A syrupy tension filled the backseat of the black sedan. Ren looked over at Makoto in the rear seat next to him. She was still glaring at the two goons in the front seats, as if she wanted to will Triangles, and the driver, Circles, out of existence. Which she could, in fact, do. They all could. Which again was the scary temptation of power that, as yet, they've all managed to resist.
So far.
In Ren's opinion, these were probably the least menacing of Otohime's soldiers, and he didn't fear for his or Makoto's safety due to them. But Otohime's faction was involved in some sort of shadow war that Ren only understood from movies, and those depicted ambushes, assassinations, and other such modest forms of murder. If the junior goons in the front seat were a target, their passengers may be acceptable, or even desirable, collateral damage.
Ren had wanted Makoto to stay behind. Makoto had fixed him with that same glare which was now focused on the goons in front. All objections and arguments had died in Ren's throat. So they both were now on their way to see Otohime, wherever she happened to be.
And he wanted to talk Makoto out of her crazy plan regarding the dead policeman, but this was certainly not the place. Ren looked at Makoto's face again. And it definitely wasn't the time.
Ren instead looked out the window. The evening commute was more-or-less over, but Tokyo being Tokyo: there were still people everywhere- just less densely and moving with less urgency. As the car entered into the commercial and entertainment districts of Shinjuku, the absence of weekend frivolity was stark. Most of the people moving through here seemed to be intent on other destinations. The club hosts and hawkers looked bored and most were buried in the glow of their cell phone screens.
A red light brought the car to a slow stop, tension keeping the car silent as the four of them waited for the traffic signal. Ren's eyes wandered over the pedestrians passing on the nearby sidewalk. Spring was here, though nights still held a damp chill to them. Most people were walking quickly past. But a couple of people were standing in a small group near the corner. Two men in coats and a woman in a tight sweater. A beautiful woman, by any standard. But this was Shinjuku. Men came here to see such women. Ren's eyes were traveling away from the group, then a slight motion near the woman's pale legs caught his attention. It was a tail. A thin, pointed tail- black and leathery.
Well, if there was a specific male interest in existence, Shinjuku probably had a cafe or club dedicated to it. Ren's eyes began to wander away again. Wait. Did the tail just move? Ren sat up and looked closer. Was it some kind of advanced costume accessory? But the car began moving forward and the tailed woman was quickly out of sight.
"What is it?" said Makoto in a soft voice.
He turned to find her looking at him intently. The glare was mostly gone, but she still had an intensity about her. That was understandable in this situation.
"Just a cosplayer, I think. She had a moving tail."
"Oh."
"We're here," said Circles from the driver's seat.
Ren leaned towards Makoto's side of the car to see where 'here' was. A typical Shinjuku alley way. Which meant their real destination would be somewhere within- likely one of the many little bars and restaurants which could only be accessed therein. Small, discrete establishments which Ren had seen on TV, but had never explored himself (not being of appropriate age until very recently). Makoto was sure to be in the same boat, though they both had ventured into some of Shinjuku's more seedy areas. But this wasn't an alleyway for sexual entertainment- just food and drink of varied types and in varied atmospheres.
A handful of normal-looking people were walking up and down the alley in twos and threes, perhaps shopping for a place to get a drink, or on the way to their customary favorite. But at several points, men in suits idled in small groups. They seemed intent on all passers-by and they didn't carry the aura of relaxed salary-men. Goons. Lots of goons. This wasn't just a food industry alleyway. It was Otohime's current stronghold.
"Ren, do you see them?" said Makoto. She too was staring down the alleyway.
"Yeah."
Circles and Triangles were already climbing out of the car. Triangles bent back down into the open passenger door, his face scowling with annoyance. "Come on, you two. Stop wasting our night. We have plans."
"We do?" said Circles.
"Man! Shut up!"
Makoto turned her head back towards Ren, and he found Queen looking intently into his eyes: an intense, serious gaze… which did seem to have an accusatory glint to it. Otohime and her ongoing complications to the Phantom Thieves must be some sort of I-told-you-so situation for Makoto, but she would never say such a petty thing. Her eyes, however, could be devastatingly verbose.
"Let's go," said Joker.
Queen nodded.
Ren got out of the sedan and quickly circled the trunk to stand next to Makoto. Meanwhile, Circles and Triangles were already walking down the alleyway, sharing subtle greetings with the groups of suited men along the way. Ren and Makoto followed after, shoulder to shoulder, one watching the groups on the left, the other the right. The alleyway was just another corridor of shadows; Joker and Queen had walked down plenty of those, side by side.
About halfway down the alleyway, their guides stopped outside a small bar. Classic Japanese doors, latticed windows covered in white paper, the head-high noren banner one needed to slightly duck under to enter- each hanging segment emblazoned with two red kanji: "Nostalgia." The name of the establishment.
Circles slid open the sliding door of the bar slightly open, bowed to someone inside, then stepped aside and drew the door open fully. His hand indicated Ren and Makoto should enter. They did so.
They entered a small room. It would struggle to hold eight people standing shoulder to shoulder in any direction. The central area of the room contained a long eating-counter which made a sort of hollow square. In the center stood the man who was obviously the chef- a mature man in an apron with a scarred face. On the other side of the counter, just on the inside of the nearest corner, sat Otohime. Her aged, wrinkled face was gazing at them placidly. A sake carafe and cup was before her on the wooden countertop.
Ren and Makoto, suddenly confronted by the direct stares of two elder adults, felt their social instincts kick in and their bodies moved of their own accord: they bobbled their heads in the polite, quick bow of greeting to unrelated elder folk. Then they straitened and stood, briefly paralyzed like deer.
"So Ms. Connoisseur came, too," said Otohime, "Well? Sit down." Then to the man behind the counter: "Master, some tea, please."
"Sure," said the scarred man, and he ducked under the noren over the kitchen entrance.
Ren and Makoto entered. The door slid shut behind them. Otohime gave a slight wave of her hand to the two seats just next to her on the near corner of the square counter. Ren sat and sensed Makoto sit next to him on the right. The scarred-man returned and placed tea cups in front of them both.
Ren's eyes were locked with Otohime's. He was getting angry. She sent goons to Cafe Leblanc, she banked heavily on the threat of revealing the Phantom Thieves… she was acting more like a villain than an ally. Ren fully understood Makoto's animosity towards Otohime, and he was beginning to feel the same way.
Otohime was giving them both a side-long glance, eyes half lidded. "So. Your hackles are up, Mr. Mackerel. And yours, Ms. Connoisseur. What is it?"
"You are," said Makoto, "You sent men to get us."
"To get you?"
"Don't send your men to Cafe Leblanc again," said Ren.
Otohime looked evenly at Ren, her eyes shifting slightly behind him, looking at Makoto he assumed. "I invited you to dinner. Is that so offensive?"
"It is if there is an 'or else' attached to it," said Ren.
"There isn't. Those idiots-!" Otohime sighed and rubbed her forehead. She looked briefly like a tired old woman, the fierceness vanishing from her expression. "Those two I sent to your… cafe. They're fools. But loyal fools. Forgive them. I was merely inviting you to share a meal with me." She rapped her knuckles on the countertop. "Master!"
"Yes," said the scarred man from the kitchen. He re-emerged with a plate of tempura and set it before Ren and Makoto with a satisfied sigh. "Tempura anago," he said, hand on hips. "I don't usually stock such expensive seafood, but Ms. Otohime provided the sea eel for tonight. You'll find the batter and the sauce a little different than the usual- to match the meat."
Eel tempura? Otohime was obviously up to something. Ren didn't believe Circles and Triangles misinterpreted her orders- they didn't seem like independent thinkers. He looked at Makoto- her face was carefully neutral, but Ren was sure there was a spark of suspicion in the gleam of her eyes. But they were trapped by social convention now, and had to go through the motions.
"It looks amazing," said Makoto to the chef as she reached for a piece of fried fish. "Thank you for the food."
"Thank you," said Ren, taking a peice, too. They dipped into the sauce, and under the watchful eyes of the scarred man and Otohime, took their obligatory bites. Ren's mouth filled with the subtle sweetness of eel- this being sea eel, the meat was less creamy and a bit more flaky. The tempura sauce was slightly lighter and a touch acidic, pairing nicely.
"It's- it's delicious," said Makoto from behind a hand covering her chewing mouth, genuine awe on her face.
The chef nodded in satisfaction and retreated to the kitchen. Otohime sipped at her sake cup, watching Makoto reach for another piece of fish. Ren set his own piece down, half eaten- it was good, but Makoto loved seafood a bit more than he did. Otohime's eyes met his.
Otohime grinned salaciously. "She does have good taste in fish, doesn't she, Mr. Mackerel?"
Ren didn't find the joke amusing. He didn't find any of this pretense amusing. Better to get this over with so he and Makoto could leave. Anywhere Otohime happened to be was a giant target for a gang war attack.
"Why are we here, Ms. Otohime?"
Otohime sighed. "Young people have no patience these days. It's your computers. Your whole life, whatever you need is provided instantly. Go, go, go. Mr. Mackerel, you don't have any idea how much worse life is now because of these gadgets! In the old days, people didn't need to do things until the mail arrived. And that was good! It gave everyone TIME, Mr. Mackerel. People used to sit and talk. There was time to sit and mull over a steaming carafe of good sake, picking just the right words to say. People LIVED back then, not like now. People don't have time to live."
This coming from a woman who shepherded a criminal organization from the post-war to the modern era. Otohime liked to talk about the old days, but she was just as modern as everyone else. Ren wouldn't be distracted.
"Mail us the dinner invitation next time, then."
Otohime laughed. "Touche`. Fine, I'll tell you." She sipped her drink and waved her hand towards the far wall of the tiny restaurant. "I own a club a block or so that way. Scantily-clad women and cheap drinks- the sort of things certain kinds of men like. Ms. Connoisseur, don't look at me like that. All my workers are voluntary. Some women like that kind of work… Anyway, at this very moment, one of Mr. Takoa's thugs is there, having himself a good time. Not a captain or anyone of real value- just some bottom-rung fool that apparently doesn't know where my territory happens to be."
What was she suggesting? What did this have to do with the Phantom Thieves? Unless-!
"We're not your assassins," said Ren.
"Of course not," said Otohime. "You lot lack the finesse in your killing to be assassins."
Ren grimaced. She knew as well as they who killed all the corrupt policemen in Matzuzaki.
Otohime continued: "I don't want you to kill the man. I want the information in his head. I want you to..." She rolled her hand in midair in a searching sort of motion. "Do whatever it is that you do. Like what you did to me. Tonight."
Ren leaned back in his chair, surprised by the request. He heard Makoto choke on a piece of tempura and start coughing. She reached for her forgotten teacup.
"The deal was to take down Takoa," said Ren, "You are going to waste our services on one of his flunkies?"
"Not one of his flunkies," said Otohime, "A flunky of one Takoa's flunkies. And the deal is still on. You are going to do your thing to Takoa. But-" Otohime paused and seemed to search for words. "Mr. Mackerel, Takoa is not a Kaneshiro. That fat fool was, at best, a low-ranking captain. And he exposed himself, to his own delight. Takoa does not. We'll need to peel away the layers of his protection, like an onion. And tonight- we begin with the skin."
