Chapter Seven: Heads...
Life would be more convenient for cops if every criminal could leave at least one footprint. And a shoe, complete with DNA. Lei wouldn't complain if they staggered to his feet – just once, of course – because of his fearsome reputation. Like he was Bruce Willis from "Die Hard," or Arnold Schwarzenegger from "Terminator," or maybe that incredible Chinese actor from "Rush Hour," whose name escaped Lei for the moment.
Reputations. A lifetime to build, an instant to ruin.
Just look at "Die Hard 2."
He was no mall-policeman, sure, and his gun was more than just an accessory. The trigger may or may not have been grafted into his finger after years of police work. And Feng Wei was no punk kid, shoplifting Pockey because he was too lazy to pay.
Still. Chasing down a contestant – again – in the King of the Iron Fist tournament – again – and finding himself hitting his forehead against the wall –AGAIN – was a far cry from the glorious escapades he used to lead.
Knocking on the door of the Japanese equivalent of a Motel Six with an artist's conception of Feng Wei drawn from Asuka's memory, he felt like he should be wearing shades and asking "Have you seen this child?" Except Feng Wei was uglier than a child. And fortunately for Feng, Lei was no T-1000.
Whew, one more pop culture reference and his brain may disintegrate.
He had to concentrate on a lead, which was a pathetic lead taken from a kid. No credibility, no guarantees. Only desperation.
Knock Knock. Who's there? The police. The police who? Have you seen this man? No. Go figure. Lei could only turn around and continue saving the world one Japanese-equivalent-of-a-Motel-Six at a time.
When did it become like this? When did the car chases become Soccer Mom vans? When did the untamed stallion become a lonely old bachelor? Some day the hot wheels would be on a wheel chair and he would be the devil of the nursing home.
He was looking at one dire future. What he wouldn't give to be one of the shadows again, lurking and fleeting, flickering around the corner of a man's eye, only to disappear before he could get a better look. The terror of the crime world. The terror of criminals. Criminals like this "Feng Wei."
Feng Wei. Who had just lurked out of the hotel's back door, fleeting and flickering among the shadow's of the dumpster.
Time to show the world the pistol was not just for decoration.
"So," Hwoarang snatched up Julia's laptop. Dropping back onto the couch and resting the computer on his abdomen and the back of his head on Asuka's thigh, he continued, "I noticed something." Asuka growled in the back of her throat, narrowing her eyes at Hwoarang. He replied with a wicked smirk. " 'Aggressive apathy' seems to be a Kazama trait."
"And an oxymoron," Julia muttered with quiet emphasis on the latter part of the word.
"You're just jealous because I'm basking on 'Suki' instead of you," Hwoarang replied, tapping into the computer.
"Don't you dare desecrate my nickname," Asuka snapped.
"Is that all you discovered?" Steve asked. He propped his feet on the lounge room table as he looked over at Hwoarang. "That invading Asuka's personal space pisses her to Hell?"
"Stop the presses," Christie teased, looking up from her task at hand. The powerful scent of nailpolish permeated the entire room as she gave Xiaoyu a French manicure.
"Actually?" Hwoarang sat up, cradling Julia's laptop and scrolling down the webpage. "No. And it wasn't that the nail crap you guys are using smells like dead souls either."
"It does not!" Xiaoyu protested. She picked up a bottle to give it a hefty whiff, just to be sure. The scent of powerful ethers ripped at her delicate nose as her eyes crossed. "Dead souls stink!"
Julia looked over her shoulder, concerned. "…You can kill brain cells like that, you know."
"Must be the vengeful ones…" Xiaoyu murmured.
Christie inspected her closely, using her thumb to subtly check Xiaoyu's pulse. She waved Julia a thumbs-up, and though Julia raised an eyebrow, she let it drop and continued her Hangman war with Steve.
"I can't believe I'm going to ask this," Asuka began. Slipping the laptop from Hwoarang, she shoved him over the arm of the couch and settled it on her lap. "But what, oh observant one, did you notice then?"
After tumbling to the floor in a pile of limbs and discomfort, Hwoarang picked himself up off of the floor. Bristling and straightening his leather jacket, he snapped, "Damn, girl!"
"You could have cracked his skull like that!" Julia said approvingly.
"Or worse, messed up the do!" It took a lot of time for Hwoarang to look like he just woke up, he wasn't about to let that effort be brutally underappreciated.
"I've noticed that Julia has turned into Mamma Chang," Christie said with a laugh. Seeing all the "What the Hell" looks she was getting, she clarified. " 'You'll kill your brain cells,' 'you'll crack his skull…' next she'll be giving Xiao carrots and giving me sweaters!"
"I wouldn't have to if you wore enough clothes," Julia chided.
"Bloody hell, she was right! Mamma Chang is in the house!" Steve grinned, snatching the Hangman board back from Julia. "You'd best to explain yourself, you ain't nesting or anything, are you?"
"Nesting?" Nesting. "Oh, GOD no!" Julia shook her bangs disdainfully. "My friends at college called me 'brood mother,' that's just what I do when I like people."
It was a beautiful moment, a declaration of friendship in the most unlikely of circumstances. A rose in thorns was a friendship among such intense competition. Here they were, each of them far from home, divided in goals, but somehow united, in some small way.
Hwoarang had just the thing to say for a moment like this. "Wow." Hwoarang brushed off his jeans, snatching back the laptop. "You hung out with some nerds."
"Still do," Julia muttered. She could not figure out for the life of her what this word was supposed to be. No 'A's,' no 'E's,' no 'R's,' no 'T's.' Eight letters. "I'm not even sure this is a real word…." she added
"It's a word. Now, Hwoarang, your observation?" Steve returned his feet to the table while Julia poured over the challenge.
The attention of the room was on him. He cleared his throat. He adjusted his cuffs, tossed his hair, checked his Facebook. It wasn't until Asuka firmly planted her palm on the back of his head that he spoke. "Ow wow wow, okay, okay. I just noticed that there are a TON of rivalries in this competition!"
After all of that hype. Stating the obvious. Asuka rolled her eyes. "Congratulations, you finally realized you aren't the center of the universe."
"Seriously though, once you write them all down in one place? There would probably be a lot."
Steve snatched the hangman paper from Julia. Flipping it over, he said, "I'm calling your bluff. Alright, let's get a list going."
"Well, let's see," Christie mused. "There are the infamous Williams' sisters…"
Nina walked as a woman who was already at her destination; she just basked in the knowledge that she was going somewhere and Anna would be blissfully left behind her. Metaphorically, of course. Literally, Anna was walking towards her, smirking like the cat that ate a canary
With Jin walking besides her.
Suddenly, it was all so clear that chasing wild geese, or Raven assassins was the least of her worries. Not while she was face to face with a stool pigeon.
"What is this?" Nina had mastered the art of interrogation several times over. It was something they did at Assassin school, after Sniper Shooting and before Home Ec. Her eyes blazed like a white light shone right in the face, and one could see tension lace Anna like steel cuffs.
"Management shift," Jin replied for Anna. He smiled the darkest, most dastardly smile that could have come from Satan himself.
Nina narrowed her eyes. It may have been anger. It may have been hate. It may have been the culmination of years of the two, or it could have been an adverse effect of the Hibachi chicken she just ate. Whatever it was, it exploded like anger, froze like hate and burned like indigestion, and Nina's pistol was out.
Anna's pistol twirled out as if on a reflex, trigger prepped and ready to send a bullet through anyone dumb enough to get in its way. And few people were dumb enough to get in its way.
That was about when Jin got in its way. Planting himself in between the two, an aura of authority wove around him. Nina and Anna froze. Their eyes shot bullets but their pistols remained unfired, and Jin remained intact. It was a tense moment. Jin's fierce gaze alternated between of the two of them.
"Anna," he finally said firmly. "Meet in five."
"For the debriefing, hmm?" Anna saw the tug at the corner of Nina's mouth. Lingering to trail a finger daintily from his shoulder, across his spine and up his neck to tickle the pointed end of his hairline, she flaunted down the hallway. Nina's breathing was audible, as her look of pure hate rested on Jin.
Jin just smiled. He smiled and laughed. Nina's eyes darted down the hall, as if seeking her cue, before she let herself laugh as well. "That was good," Jin said with a grin. "If I hadn't planned this myself, I would have bought it."
"She's so predictable," Nina muttered. Her laughter had abated quickly. No celebration lasted long for an assassin, even for a plan so well executed. "On to part two."
Part two? More to come, but this was the first offense. Anna watched as the two split, and Jin began to head her way. Anna adjusted her hat, giving him her flirtiest smile as she linked into his arm. Two-timing. Well, that was one game two were meant to play.
"How about Bryan and Yoshimitsu?" Xiaoyu suggested. She vaguely remembered someone mentioning ill will between the two of them. It wasn't hard to see why; each of them looked like they walked straight off of the set of a Hollywood Thriller and started kicking the real world in the face with a steel toed shoe and a pointy, flashy stick.
"Hmm." Steve scribbled down the names, though he tapped the pencil against the table while thinking. "Should we count them? I mean, it doesn't seem like much happens between them."
The Gatling gun slung over Bryan's shoulder rattled and hissed as fire flew in all directions. Bullets ripped through pillars, trees, walls, cars, whatever dared to mark itself in between Bryan and his target. "YOUR ASS IS MINE!" he cried between waves of bullets.
Yoshimitsu, cloaked in invisibility, dove to a new cover, narrowly missing the bullets that ripped into a vending machine instead, washing out a river of caffeinated beverages. "If you had a soul, I would crush it in my bare hands!" Yoshimitsu hissed. His cover briefly blown, he dove and latched onto a balcony as Bryan blindly pumped a bench full of bullets.
Bryan coldly narrowed his eyes. Calculating and cruel, they searched for a glimmer that might betray his enemy's position. "I can do this for days. You will be crushed."
Yoshimitsu watched another volley. His next move would have to be swift and end this, because on his life he would avenge the death of his friend at the hands of this debase creature. He would not sleep, eat, or rest until that thing was dead.
"Write it down anyway," Julia said. "Even if it's nothing big, we might as well be thorough." Once Steve finished writing it, Julia flipped it over to stare intently at the eight blank spaces staring back up at her.
Asuka, after checking to make sure Hwoarang was definitely listening, piped up, "Didn't Baek say he and Law had a little somethin' somethin' going on?"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU-" Law stopped himself. Be rational. Be responsible. Feign some resemblance of being an adult; the kid could never be allowed to think he was anything else. "Do you mean to tell me that you weren't wearing a helmet?" This was bad. Like, Insurance Company didn't even have to give him a band-aid bad. Like second mortgage and second job bad.
Dollar signs were dancing around his head before blowing away in the wind.
"You just don't get it, Dad, you can't wear a helmet on a motorcycle." The logic of youth. Law would give anything to go back to a time when he was immortal.
"Forrest, it's the law, you have to wear a helmet." Come to think of it, Law wasn't sure of the legal aspect of it. He could only hope Forrest didn't either. The door opened, and Law heard someone come in. Paul probably; sparring time. "You're not riding any more motorcycles, with or without a helmet, not until we sort out this financial business." If he had his way? Not even after that. But with the devil himself behind him –
Law turned around to give Paul a harsh word about leading his son down the path of evil. He had a good line picked out too. The only problem? It started with: "Paul, you are by far the worst influence I have ever met."
But it wasn't Paul that had walked in. Baek looked at Law expectantly from under his suede fedora, his long, grey ponytail swinging behind him. He looked like an upscale Korean mob boss. "Well?"
Law completely forgot that, even if he didn't say anything, his mouth was open. Here he was, face to face with the man who had destroyed his dojo. So? He said the first thing that came to his mouth. "You owe me…"
Baek raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You destroyed my dojo, you ruined my life! If that hadn't happened, I wouldn't be in debt now!" Marshall China wouldn't have come and gone from his life. He wouldn't be struggling to keep students, he wouldn't have been pushed to combine forces with Paul so often. If he tried, he could probably pin everything that had gone wrong in his life on Baek.
"No legal grounds." Come to think of it, Baek wasn't sure of the legal aspect of it. He could only hope Law didn't either. Removing his suede coat – oh, that looked expensive – he tossed it over his arm.
Law stammered and floundered over his words. Raising his voice, he challenged, "You admitted to it!"
"Yeah, sorry about that, but really, if I paid every single person back whose life I ruined… I wouldn't be the comfortably established con artist that I am today."
Law's nostrils flared. His eyes saw red. But they also saw a couch, and his back wasn't what it used to be. He cradled his face in his hands after dropping to the couch.
There was an awkward silence. Baek felt something tug at the back of his mind. Was that sensation… guilt? Baek quickly dismissed the notion. It must be indigestion. Yeah, indigestion. In his brain. Looking down at the slightly pathetic form of Marshall Law, he sighed and sat down next to him. "Why? What do you have to pay off?"
Law let out a heavy sigh, just to let Baek know how much he didn't want to be talking to him. "…My son's hospital bills."
"Hospital?" Baek snorted. "What's he doing in the hospital?"
"Paul's motorcycle…" Law straightened up, sinking into the couch's cozy embrace. "I swear, that boy can be so reckless. Doesn't understand a single thing about life, still thinks everyone is immortal and death only happens to old people. Well, I'm old and death hasn't happened to me yet, but I didn't get that way by driving motorcycles into things either."
Baek listened, propping his feet up. A slight smirk tickled the side of his mouth. Law could easily have been talking about a certain redhead they all knew and loved. "What is it with boys and motorcycles?"
"You tell them to be safe…" Law muttered.
Baek smiled. "…They get a motorcycle."
"You tell them to wear a helmet…"
"…They give it to the bimbo with her arms around his waist."
"You tell them to drive slow…"
"…They break the speed of sound." The two of them laughed, each imagining his own Evil Kneivel. Baek half-smiled, punching Law in the shoulder. "I'll bet your spawn is a saint next to Hwoarang though."
"Hwoarang's not your son?" Come to think of it, Law never really thought Hwoarang was Baek's son. It's just, he was always around Baek, so he might have been a ward or-
"No. He's not my ward, either, he's technically my pupil." Technically. The lines had been fudged for so many years in so many ways, he might as well just sign the legal paperwork. You know, just so he would have someone who could get something out of his life after he died. He was, in an odd, technical sort of way, Hwowarang's father.
"Yeah right, you're pretty much his father by now." Law and Baek shared a sympathetic, stressed smile. Law leaned back into the couch, propping his feet up on a coffee table. "Did you have a father, or where you taken in like that boy?"
Baek's expression clouded. "No, I had a father."
"Whatever happened to him?" Law asked.
Baek let out a sigh, just so Law would know how much he didn't want to talk about it. "Just one more debt I can't pay…"
Paul walked in, his sparring bag slung over his shoulder. He arrived in time to hear Baek's last words, but they were his last, because Baek stood briskly and left the room, jacket over his shoulder and fedora tipped to hide his face. Paul wrinkled his nose and looked at Law. "Well damn. Something tells me I came just in time for the dramatic clincher."
