Sylvester Sweet was intently worried about the integrity of his cowboy boot. Under its sole was a quivering middle-aged man, clawing at the brown leather, his head only a yard or so above a rushing flow of water, spewing straight towards the Grand Line. With so much frantic movement, there was a serious concern the footwear might be damaged beyond repair.
“Please!” the man shouted, for what was something like the umpteenth time. “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you, pick me up! Save me!”
Finally, the cowboy’s supposed informant relented. Sylvester freed his boot from the man’s throat and pulled him up from the water, letting him catch his breath while he studied his boot for any notable scuffs. Standing from his knees, wiping the snot from his nose, the man tried to make himself presentable following that pitiful display of courage. It didn’t do much for his image. Glancing back down towards his boot, Sylvester noted a linear mark near the heel. This information had better be worth it.
“You said you’d tell me,” Sylvester said, standing straight up to meet the informant in the eye. “Time and place. Then, you get to roam free, Mr. Thane,” he reminded.
Wobal Thane wrung his hands tight, forcibly laughing as if he’d heard a bad pun rather than a serious deal for his life. “You see, Mr. Sweet, sir. I don’t think you understand how serious Asa Dufort is, exactly. Trying to interrupt her business dealings is akin to a death wish. Surely, you and your fine men wouldn’t want something like that. I can offer you any number of weapons! Treasure chests full of beli! Pirates love that sort of thing, don’t they? No need for you to get all tangled up in that mess.”
Sylvester groaned. Dealing with snakes back on the ranch wasn’t much fun, even as a kid, and they weren’t any more enjoyable to deal with as a pirate. Sylvester lurched forward and took hold of the guys face, spreading his fingers across the guy’s skull and forcing him to his knees. “A filthy, grimy little weapons smuggler shouldn’t be talking about my ambitions, about what my crew and I want for the world. If the next words out of your mouth aren’t what I’m looking for, you’re going to be very sorry.”
“Ah… Ah! Okay. I get it!”
“Wrong answer!”
“Underneath the museum! Midnight tonight! Everyone’s sneaking inside the basement tonight at midnight! Please, please!”
“Now wasn't that a relief? To just have a neat, simple conversation? Question and response, right?” Sylvester asked, elated he finally had his answer to the question he’d been asking all week. “As much as I appreciate your cooperation,” he continued, squeezing tighter on the man’s skull to keep him in place. “I simply despise loose ends.”
Whipping out Trust with his other hand, Sylvester plunged a bullet into Robal Thane’s chest and cast him off the edge of the island. A neat ending to what had surely been a very messy life.
Sylvester walked away from the edge and returned his sidearm to his side. It was only the beginning of the next story of his own.
“Please!” the man shouted, for what was something like the umpteenth time. “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you, pick me up! Save me!”
Finally, the cowboy’s supposed informant relented. Sylvester freed his boot from the man’s throat and pulled him up from the water, letting him catch his breath while he studied his boot for any notable scuffs. Standing from his knees, wiping the snot from his nose, the man tried to make himself presentable following that pitiful display of courage. It didn’t do much for his image. Glancing back down towards his boot, Sylvester noted a linear mark near the heel. This information had better be worth it.
“You said you’d tell me,” Sylvester said, standing straight up to meet the informant in the eye. “Time and place. Then, you get to roam free, Mr. Thane,” he reminded.
Wobal Thane wrung his hands tight, forcibly laughing as if he’d heard a bad pun rather than a serious deal for his life. “You see, Mr. Sweet, sir. I don’t think you understand how serious Asa Dufort is, exactly. Trying to interrupt her business dealings is akin to a death wish. Surely, you and your fine men wouldn’t want something like that. I can offer you any number of weapons! Treasure chests full of beli! Pirates love that sort of thing, don’t they? No need for you to get all tangled up in that mess.”
Sylvester groaned. Dealing with snakes back on the ranch wasn’t much fun, even as a kid, and they weren’t any more enjoyable to deal with as a pirate. Sylvester lurched forward and took hold of the guys face, spreading his fingers across the guy’s skull and forcing him to his knees. “A filthy, grimy little weapons smuggler shouldn’t be talking about my ambitions, about what my crew and I want for the world. If the next words out of your mouth aren’t what I’m looking for, you’re going to be very sorry.”
“Ah… Ah! Okay. I get it!”
“Wrong answer!”
“Underneath the museum! Midnight tonight! Everyone’s sneaking inside the basement tonight at midnight! Please, please!”
“Now wasn't that a relief? To just have a neat, simple conversation? Question and response, right?” Sylvester asked, elated he finally had his answer to the question he’d been asking all week. “As much as I appreciate your cooperation,” he continued, squeezing tighter on the man’s skull to keep him in place. “I simply despise loose ends.”
Whipping out Trust with his other hand, Sylvester plunged a bullet into Robal Thane’s chest and cast him off the edge of the island. A neat ending to what had surely been a very messy life.
Sylvester walked away from the edge and returned his sidearm to his side. It was only the beginning of the next story of his own.