Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, its characters and setting, and the song "Dissolved Girl" by Massive Attack to which this chapter was named after.
Act 20: Dissolved Girl
Daigo Yotsuga was glad that this day was over. It had been a long day after all. Being a key member of the Yakuza's council meant lengthy meetings, getting into heated arguments with other council members, and having his well-conceived ideas harshly rebuffed by Ichimonji who had the final say on the clan's affairs. The copious amounts of sake (rice wine) being served during these supposedly serious and solemn meetings made the council members loud and rowdy. Ichimonji believed that people tend to be more open and honest when drunk, so he encouraged, no, commanded his council members to drink freely during meetings. Occasionally, heated arguments would escalate into fisticuffs, and would later turn into a free-for-all, only to be broken up when Ichimonji unsheaths his four-foot nodachi (long sword) and sticks it to the wooden floor loudly. Daigo would only sigh in disgust everytime a fight would break out during these supposed-to-be dignified meetings. This was a far cry from the solemn and dignified council meetings held by Ichimonji's predecessor, which Yotsuga was a part of.
Today's meeting was relatively peaceful as no fight broke out. There was a heated argument though between two members who were obviously trying to ingratiate themselves with Ichimonji. What used to be the voices of reason and the guiding hand of the clan became a nest of sycophants and bootlickers wishing to advance themselves in the clan, he thought. They argued on what to do with the extra profits that their recent alliance with the Triad had brought to the clan. One suggested on investing it on their front company, Ichimonji Holdings, to give the clan more "legitimate sources of income". This idea was sneered upon by the another council member, calling him a "chickenshit fag". He suggested, instead, to strengthen their existing underground businesses, and stockpile arms in preparation for their expansion toward West Hillwood. The former did not take the insult lightly, and called the latter a "warmongering moron". What ensued was an exchange of personal insults. Yotsuga shook his head in disgust as the two bickered almost endlessly. And Ichimonji just sat there, in his usual satisfied grin as he watched two fling insults at each other like children in the playground, not doing anything to break up the fight. He seemed to take satisfaction seeing people grovel and ingratiate themselves with him. Council meetings became less and less about policy-making and more about ego-stroking.
Yotsuga was forced to intervene when he felt that the argument would lead to another fisticuffs spoke up that the bickering ended. Being a senior member of the council, he commanded respect among them. He explained the pros and cons of each ideas, and then advised the council as a whole to take a moderate approach in running the clan's silenced the two, and the meeting adjourned shortly.
Yotsuga left Ichimonji's mansion aboard his black Mitsubishi LAN Evo 7 driven by his bodyguard. He may be old, but never too old for high-end sports cars. He sat at the passenger seat at the back while his burly African-American bodyguard drives his car for him. He turned to Yotsuga.
"Where to, sir?" he asked.
"Anywhere...I really need a drink..." Yotsuga sighed, running his fingers through his graying hair. "Where do you suggest?"
"Elysium, sir. I couldn't think of any better place."
Yotsuga smiled a bit, "Sounds like a plan." After all, Elysium have been a relatively neutral place where underworld figures from West and East Hillwood could hang out without any fear of being gunned down by their rivals. Besides, the redheaded exotic dancer Foxy Leona who had been the main attraction of VIP section of that club had piqued his interest. Perhaps he could meet and know her better up close, or if he's lucky, she could even have her warm his bed tonight. He smiled at that thought.
They drove off from the affluent neighborhood of Zephyr Rose Fields and made their way into the dark streets of the inner city East Hillwood. The street economy of the inner city was alive and well, as usual. Dealers and whores alike plied their trade on the sidewalks to their respective clients. Pawnshops acted as fences for small-time crooks who wished to make money out of their stolen goods. These street merchants has to pay tribute to either the Yakuza or the Triad, depending on whom they had pledged their allegiance and fealty to. This was their turf after all. In the dark alleys lies the illegal brothels, gambling dens, opium houses, hidden armories, and meth labs, which provides most of the income for the two giant underworld groups.
He gazed on the sidewalks nonchalantly through the tinted window of his car as they made their way through the streets. They just exited East Hillwood and now entering West Hillwood's party district, where Elysium was situated. It would be less than five blocks from where they were right at that moment. Their car was about to make a turn at the intersection when...
PHLOOG! SPLAT!...a large plastic cup hit the windshield head on, splattering chocolate hot fudge sundae across the windshield, obscuring the driver's vision.
SCREEEEEECH!
The driver quickly swerved to the left, narrowly missing the fire hydrant on the sidewalk before halting a few feet away from it. Yotsuga was thrown out from his seat, landing hard against the door.
"Dammit, Morris! What's going on?!" he angrily asked his driver.
"Fuck! Someone threw something at us! Imma get that punk and murder his ass!" Morris the driver declared furiously as he got out of the car and searched for the culprit who threw the chocolate hot fudge sundae at their car. His eyes fell upon a skinny, short teenage boy wearing an oversized bright orange hoodie with the hood drawn up, tattered jeans, and dirty sneakers. He was wearing a pair of round John Lennon style shades, even if it was almost midnight. He was frozen where he stood. It's hard to tell whether he had frozen in terror, or was dumb enough not to realize that an extremely pissed-off hulking black guy was heading toward him, itching to beat him senseless at least.
"You little shithead! You wanna die, huh?! What's the big idea...?!" he hollered at him.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three quick gunshots rang out, and Morris fell on the ground face-first. A pool of blood formed quickly around his body. The skinny teenager kept the smoking muzzle of his handgun pointed at the dead driver, and nudged his head a bit with his foot to make sure he's dead. He's dead, alright. He then quickly headed to the black Mitsubishi Evo, where his true target was.
Yotsuga watched in horror as his driver was shot in cold-blood. He dove to the car's glove compartment where he knew a gun was hidden. He fumbled around its contents until her was able to grab the firearm. He whipped it around and aimed it to the window, only to find a handgun muzzle staring right down at him. He shakily aimed his hand-gun at his would-be assailant.
"W-who are you?! W-what do you want?!"
The skinny teenager removed his shades and took down his hood, revealing a delicate woman's face, and a fierce, intense midnight-black eyes. The teenager was a she.
"Vengeance," was all she said in Japanese, pulling back the hammer of her handgun.
CLICK!
Yotsuga almost dropped his gun as he gazed upon her eyes. Blood drained from his face as he realized where he had seen those eyes before. She must got it from him, he thought.
"N-no...it can't be! S-Shinoda..."
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Multiple gunshots rang out. She nearly emptied the entire clip on him. The window of his car was totally shattered as his bloodied body lied lifelessly on the car seat. She looked at her work, and let out a snort. Not as good and satisfying a running her target with the blade of her sword, but good enough.
"Oh God! NOOOOOOO!""
She turned around as scream echoed through the dark streets. A middle-aged lady not far from her crumpled on the ground, dropping her grocery bags, crying and screaming like crazy as she saw the grisly aftermath of the young lady's work.
"Shit," the young assassin cursed under her breath. Time to make her getaway.
She ran to the nearest alley, and headed to its darkest corner near the dumpsters. She hurriedly took off her orange hoodie and tossed it to a nearby dumpster. She ripped off her tattered jeans to turn it into a pair of shorts, and tossed the excess fabric aside. Unbeknownst to her, a homeless man was lying near the dumpster and was watching her, dumbfounded, as she ripped off her disguise. She gave him a cold gaze as she straightened her black tank top that was beneath her orange hoodie disguise.
"You can keep my clothes. And for your silence," she then tossed a hundred dollar bill at him. He picked up the bill and looked at it in disbelief. His eyes sparkled with joy. He did not want to blink at that time, for everything might be just a dream, and his newly-found treasure might just disappear in a snap. That's more than enough to feed him for the next few weeks. He wanted to cry and hug the kind-hearted angel who gave him the gift, but she ran off some distance from him. As the lone light in the alley shone on her back, and enduring image for his angel burned into his mind:
A tattoo of a dragon's head on her shoulder blade.
-=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=-
"Probably if you are reading this, I might be dead or had been eliminated by someone who I had a run-in in the past. I have made so many enemies that I have no freakin' idea who's most likely to do me in the near or far future. So let this little journal of mine be a legacy the I'll be leaving as a testament to the worthless duration of my existence in God's green earth. Yes, I will be doing this for my friend Hissy, whose dark secret would be forever be lost and die with me.
Yes, Hissy, aka Hisashi Shinoda. That Japanese jerk. I met him when I was looking for a break from being a small-time freelance crook. Yeah, I'm tired of being settling for cheapass rackets. I want to play with the big boys. And for that to happen, I need to join a team. A solid team.
I started as a low-level lackey for the Yamaguchi-gumi, one of the biggest Japanese underorld groups in the West Coast. To the outsiders, they're simply referred to as the "Yakuza". Yakuza is just a catch-all term for any Japanese underworld group, and the Yamaguchi-gumi was just one of them, and one of a largest as well. But they to refer to their group as the "Clan".
The Clan mostly operates in Asia, but it had established its presence in the West Coast through the efforts of the great Shingen Takeda. Shingen Takeda, now that's the man! He could be the kindest, most understanding, most fatherly nice guy one could ever be, but he could be the most cold-hearted, cruel demon that you definitely don't want to meet. He single-handedly led the Clan wrestle its way to the top of the California underworld with his cunning and ruthlessness. As a well-organized gang, there's a strict hierarchy it follows. Takeda runs the Clan like a company. A criminal company, to be exact. We, the low-level lackeys, do the most of the dirty work: collectors, pimps, drug dealers, hitmen, loan sharks, goons, runners, mules, those kind of people. We are those. Above us are our underbosses, mostly Japanese guys. These are like middle-management people. And above them still were the bosses who were like senior managers in a company. I'm not gonna bore you with the details, but the thing is above the hierarchy is Shingen Takeda, the overlord of this underworld empire. And at his side were his two trusted proteges, his so-called "children": Saburo Ichimonji and Hisashi Shinoda.
Saburo Ichimonji is Takeda's biological son. It is said that his mother was one of the courtesans in Takeda's high-end whorehouses in Osaka that he took as a girlfriend, and Saburo was the fruit of that relationship. Legend has is that Takeda caught his girlfriend cheating on him, red-handed, and killed her and her lover right on the spot, and later grieved for her death. He took care of Saburo since then. Takeda brought Saburo with him when to the United States when he was pioneering the Clan's operations in the West Coast. Saburo was in his early twenties back then.
Saburo inherited much of Takeda's ruthlessness, and little of his kindness. He is very cranky at times. He would fly into rage at slightest provocation, often taking out at his poor lackeys, who were unlucky enough to be always at the receiving end of his "tantrums". Sucks to be them, I always thought. But most of the time, he very much intense in his efforts to learn the ropes of the underworld, and soon succeed his father as the overlord of their empire. He would often volunteer to take on the day-to-day tasks of running the business, and would often ask a lot, eager to learn like a wide-eyed school boy. Shingen Takeda couldn't be prouder of having a son whho is more than eager to follow his footsteps and even surpass his achievments as the lord of the Clan, if not for his one fatal flaw: his pride and arrogance.
Saburo valued his pride more than anything else. Say if you're really tired of your life and you really want to die, just tell him that his mother is a dirty whore, and the next thing you'll know you're either under the dark waters of San Francisco Bay, or under the sands of the Mojave desert. He does not take any insult or slight very lightly, be it serious or petty ones. He is very quick to remind those who work for him of their places. Those who had happened to forget met a quick end, if they're luckly enough, through Saburo's favorite toy: his four-foot long-ass sword. He sees himself as some sort of lord over them, above them in the Clan food chain. There was one guy I knew who nearly lost his hand when he forgot to bow down to Shinoda as a show of respect. Well, he did not totally lose his hand, but he nearly died after losing so much blood when Saburo missed his swing and cut through the poor guy's wrist. No one dared to joke or kid around him, lest they risk offending him in any slightest and petty way and be at the receiving end of his blade. No one, except for this guy: Hisashi Shinoda.
Hisashi Shinoda is the only guy who could joke around, and even openly insult Saburo and get away with it. Saburo considered him as a brother, and Takeda looked at him as his own son. Born in San Diego to a Japanese father and an Irish-American mother, he started his career in crime as a small-time con-artist. A natural smooth-talker, he can bullshit his way into almost anything. Well, ALMOST. He made a big mistake of making the notorious boss Shingen Takeda his "mark" (victim) in one of his con-games. The con went on successfully, and he got away with almost a hundred thousand dollars. What he did not know is that Takeda would stop at nothing to get him and make him pay dearly for conning the great Yakuza lord. After months of being on the run, Hisashi was finally caught by Takeda's men and was brought to him. He thought this was the end of him. No one dared to wrong the great and infamous Shingen Takeda and lived to tell the tale, well, except for that sly bastard Hisashi.
I don't know exactly what happened. Either he was extremely lucky, or bullshitted his way around Takeda for the second time and it worked, but whatever he did, it made the notorious Yakuza lord spare his life and make a better use of his talent by including him in the Clan. Indeed, Hisashi proved his worth to the Clan. He was the chief negotiator and overall PR guy, being a natural smooth-talker and fluent in English. He brokered several deals with the established gangs and groups in the West Coast, putting the Yamaguchi-gumi in the underworld map. His laid-back personality and management style made him popular among the Clan. He's a cool guy to be around with, but like his brother Saburo, he is without a flaw: his lust for women.
Being a smoooth-talker made him a lady-killer. I worked as his valet, and I am required to be on his side all the timees. Every night he was with a different woman. Blondes, redheads, brunettes, Caucasians, African-Americans, Europeans, every night was different. And mind you, these aren't cheap whores that he's hitting on. These are classy, sophisticated women. He would spare no expense everytime he's with these women. Sometimes it's two ladies he's out at the same time, working a menager-a-trois with them. I told him that his lust for ladies would be soon the death of him. He would merely laugh and tell me how right I am.
Shingen Takeda treats these two as his children, and charges them with the task of running of his empire. Saburo and Hisashi are more than colleagues, or friends. They are brothers. Together, they formed a formidable force within the Clan. They complemented each other. What Saburo lacked in his inter-personal and social skills, he made up with his sheer determination and hardwork. And what Hisashi lacked in motivation and hardwork, he made it up with his natural talent. The two worked in harmony, occasionally running into disagreements, but were quick to sort them out and soon return to their normal working relationship. Everything was well between the two, until she came into the picture. She, that redheaded Southern she-devil. Rosalinde Woolsworth.
Rosalinde, or Rose, started as Saburo's lackey, serving as his assistant, messenger, at times his assassin, and rumor has it that she's his personal "bed warmer" as well. She came from Kentucky, and moved to the West Coast seeking her fortune. It is in one of those dimly-lit smoky jazz bars that Saburo often frequents that he recruited Rose who was working as a waitress. She quickly proved herself as a valuable lackey to Saburo. She would perform each task flawlessly, and would even go above and beyond to finish the task in hand. She gained Saburo's trust, and affections as well, and soon became his mistress. She's smart, sassy, and strong-willed, not to mention hot too. I know such women would not miss Hissy's attention. And how right I am.
I am not stupid not to know that Hissy has took a liking on Rose. I told, no, WARNED him repeatedly that she's Saburo's bitch, and he should lay his hands off her. But that horndog wouldn't listen. I told him that that redheaded devil would be the death of him, and how right I was..."
Gerald rubbed his eyes as he paused reading Stavros' journal. He had been reading it for the past hour. He then grabbed his whiskey bottle for a swig, but he realized it was empty. He groaned as he stood up, headed to the cupboard only to find it empty as well. He slammed the cupboard shut. He badly needed a drink right now, now that the journal was about to reveal more about what Stavros knows about Kyo Heyerdahl's murder. What he read so far seemed like a badly-written plot for a film-noir or crime novel. But what does it have to do with Kyo Heyerdahl, and ultimately, with Phoebe?
The skeletons were now out of the closet.
-=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=-
Arnold sighed as he gazed upon the night skyline of his neighborhood. It was not what it used to be back when he was young. Most of the houses and buildings were decaying and dilapidated. Even most of the old occupants in their neigborhood were gone too. Mrs. Vitello had passed away, and her flower shop was sold to an immigrant family who replaced the shop with a liquor store. Mr. Green passed away as well, and his classmate Harold Behrman took over the business. He was successful though, as Mr. Green's shop became first of his chain of meat shops around the city. Lucky for him, though, for most of the houses now have either turned into crackhouses, or den for street gangs that would engage on bloody gunfights with rival gangs from time to time. Gunshots and police sirens wailing were common nightly sounds in Vine Street.
Arnold smiled bitterly. If he only knew that the neighborhood would only turn out the cesspit it was right now, he wouldn't worked so hard with Gerald back then to save it from the industrialist Scheck. Come to think of it, it would be better off if the neighborhood had been turned into a shopping mall complex rather than one of the worst neighborhoods in the inner city Hillwood. Change is indeed good, he smiled bitterly at the thought.
He took a puff from his cigarette and blew off the smoke, watching it dissipate in front of him. He didn't usually smoke, but now he has a good reason to. That violet-eyed blonde he had loved so much haven't called for quite a while now. It has been more than a week since she left that mysterious voicemail message on his phone. After that, she never got in touch again. It is as if she fell off from the face of the Earth. He tried calling her numbers multiple times, but to no avail. He even tried going to her apartment, but she's not there either. The landlord can't tell where she was, as she already paid her rent a year in advance. He tried going to the places where she usually frequents, but to no avail.
He listened to her last voicemail again and again, searching for any clue of her whereabouts. It sounds like she made one of her typical overly-dramatic and poetic love messages, but he had a gut feeling that her references meant something more. Kiss the rain? Lyra Silvertongue? Amber spyglass?
He needed a drink. Badly. The cold chill on the rooftop of the Sunset Arms boarding house was getting unbearable.
He threw his cigarette over to the edge, and headed downstairs. He headed to to the kitchen where Gerald has been sitting on the table, poring over Stavros' journal for hours now. Beside him was an empty whiskey bottle. He headed to the cupboard to grab a bottle.
"Arnold, we don't have anything..." Gerald said without looking at Arnold, his eyes still fixed on the journal.
SLAM!
Arnold slammed the cupboard shut, seeing that they don't have any liquor left in the house.
"...left," Gerald continued, still fixed on the journal. "I was about to tell you that."
Arnold headed to the coat hanger to grab his jacket. He's gonna go out to grab some booze.
"You heading out?" Gerald asked.
"Yeap."
"Grab me some Jack Daniels and cigs. I think I'll be needing more..."
"Sure thing," said Arnold before he headed out.
Outside, the night breeze began blowing through the empty streets. Vine Street is relatively safe compared to other streets in the inner city Hillwood. There were fewer whores and dealers haunting the sidewalks. Arnold walked past a brunette whore who tried to sell her services to him. Arnold ignored her and headed straight to the liquor store where Mrs. Vitello's flower shop used to be.
He headed to where the whiskey were, and browsed over the whiskey bottles, looking for the brand that he and Gerald always preferred. Jack Daniels, on the bottom shelf. There it was. He stooped over to pick two bottles.
As he got up, time literally froze around him as his eyes fell upon a lovely blonde in front of him. She was wearing a long leather trench coat to ward off the evening chill outside. Her blonde long wavy blonde locks framed her face. His eyes locked upon her sapphire orbs. Yes, he had seen those eyes before. Those eyes were too familiar to be missed.
They say that time would freeze whenever you see someone who was truly meant or destined for you. Arnold was literally frozen at the spot where he stood. He almost dropped the whiskey bottles he was holding. He was face-to-face with the woman he least expected to see at this moment.
Helga Geraldine Pataki.