Ch 72 V1.0
Hinata Tea House
Hinata City, Kanagawa Prefecture
Metro Tokyo, Japan
early March, Friday late afternoon
Sarah did not slam through the back door of the Tea House, but it was a near thing. As anxious as she was after watching her guardian and sensei on freaking national TV fighting gangsters using martial arts, the last thing she wanted to do was piss off the scariest non-criminal woman she had ever met. As it was some of the customers glanced up at her for a moment before turning back to their drinks or newspapers.
"Where's the fire, Sarah-kun?" Kitsune Konno asked. Wearing a green apron over a tee-shirt and jeans, she looked up from where she was cleaning the espresso machine. The Tea House served more than its namesake beverage; it did not make fancy drinks like the niche shops in Tokyo or even the Starbucks outlets that spouted up like mushrooms on seemingly every corner. It prided itself on expensive imported gourmet coffees and teas that were brewed and served one cup at a time. Which meant that the espresso machine had to be cleaned every few uses to make sure there was not any residue to affect the taste.
"I wish. Have you seen Keitaro-san or Haruka-san?" Sarah and Nyamo had headed home after the live news coverage on the big screen TV at the shopping center of the gun and martial arts fight had ended. After hurriedly saying good-bye to Aki and Hikari, Sarah had sprung for a taxi and got back to the Hinata Sou as soon as they could. But their speed had backfired on them; their guardian was not at the Inn, and the multiple calls to his mobile phone during the trip back had gone unanswered. Finally taking the various shopping bags from where she had dropped them on the floor in the living room up to their room upstairs, Sarah had then headed for the Tea House, Nyamo staying behind. The blonde had looked at her roommate in a silent question only for the islander girl to glance at her side-eye and murmur, "I trust Keitaro-sama to be well, and I trust you to tell me any news you find out." The American girl gave a nod and headed down the hill.
"I haven't seen Landlord-san since breakfast, but the Boss Lady is over there," Kitsune pointed with her chin to the side, and when Sarah tracked her gesture she saw that the older woman was coming out of the small office behind the cash register area.
"What's up, Sarah-kun?" Haruka asked, immediately picking up that something was wrong by the look on the blonde girl's face. In turn, Sarah could tell that the other woman was not upset or angry, which answered her question before she even asked it anyway.
"Have you seen or talked to Keitaro-san this afternoon? Have you seen the news?" Those two questions got Haruka's attention like little else would.
"No, I haven't talked to Keitaro-kun. Should I have?" As she spoke, Haruka slid out her mobile phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen to make sure she had not missed any calls. "And you know I don't watch TV here." There was a large flat screen TV mounted high on the wall in the far corner, but it was usually off since Haruka would say that people came to the Tea House to relax and unwind, not get tense and stressed again from the news.
"Oh yeah. You might want to turn on the TV." Haruka's eyebrow ticked up as she went to a drawer to pull out a remote control and pointed it at the flat screen. Flicking on, the TV was already on the All Nippon News network, with two talking heads on screen, a smaller picture paused between them showing a burning truck.
"Trust me, you're going to love this. It's a real blast," Sarah snarked. She moved over to the counter and sat on one of the high stools surrounding it. She positioned herself so she could be looking at both the TV and Haruka beside her on the other side, then kicked back as the paused picture on screen started playing.
After ten minutes of news footage and the interview afterwards (complete with color commentary by the anchors) all the customers and employees were intently watching the TV. Kitsune had gotten closer to get a better view of the screen; Haruka was still standing behind the counter with a blank expression on her face but her hands gripping the edge with white-knuckled hands, the remains of a cigarette packet and various shredded cancer sticks in front of her. Sarah was actually feeling bad for her, since she was watching it without warning of what was going to happen, let alone that Keitaro made it out OK. That did not make it any easier to watch her shisho and the three people bunched around him get enveloped by a tidal wave of smoke and flames when the propane tank on the burning truck exploded.
Once the TV screen was occupied by the talking heads again, Haruka took a deep shuddering breath before looking down at the counter. Clicking her tongue at the sight of the destroyed cigarettes and packet before her, she swept them to the edge of the bar and into a waste basket she brought up to it. Pulling out her mobile phone again, she hit a speed-dial number and impatiently waited thirty seconds before abruptly hanging up, no one answering her call.
Just as Haruka started to angrily tap at her phone's screen to send a text message, Sarah's voice stopped her. "Do you have any idea where he might be right now? I don't think he was grabbed." Part of the video footage they had seen during the TV broadcast was the sight of police officers running into the alley the two masked and suited men had entered, only for them to run out moments later, obviously having lost track of the pair. Thinking for a few seconds, Haruka then shoved her phone into her back pocket before turning and walking into a storage room behind the counter, soon walking out holding a black leather jacket and a motorcycle helmet.
"You know where he is?!" Sarah asked in surprise. Her question had been a rhetorical one.
"I have a fair idea, yeah." Haruka dropped the helmet and jacket on the counter before sliding her apron off. Tossing it through the open storeroom door, she then pulled the jacket on and picked up the helmet. "At least the smarmy dumbass might know what's going on."
Smarmy dumbass? Sarah had never heard Keitaro referred to like that; Haruka must be talking about the other guy in the suit. A moment later she realized what the other women intended to do. "Take me with you!"
Haruka halted and turned back to the younger girl, eying her for a long moment. "You come along, you do what I say, you don't start crap, you back off if I say so. Understood?" Seeing Sarah nod furiously, she continued. "Get the extra helmet in there, lets go."
Darting into the storeroom, Sarah grabbed the helmet sitting on top of a beat up guitar case of all things on one of the shelves. Coming through the door, she saw Haruka briefly talking to the older gray haired lady behind the register before striding though the back door toward her Kawasaki motorcycle, Sarah scrambling after her.
Pausing to put Sarah's helmet on her head and yanking on the straps to make sure it stayed on properly after she zipped up her hoody, Haruka pulled on her own helmet and swung her leg over her motorcycle, waiting for the other girl to so the same. Once Sarah was pressed up against her back with her arms around her waist Haruka was about to start the bike when they heard the roar of another motorcycle approaching at high speed. Turning their heads, the two watched as a Honda CBR sports bike almost drifted around the street corner and came to a screeching halt beside them, the engine abruptly turning off.
The rider ripped her helmet off but before she could speak Haruka beat her to the punch. "I'm guessing you saw the news about the fight in Chiba?"
"Yes, he's not here!?" Kanako Urashima had a crazed look in her eyes.
"No, but I think I know who might know where he is." Haruka hit the ignition switch on her motorcycle, and as she revved it Kanako jammed her helmet back on and started her bike as well. With a squeal of tires and Sarah holding on for dear life, Haruka took off down the street, Kanako a half second behind her.
Maeda House, Komaba Park
Nakameguro District, Meguro Ward,
Metro Tokyo, Japan
early March, Friday late afternoon
Sipping on his tea as he sat in the seiza position, he looked out from his veranda into the park. No matter how expensive or how carefully prepared, everything he ate or drank would all taste the same. The taste of ash.
Now that it was the start of spring, the beginning of the cherry blossom season was eagerly awaited by the public. From the time the first pink buds would open to the time the petals would fall and cover the ground, thousands of tourists and visitors would flood the park, strolling the walkways and laying blankets on the grass to have picnics, listening to various singers and musicians wandering around the crowds.
But every time he looked out at the park, memories would come to the fore. Memories of blackened and shattered trees, the ground torn from the bombings. The lines of refugees making their way out from their destroyed neighborhoods, the pitiful remains of their belongings bundled up on their backs. The wails of infants and children, cries of hunger and pain that their parents could not assuage. The sights and smells of assembled burnt bodies being turned over to their families. The smell and taste of ash and burnt flesh in the air.
That was how he met her. He had been wandering the various neighborhoods looking for food; the shortages had been so severe that no amount of money or goods or prestige could buy it. The only way that food would be procured outside of the meager rations was for the young women of the families to go to the soldiers stationed around their cities and towns, and no one asked what the girls had to do to get the pitiful handfuls of rice and bread they came back with.
So when he saw the young girl in rough boys clothes in the park, he had immediately thought the worse. But instead of begging for food from the soldiers, she had been scavenging wood from the destroyed trees, loading it onto a two-wheeled wooden cart. After it was full she turned and left the park, pulling the cart behind her. He had thought of approaching her, but decided not to after seeing a scavenging teen move toward her, only to fall back and scramble away with a bleeding face from where she had slashed him with a knife.
After walking for about twenty minutes the girl came up to a house that looked like it had taken a direct hit from an incendiary bomb; only remains of the foundation and rubble was left. Off to the side were some objects that were covered with burnt blankets. They were bodies, what looked to be two adults and a child.
"If you are going to attack me, you might as well get this over with. I have work to do." With a start he realized that the girl was talking to him. Looking at her closer than he had before, he realized two things; she was no more than ten years old, and she was holding a hori-hori knife. A gardening tool with a concave blade for digging with a serrated edge on one side and a razor sharp edge opposite that reached from her wrist to her elbow reversed against her forearm, which spoke of knife fighting training.
"I'm not here for that. I was just wondering what you needed with all that wood." He was almost stuttering in discomfort; he was five years older and a head taller and he still felt that he was being stared down at by the frowning girl.
"Why aren't you working with the Corps?" The girl's next question almost hurt as much as a stab in the chest. The Volunteer Corps were civilians aged 15 to 65 conscripted into service to help the military with firefighting, construction, and first aid. However there was talk of training them to fight the impending American invasion despite the severe lack of firearms and ammunition.
"I have an exemption for severe asthma." It was a weak excuse, and they both knew it.
"You're breathing pretty well for an asthmatic in this smoky air." The girl eyed his dirty school uniform, the dark blue tunic hanging open over his undershirt. "Fancy uniform too." The girl flipped the knife around so it was now visible, the serrated edge gleaming, and waved it at the stack of wood on the cart. "Help out or go away. If you try anything toward me, one more body won't make a difference."
He swallowed the lump in his throat with some difficulty before nodding. He could absolutely believe the little girl in front of him would merrily cut him to pieces.
"Start laying the wood out on top of that pile over there." He could see a square mound of wood beside the bodies. "Use only a third of the load, the rest will go on top of the bodies." Sliding the blade into a sheath jammed cross-draw under a belt he had not noticed before, she picked up some of the wood pieces from the cart and placed them on the pile. "Don't get close to me. You get close enough to touch, I'll fucking cut you." Nodding again, he started moving the wood to the pile, carefully keeping his distance.
Once the pyre was set with the bodies on top of it, he backed off, trying not to gag at the smell of the burnt bodies. The young girl seemed not to notice, carefully arranging the adult couple with their child between then. To his sorrow he could not tell the gender of the child, and was barely able to tell the adults apart by their size. Moving to the side, the girl then walked over to a large wooden tub upside down on the ground, flipping it over and revealing –
"GODS, GET AWAY FROM THOSE!" He shouted in horror. Under the tub were two metal square pipes that were immediately recognizable to any survivor of the firebombing raids. Nicknamed hotaru (fireflies) for their glowing appearance as they fell from the sky, the objects were incendiary bomblets dropped from American bombers, filled with jellified gasoline and white phosphorus. Apparently these were duds that that not ignited when dropped, but with their payloads they were still incredibly dangerous.
Ignoring his shouts, the girl carefully picked up the two bomblets and carried them over to the pyre, placing them above the bodies. He almost ran over to yank her away, but then he noticed that she was looking at him out of the corner of her eye, her hand resting on the handle of her hori-hori knife, and stayed in place.
"Better start moving back, boy." Her voice snapped him out of his paralysis. "I'm about to light this." Taking her at her word, he began to back away, then stopped as instead of bringing out matches or a lighter she put her hands together and presumably started to pray under her breath. To his amazement a glowing sphere of chi formed between her hands, growing to the size of a baseball before she threw it on the pyre, causing it to catch fire.
Seeing that the flames were moving toward the bomblets, the girl turned and walked away from the pyre in no apparent hurry. This was unlike him, who ran over to a partially collapsed stone wall some meters away and hid behind it. The girl joined him endless seconds later, just as the hotaru popped and ignited, spraying burning gasoline all over but short of the wall they were behind. Sneaking a look, he could that the entire pyre was now burning fiercely.
Glance around he saw that the girl was not beside him. Instead she was walking over to a partially burned cypress bonsai, one that was less than a meter tall. Dropping to her knees, the girl drew her hori-hori and started digging into the dirt, presumably to remove it from the ground. "Instead of just standing there, bring that cart over here." The girl's voice startled him again, but he did as she ordered.
By the time the pyre had finished burning the pair had dug out two bonsais and placed them in the cart, the exposed roots in dirt filled burlap bags. The last bag had been filled with the ashes of the pyre, the remains of the burnt bones crushed by hand using rocks.
Once the cart was filled and ready to go, the girl eyed the boy for a long moment then walked over to a pile of rocks in a far corner of the yard they were in. Digging for a few moments, the girl produced another burlap sack and a couple of bamboo tubes with twine slings. Walking back toward him, she stopped short and tossed one of the tubes toward him, which he almost dropped, then the sack as well. Fumbling with the bag, he opened it to see three large loaves of bread. Shaking the bamboo tube produced a sloshing feeling. Pulling the plug at the end of the tube released the strong smell of sake.
Seeing the look of disbelief on his face, the girl shrugged. "Wages for a day's work," she said to his unasked question.
"What about you!? You need this more than I do!" It was more than a day's wages; the three loaves of bread would feed a person for a week, and the half liter of sake alone was worth as much as the bread.
"I already had my fill. There's no way I can make my way across the city with that food and not be robbed of it." As he flinched at her matter-of-fact words, she raised the bamboo tube and shook it slightly. "And this is enough water to get me home without having to drink from the canals again." He paled at the thought; most of the canals had burnt bodies floating in them.
Slinging the water tube across her back, he watched as the girl walked over to the two-wheeled wooden cart and ducked between the pair of poles and grasped the crosspiece at the front end. Lifting the poles and shoving, the cart started to roll forward across the rough dirt. After a few moments of strain she was able to get the cart to the smoother surface of the road.
Turning the cart the girl settled herself and starting pushing again. Realizing that she was not going to say anything else as she left he gave a shout. "Wait!" The girl stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. He continued speaking. "My name is Toshiro Maeda." The twitch of her eyebrow showed that she recognized his family name but she stayed silent. "Please, tell me your name," he almost begged.
She stared at him for a long moment before replying. "My name is Hinata Urashima." With that she faced forward and started pushing the cart again. He stayed standing there, watching as she grew smaller on the road until she turned a corner and disappeared from view. Turning around, he started to walk home, absently tearing a piece of bread free and biting into it, pausing for a moment at the taste of ash before continuing to chew.
He sipped at his now cool tea again, ignoring the taste with the ease of life-long practice. He had gone looking for Hinata weeks later, and her situation had not been much better than those of many of the survivors of the city. Since then they had been companions, partners, and much more, and now her grandson was carrying on with her duties, something he had no desire to impose on him. But his wants and desires had very little to do with their duties in life. He had been busy rebuilding his family and their businesses and properties, sometimes having to tear them from their rivals and enemies. But sitting here now in the home that they had finally forced the national government to return to his family after being seized by the Americans during their occupation and then held for themselves, with family and heirs ready to take over when he passed into the next life, there was nothing but the taste of ash.
There was a faint scratching at the sliding wood door behind him. "Maeda-domo, may I enter?" His head rose up at the voice; his servants knew better than to disturb his contemplations unless something was very important.
"You may." The wooden door whispered as it slid in its track and a young servant girl clad in a formal yukata shuffled into the room, coming to a halt a step behind him. Slowly dropping to her knees, she went into a full bow. "I beg your pardon for disturbing you."
"Enough of that, Mina-chan. What is it?" Even though the girl was as young as his grandchildren and treated as one of the family, all the servants insisted on treating him as though he was a daimyo lord, and he was pretty much sick of it.
"There was an incident today in Chiba today, and it was broadcast on television. You need to see it." The girl produced a tablet and placed it beside his side, a video cued up and ready to play.
Taking the tablet in hand (he may be in his nineties but he know how to use technology), he hit play and sat for the next few minutes watching the yakuza gunfight, the rescue and explosion of the burning truck, the lone man using martial arts to defeat the gangsters involved, and the most unbelievable of all that, the interview the man gave to a reporter on live TV.
Once the video came to an end, he gave a great sigh and placed the tablet to the side. The servant girl picked it up but otherwise stayed kneeling beside him silently. After a few moments of thought he finally spoke. "Have my assistant call all the members of the Council, tell them that we are having an emergency meeting tomorrow, the same place as last time. Call the Mandarin Oriental, reserve the usual room for two hours for a meeting starting at 10:00 AM." He paused for a long moment before speaking again. "And have my assistant call Katsuo Kobayashi and tell him that his presence and that of Keitaro Urashima are required at 11:00 AM."
"Hai, Maeda-domo." The girl behind him bowed deeply but stayed kneeling. When he glanced over he could see the question written across her face.
"If they ask why, tell them to watch the news." Seeing the girl nod, he watched as she gracefully came to her feet and quietly shuffled out of the room. With another sigh and a not so quiet grunt, he came up on to his own feet, leaving his tea cup on the tatami mat.
Walking over to a drawer in a bookshelf, he produced a mobile phone in a Faraday bag, the battery and the SIM card separate. Taking a few moments to reassemble and turn the phone on, he started typing a text message to the only number saved on the device. "Incident occurred in public, heir involved. May not be able to resolve in his favor, need your assistance. RESPOND ASAP."
As soon as the message was sent the SIM card and battery was immediately pulled from the phone and the items placed back in the bag. If she was going to respond it was not to this phone; she would call his office and leave a coded message that included a burner phone number. But that did not keep Toshiro Maeda from sitting on the mat, staring at the phone on the ground in front of him, the taste of ash intensifying in his mouth.
Bougainvillea Trading Company offices,
Roppongi District, Minato Ward,
Metro Tokyo, Japan
early March, Friday late afternoon
No matter how hard she worked, she could never get away from her worst enemy.
Fresh faced Pioneer Scout in Moscova? First time she encountered it.
Olympic hopeful training in marksmanship? Still there.
Newly minted lieutenant in the Soviet Army Airborne Troops? Given to her by the shovel-full.
Running around the God-forsaken (even as a dedicated atheist and now former Communist she used the term) hell called Afghanistan as a captain of a company of Desantnye? The fucking stuff could be used as protective cover against mortar shells.
Running a Russian vor in merry tropical Roanapur? She spent more time behind her desk than on the streets.
And now that she was getting her business back on its feet and almost legit (never mind the odd smuggling and gun-running jobs)? The fucking paperwork was still eating her alive!
Sofiya Pavlovna (not that anyone called her that these days) leaned back and looked at the top of her desk with distaste. No matter how much she got done, the pile in her Inbox magically reappeared the next day. Some days she wanted to use it as an ashtray for her cigars to hopefully set it on fire, and on others she was more than half tempted to find a Russian Orthodox priest to do an exorcism to drive out the demon or to break whatever curse was on the damned thing.
Crushing out her cigar in a cut-down brass mortar shell to the side, she looked around as she contemplated lighting a new smoke. Looking nothing like her office back in Roanapur, the walls and ceiling painted red with gold trimmed velvet curtains to keep out the sunlight, heavy carved wooden furniture, including a desk that had taken six of her men to move. But all of that was gone. After the Firestorm of Roanapur, the physical building containing Hotel Moscow had been fortunate to miss being hit by the conflagration; the marketplaces, and storage warehouses, and most importantly the wharves and docks of the town had not been so lucky. Most of their merchandise had been recoverable, but by the time they had loaded it on the ship transporting them, there had not been much room for replaceable possessions. Her men had each been limited to two duffle or sea bags of personal materials; she was going to do the same, but Boris and her men insisted that she pack up her personal items from her office sans the furniture to bring with her. That had been another two bags to throw in the troop truck before the entire group left Roanapur for good. And as much of a hellhole that town had been, all the men had been silent when she triggered the detonators for the explosives that had been laid throughout the building, watching as the five story building had crumbled into ruble. The only thing that had produced a smile was the look on Chief Watsup's face as they passed him in their trucks as they drove to the harbor, singing in Russian as they went.
Looking around at the cold sterile office she was sitting in now, she let out a sigh. Dwelling on the past never helped with the future. But for now she had to deal with the remains of the Kousa Council and Washimine Group, absorbing their businesses and dealings and merging them with their own group. But what had kept most of her men busy had been her newest directive; learning Japanese. Not wanting to go down the same route as her incompetent predecessor Vasili Laptev, she wanted everyone to at least be conversant with speaking and reading the local language since her men were transitioning to become supervisors and managers of the former Kousa and Washihime gangsters. As experienced and trained her men were in criminal and military activities, they stood out too much in Japan to be able to bribe or fight their way out of trouble without severe consequences.
Reaching for another document in the hated Inbox, she paused as she heard a knock at the door, and a familiar voice that spoke from the other side. "Kapitan, may I come in?"
"Come, Sergeant." She leaned back in her high tech executive chair (the only good piece of furniture in the office in her opinion) as the scarred former non-com entered. Walking up to the desk, he came to a halt short of it and stood at attention, visibly holding back from offering a salute. It was a standing order that no one in Hotel Moscow was to salute her if they were not both in uniform. Since the only one that came close to being in uniform was when she was wearing her heavy Soviet Army coat over her business suit like she was now in the air-conditioned office, and all the men wore casual business attire when working (the stereotypical Adidas tracksuit was banned), that was very rare. The other rule was they were not to render a hand salute when they were in tactical uniforms in the field – the last thing they want to do was for enemy fighters to identify commanders for targeting. But even more than twenty years from when they were in the army together, some habits died hard. "What is it?"
"Kapitan, there was a live news report about a gang fight in Chiba this afternoon involving automatic ComBlock weapons." Boris knew the upcoming question from his superior and kept speaking. "I did not recognize the gangsters involved, so I don't know if we supplied the weapons. But I think there was someone there you may recognize." Here he paused, visibly reluctant to continue speaking.
"Go on, Sergeant," she prompted. She was not a proponent of killing the bearer of bad news and Boris knew that, so this had to be serious for him to hesitate.
"I think it's better if you see it." Boris tilted his head toward the flat-screen TV to the side and out of curiosity she did as he suggested, turning it on and switching to a news channel. Her comprehension of spoken Japanese was fairly good now, so she was able to follow along with the commentary as on the screen two men in long coats started to walk across an empty street toward a crashed vehicle.
Ten minutes later she was puffing on a newly lit cigar as she was lost in thought. It did not take long to recognize the man in the coat and scarf. It almost looked like a Chow Yung-Fat knock-off film, especially with the explosion and wind effects, but the kicker had been when the reporter was interviewing him. There was only one person in this world that looked and talked like him, even with the sunglasses and scarf on. Her mind kept bouncing between two memories. One of a man playing Beethoven on a piano in a darkened lounge while she was sitting on the bench beside him. The other memory was of the same man in bloodied tactical gear staring down at her over the barrel of a Dushka mounted on a truck in Roanapur. A man that had her cold, that could have blown her into particles, and instead let her go.
"Kapitan?" Her eyes flicked up to the sergeant, who was still standing in front of her desk. "Orders?"
Mulling it over for a few moments while staring at the burning tip of her cigar, she finally spoke. "Find out if we sold weapons to that gang in the shootout, if we did wipe out all evidence, including contacts. Get it done before daybreak tomorrow." The Japanese police would come down like a ton of bricks on that gang, they did not have time to spare. Taking out the gang members that had seen their faces only made sense. "Lock down the merchandise, get our normal front men out of town for at least a month." Transfers of materials took place at different locations than where the materials were stored. Deliveries were effectively dead drops, with locations given after the money was wired to secure accounts and then bounced between countries and continents. The front men were deliberately as bland as white men could possibly get in Japan, speaking only English with almost no accent. One of the men had spent some time in Liverpool, so they deliberately inserted elements of the Scouse accent into their speech to throw people off.
"What about Akira?" The sergeant's question came after she had not spoken for a few moments. She eyed her subordinate; the problem with having competent underlings was that sometimes they asked awkward questions.
"Put feelers out for info with our new associates, see if they know anything about him, especially who he might be working for." Akira had mentioned in the interview that he took jobs for different groups, maybe the former members of the Kousa and the Washimine would know who. "Don't push hard for info, and for goodness' sake if any of our people come across him in person, do not engage or confront him. Have them fall back and contact you or me directly. We are on his turf and we don't have the same pull we did in Thailand."
"And if he confronts our people?" A legit question, if not one she really wanted to deal with. She thought for a second before answering.
"Do not engage first, defend if necessary." A pause again. "If possible tell him I would talk to him, on neutral ground."
"Da, Kapitan." Boris did not look happy, but did not say anything about it. "Anything else?"
"Dismissed, Sergeant." As he turned on his heel and walked out of the office, a pager on her desk dinged. For security reasons no mobile phones were allowed in her office and it was swept every morning for surveillance taps and devices. However the one way satellite pager was secure enough to received coded messages. She recognized the number and scowled slightly; things were starting to not look well. Pulling out a burner phone she inserted the SIM card and battery before dialing the number. A couple of ring-rings later the call was answered, and an unwelcome voice spoke. "Hey Fry-Face, how's it going?"
"Not well, Chang." The former boss of the Roanapur branch of the 14K Triad, he had been reassigned to be the second in command of the Phuket branch after everything had gone wrong in the previous city. She knew for a fact that he was not happy with this chain of events, but his chipper tone of voice hid it well. He was also one of the very few people to call her 'Fry Face' directly, but then again, he was one of the few people that she had tried very hard to kill in the past and failed to do so. "What's so important that we are talking?"
"Have you seen the news today?" She sighed silently; it did not take long for the wolves to start circling. "A familiar face and name was on. My bosses want me to go to Tokyo and look into it, since I actually interacted with him."
"For what purpose?" she asked in a clipped tone. A headache was starting to form.
"I don't know. I'm just to pass on any info and wait for further orders." It was not like the 14K Triad did not have reasons to talk to Hiroyuki Akira. "I was hoping we can go out for dinner when I get there." To pump her for more information, one way or the other.
She took a deep breath before responding. "Let me know when you get here, we'll set something up. How long?"
"In about a week, travel is a little complicated for me." She managed not to snort out loud; given his status and several active arrest warrants, it was even more difficult for him to travel compared to her. "Thanks, see you later…" She did not wait for him to finish and just cut off the call, already sick of his voice.
After disassembling the mobile phone she was contemplating taking out the bottle in her lower desk drawer when to her surprise her desk phone rang. She eyed it with some suspicion; except for short intra-office use very few people would call the number, as they knew that she would not talk business on it. Curiosity won out, and she picked up the handset. "Yes?"
"Sis! You see that bullshit on TV?!" It was all she could do to not yank her head away from the phone as a result of the shouted question. "I'm going to find the fucking son-of-a bitch and -"
"And do what Rebecca?" Her icy voice, even though lower in volume, stilled the other woman's tongue, even more than the use of her hated full name. "We are in his territory, we don't know where he is, and more importantly, we don't know who he works for. You already had two confrontations with him, do you really want to find out if the third one will be the charm? Especially if he has reinforcements?"
There was a long pause before the other woman spoke again. "So we're not going to do shit?" A pout could be heard in her voice.
"I did not say that. We have to get as much information as possible before we proceed with anything." Her headache was intensifying; already two people were interested in finding Akira. "Do not go off half-cocked like you always do, you barely survived the last time you did."
"Fine." The other woman was sounding like a sulking child now. "Let me know if you find anything."
"You giving me orders now Rebecca?" You could practically hear her eyebrow going up from the tone of her voice.
"Hell no!" There was fear in her voice now. "Sorry to bother you Sis."
"We will talk again later, Revy. Good bye." Again not waiting for a response she hung up the handset. This time she did not hesitate. Reaching into the drawer, she pulled out a bottle and a glass. From the top drawer she took out a vial of headache medicine, and after popping two tablets in her mouth she took a large drink from the glass of vodka she had poured.
After putting the bottle away and relighting her cigar Balalaika leaned back in her chair and took another sip, her mind almost involuntarily going to the memory of the man with cold bloodshot brown eyes staring at her over a heavy machine gun… and the young blonde girl with scared and curious blue eyes beside him that had peeked over the edge of the truck cargo bed before he had growled at her to get down again.
Mountain View Pavilion,
Kowloon Walled City Park,
Kowloon City, Hong Kong,
early March, Friday early evening
The old woman took a slow sip from the paper cup she was holding as she sat on the park bench. The tea was not to her normal standards, but this was no time to be fussy.
So much had changed since she was last here, before the British turned their colony over to Mainland China after their 99 year lease expired in 1997. Even though officially they declared the 'one country, two systems' policy to continue Hong Kong's roaring capitalist economy, this was very much an oppressive surveillance state, with cameras on every corner and traffic signal pole. Even more, you could feel the weight of people's eyes constantly. But she had the true life disguise that almost everyone overlooked, that of an elderly woman.
The harbor view from the pavilion was very enjoyable, but it was nothing compared to what had previous been here before. The forbidding Kowloon Walled City. At one point the most densely populated area on Earth with 50,000 people living on 6 acres. An almost solid block of buildings that filled every square centimeter of land, that stopped growing upwards at 14 stories because otherwise airplanes landing at nearby Kai Tak airport would take the top off. A former military fort that through a bureaucratic error during the 99 year lease remained under Chinese jurisdiction while being completely surrounded by British territory, therefore keeping anyone from enforcing the law. And of course in the absence of any government the Triads had taken over, forming an enclave where almost anything could be bought or traded. Ironically it had relatively little petty crime, as the criminal overlords were harsh in their responses.
She had done business in that forsaken city in the years before it had been torn down. And there she had learned that even in the worst hives of mankind, in the deepest darkness, there were always some elements of light. Bravery, kindness, even love. That as long as you did not surrender to the darkness, you could find your way out.
Thinking back to those dark experiences, she was glad that the other members of her family did not have to have to go through them. But they had experiences of their own. Child abuse. Kidnapping. Attempted murder. They had all gotten through them, but not without mental and emotional damage.
Even now, after his walk through the darkness, back in their homeland where he should be safest, her heir was still in danger. She had seen what he did during that gunfight in Chiba on the TV news in the shop where she had bought the tea she was currently drinking. The worst of it was that it was due to him carrying out her duties, things that had stained her hands and soul. But one of the lessons she had learned over all of these years was as much as she was tempted, killing every perceived threat would make things worse. To her pride her heir was able to stop the fight and save lives without having to take life to do it.
Her old partner could manage things, as he absolutely knew what she would do if harm came to her heir and he did not stop it. Her message back to him in response to his urgent text let him know as much, in not so many words.
Just as she raised the cup of tea for another sip, there was a buzzing in her coat. Reaching into her pocket, she produced an old Nokia mobile and keyed it on, reading the text message she had received. She nodded her head slightly; the innocuous message was in fact a coded one, that the meeting she was looking for had been arranged. It had taken some work, since getting the current locations of Triad chieftains was not easy. But with the right contacts, almost anything could be done. Wiping the message from the phone, she put it back in her pocket. Finishing the rest of her tea, she stood and tossed the empty cup into a nearby trash bin.
Taking a deep breath, Hinata Urashima whispered. "Hold on for a while longer Kei-kun. Let me finish this business so I can finally come home."
Takata Subway Station
Yokohama, Kanagawa Prefecture
Metro Tokyo, Japan
early March, Friday late afternoon
The hooded figure stood still as she watched the TV set in the station wall. This was not too unusual except for how motionless she was. People glanced at the screen was they walked by, but this person was seemingly entranced. Clad in a ragged hoodie and dirty jeans, she looked like a delinquent, which for once was the truth. Black dyed hair straggled out from under the hood, hair that if you could look at closely had red roots.
Seeing the man on the screen and hearing him speak had sent a cold shiver through her. This was nothing compared to the memories of ice water being poured down her back as she had been transfixed by cold brown eyes. He had sent her to the juvenile facility. She had been molested there before knocking the attendant out and escaping, making her live on the street on the run from cops under his control. Before he ruined her life.
After a moment, dark red eyes finally blinked. In a voice too low to be overheard by passing pedestrians Junko Himura muttered "One day Urashima, I'm going to pay you back for what you did. You and that little blonde slut of yours. Whatever it takes," she vowed as she turned and started to walk away toward the train platform.
A/N – Too long, too long too long. The time between updates, not the chapter. Been working (including overtime), losing weight, feeling a bit better. All the political crap and the pandemic stuff did not help though.
This chapter shows how Keitaro's actions affect more people than he knows. People who care for him, those who wish him ill, and those who's feelings are decidedly mixed. I'm sure you can figure out who.
Two of the segments here go into the background of someone who is a major background character in both canon and this story but we don't have much info about – Hinata Urashima. The various wikis don't supply much info, so I am making it up as I go along, although thinking about her let me develop some ideas that are going to have some impact in the story further on down the line. I even came up with a nickname for her – some left-over virtual Halloween candy for those that figure it out. Here is a hint – it is an actual proper name in Japanese.
Please let me know what you think of the various backgrounds, as that will help me figuring some of these ideas out.
Next chapter will have the girls finally finding Keitaro… and maybe a couple more reactions to seeing Akira on TV.
Thanks again to AZ Mk II, PCH and WalkerOfDarkness for betaing this chapter.
As of 03Nov21 this story has 471K Words, 1,124,673 Views, 1150 Reviews, 1780 Favorites and 1588 Alerts.
Best Wishes and Happy Belated Halloween to everyone following this story… here's to posting the next chapter by next month (IhopeIhopeIhope).