Anchor

Written by: RinoaDestiny

#25 – Yakuza

He genuinely shouldn't have been surprised, but the overestimation some idiots had of themselves continued to reach grandiose levels. One of those idiots being the overly dressed bulky Yakuza creep from last time and the others his goons. Iori supposed feeling sorry for them was in order and yet…it was obvious the head moron led lesser morons. They knew who he was, so they couldn't plead ignorance.

"What do you want?" he barked, asperity clear in his tone.

"Same as last time. I won't permit your refusal."

"Won't permit?" He scoffed at the man's brazenness. "Hell you talking about?"

The man before him – missing finger plain to see in daylight – stepped closer, as though his suit and shined shoes gave him a veneer of authority. He probably felt safer, too, backed by his goons. Around them, the other pedestrians kept a wide berth and even the few police nearby kept their distance. Smart, in case a few imbeciles needed to be fried.

"My terms, pretty boy. You're the last of your clan – wouldn't want them to suffer your loss, eh?"

Iori blinked, but not from surprise. "You're threatening me?"

"My men are armed."

"Your men are nothing." He made no sudden movement but his tone altered, now hard. "They will die. So will you."

"Everyone has weaknesses. Even you, kid."

You too, asshole. "Want no part in your little mob war. My answer is the same. Leave me alone."

"Didn't say you had a choice."

Iori fumed, hands curling tight within his coat pockets. He wanted a normal afternoon – another swing by the bar – and this idiot king moron decided to wreck his day by…not accepting his answer? There was dense and there was suicidally stupid. He was Iori Yagami and he didn't suffer fools. Mobsters – particularly of this ilk – were small fry and the least of his worries.

"You wouldn't need to do anything. Show up. No one would oppose me when they see you. I promise a handsome payment."

What payment would I need to make if I agree? Convenient that this lowlife failed to mention the sexual harassment from last time. Iori wasn't about to jog his scatterbrained memory. "Ah. So you're one of those."

The man across from him bristled. "What are you –"

"Trying to undercut the boss, huh? Decided to be him rather than bow and scrape. Might get a nicer cut of the earnings, too, right? Or am I wrong?"

"You dare –"

"So instead of doing the dirty deed yourself – because you can't – you wanted to bring me in. A secret weapon against the rest of the mob." Scorn twisted his voice, harshness lending it menace. "I won't be bought and people like you make me sick."

Silence, even in the middle of a busy commercial district.

"There are other ways."

"Like what?"

The Yakuza mobster gave an unpleasant smile. "Wouldn't want anyone else hurt, would you?"

What the hell is he talking about? "What bullshit is this?"

"People you care for. People you know."

Iori frowned; the mobster's face appeared to stretch, grotesque smile turned to grin. He could punch him now, but with police around, he wasn't looking to start trouble. The goons nearby – six of them – shuffled, as if growing impatient. Young and jumpy, exactly the kinds to join an upstart idiot. An upstart idiot who was going to get them killed if this spiraled out of control.

Iori called his bluff. "Don't know what the hell you mean."

"Oh, playing dumb? You know who I mean."

"No. I don't."

"You're part of a band. Wouldn't want them hurt, right?"

Iori scoffed loudly, his disdain clear. "You won't touch them. They mean nothing to you. It'll cause issues – surely, you don't want that."

"You're right."

Something lurked beneath the surface of that innocuous agreement; Iori's hackles rose, as if alerted. "What are you getting at? Spit it out."

"There's someone more important to you."

Was this guy born an idiot? He can't be… "Are you stupid?"

"Wouldn't risk the Kusanagi heir, would you?"

Incredulous that the mobster would flat-out state it in the open, Iori stared at him. "I've known idiots, but never one as dumb as you."

"Kyo Kusanagi –"

"Would turn you and your men into charcoal within seconds. Are you daft?" Threatening him was already a suicidal move; as for threatening Kyo? The same man who fought against NESTS after escaping? The same man who was his equal? The same man who was willing to go against Orochi if it meant saving him from his dilemma? This was the guy this buffoon wanted to go against? "I'll save him the trouble. Cutting you down will be easy."

One of the young mobsters shifted, one foot forward. No weapons in hand, but knives were concealable within pockets or sleeves. Maybe even a cord, if they were trying to subdue him. Like that'd work.

"Boss –"

"Not yet." The grin had fallen off the fat mobster's face; there were no easy smiles here. The edge of his shirt collar was damp. "You will come. Whether you like it or not."

"I refuse." With that parting shot, Iori turned to leave.

The nameless moron – for that was what he was – actually bounded after him, seizing hold of his arm. Iori froze, but not for the reason the mobster probably thought.

Whirling – the police in his periphery – Iori reversed their positions, his hand closing tight around the other's wrist. A single twist and the big man was in front of him, arm wrenched behind his back. The six mobsters in front darted forward and then stopped. One of them – a youngster with fuzz on his chin – had his hand inside his ill-fitted suit. A gun or a knife? It didn't matter.

"You're irritating me," Iori growled, voice a snarl. "People like you end up in a hospital or morgue. I can cut your throat right now. Reduce your men to cinders. Will be doing your boss a favor, getting a feckless idiot like you out of their ranks. Leave me alone or I'll torch the lot of you. Make your choice."

"You'll –"

"My patience is running out." Iori made a subtle gesture with one hand. The young man facing him cried out, molten metal running down his shirt and pants leg. The other five Yakuza members noticed and stepped back, fear and uncertainty etched on their faces. "Need any more examples or should I start burning the one closest to you?"

The man squirmed against him. Iori tightened his hold, a pincer grip that with a bit more pressure would break the other's arm.

"Stand back. Stand back!"

There was still a wide circle around him and the Yakuza mobsters and the usual foot traffic. None of the police had pulled guns, but a few had batons in hand. Iori wasn't in the mood for bloodshed, despite the common misconceptions. Forceful persuasion was enough to convince this jumped-up moron to drop his agenda. At least he hoped so. Maybe, his bandmates and Kyo would also be left alone.

Going after Kyo? A foolish mistake.

"I'm going to release you. Whether the police take you into custody is up to them. But if anyone I know gets hurt, you're dead." Iori shoved the man towards his intimidated followers, who scattered before regrouping around him. The man whose weapon he melted limped, leg scalded. "Get outta here. You're making me sick."

A hush in the surrounding crowd. Glances exchanged between the police, several now approaching. Iori turned away, heading towards the bar. He needed a few drinks now in peace and quiet. People moved aside for him. No one stopped him, not even the police.

He pulled open the bar's front door. Entered and sat at his usual place. Ordered several shots of his favorites. Kicked them back when they arrived on the counter beside him.

Sat there, absorbing the music and waited for his heartbeat to slow.

Pulled out his phone. Looked at the time. Ordered a full glass of whiskey and paced himself in drinking it. Satoshi wasn't around today; instead, Namie served, neat-handed and cheerful. He ordered something to eat and opened his phone. Sent Kyo a short text message and pocketed the device.

Ate his simple meal. Enjoyed his liquor.

No one bothered him.