Best Laid Plans

1938: I've Connected the Dots!

Dio carefully closed the hall door behind himself, before rounding on Joseph.

“Idiot! Couldn’t you see the poor boy was barely processing what I’d told him about Hamon?” Dio attempted to keep his voice level, but he could barely contain himself. After all he’d gone through to keep the secret of the Stone Mask hidden, Joseph was going to spill it to the first person he met in New York? The boy had been trouble enough in London, perhaps Dio had been naive to think that the new continent would temper his behaviour.

Joseph held his hands up in a sign of surrender. 

“Jeez, Gramps, calm down! Your fingers are doing that creepy thing again.” 

Dio looked down at his hands, and—sure enough—the nails had grown into talons. He clicked his tongue, annoyed, and forced them to return to their usual length.

He sighed.

Perhaps he was overreacting.

Joseph was a smart boy. As much as he got into senseless fights (if he had one more phone call from the police station…), he wasn’t going to spill all the family secrets to someone they’d just met.

I really ought to trust him more.

“Sorry Joseph. I should know by now to trust your judgement.”

“Mhm, you should,” Joseph crossed his arms proudly, smirking. Then his expression turned concerned. “But, you’ve been on edge since before we left London. Is it because of Uncle Speedwagon?”

Dio nodded tiredly. Since he’d received news about Speedwagon heading to Mexico, he’d been on edge. He couldn’t even explain it. Something was coming, bigger than Erina and her petty schemes, and Dio wasn’t sure he was equipped to fight it.

Joseph frowned.

“Are you worried about him?” His eyes narrowed, connecting non-existant dots in his head. “Y’know, you and Speedwagon are pretty close…You aren’t secretly involved are you?”

Dio fixed him with a flat glare.

Joseph stared back.

…

……

………

Joseph threw his hands up.

“Okay, fine, jeez. I was only asking!”

Dio snorted.

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The three of them had just sat down at their table when the hulking man started mouthing off.

“Waiter, waiter!” When a waiter rushed to that table, the man gestured at Smokey. “You let that stinking animal in here?”

Smokey turned away awkwardly, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else. Dio and Joseph stiffened, turning towards the man.

“Sir,” the poor waiter was saying. “As long as the bill gets paid, we let anyone eat here.”

“Bah,” the man shouted. “So you let animals like that eat animals in here?”

Smokey turned towards the exit, ashamed.

“I guess I’ll be on my way then.”

Joseph grabbed his wrist, pushing him back into his seat.

“JoJo!” Dio warned.

The boy turned slightly—already half-way out of his seat— a frown upon his face.

“What’s wrong Gramps? You aren’t gonna stop me, are you?”

Dio shook his head.

“No. People are entitled to their opinions, but he insulted our friend. Take him down, but be mindful of the other customers!”

A slightly maniacal grin grew on Joseph’s face.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

✩ - - - ✩ - - - ✩ - - - ✩ - - - ✩ - - - ✩ 

Joseph stood over the man.

“Don’t you get it? I can predict anything your simple brain can come up with, moron!”

He tossed the hat stand to the floor and returned to the table while the other patrons clapped.

A chair scraped across the floor, and Joseph turned fists raised.

A well-dressed man, who had been sitting close by, was making his way over to Dio.

Joseph made as if to stop him, but Dio gestured for him to wait.

The man glanced at Joseph before turning his attention to Dio.

“I apologise for my underling’s behaviour, sir.” 

Dio nodded, and—after a quick glance around the room—Joseph carefully sat back in his seat. 

“You’re Dio Joestar, aren’t you?” 

Dio nodded again. The man smiled.

“I do a lot of business with Mr Speedwagon. He told me about you in London a while back. I’m glad to meet you.”

Dio kept his face a mask of blank politeness, suspicious of his intentions. Judging by the man’s clothing and accent, he was probably involved with the local mafia. Whatever he wanted couldn’t be good.

“I heard something through the grapevine,” the man continued, standing at their table. “That hasn’t appeared in the paper’s yet.”

Dio arched an eyebrow. To his sides he felt Joseph and Smokey exchanged glances.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be good.

“And what have your sources heard that pertains to me, if I may ask?”

The mafioso’s face was grave.

“Mr Speedwagon has been killed.”