their light feet.

Without speaking, the taller man, opened up his backpack and removed
his laptop. Punching in several keywords and numbers, he successfully
deactivated the laser barricade and shut down all surveillance
cameras. Giving the thumbs-up to his partner, they walked in boldly
towards the doors that led to the safe.

Approaching the heavy metal doors that held the tons of gold, silver
and diamonds, one of the men removed the black gloves he wore. Sliding
on skintight artificial gloves that matched the DNA of one of the
employees, he pressed his palms against the cold metal, and listened
impatiently for the process to finish.

"DNA MATCH. EMPLOYEE NUMBER 1298. DR. FILMORE. ACCESS GRANTED."

The men slid into the door quickly, as it opened. One more obstacle
stood in their way. Quickly discarding the glove, the man reached into
the small box in his pocket and slipped on the light, transparent
retina, which matched those of Dr. Filmore over his own eyes. Leaning
down into the identification eye screen scanner, he waited for the
process to get done, again.

"EYE RETINAS PROCESSED. ACCESS GRANTED. WELCOME DR. FILMORE."

Grinning wilding beneath the woolen mask, the man turned towards his
companion and held up his hands in victory. Receiving another grin in
reply, they both stepped into the cold, steel designed room and began
quickly, but efficiently filling up the inflatable boxes they had
brought along with them.

1.45AM: They were done. Typing quickly into his laptop, the two men
waited for the helicopter that was to take them and the loot away. In
a few minutes, the whirling sounds of the machine were heard. Heading
outside, they motioned for their other teammates to load up the
spoils.

2.30AM: The Monticello National Treasury looked just as calm and as
silent as it had always been. It would take another 24 hours before
the crime would be discovered and broadcast to the world.

Chi-chi slid down her lover's body seductively. Grinning with
pleasure, she licked the erect penis and then swallowed it whole, as
she began sucking it in a frenzy.

"Ahhhh...yyesss Chi-chi. You are fantastic." The man moaned as he
pushed her head down even harder.

Chi-chi nearly choked on him and had to raise her head a little to get
some air. She looked up to see eyes that were suddenly filled with
displeasure.

"Why did you stop? Was I going to fast for you?" the man asked calmly.

Chi-Chi knew that tone and she knew what was in store for her.

"Oh Bejita sweetie, you know I wouldn't..." before she could finish, a
slap rang out and she found herself lying on the floor in a heap. She
rubbed her cheeks in pain and mortification as she raised fearful eyes
to her lover.

"You do know what this means, don't you Chi-Chi?" Bejita asked. Not
waiting for a reply, he spun her around and thrust quickly into the
unprepared woman beneath him, not caring for her pains or cries of
protest. Slamming continuously into her, he shut his eyes in lust and
pleasure as his own fulfillment was quickly reached. Spasming, he
howled in satisfaction, as he spilled his seed into the now limp body.
Looking at the woman in disgust, he withdrew and headed towards the
bathroom to wash himself off.

Toweling himself dry, he stared at his reflection in the large ornate
mirror. ~ Hn...Not bad Bejita. You don't look half your age.~
Chuckling silently as he ran fingers through upturned spiky locks, he
wrapped the towel around himself and walked back into the bedroom.
Chi-Chi was still on the floor, whimpering in pain. Feeling a bit
sorry for using her that harshly, he leaned down and tried to cuddle
her and was a bit amused at her weak protests.

"Aww, come on, babe. I am really sorry. Big Daddy promises to make it
up to you. Would you like to go shopping or something?"

Chi-Chi felt humiliated, but she needed the money and if this bastard
was the one to give it to her, then she would just have to deal with
it. Nodding quietly, she let herself be picked up and moved to the
huge silk decorated bed. Just as she was about to receive some more
fondles from the big oaf, the phone rang.

Bejita scowled in irritation. He didn't like to be disturbed in his
private time, but he knew that the call had to be important for it be
ringing on his private line. Motioning for Chi-Chi to sit still (since
she was about to bolt off the bed), he yanked the phone off the
handle,

"What is it 17?And this had better be good!" already figuring out who
was on the other end.

"Well, sir, it seems like the Piccolo crew beat us to the heist
again."

"WHAT?!"

"I am sorry sir. It seems like someone must have told them off. We got
there at the allocated time and everything was gone."

Bejita bit his fingers in anger. The Piccolo crime family was always
doing this to him. Just when he thought he had the upper hand, they
turn around and humiliate him!

"Alright 17. I want you and Trunks to pay a little visit to that strip
club they own uptown and...well....you know what to do."

"Yes sir."

Bejita hung up the phone and stared unseeingly into the Picasso
painting on his wall. Memories of a wife and child he had left over
twenty five years ago, came back to haunt him. He had been determined
not to fail. But he had. For three years, he had worked the lowest and
menial jobs in the north and had hated it. His luck had changed when
he had met the then most wanted and admired crime lords of the
time....Don Frieza. The crime lord had taken Bejita under his wing and
had trained him. Bejita was a fast learner and in just a few years had
worked his way up to being the next successor. Life had been too good
and he couldn't or rather hadn't felt the need to go back to his wife
and child. He had asked about them once, but had heard that they had
moved away. Since then, he had basically forgotten all about them.

And then along comes the new crime family. In just a few short years,
Piccolo had practically taken over the crime scene. The green freak
was shrewd, quick and had undoubtedly the best people working under
him; the two most famous international criminals, Goku and Yamcha.
Gritting his teeth in frustration, Bejita thought furiously,

~ I am going to kill those sons of bitches. Every single last one of
them or my name isn't Don Bejita!~

And then in a move that stunned the contemplating woman, she found
herself being fondled and touched in a way that bordered on another
repeat performance. She struggled violently, begging and pleading on
how sore she still was. All that fell on deaf ears, as the Don took
out his anger and frustrations on the unwillingly flesh.

Trunks stubbed out the cigarette and smashed it underneath his leather
booted feet. Hunching himself even tighter within his black leather
coat, he stared at his partner in crime and love. 17 was still
pummeling away at the bartender and was basically beating the man to a
pulp. Trunks had done his share of fighting (his knuckles still hurt)
and had had enough for one night. All he wanted to do now was find
himself a warm bed and probably cozy up to his lover for the night.

Smiling ruefully, he pondered at how the fates had brought them
together. They had both been high school classmates and had hung out
together since then. They had done their share of shoplifting and had
even gone as far as actually working for the local street drug and
alcohol dealers. It was good money and they had been quick to take
advantage of every opportunity they might have had. How they came to
work for Don Bejita was a whole different story in itself.

They had both been stealing from one of the Don's many shops, when
they had been caught red-handed. After receiving the beating of their
lives, the Don had given them a chance to redeem themselves, by
engaging them in their first mission: robbing the city bank. Needless
to say, both boys had never done that big a job and they had been
nervous as hell. Somehow, they had managed it, and from then on, had
been the pets of their elusive boss. Now, they were considered the
best two-man team in the organization. Their only rivals, Goku and
Yamcha.

Trunks frowned in annoyance at the thought of those two. They were
good. He had to give them that. The Treasury heist was done with
perfection and skill, even he had to admire that. Damn! They were fast
too. They had arrived at the site, at precisely 3 in the morning, and
it wasn't until they had actually gotten to the safe, did they realize
that it was as empty as hell. Snorting, he watched as his partner came
walking up to him, wiping his bloody hands against a rag.

"What's the matter? You look like you have a bad case of hemorrhoids."
17 asked teasingly.

"Nothing really." Trunks replied, leaning forward to brush his lips
softly against the cold ones of his partner. "Just thinking of how
much I would like to kill those bastards. You know who."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. Mmmm..."17 murmured as Trunks began
grinding himself slowly against him. "You know how horny I get after a
good beating or should I say killing?" he whispered huskily, swooping
down to seize the warm lips awaiting his.

Far from the main street, the two men groped each other feverishly
against the back alley way of the strip club. Groaning, panting and
moaning into each other's now warm breaths, they shook with the
intensity of their lust.

"Lets' get out of here before I take you in this freezing cold." 17
said abruptly, finally taking the time to release his mouth from his
lover's.

"Since when did a measly winter night stop us, koi?" Trunks murmured,
as he trailed lips down the pale neck.

"I am serious Trunks." 17 said curtly, pushing himself away from the
other man. "I don't want some idiot walking down here or one of the
others' seeing us together. You know how they will talk."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Trunks agreed reluctantly and was about to
start heading out to the car, when he felt the hairs of his neck
prickle in awareness. They were being watched.

"Do you feel that?" Trunks asked softly.

"Yeah...."

Carefully removing their guns from their pockets, they cocked them and
began moving softly down the dark alley and towards the back of the
building. Walking so stealthily, that it felt as if they were
floating, they rounded the sharp corner and came face to face
with...an empty parking lot.

"Sheesshh....there's no one here." Trunks said, letting out a sigh of
relief.

They both slid back their weapons into place and were about to head
back to their vehicle, when a lithe shadow dropped in front of them.
Whoever it was seemed to be dressed like a ninja or something. Only
sharp, dark eyes flashed wickedly and 17, who felt his irritation
growing, hissed through his breath.

"Great, another fucking idiot. Just what I needed to end my night.
Alright, hotshot. Come and get what you are looking for."

Trunks watched in mounting surprise and dull anger, as the shadow
seemed to vanish and then reappear seconds later behind his partner.
17 was kicked sharply from behind and he fell to the ground with a
sickening thud, blood beginning to seep out from the injured man.

"You son of a bitch!" Trunks cried out, as he began removing his gun.
He didn't get very far, because the next thing he knew, he was hitting
the brick wall with a force so severe that he felt the pain moments
after the blood had begun dripping from his forehead. He felt his head
yanked back and a deep, raspy voice began speaking close to his ear.

"You work for the Don, don't you?" the voice asked harshly.

"Fuck off!" Trunks answered weakly. He howled in pain as his head was
yanked back even more.

"Do you work for the Don or not? Don't make me snap your neck in two.
I can do that quite easily."

Trunks mumbled a yes, the pain making his eyes water. He felt a piece
of paper being shoved into his mouth. A piece of tape was then wrapped
around it to seal it in place. His hands were also bound in some kind
of thick rope, which made him wince in even more pain. He was quickly
spun around and he looked with a growing sense of fear into the icy,
obsidian chips that glared back at him.

"Take that back to your boss. A little message that I am sure, he will
appreciate."

In a flash of speed, Trunks watched as the lithe man, jumped over the
high metal fences and leapt across the highway into the cold, dark
night.

Finally sinking to his knees in a faint, the young man collapsed
beside his unconscious partner, as three bodies lay chilled in the
December winter night.

References

1. mailto:masque83@hotmail.com