Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ He Means Business ❯ 05 ( Chapter 5 )

"So," the man with the second-shiniest badge—after Raditsu's—paced up to the Saiyajin, who was carefully observing the objects on the shelves and walls, poking at a baseball glove as if he expected it would come to life at any moment. "How long have you been selling sports equipment?"

 

Raditsu glanced up to the circular object in the front of the shop, which he'd learned told the time. "About eight minutes."

 

"Radish man," he started, and Raditsu's eye twitched, "You're one funny guy." His voice dropped to a whisper so that none of the other employees could hear, "But seriously, I do hope you're kidding." When the Saiyajin shook his head, the young man groaned. "Why the hell are you our manager?"

 

"Because I was brought back from Hell to do it," Raditsu's eyes widened as he spoke overdramatically, and he chuckled as the fellow jumped away.

 

"Y-you are one funny guy," he stuttered, laughing nervously.

 

Raditsu's smirk lingered as he observed the other employees, who all apparently heard his comment, and were responding with varying amounts of discomfort. A few shivered in their shoes, having not quite gotten over the fact that this man had slaughtered their boss less than twenty-four hours ago, and didn't seem particularly sorry or even concerned about the matter. When he'd accidentally yanked the shop's door off its hinges the evening before, and with a shrug tossed it aside (to the next block; someone screamed and then stopped abruptly), they'd all gotten the distinct impression that it really wouldn't be necessary to report this man to police—for their own safety.

 

"Minion!" he called too-loudly to the man with whom he'd been conversing. "What is your name?"

 

"M-Mark, sir," he shivered. "Y-you probably have a list of all of us somewhere. Like in the manager's office," he suggested. "And," at Raditsu's raised eyebrow, which seemed to denote mere curiosity, "and I'd like you to know that my title is 'assistant manager.'"

 

"Nonsense," Raditsu turned away. "Now where is—" he was interrupted by the melodic tinkling of a bell affixed to the recently replaced door.

 

"Well, son, looks like it's a sports equipment store," a man patted his young son's shoulder before turning his attention to the employees. "I can't seem to read the text on your sign up front," he told them. "But I guess this isn't a dessert shop anymore, is it?"

 

The employees shook their heads and turned to Raditsu, waiting. Mark nudged him forward, whispering, "Introduce yourself to them," he suggested. "Rapport with your customers!"

 

Raditsu shrugged, crossing his arms and grinning as he stepped to the front. "I am Raditsu, the owner of this establishment, feared across the universe as one of the few surviving members of the Saiyajin race, previously employed by the tyrant Freeza as a professional clearer of—"

 

"Whoa," the child sprinted past him, "Dad, look at this bat!" He handed it to his father.

 

The man seemed to inspect it for a few moments. "This is one of the highest-quality bats I've seen in West City," he handed it back to his son and focused his attention on Raditsu. "Do you have any way for my son to test it out, see if it's really as durable as it looks?"

 

"I'mma be a baseball legend!" the boy grinned, swinging the bat.

 

"Er," Raditsu scratched his head, glancing around to the other employees, who seemed to be just as confused as he was. "Sure, I guess. Hit me as hard as you can." All eyes were on him, all mouths agape, except for the child's. He took his stance, and before his father could stop him, swung the bat just as Raditsu had recommended.

 

The Saiyajin blinked. "Are you gonna—oh," he watched as the boy pulled the bat back, and Mark, for all his disbelief, elbowed him, "I mean, oh! Ouch! Wow, what a...high-quality...apparatus!" He rubbed his arm, although the bat had only struck his side, and glanced at Mark with raised eyebrows, perhaps waiting for a nod of approval.

 

"You're kidding," the boy's father blinked. "You didn't even flinch, even with my son's winning swing behind that bat."

 

"Well," Raditsu started, but realized he had nothing to say that could defend himself. "I, er, I..."

 

"I assure you," Mark stepped forward, "That the baseball bat your son holds is of the highest quality. However, even the most forceful blows are nothing a-against this...uh...new model of baseball armor that our daring manager Radish is wearing!"

 

The boy gasped. "Daddy, Daddy, I want it!"

 

"How much for the armor?"

 

Raditsu's eyes darted to Mark for the answer, and fortunately (he considered thanking the dragon for the one favorable piece of this deal so far, but abstained), it came. "Sorry, sir, but we're out at the moment. It's, er, it's very popular, you see."

 

"Of course," the man nodded, pulling a rectangular object from his pocket and scribbling something down. "If I give you my phone number, can you call me when you have more in stock?"

 

"Why, yes!" Mark smiled. "Of course, of course."

 

The man handed Raditsu a slip of paper covered in strange characters. Raditsu grabbed it and stared for a few moments, trying to decipher it, before handing it to Mark, and decided to try his hand at the game his minion was playing. "Put it in the very important place where we put such important things as this piece of paper!" he commanded.

 

Mark readjusted his glasses and nodded, coughing in the hopes that it would mask the fact that he had just choked on his own saliva. "Yes, sir," he turned to the customers, "and thanks for your business. Gina here can ring that bat up for you," he shrugged to one of the employees, who gulped and nodded. He turned away, striding with purpose with paper in hand.

 

"Say, Radish, you really put yourself out there for your customers," the father extended one arm out to the Saiyajin. "Thanks a lot."

 

Biting his lip, Raditsu clutched the man's hand and shook it. When the man let go he massaged his fingers, mustering a smile over his pained grimace and guiding his son to the cash register.

 

I need to go see Vegeta again, the Saiyajin decided, when this accursed shack closes for the night...to see if there's a way for me to get more of this armor...

 

 

...

 

 

Goku rapped on the door again. This way took a lot longer than just teleporting in, but a lot of the time that had turned out to be not such a good idea. Finally, it swung open, and Bulma greeted him with a grin. "Hey, Son! Come on in!"

 

"Thanks, Bulma," Goku smiled. "I was just looking for Vegeta, 'cause he—" the man froze as he spotted the prince.

 

"So, honestly, I can't help you," Vegeta seemed to be finishing an explanation, and then he turned to Goku. "Kakarrot! Look who Bulma's wish brought back," he smirked. "Your dear old brother."

 

"Raditsu," Goku spoke, his voice even and carefully neutral, although Vegeta was sure he heard a quiver of excitement. "You're gonna be Bulma's competition?"

 

"So you knew," Raditsu spoke, equally evenly, "about that wish."

 

"Vegeta told me," Goku nodded, carefully taking a seat across from him. "Whoa. Who'da thought?" he mused quietly.

 

"I feel like we should, er, give these two some time," Bulma piped up, images that she had believed had long since faded from her memory—of Goku and Raditsu dead on the battlefield when she and the others had arrived—were making themselves known again.

 

Vegeta, too, sensed the tension between them. "Trunks is waiting for me in the gravity room, anyway," he agreed mildly, and soon the two of them were gone.

 

"Traitorous sonnuvabitch," Raditsu muttered quietly once their footsteps faded. "I can't believe it."

 

"Can't believe what?" Goku blinked, reaching up to his chest for a moment before realizing what he was doing and lowering his hand.

 

"How you got all the power in the family," he mumbled. "Mutant freak."

 

"Hey, maybe I am," Goku laughed nervously. As Raditsu's cool gaze continued to bore into him, Goku decided his usual approach would be best—that he'd tackle the problem head on. "Look, Raditsu. Er...sorry. I hope you know that we had t' do it."

 

Raditsu maintained his glare, silent.

 

"Anyway, j-just don't kill any more people, arright? You're not working for Freeza anymore, right? So...so you don't have to."

 

"I did it because I liked it," he answered through clenched teeth. "Not because anyone told me to."

 

Goku bit his lip. He'd forgiven Vegeta for it, somehow, so he knew he would have to do the same for his brother. "Yeah. Well...er...well I like this planet, a lot. So don't hurt anybody."

 

"Don't exactly have much of a choice," he grumbled, "being as you can kick my ass back to Hell if you like, and I'd like to stay away from there for at least a few more years. But if I decide to," he paused, "if I decide to, even you can't stop a few deaths. I can do whatever I want, see." Raditsu seemed to take some solace in this. "And whoever I kill before you stop me, you can't do nothing but avenge 'em."

 

"Er...right," the man scratched his head, unsure of how to respond, and a few brief moments of silence ensued before Goku cleared his throat and continued. "Um, Raditsu, you know, I really hated you back then, 'cause you hurt Kuririn and took Gohan and all. It was just a really big shock...that I had a brother an'...he wasn't near as nice as me."

 

Raditsu's frown deepened and he focused his gaze on his folded arms. "Whatever. At least I have the pride of my people," he snorted, and then muttered under his breath, "Goddamn turncoat ain't no brother of mine."

 

"I've been learning," Goku raised his eyebrows, and Raditsu glanced up. "About how to be a Saiyajin, kinda, you know, from Vegeta. I've learned a lot from him. I, I don't so much mind the idea anymore, y'know, and I guess you were right about how much I love fighting, at least. I...I'm more of a Saiyajin now, I guess—more like Vegeta, kinda." His brother seemed to consider this. "Ain't ever gonna have quite so much pride, though."

 

"Well," Raditsu muttered gruffly, holding his eyes on Goku and smirking a bit, "As much pride as Vegeta—that's a pretty high standard to hold to."

 

Goku grinned, snickering, and glanced toward the hallway into which Vegeta had seemed to disappear. He pinpointed Vegeta's ki, and it wasn't in the gravity room. "I think he might'a heard you," he bit his lip, still grinning.

 

"Nothing he didn't deserve," Raditsu's eyes lit mischievously and he glanced in the same direction as his brother had. "Arrogant bastard."

 

Goku snickered and leaned back, stretching his arms above him and resting the back of his head against his woven fingers. "So how're you gonna compete with Bulma, anyhow? I've known her for a long time, and trust me, she's real smart."

 

"You've known her for a long time?" Raditsu repeated, smirking. "Is that so?"

 

"Yup," Goku nodded. "Years an' years. Since I was a kid."

 

Raditsu's smirk spread into a toothy grin. "Really..."