"No, I was not read my rights. Mr. Asami never read me my rights." - from the Trial of John Oylic.
As a child, the Dragon loved hide-and-seek. He excelled at it, always surprising the seeker from his hiding place: a gnarled tree branch, a spider-infested bush, curled in a dryer, stifling a giggle from under a bed. His friends dubbed him the 'Invisible Dragon', a play on his real name…a name hidden from others, mainly because they couldn't pronounce it correctly and that irritated him.
Twenty years later, and he still played the game, turning it into a lucrative profession. He especially loved the game when the seeker was as cute as this one. A shy but confident man closed his target's door, hesitated a moment and then turned right. Dragon recognized him right away.
The cute cop known as Officer Steve (no-nickname) Yoh, the roommate of Asami's new lover, wandered through the dark and dusty corridors of his apartment building, a container and spoon in his hand, looking lost, tired and a little bit sad. While Yoh unwittingly participated in his game, The Dragon heard the Pink Panther theme playing in his head. bud-ump bud-ump bud-ump b-dump bud-ump bud-ump bud-ump b-dump. Strangely enough, it mimicked the Dragon's heartbeat as he watched the lost cop wander from floor to floor, noting violations with a frown: trash, graffiti, more trash.
He liked sad, lonely men with dark hair and brooding eyes. He liked the Pink Panther. He liked a lot of things. He'd even take Yoh's vigilante attitude.
His wayward pony-tail hit his face, stinging his skin and blinding him for one moment longer than he found comfortable. And in that instant, he lost Yoh. He grumbled silently, cursing the winds which brought the odor of orange peels, coffee grinds and stale beer to his nose, reminding him he needed a lengthy, hot bath with green tea bath oil. Add stronger hair ties to that list.
The cop popped back around a girder, as if in slow motion, acting like the girder was his best friend. The cop appeared cat-like in his movements, stalking in a comic way, pretending he's not a cop, but just a citizen of the world.
Although his hair a tangled mess and he reeked of trash, he decided to give the wandering cop what he wanted, a taste of the Dragon's claws, and perhaps other things. Waiting a few moments, he shifted silently, feeling the uncomfortable resistance of stiff legs from sitting and watching, impatiently waiting for the straw-headed Russian to pay a visit.
He popped up from the stinking hiding place, earning that childhood nickname as the clueless cop passed him again for the third time. Steve Yoh would never make detective if he ignored the obvious - that people could make themselves invisible without the use of cinema trickery and some well placed trash.
"I thought stalking was illegal, cop." The Dragon popped the p in cop, his full lips parting to make room for his tongue. He licked his dry lower lip and glued his two lips together to form a wavy smile. "You're looking for me, I assume?"
Yoh almost dropped his container, his left hand going for the invisible gun at his hip on instinct. "Uh…." He said with confusion, "Um…..I brought soup. The captain said you liked soup. It might be cold, now."
He looked down at the container, then back up, seeing the flicker of immediate interest in Yoh's dark eyes, his gaze catching on the hint of muscle underneath Dragon's tight black shirt. "Did he? What else did the great captain say about me?" He hoped Asami hadn't mentioned that unfortunate event in Milpitas.
Milpitas…
Just the word beaded the sweat in his palms, the only time Dragon's vulnerability shook him. The stalker became the victim, and the target the rescuer. The shit that went down in Milpitas remained unspoken between them, yet when Asami asked for a favor, Dragon answered without question.
Yoh broke the silence between them with a cough, leaning into his hand perched on the rough stucco wall, his breath sweet, voice intoxicatingly obscene, the previous confusion vanishing with practiced control. "You like a lot of things, don't you Dragon?"
"Doesn't everyone?" The Dragon crossed his arms and propped his foot on the pile of boxes in his cool spy pose. "What kind of soup?"
"Meatball. I added extra balls, just for you." The cop answered with a knowing glint of humor in his eyes, producing the slightly warm container with outstretched red hands. Large and perfectly groomed fingers caressed Dragon's hand, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
He liked men with large hands and a sense of humor. He liked a lot of things.
"Funny," but he didn't laugh for some reason, "Such an off-color joke, are you five?"
"Eh…..I work blue sometimes. As for my age, I don't look it." Yoh turned to look at his apartment's aged door, watching the pale light flicker on in Akihito's bedroom and then turn quickly off. A hint of a smile formed on Yoh's lips, as if thinking of another common joke that remained unuttered.
The Dragon admired Yoh's strong profile, biting his lip as a bead of sweat dripped underneath his solid gray dress shirt, unbuttoned and loose at the top, the tell-tale scent of manliness adding to the pungent air, a welcomed scent. What he wanted from the clueless cop was certainly more than meatballs in the hallway, more than courtyard flirting to the sounds of televisions blasting twenty different programs. But what he wanted, Dragon didn't know….yet.
"You keep watch while I eat, okay blue man, can you do that?" He said, feeling the warmth of the container sting his palm. It was cooling but not cold.
"Anything you want." Yoh responded without thought, his taut back at attention, awarding the Dragon with sculpted muscles that disappeared under perfectly fitted jeans. "This seems an odd job for a firefighter."
Dragon laughed this time, a sound he hadn't heard in a while, sounding unnatural, yet not forced. "I'm one of Asami's special consultants."
"Special, huh...I see." Yoh's jaw clenched and Dragon thought he heard teeth grinding over the wind gusts and the televisions and the distant traffic.
"Special, yes." In silence, Dragon quickly inhaled the soup, chewing the meatballs delicately, savoring the taste of spice and the sweetness of vegetables. It was a large bowl, but Yoh just stood there while he ate, a breeze shifted a hair and it fell, looking like a comma mark escaping from a poorly drafted sentence.
He added the empty container to the trash, another smell combining with the already stinking pile. "Thank you for the soup."
"No problem. I can bring you something else, later, if you like." He offered with hidden meaning in his voice. What he was hiding behind those soulful eyes and flirtatious words, the Dragon already knew, because he saw it in the mirror every day….ambition.
"And what would that be, Officer Yoh….who thinks nothing of bringing soup to the wicked?" His voice sounded higher than normal, playful and slightly kittenish to Yoh's barking dog.
"Wicked? Who would call you wicked?" The surprised rise in Yoh's voice startled him for an instant but Yoh's mysterious eyes remained preoccupied, his mouth seeming like words from a dime store mannequin.
"I plead the Fifth." He smiled, stretched and his jet black pony-tail wrapped around his face, blocking his eyesight again. "So, Asami sent you out here to flirt with me, or something else?"
"I think the captain is playing the both of us. I hope that doesn't include playing my roommate, as well." Yoh said worriedly.
"Asami can also be amazingly passionate, but as for his intentions, you'd have to ask him that." He said cryptically. Asami's passion was like the wick of a candle, burning brightly until the wick went to low. It still burned until the wax snuffed it out. Many times he'd witnessed the Captain's desire burn brightly before that candle flame died. The lovers he picked wanted to possess him, brag about him. Hang on his arm like a colorful piece of jewelry. Then, they'd steal his heart and eat it in a dark corner, licking their lips at their stolen possession, forgetting Asami was a man first and the Great second.
"Does that passion extend to you?" Yoh's jaw clenched, his voice rising in tightly contained annoyance. He wasn't sure if Yoh was jealous or worried for his roommate or both. Yoh's hand curled as if preparing to punch Asami's face depending on the Dragon's answer.
"No, no. I like my lovers a little less…" He said in a soothing way, pausing to search for the right word, "….arrogant. Are you arrogant, Officer?" He used the word lover on purpose, as to keep Yoh guessing.
From the relief in Yoh's yes, he didn't have to speculate which team Yoh batted for – the gay team.
"I don't think so." His eyes continued to slowly examination the rooftop of the adjacent building before settling on the front door again. The warm wind fluttered Yoh's perfectly pressed shirt, blocking out any noise but the Dragon's own breathing and the flapping of hair against his face.
"Arrogant men would say the same, just to keep you guessing." Dragon commented, admiring his own words of wisdom, words that sounded familiar.
"A bird isn't arrogant, son." His father had said so long ago. "But he's proud of his plumage." Then, he'd softly caress his hair, touching it as one would touch a lover's face.
"I suppose." Yoh's eyes flickered with desire and he moved to touch Dragon's hair. He did it gently and carefully, untangling it from his face without pulling and with his right hand, the Dragon noted. "Your hair….it's in your way, wicked one."
He seized Yoh's wrist, not hard, but not soft either, pulling it away from his face. "Should I cut it, Officer Yoh?"
"Oh…no…never." He responded with an odd look of revulsion, as if cutting it would render Dragon powerless, like Sampson to Delilah. "I like it long."
He dropped the wrist, amused as Yoh rubbed the spot with a twist of his palm. "You're disrupting my surveillance." He sounded more irritated than he intended and Yoh frowned.
"That won't do." Yoh swallowed hard, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing. The bathroom light flashed on in his apartment indicating that Akihito and Asami had completed their amorous activities and it was safe to return home.
"I can relieve you later, if you like?"
Dragon liked how Yoh stressed the word relieve…as if there was a double meaning there. "You're walking a fine line between lawlessness and impartiality, cop. What would the boys in blue say about that?"
Yoh shifted his feet uncomfortably and sighed a contemplative sigh. "They'd say…pass the donuts or….where's my pension?" He replied, tearing his gaze away from his apartment with a look of quiet amusement.
The Dragon snorted, a pleased smile forming, eyes wandering from Yoh's pert lips to his collarbone and back up, stopping at Yoh's expectant eyes. "I don't trust a man with no dominate hand. I think you're trouble for me….Constable."
"You can call me just Steve, if you like." He turned, his heels scraping the pavement. "Someday, I want to hear your real name."
"To pronounce it correctly, I'd have to pull out your tongue." Dragon said through his teeth, laughing at a joke he once heard on a cartoon. He couldn't remember which one it was, but it involved aliens.
"Hmm." Yoh paused and inhaled through his perfectly shaped nose. "By the way, I do shoot with my left, but that leaves my right hand for other things." His mouth parted to say something else but he only nodded with a knowing smile before walking calmly away. "See you later, Dragon."
"You've got it, Just Steve." The Dragon liked a lot of things – and he just added one more to his list.
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The world beyond glowed bright with light pollution as Yuri leaned against the clear glass, his heart in his mouth as he pushed the limits of man's fear of heights. The glass felt solid, yet the anxiety rushed, his brain telling him the glass didn't exist.
You are falling. His brain said, and his blond hair agreed, gluing itself to the glass with his adrenaline charged sweat. But he ignored his brain and his hair pleading with him to step back.
Chicken. He told his brain.
We are little puffy clouds. His brain retorted with their little cotton ball mouths, absorbing the moisture around it like a fresh yellow sponge. The sweat beaded under his black leather gloves, and it felt like he'd donned them after drowning his hands in turpentine. The smell wafting from those gloved hands smelling like rotten cow hides on a hot tanning day.
His own reflection in the glass haunted him. It was his brother's eyes that stared back, blue yet dark, calling to him from a shallow ditch in Mexico. It wasn't a grave that held his brother's corpse, cradling him like mother earth would cradle a child, but just a ditch, used again and again to dispose of Chiclet's boxes and tequila bottles. His brother had shared the ditch with two other human bodies, contaminating him with lice. In the end, his body never reached Russia. He'd burned it in that ditch and sent home ashes to stand guard by their dead father.
I like ashes. His brother's corpse said. Ashes float, becoming air, then mix with raindrops and descend, marrying the earth again. I am the earth you walk upon.
His eyes catch on the pack of cigarettes he'd stolen off the dead security guard now sleeping naked at the bottom of an elevator shaft. The dead man's still unopened pack his last gift to the world. Oh, how he enjoyed that last glimmer of life in the guard's eyes, like he had something important to give the world. But the world contained billions like him, important to only his tiny circle.
He had dreamed once of holding that twinkle in a tiny tube, using it to hypnotize ladies before adding their soul to his vial.
Imagining the cheap cigarette between his lips, the flash of flame and the sharp click as he snapped the lighter closed, he inhaled deeply, as if he was really smoking, but his imperfect nose only tickled with the scent of gun oil and adrenaline.
Oh….. he looked down at the nametag on his breast pocket of the stolen guard's uniform, …..Dennis Martinez, you have lousy taste in cigarettes and equally poor taste in women. He ripped the photo of an average looking smiling woman stuffed with a lottery ticket out of an otherwise penniless wallet. The lottery ticket dated today. And if sweet irony shined, Dennis Martinez would be the world's richest corpse.
He chuckled to himself, the headphones stuffed in his ears seemed part of him, grown to fit and keeping him alive, reminding his heart to beat, the hard edged melody overshadowing the sounds of machinery in the floor above him, the stolen song from a stolen Ipod, taken from the body of his dead brother.
I'm only here for myself I've got a big fuck you for everybody else Not only empty but empty and loud I've yet to make my father proud
Get what you can, while you can and get out Son of Rock'n'Roll
I am a bad motherfucker Live long and well thanks to suckers Live long and well thanks to suckers I am a bad motherfucker
The rhythmic thump-thump of the drums sounded much like an uneven heartbeat in syncope, right before the tell-tale long tone of flat line. Beeeeee-
Protect your brother, his father had said from his deathbed. He hadn't understood the equipment that swallowed his father whole, but the heartbeat continued, stuttering along with the shallow life left. Protect your brother. He's not as brave as you.
Father. He was brave. Brave enough to kill for love.
He inhaled again, finishing the pretend cigarette and flicked the imaginary ashes into a non-existent ash-tray, dialing a number he shouldn't have but did.
A deep voice answered after the first ring. The outline of the Hollywood Hills became more defined as the sun teased with a faint glow, making the outline purple. He picked out several houses he'd like to own someday, all with a view of the Hollywood studios below.
"Hello." The voice answered loudly after a couple of rings. It wasn't a hello Yuri expected, it seem hollow. It was a statement and a not a question, as if the other party had anticipated his call. He should, since he had left his calling card with a little note that said simply…..
I want to watch the world burn.
"Are you enjoying my fire, Mr. Wayne?" He said through a voice changer. His voice sounded high, unnatural, like a parrot learning to speak for the first time. "Did I interrupt something important with my little fireworks display? How long did it take to tear you away from the brat's arms."
The other party, this Captain Asami Ryuuichi didn't say anything and only responded with even, controlled breathing. Yuri sucked on the imaginary cigarette.
Yuri leaned on the glass again, it felt comforting on his sweaty head, like his mother was cooling his fever with her magic cold fingers. "Were you expecting my call?"
"I found your chip. You might want it back, Yuri. It's worth a lot."
"I prefer Joker for now, Dark Night." He said stiffly, and gave a throaty laugh. "And the chip is yours to keep."
"Are you calling yourself my arch-enemy?" Yuri could hear shuffling in the background, faint voices giving orders with lots of ill-placed confidence. "I have quite a few of those." The man laughed bitterly. "So, which one are you? A new arch-enemy or one of my old ones?"
Yuri felt like he was playing a part in an odd production of Batman - The Musical. "Are you answering to Batman now? Does that mean you complete me or does that mean you enjoy wearing tights? I really don't enjoy that vision in my head." He laughed again, and the voice changer made it sound like a dog choking on a very irritated wasp.
"Calling to turn yourself in, Yuri? You'll live longer if you do."
His phone echoed with the sound of squealing brakes. "So, are you enjoying watching the world burn? Somehow, I think you do."
His gun site fixed on dot a mile away, picking up the captain easily. He was the one strutting like a peacock on mating day, looking bigger than life from so far away. The fireman looked small, however, in the remains of the space of a world map made out of copper and wires from various telecommunication devices. "That was a nice mural. A fitting end to the copper. It returns to the earth from which it was born as it melts into the sewer. I'm sure the water department is having a containment field day."
"There's only one way this ends. Turn yourself in, Yuri."
"Are you clairvoyant? How do you know how this ends? You haven't even heard my demands for the boy's life. Copper….cop…per."
"How can you make demands, when you aren't holding any cards? I'm with the Fire Department. I don't follow the rules of law enforcement."
"You think the chips are down? No, this gambling metaphor is just getting started….you see….I only want to be #1 on the FBI's most wanted list. The current list looks like the line-up for the 1997 Dallas Cowboys…it sucks."
"You know we don't negotiate. We don't negotiate with terrorists."
He liked the well contained panic in the captain's voice. "And you?" Yuri's finger found the trigger. He aimed for the air container on the captain's back. One finger slip and he'd puncture a hole in the side of the building and Los Angeles would slip in panic. Most of all, it would splinter Asami's head. His finger clenched, a bead of sweat stung against his cold cheek as he aimed. He opened the window just enough to allow his gun access. The building specially chosen because of the odd transom windows, the builder, a NRA nut, designed the ultimate building in case of invasion.
It had a garden at the top and ran on wind power. Self contained building. He could let the building swallow him, and he'd live quite nicely in the maintenance tunnels for months.
"We meet, we talk. In private. I'm more fun than the boy, you know."
"What are you implying?" Yuri's eyes narrowed, the small circle blurred for a moment and he pulled the trigger hearing what he assumed were Asami's last breaths. "Don't include me in your perverted interest in the boy."
"Such denials. I make no apologies."
POOF. FWOOOP.
Chaos erupted through that tiny circle accented with cross-hairs and he knew his bullet hit his mark, the glass no longer protecting him as it shatters, tinkling like ice in a martini glass. He hears a scream from below, and then the thump-thump-thump-thump of mechanical rotors, wobbling the remaining panes of glass. He escapes, running up the side. He can't hear anything but the rotors whipping the tiny hairs in his ears.
I am a bad motherfucker continues to play in his memory, drowning out the calls from his subordinates. But he follows their eyes. They know the reverb of the gun shatters my hearing for a few days so we communicate with eye movements and sign language. Russian sign language.
Above him, a helicopter lands, offering him a ride out of the chaos below. Someone signs him that the mission is complete, but Yuri watches the chaos below from the Ipad in the lap of his 2nd in command, his nephew Michael. Live coverage from ABC News, in the air, on a small television set.
The future is here. He heard himself say the first time he watched television in the bathroom.
All he can hear are the rotors, but he nods, someone offers him a Cuban cigar, which Yuri declines. There's enough smoke for now, and he's enjoying the purity of the metallic tinged air.
"Mission Accomplished, sir." They mouth with a funny salute.
Watching the dawn break as he hangs out of the side of the copter, Yuri, Asami's assassin, angles his still warm gun across his lap. "Take it south." He says into his provided ear piece to the stiff pilot, who only nods casually before putting in a change of course. "I'm going fishing."
AN:
Working blue: A little play on words. Blue can refer to a comedian's choice of words (curse words I won't write here) in a stand-up show. Blue also refers to the color of the LAPD uniform, which is dark navy. Plead the 5th: The 5th Amendment of the US Constitution – protects against self-incrimination, among other things. Event in Milpitas: I like the name of the city.