Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ He Means Business ❯ 07 ( Chapter 7 )

"Say," Goku caught up to Raditsu with little effort, and found him still smirking smugly. "Where have you been staying all this time, anyway? At night, I mean? Like...do you have a house?"

 

Raditsu shrugged. "I sleep here and there." It was probably best not to tell his brother about last night, when he terrorized the hotel manager by accidentally kicking the front desk from of its position—fastened against the floor—over onto the man's toes. He was literally stuck to the spot, and, Raditsu decided, by this point may have felt less than inclined to notify any authorities, so he snatched a room card and drifted up the stairs. Surely enough, no uniformed fools arrived to wave at him the same useless object the farmer had tried to use against him. It probably helped that the manager, still pinned to the ground, couldn't reach the phone. Such things happened infrequently, but he suspected his brother would disapprove—and at the moment, he was hoping for the man's cooperation. "Usually in the woods outside the city."

 

"Oh," Goku nodded. "My house is in the woods, kinda in the middle of nowhere, I guess. Vegeta calls it the boon-somethings, but he's just jealous 'cause he can't teleport like I can," he winked.

 

"Teleport?" Raditsu paused.

 

"Yeah, like—if I can find a ki then I can go to it. Easy with the strong guys, not so easy with the weaker ones. Guess that's part a' the reason I didn't find y—" he paused, reconsidering, at Raditsu's poisonous glare. "Anyway, so if I wanna go home now, I can, because I can find Gohan's ki, or Goten's. I could even find Chi's, if I tried real hard, 'cause I know it so well and all."

 

"Gohan—that brat that I—"

 

"That's the one," Goku smiled. "He's a lot bigger now, that's for sure. Always busy with school and stuff nowadays."

 

"And that other name?"

 

"Goten? My other kid. He's some years younger than Gohan...he an' Trunks are always finding some way to get into trouble. You know Trunks, right?"

 

Raditsu shook his head. "But I've heard him mentioned. Vegeta's?"

 

Goku nodded. "Yeah. Those little guys are always up to something."

"Hm," Raditsu answered thoughtfully, and Goku noticed another devious twinkle in his eye.

 

"I'd invite you over, but I think Chi-Chi would just about explode," Goku winced. "For one thing, she probably ain't keen on feeding another Saiyajin, what with how much she goes on about having to cook all day just to feed three of us. Plus," he added thoughtfully, "the second I introduce you, she'll remember how it's all your fault I died way back when, an' so on."

 

Raditsu snorted, but quickly resumed a proud smirk. "I suppose it is, isn't it?"

 

"And then she'd go crazy and kick you out, and prolly me for even trying, at least for a while." He frowned at the thought.

 

"This woman is stronger than you are, Kakarrot?" Raditsu raised an eyebrow, one part dubious and one part scared for his life.

 

"Naw," Goku shrugged. "Not by a long shot. She's pretty strong for a human, but..."

 

"So what's the big deal? She can't kick you out for doing a thing." When Goku tilted his head in confusion, Raditsu grudgingly added, "I mean, you're fucking Kakarrot." Pausing, he resolved, "You're a Saiyajin, dammit!"

 

"She has...ways..." Goku answered quietly, eyes wide. "Just believe me on this one."

 

"Kakarrot," Raditsu crossed his arms and continued matter-of-factly, "The women of your planet are disturbing."

 

 

...

 

 

"And so," Raditsu motioned to the clock, "when the round thing looks like this, it means it's time that customers start entering." Goku nodded, observing it carefully.

 

"What the hell is going on here?" Mark stormed up to them. "All our merchandise is gone! Was there a robbery?"

 

"Oh!" Raditsu seemed to recall something, and whipped around to pull the side of the shelf away from its fixture. "We need to make a new sign. My dear minion, this will be a dessert shop once more!"

 

"R-really?" Mark blinked, taken aback. "That's why you took out all the sports equipment?"

 

Raditsu nodded and leaned in close toward Mark. Goku followed his lead, and it was all Mark could do not to scream as the murderer and a fellow with equally unnatural hair encroached so disturbingly into his personal space. "I don't know what you use for dessert-making," Raditsu admitted. "I was hoping you could make a list. You and the other lackeys know how to do this already, right?"

 

"We are your employees—" Mark corrected, "And yes, I can do that for you, and yes, we are all quite proficient with our craft. But what are you going to do for today? We can't possibly have everything ready, maybe not even by tomorrow. For goodness sakes, we don't even know where all our equipment went! The ovens! The mixers!"

 

"List," Raditsu nudged him. "And, well..." he glanced up to the numerous would-be customers, pounding at the door. "I locked the place up, so we won't have any customers today."

 

"Goddammit," Mark rubbed his temples. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

 

"On the contrary," Raditsu straightened his back, moving away, "I have brought in my younger brother, Kakarotto—"

 

"Goku!" the other Saiyajin chimed in.

 

"Kakarotto, who will be critiquing your work and making sure only the finest foods are produced. He will be part of the, erm...creative team."

 

Mark rolled his eyes. "As long as I'm getting paid. But I advise you put up a 'closed' sign so that no one breaks the door down."

 

"Right!" Raditsu nodded, and Mark handed him a marker while fishing out a spare manila folder that could be used as a sign. "Er, say, Kakarrot..." he handed him the marker, and then the folder. "Could you write 'closed'—"

 

"—until further notice," Mark added.

 

"'Closed until further notice,' on that paper?"

 

Goku blinked, grasping the marker awkwardly. "Um...s-sure...but..."

 

"Well?" Raditsu glanced nervously toward the growing crowd outside the shop. He bit his lip as his first-ever customer and his son appeared at the front of the crowd, the boy wielding a high-quality baseball bat. "Go on!"

 

"I—I'm sorry!" Goku wailed. "I can't write!"

 

Mark snatched the marker away, finding it increasingly difficult to convince himself that physically attacking his two heavily muscled superiors was against his best interests. "Oh. My. God."

 

 

...

 

 

"Oh. My. God." He knew he shouldn't have turned around.

 

"You," the stately voice continued, "must be dealt with immediately! Men! Take him back to the castle!"

 

"What the hell are you saying? You're fucking alone," Bardock spat.

 

"'You're fucking alone, sir,'" he corrected matter-of-factly. "And no, no I'm not. Now, no more talk. My personal guard will be dealing with you shortly."

 

"Nutcase," Bardock mumbled, standing up and brushing himself off.

 

"Nutcase, sir—"

 

"No, you crazy sonnuvabitch! Just a fucking nutcase!"

 

"Takes one to know one," came a raspberry and a bitter voice.

 

"Yeah, well, at least I have an excuse," Bardock motioned to his head. "What with the constant visions. Besides, I didn't just mistake me for you."

 

"Ah! Well, you are clearly committing a most heinous crime by attempting to impersonate your king. Look—the red cape, the regal sweeping hair, the colors of your armor—why—"

 

"Oh, goddammit," Bardock massaged the bridge of his nose. He yanked the bandana from its previous position—tucked into the back of his armor—and straightened his hair back out to its normal state with relative ease. "There? Better? Will you leave me alone now?"

 

"Hm," King Vegeta frowned, glancing him over. "Acceptable."

 

"You do realize that there is no 'personal guard' anywhere near you, don't you?"

 

"That's what you think," he narrowed his eyes, smirking. "But watch out."

 

"All right, whatever you say," Bardock began to turn away, before seeming to realize something. "Aw, shit, I need a new disguise." He shot King Vegeta an accusing glare for having taken away that which seemed to have been working fairly well for him. The king was crazy, but he could certainly beat Bardock to the ground if it came to that, so he was not about to insist on continuing to wear his apparently blasphemous camouflage.

 

"A disguise," King Vegeta repeated thoughtfully. "Nappa, eh?"

 

Bardock nodded, and the king sighed. "What, you know the guy?"

"Too well."

 

"Obnoxious bastard."

 

"Indeed."

 

"Say, you play cards?"

 

 

...

 

 

"Why didn't you tell me that you're illiterate?" Raditsu sighed, glancing over the list Mark had composed. "I can't read a damn scribble of this and you know it."

 

"I—I thought you could," Goku mumbled. "Sorry."

 

"Why the hell would I—" he cut himself short. "Your son."

 

"Huh? Well, yeah, I guess Gohan and Goten can both read okay. Maybe we could ask them. But really, we could probably ask just about anybody...why don't you just find that Mark guy again and have him read the list out loud?"

 

"I have a few...other ideas for your younger brat, translator aside."

 

"Yeah?" Goku raised his eyebrows. "Nothing bad, right? You ain't gonna try to hurt him or nothin'?"

 

"No, no," Raditsu chuckled. "He'll have fun."

 

"Well," Goku shrugged. "All right. Want me to go get him right now?" Raditsu nodded, and Goku disappeared.

 

 

...

 

 

"Hey, Vegeta," Bulma peered up from her sketches, spread out over the bed as if a continuation of her flowing satin nightgown. "You're retiring earlier than usual. Already done with your training?"

 

The prince ignored her question, glancing over the papers. "Food."

 

"What? Oh, come on Vegeta, I know you know how to feed yourself."

 

"No, woman!" He shoved some of her sketches to the side, to clear a spot for him to recline on the bed. "Desserts. A dessert shop."

 

Bulma snatched her papers up indignantly, organizing them and flattening out those Vegeta had managed to crumple. "What's this, now?"

 

"That's what Raditsu's doing, and he's enlisted Kakarrot's assistance."

 

"Goku?" Bulma giggled. "Helping run a business?"

 

"A dessert shop," Vegeta corrected. "And the man knows food."

 

"Hm," Bulma considered this, slipping her papers into an oversized folder that leaned against the bed. "I guess you might be right."

 

"If you want to compete with him as soon as you possibly can, I'd suggest you get into the dessert business yourself. At the very least, the food industry."

 

"I was just thinking that." She leaned back to observe the man. "How'd you know?"

 

"Know what?"

 

"That that's what Raditsu was doing?"

 

Vegeta froze for a moment. "Er, overheard."

 

Bulma grinned. "Well, if Raditsu's as good as Shenlong seems to think he was—by bringing him back, of all people!—then I can't wait to have some real competition. Even if it's just food to start..." She leaned over to plant a kiss on Vegeta's cheek. "Thanks."

 

"On the cheek? That all I get?" Vegeta smirked, turning to face her.

 

"If you become my assistant, I might give you a raise," she winked.

 

"Done."