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.