Author's note: A little while back, I was introduced to the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and for some reason, this scenario popped into my head. It pretty much has the same plot, just with a few twists and new characters of course, namely One Piece characters. The Miami Ink guys also appear as the guys who hang out at the bar.
I don't own One Piece, Miami Ink, or Who Framed Roger Rabbit. They belong to their respective owners. Also, there are references to the owners of the 4kids company and the author of One Piece in this, but I shortened the names.
Miami, Florida. When most people hear this name, they think of sun, sand, and fun. Well, that's just the tip of the ice burg. A lot more than you know happens in this sunny city. In fact, there are some incidents that can make this sunny city not so sunny after you've actually witnessed them.
Just outside of this city, there's a small village. Now, in this village, there lived not people, but pirates. Every last person that lived in that town was somehow involved with pirates. However, these people also had free access to Miami, and could come and go as they pleased. As a result, these pirate villagers got along just fine with the citizens of Miami.
However, on this certain day, in a certain studio, all was not at peace. And it was all because of a certain pirate in a straw hat . . .
One of the prides of Miami was the many studios that were fixed in the center of the city. They would hire certain actors and pirates and make shows from them.
One was 4kids Studios, where many jokes and gags were produced. However, some people criticized this studio because of its very bad habit of heavily editing their projects.
A few blocks away was Shamrock Industries. Nobody actually knew who ran this industry, but for some reason, it was always able to sell out a certain business, no matter what it was.
And then there was Oda Studios. This was where the insanity was taking place. The entire stagecrew was desperately trying to calm down a young teenaged boy. He had short black hair, and his clothes consisted of a red vest, a pair of jeans that went down to his knees, and sandals on his feet. But the dominant piece of clothing he had on was the hat. A straw hat sat atop the boy's head.
But there was something special about this boy. He was a pirate. And he came from the pirate village just outside of Miami. But there was something else: he had eaten a certain piece of fruit known throughout Miami and the pirate village as "Devil's Fruit," and it had given him the ability to stretch like rubber. And it was this ability that was allowing him to flail all around the stage, much to the dismay of the crew.
Then, just as soon as he had started, the boy stopped. "I'm hungry," he said simply, then went over to a table covered in food, leaving the entire stage crew gasping for air.
The director, Reginald R. Reginald, had had it. He walked over to the boy. "Monkey D. Luffy, what on earth am I going to do with you?" he asked the boy through gritted teeth. "Every time, it's the same old thing. You nearly trash the place, then you eat all of the food at my buffet table, and we barely get any footage!"
"Can I help it if I get really hungry?" asked Luffy, while piling more food onto his plate. "This bread's stale, by the way."
"I swear," said Reginald, walking away. "If you weren't such a hit, I'd fire you right on the spot."
This got Luffy's attention. "No, wait!" he yelled, running after the director. "Don't do that! I'll do anything you say! I promise! I don't even care if this bread's stale!"
As all this was happening, a young woman watched silently from a corner of the room. This woman was very frail, and very skinny from not eating a lot. Her dark brown hair was tied into a tight ponytail behind her head, and her dark brown eyes carefully witnessed everything that was happening. Her jaw was set in a serious tone.
"Pfft. Pirates," the woman mumbled under her breath.
Detective McKenzie Valiant hated pirates. After an accident that occurred a few years back, the young woman wanted nothing to do with them, and had slipped into a depression because of it. As McKenzie stuffed her hands into her pockets, a secretary appeared.
"Miss Valiant, Mr. Oda will see you now," said the secretary.
McKenzie silently followed the secretary to a small office, where a young man was seated at his desk, with his back turned away from the door.
"Sir, McKenzie Valiant is here," said the secretary.
"Send her in," said the man. McKenzie entered the office as the secretary shut the door behind her.
The man suddenly whirled around in his chair. McKenzie figured that Mr. Oda didn't look different from any other owner of a studio owner. "What do you know about Japanese animation, Miss Valiant?" asked Mr. Oda.
"Only that there's no animation like it," answered McKenzie. "None that I know of, anyway."
"Yes, there's none like it," said Mr. Oda. "There's also none more expensive like it. You've seen Luffy. He keeps freaking out on the set, messing things up. He's costing me a fortune. You know why?"
"Too much temptation from that buffet table?" asked McKenzie, smiling.
"Don't be ridiculous," answered the studio owner. "That's just Luffy for you. He's always going to be distracted by food. But even if he is a pirate, he's still susceptible to heart break, just like you or me. Read this." Mr. Oda handed McKenzie a newspaper.
McKenzie read the article on the front page out loud. "'Seen cooing over not-so-new love cook Sanji was Melanie Kahn, daughter of Al Kahn and girlfriend of Oda pirate star Monkey D. Luffy.'" She looked at the article and the picture for a few seconds, then tossed it back to the studio owner. "I'm not quite reading you here, Oda."
"I thought you were supposed to be a detective," said Mr. Oda.
"I so don't have time for this," said McKenzie. She turned to leave.
"Look, McKenzie!" Mr. Oda called after her. "That girlfriend and that chef ofLuffy's are up to something. All I'm asking for are a few pictures to psych the guy up . . . "
"Forget it," McKenzie cut in. "I don't work in the pirate village."
"What's the big deal?"asked Mr. Oda. "Every Jane likes to take a visit into the pirate village."
"Then why don't you get Jane to do it?" asked McKenzie. "There's no way you could ever make me go into that town."
"Hey, take it easy," said Mr. Oda. "If you don't want to go, you don't have to go. Nobody's forcing you to. Now listen. I hear that cook works part-time at that one fancy restaurant, the Miami South Beach Special. Strictly Miami citizens only. What do you say, Valiant?"
But McKenzie was more interested in the small mini bar by the window.
". . .Well?" the studio owner asked again.
McKenzie walked over to the mini bar and started to fix herself a drink. "The job's gonna cost you a hundred bucks," she said while taking her drink. "Plus expenses."
"A hundred bucks?" asked Mr. Oda. "That's just ridiculous!"
"Not as ridiculous as this case!" responded McKenzie.
"All right, all right," sighed Mr. Oda, writing out a check. "You've got your one hundred bucks. Have a drink, Valiant."
"A little late for that," said McKenzie, walking over and taking the check. She looked at the amount. "You're fifty dollars short."
"Let's just call that fifty the treasure you get when you finish the job," said Mr. Oda, smiling.
"You've been hanging around pirates for too long," said McKenzie, seeing herself out.
As McKenzie walked away from Oda Studios, she slowly looked to her left and her right as she made her way down the sidewalk. It was the same picture as always. The usual Miami locals, making their way down the many different shops the city had to offer. Many pirates from the village were making their way through all the shops as well.
McKenzie kept walking. As she eyed all of the Miami girls, she saw that they all had one thing in common: they were showing off as much of their bodies as possible. She, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Her attire composed of a gloomy gray long-sleeved shirt, with black pants. She didn't care if she was hot. As long as nobody had to see her skinny and wounded body, McKenzie was okay with it.
McKenzie also watched as car after very expensive-looking car zoomed through the streets. "What do you know," McKenzie said to herself. "We've got the best expensive car dealership around."
McKenzie finally made it to her office. What she didn't see was across the street, the most popular car dealership in town, "The Miami Red Car," was getting some updates. A big sign outside the building, "The Best Expensive Car Dealership Around," was being replaced with a sign that boasted the logo of Shamrock Industries.
"Hey, McKenzie," said a postman walking by. "How's life treating you?"
"Could be better," answered McKenzie. "What do you have for me today?"
"The usual," said the postman, handing the detective a pile of envelopes. For McKenzie, the "usual" were bills.
After the postman walked away, McKenzie started over across the street. A few shops away from the car dealership was the Miami Bar, one of the most popular joints in town. As McKenzie walked in, she threw the bills away in a trash can beside the entrance. She also noticed something else: there was no red convertible there today.
McKenzie opened the door and stepped inside. The usual customers watched as she came in. Five customers, in particular, who were sitting up at the front booth.
Now, these five guys didn't look very much alike. On the end was a tough-looking guy with a shaved head. Seated next to him was a Hispanic man with spiky black hair, followed by a short guy with dark hair, a tall man who was bald with some hair on the edges of his head. On the end, leaning against the counter, was a young Japanese man with spiky black hair and a nose ring. No, these five men didn't look alike at all. But there was one thing they all had: all over their bodies, mostly covering their arms and chests, were tattoos. Big ones, little ones, some pleasant and some not-so-pleasant. But they all had tattoos.
McKenzie thought it was strange. Whenever these five tattoo guys were here, their red convertible was always sitting outside. But it wasn't there today. Then she noticed that the tattoo guys didn't look very happy.
"What's up, Nunez?" McKenzie asked the Hispanic. "Where's the convertible?"
"Well, things have been tight at the shop lately," answered the bald man, Garver. "Somebody's been selling out all of the small shops, and they almost got to us. Some big company called Shamrock."
"No kidding!" said McKenzie, surprised. "Did they get to the Red Car?"
"They just did," said the short guy, Darren.
"We had to sell car," said the young Japanese man, Yoji, in his broken English. "Can't let them get to us, you know?"
"Oh, well," said McKenzie, taking a drink from the counter. "Here's to the big businesses," she said, holding up the glass. "May they all get stabbed with tattoo needles, huh?" But just as she was about to put the cup to her lips, a hand from behind the counter grabbed her arm.
"It's almost Friday, McKenzie," said a young man behind the counter. "Do you know what happens here on Fridays?"
McKenzie looked at the young man. "Chicken Special?" she asked.
"Be serious," responded the man. "You know that the big boss checks the records. If I don't get that money I lent you that week ago, I'm going to lose my job."
"Don't bust an artery, Deon," said McKenzie, handing him the check. "You've only got one left."
Deon looked at the check. "All right!" his face lit up. "Fifty big ones!" He paused. ". . .Where's the rest?"
"That, my friend, is only a snoop job away," said McKenzie. "You still got that old camera? Mine's at the shop."
"Would that be the pawn shop?" asked Darren. The five tattoo guys snickered.
McKenzie ignored them. "Come on Deon," she said. "You need fifty bucks. I need the camera."
Deon disappeared into a small room behind the counter, and reappeared with a small camera. He set it down in front of McKenzie.
"Please tell me there's film in it," said McKenzie.
"There should be," answered Deon. "I haven't taken it out since our trip to L.A. But that was a long time ago."
"Yeah, it was," said McKenzie, taking the camera and putting it in her pocket. "We should do it again sometime, huh?"
"Yeah, sure McKenzie," said Deon as a very fast car flew past the bar, leaving a very loud buzzing noise. Deon looked at the check. "This paper any good?"
"Just check the sig," said McKenzie.
"Mr. Oda?" asked Deon, looking at the signature at the bottom. "As in Oda Studios?"
"Well, what do you know?" asked the tattoo guy with the shaved head, speaking for the first time. "Who's your client, Detective of the Stars? Redbeard? That Ace guy?" He started to laugh.
"What'll you have, Ami?" asked Deon.
"The usual, kid," Ami answered. "So what is it, huh? Somebody see that Merman guy slinking around again?"
"Come on, Ami," said Garver. "Lay off."
"Wait, wait, wait. I know!" said Ami. "It's that one clown pirate. He's performing an illegal circus, and you're gonna put a stop to it." He then burst into laughter.
McKenzie lost her patience. She kicked Ami's stool out from under him and grabbed him by the collar. "Get this straight, Baldy," she said through gritted teeth. "I. . .do . . . not . . . work . . . for pirates." She then released Ami and left the bar in a huff.
Ami, a bit frazzled, picked himself up and sat back down at the counter. The five tattoo guys watched as McKenzie walked farther and farther away from the bar.
"What's wrong with her?" asked Yoji in his thick Japanese accent.
"A pirate killed her sister," said Deon, handing Ami his drink.
The five tattoo guys looked at the young bartender in disbelief.
Deon shrugged. "Drove a sword through her chest."