madimpossibledreamer

Again, Beta-Senpai wrote part of the rough draft (because Morricone's his character).
Montreal chosen as there's a lot of Italian mob connections I found in my research.
Also, as an additional learned-by-research fun fact, swearing about Christian stuff is literally illegal (if not always enforced) in Italy.

Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU
Chapter Summary: Mista, Fugo, Shizuka, Grappa, and some Mafiosi and Slayers go check out a possible lead in a warehouse.
Word Count: 1212

Rating: Teen
Note: HERE THERE PROBABLY BE BUFFY/JJBA SPOILERS

         Shizuka shivers, pulling the jacket closer around herself. She is, in many ways, out of her depth, and it’s all she can do to stay visible, rather than fading out of sight at the feeling. It’s far too cold, for one thing. Montreal is freezing and even with this many layers she’s bundled into, it’s not enough. She doesn’t know French, or much Italian, even though Papa (but moreso Mama) had tried to teach her a little, and don’t get her wrong, she likes working with Giorno. She gets the whole ‘he’s a bad influence’ thing, given the fact that he’s literally the head of the fifth mafia, even if he did start to introduce rules and enforce them, like the no-drugs thing, like treating civilians and the prostitutes with more respect. He’s not here, though. She fortunately didn’t have to deal with some of the details. Like Grappa having to use Backstreet Boy on a local mafia made man who was a little unhappy about rivals being in the city (not to kill, probably to try to avoid sparking a full-on turf war, because while the mafia with Stands would obviously win, the ensuing bloodbath would be bad for civilians and draw the attention of authorities who couldn’t just sweep it under the rug anymore). Or the offhanded mention of confessions and torture and another Passione member she’s never met, Cioppino and his Stand NSYNC actually surprisingly working to bind more than just Stands. Fugo’s inside giving directions to the soldati, and occasionally losing his temper and trying to kick them. According to Giorno, it’ll be good for him. She’s not entirely sure it isn’t a little mischief on Giorno’s part, but on the other hand she’s obviously not in a position to question how he runs things.
         Mista’s out here coordinating everything with the help of Sex Pistols, and she hadn’t really thought he’d be the coordinating type, but it looks like he’s picked up a thing or two working with Giorno. He’s even gotten the knack of dealing with people who shouldn’t actually know things, because she’s here and they’ve actually got a couple Slayers under their command. Standing watch, mostly, ready in case of an attack. They’ve heard about what happened to Cousin Jotaro and the others (cell phones are really nifty!, gross eyeballs not so much), so everyone’s on edge about traps even though it’s pretty unlikely this Rush guy’s gonna be here.
         Maybe she’s not allowed to know the details, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. The most that will happen is that Mista will just tell her she’s not allowed to know. “So, uh, why are we even here again?”
         Mista doesn’t even glance up from where he’s alternating between reading documents and texting—probably sending Giorno updates. “Some of the previous members of Passione had dealings with Wolfram & Hart. After the Don declared war on them, we’ve been trying to find rats. Morricone was one of those. Far as we know, he’s dead, but that doesn’t mean no one else knew about this. Only when Sheila E compared the paperwork Wolfram & Hart handed over, they didn’t know about the warehouse either. Stands to reason it was somebody’s little side project. Not necessarily Rush’s, but worth looking into.”
         One of the subordinates does all but run out. He’s probably trying not to look as harried as he actually is, having to deal with Fugo. “Signor! We’ve cleared the warehouse.”
         Mista hums, setting everything down for the moment as Sex Pistols argue about something quietly. “Find anything interesting?”
         He shifts under Mista’s gaze uncomfortably. That’s right, isn’t Mista something like the third in command? It’s hard to remember when the man himself is such a goof most of the time. Or maybe he’s just nervous about the tantrum that Mista gave on learning the flight number had a 4 in it until Giorno gave him some kind of good luck charm. This other guy must be some low-ranking mafioso practically shoved out to give the news. “500 rifles and over twenty thousand rounds of ammunition, somewhere around twenty first-aid kits, about 200 kilograms of drugs—mostly of the sort that used to be sold in Napoli, Signor—”
         “It’s the past,” Mista shrugs, which is a nonchalance that...honestly, it’s pretty typical.
         It’s encouraging enough for the man to continue. “Two luxury cars, and a single yacht. Montreal might be a port city, but this is inland enough surely transporting the yacht to the harbor wouldn’t be worth the trouble, so I’m not sure why it’s here. Several cell phones, a computer—wiped of any traces—as well as a few journals.”
         That doesn’t surprise him either. “Probably went for something cheap and out of the way to prevent snooping. Not like distance would matter to Morricone. Anything useful mentioned in the journals—maybe something about this Rush guy?”
         “No, Signor—they seem to be an inventory, and perhaps coded notes about shipments. Morricone was part of the smuggling division, after all. There is, um—still more inventory to go through. Medical supplies—more advanced ones, including a splint—a set of passports for Vienna, Russia, and Ireland. A number of suit jackets and slacks—Gucci or Versace.” The man clears his throat. “A map of Italy. Signor—I do not understand why these things are here.”
         “I guess it doesn’t matter—Guiseppe Morricone is long dead anyway.” Mista pauses, then adds, “Sorry, not sure it’ll make sense if you don’t know—you’ve heard what Stands are, haven’t you?”
         The man nods. “It’s what makes us different from the other mafias.”
         “Yeah, guess that’s a good way to put it. His was called The Doors. Useful for a guy in smuggling with ties to the narcotics division, and would’ve been a pain in the ass to fight, too—he could open portals anywhere within ten thousand kilometers or so. We’ve been finding his safehouses all over the place. Guess if he ever felt in danger, he could just open a portal and go lick his wounds. Pretty sure he hasn’t used it in a while, though.”
         The mafioso shivers. “Was he part of the clean-up?”
         “Nah, Giorno wasn’t involved. Morricone might’ve been a rat, but he knew how to color inside the lines. Knew how to keep his head down. I don’t think he got involved in much in person, just drop shipments and dealings by phone. He died in Australia but we haven’t been able to find out why—no gang wars, no narcotics division or traitors, as far as we know.” Mista sighs. “Which means this is another dead end. We’ll keep digging, but it’s hard to make a dead man talk. If Rush was here, we’ll probably never know.”
         Fugo announces himself by a long train of cursing in Italian, Mista trying and failing to interrupt. “Incompetent coglioni,” Fugo continues muttering under his breath and then adds, “I’ve already given orders for us to try to transport everything we possibly can, and I’m going to burn all the drugs myself if they can’t manage that much. Let the Don know.”
         “Don’t inhale too much,” one of the Sex Pistols advises helpfully, only to get flipped off as Fugo storms right back off.