Chapter 6: Crime and Punishment
Trebol was thrilled to witness Doffy’s resilience and drive over the next few days as they made ready to leave the island. He could easily have moped or sulked– and he would certainly have deserved time to gather his strength after such a crushing blow– but instead he seemed eager to do, and to learn, and to put the past behind him. Trebol chalked this too up to Doffy’s innate strength and fitness for leadership and wasted no time in occupying him and bringing him up to speed with their activities.
Doffy sat by his side with an eager, attentive expression as Trebol talked, and Trebol wrapped an arm around his shoulder both protectively, and conspiratorially as he did so. It was already becoming clear that the boy’s affection was both spoken and received in terms of physical touch, and given that he didn’t recoil from Trebol’s– quite the opposite– Trebol was more than pleased to accommodate him.
He explained that for the moment the gang’s primary occupation was in the illegal acquisition and negotiation of illicit goods; stealing and selling stolen and black market items, or purchasing them from other thieves and fencing them for a higher price. Devil fruits were a highly profitable part of this business– though a rare one, increasingly rare lately.
After a full explanation, during which Doffy’s interest and intrigued expression never wavered, he impressed Trebol with his keen insight and understanding.
“Stealing and selling is riskier, isn’t it?” He asked, leaning on his hand. “Because you’re more likely to be caught. But then again, if you’re buying and then selling it, there’s a risk you won’t find a buyer at a higher price?”
“Very good, young master!” Trebol declared, delighted. “Stealing is the greater material risk– to life and limb and freedom, of course; and fencing– that’s selling goods someone else stole– is a higher monetary risk.”
“And we do both.”
Trebol was ecstatic to hear Doflamingo including himself in their crooked bunch. Doffy, their own exiled god, patron of thieves and vagabonds.
“We do both,” he agreed, grinning widely. “It’s important to have flexibility in our line of work.”
Doffy nodded, quite seriously. “Tell me some other things that are important!”
He was more than happy to oblige.
As business wound down in preparation for moving on, Diamante had less to do in town. He filled his free time practicing his sword techniques and was outright embarrassed by how much Doffy seemed to enjoy watching him.
“Brilliant!” “Wonderful!” “Amazing!”
Every time the kid complimented him, Dia felt a bashful rush of pride that he played off, waving his hands. He wasn’t that good. Maybe a little better than average, that’s all.
But Doffy would insist– absolutely insist– which both flustered and pleased Dia even more, until he finally relented and accepted the praise. He couldn’t remember a time where anyone had thought quite so highly of him and his skills, and he felt a little drunk to think that Doffy of all people was genuinely impressed.
It didn’t take long for it to turn into a little routine between them, and finally Dia satisfied both his pride and his bashfulness by teaching Doflamingo in return as best he could.
Doffy was an eager pupil he discovered, but admittedly, not a particularly talented one.He had amazing skills elsewhere, but between his bad eye, and his wobbly footing— Dia suspected that his legs might never fully recover from the mob— the kid clearly struggled.
Doffy looked miserable after the tenth time Dia had easily knocked the blade out of his hand. He was limp, and unsmiling. Diamante wouldn’t admit it in blunt terms, but he did feel a sting of pride to be better at something than the celestial dragon. But he sure as hell didn’t want him to feel bad about it.
He put his hand on Doffy’s shoulder warmly, and bent down to him. “Hey, Doffy, don’t worry about it. It’s not like you even need to be good with a sword, right? Between your haki and your fruit?”
“Yeah, but—”
Dia squeezed him. “But nothing. You already have a swordsman. You need somebody skewered? You call me, and I’m right there. Any time, day or night, your hero.”
The adoring look on Doffy’s face as he stared up at him flustered and pleased him even more than all the compliments.
One of the many reasons Pica found that he liked Doffy so much was that Doffy didn’t mind at all that he was quiet. When they were alone together, Doffy happily filled the silence with the sound of his voice– which Pica thought was much nicer than his own– and didn’t need any particular prompting from him to continue talking. Doffy had much more interesting things to say than he did, anyway and Pica was fascinated by him, even charmed. He was too embarrassed to say that directly, of course.
On the day before they were to leave Downs, Pica was packing up a few boxes to be taken to the ship while Doffy sat with him, swinging his legs back and forth and talking about the things Trebol had been teaching him about haki and about being a criminal. After Pica had finished all the packing he came and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Doffy’s chair, just looking up while he talked.
Doffy put his feet on top of Pica’s knees.
He broke off his monologue. “Hey, Pica…”
“Yeah, Doffy?”
“Thanks for listening.”
Pica glowed. Doffy didn’t continue immediately, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if he expedited an answer. He was relieved when Doffy just continued, instead, since he had no idea how to thank him.
“And thank you for looking so hard for my brother. Corazon said you were out for hours and hours and I—” he broke off again, and Pica felt Doffy’s toes curl against his bare knees. “I’m just glad I know someone as cool and determined as you.”
Pica felt like he might faint.
They finally started moving again, leaving behind the dingy town where everything had started, though they stayed, for the moment, at the northern tip of the archipelago. As they worked, Trebol made no secret that he was grooming Doffy not just to become the face of their operation, but for leadership, and it was obvious that he was good at it.
Doflamingo had a way with people, something– presumably his conqueror’s haki– that made even adult criminals think twice before crossing him. He was composed, confident and regal. When it counted, anyway. Among the five of them, Doffy’s manner was relaxed and friendly, and Vergo found himself spending a lot of time with him.
He was charming as he was friendly, and there was something about the way he went from cold to their enemies and outsiders and seemed to immediately melt with them that made Vergo feel special.
Vergo wanted to be there for him, and be there for him he was. The two of them fell into an easy patter of laughter and shared joy where the other gangsters couldn’t see. If Doffy was going to be their leader— and he was, there was no doubt about that— then Vergo wanted to be his right hand.
Doflamingo himself seemed perfectly content with the unspoken arrangement. Vergo would find himself tugged closer with a few pale threads whenever Doffy had decided that Vergo had gotten too far away, and sometimes when it was time for bed– or even in the middle of the night when he’d been sound asleep– Doffy would demand that Vergo come and sleep in his bed.
All of them knew that Doffy had nightmares. It would have been impossible not to know, with the screaming.
It wasn’t even hard to imagine what they could be about. So Vergo slept in his bed whenever the ‘young master’ requested it. He could be a reassuring weight, a presence and a reminder that he was here and now and not back in the fires or whatever other horror show they hadn’t seen.
He never minded it at all.
Vergo had shared a bed with Pica before, in the orphanage, and afterward, and Pica could be clingy, but he wasn’t cuddly the way Doffy was. Doffy would rest his chin on Vergo’s shoulder. Would put his arms around him, would play with his hair.
He couldn’t have imagined someone clingier, cuddlier than Pica, and yet Doffy surprised him. He didn’t admit it out loud, but he thought Doffy must have known that something about the casual affection made him happy.
He didn’t admit out loud that night spent with the cuddly ‘young master’ were the best nights of sleep he’d ever had.
It was interrupted only rarely by screaming.
Trebol was pleased with the way their little gang was rising. Finally quit of Downs, the next few months were some of their most lucrative thus far, and no small amount of that was due to Doffy, whom Trebol was more and more considering his protege— one who was meant to surpass him in every way, and tug him along in the wake of his glory. Trebol’s sharp intellect and villainous instincts were wasted on his crippled body, but Doffy— strong, beautiful, godly little Doffy— could flourish under the nurturing of Trebol’s wisdom like a flower of criminal wickedness. They needed one another.
Sometimes that was more apparent than others.
Trebol had begun taking Doffy along on deals almost immediately. The young master had a keen insight for weakness and deceit, and an instinct for just when and how to needle their fellow criminals to yield better prices, or more information. Such contributions instilled more confidence in Trebol in Doflamingo’s obvious potential.
But there were unfortunate incidents that reminded him that he was still raw materials. Still a child.
The day after they’d concluded a rather lucrative deal with a local smuggler Trebol was penning notes and looking through illegally purchased ships manifest copies in their new offices when Doffy stumbled into the room with a bruised cheek and a bloody nose.
Trebol was immediately on his feet and shuffling over to him. He leaned down and put his arm on his shoulder.
“Doffy! How’d you get hurt?”
Doffy leaned against him, resting his head under his arm. His scowl was angry and frustrated, and his young voice was thick with pain and confusion. “Some thug beat me up,” he whined. “People like that ought to be killed.”
Doffy needed to work on controlling his conqueror’s haki and his devil fruit. It was a fact which Trebol was sure that the boy was already painfully aware of. Reminding him of it would serve no purpose other than to further humiliate him; something Trebol had no interest in doing. Far from it. What Doffy needed was strength and confidence and comfort. To know that his family— that Trebol— would be there for him, no matter what.
“They certainly ought to be,” Trebol agreed, frowning. He petted and stroked Doffy’s hair as he knew the boy liked. “There there. Tell me about this thug. I’ll take care of it immediately.”
Doffy hadn’t recognized him, but Trebol immediately did from his description. It was one of the cronies of the smuggler that they’d dealt with the night before. Trebol suspected that the man’s ego couldn’t handle being gotten the better of by a child and a cripple and had decided to take his irritation out on the one that he considered the weak link.
Trebol intended to punish him for that. They’d start with the flunky who’d dared to lay a hand on the young master.
He kissed Doffy’s hair, and he wiped the blood off of his face with a damp, cool rag, and he sat with him for a little while saying soothing things while Doffy nursed the bruise on his cheek. Once he was settled, he called Vergo and Pica in to sit with him, and Trebol grabbed the gun from his desk drawer.
One less thing to tip this flunky’s boss off to the direction that trouble was coming from if he didn’t use his powers.
Trebol made his way to the nearby pub where the criminals and pirates liked to carouse, and easily found the man he was looking for by description alone. He hadn’t bothered bringing Diamante with him for such a small matter; by this point Trebol was confident enough in his own ability that he was hardly afraid of being gotten the better of by some worthless thugs.
It was easy enough to get the man alone— Trebol just told one of his associates that he was looking to pay him back some money. Trebol waited in the little downstairs rented room that stank of smoked drugs, bad sex, and worse wine.
When the man and his associate came in, Trebol waited only as long as it took for them to close the door before he shot both of them cold on the ground.
He sneered down at the bodies in their pools of blood and filth. Pathetic, slow witted criminals like these, with no wit or ambition— they weren’t fit to lick the scum off of Doffy’s shoes. Hell, they weren’t fit to lick the scum off of his own shoes, either. They were nothing.
Trebol grabbed the hat that belonged to the man who’d attacked Doffy, and he took both of the dead men’s purses and weapons, tucking them away under his thick coat. He wiped his face with a rag in case of stray blood spatter, and he left. On his way out, he handed the manager of the pub a generous tip.
The next day when he saw Doffy, Trebol wordlessly handed him the hat, and he watched as his smile lit up like a beacon.
“He’s dead?” Doffy peered up at Trebol, his one good eye wide with excitement.
“As dead as you declared that he ought to be, young master,” Trebol chortled. “I promised that I’d take care of it for you, didn’t I?”
Doffy’s heart soared. It hadn’t even been a particularly bad beating. Doffy had been cornered and caught, and beaten and hurt way worse than that before, and no one had been there to protect him. His father had looked at him like he was slime for even suggesting that the people who’d hurt him ought to pay for their crimes.
But Trebol had just gone and killed the man. Like it was nothing. Like it was just what was supposed to happen.
Doffy threw himself on Trebol, hugging him through the thick coat. “You’re the best, Trebol!”
“Anything for you, Doffy,” he cooed. Doflamingo nuzzled his hand while Trebol petted his hair, basking in the feeling of attention and safety. “I have to apologize to you, though.”
“Huh? What for?” he peered up at him in confusion.
“I found out why that man attacked you, and it was my fault.”
“It wasn’t just random?” Doffy’s brow furrowed.
It hadn’t even occurred to him that there might have been a reason behind the assault. He was so used to the last two years of constantly being pursued and attacked it just seemed normal for someone to want to hurt him for no reason. That was why his instinct to get away had kicked in before he’d thought to use his strings or his haki to fight back. The man had instantly sent him back to all those moments on the run with Rosi and all he could think to do was run.
Trebol shook his head. “Not random. That man worked for the smuggler that you and I met with night before last.”
Doffy froze as the moment came back to him. “Mr. Cagney? The idiot who thought he could intimidate us?”
“The very same, the very same,” Trebol murmured nodding. “It seems he didn’t like us getting a decent price out of him and wanted to pay us back for it.”
“That filthy bastard,” Doffy hissed. He sulked, leaning against Trebol as he thought it over. “He sent that man after me, then. Does that mean he thought I was weak?”
“He did,” Trebol said, holding him close. Doffy felt a sick feeling in his stomach. Weakness. He didn’t want to be weak. He didn’t want anyone to think he was weak. “But he was wrong, young master.”
“I hate it.” Doffy’s nails digging into Trebol’s coat. “I hate that he even thought I was weak. I hate that I– that I just ran away. I should have shown him my power.”
“Hey, hey, young master, it’s alright,” Trebol cooed. “You’re still learning to control the great power that you have inside you. It’ll take time before everyone knows how amazing you are.”
“I want them to know right now!” Doffy insisted, feeling heat stinging his eyes behind his glasses. “I don’t want anyone thinking I’m somebody weak they can beat up.”
Trebol chuckled softly, and his cool fingers traced over the warm bruise on Doffy’s face. He leaned into his touch. “Let’s show them, then, Doffy. Let’s show them what happens when they mess with you. It’ll be a chance for you to practice with your power.”
Doffy’s heart thumped in his chest as he looked eagerly up at him. “What are we going to do?”
“Ehehe. We’re going to kill Mr. Cagney of course.”
Cagney’s gang had a hideout near the waterfront. Trebol arranged an appointment, and this time he showed up with the whole gang. When he and Doffy were ushered into the office, Dia, Pica and Corazon stayed outside in the main area. They’d discussed the entire play. Dia would wait about five minutes, and then the three of them would slaughter the whole Cagney smuggling gang while Doffy and Trebol taught their boss a lesson he wouldn’t have a chance to put into practice.
“I’m surprised to see you back so soon, haha,” Cagney chuckled, settling behind his desk. He didn’t ask them to sit, and he didn’t offer them a drink. “And here I thought you didn’t like me as a business partner.”
“Well, you can’t always choose who you do business with, can you?” Trebol said, leaning on the man’s desk. “You’re the man filling the chair for smuggling in this town, so until that changes, people have to do business with you. Which I’m sure is how you like it.”
Cagney snickered nastily and Trebol watched as his gaze flicked to Doffy, who was standing quietly half behind the hem of Trebol’s coat.
“You’re smart enough for a man of your type, Trebol. That’s right, I’m the man at the top around here,” Cagney said. “Did your little errand boy get roughed up? What a shame. Maybe pick a sturdier one up at the slave market.”
“Shut up, corpse!” Doffy snapped, hissing like a cat as he took a step forward out from Trebol’s protection.
Cagney’s eyes flared. “What did you say to me, kid?”
Trebol smiled as outside, he heard the first sounds of violence. He took his pistol out of his coat and calmly aimed it at the smuggler’s head.
“He said, ‘shut up, corpse’,” Trebol repeated. He chuckled wickedly. “Go ahead, Doffy. Just like we talked about.”
Doffy’s breath was heavy, whether from exertion of his power or just enjoying what he was doing, he wasn’t sure. His glasses had slipped down on his nose, as he watched Cagney writhing miserably and wretchedly on the floor like a worm.
Beautiful threads were wound all around him. They tied his wrists and ankles tight, and they wound around his fingers. There, the threads cut razor sharp and drew blood that was leaking into the scarred, cracked wood of the low rent office floor. The smuggler twitched and squirmed; he shouted curses and threats, but no help came.
Doffy wiggled his fingers. The strings tightened again, drawing more of the man’s blood.
“Very good, Doffy, very good,” Trebol cooed, looming over his shoulder. “Now his throat. You’ll need lots of threads for that, Doffy. You want to choke him, not slice him.”
“Got it.” Doffy glowed, basking under the praise, and giggling at the man’s pathetic wriggling and shouting. He tugged his fingers again and threads began to wrap their way around the man’s gawky throat just above the collar of his ugly shirt.
It was only then that the man started to beg. From outside the office, there was more screaming and smashing.
That only made Doffy laugh harder.
This was nothing like killing his father. Killing his father had been miserable. Terrifying and sickening. In the end, it had left him numb and cold; all it had been was a heavy task that had to be performed. One that occasionally still had him sweating in the night.
This was nothing like killing the soldiers as he fled from Mary Geoise. That had been all frantic panic and instinct. He’d barely even been conscious of it at the time— it had made him a little sick—- and the achievement only pleased him in hindsight when he’d been recounting the tale to the others.
No, killing Cagney was different.
Killing Cagney was a pleasure. The smuggler Doffy barely knew, who had tried to cheat them in their deal the first time they’d met. Who had sent thugs to rough Doffy up thinking he was weak. Who thought he was better than them. Who was, as Trebol had said to him before they came, not even fit to lick either of their shoes.
Cagney deserved to suffer and die, and before he died he’d know that he’d know that he had been wrong about Doffy. He’d know that Doffy was strong.
Doffy grinned brightly, watching as his thousand glittering threads wound tightly around the man’s throat like a shining ribbon. He crooked his fingers and the threads squeezed tighter and Cagney’s face started to turn blue as he gasped and choked and wheezed. He thrashed on the floor, unable even to clutch at his throat with his bloody hands entirely under the power of Doffy’s strings.
“Almost, Doffy,” Trebol cooed. “Keep it up just a little longer.”
Doflamingo took a deep breath and a shudder rolled through him. He held his power trained on the filthy, twitching man. His ragged gasps had been completely cut off, replaced with a croaking noise that slowly died in his throat. His face turned fascinating colors, and finally, he stopped moving completely.
A rather nasty smell filled the room, and Doffy turned up his nose.
“Did I do it, Trebol?” he asked eagerly
Trebol leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Beautifully done, young master. He won’t be getting up again. You can relax.”
Doffy shivered again, glowing under the praise. His strings vanished and he relaxed back against Trebol’s legs.
“We sure showed him, huh?” Doffy giggled. “That was a lot of fun.”
“You truly rose to the occasion, Doffy,” Trebol said. He clumped over and delivered a swift kick to the corpse’s side, before going to rifle through his desk. “Keep practicing your powers like that, and you’ll be able to kill with hardly a thought.”
The promise of that kind of power was heady, and it made Doffy swoon. He bit his lip and wandered carefully over to the desk to watch Trebol work.
“I’ll keep practicing,” he promised. “What are we gonna do about… all this stuff?”
Trebol smiled broadly. “We’re going to take it, my dear young master. Everything that’s worth taking. His money, his information, his contacts— all of it.”
The thought excited him. “I guess he really was worth more dead than alive.”
“So indeed, Doffy, so indeed.”
“Doffy seems happy,” Diamante said with a smirk as he lit up a cigarette. He had a hell of a supply for now, after taking the packs off the smuggler cronies they’d killed earlier in the evening. They were back at their own hideout now, and Dia was watching Trebol go through the stack of papers and logbooks he’d brought with them.
“He does,” Trebol cooed, leafing through pages. “And he was brilliant, Dia. A natural born killer. I ought to thank Cagney for the opportunity he afforded us, really.”
Trebol laughed an ugly laugh and Diamante snickered with him. “I can’t say I didn’t appreciate the chance for some exercise. We were getting out of practice laying low for so long in Downs. That was a lot of corpses though.”
“It was,” Trebol nodded. He looked up with a sly smirk. “But the local constabulary will thank us for it. Or rather, they’ll be thanking the bounty hunter I tipped off who’ll be taking credit for the massacre.”
Dia rapped his knuckles on the table. “Okay, okay, I have to admit it, Tre. That’s clever.”
“Thank you. You did a masterful job with the crowd yourself.”
“Oh it was nothing,” Dia shook his head. “With Vergo and Pica’s help it was hardly worth my time.”
Trebol waved a hand. “So you say. In any case, this is an excellent opportunity for us.Cagney had a lot of contacts.”
“Will they want to work with us?” Diamante asked. It seemed like a longshot, cleaning up and taking over the business dealings of a gang they’d just slaughtered.
“I don’t know why they shouldn’t,” Trebol chuckled. “After all, their local contact was just obliterated by some bounty hunter. They’ll need to get a good in with whoever picks up the pieces.”
“Huh, good point. Guess it’s all coming up roses for us.”
“For Doffy,” Trebol said with a thick smile. “We’ve been on the rise since he came back to us.”
“Not gonna deny that,” Dia said, puffing on his cigarette. He liked Doffy. He liked him a lot. They had a lot in common, taking turns giving each other little compliments, though Doffy was much more gracious about it than he was. And now it seemed they had one more thing in common. “You said that he’s a natural born killer?”
“Oh yes, you should have seen the look on his face while Cagney was squirming,” Trebol recounted with glee. “It was marvelous.”
Dia chuckled and blew out a breath of smoke. “Kid knows how to have a good time.”