Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ He Means Business ❯ 11 ( Chapter 11 )

Business boomed, and even as a pivotal point in Vegeta's success, Goku was left wondering how it happened. Was this not Vegeta the warrior, the man who'd only grudgingly stayed on Earth, Vegeta who spent all his time training?

 

But then what Raditsu had—quickness to think up a strategy, and no problem with doing what had to be done, no matter how cold or heartless it was—Vegeta also had, and then some. Raditsu had a fresh look at Earth, yes, but Vegeta's was almost as new, and what little he did know of the people had helped him.

 

How Vegeta had managed to get the building and equipment they needed without any money to spend, Goku wasn't sure, but he felt like if he asked he probably wouldn't like the answer. Less than a week after Vegeta had insisted they break away from Raditsu's business, they had somehow ended up with the capacity to compete with Raditsu—through sheer willpower outproducing him, doing more. But Vegeta had been talking a lot lately about needing to move past that, even though they hadn't quite overcome Raditsu yet.

 

"Kakarrot," he'd said, "we might be able to corner the market in desserts, but what does that really mean, in terms of competing with Bulma?"

 

Goku supposed he was right. Bulma made a lot of other stuff—airplanes, cars, computers, everything. And if Vegeta wanted to try to do those things too, well, he'd be there to help.

 

"What do you think?" Vegeta sat beside him, and Goku wondered if he'd missed something, cocking his head. "Where should we go next?"

 

"Dunno," Goku shrugged.

 

"How about restaurants?" Trunks suggested, ducking into the room.

 

"Very nice, boy," Vegeta smirked, "still in an area in which we've become established—relatively speaking..."

 

"What?" Goku blinked.

 

"Food," Vegeta he held up a cake that sat nearby to demonstrate his point. "But then, that hardly gets us closer to what Bulma—"

 

Trunks shook his head and stepped aside to let Goten in. Goku's son waved something before them, and Trunks grinned. "Really? I'd say it might."

 

"What?" Vegeta reached for what Goten held—what appeared to be some kind of glossy paper. "What is it?"

 

"Aw, we had to go to all the work of finding out," Trunks grinned. "Right, Goten? It was pretty tough, right?"

 

"Well, not—" Goten started, and Trunks stepped on his foot, "Yeah!"

 

"Yeah, pretty tough," Trunks grabbed the paper from Goten, glancing it over. "But considering the kind of information that you're gonna be able to get from this, totally worth it." He turned to his father. "Worth a pretty steep price."

 

"Two trips to the amusement park," Vegeta closed his eyes, folding his arms and leaning back. "No more."

 

"Petty favors," Trunks strutted around the room. Vegeta wondered when his son had become so—well, so much like him. His lips pulled back as he grinned, proud. "Mom was gonna pay me money, before she grounded me of course. Though," he glanced at his bare wrist, "the week's almost up, so I guess I could just take this back. She was pretty happy to show me how to run a business, so I'm sure she'd take me back in..." he paused, "not that she knows I was ever out..."

 

Goten stared in awe as Trunks spoke, making sure not to say anything. He usually messed up whatever tricky thing Trunks was trying to do. Trunks was sneaky like that.

 

"My," Vegeta's grin did not budge, "quite the talker, son. So, what exactly is that?" he motioned to the paper.

 

"Oh, this?" Trunks shrugged as he held it. "Well, Mom was just about to open a restaurant, see, and this is only just a simple little draft of her menu..."

 

"Give it," Vegeta growled, extending his arm.

 

"So you're interested," Trunks paced closer to Goten, leaning against him. "Well, Goten and I will gladly give this to you, 'course, but you've gotta give us something back."

 

"How about a punch in the gut?" the prince snarled.

 

"Goten and I are pretty stubborn," he frowned. "I'm sure you'd hate to provoke us. Especially if we felt like we had to combine forces against you."

 

"Well Kakarrot and I can handle it, I'm sure."

 

"Vegeta?" Goku tapped him on the shoulder.

 

"Are you sure?" Trunks raised an eyebrow. "See, you and me and Goten, compared to Son, why, we're not so concerned with playing fair—"

 

Goten frowned. "But Trunks, I—" Trunks elbowed him, and he silenced himself, crossing his arms.

 

"I think you forget that Kakarrot's brat is even softer than Kakarrot himself, who we all know is not above a little unfair play—"

 

"But Vegeta, I—" Vegeta elbowed him, but Goku stuck his tongue out, persisting, "I think it's fair that they wanna get paid for what they did. I won't fight 'em on that point."

 

"Yeah," Goten agreed, "We wanna get paid! Money instead of pastries and trips to the park!" Trunks smirked at him. "Though I do like pastries...and trips to the park..." and Trunks elbowed him again.

 

"Goddammit," Vegeta sighed. "Fine. Name your price." Trunks mumbled something in his father's ear, and Vegeta's eyes widened. "Absolutely not."

"It'll be worth it," Trunks smirked. "Promise."

 

"It'd better be," Vegeta paced back to his desk, fishing behind it and pulling out a small stack of bills.

 

"Toys!" Goten chirped as Trunks took the money.

 

Trunks thumbed through the bills, and handed the menu to his father. "You'll thank me later," he said as he left, and Goten gave the two Saiyajin one more glance before he followed.

 

 

...

 

 

"Jeez," Bulma rubbed her temples, "I don't believe this. How did he manage it?" She glanced up to find a waiter before her, and handed the menu to him. "Never mind. Can you get Vegeta over here?"

 

"Hm," the waiter frowned, shifting his weight uneasily, "I'm not sure he's present. He has other..."

 

"If I were you," a new voice entered, "I'd do it." Raditsu slid into the booth across from Bulma, snatching the menu back from the waiter's hands.

 

"W-well sir," the waiter stammered, "if-if he's not here, he's simply not here..."

 

"You should get him over here, then," Bulma insisted. "Right now. I'm sure someone in this joint can contact him."

 

"M-ma'am, I know who you are and everything, b-but I'm going to need a reason why—that is—I'm not sure w-w-why I should convey this message, given that—"

 

"Do it," Raditsu growled. "If the woman wants it." He leaned toward the waiter, who bent over to hear him. "Trust me. She can do...things..."

 

"Ah," the waiter nodded, and straightened up. "Well, I'll see what I can do." He turned on his heel and swiveled around the corner briskly.

 

"How'd you do that?" Bulma leaned back, crossing her arms as the corners of her mouth turned up. "I always figured if I can't get something done somewhere, no one can."

 

"Had your help, of course," Raditsu raised his eyebrows, and he glanced over the menu, whistling. "Well, damn. I can see how he beat you at this whole restaurant deal, huh? All I gotta do's see the pictures and know the stuff's good."

 

"Well, being a Saiyajin," Bulma scoffed, "I'm sure you'd think a charred human leg was good."

 

Raditsu considered it, and licked his lips. "Maybe."

 

"Disgusting," she sighed. "So are you seriously going to order something?"

 

"Can't," he grumbled, "no money."

 

"If you're hungry," Bulma rolled her eyes, "which I'm sure you are—I can get you something." She stuck her tongue out, "Though of course it's money going straight into Vegeta's pocket."

 

"You are pretty wealthy, huh?" Raditsu pondered.

 

"Sure. The restaurant deal lost me money, but not a lot. I can make up for it elsewhere, anyway. I just can't believe I lost to Vegeta. I mean—he's not dumb as a rock like Son, but—"

 

"So how come you lost, with all that money?" he glanced over the menu, as if he might suddenly find himself able to read it.

 

Bulma shrugged. "Don't know. Vegeta just topped me, somehow."

 

"I get a feeling," Raditsu leaned across the table as he lowered his voice, "he had a little help. Your brat."

 

"Trunks," Bulma groaned. "I guess that could explain it. He stopped bugging me about 'un-grounding' him. But he must've been pretty sneaky about it," she mused. "The kid's good."

 

"Don't I know it," Raditsu sighed.

 

"I don't know how I'm supposed to compete with you," Bulma sighed, "if Vegeta just runs you out of business."

 

"Hm," Raditsu leaned his head against his palm, elbow on the table. "It's sure coming to that."

 

"Shame," Bulma sighed. "You seemed pretty promising. You know? I never would have thought it would've been you, of all people. I mean—for one thing, I figured it'd be either someone I knew really well—or some total stranger."

 

"You don't count me as a total stranger?" Raditsu blinked, confusion playing across his face in a way that seemed proof enough to Bulma that he and Goku were related.

 

"Nah, I saw you before."

 

"You did?"

 

"Oh, you don't remember me?" Bulma glanced toward the ceiling. "My beautiful face goes unnoticed once more..." She faced Raditsu again. "Sure, I was on that island with Son, when you first showed up."

 

"Son—you mean Kakarrot?"

 

"Yup," she laughed. "I thought you knew. I guess there's no reason for you to have noticed me..."

 

Raditsu shrugged.

 

"You seem a lot of different—than then."

 

"Different times," he sighed. "Different things going on. And Hell," he added. "Especially Hell."

 

"You're a lot—mellower."

 

"Want me to level the building?"

 

"No!" she shrieked, but then smirked. "Well...it wouldn't be such a loss..."

Raditsu chuckled, but grew solemn quickly. "I mean it. Under Freeza, well—I was on his peripheries, a' course. Could do pretty much whatever I wanted as long as the job got done well enough that nobody had reason to look into it. It was great—making a living in blood." He paused. "Well, among other things, y' can't kill people in Hell. And people get lethargic—fights are hard to come by. It's boring. Mostly," the corner of his mouth turned down, "mostly I played cards. This is—well, this is at least more fun. I'd hate to provoke Kakarrot and give him reason to kill me again."

 

"I doubt he would," Bulma shrugged. "Unless you did something really bad. Now Vegeta, you might have to worry about."

 

"Yeah," Raditsu inspected a salt shaker, "already knew that, though. Bad temper even for a Saiyajin. Speaking of which, what were you gonna talk to him about, anyway?"

 

Bulma shrugged. "I never see him these days. I miss arguing with him."

 

"You know who I miss arguing with?"

 

"Who?"

 

"My father," Raditsu smirked. "Crazy guy. Fucked up his brain somehow when he was off-planet."

 

"Bit like Son," Bulma mused.

 

"Bit like him."

 

"He's on his way," the waiter returned, and leaned in to whisper, "taking his sweet time, I might add, but don't tell him I said so." They laughed, and the waiter glanced at Raditsu. "Are...are you ordering something?"

 

"May as well," Raditsu shrugged, and glanced toward Bulma, "if you don't mind—"

 

"No," she waved her hand, "go for it. I'm even richer than I am beautiful, if you'd believe it."

 

Raditsu whistled, winking, and turned to the waiter. "This," he pointed to a picture. "I want this."

 

"A steak?"

 

"Yes. But tell me—how big is it?"

 

"Twelve ounces—"

 

"No, the size, you dimwit."

 

"Er," the waiter made awkward motions with his hands, approximating the dimensions. "Like that, I guess?"

 

"Excellent. Twenty of those, and then about as much of this," he pointed to another picture.

 

"Of...of pie?"

 

"Ah, that's right, that's what it's called. Pie. Yes. Pie is damn good, you know?"

 

"I-I know, sir," the waiter scribbled down the order. "And you're certain that you want this as your order?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Dare I ask what you'd like to drink?"

 

 

...

 

 

"Thanks," Bardock mumbled as King Vegeta set him down.

 

"Yeah, well, I couldn't very well leave you there," he crossed his arms. "You know, he's been worse lately.

 

"Raditsu's gone," Bardock mumbled. "I think that's gotta be it. Nappa used to bother the guy all the time. I think he kinda liked it, to be honest."

 

"Who?"

 

"Raditsu. My son—besides Kakarrot, of course. I dunno, he just went back to life a while back."

 

"Bizarre."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Any idea why?"

 

"Not a one."

 

"Well, he'll be back."

 

"Very true."

 

"In the meantime, though..."

 

"We need some disguises."

 

"Or someplace to hide. My royal guard can't protect us forever, after all."

 

 

...

 

 

"So Vegeta suggested I make a wish."

 

"On the dragon's balls?"

 

Bulma chortled. "Yeah, all seven of 'em."

 

Raditsu raised his eyebrows. "Guess I never met a dragon, but..."

 

"You know I'm kidding," Bulma snickered. "They're not testicles."

 

"Oh," Raditsu blinked, "yes, of course, that would be ridiculous. Over-the-top. Baffling, and completely unbelievable, I mean, the preservation of—"

 

"So I did it, and I guess it had to have been you, if there really was that store with your name on it and everything—"

 

"Fucking dragon," Raditsu mumbled. "Probably knew I'd tank, too, and just did it to get both our hopes up, huh?"

 

"Shenlong's not exactly kind and patient," Bulma shrugged, "but I never knew him to out-and-out not grant a wish."

 

"Well, he did it this time. I doubt I'll last more than another week or two if Vegeta and Kakarrot keep up like this."

 

Bulma frowned. "Jeez. Yeah...wow. Sorry that had to happen to you. I mean, the last thing I'd have planned for would be for Vegeta to even stand a chance at competing with—" she froze, and then her face melted into a smirk. "Shenlong, you sly dog."

 

"Dragon," Raditsu corrected her, "I thought."

 

"No, no, no—I was always meant to compete with Vegeta," she grinned. "But we needed you to make some waves before he could have his chance."

 

"Story of my life," Raditsu sighed.

 

"You know what that means?" Bulma leaned forward across the table, and Raditsu bored his gaze into her forehead for fear that if it strayed any lower it would fall too low.

 

"No," he shrunk away, and reached out to grab some remaining gristle from his plate to nibble on.

 

"You and me, Raditsu, can work together and pound Son's and Vegeta's sorry asses into the ground!"

 

"Is that so?" Vegeta rounded the corner, Goku at his heels.

 

Bulma stood, and, after Raditsu followed her lead, extended one hand to him. The Saiyajin turned to Vegeta momentarily, smirking, and then grabbed Bulma's hand, shaking it.

 

"Let's get out of this dump," Bulma threw her bag over her shoulder. Raditsu spat on one of his plates, chuckled, and pushed past Goku, leaving alongside the blue-haired woman.

 

"H-hey!" Goku shouted after them. "You didn't pay!"

 

As he and Bulma strode out the door, Raditsu tossed his middle finger into the air.

 

"Don't worry about it, Kakarrot," Vegeta smirked. "They don't stand a chance."