Pietro Trouillefou

Haha, no! Trouillefou is not my real last name. Most of the people you speak to will be using assumed names. It’s not uncommon in the underground. You spoke to Artie, right? I’m sure she gave you what for when you said her real name. And the Genovese brothers? Yeah, if they’re really Italians then I’m really French. Tank probably didn’t mind, but he’s a mellow guy. Just likes his middle name more.

But really, who wants their mother to know what they do for a living?

Ah, but you want to know about the brands, yeah? That’s a funny story, actually. Embarrassing, but funny. What good are you if you can’t laugh at yourself, right?

Hahahaha, it was me who started that. Well, kinda. It was because of me, anyways.

It was about the time when the Pendragons had just started making a name for themselves. Well, not a name, per se. They weren’t actually called Pendragons yet. Back then, they were just Tank and Artie. Maybe Mercy too. I don’t know. She might still have been with the Anastasia Agency then. Anyway, they had just fought off the Salvatore Family, which was quite the feat in those days. The other gangs were takin’ notice of them. They were building a good rep because Tank felt compelled to help out anyone who had helped him keep the Salvatore’s off his island. He was making all kinds of friends, even friends out of enemies, if you get what I’m sayin’.

It was an interesting thing that happened there, ’cause see, a lot of those gangs Tank made friends with then hated each other. Where they would normally do the old “with us or against us” dance, they accepted that Tank wasn’t going to pick. The only enemy Tank had, at least then, was the Salvatores and every gang in town could dig that. The enemy of my enemy and all that. That’s how he got to be the underworld liaison.

At the time, though, no one was exactly sure who was a member of their gang and who was just a friend, or if they even counted as a gang yet. They didn’t have a uniform or anything so there wasn’t any way to tell.

And that’s where I got the bright idea to pretend I was one of them. I mean, a con man’s nothing without credibility and they were out doing good shit for the other gangs. They were gettin’ a rep for bein’ real stand up guys, and I could definitely use that.

Well, it’s funny now. At the time, I thought I was gonna get to see what the inside of my face looked like.

It was easy at first. Hang around a gang’s HQ, listen for an opening, act accordingly. Steal one gang’s shit, and depending on whether the goods or the payment was worth more, sell it or trade it off for the money. Petty shit. I was causing problems between the gangs and a lot of problems for Tank and Artie especially, but I was having a great time. I was an indie; it wasn’t any skin off my ass if the gangs were warring with each other over it. I was using disguises, so it never came back to me.

Wasn’t no big deal, though, until I tried to do this to the Shimizu brothers.

Diasuke and Koichi Shimizu were a pair of Japanese immigrants. They were members of a… uh, a yakuza, right? I always confuse yakuzas and triads. Anyway, they were trying to dig their heels in so they’d have some operations going for when they sent for more dudes. They’d helped defend Tank’s island, so Tank and Artie were doing them a favor.

The Shimizus had just gotten a big shipment of coke in from their suppliers, a shit-ton more than they normally did. And unfortunately for them, they were almost caught at the pick-up by the feds. They managed to make off with the shit, but now everyone in town knew they had a huge stash thanks to the a-fuckin-mazing police chase video they showed on the news.

I shit you not, these dudes were pulling some of crazy shit. Shit like we ain’t never seen. Demetri had a copy of the live coverage on Betamax; he told us it was called “drifting”. You talked to him right? No? Demetri was our driver. He became friends with the Shimizus because they both worked the illegal street racing circuits. He’d be a good one to talk to about the time we stole Cernunnos’ car. Him and Artie, that was. Started the whole bounty hunter shitstorm.

Anyway, as repayment for their help, Tank offered that the drugs should come up “stolen”. He’d send a thief in to take it off their hands and they’d send the word that if they found out who did it, their shit was getting ruined. They’d still have their giant stash hidden safely away while the other gangs would think they were empty-handed.

So I figure this job’s gonna be pie. Go in, say I’m the thief, make off with the goods, never to be seen again. They’re waiting outside their warehouse and I drive up, get out, and tell them who I am. Or rather who I’m pretending to be.

They give me this look. And then they give each other a look. It was that weird, sibling telepathy type shit, you know what I mean? But they turn around and lift the bay door and gesture for me to go ahead so I think it’s all good.

The second I’m in front of them and inside, Daisuke rolls the door down and Koichi attacks me. I’m not sure what all they did to me ’cause I went out pretty quick. Fighting’s not my thing; that’s what we had the Genoveses for. But Jesus fuck, did it hurt when I woke up. I come to and I’ve got a headache like you wouldn’t believe and my wrist is handcuffed to a storm drain. How embarrassing.

Daisuke is on the phone and he looks over at me every few seconds while he’s talkin’, lookin’ smug as a priest at a playground.

“Yeah. That’s right,” he says. “If it’s who I think it is, then we probably just caught all of them at once.”

This shit does not bode well for me.

“Good. I’ll see you when you get here,” he says and hangs up. Then the two of them come over and stare me down. They smiled and their chinky eyes were all narrow. It was some scary shit.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked.

“Us?” Koichi said. “Hah, nothing. You didn’t do anything to us. We’re too smart for your gaijin bullshit. Tank will decide what to do with you.”

Now bear in mind that at this time, I had never met Tank and had no idea what he was like. I had no fucking clue who was gonna show up or what they were gonna do with me. I was freaking the fuck out, but something surfaced out from under all the oh-shitting I was doing.

“How did you know I wasn’t who I said I was?” I asked the brothers.

They looked at each other and smirked.

“Your disguise was severely lacking,” Daisuke said shortly.

“Lacking what?” I asked.

“You’re wearing the wrong clothes, but mostly the missing pair of tits gave you away,” Koichi says.

The thief was a woman! This was a surprising turn of events for me. I’d never met Artie either. Didn’t know she was a woman or that she was the thief they were expecting. They had also wised up to my grift and specified exactly what the thief would look like aside from being a broad.

It took about half and hour for Tank to arrive. I used that time to see if I could force my wrist through the handcuff, which I couldn’t. Then I started trying to think of things that say to an angry gang head that would keep him from blowing my brains out. Came up empty there too.

I heard the car approach and the brothers smirked down at me. I ain’t even gonna lie. I was in tears by this point. Not bawling but that eyes-screwed-shut, please-god-make-this-just-be-a-bad-dream-or-something crying. I’m not a brave guy. I can’t take a punch. And you think about it. A guy named Tank is coming to ruin your shit and you have no escape. Scary shit, man!

They lifted the bay door. Imagine my surprise when I see not some badass motherfucker who looked like someone name Tank, but rather a regular sized guy who looked like he had a sense of humor. There was a woman in the passenger side seat, but she was digging around the floorboard. He didn’t wait for her before getting out and greeting the Shimizus.

“This him?” he asked them.

“Yes,” Daisuke said, grinning like a fucking wolf. “This is your snake.”

And he looked down at me, smiled and said, “You know, you’ve really fucked up our action, kid. Got a lot of people pissed off at us.” I was twenty-two at the time, but I looked younger. He later told me he thought I was nineteen. He stopped calling me “kid” after that.

I was at a loss for words. I thought I was going to be murdered or at the least fucked up, but I couldn’t figure Tank at all.

“Well,” Tank said, “Let him go. He looks like he’s learned his lesson.”

“Surely you’re kidding, Tank.”

It was the woman from the car, Artie. She came stomping over with her pistol in one hand.

“You can’t just let him go,” she said. “You have to avenge your gang.”

“C’mon, he looks like he’s practically shit himself. I think he knows better than to fuck with us now,” Tank argued.

“No, he doesn’t. And it’s not just him,” Artie explained to him. “You do it to prove to anyone else who might be getting bright ideas because of him. It proves the point that there are repercussions for fucking with us.”

Tank sighed at that. “What do you want to do? Kill him?”

“We could do that.” She pointed her gun at me.

I freaked out and started trying to pull my wrist through the handcuff. Tank rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“We’re not gonna kill him.”

“Fine. We’ll just fuck him up,” Artie said.

“We’re not gonna fuck him up either!” Tank was getting irritated by now.

“If we don’t,” Artie said, “anyone will think they can take advantage of us.”

Tank groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he turned back to me.

“What’s your game, kid?” he asked.

“Huh?” I didn’t understand and my mind was running kinda slow. You know, now that I wasn’t all jumped up on about-to-die juice.

“Your racket,” Artie clarified for me.

“Oh! I, uh… I’m like a con artist.” I told her.

“Are you like one or are you one?” Artie asked. She sneered at me. She tends to seem pretty stuck up when people first meet her. We ended up being pretty good friends, but I’m afraid she’s a right cunt in this story.

“I am one,” I told her.

Tank was thinking. We all let him. The Shimizus were more or less standing in the background and watching to see how Tank handled this. Perhaps they thought this was how all American crime gangs worked and were taking notes? In retrospect, I hope not. If it’s not clear by now, Tank was by no means the average gang head.

“Why don’t we make him one of us?” he said finally. “So he can only work on our orders. A con artist’s got to be useful, right?”

Artie rolled her eyes, but she smiled a little too. “Fine,” she said, “but only on the condition that if he ever crosses us again, we will kill him.”

“Yeah, fine,” Tank said, waving her off. “Let him go, please,” he said. Daisuke came forward and unlocked the handcuff. I got up and rubbed my wrist where the cuff bit into it when I pulled. I looked up at Tank, since he’s taller than me, you know? And I said, “What time should I come into the office?” Joking, you know? To take the edge off.

Tank smiled. “Heh, I like you, kid. Come on. I’ll show you ‘the office’. You can handle the rest of this by yourself, right, Artie?”

Artie squinted really hard at me, but said, “Yeah, I got it. I meet you back at the island.”

Artie went to finish the deal with the Shimizus and Tank took me to Calista Coola. That was my first time on a boat. It was quite fun after spending an hour chained to a storm drain. Tank drives fast unless the water is choppy. He likes the speed.

Artie showed up two hours later. She still didn’t seem convinced of Tank’s decision.

“Look, I understand that you’re new to this whole gangland thing, Tank,” she said, “but you can’t just pick anyone off the street and let them join up. Especially not if they’re out fucking up your rep.”

“But he’s ours now, right?” Tank argued. “I mean, he works for us. We’ll kill him if he doesn’t, so he won’t betray us.” I nodded enthusiastically. I was willing to say or do just about anything for him.

“That’s just him though,” Artie said. “How are we gonna keep anyone else from pretending to be in the gang and using our rep for their own gain?”

Tank thought. And thought. He thought so long that I got to thinking.

“Uh, what if you guys got a uniform?” I suggested. “Something hard to recreate?”

Tank looked up at this. He broke into a bright smile.

“Like gang colors?”

Artie sniffed. “You want us to wear matching outfits like a common street gang? Please.”

I could see her point. Tank and Artie were both wearing suits and looked very serious business. I don’t think even they knew what their racket was going to be yet, but it was going to be something important. You could tell. I looked rather drab in my jeans and t-shirt comparatively. Still, I tried to contribute to my new gang.

“Well, um, how about a tattoo or something?”

“Tattoos are easy to replicate,” Tank said evenly. “You wouldn’t even have to get a tattoo. You could draw it on.”

“Yes…” Artie said, as if she were thinking. “Tattoos are easy… but what about a brand?” She looked at me as she said this, and grinned like the bitch she was being. She was excited about hurting me! I mean, now I know it’s just because she was mad at me for fucking up Tank’s business, but I’m certain the idea appealed to her because it was going to hurt a lot.

Unfortunately for me, Tank seemed taken with the idea. He later said he liked it because a brand was permanent and it meant that a member had to willingly accept a bit of pain for it, which showed dedication. That proved true until Skye Westphal came along, but that’s more Artie and Mercy’s story, I think.

As I learned, Tank was a handy guy and could build crap with other crap, like fucking MacGyver. So it didn’t take him long at all to fashion himself a brand out of a coat hanger with a pair of needle-nose pliers. He twisted the metal into a crude shape. I couldn’t tell what it was, honestly. I wasn’t exactly sure about having it on my body, whatever it was.

I could’ve run at that point. It crossed my mind the second Artie suggested burning a symbol on me. But… I don’t know. Tank was an interesting guy. He didn’t seem like a gang head at all. But he was starting a gang anyway? I didn’t get it. I still don’t quite get how I knew this was the right thing to do. Maybe I felt like I owed him my life? Any other gang head would’ve shot me in the face, no questions asked, and then thrown my corpse into the ocean. But yeah. I was ready to let Tankian Monoceros burn whatever the fuck he wanted wherever the fuck he wanted on me.

I’m not gay, I swear. And I was on an island. Where was a I gonna go?

When it was done, I saw what it was. It was a dragon holding a sword by the blade. Tank said it had something to do with Arthurian legend but that he didn’t remember much beyond the fact that it was the Pendragon symbol, and he thought the name sounded cool.

So that’s why Pendragons took brands. Tankian’s brand was unique and could not be replicated because we tended to keep them hidden unless we needed to identify ourselves as gang members to others. It wasn’t something we showed off so no one really got a good enough look at it to remake it. We all had them in different spots too, so we could more easily assure someone of who we were if Tank had told them we’d be the ones they were meeting. Plus, Tank got the brilliant idea to have a sort of member identification mark by moving the last part of the wire, the tail of the dragon, just a fraction for each member, so no two Pendragons had exactly the same mark. Smart shit.

Oh, um… my brand? Funny story, that. It’s in a rather… indecent spot.

Really?

…

All right, you asked for it.

Yes, well, I did warn you. It was a lot funnier back then, giving a gang head a nice look about my crotch every time they wanted to be sure I was a Pendragon. Was Artie’s idea. She sat on my chest, pinned my arms back with her feet, and held my fly open while Tank did it.

The bitch.