Chapter 2: The Wolf at the Door
Jake had been riding around all night in the custom Kaneda motorcycle that formerly belonged to Shogo Akuji. He recalled a conversation where Drake expressed his lack of desire in riding a dead bitch's bike. Jake however, appreciated custom anything, so he took it gladly.
As the hours passed, he watched the sky change from the soft pinks and oranges of sunset to the darkest navy blue of nightfall. Around him, the city was a patchwork of businesses, residential neighborhoods, and brothels, which blurred into a seemingly solid wall of gray as he flew through the night to nowhere in particular. The roar of the bike sounded like a buzzsaw slicing through the barrel of wind that screamed in his ears.
You can't run away from this Jake; you are The Boss of the 3rd Street Saints now. Everyone is looking to you for direction, time to man up and cut your ties.
"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. That's why I hate having to change my life around from the way it was before." He spoke to himself as he slowly eased up on the gas and rolled to a stop in the driveway of a house a little ways north of the trailer park. Without having consciously deciding to, he found that he had ridden all the way from his loft in the Red Light District to Shaundi's house up in the Suburbs. He cursed himself quietly and got off the bike just as the engine whined to its end. He then stretched out the riding kinks as he reluctantly made his way to the darkened front door.
"Hmm, the lights are off," he muttered, "maybe she's already asleep." He checked his watch that told him it was just past two in the morning; high time for even someone as social as Shaundi to be home, asleep or otherwise. Nonetheless, he fumbled in his pocket for the key she had given him and let himself inside.
"Shaundi, are you here?" Jake whispered into the pitch black living room of the apparently empty house. While he fumbled for the light switch, his nose caught a scent that brought promise into this seemingly fruitless visit. "Nag Champa" he said quietly. Jake and Shaundi had been seeing each other for a while now, but always on the lowest level of the proverbial "down low". Even a lieutenant like Shaundi should know better than to get into bed with The Boss' younger brother. However, this is Shaundi, a girl who knows no bounds when it comes to reason. Veteran Child could have told you all about it.
"Shaundi' Jake called out in a stage whisper, "are you awake?" He padded his way into the big bedroom in the back where the star-crossed couple had many an eventful evenings, few including much sleep. Jake knew the layout of the room by heart and found his way to the cold side of the bed. His side, that is. It was just then that he noticed a familiar shape rising just above the bed level. A largish oval with many twisted tendrils jutting out at odd angles, backlit by the incense stick Jake smelled on his way in. It was Shaundi; up at two in the morning sitting on the floor, in the dark, by herself. It didn't take a criminal mastermind to know what caused this uncharacteristic silence; Shaundi had figured out that Jake's new status meant the good times were over. That , or her many sordid connections filtered the message down the line. In the end, Jake knew it didn't really matter what the reason, no Boss can afford a weakness like that in this game.
"Look, Shaundi, let me just get this out in one go and then I'll leave, ok?" Jake's accent crept into his voice; he was uncomfortable. "You know me, you know how little I want this. But, you also know my brother and the way he runs this gang; 'All or nothing, no compromises, no bollocks'. I can't afford to leave the kind of leverage out there that you are; that this is." He motioned to the pair of them despite Shaundi's turned back. "So, this is where the rubber meets the road, see? We had some capital times, you know the ones I mean." A memory of two stoned lovebirds taking potshots at Ultor Police Cruisers with Flashbangs thrown from the top of the southern overpass passed through his mind. He almost thought he could hear one of the cruisers brakes squeal to a sudden halt as the flash of the weapon popped behind his closed eyes. He smiled. "Anyway, I figure since you're up and not too many people know about us, we can have one last go in here…if you're in the mood that is."
"Always, Boss." A smoky voice purred from the doorway behind him. Jake leapt off the bed in a blink and had his .44 Shepard leveled at the face of the intruder. He found his mark so quickly because the person standing in the doorway had thrown on the lights. As Jake's eyes adjusted, he found himself staring at the shocked face of the woman he came to see. Shaundi, hands in the air like she was being mugged, which, Jake quickly realized she kinda was, at least in appearance.
"Shaundi?" Jake hollered. "What the bloody hell are you doing in the doorway?"
Shaundi's face relaxed, but she kept her palms up anyway. Years of having some psycho's gun in your face will do that to you, even if you happen to be sleeping with the psycho in question. It also helped to be partially high all the time; eases the nerves.
"Not that I'm not into some freaky stuff Boss, cuz I am, but do you think you could put the gun away so we can do…whatever it is you came here to do tonight?" Anxiety crept through Shaundi's normally aloof facial features, and Jake was quick to respond.
"Shaundi, how long were you standing there before you said something?"
"Not long Boss, I came in when you were saying something about getting it on tonight and then I popped the lights to see what you were doing back here in the dark." She dropped her hands and slinked her way over to Jake's side, dropping her ass in his lap and throwing an arm around his broad shoulders. Shoulders that were still rigid with tension. "You need to relax Boss, you're all keyed up over nothing. You know I'm down for this."
Jake took a deep breath and looked down into Shaundi's half-closed eyes as if they held the secret to making what he really needed to say easier. After half a beat, he realized that they didn't and she was probably baked anyway so she wouldn't remember it well. "Look Shaundi, I came over here to tell you something."
"Right, that this is your last night out of the spotlight and you're looking for one more incredible night with yours truly." Shaundi laid her hand over her heart and rolled her eyes with a smile. "But if that's the case, why didn't you just call me instead of sneaking over here in the middle of the night and copping the moves on my hookah?"
Jake's head whipped around to the Shaundi's head shaped thing on the other side of the bed. He had forgotten his confessional from earlier. Sure enough, there was Shaundi's deep purple-hued hookah propped up in front of the nightstand looking every bit the profile of its owner. "Fuck me," Jake sputtered. "That damn thing looked just like you in the dark."
Shaundi laughed. A raspy little chuckle, followed by a heavy sigh let Jake know this conversation had lead to the one thing he knew he wanted most, but also knew he was giving up for good come sunrise. "You're funny Boss," Shaundi teased, wiggling out of purple jeans that seemed more like a second skin than denim. "But enough jokes, the sun will be up in a few short hours and I'm not the least bit tired." She climbed on top of him, reaching over Jake's head to click off the light, her dreadlocks falling onto his chest like heavy ropes that would soon bind him to the mattress.
"Shaundi," Jake whispered as nimble fingers slid his jersey over his shoulders.
"Uh uh, Boss, no more talking" Shaundi breathed in his ear. "We can talk in the morning when you take me to breakfast."
"Oh, Toss it." Jake said as he gave into his instincts and indulged in one last night before he accepted the mantle his elder brother had lain at his reluctant feet.
Pierce hated running patrol. He figured that being a Lieutenant entitled him to not having to do boring things like drive through a territory that was purely Saints-run now. Things like that should be handed off to some recently Canonized person who had no authority to argue. Nonetheless, the previous Boss had assigned Pierce to the Ronin and its subsequent territories. So today that meant he was cruising the boardwalk in his Mag SUV, looking for signs of trouble and collecting due monies from the stores the Saints owned here. At the moment, he was arguing with the manager of Branded Clothing over the necessity of said monies owed.
"Saints run this town now, why do I still have to pay protection money?" The gangly woman behind the register chirped at a very irritated looking Pierce.
"I already told you woman, its not protection money now, its RENT!" In his heart of hearts, he knew this line was pure bullshit, but it was the prompt Jake gave him to run with, so he did.
"But I OWN this store! It's my property!" she shrieked with a quivering hand on her bird-like chest.
Pierce glared at her under the lowered brim of his Stilwater Sharks ball cap and slammed both hands on the counter, knocking over a display of socks nearby. "Look lady, either you cough up the cash or I get all Heritage Festival up in this bitch. Is that what you want?"
The Festival reference worked on most all the merchants in the Marina District since they had all witnessed first hand the destructive power of a singular irritated 3rd Street Saint. The Boss had destroyed at least three Junk Boats, and even a few civilian vessels in the fireworks explosion that killed Kazuo Akuji.
The woman's face went whiter than the sails on the Pirate Ship docked down the boardwalk. "Y-yo-you wouldn't." She challenged weakly as it was clear by the pulsating vein in Pierce's neck that he more than certainly would, and definitely would enjoy it.
Pierce sighed audibly and bent down below the counter. A second later, a Satchel Charge appeared on the counter and it's detonator was clutched in Pierce's fist. "Last chance lady, you can pay up, or get your store blown the hell up, you choose." His voice was actually quite calm, despite the situation.
"Okay, okay, I pay, I pay!" the clerk cried out. "But I file a complaint with Stilwater Better Business Bureau!" Her spindly finger shook at a clearly unimpressed Pierce who was already one foot out the door with the cash in hand. Suddenly, she noticed the Satchel Charge was still on her counter. She went to move it only to find that it was fused to the countertop and would not budge. "Hey mister! What about your bomb?"
Pierce smirked over his shoulder and held up the detonator he still had in his other hand. "Just a little motivation for you to decide not to file that complaint." He chuckled. "Have a really nice day." Before the woman could protest any further, he punched the gas and left three feet worth of fresh rubber on the entrance to the store, swerving wildly to avoid pancaking a massive Asian guy riding a motorcycle. He knew that clerk would be spending most of the rest of her night peeling it off, and laughed all the way to his next stop.
Jake had called for a meeting with his lieutenants the next night back at Kanto. He wanted to clear the air about the change and also ensure Gat and Pierce knew he'd gotten his priorities in order with regards to Shaundi. He had made sure to reserve the private room on the third floor for this meeting, as he wanted no interruptions and no eavesdropping whatsoever. He even supplied Kanto with a few willing Saints to take the orders and bring the food just to eliminate the possibility. Currently, he sat at the head of a large rectangular table with Gat at his right, Shaundi at the opposite end, and Pierce to his left. The distance between Jake and his former lover was intentional, a fact Pierce quickly noticed and appreciated as shown by his lack of displeased posture, which at this point was considered his usual stance.
"All right you three, tonight is the first night I'm stepping up and claiming the crown Drake left at my feet. I want you all to know that I have laid down my previous responsibilities as Tailor and am ready to lead." Jake paused for effect and immediately noticed Pierce's face screwed up with confusion. "There a problem, Pierce?"
Pierce actually scratched his head. "Yeah, when the fuck did we ever have a tailor? I had to replace all my own shit every time it got messed up! Why can't nobody tell me we had a tailor?"
Everyone else laughed hard at Pierce's expense, but it was Shaundi who broke rank and answered first. "He wasn't an actual tailor Pierce. Tailors fix holes and mend things right?" she propositioned.
"Yeah?" Pierce's old stance returned; arms crossed on chest. "So?"
"So, Jake here was he one to 'stitch things up' behind the scenes, you know what I'm saying?" She even did air quotes with her fingers as if Pierce weren't just a step slow but an actual child.
"Oh, you mean like he cleaned up the mess Drake left behind at Kanto when he shish-kebobed Jyunichi? Moppin' up blood and shit?" Pierce's face broke into a smile hopeful that he was back on the same page.
Jake scowled and answered for himself. "Not exactly, Pierce. I wasn't a janitor, I was a Tailor. It was my job to ensure things were left in such a way that the proper spin was put on what the cops and reporters would find when they followed Drake's trail of destruction across Stilwater." He paused for effect. "When he killed Maero, I was the one who called it in to the police. When he killed Shogo, I was the one who dug his sorry ass back up to confirm he was dead."
Just then, Johnny Gat broke his uncharacteristic silence. "Was he?" It came out as little more than a whisper. The tragic loss of Aisha was still very raw for Gat, he had a long road yet to go before he'd be over it; if he ever was.
Jake's cold green eyes were maybe a shade warmer. "Dead as a doornail, Gat. But I plugged him one with my Vice 9 just to be sure." Gat nodded and said nothing else. "Anyway Pierce, I did the same things with The General and Vogel, ensuring always that we were only as implicated as we intended to be; and never more.
"So, does that mean we need a new Tailor then, Boss?" Shaundi inquired as she sparked a bowl and leaned back in the booth as if she were home and not out in relative public. The way she propped one slender leg on the table threatened to force Jake's mind off his intended path. He shook his head and focused on the sudden pounding of feet on stairs that was increasing in volume until everyone was staring at the door, each with their hand on a gun. Except Johnny, who had his hands on two.
"I said 'No interruptions!'" Jake bellowed that the unknown runner. His voice was full of a cocktail of equal parts rage and calculated malice.
"Boss, I just got word that the entire Boardwalk is on fire!" the detatched voice called out.
Jake rushed to the door and opened it to find a scared looking Saint who huffed and puffed like he had run here from the Marina District without stopping. "What do you mean the whole Boardwalk?" Disbelief hung on every syllable; how could a whole district catch fire and no one reported it to him until it was all ablaze?
"Every single building is on fire except—except one." The Saint admitted feebly, he knew the building in question would only rile The Boss into a fury as it drew a very clear, and very straight line to the likely perpetrating faction.
"Which building?" Jake seethed.
"Uh, um well, you see…harrumph!" his hesitance was abruptly cuy off as Jake seized him by the throat and pinned him to the adjacent wall like a quivering painting of fear.
"Which bloody building did you say?" Jake's body was rigid with anger which only served to instill more fear into the unfortunate Saint. Luckily for him, three little words found a way through his unnaturally narrowed airway.
"Poseidon's Palace Casino."