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sylvanfreckles · 3 years

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Broken Bones (FebuWhump 16)

Fandom: The Witcher Summary: Having freed Jaskier from the inn's cellar, Geralt takes him to safety to rest and recover. Danger is on their heels, however, and Geralt still might be too late to save his friend.

(Sequel to Imprisoned)

* * *

The main room of the inn was practically aglow with the midday sun compared to the darkness of its cellar, though Geralt's eyes had no trouble adjusting. He paused at the top of the steps while Jaskier squinted into the light, however, to let the bard adjust to both the brightness of the day outside and the release from his imprisonment.

They'd been supposed to meet at this inn—though Geralt hadn't realized it was so disreputable—a few days before, but Geralt had been detained thanks to an injury on a hunt. He'd arrived to find the innkeeper and his thuggish companion had beaten Jaskier and locked him in the cellar, and mostly likely robbed him as well.

The thug was nowhere to be seen. He'd tried to get in between Geralt and the cellar and Geralt had caught him by the wrist and simply kept twisting until he heard a satisfying crack. The innkeeper, however, was still behind the counter, looking like he couldn't decide between swinging a club at Geralt, pissing himself, or making a break for it.

Geralt gently escorted Jaskier over to one of the long wooden benches near the hearth and sat him down, giving the bard's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Jaskier caught his sleeve. “I don't want to stay here,” he pleaded. Geralt couldn't blame him—the man had been left to go cold and hungry, bound to a rack of kegs, waiting for whatever uncertain fate the innkeeper had in store for him.

“We won't,” Geralt replied, keeping his voice low and his eyes on the innkeeper. “What did he take from you?”

“I don't care about the money, let's just go.”

“Jaskier.”

The bard heaved a weary sigh. “Eight crowns? Maybe a little more? My room...I don't know what they did with my lute.”

Geralt grunted. He squeezed Jaskier's shoulder again and gently extricated his sleeve from his friend's grasp. Then he schooled his features into what Jaskier always called his “Witcher Face” and stalked over to the innkeeper, the fury he was barely keeping in check alive in every muscle.

“S-sir,” the innkeeper stammered. “We was just...he couldn't pay his bill, a-and the alderman-”

“No.” Geralt slammed his hand on the counter, hard enough that the inkwell toppled over and the innkeeper took a few frightened steps back. By the sudden scent of ammonia in the air, it looked like he'd chosen to piss himself instead of run or fight. Good. “I've seen your little game before. The other man that was here, the scarred one. He had a tattoo,” Geralt drew a line with his finger over his right eye. “You work for the press-gangs.”

It was a nasty business. The press-gangs got around some of the laws against slavery by claiming their indentured workers were there to work off a debt. It sounded good on the surface—a man who'd gambled too much or taken a loss on his property could work a few years in a mine or on the road works to pay back his creditors—but like so many things it had gotten twisted. Most of what Geralt had seen were men and women, and even children, forced into heavy labor for exaggerated or nonexistent debts.

“Give me his money,” Geralt demanded.

The innkeeper was shaking his head. “S-sir, he was our guest for five days, w-we deserve some-”

Geralt slammed his hand against the counter again. This time the scarred wood gave an alarming groan, like one more blow would crack it. The innkeeper swallowed, then rummaged around beneath the counter and shakily counted out five Redanian crowns.

“All of it,” Geralt growled. Another swallow. The odor pouring off the innkeeper shifted a bit, as though he'd soiled himself as well. Then shaking hands laid five more crowns on the counter.

Geralt swept the coins into his pocket. “His belongings?”

“Th-the stable,” the innkeeper jerked his head toward the door. “We've no one to sell to until Pas...until the peddler comes through. Check the barrels.”

Turning on his heel, Geralt walked back over to his friend's side. “Can you walk?” Much as Jaskier—and Geralt—wanted to be out of this place, he wouldn't endanger his friend's safety. When the bard nodded he slowly guided him back to his feet and wrapped one of Jaskier's arms around his shoulder.

“I'm sorry I was late,” Geralt said when they'd made the relative safety of the stable. He left Jaskier leaning against the feedbox while he went about preparing Roach for travel and searching the barrels for his friend's belongings. There were only a few things—his lute, some clothing, a few toiletry items—and he carefully packed those in his own saddlebags.

“You beat Pascar here,” Jaskier replied, wearily. “That's most important.”

“Pascar?”

“They said,” Jaskier waved his hand toward the inn, winced, and rested it against his side while he fought to catch his breath. “He was supposed to be here in a day or so. Collecting workers for the salt mines.”

Geralt had the sudden urge to go back in and run the innkeeper through, but he ignored that in favor of adjusting Roach's saddle and brushing a soothing hand down her shoulder. She was agitated because he was agitated, and all three of them would feel a lot better leaving this town behind them. He gestured to Jaskier and the bard shuffled over to them to be hoisted up into the saddle. Geralt climbed up in front of him and clicked his tongue at Roach to start her moving.

Jaskier groaned a little at the jolt and leaned forward to rest his body against Geralt's. The witcher didn't mind—Jaskier was a tactile creature, and if a little physical closeness would help drive away the demons of the last few days then Geralt would be happy to offer it.

During his recovery from his own injury, Geralt had sheltered in a ruined barn about half a day's ride from this thrice-damned inn. That would suit them enough for a day or two, until Jaskier was recovered enough for a longer trip.

The bard gave another moan and huddled closer, and when Geralt risked a glance he could just see his friend's head resting against his shoulder. Geralt reached back and patted Jaskier's knee. “Just don't fall off, all right?”

* * *

It was well past dusk when they reached the barn. Geralt had left a stash of kindling behind for the next traveler who needed shelter, so he easily built a fire while Jaskier tried to make himself comfortable against the half-rotted timbers.

He didn't have the heart to complain about the dirt on his clothes or the ratty blanket Geralt tried to tuck around him. Between the throbbing in his side and the ache in his belly, he was altogether miserable.

They hadn't stopped for a meal, but Geralt had forced a few field rations into him. They weren't the easiest things to digest after over a day without food, but it was better than waiting for a hot meal back at that inn.

Jaskier shivered, tucking his arms more closely around himself. If there had been some reason—if he'd insulted someone, or dallied with the wrong woman, or actually left his bill unpaid, he might have understood the attack. But to be assaulted, beaten, tied in a cellar, left to rot until the mine's foreman came around to collect, all at someone's whim?

If Geralt had been even a day later....

There was a hand on his knee. Jaskier shook himself out of his thoughts and tried to muster a smile as he looked up. “Geralt?”

The witcher's face was pinched with concern. “We need more firewood for the night,” he explained. “There are plenty of rabbits here, too, I thought I might snare a few for supper.”

Jaskier's heart clenched. He was being ridiculous—they were miles away from the town by now, and no one would have followed an angry witcher. He had no reason to be afraid of being left alone here. “I'm all right,” he tried to reassure his friend.

Geralt frowned, but he gave Jaskier's knee a gentle squeeze and rose to his feet. “I won't be far. Give a shout if you need me.”

To his horror, tears prickled behind Jaskier's eyes. He wasn't an infant, dammit! He had been terrified, yes, but he was safe now. He nodded and ducked his head, pretending to adjust the blanket around him. That cellar had been far too cold, and even now he could feel the chill in his bones.

His hand brushed over his side and he sucked in a breath, flinching back. Geralt had poked and prodded and declared it nothing worse than a few bruises and scrapes—deep bruises, to be sure, but nothing broken, thank the gods.

The leaves rustled and the timbers around him creaked. Jaskier shivered and tried to scoot closer to the flames, fighting down the unease he felt at being alone. He hadn't originally planned on traveling with Geralt for long, but now he hoped the witcher wouldn't mind his company for a bit more time.

There was movement at the edge of the firelight. Jaskier squinted and shadowed his eyes with his hand, trying to compensate for the glare in his face. “Geralt?”

A shadowy figure drew closer, though it wasn't shaped right to be Geralt. Then a branch in the fire cracked, sending a shower of sparks upward, and for one, heart-stopping second the all-too-familiar face of the scarred man from the inn was visible.

Jaskier's breath caught in his chest, then he was struggling out of the blanket as the man rushed at him. He started to call for help but a heavy weight slammed into him and a meaty palm was clapped over his mouth.

“This must be my lucky day,” the scarred man snarled. “Your little friend broke my arm, so I'm gonna break every bone in your scrawny little body.”

The bard tried to thrash himself free, aiming a blow at the scarred man's injured arm, which he had strapped against his chest. Fingers tightened around his jaw and his head was slammed against the ground.

Stars exploded in his vision and his limbs went slack. Jaskier tried to roll away from the scarred man, but a cruel hand caught his wrist and twisted it up behind his back. “Scream for him,” the scarred man whispered, one foot heavy on Jaskier's back.

Jaskier whimpered through his teeth as the scarred man's weight forced the air out of his lungs. He couldn't have screamed if he'd wanted to, as the position put too much pressure on his bruised ribs for him to draw in a breath.

Then the scarred man gave another savage twist and something in Jaskier's forearm gave with a snap and he suddenly had the breath to scream.

* * *

Geralt didn't hesitate. When he heard Jaskier scream he dropped the armful of wood he'd gathered and charged into the barn, drawing his sword as he did. He pulled up short, eyeing the scarred man who stood with one foot on Jaskier's back, the bard's arm bent back at an awkward angle.

“I knew I should have killed you,” Geralt growled. The man's eyes had a feverish light, no doubt whatever potions he'd taken to combat the pain of his broken arm were affecting his mind.

“You broke something of mine,” the scarred man snarled. He shifted so that his foot was on Jaskier's shoulder and moved his hand up to grab the bard's index finger. “Now I break something of yours.”

“Don't-” Geralt took a step forward, but the scarred man gave a wrench and twisted his body one way, his foot the other, and Jaskier screamed again as his finger gave under the pressure.

The scarred man was panting, fumbling for Jaskier's middle finger next. “Do you know how many bones there are in the human body?” he asked. “I've never heard of anyone breaking them all, but I'm willing to be the first.”

“If you harm him further,” Geralt warned, but the scarred man's eyes were alight with madness and he twisted again. Jaskier's screams gave way to ragged sobs, his body going limp beneath his captor.

Geralt steadied his grip on his sword. “You're dead,” he told the scarred man.

The man actually laughed, dropping Jaskier's arm to aim a savage stomp at his back, where his ribs connected to his spine. “I can't even feel my arm,” he chortled, slapping himself on his wounded limb. “What could you possibly do to me?”

He was across the floor of the barn in one, fluid motion, the point of his sword driving easily into the scarred man's chest. The man gave a small hiccup of surprise and stared blankly down at the hilt protruding from his ribs.

“I don't...feel it,” he muttered before his eyes rolled back in his head and he started to collapse. Geralt kicked the corpse away before it could land on Jaskier and dropped to his knees to gently roll his friend over. Jaskier immediately curled around his injured arm and hand, his breath coming out in little pained moans.

“Let me see it, Jaskier,” Geralt urged gently. “The sooner we set it the less it will hurt. Let me see.” It took some coaxing, but Jaskier uncurled enough to let Geralt prod at the wound.

“Your fingers are just dislocated,” Geralt said, after a careful inspection. “But this is a break, here, above your wrist.”

During the examination, Jaskier had pushed himself up to lean against Geralt, as though to soak up warmth and strength from his friend. Geralt wrapped one arm behind the bard's back and gently ran his hand up a down his spine, pausing over the sharp swellings that indicated damage to his ribs. “I think your arm is the worst,” he finally said. “These feel like fractures.”

Two dislocated fingers, a broken arm, and three fractured ribs. It could have been so much worse...but it was bad enough.

Jaskier didn't reply, merely turning his face into Geralt's shoulder as the witcher gently grasped his wrist and elbow to tug the break in his arm back into alignment. “Stay here, I need to make a splint.”

He gently pushed the bad away from him and waited until Jaskier met his eyes and nodded, then hurried to his saddlebags to retrieve the bandages and salve he carried for his less serious wounds.

His fingers needed to be straightened and realigned, then splinted together. They would heal easily enough, and Jaskier wouldn't lose any mobility, thankfully. Then another, sturdier splint for the break in his arm, which Geralt then strapped across his chest for stability.

“Jaskier,” Geralt cupped the bard's face in both hands, waiting until weary blue eyes focused on him. “I'm going to drag the body out of sight and get the firewood I dropped, then I'll be back. We'll leave at first light; the inn at the ferry landing isn't too far.” He could send one of the soldiers from the landing back for the scarred man's body, it would keep for a day or two.

He waited until Jaskier nodded, then pushed to his feet. “I'll be back in a moment,” he reassured his friend. If Roach hadn't needed the rest he would have struck out even in the dark, relying on his own senses to guide them safely.

And if, when he returned from his tasks, he let the bard curl against his side for a few hours fitful sleep, what did that matter. He'd been too late too many times already...he wouldn't risk leaving his friend in danger again.

* * *

Yes, I hurt Jaskier again, but as promised in the “Imprisoned” entry I also gave him some Geralt-snuggles.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday16 #broken bones #the witcher #fic #fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #sequel to day 3 #hurt/comfort #jaskier whump #hurt jaskier #protective geralt

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blazingopus · 3 years

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Green Haze - Golden Wind

This story ended up much darker than I had intended. It was very difficult for me to write in some places. Drawing from detective noir can do that sometimes. For the squeamish of you (and this is in no way a judgement), I will list the parts where there is body horror in bold. Please enjoy.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3LZDJ6gWi5HP2P2YCMTcn1?si=A4Kncm8JR_mkOdszS7TCww

You're a private investigator taking photos of someone who spots what you are doing. What happens next?

Napoli, and all of Italia for that matter, is ruled by The Famiglia. A complex web of businessmen, smugglers, politicians, assassins, drug peddlers, hustlers, bookkeepers, and every other role a mafioso could fill. Money acquired legally and illegally is funneled throughout the web, funding the various operations and front businesses. And pulling all the strings from the shadows is the illusive Boss, hiding his identity to preserve his life and keep control over all of Italia. He hears all, sees all. Little happens in the Famiglia without the Boss knowing at least in passing. This is the Empire called Passione. At least, this is what I hear when dealing in the underground.

I am a private investigator. I am paid large sums of money to investigate things that the police cannot, or will not, touch with their pristine hands. I say this, knowing that most of the police are in bed with corrupt politicians. The same politicians working closely, or at the very least taking bribes from Passione.

I only know this because I was in the police force for a few years myself. I saw first hand what went on behind closed doors. They say they want law and order. They say that they want to protect people. They say that they serve the citizens of Napoli. Lies. Nothing but lies. Most who join the force are corrupted by the system and the people. The few who do not leave of their own accord or are forced out.

Morality is a funny thing. Philosophers, authors, religious figures, and other thinkers have debated and formed their own frameworks to understand it. All of which are very different. But there are some basic ideas that most people tend to agree on. Killing innocents is bad. Stealing is bad. Lying is bad. Usually. There are more shades of grey to it all than an overcast sky. And many are willing to throw it all away for their own gain.

I walked away from all of it. The corruption, the lies, the posturing, the cutthroat environment. I was done with it all. I took the skills I had learned as a police officer and went into business for myself. You see, when the world is stripped of morals and decency, there are few things of value: Money. Information. Sex. Sometimes drugs, depending on how you felt that day. And the occasional organ. Of these, information became my currency. I procure information you want, for a price. Unlike the information brokers of Passione, I work on the street, I take the photos, and I steal the evidence. I can provide some of the most incriminating, career ending, reputation ruining information that the brokers would spend millions of Liras for. That is, if I were to sell it to them.

I don't work for Passione, and I have only worked with a few members. Poor souls. They had such ambitions of righting the wrongs, undoing the injustices from the inside. All of them ended up dead soon after their last visit to my office. Seems that the Boss doesn't much like members of his Famiglia trying to undo everything he had worked for.

It was a few days ago when another poor soul asked for my services. An up and coming politician with bright eyes and a noble heart. After being elected to a local office, he had found the government was as corrupted as any other. He was on a valiant quest to rid all he could of the "evil" out of Napoli. I told him that most do not survive that silly quest of his. He replied saying that, 'He would be one of the few who did, and bring some decency to his fair city.' He owed it to the people who elected him into office. I could tell he was a stubborn man, hellbent on his sacred duty. All I could do was shake my head and accept the upfront fee from him. How naïve he was.

Among some other things, he wanted me to look into a young man named Bruno Buccellati. The valiant knight had concerns about where Buccellati stood, since he liked to keep a low profile. While he was a mafioso, he was in good standing with the people of his territory and was a trusted right hand man to Polpo, the capo of Napoli. He suspected that Buccellati was either a noble individual like himself, or was playing nice to everyone to get an advantage. I told him it didn't matter either way.

I spent a couple of days getting a feel for his regular haunts. The people who lived and worked in his territory had a favorable view of him, but were somewhat protective of him. I was able to get more information out of them when I told them that he had helped me not too long ago, and was wanting to repay his kindness. Many said he would not accept any gifts or rewards, but wished me good luck. I didn't need it, but it was appreciated.

Buccellati moved around a lot, completing assignments from Polpo and maintaining the businesses under his jurisdiction. He did however, favor a particular restaurant. He tended to have small meetings there once a week or so with the team he was building. Such things were not uncommon in Passione. Many higher ranking mafiosi had a team of trusted few to help with whatever they were up to. It was a crucial part of the structure of the Familgia, and most teams were extremely independent. It was important that teams did not know of each other, so that separate operations could be conducted without interference or information leaking. At least, that was the intention. For some, it didn't matter how independent or how secretive a team was. Once they gained a certain level of status and notoriety, no matter how careful and secretive they were, word got around about their exploits. The only exception, of course, was the Boss.

The strange thing was, of the two people Buccellati had on his team, both were under the age of 18 and both had criminal records. Pannacota Fugo had allegedly murdered a teacher of his, and had a genius level IQ. If Buccellati played his cards right, he might make Fugo a crucial member of Passione. Narancia Ghirga was a different story. He had ran with gangs most of his younger years and only committed petty theft. From all I could gather, I could not understand why Buccellati had put him on his team. He had no outstanding qualities that I could find. The boy hadn't had an education in years, and had no particular skills.

There wasn't much else I could do now. I had been watching the restaurant for the past few days. I did a little snooping around the restaurant itself, and I found that Buccellati had made a reservation for tomorrow at noon. Four top. If I had to make a guess, he might be recruiting a new member or making some sort of deal. I would have to wait and see.

I made sure I look the part. The goal is to get a good look at Buccellati and his team. Take a few pictures. Start collecting some information about them. In order to accomplish this, I decided to dress a little casual chic. I was playing the role of a photographer for a travel magazine, getting some pictures of the local shops and the people in their natural state. It was important that the magazine had some candid photos along with the glamorized landscapes and reused building shots. At least, that was what I would use as an alibi.

I set up across from the restaurant at a quaint cafe with outdoor seating in the front. I had previously asked the owner if it was alright if I took a few pictures, and he let me eat free for the publicity. He didn't ask many questions. It was ten till noon, and the lunch rush was ramping up.

From what people told me, Buccellati had a few defining features. Piercing blue eyes. Dark hair cut in a severe bob. Pair of gold clips to adorn said bob. Suit with strange poke-a-dot pattern. Exposed chest with a tattoo or lace undershirt, no one could tell for sure. For someone who was so skilled at keeping a low profile, he was damn good at standing out from the crowd.

My eye caught someone entering the restaurant. Blue, hair, gold, pattern, chest thing. That must be him. I watched him talk to the host, who led him to a table right in front of a nearby window. My lucky day. At the table, I could see two other individuals, both looked to be young. These were most likely Fugo and Naranchia. They matched the descriptions I had come across earlier.

I was still watching the customers coming and going. Buccellati would not have reserved a four top if he was not expecting another person. Who that person was, I had no idea. A male walked in that made me pause for a minute. It was not his attire, which was also very distinct. Pale hair and skin deeply contrasted by his dark and broody clothing. It was the fact that it gave me a strong feeling of deja-vu. I didn't think it was a past client, or a past target. It went farther back than that, into the past I wanted to forget.

I took a sip of my water and made myself focus again. Fortunately for me, the mysterious man joined Buccellati at his table. He was lucky number four. It took about an hour and a half for them to order, eat, and discuss their business. The entire time, I was taking notes for one of the articles I was writing. At least, that is what I told the cafe owner. I was making note of particular ticks or quirks they had in their movements and speech patterns. I was also able to get a few pictures of them, but the main photos I was wanting would have to be taken as they left the restaurant.

I put my stuff in my bag when I saw they were beginning to wrap up. I left my camera hanging around my neck. I watched Buccellati pay the bill. The four of them stood up. They moved to the front of the building. I moved the camera to my face. I snapped a few photos as they came out the front door.

My heart stopped.

The last one out was the mysterious man. I finally remembered him. Abbacchio. He was one of the victims of the cruel justice system. I was coming to the end of my time in the police when I heard the news of his departure. He had made a hard decision, and it didn't pay off for him. I had worked close with him on some assignments, but I had not seen him since...

His deep purple eyes met mine through the lens. Deep. Accusing. Damn it. Why did I hesitate? I lowered the camera, keeping eye contact with him. His eyes bore into me. They were full of distrust and suspicion. Did he recognize me? Had he caught on to what I was doing?

Abbacchio finally broke eye contact with me, slowly walking away. I let our the breath I didn't know I was holding. I didn't know what his next action was going to be, but I needed to get the hell out of there. Damn it! How could I have been so reckless? So stupid? I could have just compromised everything. I put my camera in my bag and told the waiter my thanks.

I walked briskly toward the nearest train station. While it would be much more convenient to own a car, such a thing was dangerous. Cars can be tracked via licence plate, or could identify my apartment if someone should see me on assignment. That means my options for transportation are limited. Taxis would be faster, but I can blend into the crowds and loose people easier that way. If it all plays out properly.

When I reached the station, I bought a ticket and waited to board. I stood in the crowd, watching around me for anyone from Buccellati's team, or anyone else suspicious. I stepped on the train and found a seat. No one of note came on board. I spent the train ride anxious, my mind racing. Would Abbacchio do anything? Would they hunt me down? I could handle myself well enough, but the members of Passione were dangerous individuals. If they did, I probably wouldn't live through it. But this is what I signed up for when I took up this line of work. This is all my own doing.

The train came to a slow stop. I stood up and stepped onto the street. Heading straight home would be stupid. It would be better to head to the office first, where there would be people to witness anything that might happen. I walked over a block or two to the building where my office was located. I entered and unlocked the door. Inside was the same as I had left it. The heavy wooden desk sat in the back of the room with a chair to match. In front were two large chairs. I picked them out especially because they were very, very uncomfortable. I didn't want people staying longer than they had to, and having comfortable chairs just encouraged people to linger. It was important with the kinds of people I deal with.

I picked up the few documents I had sitting on my desk and stuffed them in my bag. They weren't of great importance, but I could not afford to leave any sort of evidence out. After most of my assignments, if I didn't think they would be useful I burned most of the information I had collected. I didn't want any evidence pointing to me if something got out. I usually didn't need it anyway. There were a few exceptions, though. I had a few safes in my apartment containing very valuable information that might come in handy one day. Don't know when, but you never know when you need to expose someone, or blackmail them, or call in a favor.

I straightened up the place before I left again. Speaking of calling in favors, if shit hits the fan, I might have to do that. Working in the professions I have, you get to know the right people, or the wrong people that need a favor. I didn't want to cash my chips in just yet, but I didn't know how all this would play out. I might not even have time to call in the first place. I have to be damn careful.

I locked the door and headed out onto the street, looking for a cab. My apartment was a bit away from my office. While I would have liked to be able to walk home every day, I didn't want anyone following me home that easily. I hailed a cab down and gave the driver directions.

As soon as I got home, I set the several locks on my reinforced door. Some may say I am paranoid, but that paranoia has kept me alive through some pretty bad scrapes. I quickly changed out of my clothes, throwing on a tank top and sweatpants. If they come for me tonight, I at least want to be comfortable. I then went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. It wasn't the first time I was going to miss out on a lot of sleep. I will have to keep up throughout the night.

I reached into a kitchen drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I needed something to calm my nerves. I hate smoking and would have much preferred alcohol. Alcohol makes me sleepy, and being able to aim is important if hell breaks loose. Nicotine would have to do instead. I took out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling the sickening smoke. Stale, this pack was getting old. I would have to pick up a new one soon.

I went back into my bedroom, opening up the top drawer of my bedside table. I took the two pistols I kept in there and checked the clips inside. I turned off the safety and stuck one in the waistband of my pants, feeling it settle against my spine. I picked up the extra clips I kept as well, putting two in my bra and sticking the rest in my pockets.

I went to the kitchen and grabbed one of my kitchen chairs, dragging it in front of my door. I poured myself a cup of coffee. I walked over to my chair and sat in it backwards. Pistol in my right hand, coffee in my left, cigarette in my mouth. I waited throughout the night with my eyes trained on the door, waiting for anything to go wrong.

The night passed to morning, and the time passed in silence. The sun rose on a new day. I was still alive and unharmed, for now at least. I rose from my seat and quickly showered. I hit myself with the cold water to wake myself up again. I tiredly put on clothes, keeping the pistol in its spot next to my spine. I put the other in the holster I keep in my jacket. I grabbed my bag and walked out my door, undoing all the locks from the night before.

I made my way back to my office without incident. The door was still locked and intact. Everything was in place inside. I sat down behind my desk and pulled out my notes, going over what I had collected over the past few days.

Buccellati seemed decent, at least. Many people went to him for counsel and help. He was Polpo's most trusted mafioso and went above and beyond to complete his missions. He ran his territory well and kept businesses alive. Giving his team a second thought, he probably picked them up off the street and took them in. The younger ones looked a little rough around the edges, and the one that was probably Narancia did not know what comb was. Still, I have run into a lot of people that looked like good people who ended up being rotten to the core.

I sighed and rubbed my face. I needed more coffee, but I didn't want to get up to actually make it. I was pretty much done with Bruno Buccellati, and I needed to move on the other targets my client had hired me to dig up dirt on. That is, if Buccellati didn't come after me and cut my life very short.

I sighed again and stood up, starting up the coffee maker. I watched blankly as the pot filled with caffeinated hot bean water. I needed to stay alert. I needed to stay awake. My life might depend on it.

I poured myself some coffee and walked back to my desk. I didn't need this information much anymore. I put everything in a manila folder and put it into a small safe under my desk. Damn thing was heavy, so it wasn't like anyone was carrying it out anytime soon. I took out my small spiral notebook from my bag, and looked at the list I had written a few days before. It was the list of targets I had been hired to investigate. I took out a pencil and crossed out Buccellati's name. Who would be the best target to go after next?

My head snapped up. There was a knock at my door. I quickly shoved the notebook back in my bag. There were a few possibilities going through my head. My client; he seemed to be a little impatient when I took the job from him. It could be a potential client, they liked to drop in sometimes. Or, it was Buccellati. That last one had my heart thumping against my chest and adrenaline filling my veins. I checked the guns on my person. Everything could go bad very quickly.

I stood up and crossed the room. I hesitated for just a moment before grasping the doorknob and pulling it open.

My heart stopped for just a moment. Before me stood Bruno Buccellati and Abbacchio, their eyes bearing down on me with serious expressions on their faces. I did my best to maintain a stony expression despite the terror filling me.

"Can I help you, Gentlemen?" I asked professionally. I might be able to talk my way out of this.

Buccellati nods his head slightly. "Yes. Do you have time to talk, miss?"

"I do." I moved aside and gestured for them to enter. They slid past me and moved to the chairs situated across from my desk. I swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Of all the things that could have happened, this was probably the worst. I would have to be smart about this.

I moved over to my office chair to sit down. A part of me was quite pleased to see Abbacchio becoming visibly uncomfortable trying to settle himself in his chair. Buccellati also looked very uncomfortable, but he was trying his best to not let it show.

"Allow us to introduce ourselves," Buccellati said as I pulled myself up to my desk. "My name is Bruno Buccellati," he gestured to Abbacchio, who had a stern glare on his face, "And my companion is Leone Abbacchio."

"A pleasure," I replied politely.

"It's not," Abbacchio shot back in a low voice. The glare on his face intensified.

Buccellati looked back to me with suspicious eyes. "Though, I am sure that you already know who we are."

"It is my business to know things, Mr. Buccellati." I had to be careful. "Word of you has spread throughout Napoli. It is not uncommon to hear tales of you in the crowds." I looked over at Abbacchio. "And Abbacchio and I served on the same police force together. We had some assignments together from time to time. Now, you said that you would like to speak with me. Are you interested in my services?"

"Not quite." Buccellati shifted his weight a little. "Your reputation precedes you, Miss (Y/N). You are known as a very talented private investigator, perhaps one of the best in Napoli."

I chuckled a bit. "Those words are not mine, Mr. Buccellati. I let my clients decide for themselves if my work is up to par." I tilted my head a little. "It also seems you know who I am. You know your way among the town gossip."

Buccellati cracked a small smile. "It has helped me before in the past, I must admit." His eyes bore into mine again. "What exactly do you do in this profession of yours, Miss (Y/N)?"

I had to play it cool, use a bit of misdirection. "I am a private investigator. I investigate whatever my clients hire me to. Cheating spouses, missing family members, the occasional long lost flame. Many people think that we like working with reporters, but they almost never tell the full story. Police are not much better. Too wrapped up in internal politics to investigate properly and arrest the right people."

"Many people also think that you investigate corruption." Buccellati interjected, his eyes still trained on me. "There are many politicians that do whatever it takes to achieve their goals, no matter how illegal."

I took a breath in. "I don't do that kind of investigating, Mr. Buccellati. If I were to investigate one bad politician, it would take me years to unravel the web of misdeeds and lies. Bad people tend to work with other bad people, who would also be exposed. All for what?" I shrugged. "There will always be corrupt politicians. Removing one would lead to another taking his place, if you could remove him at all. Best to stay out of it entirely. There are many people out there who need help that the police and politicians cannot provide. In doing my work, I hope to provide some solace to them."

"Do you really believe that garbage?" Abbacchio growled at me. Anger was washing over him. "Talking about helping people by going through their private lives. Sounds like a load of shit to me."

"Abbacchio, calm down," Buccellati ordered. His voice was stern and commanding. Abbacchio turned away, becoming more broody by the minute.

Buccellati looked back at me. "Passione is a powerful organization in Napoli, and all of Italia for that matter. It controls one of the largest drug trades in the world, and engages in many illegal activities. Surely, there would be people interested in finding out all they can about it, and the people who comprise its members?"

Buccellati was proding around, trying to find a way to pin me down. I would have to be careful how I answered "Yes, there are many people who would like to uncover the secrets of Passione. I have had my fair share of people try to enlist my services, but I have made it policy to turn them down. The mafiosi don't much like it when people go sniffing around where they shouldn't, and they tend to respond rather violently when they do. I also do not take any assignments from members of Passione. One job leads to another, and you either end up a member of Passione yourself or very much dead. Neither sound very appealing to me."

Buccellati nodded intently. "What kind of people do you take these "assignments" from, Miss (Y/N)?"

I looked at him suspiciously. "A variety of individuals. If you are wanting specifics, I am afraid I have a strict confidentiality policy. I do not share any information about any previous or current clients, or anyone I have or am investigating. Any information I find stays between me and the respective client. What they do with said information is their business."

Buccellati narrowed his eyes at me. " I want to change subjects, if you don't mind."

I nodded. "Go ahead." I had the sense that this conversation was taking a turn for the worse. I could feel my pulse speed up.

"Yesterday, Abbacchio saw you taking photos of me and my team as we were leaving a restaurant." Abbacchio turned back to me and stared at me like he was reading my soul " Not only were you taking photos of us, you were in the perfect location to take them. You were either very lucky that day, or you had been investigating me and tracking my movements." He leans forward, his voice becoming more direct and commanding. "So I ask you, what were you doing there that day, and why were you taking photos of us?"

I had to keep reminding myself to stay calm. I could not let anything important slip. I could not show weakness. And I could not answer that question. "I am not at liberty to say. I told you I keep my work confidential."

"That's fucking bullshit," Abbacchio yelled at me. "You know damn well that someone is trying to get dirt on us!"

"I told you, whether or not that is true, I cannot and will not release any information to anyone but my client."

Abbacchio stood up suddenly, violently knocking over the chair in the process. Anger seethed across his body. "I am not taking any more of this. You tell us everything, or I will beat the living shit out of you!"

I stood up, pulled the pistol out of my jacket and aimed it at him. I knew that if I pulled the trigger, the first bullet would lodge right between his eyes.

"You can try, but you would have to reach me first."

Before anything else could happen, there was a small flash of blue light in the corner of my eye, before something hit me square in the chest. I fell back a few feet, my body feeling like it was tearing apart. I landed on my side, my muscles not functioning and my joints not moving. I didn't know what kind of weapon Buccellati had used on me, but it was very effective. I moved my head a little, just enough for Buccallati and Abbacchio to come into view.

Buccallati looked deep into my eyes, murderous intent in his cool blue pools. "I'm tired of playing games, Miss (Y/N). Tell us what we want to know, or I will have to resort to more extreme measures. And know that I am very good at telling when people are lying."

I gave him a defiant glare. "You think you are the first person to threaten me? I have put up with a lot of shit in my life, I doubt you can do anything to me to make me talk."

His gaze lingered on me for a few seconds. Then he looked to Abbacchio. "Move her onto her back and support her head. I want her to see this."

Abbacchio nodded and knelt down next to me, sliding his hands under my arms and easing me onto my back. He pulled me up to his chest, and I could see my body splayed out in front of me. My arms and legs were in strange and unnatural angles, but they didn't look broken or damaged. Still, they were doing some very unnatural things.

I looked up at Buccellati. He was rolling the sleeves of this suit jacket to expose his forearms. "There have been many sorts of punishments used over the course of human existence," he said as he kneeled beside me. "Disembowelment is particularly brutal and painful. Most people don't tend to live through it. It just so happens that I have an ability that allows such an act to be easier on the both of us."

He outstretched an empty hand, and touched me just above my collar bone. If I could move, I would have flinched away. Abbacchio and Buccellati's strange power kept me from doing much of anything. Buccellati clenched his hand like he was grasping something. He then moved his hand down my sternum, over my abdomen, and stopped just below my navel. A thin line was left on my clothing. He then took both hands and pulled on both sides of the line he drew. Slowly, my clothes and my skin separated together to reveal what lay underneath.

I could see inside myself. I saw my heart as it drummed and sent blood shooting through my arteries and veins. I could see my lungs rise and fall with my breathing. I watched my stomach churn and move. My intestines pulsed as they did their digestive dance. I could see all the red and soft organs that were keeping me alive and well. Everything was wet and held together by long, thin membranes you could see though. I couldn't move, but that didn't stop me from shaking in fear.

"How easy it would be to kill you," Buccelatti said as he looked into my eyes. "All I would have to do is squeeze your aorta until your cells die of oxygen deficiency, if your heart doesn't explode first. Or I could cut off the air to your lungs and let you suffocate. But if I wanted to make this really painful," He moved his hands over to where my intestines pulsated, "I could simply disembowel you. That would be much longer and more painful, giving me more time to get some answers out of you."

My shaking was becoming worse, my breathing becoming ragged. I kept my eyes locked on Buccellati, avoiding the horror he had unleashed. "Even if I do tell you, you would just end up killing me anyway."

He gave me a small, terrifying smile. "I may be a mafioso, Miss (Y/N), but I can assure you that I am a man of my word. You tell me what I want to know, and all this will end."

"Either way, I'll be spilling my guts."

"That's the idea."

He reached into my body and grabbed hold of my small intestine. Reaching into his pocket, he brought out a small pocket knife, flipping it open. He brought the blade to my abdominal cavity, preparing to cut the thin membrane that held my organs in place. He was going to pull my intestines out right in front of me.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I tried to thrash around, do something to stop it, but nothing was working. I could feel hot tears running down my face. I began to scream, to beg, to plead with Buccellati to stop. This was not worth getting my intestines ripped out for. This was not worth dying over.

"What were you doing yesterday?" he demanded an answer. "Why were you watching us? Why were you photographing us?"

The tears kept coming. "I was hired to."

"Obviously. Who hired you?" Buccellati nearly yelled.

I choked out the client's name.

He thought for a moment. "You said that you didn't work for politicians. You also said that you don't investigate members of Passione. You are either lying or you are very confused, and I doubt you are the latter."

I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling. "It doesn't matter if I take the job or not. Either way, he ends up dead. They all do."

"They end up dead?" Abbacchio questioned from behind me.

"Fools who think they can fix everything. Undo all the terrible things that Passione has done. Rid Napoli of corrupt people. They don't understand what they get themselves into." I swallowed and let more tears fall. "I try to warn them. Try to tell them they are playing with fire, but they never listen. They are so hellbent on being the hero that they don't have time to listen. It doesn't matter if I get them the information or not. They never have enough time to do anything with it. Passione always finds out. Passione always comes for them. And the fools always end up dead."

My words hung in the air for a moment, the mafiosi taking in what I had said. "That still doesn't explain why you took the job." Abbacchio said softly. "You could have refused him."

"I know, " I whispered. "But if I did, he would turn to other places to get what they want, and most of them are being funded by the government officials or are members of Passione. He would be found out and dealt with much quicker than if he came to me. The problem is, idiots like him tend to have family and friends that care about them. If I take the job, instead of someone else, he might live just a day longer."

I lowered my eyes to look at Buccellati again. He looked intently at me, but I couldn't read his expression. What was he thinking? Did he hate me? Did he think I was a fool for even thinking like this? Did he feel sorry for me for lying to myself, justifying working for these poor souls?

Buccellati put the knife back in his pocket, taking out a handkerchief to clean his wet hand. He stood up and walked over to my chest. "Help her up, Abbacchio." The two of them lifted me to my feet, careful not to hurt me.

I looked down at my body again. My limbs were normal and straight. There was no gaping whole in my torso. I was magically whole again. I wiped some of the tears off my face. What kind of superpowers did these people have?

I took control over my body again, trying to regain my balance. I smoothed out my clothing and adjusted myself. I took a deep breath in. "If you gentlemen would excuse me," I said without looking at the mafiosi, " I will return shortly." I promptly walked out the door and turned down the hall. I opened the lady's room door and headed to the sink.

I took a few haggard breaths. My body had stopped shaking but I was still trying to recover. I wasn't dead yet. I was still intact. I just needed to let my body calm down.

As far as interrogations go, that was very effective for how little he actually hurt me. How the hell did Buccellati open me up like that without actually cutting into me? Was this all some sort of fever dream? Or a nightmare?

I turned on the faucet and ran the water over my hands. I needed to gather myself. I splashed the cool water over my face. I glanced at the mirror as my face dripped. I looked like death. All the color had drained from my face, there were dark bags under my eyes. Even the muscles under my face didn't have enough energy to move properly. I grabbed a few paper towels and dried my face.

I was so tired. I didn't want to be here anymore, to deal with Buccellati anymore. I just wanted to sleep forever and let the world pass me by. Damn it all.

I gripped the edge of the sink. I had to go back in there. I had to face them one more time. I didn't have a choice. They had gotten what they wanted from me. I didn't know what other information they would attempt to get from me. I didn't know if I would want to give it to them. Besides, my bag was still in there.

I gave myself a few more adjustments in the mirror before walking out into the hall. I told myself to breathe, to stay calm. I forced myself to walk to my office door. I gripped the doorknob. I turned it and opened the door.

Abbacchio was sitting on top of my desk, one leg tucked under him while the other dangled off the side. Buccellati stood off to the side, involved intensy with the conversation with his companion. The chair that Abbacchio flipped over was still laying on its side. They did, however, pick up my office chair. The both of them looked at me as I opened the door.

"Are you alright, Miss (Y/N)?" Buccellati asked me, a concerned look on his face.

I closed the door behind me. "Well enough, at least." I looked up at him. "I am surprised you would even ask that."

He gave me a strange look. "I may be a mafioso, but I am not heartless."

"You could have fooled me."

Buccellati looked at me intensely. "You would do whatever necessary to protect what is important to you, am I right Miss (Y/N)?"

I thought for a moment. "I suppose so."

"So would I. In my business, people important to you end up dead if not protected."

I sighed. "I see your point, Mr. Buccellati." I walked over to my office chair. "My question is, who is important to you? Who is so close to you that you would torture and kill to protect?"

"Haven't you done enough digging as it is?" Abbacchio growled at me. He was always a little prone to bad moods, but I don't remember him being this bad.

I glared at him. "I answered you damn questions, you might as well answer mine."

Buccellati raised his hand. "She's right, Abbacchio. We owe her an explanation for what happened that day." He looked back to me. "Miss (Y/N), would you join us for lunch? I would be happy to answer any questions you have."

I gave him a confused look. "Why would you trust me? How do you know I won't just sell all the information you give me?"

"I agree," Abbacchio spoke up. "This is stupid, Buccellati. We have more pressing matters to attend to."

Buccellati looked back to me, a small smile on his face. "Something tells me that you can be trusted. But I will only answer you questions if you come with us."

I thought for a few moments. This could be a trap, certainly. But I didn't think so. Buccellati didn't seem like he had something up his sleeve. Free food also didn't sound so bad either. I leaned down and grabbed my bag.

"Lead the way."

Half an hour later, I was sitting in a restaurant. The very same restaurant I watched the day before. Sitting across from me was a very calm Buccellati and a not as calm Abbacchio. I scanned over the menu, trying to narrow down what I wanted to eat. It all sounded so good. After the waiter took our orders, he whisked away our menus, leaving the three of us to talk.

Buccellati folded his hands over his face. "So, what do you want to know?"

I thought for a moment. "Narancia Ghirga. Why is he on your team? I can understand Abbacchio. He has a lot of skills from his career as a police officer. He also has a lot of knowledge on how both criminals and police operate. Pannacotta Fugo is extremely intelligent, and can probably think his way around problems. Narancia has no particular skills or qualities that set him apart."

He took a breath in. "It is not a simple story. Fugo found him alone and broken on the street. He brought Narancia to me in the hopes that I could help feed him. He was also in bad shape and needed extensive medical treatment. I made sure he had a full recovery. I could tell as time went on he began to idolize me." He looked away for a minute. "This life I lead is not for most people. It can destroy you if you are not careful. I didn't want to drag Narancia into it. I sent him home to his father to continue his education."

I leaned forward, intrigued by the story he was crafting. "Then how did he become a mafioso?"

Buccellatti gave a momentary smirk. "He went behind my back. Went directly to Polpo for initiation. He requested to be under my command. I accepted." He took a sip of his water. "He might not look like much, but Narancia fights to the bitter end. He is deadly when he wants to be, and is extremely loyal. I could not ask for a better charge."

During the course of the meal, I asked many questions. I learned more about what had happened to Abbacchio, the hard choices he had to make. I learned about Fugo, the difficult life he led of study and high expectations. And I learned of Buccellati, his life of fending for himself and his father. Now, he fights for Napoli, doing what he can for the people.

While the stories were being told, I told mine. I had always wanted to make a difference here. There was this righteousness that always burned within me. But whenever I tried, someone or something always stopped me. The only correct way to get anything done in Napoli is the illegal way. So I stopped trying. I used my skills to support myself, maybe help where I could. But the more you dig up, the more you realize how evil people can be. The more it beats you down and takes hold of your soul.

By the time everything was said, we had finished eating and Buccellati was paying the bill. Once he had finished, he looked to me. "Would you wait for us outside, Miss (Y/N)? There is something I would like to discuss with Abbacchio."

I nodded. "Of course."

I wandered out the front door and leaned against the building. I watched the people pass by. One person in particular caught my eye. A teenage boy wearing an altered pink private school uniform. His blond hair braided down his back and his bangs intricately set. A strange sight indeed. But not the most extravagant person you would see in Napoli.

I saw Buccellati and Abbacchio walk out of the restaurant. I stood up and walked to them. "Before we part ways," Buccellati said to me, "I have one more question to ask you."

"Another one?" I joked.

He smiled for a moment. "Just one. What do you think of joining my team? With your skills, you would make a valuable asset. You already know Abbacchio, and the two of you would work well together."

"I am the last person who would want to join Passione," I said promptly.

He shook his head. "You would be a member of Passione, but you would be working for me." He looked intently at me. "You of all people would know how I run things. I am trying to make Napoli better for everyone. Would you join me in doing that?"

I avoided eye contact, trying to make sense of everything. Just earlier that day, we thought of each other as enemies. Now, he had seen something in me that compelled him to ask me to join his cause. And Abbacchio had agreed to this? He had been so antagonistic towards me.

I looked Buccellati directly in the eyes. "I would need to wrap up my assignments, or try to get out of them somehow. But, yes. I will join you, Mr. Buccellati."

He nodded. "Good. I was hoping that would be your answer. By the way, you don't have to call me 'Mr.' anymore. Bruno will do just fine"

I smiled up at him. "You don't have to call me 'Miss.' either. (Y/N) works just as well."

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure golden wind #golden wind #vento aureo #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #jjba #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader #jjba fanfiction

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shararsblog · 3 years

Text

BENGALURU - INDIA'S CRIME CAPITAL.

(28/07/2021)

Greetings for the day. Here I am beginning with my first blog or post whatever you can say. To begin with let's straight away come to the point. Many blogs have been written till date, with each blogger expressing his heart and mind on various issues. So I am too putting my heart and soul into a subject, which is present throughout the world, and each country has its own law policy when it comes to dealing with i.e. crime.

Here are my experiences of living in a city based in Karnataka in India for four months. Bangalore or Bengaluru as you can call it, is considered as the IT hub of India, a city from where United States of America sources the highest number of software professionals for working in projects in its own backyard. But apart from being the Information technology hub of India, Bengaluru is also the hub for highest number of crimes, along with New Delhi.

Though I have stayed in Pune too a city in neighbouring Maharashtra state another IT hub, and visited Mumbai which is close by, but never ever had this fear psychosis of happening to see gang wars, because the law and order machinery in Pune, Pimpri - Chinchwad and Mumbai was by far very much in control by police authorities there. So why Bengaluru has become lawless? during my four months of stay there, every morning I happen to open the newspapers and the Bengaluru section showed up at least one or two murders, the result being gang wars. The killers regular criminals and their victims also history sheeter's. These gangsters or rowdies carried on with their killings on the streets of Bengaluru with so much audacity, that they never possessed any fear of law. The recent killing of Joseph Babli who himself a rowdy inside a bank in Koramangala, highlights the brazenness of killers, that Joseph was chased inside the bank, and hacked to death in broad daylight in front of scores of customers and bank employees, goes on to show complete failure of law and order machinery in Bengaluru.

Not just this, another murder of a former corporator Rekha Kadiresh that too in broad daylight in cotton pet area of Bengaluru, was an added feather in hat for an inefficient Bengaluru police. Slaying rivals in daytime in full public view, indulging in rowdism, road rage, harrasing innocent people, chain snatching gangs over bikes on prowl in every area, So where is the Bengaluru police in picture, that is the question?

And why rowdies in Bengaluru have no fear of police?

Bengaluru police and Karnataka politicians are to be blamed for this. The answer here lies in police - criminal - politician nexus. Also you may be surprised to know that Karnataka state ranks top in corruption index in whole of India. Power hungry politicians, greed for money and coupled with it the biggest major factor which has led to rise in goondaism is land deals. Bengaluru city is considered as one of hot cakes for real estate market, land grabbing is rampant and where higher acre's of land is involved for deals corrupt politicians, mafias and police are hand in glove.

Though land is very less available in Bengaluru urban areas and even if available, the prices are skyrocket and rowdies ultimately with blessings of politicians get involved. This rowdies - karnataka politicians nexus have blossomed to such an extent, that middle class families, who despite can afford to own plots at higher prices never dare to get involved. The problem begins from the bottom of organizational hierarchy in police department. The rot is so deeper that for example, say five out of every ten constabulary rank officials within Bengaluru police force, are hand in glove with the rowdies, this relates to daily hafta collection or in simple language extort money through these rowdies from hawkers, bar restaurant owners, share in commission arising out of disputed land deals and many illegal activities done by these rowdies. The buck does not stop here, the Bengaluru traffic police have a set target of collection fixed by every DCPs in their respective zones, so regular office goers either in two wheelers, four wheelers, rickshaws, commercial vehicles face the brunt of hafta collection. What an irony! Never ever in the history of Policing across the world, has there been so much rampant corruption, as has been the case with Bangalore police.

Kamal Pant Bengaluru police chief : completely clueless.

But then whose responsibility is it to discipline the Police?

Karnataka is a state, which has seen two parties struggle for power, back in 2018 Congress - JDS (Janata Dal secular) combine wrestled power from BJP (Bharatiya Janata party) headed by BS Yeddyurappa. Kumaraswamy son of former prime minister Deve Gowda became the chief minister, the BJP despite being the single largest party could not garner the numbers required to form the government. But two years later the tide turned completely in BJP's favour, the biggest drama unfolded in Karnataka, with accusations of horse trading leveled by Congress - JDS combine against BJP. The Kumaraswamy govt was reduced to a minority, and it failed to retain power. The BS Yeddyurappa led BJP stormed to power in Karnataka. Power tussles are nothing new in Indian politics, but the sad part is the lust for power has taken a huge toll on law and order machinery in Bengaluru. The Karnataka politicians already neck deep in corruption, have left the city to rot at the mercy of rowdies. Another major factor for rise in hooliganism is the patronage provided by political parties to rowdies, take any party be it the Congress, the BJP or JDS have rowdies seated at their party offices, the favour these goons do for these political class may vary, it may be anything even getting a cup of tea for the party youth leaders or district incharge, distribution of pamplets during elections many other things and obviously the favour is returned, with blessings of these political parties rowdies have a say, in every tender issued by the Karnataka government, almost 99% of contracts sourced out by the local corporation body of Bengaluru i.e. the Bruhat Bengaluru Mahanagara Palike has been handed over to rowdies, whether related to garbage collection, disposal, road repair contracts etc. When elections are round the corner, the hooliganism is at its peak, these very leaders are accompanied by these rowdies, threatening people who raise their voices, gangwars involving rowdies from rival political parties, if an in-depth analysis is done of the extent of criminals invasion into political parties, shocking as it may sound close to 80% of these so called party workers are rowdy elements. As it is said, the strong basis for students to pass with good marks in school and later to excel in life and become ideal citizens of the country, the onus lies on the principal and teachers and the education imparted in schools getting students to value good culture, respect for one another, and focus on studies. If one or two students fail in all these aspects, the blame can be put on students themselves, but just imagine if the whole class fails, then obviously the principal, the teachers are responsible. So the same applies to the police force of a state as well, the police department is a big school in itself, and the chief minister of the state is the principal and teachers his respective cabinet colleagues, so they are the torch bearers for these law enforcement agencies, and giving them guidance drafting policies is the sole responsibility of chief minister his cabinet colleagues. But here the entire Bengaluru police machinery has failed miserably and politicians governing the state are solely responsible.

BJP has been at the helm of Karnataka for almost two years now, even in these two years chief minister BS Yeddyurappa and his home minister colleague Basavraj Bommai miserably failed to bring crime rate down in Bengaluru. What can you expect from a police force, when the chief minister himself is embroiled in an illegal land deal. The bench of Karnataka high court led by justice Ravi malimath and Micheal Cunha even refused to give him any relief on the matter. Also infighting within the state BJP, and some leaders unhappy with Yeddyurappa's style of functioning has led to the CM busy trying to save his own govt, fighting his detractors, leave development of state at God's mercy and Bengaluru of course at rowdies mercy. And finally infighting within the BJP took its toll, Mr. BS Yeddyurappa resigned from the CMs post. And as usual came the drama with his resignation, an emotional Yeddyurappa in tears thanking Prime minister Modi, Amit Shah and JP Nadda for giving him an opportunity to serve the people of the state. Mr. Yeddyurappa we can understand your emotions but you should have stopped at that, your immature and misleading comment that, "Bengaluru is turning into a world class city" is the biggest Joke of the millennium. The reality is you and your predecessor Mr. Kumaraswamy have turned Bengaluru into a world class gangsters city.

Former Karnataka chief minister BS Yeddyurappa : equally responsible for lawless Bengaluru.

Corruption in police department is not something new and is prevalent across India. Also let me make it clear, not all cops are corrupt, there are a few who put their heart out and perform their duties. Even in Bengaluru police department there are officers at constabulary rank, inspectors, senior inspectors, who have excellent track record in curbing crime and have acted tough against rowdies but there are also a few with questionable track record and it is this few dark sheep within the police that has led to rowdies wrecking havoc in the city. Also this time things really aren't good in Bengaluru at all. Though police chief Pant on his behalf is doing everything thing to bring crime rate down, Bengaluru CCB has siezed a large cache of drugs, several drug peddlers have been nabbed, several rowdies homes have been raided a large cache of weopans recovered, but still the rowdies menace has been increasing in Bengaluru rapidly.

Mr Kamal Pant now you also need to bring the hammer down harder on some of your own men, women within the force, who have links with these rowdies. Cleaning must also be done at home. There was a time when Mumbai city in Maharashtra state, also known as the financial capital of India was under the grip of the underworld gangs in 90s, things had totally spiralled out of control due to gangwars, prominent builders, film personalities, small time business men became victims for refusal to pay extortion and some for links with rival gangs.

It took the combined effort of the Mumbai police who formed hit squads later on called as encounter specialists to eliminate the gangsters. And the credit for completely wiping out the underworld from Mumbai, goes to then Mumbai police commissioner Mr. MN Singh. Bengaluru is facing the same problem today, that Mumbai faced in 90s. And Bengaluru police commissioner Kamal Pant will have to take a leaf from what MN Singh did in Mumbai.

Also political interference in police working has been the biggest problem in India. That police work under political pressure is not a hidden secret. And this has been one of the reasons for rowdy explosion in Bengaluru. Rowdies enjoy political patronage, from all three the Congress, JDS and BJP. In Mumbai the police turned a deaf year to political influence, and took on underworld in a spirited way under guidance of MN Singh. Certainly Bengaluru police go weak in their knees when it comes to politicians, and none but Mr Kamal Pant will have to put his foot down on such interferences, when it comes to dealing with rowdies, even if it means confrontation with a ruling party and also take action against political leaders who are linked to these rowdies. Kamal Pant and Bengaluru police have a long long way to go if they want to rid Bengaluru from gangsters. And I have no doubt at all that things have come to a level where Bengaluru cops have to form a separate hit squad to eliminate the rowdies like Mumbai police did.

Also Bengaluru being an IT hub and one of the cities with higher number of foreign tourists visiting for trips as well as official company work, such lawlessness does not augur well for the city, the image of Bengaluru has already taken a severe beating at international level and it will have severe consequences. Foreign direct investment will be hit, if things don't improve, that day won't be far when other countries start issuing advisory or warning to its citizens to deter from visiting Bengaluru, as it has already happened in New Delhi's case, and if it happens in Bengaluru's case prime minister Narendra Modi's 'ache din' or 'good days' of his promise to citizens of India will be dented beyond repair.

#bengaluru #kamal pant #karnataka #bs yeddyurappa #karnataka bjp #bengaluru police #hd kumaraswamy #congress #bangalore #narendra modi

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rcmclachlan · 5 years

Note

Any good omen blogs you would recommend?

Abso-tively posi-lutely!

@et-in-arkadia, who is an incredible writer. I first found their work when I stumbled across their smokin' hot SG1/Burn Notice fic years ago, followed by their Sherlock stuff, and now I'm pleased as spiked punch they're writing for GO. They seem just so cool. Also, they're fucking hilarious.

@reserve Another incredible writer and GO peddler. Theirs is top shelf stuff. Like, if I found a magic lamp and got only two wishes, the first would be to have the ability to make a normal amount of pasta and the other would be to write like reserve.

@thehoyden God tier. Trust me. They've written for so many of my favorite fandoms that I can confidently say they can do no wrong. They're fandom royalty.

@scurator My darling J, who is not only an unfairly good writer but just an awesome person on the whole.

@ariaste Alex is super cool and her headcanons are just *chef's kiss*. Check out her nesting HCs and tell me I'm wrong. Also, she's the author of some amazing original fic. Once Prime Day is over, be sure to buy her book. It's on super sale right now!

@drawlight A delightful person who I would bet actual cash money is TS Eliot reincarnated. Theirs is some of the best fic I've read in any fandom ever. They are an absolute gift to GO. Just... gosh. Can you imagine being that talented? The mind boggles.

@mortuarybees Incredible writer, and I've been cackling about their pigeon gang posts all day. They're (both the posts and the person) are awesome.

@ibroketuesday They wrote my all-time favorite Dean/Cas fic (In The Silence Afterward) and are now reblogging GO stuff at an insane clip. Like, a good 60% of what I reblog is from them. Super cool blog to follow.

@stitchyarts Her art is the feeling you get when you climb into a warm bath that smells of sea salt and vanilla. Her bunnies and dragons and dolls are absolutely incredible and you should buy one or four because Stitchy's not only an amazing artist but she's also an amazing person. Go support her.

@cogitaeworks Some of the best art I've ever seen. The sheer yearning they manage to convey in their work sends me into a death spiral every single time. The fandom doesn't deserve them.

@forineffablereasons There aren't words for Darcy. Just go follow her. Like, why are you still reading this? Go.

#just off the top of my head #i'm currently sitting in a car dealership trying to decide if i want another nissan #if i've forgotten anyone it's not because i don't love you but because i'm 100% a dipshit #good omens

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goldenkamuyhunting · 4 years

Text

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 236 “King”

And so in this chapter we learn something important about how someone was…

…yeah, an unreliable narrator as there was more than a bit of trouble in Barato and it was caused by a tattooed skin, tattooed skin he left there. Still, kudos to @bloody-fabre for guessing Wakayama was the one to blame for the skin which ended in Barato.

There’s to say the situation is much more complicate than what it looked like when we first met Wakayama and a side of me is very happy that a arc that seemed to go nowhere (the Wakayama arc didn’t seem to have effects on the plot beyond giving Sugimoto an extra skin) is now becoming a relevant part of the plot.

But let’s dig into the chapter.

We resume where we have left, with Boutarou and Sugimoto fighting.

Despite the punch Boutarou doesn’t even let go of his gun but hurries to point it to Sugimoto. Sugimoto however put to good use his experience as a war veteran and grabs the gun in such a way not only he manages to move it slightly away from his face but also takes care to place his hand between the hammer and the bullet, so that when Boutarou pushes the trigger, the gun can’t fire.

Hand-to-hand combat is where Sugimoto excels after all, with tons of life threatening battles on the battleground, surrendered by other soldiers all willing to kill him. It’s in these moments Sugimoto’s six sense and experience, let him find a safe way out in the blink of an eye.

It’s kind of amazing as he just knows how to do.

This is not being a tactician genius though, that requires long term planning. Sugimoto doesn’t have the time to plan, he’s just a man who, when in extreme danger in a hand-to-hand fight, can find the right countermeasure in a blink thanks to his huge experience and talent in this sort of things.

Give Sugimoto two days to think of a plan and he likely will come up with only a vague idea of what to do. Give Sugimoto five second to stop a fatal blow and he’ll come up with the perfect method to stop it and, if possible, to retaliate.

So, now that he has stopped Boutarou from firing, Sugimoto tries to retrieve the gun from himself and at the same time damaging his enemy by attempting to cut away his fingers from it with his bayonet.

Who has good memory might remember Sugimoto doing the same with Nihei, cutting his fingers to stop him from holding his weapon.

(Japanese people knew very well how big of a harm it was to lose fingers, that’s why Yakuza used to cut the pinkie of a Yakuza who failed them, because afterward he would have troubles holding his sword)

Boutarou though isn’t a rookie either.

He’s quick enough to let go the now useless gun, so that all that Sugimoto’s bayonet hit is the gun itself and uses his powerful legs to kick Sugimoto hard enough not only he send him flying against the wooden railing but makes it partially crack. As someone who can jump out of the water like the merman he obviously is Boutarou clearly has strong legs and if he had kicked that way another men, the poor guy might have been sent out of commission.

Meanwhile the postman is still shooting like crazy, Boutarou’s accomplice swearing he’ll kill him but, thanks God (or should I say thanks Kamuy?), Asirpa is there to save the day.

She calls him and hurries him to come with her, telling him there’s spare ammunition there, then catches her chance to retrieve Sugimoto’s rifle and kick him off the boat at the same time, forcing him to swim away.

Asirpa is a genius and this constitute as planning as she considered her options, laid out a trap for the postman and put it to work.

Boutarou, on the other side, has recovered his anchor and is tossing it at Sugimoto, who manages to avoid it before Asirpa reaches him. Sugimoto worriedly asks her if she’s hurt.

I wonder if he realized how, while he was busy punishing Boutarou for putting her in danger, he had left her to fend for herself as Boutarou had an accomplice and that postman was completely out of it.

Boutarou’s accomplice informs him the postman has escaped leaving behind the money.

Shiraishi in a scolding tone stops Sugimoto from fighting further, reminding him there’s something they have to ask Boutarou.

This is the problem with Sugimoto losing control and getting himself into battle. In his attempt to ‘avenge Asirpa’ he had left her on her own and has risked jeopardizing his chances to get info out of Boutarou. His actions weren’t a smart move, they were just the result of his feelings overtaking him.

However, after a moment of hesitation, Sugimoto now makes a powerful and rather smart gesture, throwing Boutarou’s gun in the water.

Why is it a powerful gesture?

Because normally it’s assumed that the one with a gun is at a huge advantage toward the one who haven’t it. By tossing it away and therefore by apparently tossing away an advantage, Sugimoto gives a clear demonstration of not having aggressive intentions and only wanting to talk.

Why is it rather smart?

Because Sugimoto is rather bad with firearms and much, MUCH better with his bare hands and therefore for him the gun is more of a disadvantage than a help as it keeps one of his hands busy and, if he were to lose it by mistake, Boutarou could manage to get it back.

Boutarou accepts the truce with another of his smiles, acknowledging Sugimoto by his name. I wonder if his name also rang a bell or he’s just repeating it to make sure he would remember it/got it right.

‘Omae… Sugimoto tte iu no ka’

「お前… 杉元っていうのか」

“You… are called Sugimoto, right?”

We’ll see.

Honestly I doubt Boutarou heard of Sugimoto before but it’s possible. Everyone and their mom know Sugimoto in the 7th so that they could even open a fanclub. People talk and maybe rumours of Sugimoto had reached Boutarou as well. But still i think it’s unlikely, as Boutarou didn’t act as Sugimoto’s name rang a bell.

Meanwhile Shiraishi asks for clarifications about what Boutarou said on how there’s a rumour about how it’s no more possible to solve the code, also asking him if, due to it, he’s no more collecting tattoos.

In the panel we can see clearly Shiraishi and Sugimoto. Asirpa is present too but she’s in it only partially due to her head and due to the ballons covering her partially, hinting at how in a way she’ll be cut out from the discussion even if she saved the day.

Boutarou tells Shiraishi that a little over one year ago he met Wakayama in Sapporo… and approached him planning to murder and skin him. From the way the scene looks like, with Boutarou naked on a bed, I’ll say his way to approach him, was to try to seduce him.

Wakayama though, evidently realized something was off, had his men encircle him. Among them there’s Nakazawa (princess), while the others are all dressed in black suits with sunglasses (okay, no, they don't have sunglasses, it's just their eyes are so deeply shadowed they seem to wear sunglasses, which fits with the stereotype of Yakuza wearing them so I love Noda's visual choice).

Wakayama tells him that the code can’t be solved. He then explains he killed (and skinned) one of the tattooed men just after he escaped but then dropped by to Barato and left it as a payment for a game he lost.

As he says so we see the same image we saw in the Barato chapter, showing how the Hidoro gang got the skin, but not showing it was Wakayama giving it to them.

As Boutarou asked him why he did so, Wakayama claims the tattooed code can’t be solved because the other convicts might have ended up in the sea and be swallowed by a fish (and at this we’re shown an image of Henmi meeting this fate) or killed by a bear on the mountain (and at this we’re shown an image of Gotou).

Or that a certain weird guy (which I bet is our dear candy seller) might ruin it on purpose.

Long story short, Wakayama leaves without skinning him, which convinces Boutarou he was sure that the tattoo code couldn’t be decrypted.

At this Asirpa is reminded of how the candy peddler commented that ‘Boss Wakayama’s disappointed face was pretty great too, though’.

Shiraishi also whispers to Sugimoto that this might be connected to what Asirpa overheard the candy peddler saying, both of them sweating as, after this story, the possibility he was right, seems even more concrete.

And maybe it means nothing but in the panels, even though the group thinks exactly the same thing Asirpa is visually ‘parted’ from Sugimoto and Shiraishi.

They’re in separate panels, the panel with the candy peddler divising them.

Now… let’s stop a bit and recap what we knew about Wakayama and the Barato skin PRIOR TO THIS CHAPTER.

Time unknown (It could be before Wakayama was arrested or afterward): Wakayama entered a gambling den by chance and was charmed by Nakazawa’s (Hime’s) skill in rolling the dice. After an initial refusal, Nakazawa betrayed his group, ran away to Wakayama’s place, spent a hot night together, but the yakuza pursuers were already outside… we’ve no idea how it ended as Noda interrupted the story here. [Noda Satoru’s Q&A]

FEBRUARY

- Wakayama escapes with the other prisoners… [GK according to Noda begins at the end of February, the convicts, supposedly, escaped a bit sooner than that]

MARCH

- Wakayama with a young man drops by in Sapporo World Hotel. Ienaga locks the younger man in the underground and tortures him, and the guy admits that the man he was with has the same tattoo as Ienaga and is an escaped convict from Abashiri. When Ienaga goes to check on him the morning after Wakayama has disappeared, supposedly planning to go in Hidaka to meet an American named Dun. [The guys went to Ienaga’s hotel in April, she said Wakayama was there a month before] [Chap 55-63]

APRIL

- Things escalates in Barato between the Hidoro gang and the Umakichi gang after a guy went to their gambling hall, lost a lot of money and left a tattooed skin as a collateral. Nagakura, Hijikata and Ogata went there and manage to retrieve the skin from Hidoro. [Chap 55-59]

- Wakayama buys horses from Dun [chap 69: When meeting Wakayama again, Dun said he’s the guy who bought horses from him a month before]

- Kiroranke takes part to the Tomakomai race on Wakayama’s horse in place of the jockey who has escaped. However, instead than throwing away the final race he wins it. [Chap 61-62]

May:

- While trying to deal with 3 bears Sugimoto group ends up hiding in the same place in which Wakayama and Nakazawa (Princess) had met the guys who organized the race. Wakayama explains the oddity of him not having men around with sending all of his men to Barato to help a guy in Barato who did him some favors. It’s unclear if the guy is Hidoro or Umakichi but I would say it’s Umakichi as the visual shows him.

It also turns out it was Nakazawa who exposed the heads in plain view because Wakayama cheated on him with a prostitute.

It also turns out the prostitute ended up being killed, although Nakazawa denies killing anyone (was it Jack who killed the prostitute? I wonder... after all Jack kills prostitutes in Sapporo although so far it seems he focused on females).

Wakayama complains he should have left him in Sapporo.

Due to various happening Wakayama and Nakazawa die, Wakayama’s skin ending up in Sugimoto’s hands. [Chap 65-69: Noda said chap 64 is placed in May]

And this is were I thought Noda placed the words ‘THE END’ to Wakayama’s story.

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Turned out that’s not the case.

In fact, whose info made it look like Wakayama had no interest in the skins, in fact he was back handling his betting business instead than searching for convicts, which made me think it would be weird if he had taken his time collecting a skin and then… dropped it somewhere, as if it were to be useless.

I mean, if he went through the trouble of getting that one skin, I would expect the guy who beat a bear wouldn’t let it go easily.

However this chapter and chapter 233 added some interesting info to Wakayama’s story.

The first is that yes, Wakayama in the beginning wanted to collect the tattooed things but then something, or more likely ‘someone’ (read ‘our dear candy peddler’) persuaded him that it would be impossible to do it, suddenly making the skin he had collected to look worthless.

Hence it was possible for Wakayama to have an abrupt change of heart and drop collecting skins.

I wonder if the candy peddler, to persuade him, told him about Henmi’s death, or just showed him he has completely ruined his own tattoo.

Hard to say.

However he and Wakayama likely met pretty early on, likely in March as, by then, while he was in Ienaga’s hotel he was already thinking to go meet Dun to buy horses from him, meaning he wasn’t going to devote all his strength in pursuing convicts but was going back to his horse betting business.

Note that this is just my speculation, I might be completely off and maybe he wanted to pursue both.

We don’t know what pushed him to leave abruptly Ienaga’s hotel, maybe he couldn’t find the man he was with and assumed Nakazawa killed him, or maybe Nakazawa dropped by in his room and he left with him or maybe he was actually penniless and couldn’t pay the bill of the hotel nor the man he came with and left.

Hard to say.

We aren’t even sure back then he was already with Nakazawa as we don’t know when the two met.

However, according to what he says to Boutarou, we’re to suppose he moves to Barato alone, went into a gambling hall, lost a lot of money and left the skin he had with himself as collateral, tattling out the whole tattooed skin matter that could set everyone and their moms hunting for him.

As he did so he clearly didn’t act like a Yakuza boss, Shuhei wasn’t impressed by him and even said they planned to have him work in the fishery, meaning they didn’t realize Wakayama could be a dangerous fighter or even a Yakuza himself.

Why going there alone?

We get he likes to gamble but unless it was Nakazawa who again worked against him as Wakayama complained Nakazawa kept on trying to screw him over it seems weird he would just put himself into a huge debt.

Or did this happen really early on, when Wakayama hadn’t yet managed to reach his underlings?

After all it seems his headquarters are in Sapporo, it can be that moving from Abashiri to Sapporo he just stopped to Barato, which is on the way...

...ended up losing money in the gambling hall and, not wanting to lose face, he hid his own identity.

Anyway, after he left the skin there, he meets Boutarou in Sapporo.

The cover of chap 233 showed Sugimoto and Shiraishi looking at huchen/Adonis flowers, which we know can be observed in April, so if Wakayama and Boutarou’s meeting in Sapporo happened a year before than we supposedly were in April. Boutarou says a little over a year though, so it can be it was in March.

This time Wakayama has plenty of his men around himself, among which Nakazawa.

But figuring out when this meeting exactly takes place becomes hazardous and that’s not the only problem.

When talking with Sugimoto Wakayama declared he went to meet Dun alone because he sent all his men to help someone who helped him in the past (supposedly Umakichi).

As his men were with him when he was in Sapporo we’ve to assume the fight in Barato hadn’t taken place yet (Umakichi will die during it so he can’t really ask for support afterward) so he hadn’t sent his men there yet.

Overall the thing seems to be a bit shaky.

If Umakichi was someone who helped him, why did boss went to bet at Hidoro’s place instead than at a friend’s place? Or was that the moment in which Umakichi helped him? Because Umakichi should have helped him BIG TIME if boss sent ALL HIS MEN to help him… yet he didn’t warn him pursuing that tattooed skin was useless as we know Umakichi was actually pursuing it?

And Umakichi didn’t know Wakayama was also someone who escaped from Abashiri?

Because if he had known sending all his men to help him retrieve the tattooed skin would be dangerous as then Umakichi might try to get Wakayama’s one.

Besides we don’t even see a single man, among the ones with Umakichi, dressed in black suit and tie as Wakayama’s men. Sure, maybe they changed so it’s not big deal but overall the whole thing is weird, so weird even Sugimoto found odd how Wakayama went there alone.

Did Wakayama lie to Sugimoto, whom he knew was searching for the tattooed convicts?

Is there another reason why he sent all his men to Barato but didn’t go there himself?

Or actually he was there also for some other reason than punishing the two at the race (he said he wasn’t expecting Kiro and the others to show up and it makes sense, Wakayama didn’t meet Kiro back then so I’m not even sure if he would have recognized him)?

I don’t know but I’m starting to wonder if we’ll learn more about boss and how that skin ended up in Barato, maybe through Shinpei, who left Barato with Chiyoko and might have transferred temporally to Ebetsu.

It would be interesting to meet Shinpei again as we were never told exactly how his meeting with Ogata ended, we just saw that Ogata gave him a scolding...

...then the scene was cut and we dealt with Hijikata’s group reaching the place, Hijikata and Nagakura getting in to talk with Ogata who now owns the skins, the bodies of Shinpei’s parents nowhere to be seen.

The next we see Shinpei he’s with Chiyoko, first observing the place burning down,

then ready to start a new life with her.

Besides, Shinpei was there when the skin was left to his family, he might tell us exactly how things went and if Nakazawa or the candy peddler were involved and if he knew if Wakayama had a relation with Umakichi.

LOL, overall I’m curious.

When I first read the Wakayama arc it felt like its only purpose was to hand Sugimoto a new skin as it seemed to bring no other development, so now I’m extremely intrigued at the idea there could be more behind it.

And always about Wakayama… what the candy peddler said that made him so sure the tattooed skins can’t be used anymore? Did he ruin his own tattoo? Or, since Wakayama was spot on about a convict ending eaten by a fish and another by a bear someone warned him about Gotou and Henmi’s deaths? Because okay, Gotou’s death is normal enough and one could guess it but Henmi’s death is a bit of a stretch. They were supposed to go to Otaru after all, not go to fish whales or orcas so one of them drowning wasn’t something one should consider a normal occurrence yet it’s the first thing Wakayama comes up with.

But yes, it could also be a lucky guess.

Long story short though… I don’t know anymore which of Wakayama’s words were true and which were a lie, making him an unreliable narrator. I’m only sure that he believed they couldn’t use the tattooed skins anymore to find the gold but that’s it.

I wonder if more will come up in the future.

Back to the story, Boutarou explains that since Wakayama was sure the tattooed skins couldn’t be collected he also decided stopping collecting them.

Shiraishi, clever guy, asks him if he found the place in which the Ainu gold is hidden.

Boutarou though, might act friendly but he’s clearly not a stupid.

He doesn’t directly answer, he just says it’s possible to get close to it but he’s confident Noppera-bou wouldn’t have hid it in a place that’s easy to spot once you get close by.

So Boutarou asks Shiraishi and Sugimoto to join forces with him and help searching for it. He claims he wants Shiraishi in his team because Shiraishi is fun and Sugimoto because Sugimoto is strong and both are things he likes he claims as he wraps his arms around them.

Shiraishi though, using a joking tone, points out they might end up on fighting over how to split the gold.

Boutarou claims they can become his vassals as he wants to become the king of a warm Southeast Asian small island on which he can grow and sell fruits to other countries and have so many kids he can make a country of his own family.

The way Boutarous smiles as he asks them to become vassals in his kingdom is kind of cute, like the one of a happy child.

Shiraishi laughs a bit uncomfortable at his ambitious dream while Sugimoto wonders on why everyone wants to be in charge of something as huge as a country.

He covers his eyes with his hat at this, shadowing them completely even though he smiles, making hard to read his expression. It’s usually no good when Sugimoto’s eyes can’t be seen.

I think Sugimoto believes Boutarou is moved by either ambition or greed or both, therefore by something negative, and that due to this he’s getting in his way when he instead aims at something much smaller and that should also help a person he loves.

I think Boutarou gets what Sugimoto is implying and that’s why, although he keeps his smile he looks much more serious as he makes Sugimoto a personal question.

‘Do you have any family?’

Sugimoto’s face is shadowed and his eyes fully black as he says he doesn’t, Boutarou clearly touching a sore spot.

Boutarou goes on, asking him if they’re dead. He’s still smiling but he’s not being overly cheerful.

Sugimoto, also smiling but with his eyes downcast, admits they died due to tuberculosis.

I think that’s the first time Sugimoto talked with someone about how his family died. Sugimoto, Asirpa and Shiraishi are a group but, except for Asirpa who occasionally talk about her father or about Huci, they hardly talk of any personal matter. Credits when its due both Shiraishi and Asirpa tried talking with Sugimoto about personal matters but both stumbled on the Umeko issue (Shiraishi asking him if he had someone and Asirpa asking him what he planned to do with the gold) and Sugimoto closed up to Shiraishi and wasn’t quite honest with Asirpa so talks never went that far… when instead it was probably important they did. They’re risking their life together, they should be able to share the burdens of the pasts with the others.

Anyway at Sugimoto’s reply Boutarou’s smile stay even if his expression is much more serious.

Then Boutarou goes closer to Sugimoto (WOW, Boutarou seems quite a bit taller than him), wrapping his arms around him in some sort of conforting or kinship gesture and telling him his family died too, although what killed them was smallpox, and adding ‘you know what it’s like, right?’.

He’s likely not referring to smallpox but both to the pain of losing your family but also to the sad fate of victims of contagious illness. Places in hospitals were scarce, which means they would have to stay home until one would free, infecting, if they hadn’t already, their family members.

Back then there was no cure for illness like smallpox or tuberculosis same as there is no cure for coronavirus now and they also had a lot less mean to protect themselves from infection.

The result would be that neighbors, in fear of getting infected, would ostracize the families whose members would fall prey of an illness, mock them, claim if they got sick it was because they did it was due to something they had done, as if illness was some sort of divine punishment, abandoning them to their sad fate and refusing to help.

It’s easy to feel empathy for Boutarou and Sugimoto’s conditions, especially considering how even now, in a time in which superstition shouldn’t rule us way too many people had felt entitled to mock or blame or turn their backs to those who would get coronavirus cases.

Boutarou found himself living this situation when he was a child and, as he was a child, he came up with this naïve dream.

‘If I become a king, nobody would ever shun my family.’

For a child this makes sense. He was powerless to fight what was happening so he assumed if he were to be the most important person he would have had control and would have been able to stop the world from rejecting and abandoning him and his family to their fate.

In a way it’s not a completely wrong assumption as we see that people in position of power or with a lot of money can get tested sooner than people who aren’t and they also get better health care, everyone hurrying to find a comfortable place for them in the most comfortable hospital.

Child Boutarou was aware of this as well but instead than thinking that the system was unfair and wanting to fight the system decided he would ride it.

If only who’s in power, who’s rich get help, he would be that person.

A king.

And then he wouldn’t have to suffer that fear and that pain anymore.

This thought helps him to survive.

He decided to stop being afraid of getting smallpox, to pursue his dream and look at the world in a positive manner and this allowed him to carry on to the point that adult Boutarou thinks it was his own attitude that kept smallpox away from him.

Boutarou makes it simple but it doesn’t really work like turning a switch on. You’ve to persuade yourself that you aren’t afraid, that you’ve to feel positive day after day, wearing these thoughts as if they were a mask that covers fear and negativity until the mask becomes you and you believe in all this… but sadly it’s not so easy and it doesn’t necessarily work smoothly.

Often the mask remains just a mask that stops us from facing what we’re really thinking. Only we’ve been wearing by so long we just delude ourselves the mask is us when it’s always just a mask and, since what’s behind it remains there unchallenged, it slowly poisons our life.

For Boutarou by now it’s probably hard to say if he smiles because he’s genuinely happy or if he smiles because HE MUST BE POSITIVE.

And he’s not the only one who hides behind a smile. We saw how in this chapter Sugimoto too smiled as he said his family died. His smile is a lot less cheery than Boutarou, it’s clear it’s a sad smile but Sugimoto too tries to cope with pain through a smile… although Sugimoto more often than not use it to cover his fear.

We saw him smiling when he punched the bear and it didn’t work, when he faced Tsurumi for the first time he smiled and even joked around even though he knew he was in deep troubles.

Although smiles are usually connected to happiness, they don’t necessarily mean the one showing them feels genuine happiness because they’re also more often than not used as a mask to show confidence, to hide troubles, pain and fear to the others and to yourself.

So I’m not so sure always smiling Boutarou is as happy as he looks like, and I don’t know if his obstinacy in having a positive outlook might cause him to miss facing something negative, becoming a maladaptive behavior. We’ll see but, for now, I think there’s more in Boutarou than just a happy guy, and the same goes for other Golden Kamuy smiling prone characters.

Who knows, maybe as @osomanga has suggested, maybe the funny Shiraishi too has behind himself a sad backstory and let’s not forget the friendly Kiroranke hid behind himself a partisan fighter who had remained alone after he believed Wilk, his hero, betrayed him.

Golden Kamuy is a story with characters with a complicate psychological background after all, we shouldn’t just wave them off as just black and white.

So, back to Boutarou, now we know it’s not greed or ambition what’s behind his wish, but merely a traumatic past that forced him to face on his own the powerlessness of watching your parents and relative die due to a terrible illness and the people turning their back to you.

What Boutarou GENUINELY wishes is fundamentally to never again live that experience, to erase it from the universe but, as this is not possible, he came up with this, with a dream that deludes him he won’t be abandoned, that he will be able to control his fate, that he and his family will be able to live happily.

Not being abandoned, having a measure of control over our fate and live a happy life with our beloved ones are really normal things, things we all wish and that we normally pursue through more normal means but as Boutarou lived in desperate times he decided to use desperate measures.

And, in a way, Boutarou’s dream is overall pretty similar to Tsurumi’s goal and to his men’s dream. They want a country in which they will be safe, happy and in control.

And yes, although what they fundamentally wish is something really normal and human… their wish is sadly a very selfish one as, to fulfill it they would sacrifice other humans. Their world is not a perfect one where everyone is safe, happy and in control but one in which they are.

However, as they perceive they were sacrificed first, they have a hard time realizing sacrificing others is wrong, that they should just accept they were wronged but that it’s not okay to retaliate, to return just retribution for the pain they were made to suffer.

It’s sad. It’s wrong. And it’s also something that happens way too often in life.

As Boutarou explains his dream, Sugimoto’s eyes are still downcast...

...and he remembers himself as he watched over his sick father, Sugimoto’s eyes back then, completely void of light.

This transition reminds me a bit of the transition Noda used to shift from when Asirpa asked Ogata which was his favourite food to when we saw him with Hanazawa.

We know that Sugimoto’s father was the last to die, before him Sugimoto lost three other family members.

One of them was likely his mother, the other two are either his grandparents or two younger siblings (Sugimoto’s name implies he’s the firstborn as it contain the kanji for “1”).

His father is probably the last surviving member of Sugimoto’s family and he’s there, sitting at his bedside, watching him slowly die due to illness.

There are many stress lines under Sugimoto’s eyes and his expression is grim. He likely knows there’s no hope, that there’s nothing he can do, that he can only stay there and watch.

Sugimoto’s father tells him not to hope he’ll manage to get a bed in the sanatorium. For who’s not familiar with the term, in a time in which they had no antibiotics against tuberculosis, they assumed you could cure the illness just by giving the ill person a regimen of rest, fresh air and good nutrition. But beds in sanatorium were scarce, that’s way Sugimoto’s father is warning him he won’t get a bed in one… and since sanatorium were assumed to be the only place in which one could heal and he finds unlikely he’ll get a bed in one, basically Sugimoto’s dad is telling Sugi to prepare to the idea of his death.

His father then tells Sugimoto he’s kind and this causes him to end up stuck with the worst roles… same as it used to happen to his father, a personality trait which didn’t seem to want to change.

Sugimoto’s father looks like Sugimoto, only older, thinner and sick. He’s in a bed whose covers are dirty with the blood he should have coughed. The poor guy choughs occasionally but he’s smiling and, contrary to Sugimoto, there’s a light in his eyes.

Sugimoto’s father probably sees the shortcomings of being kind but, at the same time I think he also sees the good sides of it.

It’s not a personality trait that doesn’t want to change, it’s him who didn’t want to change it.

And this makes me think at how it should have been terrible for Sugimoto to accept to kill in order to survive. Because killing is all but kind and he should have made a lot of mental gimmicks to accept to do it and receive a lot of mental scarring.

So of course his reasoning to cope with it is that enemies are soulless bad guys, which Asirpa waved off as an excuse one would give to a child.

Probably a side of him, to protect himself, reverted to a kid and came up with such a silly excuse, same as Boutarou who can’t let go of his childish dream, and then he clung to it and he keeps clinging to it even now, a maladaptive copying mechanism that helped Sugimoto survive the war but that’s now plaguing him, a mask he uses to try to cover the fact he views himself as no more kind as his father said he was.

Sugimoto is a complicate psychological mess and I’m sorry for him because deep down he should be suffering a lot inside and hiding it deep inside himself, covering it with a smile and a kind attitude and not really facing it, which only result in more psychological harm for him.

Again, it’s sad.

The scene changes, Sugimoto is outside of the house and a black cat comes to him.

Contrary to what us westerns say Japanese people back then believed black cats to bring good luck and ward off against illness.

As the cat comes to him to be patted Sugimoto, who has shown through all ‘Golden Kamuy’ to be superstitious enough he even absorbed Ainu superstitions, complains with the cat that the cat was supposed to cure tuberculosis and asks him if this is happening because the cat hardly comes there, therefore making the cat useless. The cat leaves at that, leaving Sugimoto alone to watch him walk away, bringing away with itself even the silly hope the cat could fix everything.

It’s another bit of life experience that forms Sugimoto’s mind, a bit that explains why he’s not very good at cooperating, because back then he could do nothing but entrust his hopes to a black cat and yet he was left alone to deal with it.

Sugimoto stands there as he watched the cat leaving, clearly trying hard not to cry. He’s alone stripped even of the delusion the black cat would magically save his father. No one will help him.

He can’t do anything and no one will help him.

At this point I think he remembers what his father told him, he told him to leave the house and not let himself trapped by tuberculosis. He told him he could live for his own sake, that it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

The words, the memory of them after the cat’s abandonment, push Sugimoto to run.

He wants to do it, to escape from that house, but more exactly to escape from that pain. However, as he’s about to get out of the fence he stops, unable to go further.

He looks at the world that extend itself outside the fence, he looks at the freedom, at a place in which he isn’t plagued by the specter of getting infected with tuberculosis each day. He squeezes his eyes shut. In his home his father is still lying in his bed, coughing.

And, I think, at this point Sugimoto knows he can’t leave him to die alone.

In fact in the past flashback we learnt that his father managed to find a spot in a sanatorium… but then he died there and only when the note he was dead reached Sugimoto he managed to leave his home.

So, even though Sugimoto wants to escape, even though he can’t bear it any longer, he can’t leave either. For his torn mind not to crack under the pressure of this two contrasting things, wanting to leave and wanting to stay, his psyche build up a narrative meant to help him to cope.

Sugimoto is a good judoka, isn’t he?

Well, this is a fight, a fight to death against him and tuberculosis, a fight Sugimoto isn’t going to lose. He states he’s going to live and then challenges it to try and kill him, like he will challenge the Russians much later on war, stating he’s immortal.

The image depicts him as if his aura was a fire, a fire burning around him but his expression is contracted, ugly. Not as bad as Usami when he murdered Tomoharu but still… ugly.

You can see in it determination… but it’s a forced determination.

Sugimoto is forcing himself to think all those things to overcome his fear.

Telling himself he’s immortal is the copying behavior he has chosen, a behavior that fits with how he’s a fighter at heart but it’s also just a big lie. He’s not immortal and he’s not really facing the realty of the situation, that he’s a mortal taking upon himself a risk.

He’s young, the situation is so traumatic and terrible he simply CAN’T face the truth, but that copying behavior will follow him traumatic situation after traumatic situation, covering his fear behind a wall of fake confidence into something that’s simply not real.

It’s true that a strong will can overcome a weak body, but will can’t do miracles. Sugimoto is a normal person and therefore he can die like any other person. Just because he has more endurance and luck (and a solid plot armor) than others it doesn’t mean all of sudden he’s immortal and this wrong belief might end up doing him more harm than good.

The flashback ends and we go back to present time and to Boutarou, asking Sugimoto what he plans to do once he finds the gold to reach HIS OWN HAPPINESS and if he doesn’t have any dream.

It’s clear Sugimoto started this adventure hoping he could get gold enough for himself to cure Umeko but also to be capable to present himself in front of her as a man who’s better than the one who left her, if not in actions (Sugimoto is plagued by the fact he’s a killer now), at least in finances.

Although Toraji clearly wasn’t rich I always had the feeling he was a little better off than Sugimoto and Sugimoto was afraid this influenced Umeko’s choice... so, since he can’t clean away the blood he has shed I think he hopes he can ‘hide it’ by presenting himself as someone who’s better off economically and can provide Umeko with the means to cure her eyes.

I think he’s afraid to present himself to her but wanted to believe by going back rich and capable to cure her he could find the guts to show himself to her again and get what he truly wanted, her love back.

However many things had happened and more than a full year went by from when he started hunting skins, not mentioning the time that had gone by from when he returned from war.

This goal had moved always further from him while his hunt for the gold became a sidequest that didn’t help him to go back to Umeko but that actually kept him away from her.

So Sugimoto likely knows what he used to dream for when all this started, what he believed would give him happiness… but instead than getting closer with any skin he gained, it only got far. The shading on him isn’t uniform, it’s swirling, I think it hints Boutarou’s words forced him to realize, if not this, at least ‘something’.

Meantime the boat has almost reached Ebetsu.

Boutarou, the gentleman pirate, apologizes to the passengers, telling them he didn’t mean to cause them troubles and commotion so he won’t steal things from them, he’ll just settle for taking the money that was sent as registered mail. As he says so though, he spot Sugimoto opened back with, inside it, Heita’s skin and the tobacco case he always carried with himself.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess this means troubles for his alliance with Sugimoto, Shiraishi and Asirpa… which, to be honest, never got involved in the alliance. Boutarou just wanted Shiraishi and Sugimoto and they didn’t mention having a third member in their group even if it was kind of obvious Asirpa was connected to them.

I’m a little annoyed at this, it’s not the first time Asirpa is handled as a minor part to the group even though today she’s the one who saved the day by handling the problem of the crazy postman (along with Shiraishi who got information from Boutarou and set the basis for an allegiance)… but well, I guess it can’t be helped. We’ll see if things will change in the future.

#Golden Kamuy #Sugimoto Saichi #Asirpa #Shiraishi Yoshitake #Oosawa Fusatarou #Matsuda Heita #Wakayama Kiichirou #Nakazawa Tatsuya #Henmi Kazuo #Golden Kamuy Ramblings and Theories #Hidoro Shinpei #Hidoro Tamotsu #Gotou Takechiyo #Ueji Keiji

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plurdledgabbleblotchits · 4 years

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We’d love you to get rid of your Sheriff and law enforcement . We don’t need no rules!

Alvord-Stiles Gang (1899-1904) – Led by two ex-lawmen, Burton Alvord and Billy Stiles, this gang of train robbers operated in Arizona Territory at the turn of the century.

Archer Gang (1880s) – Much like the Reno Brothers who had operated two decades earlier, the Archer brothers — Thomas, Mort, John, and Sam, raided Orange and Marion Counties in Indiana for several decades.

Sam Bass Gang (1877-1878) – Led by Sam Bass, this gang robbed trains and banks in Texas. For South Dakota and Nebraska robberies, see the Black Hills Bandits.

Billy the Kid’s Gang, aka: The Rustlers (1876-1880) – Led by Billy the Kid, this gang formed out of the conflict of the Lincoln County War in New Mexico.

Black Hills Bandits (1876-1877) – Comprised of Sam Bass, Joel Collins, and four other men, they robbed stagecoaches in the Deadwood, South Dakota area and pulled off the Big Springs train robbery in Nebraska.

Blonger Brothers (1890’s-1922) – Louis H. “The Fixer” Blonger led one of the longest-running confidence rings in the American West.

Bummers Gang (1855-1860) – Operating in Denver, Colorado, the Bummers Gang began “raiding” the town in the mid-1850s.

Burrow Gang (1887-1890) – Reuben “Rube” Burrow, along with his brother Jim, and other members began to rob trains after Rube’s crops had failed in Texas.

Clanton Gang, aka: The Cowboys (1870s) – The Clanton family and their ranch hands were a loosely organized gang of outlaws who operated along the Mexican border of Arizona, stealing cattle, robbing stagecoaches, ambushing teamsters, and committing murder.

Cook Gang (1894) – Led by Bill Cook and Cherokee Bill, these outlaws terrorized Indian Territory (Oklahoma) in 1894. Ruthless, they shot anyone who got in their way.

Brack Cornett Gang – See Bill Whitley Gang

Dalton Gang (1891-1892) – Led by brothers Bob and Grat Dalton, the Dalton Gang robbed banks and trains throughout Kansas and Oklahoma until they were killed in the Coffeyville, Kansas Raid.

Daly Gang (1862-1864) – For two years the Daly Gang terrorized the town of Aurora, Nevada.

Dodge City Gang (1879-1881) – In the summer of 1879, a gang of desperadoes known as the Dodge City Gang masqueraded as lawmen in Las Vegas, New Mexico.

Doolin-Dalton Gang, aka: Oklahombres, the Wild Bunch (1892-1895) – Led by Bill Doolin, the gang specialized in robbing banks, stagecoaches and trains in Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Kansas.

Espinosa Gang – Bitter at the killing of six family members during the Mexican-American War, the Espinosas took their revenge on Colorado residents and travelers, murdering them viciously.

The Five Joaquins (1850-1853) – The Five Joaquins were said to be responsible for the majority of cattle rustling, robberies, and murders that were committed in the Mother Lode area of the Sierra Nevadas between 1850 and 1853.

Fleagle Gang in the Newspaper

Fleagle Gang (1920s) – The Fleagle Gang robbed banks and committed murder in Kansas, Colorado, and California during the 1920s. They were found and executed or killed after robbing the First National Bank in Lamar, Colorado.

Flores-Daniel Gang (1856-1857) – Led by Juan Flores and Pancho Daniel, the gang raided southern California, stealing horses, cattle, and robbing travelers along the roadways, sometimes leaving their victims dead.

High Fives Gang (1890s) – Also referred to as the Christian Gang, led by “Black Jack” Will Christian and his brother, Bob, from Oklahoma, the gang operated in New Mexico and Arizona after the Christian brothers escaped from an Oklahoma jail in 1895.

Hole-in-the-Wall-Gang – Active in the 1880s-1890s in the Hole-in-the-Wall Pass of the Big Horn Mountains in Wyoming, the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang was not one organized gang of outlaws, but rather, was made up of several separate groups and individuals who made their hideouts within the pass in Johnson County, Wyoming.

Innocents Gang – The Innocents were an alleged gang of outlaw road agents in Montana Territory who operated during the gold rush of the 1860s, preying on shipments and travelers carrying gold between Bannack and Virginia City.

James Gang (1879-1882) – Three years after the demise of the James-Younger Gang, when the Youngers were arrested in Northfield, Minnesota, Jesse James put together another group to continue on with his criminal career. The James Gang lasted from 1879 to 1882, when Jesse was killed by Bob Ford on April 3, 1882.

James-Younger Gang (1866-1882) – After the Civil War, the James and Younger brothers hooked up, robbing banks, trains, and stagecoaches for ten years, becoming the most famous outlaw gang in America’s history.

Jennings Gang (1897) – This short-lived gang operated only a few months making several failed train robbery attempts in Oklahoma in 1897 before all were arrested or killed.

Jesse Evans Gang – The Boys (1872-1879) – Lead by Jesse Evans, this gang was actively involved in cattle rustling and armed robbery in New Mexico in the early 1870s.

Ketchum Gang (1896-1899) – Made up of a revolving list of members, the Ketchum Gang was led by Black Jack Ketchum. The gang robbed retail businesses, post offices, and trains in New Mexico.

John Kinney Gang (1870’s-1883) – Also known as the Rio Grande Posse, the Kinney Gang were successful cattle rustlers, robbers, and hired gunmen in New Mexico.

Lee Gang (1885) – In the mid-1880s, Cooke County, Texas, on the northern border of the Lone Star State, and the Chickasaw Nation just north in Indian Territory, were plagued by a gang of horse and livestock thieves led by James Lee and his brothers, Tom and Pink.

McCanles Gang – Led by David McCanles (or by some accounts, McCandless), this group of men were allegedly wanted for robbing banks and trains, cattle rustling, murder, and horse theft in the early 1860s.

McCarty Gang (1892-1893) – The McCarty Gang was run by Tom McCarty, who was one of the first to introduce Butch Cassidy to the life of banditry. The gang robbed banks until several members were killed.

Mes Gang – This bunch of primarily Hispanic outlaws and gunmen, were a rival of the John Kinney Gang, both operating out of New Mexico.

Musgrove Gang (1867-1868) – A gang of horse thieves and cattle rustlers who operated throughout Southern Wyoming and Northern Colorado in the late 1860s.

Oklahombres – See Doolin-Dalton Gang

Henry Plummer Gang – See the Innocents

Red Jack Gang – Led by “Red Jack” Almer, also known as Jack Averill, this gang preyed on Arizona stagecoaches during the early 1880s, particularly along the San Pedro River.

Reno Gang (1866-1868) – Four of the five Reno Brothers terrorized the state of Indiana for two years before they tracked down and hanged by the Southern Indiana Vigilance Committee in 1868.

Reynolds Gang (1863-1864) – A group of Confederate sympathizers that rampaged the South Park, Colorado area with the intention of raising money for the Confederate government.

Rogers Brothers Gang (1890s) – The Rogers Brothers Gang, led by Bob Rogers, terrorized Oklahoma and Kansas in the 1890s. The gang was involved in stealing horses, rustling cattle and robbing stores, post offices, banks, and trains.

Rufus Buck Gang (1895-1896) – A gang of ruthless outlaws who preyed on victims in Oklahoma, five of them were hanged at Fort Smith, Arkansas.

Selman’s Scouts (1878) – An outlaw gang in Lincoln County, New Mexico led by John Selman. For two months, during September and October 1878, the gang members terrorized the county by rustling cattle and horses, killing innocent men and boys, pillaging businesses and homes, and raping women.

Seven Rivers Warriors – (1870s) – Made up mostly of small-time ranchers from the Seven Rivers area of southeastern Lincoln County, New Mexico. supported the Tunstall/McSween faction against that of Dolan and Murphy in the Lincoln County War of New Mexico.

Silva’s White Caps, aka: Forty Bandits, Society of Bandits (1879-1893) – Silva’s White Caps were a vicious outlaw gang that operated in Las Vegas, New Mexico from about 1879 to 1893. They were a mafia-like organization that was led by led by Vicente Silva.

Smith-Dixon Gang – A Gang of horse thieves and whiskey peddlers operating in Indian Territory (Oklahoma), its members included Dave Smith, a former member of the Belle Starr Gang; his brother-in-law, Leander “Lee” Dixon; and a man teenager of about 17 years-old named William “Billy” Towerly.

Soapy Smith Gang (1879-1898) – Led by Jefferson Randolph “Soapy” Smith, the gang operated in Denver and Creede, Colorado before moving on to Skagway, Alaska, running a number of con games against unsuspecting citizens.

Stockton Gang (1878-1881) – Led by Ike Stockton, this gang of cattle rustlers terrorized the area of northern New Mexico while posing as “gentleman cowboys” in Durango, Colorado.

Triskitt Gang – Known for having conducted several robberies and killings in Northern California, the gang killed 18 people in Sailor’s Diggings, Oregon and stole $75,000 in gold.

Vasquez Gang (1860s-1875) – Led by Tiburcio Vasquez, the gang committed armed robbery and rustled horses and cattle up and down central and southern California for years.

Bill Whitley or Brack Cornett Gang (1887-1888) – Comprised of about 12 outlaws, the gang was led by Texas desperadoes Bill Whitley and Brack Cornett, robbing Texas banks and trains in the late 1880s.

Wild Bunch (1896-1901) – Led by Butch Cassidy, the Wild Bunch terrorized the states of Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Utah, and Nevada for five years.

Wolcott’s Regulators (1892) – One of the most feared bands of gunfighters and outlaws in Wyoming was Wolcott’s Regulators, who preyed on homesteaders in 1892, frequently leaving dead bodies in their wake.

#Defund the police shortsighted #the criminal element is always there just waiting for this :)#rules are what we have to have in order to function as a civilized society

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