The Hunt for Jin-ei (unfinished)
Disclaimer: I don't own Ruroken, any of the canon characters, situations or settings.
A/N – So, in cleaning out my work in progress folder, I came across this unfinished ficlet in the Last Honourable Man universe. It dates all the way back to 2007 – so I am finally posting it, in all its unfinished glory, because otherwise it will never see the light of day.
1.
The CCTV images are grainy and unfocused. On the computer screen before them, Kenshin watches Kurogasa Jin-ei slaughter a party of Ishin Shishi mid-rankers partying in a downtown Tokyo brothel. The signature two-gun technique is instantly recognisable, if over-flamboyant; equally recognisable is the blood-maddened overkill as Kurogasa turns on the terrified prostitutes and the cowering staff.
"He killed everyone." Beside him, one of the Ishin Shishi's techno-geeks is ghostly pale and sweating. "Hunted them down and shot them even as they begged."
"He is a mad dog," Katsura-san says gravely. "And like a mad dog, he must be put down without mercy." He looks at Kenshin. "Kurogasa thought to escape my retribution by fleeing Japan, but we have tracked him down to New York.
"Find him, Himura, and kill him."
2.
Two Japanese swords – the traditional daisho – lie carefully sheathed and bound on a silk cloth. There is nothing especially remarkable about them – no ornate decorations or engraving, no sense of great history or worth. They are, if anything, functional rather than ceremonial: the black lacquered sheaths are chipped in places, and the sharkskin wrapping on their hilts shows signs of wear.
The customs agents at JFK don't know what to make of them. The young Japanese man who brought them with him to New York currently waits in another room, an interpreter by his side.
"Gifts, he says." Carefully, O'Reilly unbinds the peace-knot, grips the wrapped, braided hilt of the katana, drawing partway from the sheath to reveal the blade. "For his cousin."
His partner, Wosczinski, keeps an eye on the security monitor, watching their calm, impassive suspect. "Do you believe it?"
"Not for a moment." Curious, O'Reilly runs his finger along the edge of the blade. "Shit!" He jerks his hand back, hissing, and sticks his bleeding finger in his mouth. "This thing is razor-sharp!" Then something catches his eye – he frowns, and draws the blade out further. "Hey, look at this."
The light ripples on the blue-grey steel, the metal hammered and folded thousands upon thousands of times to form the long, elegant blade. The edge – as O'Reilly had found – is so sharp it could cut the wind itself. But look close enough, and marks of tiny nicks and indentations can be seen.
"I don't like this," Wosczinski says. "Check the databases. Run his name and face. Let's see who this Himura Kenshin really is."
3.
The interpreter – a young, clean-cut American in a business suit – tries to draw Kenshin into light conversation. His Japanese is quite good; he spent five years living in Japan, he says, after he finished university.
Kenshin is in no mood to talk. He answers in monosyllables, his mind on the mission, on the American contacts who were supposed to be here at the airport to smooth his way through customs. Instead his contacts had not shown, and customs agents had taken his swords and were taking far too long in returning them. Katsura-san had advised him to leave his daisho in Kyoto, had told him that weapons could easily be procured in New York without arousing undue suspicion. But Kenshin would not abandon his swords, though it might endanger the mission and bring him to the notice of the authorities.
Security tapes, he had said, can be stolen or wiped. Witnesses can be silenced. But swords are not so easily replaced.
Finally the customs agents return, their faces serious. Kenshin feels his heart sink – he had hoped to complete this assassination and return to Japan as quickly as possible. He does not want to cut his way through to the streets outside the airport, but if the American authorities detain him he will be left with no choice. Katsura-san had ordered Kurogasa's death, and Kenshin will let nothing stand in the way of his mission.
4.
Afterwards, he washes his hands and face in the staff kitchenette, carefully blotting away the pink-tinged runnels of water with a paper towel. He wipes the rooms down with bleach, ignoring the burn and sting of the acrid fumes, and then looks up at the security cameras.
A small line appears between his brows.
He catches up his swords and heads for the security control centre.
5.
The blood dripping from the security guards slumped over their consoles in the control centre distracts him a little. It takes longer for him to call Katsura's techno-geeks to talk him through wiping the tapes than it did to track the control centre down, kick the door in and gain access to the servers.
He manages, though he has to wipe the soles of his shoes before he leaves the room.
6.
Finally he steps out of the airport and into New York. He takes a moment to absorb the sounds of the street; the noise and bustle has a different flavour to Tokyo or Kyoto. Street kid, gutter brat, he enjoys the energy and the rush, at least until the blare of a car horn brings him back to the present.
He flags down a passing taxi and hands the driver a business card with a written address. His English is very poor, but the driver speaks to him all the way to his destination, not caring that Kenshin makes no response. Finally the cab deposits him on a corner in Chinatown, and an ancient grandmother knitting in a rocking chair on a second-floor balcony nods towards a tiny Japanese restaurant.
This, then, is the Ishin Shishi headquarters in New York. Tiny bells ring, announcing his presence when he enters through the front door, but no one comes out to greet him, though he can hear voices and laughter in the kitchen. Annoyed, he slips through the curtain separating the kitchen from the main restaurant, his hand playing restlessly along the sheath of his katana. He has killed six men already today, and the Shishi who were supposed to welcome him at the airport were here, laughing and playing cards. They were speaking in English, he noted irritably. Third or fourth generation, most of them, their Japanese only half-remembered from ancient grandparents and childhood anime.
No matter. Their vows had just become real.
He slips up to the table, stepping out of the shadows as if he had suddenly appeared from nowhere. They curse and fly up out of their chairs, hands going to big flashy guns at their waists – he stares them all down, a stark figure in a dusty black coat, his golden-brown eyes hard and dangerous.
When he speaks, he does so in Japanese. They must all follow as well as they can.
7.
Chinatown is bright, gaudy, busy, and even late at night there are enough Asian students with dyed red-brown hair that his own natural shade is not unusual. He dislikes dying his hair black, some part of him still believing the old superstitions regarding demons and red hair; more practically, it takes forever to wash out and with his pale skin makes him look Gothic. He does, however, cover the scar on his cheek with careful make-up.
Kurogasa Jin-ei is a formidable foe. The Ishin techno-geeks had tracked Kurogasa to New York, but could give him no more specific information; hence the American Shishi, who were now out on foot, asking questions, doing the round of bars, clubs and restaurants.
Kenshin knows that the word will soon spread that justice has come for Jin-ei. Surely he had not thought that Katsura-san's reach so short; even if there had not been an Ishin Shishi off-shoot based in New York, Kenshin would have tracked him down to the ends of the Earth. Jin-ei was a rampaging murderous dog who had to be put down, and Kenshin would trust no other with the task.
[Kurogasa giggled with mad delight. Battousai himself had come for him! The sheer arrogance of it, to come in under his true name, protected only by stage make-up. And the nasty mess at the airport, the two customs agents, the interpreter and the security guards! Did he think that Jin-ei would not be monitoring police scanners, not watching everything and waiting for the pursuit? Let Battousai come! Jin-ei would be ready for him.
Holed up at an abandoned warehouse, broken windows and fallen struts.]
[Next day, Kenshin starts the hunt. His ki-sense is acutely sensitive, but picking out one ki-signature among the millions of people in the city is almost impossible.]
[Confrontation. Swords vs Kurogasa's guns. Destruction of property, explosions, stray bystanders killed. Spectacularly unsubtle. Kenshin uses more force than is strictly necessary to end it.]