Drake had spent most of the night staring at his inn's ceiling, turning the problem over in his mind like a scalpel examining tissue looking for the right angle, the clean cut, the solution that wouldn't cause more damage than it fixed.
By dawn, he'd made his decision.
He wouldn't help John break into the Marine vessel. That was reckless, potentially criminal, and based on incomplete evidence. But he also couldn't walk away from a widow and her ten-year-old son without at least trying to find the truth.
There was a third option. A harder one.
Talk to Hendricks directly.
The Marine base sat near Loguetown's eastern harbor, a fortified building of white stone that looked more administrative than defensive. Marines in crisp uniforms moved through the courtyard in pairs, their rifles slung over shoulders, their expressions professionally bored.
Drake approached the main gate wearing his traveling clothes, his scythe placed in his inventory. This wasn't a fight. Not yet.
"State your business," one of the gate guards said, a young man barely out of his teens.
"I need to speak with Captain Hendricks. It's about an investigation he conducted three months ago."
The guard's expression shifted to mild suspicion. "Captain Hendricks is a busy man. You can leave a message"
"Tell him Drake D. Carter would like five minutes of his time." Drake met the guard's eyes. "Tell him it's about pirate attacks on merchant vessels."
The guard exchanged a look with his partner, then gestured for Drake to wait. He disappeared into the building.
Drake stood in the courtyard, aware of how exposed he felt. Marines walked past, some glancing at him with idle curiosity. A few looked longer maybe recognizing him from the street fight two days ago. The one where he'd publicly demonstrated his Devil Fruit powers.
*Coming here might have been a mistake,* Drake thought. *But walking into that warehouse tonight would definitely be one.*
The guard returned after ten minutes. "Captain will see you. Follow me."
-----
Hendricks's office was sparse and organized. A desk with neatly stacked reports. A map of East Blue on one wall. A single window overlooking the harbor. The Marine captain sat behind his desk in full uniform, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable.
"Mr. Carter," Hendricks said, not standing. "This is unexpected. Please, sit."
Drake took the chair across from him, resisting the urge to analyze the room for threats. This was a conversation, not a combat scenario.
"Thank you for seeing me, Captain."
"The guard said you wanted to discuss pirate attacks on merchant vessels." Hendricks folded his hands on the desk. "That's a broad topic. Can you be more specific?"
Drake had rehearsed this part. Straightforward. No accusations. Just questions.
"Three months ago, a merchant vessel captained by a man named…" He paused, realizing he'd never gotten the husband's name from Mira. "A merchant captain was killed when his ship was attacked by pirates. You investigated and filed it as an act of piracy."
Hendricks's expression didn't change. "We investigate many pirate attacks, Mr. Carter. Do you have a case number? The captain's name?"
"I don't. But I spoke with his widow yesterday. She has concerns about the investigation."
"Concerns." Hendricks leaned back slightly. "What kind of concerns?"
This was the moment. Drake could either commit or retreat.
"She believes the cargo from her husband's ship ended up in a Marine warehouse. She thinks the attack might not have been random piracy."
The silence that followed was heavy. Hendricks didn't move, didn't blink. Just watched Drake with those calculating eyes.
"That's a serious accusation," the captain said quietly.
"It's not an accusation. It's a question." Drake kept his voice steady. "I'm not here to make trouble, Captain. I'm here because a grieving widow asked questions, and I think she deserves answers. Even if those answers prove her wrong."
Hendricks stood, walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back. For a long moment, he just looked out at the harbor.
"Mr. Carter, do you know what happened to Loguetown when Captain Smoker was transferred?"
Drake waited.
"Pirate activity increased dramatically in just the first week. Smuggling operations that had been dormant for years suddenly became bold. Criminal elements that Smoker's reputation kept in check decided to test new leadership." Hendricks turned to face him. "I have been working sixteen-hour days trying to maintain order in a town that's hemorrhaging stability."
"I understand that—"
"Do you?" Hendricks's voice sharpened slightly. "Because what I'm hearing is that you, a man with no authority, no jurisdiction, and no understanding of how this base operates, walked into my office to question an investigation based on the word of a grieving widow who may or may not be thinking clearly."
Drake felt the temperature in the room drop.
"With respect, Captain, if there's nothing to hide, answering her questions should be simple."
"Simple." Hendricks smiled without humor. "Nothing in this job is simple, Mr. Carter. But I'll humor you. Which widow? Which ship? Give me something specific, and I'll pull the file."
Drake realized his mistake. He'd come here with limited information no ship name, no captain's name, no case number. Just Mira's story and John's suspicions.
"Her name is Mira. Her son is Tomas, about ten years old. The ship carried specialty fabrics from South Blue. Custom silk work. The attack happened three months ago."
Hendricks walked back to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a ledger. He flipped through pages with practiced efficiency.
"Here. The Silken Current. Captain Renaldo Venn. Attacked by pirates forty nautical miles northeast of Loguetown. Entire crew killed, cargo stolen. Investigation concluded it was the work of the Redfin Pirates a crew we've been tracking." He looked up. "Is this the incident?"
"I… yes. That sounds right."
"The Redfin Pirates were captured shortly after the attack. Three of them confessed to the raid. They're currently in Impel Down." Hendricks closed the ledger. "So unless Mrs. Venn believes we fabricated confessions, forged reports, and imprisoned innocent men, I'm not sure what questions remain unanswered."
Drake's mind raced. John's ledger had shown patterns. Mira had recognized the fabric. But Hendricks had confessions. Pirates in custody.
Unless…
"Did you recover the cargo?" Drake asked.
Hendricks's expression flickered just for a moment. "Some of it. Most had already been sold through black market channels by the time we apprehended the pirates."
"Can I see the recovered cargo? The inventory list?"
"No." Hendricks's tone went flat. "You're a civilian, Mr. Carter. You have no authority to examine evidence from a closed investigation. And frankly, I'm beginning to question why you're so interested in this particular case."
Drake felt the conversation slipping away from him. He'd come here hoping for cooperation, maybe even an ally if Hendricks was being framed. Instead, he'd walked into a professional wall.
"Captain, I'm not trying to undermine your authority. I'm trying to help a woman who lost her husband find peace."
"Then tell her the truth." Hendricks stood again, this time clearly signaling the end of the meeting. "Tell her that her husband died in a pirate attack. Tell her that we caught the men responsible. Tell her that justice was served, and that inventing conspiracy theories won't bring him back."
Drake stood as well. "And if she's not inventing anything?"
"Then she should bring evidence to this office through proper channels. Not send young men with Devil Fruit powers to ask vague questions." Hendricks walked to the door and opened it. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Carter. But this conversation is over."
Drake walked to the door, then paused. "The warehouse where the cargo is stored. Which one is it?"
Hendricks's jaw tightened. "Goodbye, Mr. Carter."
Drake left the Marine base feeling worse than when he'd entered. He'd learned almost nothing useful. Hendricks had answers for everything confessed pirates, closed investigation, recovered cargo. It all sounded legitimate.
But something felt wrong.
The way Hendricks had paused when asked about recovered cargo. The way he'd shut down questions about the warehouse. The way his professional demeanor had cracked just slightly when Drake pushed.
Either Hendricks was hiding something, or Drake was seeing patterns that didn't exist exactly what John had warned against.
He was halfway back to the inn when he noticed the tail.
Two Marines, both young, both trying to look casual as they followed him through the market district. They kept a professional distance, not aggressive, just… watchful.
Drake turned down a side street. The Marines followed.
He stopped at a fruit vendor, bought an apple, took his time eating it. The Marines waited at the corner, pretending to chat with each other.
Hendricks put a tail on me, Drake realized. Either to see what I do next, or to make sure I don't cause more trouble.
He considered his options. He could confront them but that would escalate things. He could try to lose them using his Devil Fruit powers but that would definitely escalate things. Or he could just… let them follow him back to the inn and hope they got bored.
Drake chose the third option, walking at a steady pace, finishing his apple, making no sudden moves. The Marines followed at a respectful distance.
When he reached the inn, they took up a position across the street.
Great, Drake thought, climbing the stairs to his room. *Now I'm under surveillance.*
He sat on his bed and pulled out the piece of paper John had given him with the meeting details.
Dock 7. 11 PM tonight. With or without you.
Drake looked out the window. The two Marines were still there, talking to each other but clearly watching the inn's entrance.
If he tried to leave tonight, they'd follow him. If he went to Dock 7, he'd lead them straight to John, Mira, and whatever plan was already in motion.
His attempt at a careful, reasonable intervention had just made everything more complicated.
At 6 PM, there was a knock on his door.
Drake opened it to find a street kid, maybe twelve years old, holding a folded piece of paper.
"Message for Drake Carter," the kid said.
Drake took it, flipped the kid a few Berries. "Who sent you?"
"Didn't give a name. Just said to deliver it to the big guy with the red in his dreads."
The kid ran off before Drake could ask more questions.
He unfolded the note. John's handwriting.
Saw the tail. Guessing your talk with Hendricks didn't go well. Plans change. Midnight, not eleven. Dock 9, not 7. Come alone. If you're still being followed, don't come at all. Too dangerous.- J
Drake crumpled the note and tossed it in the small fireplace in his room, watching it burn.
John had been watching. Had seen the Marines. Had adjusted.
The professional bounty hunter was good.
But the Marines were probably good too. And Drake had just painted a target on his back by asking the wrong questions.
He looked out the window again. The Marines were still there. One of them was eating dinner from a street vendor. They were settling in for a long watch.
Drake had seven hours to decide if he was going to try to lose them and meet John at midnight, or if he was going to cut his losses and stay out of whatever was about to happen.
Seven hours to figure out if he'd made the right choice coming here.
Seven hours to realize that sometimes there was no "right" choice only different kinds of wrong.
End of Chapter 14