The city runs.
The city runs with people at rush hour, bodies spinning and speeding against each other. The city runs with tourists in the summer, sweat running in rivulets along browned skin. Rats run through sewers searching for their next meal. Children run for ice cream trucks. Adults run from responsibilities. And in dark alleys and backdoors the underworld runs on liquor and the clink of money.
Seijuro Mikoshiba runs down the boardwalk, his jacket tails flying. He halts and spins, spreading his arms wide and grinning at the younger man who had been following him at a considerably slower place.
"It's beautiful!" he exclaims.
"Y-yes, it is," the grey-suited man clutches the brim of his hat between his fingers, unsure of what his boss is referring to. A blessing he does not ask, for he would never find a straight answer. Seijuro speaks of the whole world.
"Come here often, Nitori?" the taller man waits until the other catches up to his side and then resumes walking in step, hands tucked in pockets.
"Only for swimming."
"Haha, I should have known!" Seijuro's head is thrown back in loud laughter that makes Nitori even more nervous. They are not on the most legal of missions this afternoon and in his professional opinion the boss is being dangerously cavalier. As always.
"Right here," he whispers, elbowing his senior so the redhaired man's head spins to see a wide hand painted sign. "That's the one my man told me about. He's only a junior cop, but I trust his sources."
MATSUOKA SWIMSUITS
A gentle tinkling of a bell signals their entrance. Eyes scan a tidily organized array of colours and stripes and frills; the shop looks perfectly unassuming.
"Can I help you?"
A dark redhead sashays into view. Her brown dress is short and expensive for a shopgirl (Seijuro knows, for he only bought a shipment for these dresses for his department store a month ago). The owner's face is round and unmistakably Japanese.
There is a gentle prodding from Nitori in his back and Seijuro's mouth snaps shut just as he noticed it was hanging open. So cute, by god, so cute.
"Are you here to buy a swimsuit?" her eyes move up and down his body and he straightens his back, pressing a hand against his tie, puffing his chest out.
"Do you think I'd look good in one?"
She grins and blushes, a hand coming to the side of her face. "Oh, most certainly. You'd be the bees knees."
"Then I should definitely try one for you."
An irritated cough breaks their banter.
"Oh yes, of course. My associate here says you may have a . . . special stock?"
"Oh!" her generically polite expression shifts to one of genuine interest, "I didn't know my business had gotten so well known."
"We have connections."
"Well, then why don't you come back here Mr . . . ?"
"Mikoshiba."
"Of THE Mikoshiba's? Golly, someone rich and famous in my little store!"
"That's right darlin'. Come with me and I got the dough, I can treat you right. But you can call me Seijuro. Or Sei."
She giggles. "Well, then Seijuro, would you like to see what I have?"
She retreats back to a nondescript back door, pulling a key from her belt to unlock and push it open. A dim light flickers as she descends a narrow stairway, peering over her shoulder to make sure the two men follow her. Seijuro is sad that the darkness obscures his vision of her. However, his sorrow is quickly alleviated by the sight at the foot of the stairs: a cellar with rows of bottles that line numerous shelves like obedient soldiers in their ranks.
"Magnificent! How did you swing this?"
"I know a guy. Sends it from across the pond."
"Your beau?"
"Oh no. I'm quite available." The emphasis is unsubtle. He doesn't mind.
"I'll take note of that. But unfortunately I'm here on business. How's this taste?" He pulls the nearest bottle from its shelf and examines it curiously. It is opaque and amber, seemingly genuine.
"It's got edge, I swear!" Her exasperated tone is directed at Nitori who had uncorked a bottle and sniffed it, frowning as he did so. The smaller man stares at her and deliberately takes an experimental swig. An explosive sputtering sound later and the other two soon find themselves splattered with the liquid that could not have stayed in the poor man's mouth if he'd tried. Nitori wipes the excess off his mouth, still gagging from the taste.
"That's swill!" he accuses.
"It's what they buy! And now you owe me a new dress!"
"Uh—uh-"
"Don't worry doll," a comforting hand on her shoulder, "I'll get you the prettiest dress in my store. The latest fashion. "
"Really? Can it be red? Above the knee?"
"As lovely as your eyes. You must come visit me to try it on." A wink.
"Tit for tat, if you take a swimsuit. I'd like that."
"Mr. Mikoshiba, please!" Nitori was used to Seijuro's skirt chasing, but it never made it any easier to deal with his boss' diversions. "How many customers you got?"
"About fifty. I still make most of my money from this shop, though you must know my family. My brother's in printing for the National News."
"Rin Matsuoka is your brother?" Nitori's eyes widen in record time, the adoration is almost palpable in the young man's voice and he smiles for the first time that afternoon.
"Yes, my idiot brother is Rin Matsuoka. And more importantly I'm Kou Matsuoka."
"Ahh, but it must run in the family then!" Seijuro says, "Lucky for us. We got a deal to offer you. This chump who mixes your coffin varnish, can he manufacture in bulk? I can get you more clients than you could ever find on your own. It's the perfect deal. No one suspects you sending me shipments, what with my business."
"You thought this out before you came here."
"Well, we are known for our thoroughness," Nitori huffs and pulls his coat collar back. Underneath is a small golden kanji stitched into the lining. "You see, we're thinking of expanding our businesses. Gambling just isn't cutting it these days."
"The Samezuka gang."
"Hope that doesn't deter you from our offer, miss."
"No. Not at all. " As if she had a choice, Nitori thinks.
"Righty-o," Seijuro claps them both on the back, "Nitori here will ring you the details. Sorry, babe, but we must dash. I'd love to stay, but I have to see a man about a dog, if you catch my drift."
"I'll show you up."
The sun streaming through the shop windows temporarily blinds them as they resurface. Seijuro is reminded of the stark difference between his two lives, one so light and one so dark. So he tries to drag as much light as he can into the dark with him.
"I'll see you again."
"Sure," she replies.
Stretch for the home run. "Cash or check?"
Her eyes scrunch up happily and it is so goddamn cute he thinks he might burst.
"Check."
Seijuro triumphant!
"Nitori, loan me your pencil."
He retrieves the instrument from the begrudging hand and offers it like a piece of jewelry.
"I would be most honoured with your name and address."
She obliges, scribbling on a receipt pad and presses the paper back into his palm. He tips his hat and turns to leave, a guiding hand on Nitori's back.
"Don't forget about a swimsuit!" she calls after him.
Fifteen minutes later he is sitting in the passenger seat, staring at the neat kanji on the paper as Nitori carefully mans the car that cruises down the main thoroughfare.
"I could have sworn she said her name was Kou."
"Mmm."
"Well, Gou Matsuoka. I hope I shall turn that check to cash quite soon." He presses the paper to his chest and begins to hum happily, the latest popular ragtime tune about young lovers.
A long-suffering sigh comes from the drivers seat.
He picks her up at her apartment and they go dancing. The speakeasy is rich in drink and rich in decoration. She works an excellent Charleston, her heels flipping up in perfect time, and he is thrilled that she chooses not to dance with any man but he. She bubbles like champagne in his arms, a happy drunk. He can see jealousy swirling in the other boys' eyes, but no one would dare make passes at a girl on Seijuro Makoshiba's arm. He would feel sorry for them if he were not caught up in the splendor of the party and the allure of a chatty, exuberant Matsuoka at his side.
He buys her the red dress he promised and many more: green taffeta, blue velvet, purple silk. He drowns her in gifts.
More and more shipments come in and they expand their business ten fold. Hundreds of establishments along the coast now find dozens of crates labeled "Mikoshiba Goods" flowing through their service doors. Nitori's staff is working double time, their status as legal cops giving them access to data that helps seek out the local speakeasies. These reports land on Seijuro's desk before any moral policeman can find them; he picks and chooses which to target, expanding Samezuka's sphere strategically. He makes calls and coded offers. Most are willing to take his business, the name alone cowing them, but also the promise of a quality product. If they are difficult, then the official Samezuka men come in, men who have no names other than their reputation. A bit of roughing up and whatever old stock the joint had is gone and replaced by Samezuka goods, by the next Lord's day. Brutally efficient.
Gou knows all this, at least in the abstract. She deals with the water and her friend overseas, in telephone calls and incoming ships. She must never see blood, he vows. In their time together they can still pretend they are a regular couple.
Yet they are also partners. She keeps impressively impeccable records. She had already been a frequent face at the port, but now spends the majority of her evenings there, talking to captains or porters, slipping bribes into rough workman's hands, examining cargo hulls and going over transport plans in backrooms. He had never expected her to take such initiative, but she had insisted. It looks less suspicious for her to be at the port, she wisely says, and he cannot argue with her natural talent at organization.
He is also not exempt from her business strategizing. She is firm in her negotiations and he feels a swell of admiration as she leans across his desk, demanding higher percentages. He delegates her concerns to one of his underlings, for he knows he is weak to resist her demands. While the feminine shouting and more guarded male arguing emanate from behind a closed door.
He calls up another of Nitori's men.
It started a month after they begin going out. Three months afterwards she finds out.
"You have men following me?!"
"Yes." He can't deny it. She always knows when he is lying. Their relationship would not have endured and been so intimate if he could keep secrets from her. "To keep an eye on you. To keep you safe, babe."
"And you don't think I can't keep myself out of trouble? I'm walking among the roughest men in town working for you."
"It's not you. It's me. I worry."
Her face softens at his sincere tone. "You really think something might happen to me?"
"Every day I imagine it. Women are targeted all the time. Wives and girlfriends, daughters and sisters, if anything happens to you it would destroy us."
"Oh, Sei."
"It's necessary, darlin'."
"I guess you're right."
He cradles her head against his chest.
"Go back to sleep."
Her eyes close, but there is one final barely audible word from her lips before she falls asleep.
"Sisters . . ."
They go swimming together.
The twilight drops its last light on to their bodies as they emerge from the sea, feet dirtied with sand as they walk back up to the boardwalk. Their skin is wet and glistening, and she glows, her cheeks red from the cold sea. Their hands are entwined and at the top of the steps they stop and face each other. He is content just to look at her until she pushes a hand to feel his muscled chest, staring at it admiringly.
"I am so glad you bought this swimsuit."
Their lips meet and she melts into him perfectly. He wraps himself around her small body and she is just as soft and comfortable as he imagines, but her hands are moving and caressing and he hums contentedly into her mouth as she pushes forward, her chest pressing into his. A hand trails down to lift her and with a squeal he has seated her upon the boardwalk railing. She might fall, but he has one strong arm around her back and the other now at her breast.
"Don't worry, you're safe," he whispers into her neck.
"I know," she breathes back, "I can feel how strong you are."
"You're strong too you know. Or I wouldn't like you so much."
Then his large hand moves south, pushing aside the fabric of her swimsuit in her most holy of places, and soon she cannot help the moans that escape her lips. Their activities are unashamedly public, but mostly hidden by the crashing of the waves and the darkness of the night. He should be worried about how exposed they are, but cannot, for he is utterly enthralled by the girl who gasps his name at her peak.
After she calms down he carries her back to the car and they unquestionably return to his apartment. In the luxurious warmth of his bed he takes his pleasure, and she for a second time.
At her apartment a phone rings in vain.
In another room across the city an angry brother once again listens to the drone at the end of an unanswered line. He keeps a special ashtray for these calls; the cigarette butts almost overflow. On weekends he has learned to not expect an answer. He broods and ponders at this change.
The next morning Seijuro receives an incensed Nitori stomping into his office, complaining that one of his beat officers will have to be paid off for what he saw last night and doesn't he know that is ILLEGAL in public?
It is a small price to pay for what he earned, Seiguro thinks.
There is another who does not think Seijuro has earned Gou's heart. Rin Matsuoka is not a stranger to speakeasies. So he goes out and drinks and plays pool and it is inevitable that one night he finally sees her. Suddenly, all mysteries are solved. The dropped phone calls, the standoffish answers about her work, the new diamond earrings and gold bangles. All is explained by the man upon whose lap is sister now sits. A respected, brilliant man, who Rin knows heads one of the most powerful and dangerous mafias in the entire city, if not the coast.
Rin was never the best at self-control.
"GET AWAY FROM MY SISTER YOU BASTARD," he roars and runs and pulls back his fist, preparing to strike until a strong hand grabs his arm and two more at his legs and a fist connects with his face, sending him sprawling onto the dancefloor. The owners of the hands keep a firm grip and suddenly another body is on top of him, pinning him down as well.
"Rin? RIN!"
She is at his side clutching his face now and he growls in pain and anger, and snaps his limbs, struggling for freedom, but to no avail.
"Let me up, let me up!"
"Rin, you have to calm down please, Rin!"
"What are you saying! You-you do you know who he is Gou? Do you? I can't let him, let you-argh!"
There are handcuffs on him now and he suddenly realizes that the men holding him down are dressed in policeman's uniforms. Then a strange smell in his nostrils and the last thing he sees is Gou's concerned face haloed in chandelier light, hovering over him.
He awakens in a subdued living room, handcuffs still on, seated in a straight backed wooden chair. There are no more officers; only two other people sit side by side on the sofa across from him.
"I'm so sorry we had to treat you like that, but you were making a scene," the man says, his voice is low. His concern sounds legitimate, although Rin cannot believe a man of his reputation would deal apologies out so freely. It must be a threat; Rin ignores him and spits his words at the girl instead.
"So what's this, Mikoshiba's your daddy now?"
"Lay off Rin! You have no idea what you're talking about!"
"Then explain. Doesn't look like I'm moving any time soon."
They do.
Their story is complicated. There are gang relations and blatant omissions on Seijuro's part and numbers and jargon he does not understand on Gou's. Yet if he had not known they spoke of bootlegging he would have thought they spoke of a honeymoon. They gaze at each other lovingly, even as Seijuro speaks of beating down Iwatobi men or Gou of blackmailing a customs officer. The strangeness of it all disarms Rin. It is so hard to stay angry when his sister is beaming, so obviously, happy, and Mikoshiba blushes if she looks at him for too long, like a teenage boy. Their lightness is affective; his headache recedes, along with his rage, although his discomfort at the situation does not dissipate
At the end, it is Seijuro who unlocks his handcuffs, with the most trusting of faces. It is Seijuro who calls in a waiter and offers Rin a drink (he refuses). It is Seijuro who sits back on the sofa while Rin stands, crossing his legs, and letting the other man take control of the situation as he wishes. Rin is acutely aware of how generous this is; even if he now stands in the position of power, Seijuro could have disposed of him in an instant.
"Look," Rin says, "I won't accept this. Just because my sister is smart and beautiful does not mean you can endanger her like this! Find someone else. I'm taking her home."
"I can't let you do that. For practical reasons and I simply can't live without Gou."
"He's lying. He probably has ten other girls. These guys are all notorious playboys."
"Here, I'll prove my devotion. I'll take you on."
"What?"
"I like the cut of your jib. Join my family. You can even help me with the bootlegging. Stay close to Gou, see that we're doing real work, and make a name for yourself."
"I work for Iwatobi."
"Hmm, I thought you called it quits? You're a free man. We can use your skills."
Rin looks from his sister who holds her breath, the wineglass an inch from her lips, and the golden eyed Boss whose arm encircles her shoulders.
He did miss his old life: the puzzle of outsmarting other gangs, the satisfaction in perfectly engineered operations, the great adrenaline rush of living in the underworld. He was tired of just being a tourist.
"Fine."
The map is littered with multicoloured pins, like freckles on Gou's back, Seijuro thinks. Rin places another pin down.
"How many have you gotten now?"
"Fifty, with this one. Hazuki has commandeered the northwest highways, but I've set up a blockade in this forest here. If we can open up the fishing district we can probably gain another twenty."
"I am impressed. The legends about you were true!"
A grunt in acknowledgement, but Rin's mind is elsewhere. "Boss, can I ask you something?"
"Of course! Remember what I said when you joined me. No secrets between us."
"Is this what you wanted all along, I mean with my sister. You were just working towards me."
The air in the room is suddenly frigid.
"Honestly, I'm offended you would even think such a thing. I would never do you or your sister such a disservice. I love her. And you, well honestly, other than Gou you were the best thing to happen to me. The Matsuokas saved us. And I fully intend to pay you back for your services."
Seijuro is being purposefully cryptic and Rin will not pry further, for it is clear that he has already crossed the line.
"Then how goes the commission?"
"I leave tomorrow."
Rin nearly runs over five pedestrians as he guides the speeding car, his teeth clenched in concentration. Gou's hands grip the dashboard, knuckles whitening. There are tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.
They pull into the driveway with a sharp screech of breaks. Momotarou is standing guard at the door and he moves to open it, but Rin knocks it open with one swift kick and they barge inside.
The scene is more peaceful than they expected.
"Always making a grand entrance!" Seijuro grins cheekily from where he lies propped up on the makeshift bed. His shirt is off where a bandage wraps around his upper body. A large red stain is already spread across the white fabric. Someone will need to change it soon.
"He's got a lot of morphine in his system." Nitori is leaning heavily against the wall, looking even more weary than normal. He rolls gauze across his knuckles.
"Feels good," Seijuro agrees, nodding his head.
Gou is kneeling and kissing Seijuro's face.
"Don't cry, babe, don't cry. I'm still here."
She cries even harder. Sei looks up past the rim of her hair at Rin.
"I didn't think you'd come. I didn't know if you cared."
Rin suddenly finds a certain patch on the curtains very fascinating.
"It's the least I could do for someone who's family," he mutters.
Suddenly, his arms are filled by his wet-faced sibling.
"Thank you," she says in his ear and kisses him on the cheek, "thank you."
"Seijuro, help me."
"Oh no, if I could get up, I'd kiss you too."
"So you secured the commission?"
"A new city, hundreds of new opportunities. I'm sending in Nitori and intel to pick up any cops who might be susceptible to our persuasion. I've negotiated a 60-40 contract with the main boss there. However, he has been quite greedy and withholding many profits, so his underlings are mutinous. Momotarou will take care of him sometime in the next month and then the old deputy will take over. This new man cares more for his public recognition and knows less of the actual mechanics of our business. He will be easily manipulated and even grateful; it means less work for him."
"So other than . . . this, it was all successful."
"Very." A hand wave at where chest bandages make a bulge under a tailored suit, "This was some small time gangs that fell under our radar. We'll deal with them easily. But Rin, this type of thing is liable to happen again. I may not be as lucky."
"And then?"
"We'll see. I have not finalized my papers. But remember what you said before, about us?"
"We're family."
"Yes. Remember that. We're family."
"Are you boys done yet?" a female voice calls from outside the door. A click and the door is open and Gou stands in the doorway. "You've been working all evening!"
"Ah, how could I neglect my baby doll so? Rin, kick back a drink! Forget work, Let's go dancing!"
He grabs her hand and twirls her around the room.
Ten minutes later the three walk along the boulevard, arms linked. A picture of envious beauty and charm, their brightness is fleeting. Soon they will be swallowed by the night and the inevitable darkness of their lives.
But for now they are free.