Montagne Khastil - Unranked - June 17th - Coumarine Port, Kalos
The criminals watched Wabash's approach from outside the warehouse, Oracle at Monty's side and he at his superiors'. All four of them glared at the approaching vessel, and Michel bristled with a quiet animosity that Monty didn't see often. With how friendly they were and how often Cormier paired them up for jobs, Monty had almost forgotten that the old man was the first lieutenant, the second in command, and if any matter demanded the second in command to resolve it was this.
Wabash took his sweet time docking, his old white and blue ship moving at an impossibly slow pace that exascerbated the ire of the three men assembled to meet him. First the shithead dropped a timebomb on them over the phone, and now it was like he kept pausing the timer to increase the suspense. Most people they dealt with were usually smart enough not to keep them waiting, but maybe so long at sea finally waterlogged the old codger's brain.
Monty got the same uneasy feeling as he did during the Pokemon shipment, and he noticed that the typically-bustling deck was eerily empty. There were no shiphands. The criminal recalled Wabash's story from ten days ago; that his hired hands turned out to be former Galactic grunts with Interpol on their asses. Did the same thing happen? Or did Wabash get spooked away from hiring shiphands in the first place?
Monty glanced down to Oracle, who was scratching at the cobblestones out of what seemed to be anxiety. Her fur was ruffled and her glare intensified as the ship approached, and her trainer wondered again if it was her disaster sense at work. Then again, maybe it was just the ship specifically, since she'd spent a probable week aboard it locked inside her cage. A pang of...something gripped Monty for a second, a feeling he wasn't used to; guilt. It was gone as quick as it appeared, though, and he pushed it aside as he refocused on the task at hand.
The ship finally stopped next to the cobblestone dock, and Michel declared, "Monty, Antoine, anchor the ship then come up to the helm." The old beaux voyou jumped across to the deck, his heavy boots planting firmly onto the wet steel, and continued, "I'm heading up to chat with our friend here."
Monty and Antoine exchanged a look, and the senior said, "You heard the man." He followed Michel across to the deck, scooping up a mass of ropes in his arms and tossing them across to Monty, who caught them and skillfully knotted them to the dock anchors. "Secured," Monty confirmed, and alighted onto the deck beside Antoine.
"Come on, Oracle," Monty said, waving his hand to coax the Absol onto the ship, but she crouched low to the ground with the spine-aligned fur standing upright. "Alright! Alright!" Her trainer groaned as he was subject to the fullest extent of her Pressure, having to resist the ability or else slip on the slick deck from the increased weight. "Just stay there, then!"
"Guess you weren't lying when you said she's a pain in the ass," Antoine commented, turning to the stairs which led up into the helm. "Come on, let's join the old man." Monty followed after him, and as the pair climbed up a fury of shouts erupted from the open door.
"YOU'RE GONNA SCREW US, WABASH?!" Monty had never heard Michel so angry before. Antoine paled at the sound of their superior's shouting, and quickened his pace up the steps.
"WHO DO YE THINK YER TALKING TO?!" Wabash sounded equally infuriated.
Monty and Antoine reached the door and rushed in to join their comrade, who slugged Wabash across the chin with a heavy right hook. Michel's bulk wasn't just for show, and Wabash fell backward into his control console as Antoine latched onto the lieutenant's back. "Miche, calm down!" He shouted, and Monty joined him in pulling Michel back.
"We had a deal, shipments every couple weeks!" Michel retorted, thrashing against his subordinates' grips as Wabash struggled to his feet. The old sailor had a wild look in his eye, like a cornered animal, and he spit blood at Michel as he shouted, "And how long have I honored it?!"
"Not long enough," Michel growled, and Antoine pushed himself between the inflamed men. Always one to be trusted to keep a cool head, the olive-skinned man tried to diffuse the situation. "Miche, Wabash knows what's good for him," he said, his gaze flipping between his comrade and the sailor, "So he wouldn't try to end our arrangement without good reason. Let's hear what he has to say."
"I ain't got nothing to say now!" Wabash shouted, his weathered face shaking from anger. Or was it something else? His eyes were still wild, frantic, and Monty recognized something swirling behind the rage: fear. He thought back to the night he got Oracle on the ship, and suddenly the look in Wabash's eyes and the absence of shiphands clicked.
"He's not ending the contract because he wants to," Monty declared, piercing Wabash with a steely gaze. The sailor's brow furrowed, and Monty continued, "He's ending it because Interpol's on his ass."
The statement hung in the air like fog. Antoine paled again, Michel looked confused, and the three beaux voyous looked to Wabash, who's rage seemed to dissipate as it was replaced by an uncomfortable shame. "Aye, the lad's right," the sailor finally admitted, prompting a series of curses from Michel and shock from Antoine.
"Since the delivery on the 8th, right?" Monty asked, but Wabash shook his head.
"I don't think so, laddie, but they'll be sniffing after me soon enough," the sailor sighed. "My hirelings that Interpol picked up must have squealed for a lighter sentence, so at least I've been on their radar. That shipment came from Sinnoh, but this one came from Unova. I had to stop off at a port in Sinnoh for fuel, a risk I thought would be fine to take, but I saw one of the grunts hanging around the fueling station." Wabash scowled and shook his head as he continued, "Only he saw me too, and he ran off in a real hurry. I didn't leave with a tail, by sky or by sea, but the job's getting too hot for me now. I need to lie low for a few months."
The three beaux voyous were stunned by the revelation. Michel seemed deep in thought, stroking his beard as he mulled over Wabash's words, and Antoine seemed like he was trying to figure out if he heard the sailor correctly. "So it can't be helped then," Michel said finally, and apologized for punching Wabash. The captain made a dismissive gesture and said it came with the territory, and he grabbed a clipboard off the control panel and handed it to Michel.
"This here's the manifest," Wabash explained begrudgingly. "Two crates of counterfeit Pokedexes, preloaded with most Pokemon in the NationalDex, a crate of assorted PC-compatible Poke Balls, and a crate of X-Stat boosters. Should give you the upper hand while you're training up those 'mon from the last shipment."
"Thank you, Wabash," Michel said, reaching out to shake the sailor's hand for what could have been the final time. "We had a good run."
"Aye, we did," The codger agreed, returning the gesture. "But in our work, it catches up sometime."
"Sooner or later," Michel chuckled before instructing Monty and Antoine to get the crates loaded up into the truck. With Wabash catching heat from Interpol, the sooner they parted ways the better.
