Connections, like say, a dealer in Florida or a runner in Dominica. That was how Rogelio was brought to Barbados, through a smuggling ring that operated a base in San Domingo's port. The Trenchermen, Sever called them; a ruthless cartel of criminals that operated in the happy, quaint fishing village of Bethsheba. While primarily drug-smugglers, he told Rogelio, they also dealt in the occasional gold-smuggling -a lot of that gold came from Rogelio - and the illegal transportation of people. Not human trafficking, he was quick to say, but simply smuggling immigrants and criminals across the Antilles and Caribbeans. He knew Rogelio didn't admire slavers, and neither did many of his own crew. They were robbers by choice; many junkies were junkies by choice; many women were prostitutes by choice and could leave the cycle if they had the money. Choice was the backbone of the cycle, unfortunately, it was broken cycle. Mariendez's efforts to correct the cycle within his own crew were successful, all of them disciplined and steady in their actions due to their drills and Mariendez's influence - they were all children under Mariendez, once - had made them hardy and vicious killers. But they never forced to steal, anything. They never forced women to submit themselves to them; they never forced women to prostitute themselves; nor did they pressure anyone into doing drugs. Rogelio's Honest Men, he'd call them.
Chuckling, he turned to Sever as they approached the seaside bar. Near the fishermen's wharf was the two-story bar named "Marlin-Merlin's Merlot", whose mascot, according to it's poster's and flyers and it's neon logo- was a Marlin in a star-and-moon covered cone hat drinking wine. Charming. Pulling up aside the bar, Sever pondered for a bit and twisted his gaze towards the Dominican, <<Friend. Let me handle the talking, okay?>>
<<Hm. Why?>> Rogelio replied, noticing a nervous air from his good friend.
<<I'll be frank.>> Sever rested his arms on the steering wheel, he had been driving all this time, mainly due to Rogelio's lack of a license. <<You are terrible with people.>>
Mariendez was shocked at this accusation. <<What! I'm great with people, I've convinced more women to hand me their purses than most men can bed.>>
<<Not so, but still.>>
<<You don't even speak English well.>>
<<I know some.>> Rogelio's large hands caressed his goatee. <<Like... "Give me your money!" and "If you don't hand me all that you have, I will dash your skull across the pavement." >>
<<Huh. You don't even have an accent when you say that. That's... frightening. But you certainly can't hold a conversation.>>
<<I can try.>>
"Hello, Good Sir. How are you this fine day?" Sever said quaintly in a Bajan accent of English.
"Hand cash, no one die today."
"Oh c'mon, Rog. Try!"
<<Fine.>> Mocking the poshness of the English-folk, he placed a noble hand on his chest with curled back fingers and spoke absurdly "Wah's gud, mon campanion. Jow are yu?"
<<Well. That's... terrible. Let's just go in.>>
Chemicals interested Rogelio from an early age, though he never pursued that career. However, he has read an Americano book "The Anarchist's Cookbook." Very thought-provoking chemistry, there.
The drunks that littered the bar were served by Mermaid-dressed women. Nearly all of them were white tourists, young and old. The ones that caught Sever's eye were the four Afro-Bajan's enjoying their drinks at a booth. Three men dressed in fine suits conversed amicably with each other, poking at each other playfully and making merry. One sat silent until his eyes came upon Sever, and he made a jeering gesture. His bodyguards - as it became clear - straightened up and noticed the large and brutish figure of the Dominican named Rogelio Mariendez. Confused at the site, they began to reinforce their intimating disposition with sliding their hands into suit jackets.
The Cubano also saw this. "GOLDY! Goldy-goldy-goldy-goldy! This is the 'package' I promised you, my friend. The perfect man, if I do say so myself."
"Ah. But he looks like an Auntieman, to me." He chuckles, after noticing Rogelio's whiskey-stained polo shirt, like a washed up missionary. "Aight. Nah, he looks good. So this is the man that you had me deliver." The man was a 40-something Afro-Bajan, with long blonde-dyed locks. His name, according to Sever, was Marion Gold or "Goldy." He was basically the head of the Trenchermen, as he had the connections to the Columbian gangs that shipped them the cocaine through the donkey trails. "You." Marion addressed Rogelio smoothly as he stood up. "Made me a lot of odd cents, no. Lots o' gold from good buyers. Ah, but now it's all on t'other foot, ya got nothing and I got something. So... you owe me, huh?"
Rogelio stayed silent.
"What's he a gussypa?"
"He... uuh... doesn't know English."
"HAH! Good! Muh newly associate can't understand me. Good! What good is this?" The kingpin approached the duo, tagged along by one of his button-men. Laying an affectionate but concerned hand on Sever, he asked once more. "What good is this?"
"It's this good, Marion." Sever produced the Russian's briefcase. Handing it over to Marion, he judged it's weight and peaked it's contents before chuckling. Goldy began to rub his hands after he handed the briefcase to his button-man.
"Amazing. Aight... aight. So... what do ya want?" Gold gestured towards an open table, and the duo took their seats. "Girls! Drinks on the House!" The presence of the owner caused the waitress' to hurry forth, bringing several Brazilian-made beers.
Rogelio couldn't understand any of this. Beside the beers, of course. Fearfully, he didn't go too deeply into his cups. Sever continued to banter with their host, which made Rogelio even more nervous, though he never showed it. The Cubano turned to Mariendez and began to explain further. They both knew that they had to give up the Russian's cash as tribute in order to get any amount of respect or work from the Trenchermen, but now what was needed was the silvery tongue to convince Gold of their new business.
Mariendez leaned towards Sever and spoke softly. It was time to propose their business interests. Cubano spoke softly and carefully, as he explained what they wanted to do for a living. Goldy chuckled. Rogelio knew he couldn't articulate the way his friend and companion could, but he could tell his friend and companion what to say. The Cubano went further into the details of the plan, which both intrigued and shocked Goldy. People think of crime and the illegal goods service as stagnant- there always will be the need- but the diversification of criminal activities is key to a successful cabal of like minded hooligans. Rogelio - like any legitimate businessman - was offering a pliable service for an affordable rate. He was offering his experience as a former Dominican soldier and para-militant, to train the untempered and untested youth that were constantly trying to get into the game of coca leaves.
If only for a passing, Marion felt ill. However, for the sake of old money earned by the duo in front of him and a faint interest in what Rogelio could do. He agreed.
"Great! Now, we'll just need 10 of your recruits and three weeks." Excitably, the Cubano raised a toast, which was reciprocated by Goldy.
"Gooo-what?" Goldy exclaimed. "I thought you were going to train them."
"Well, yeah... I- uh- I know, but..." Marion's downcast eyes of disappointment proved too much to bear for Rogelio.
For the first time in the entire conversation, Mariendez objected. "I know jungles. Forests. Wilds. I train good men in jungles. You get money from my good men in jungles. Now, my good men aren't good men. They're dead men or forgotten men. I make your men good men for low price. Deal?"
The pause was intense, but it paid off. Marion agreed, preparations would needed by the end of the week. They would be given ten of the youngest soldiers that they had- all green behind their ears- and they would provide transportation to the training camp. Rogelio smiled, shook Gold's hand and promised him that he would not be disappointed. Funnily enough, Marion had understood it.
<<I deal with many, many Colombians. I know muhself some Spanish.>> The Bajan Drug Lord said.
<<I did not know that Barbadians liked baseball.>> Rogelio shifted the plastic packages of water bottles. A yellow notepad laid nearby with the tallies of their supplies. 800 bottles of water at 16.9 fluid ounces equates to 105.65 gallons, all contained in 20 plastic packages with those packages stacked end to end inside of the RV's cabin; 500 cans of cheap beans of 117 ounces equated to 3,656 pounds of beans were stored inside of the storage compartment that was laid below the trunk; while the 2 splitting axes, three large three-person tents, and other equipment were securely tied above the RV's roof. Everything was ready for the trip, except... the Trenchermen.
Rogelio understood the nature of teenage boys, as he was one. These were criminal youths as well, which was a well-acquainted archetype to Mariendez. As a teenager, Rogelio spent six-months with a crew in Northern Dominica. Many of them were barely sixteen-years-old, with the higher-up's being in their late thirties. When he returned home to his Mother, he brought her an entire pig to be eaten. Even in absence, his ghost will pay for the worries of his family, although they always pleaded for him to take a job that wasn't as disgraceful and dangerous as it was. These children might have families that might not understand their plight or their pain or their unwillingness to live by the world's petty ideals. But Rogelio knew that this new family would understand them completely and wholesomely, even if they didn't trust him enough yet.
Sever met Rogelio outside of the RV, nodding towards the boys. Beside the company of future soldiers, there was the van that would ferry these young men to the camp outside of Joes River. From what Marion Gold had told them, they were mostly new recruits. Many of them were truants and had no real social obligations and as for familial obligations, well, Gold said that their families would be glad to be rid of them for some time. How they entered the trade was very simple, they were users with debt and bravery -or- stupidity. A lot of them were couriers for the most part, others were looked-after favorites of Gold's lieutenants, and others proved themselves enough to join their crews. Like John Baguba, Gold's favorite. Baguba was to be treated as the leader of this contingent of soldiers, because he was - for the most part - Marion's son, if not in blood then in bond. He had no opinion on it.
John waltzed up to the duo. He examined the curly-haired fat Sever, and the behemoth named Rogelio with disinterest. "Where to?"
"We're heading towards a camp up river." Sever explained.
"You mean, Joes? I thought they didn't have any camps near Joes, least not any I heard."
"Well, we made one."
"Isn't that illegal." Johnny laughed.
"I guess, it is."
Events:*Rogelio Becomes Hired Trainer For NPC Group: The Trenchermen, Drug Smugglers and Producers.
*Leave Open For Next Post
*- 10,000 $ Deducted to join the Trenchermen
*- 1,000 Amount of Cash Deducted For Food and Water for Four Weeks; Splitting Axes; Tents; Gasoline; and Other Goods.Weapons*10x Aluminum Baseball Bats - While Bajans prefer Cricket, it's unfortunate that the bats used in the good sport aren't as knee-cap breaking as a metal bat, cheap from American Surplus. ((Equipped on All Trenchermen))
*2x Splitting Axes - Great for chopping off the arms of trees, and only trees. Nothing but chopping the limbs off trees, screaming trees.NPC's*Contact: Marion Gold - Leader of the Trenchermen and Owner of the Marlin-Merlin's Merlot.
* Johnny "Bagya" Baguba - Afro-Bajan Solder for the Trenchermen. 17 Year-Old. Impressionable and Naive. Aspiring leader of the Younger Trenchermen. (( Thug Level Muscle ))
* 9x Younger Trenchermen - Boys from all over Barbados are drawn to the two worlds; legal and criminal. It's odd children from two different houses seperated by a single street can end up in different fields of work; one as a technician or a lawyer, the other was the man who handles smuggling cocaine from Columbia into Barbados to be converted into crack and sold to some dealer in Florida or New York. (( Thug Level Muscle ))Vehicles* Trenchermen Van - A van owned Bagya that can hold roughly ten people, although it would be crowded.