Upon disembarking, she waded through a tide of late-night hotel guests who bobbed through the lobby like so many drowsy jellyfish: American tourists, flashy executives, beautiful women and lost-looking businessmen, a soccer team composed of children—the influx never ceased at the Imperial, especially on Friday nights. Mei had been working her father's card game here long enough to know the 5-star hotel in the heart of the city never saw ebb tide.
After exchanging her paper keycard at the front desk for a courteous nod from the young female attendant, Mei proceeded through the marble-floored vestibule and out the automatic sliding doors that comprised the primary entryway of the hotel. Under the roof of the wide, roomy portico that jutted from the front of the hotel, Mei reconvened with the evening air and found it chilly. This was not a grave concern for a girl in full formal waitstaff uniform. To the contrary, there was something viscerally invigorating about initial drafts of autumn air that filled her lungs.
A gaggle of automobiles was scattered throughout the portico, some idling as porters loaded or unloaded luggage, some still pushing their way in, others departing. Mei had no trouble, however, spotting Hiro's limousine, which was idling just beyond the of brink of the portico so as not to congest traffic. Dancing through the shifting maze of cars, bodies, and luggage trollies, Mei made her way to the limousine.
'One more cigarette won't hurt,' she thought as she leaned against the trunk of the white cadillac limo (short as far as these things went but still long enough to be called a stretch limousine) and sparked one up, fork and all. As far as she was concerned, anyone who batted an eye at an obviously underage girl smoking a cigarette with a fork was cordially invited to go fuck him or herself.
Mei spent some time observing the ballet of arrivals and departures before Hiro emerged alone from the hotel entrance. She hastily disposed of her cigarette and hopped into the cabin of the limo, installing herself on one of the white leather bench-seats that hugged the sides of the cozy passenger compartment.
Presently, Hiro opened the door and joined her. As he climbed into the car, he rapped on the partition that separated the driver from the cabin. As soon as he sat down and loosened his necktie, the limo lurched forward and they were off.
"I assume everything went as planned today," he sighed without missing a beat. Mei grinned.
"And why would you assume that?" quizzed Mei.
"Because I received word from my nephew that a certain Catholic nun, previously a teacher at T*A Private Girls School, recited her evening prayers locked in a cellar on his farmland in Hokkaido tonight," Hiro retorted. Mei thought she perceived the specter of a smile tiptoe across his expression. She fancied him proud of his handiwork, though he would never admit to that. She couldn't help but smile.
"That it did," she affirmed, adding "I'm eager to check the wherabouts of the tracking device I placed in Hino's, uh, ornament."
"Ornament?" Hiro questioned.
"Yes. it was shaped like a pen, but appeared to be ornamental only. The clip and decorations on top were made of solid gold. I almost regretted returning it to her," Mei replied.
"Hm," Hiro snorted, "Not surprising, considering her pedigree."
"What?" inquired Mei.
"I was certain I told you last week. That politician, Fujio Hino, is her estranged father," said Hiro.
"No way," Mei mumbled, taking a moment to zone out and absorb the information. She noticed the muffled lights of the freeway flashing across the heavily tinted windows of the limo cabin.
"Anyway," continued Hiro, "I have a few things for you," Hiro reached under his seat and produced a fine black leather suitcase, which, with some effort, he passed to Mei. She instantly understood why the luggage had troubled her mentor—the damn thing weighed a ton. After an incredulous glance at Hiro and a brief struggle, she managed to hoist it onto her seat, flip the latches, and open it. Her eyes widened. Inside was a Yugoslav M92 Kalashnikov automatic rifle, plenty of ammunition (this accounted for the weight), a baggie of exotic-looking marijuana, and another, larger vaccum-sealed plastic bag full of what looked like broken-up rock candy. She grabbed the larger bag and held it aloft.
"What the fuck is this?!" She demanded.
"That's a gift for my nephew," Hiro said, "deliver it to him and keep a tenth of the money he pays for it. You're welcome."
"So I'm a drug mule now?! What the fuck even is this?" pressed Mei, who was growing slightly hysterical. Hiro, as always, maintained his unassailable cool.
"You're traveling there on a private plane," Hiro laughed, "My private plane. There's no risk. A mule assumes risks, so you're not a mule. You're just a young woman taking something from a friend and placing it in the hands of another friend."
Mei shook her head. "Are you at least going to tell me what it is?" she squeaked.
"It's methamphetamine, Mei," stated Hiro. "And of course the marijuana you ask for every week, though you know I disapprove strongly of that."
Mei scoffed righteously at Hiro's rebuke. He was certainly demanding a lot to be chiding her for bad habits. Besides, he knew the sort of stress she was under. She was likely to go crazy without some way to blow off steam—or smoke, as it were.
"Well I don't know much about drugs but this looks like enough to land me in Fuchū Prison for a few consecutive lifetimes," Mei complained.
"Do you fear prison, Mei Onishi? Do you fear death?" Hiro snapped. Mei swallowed hard and made no reply, clutching the huge bag of drugs to her chest like a comfort pillow. "Success in this organization depends on loyalty and loyalty alone," continued Hiro. "Of course you're free to walk away at any time, no hard feelings. My other subordinates do not enjoy that luxury. And why is that? Ah, yes, it's because you're not yet a formal initiate. Now do you want to assume control of the Sumitomo-Kai crime family as your father's rightful heir or don't you? Demonstrate your loyalty."
Mei returned the contraband to the suitcase. She took the smaller bag of marijuana, which belonged to her, and tucked it into her bra. She closed the suitcase and stared at Hiro. There was no need to answer his rhetorical question. 'Of course he could compel any audacious aspiring thug to do his dirty work,' Mei thought, 'This is a test of loyalty.' Embarassment overcame her and she felt herself redden noticeably.
"At any rate, there's no reason for concern," Hiro began in a much less aggressive tone, "Hideyoshi, my most trusted driver, will arrive at your condo building at 5 AM sharp Sunday morning. Dress warmly, it will be cooler up north."
"Duh," said Mei, relaxing a bit. "I spent half my childhood in Hokkaido. Remember? You were there for some of it."
Hiro ignored her remark.
"As for Sailor V, Rei Hino, your friend," Hiro stammered, obviously exhausted and growing impatient "I'm sure you were relieved to hear that she is still a priority as far as your father is concerned. I trust that I will soon understand why it's necessary to lead her on a wild goose chase across Japan, as opposed to simply snatching the girl from her bed at this shrine where she lives."
"First of all," countered Mei, "she's not my friend. Secondly, she's a priority for you too—don't pretend like she's not. And as for my strategy, maybe I doubt that your boys can handle her." Mei grinned—the same devilish grin that so often enraged the subject of their discussion. Hiro scoffed.
"There's the Mei Onishi we know and love: obnoxious, ungrateful, and too confident by half," Hiro conceded emotionlessly, giving Mei's smile yet more life.
Just then, the car slowed and came to a halt. They had arrived at Mei's condo complex. Master and apprentice shared a moment of uncomfortable silence as Hideyoshi, the driver, circumnavigated the front of the limousine to open the door for Mei.
"Don't smoke too much of that stuff," Hiro chided, "stay focused."
Mei rolled her eyes as the stout, mustachioed chauffeur Hideyoshi opened the door to the cabin.
"Help you with your bags, ma'am?" he offered.
"I'll manage," replied Mei. Hiro couldn't help but smile slightly and shake his head as he watched his teenage pupil struggle to lug the heavy suitcase out of the car and onto the curb.
"5 AM!" he called after her, "Sharp!"
"Yeah, whatever," she shouted, "tell your wife I said hi!"
She blew Hiro a kiss. He remained expressionless, of course. Hideyoshi shut the door, returned to the helm of the limo, and drove off.
For a moment Mei simply stood on the sidewalk, lingering in the light of a streetlamp—one of a thousand that marched like sentinels down the mostly-deserted avenue, disappearing into a haze of mellow light.
"Help you with your bags, ma'am?"
The voice came from behind her, and she knew at once to whom it belonged. Mei whirled around to find her friend and lover Niko Akishima standing before her on the sidewalk, resplendent in a little red dress.
"I'm early," said Mei, "how long have you been here?"
"I had to sneak out before ten. So about two hours I'd say."
"Wonders never cease," said Mei, now smiling broadly. She drew a breath with which to make more snide remarks, but before she could speak Niko had pounced, occupying her mouth with a passionate kiss.
"Let's go upstairs," Niko suggested, "it's been a long week for you."
Mei agreed. It had been a long week.