Chapter Text
As he stepped out of the airport, Koichi was greeted by the pale, mild warmth of the sun in a baby blue sky. He took a deep breath, drawing the sweet air of Venice into his lungs. After a 12-hour flight, it tasted like heaven itself. He allowed himself a moment or two to bask in the beautiful climate before he opened his eyes and refocused himself on the task at hand.
Out of his pocket came a slightly crumpled, folded piece of paper. All that was written on it was a phone number. Jotaro had instructed him to call this number when he arrived at the airport, and from there, certain informants would get him where he needed to go.
“Why can’t the Speedwagon Foundation just find out what’s happening?” Koichi had asked. “We have connections everywhere. I don’t feel right relying on gang members to figure this out.”
“That’s just how it is,” Jotaro had told him. “It’s easier this way.”
Easier this way, huh, Koichi thought to himself, his stomach churning as he tapped the numbers into his cell phone. He didn’t like to doubt Jotaro, but nothing about this felt right. He had absolutely no Foundation connections to rely on here. Every part of the information trade here in Venice was overseen by, if not outright run by the gangs. Koichi just couldn’t shake the feeling that something awful was going to happen to him. He just wanted to check things out and get back home as soon as he could.
The line clicked on. “H-Hello?” Koichi said quickly.
“Are you the Foundation Representative?” asked a cool, calm voice. It didn’t sound like its owner was all that much older than Koichi, and that thought made a shiver run down his spine.
“Y-Yes,” he answered, and hated how his voice shook. “I’ve just arrived at the airport. How should I-”
“Your car is already waiting for you. Someone will arrive momentarily to take you to it. We’ll see you shortly.” And with those three short, clipped sentences, the call ended.
Koichi swallowed, feeling very out of place. His grip tightened on the handle of his briefcase. Somehow he knew that this whole situation was much bigger than either he or Jotaro had anticipated.
“Oi. You the guy?”
A sharp voice cut through Koichi’s internal discomfort and he blinked twice, suddenly finding an unfamiliar man in front of him. He wore a short cropped, somewhat argyle-style sweater, paired with blazing orange tiger-striped pants and something halfway between a hat and a helmet. Koichi’s first thoughts about his tacky outfit melted away as his eyes focused on a gun sticking out of the hem of the man’s pants. No holster? Koichi thought in panic. Did he rely on his gun so much that a holster would just slow him down-?!
The man snapped impatiently in front of his face. “Hey, I don’t got all day! You the one I’m waiting for or what?”
“Yes!” Koichi said loudly, snapping to attention. He bowed quickly and then felt his face draw warm as he remembered that people in Italy didn’t bow to each other. He straightened up, feeling sheepish, and caught the man’s somewhat bemused expression.
“Cough up the number and we’ll get on with it, then,” he said, resting a hand on his hip. Koichi nervously handed him the piece of paper. He snatched it up and stuffed it halfway down the side of his pants - no pockets, Koichi thought to himself. Normally he might laugh at that, but not in this situation. “Alright. Come on.”
As Koichi followed behind him, he realized just how little he knew about this form of life. So much secrecy - calls with people whose names he didn’t know, chartered cars, shepherds sent to get him where he was supposed to go. And for God’s sake, barely concealed weapons out in the open, and at an airport no less? How could anyone stand to live like this?
And yet as the two of them left the airport behind them, Koichi found no sense of urgency or danger in the pedestrians they passed. Several even smiled at the man with the gun as if they knew him personally. Koichi’s mind frazzled itself as he tried to make sense of it all. He had always regarded the image of gangs in his mind with fear, but these people seemed to have no worries at all…
“Hey!” the man suddenly yelled, and Koichi stiffened, thinking that perhaps maybe he had done something wrong -- but as he prepared for a lashing, he instead watched his escort dash into the street and begin chastising a young boy who was probably no more than seven. Koichi watched in confusion as the scene played out.
“I told you not to play in the street, dumbass!” he snapped at the boy, whacking him on the head with the butt of his hand. “That’s how people die, y’know!”
“There aren’t even any cars, Mista,” the boy retorted, picking up his soccer ball from the dead center of the road. “I do it all the time.”
“All the time?!” Mista demanded, and he bonked the kid on the head several more times. He lashed out at him with more profanities and the child snapped back and Koichi, now more confused than ever, didn’t comprehend almost any of what happened in front of him. He only wondered briefly if, maybe, Jotaro had been wrong when he said that he’d be dealing with men from the Mafia.
The boy finally ran off down the sidewalk after using some foul Italian slang Koichi couldn’t quite understand, and with a deep-heaved sigh, Mista - unless Koichi had heard the name wrong - continued towards a sleek black car parked nearby. Koichi ran to catch up with him.
“Get in,” Mista said, as he slid into the driver’s seat. Koichi opened the passenger side door and nervously took his seat, glancing over at Mista. He barely had his seatbelt buckled and the door closed before the car rocketed into action, screaming down the street probably 40 miles above any safe speed limit. Koichi’s head banged into the car door as they took a sharp corner and nausea crept up on him within moments. He groaned, covering his mouth with both hands, and as his stomach gurgled dangerously he decided that all the beauty in Italy wasn’t worth this.