7/1
The day dawns with a clear sky and warm light inching over the Tokyo skyline. Tsuda slinks further into the building's shadow. It is an old warehouse, once repurposed from a textile factory during an earlier economic boom. When he peels himself off the ancient stone, his jacket comes with a faint dusting of residue he beats clean in frustration.
With sunrise, it's time to change position, and Tsuda hurries back down the side street, turns a corner, backtracks to ensure he isn't followed and heads down an alley - playing the vagabond with too much time on his hands.
Across the street, behind a gated wall, low among these factories and tombstones of Japan's industry squats the headquarters of the Dragon Syndicate, known as the Dragon's Lair. Light reflects off polished windows, and Tsuda once more curses himself for getting stuck with this bullshit duty. The job is simple enough. Maintain a watch on the Dragon's Lair. Monitor any movements. Kaneshiro's ill-advised war with the Syndicate meant the Boss and his Captains would need to rouse themselves to deal with it. If Kaneshiro could ambush them once they'd left their compound, he'd win.
Tsuda had protested, as had some others. They would be spotted. They had no idea when, or if, the Dragon leaders would leave. One man had gone so far as to call the plan, 'fucking stupid.' Nanashi suggested the man had a hearing problem. Muzaki held him down, and Nanashi sawed off the top half of an ear, to 'help him with listening comprehension.' There were no more objections.
Even so, this job was pointless. Kaneshiro inspired a lot in some of the younger kids, but Tsuda was old. The man's grip on reality was slipping. His insane plan to take over the Dragon. His murder of Kai. His insistence on pushing drugs and tricking out teenage girls. It didn't matter if he had once been the Boss' favorite. Kaneshiro had long since spent or squandered any goodwill. It wouldn't be enough to shield Tsuda or any of the others.
I need to get the fuck out of here, he thinks. Keeping his eyes on the front gate, he fantasizes about taking a bus or train somewhere. Fuck Japan. Why stay? Australia, maybe. Or even the United States. Disgust churns in his gut. It's all idle nonsense. Kaneshiro punished that kind of behavior. If he couldn't find you, what would stop him using his 'special powers' from afar? Tsuda has never believed in mystical crap, but this was different.
The gate rumbles open. Tsuda hesitates, then crouches. He pulls out his phone and dials as cars emerge from the Lair.
Nanashi answers immediately. "Yeah?"
"It's me," Tsuda snaps. "There's activity." He bites back a curse. Six cars are queued up to leave, each an identical black limousine. "Six cars leaving. They all look the same."
"Which is the Boss in?"
"How the hell should I know?" Tsuda asks. The first turns right. The second, left. Each car turns in its predecessor's opposite direction. Do they know we're watching them? Even if they didn't know, it was standard procedure when at war. Disguise your movements. Obfuscate. "Shit, I've got no clue who's who."
"License plates?"
Tsuda squints and manages to read two before they're out of sight.
The gate to the Dragon's Lair clatters shut, and the fortress goes quiet. "Now what?" He asks.
"Your relief will be by in a few hours," Nanashi replies. "Stay put."
There's nothing to see, Tsuda wants to scream. "Fine," he grumbles. There's a pause on the other end of the line, but then the phone disconnects, and Tsuda is alone with the bleak dawn sounds of industrialized Tokyo.
His thoughts return to escape. He's not one for abandoning duty, but you could only push someone so much. Was there a limit to Kaneshiro's power? He wasn't able to do it all the time. Word had gotten around about what Kai had said before Kaneshiro had drilled into his skull. If Kaneshiro was able to do these things, why even bother with the war? Why not take out his opponents from the shadows and assume control afterward? Hell, what was to stop Tsuda from taking out Kaneshiro? Enough of the others wanted him gone. The only ones he could consider Kaneshiro's friends were Nanashi and Muzaki.
All it takes is one big mouth, he thinks. If he were to solicit support, and one chickenshit got cold feet, that would be the end. It wouldn't be cinematic. Kaneshiro wouldn't waste time.
Even if we could pull it off, Tsuda reasons, there's still the rest of the Dragon.
Tsuda hears the sharp skritskrit of footsteps behind him. As he turns, the bag is brought down over his face, and the darkness swallows him up.
#
Akira turns down the hall. The sound of conversation drops. The students shift into murmurings as he walks past, head tilted forward, eyes down. He doesn't need to pay attention to what they're saying. He doesn't need to care.
He can't help himself.
There are the self-indulgent, 'I heard he...'s' and the more definitive, '...almost got kicked out...'s'. He doesn't bother to correct. What would be the point?
"Hey."
He glances up and finds Ryuji, hands in his pockets, with a weak smile. Akira can read the words his friend hears on his face. There's a twist to his grin and tightness in his jaw. To his relief, Ryuji seems in control of his temper.
"Hey," Akira replies.
They continue, side by side. "We still on for after school?" Ryuji asks. "You don't have any other, uh, priorities?"
"Nah," Akira says. He's left Morgana at home. The cat is familiar with Yongen-jaya, but Akira wants it memorized. The camera still sits above the booth. "We'll grab Ann and head over after the final bell. Hopefully, my night stays free," he continues, meaning Kaneshiro. "Tonight, I've got a tutoring session and-" He turns the corner, and distracted, runs into the student before him. She squeaks, recoils, and falls onto her butt. Her books scatter into a small pile.
Akira retreats a few paces and takes her in. By her uniform, she's a first year, but one he doesn't recognize. Once she's done rubbing her behind, she looks up at him. Her eyes go wide, and her skin pales.
"Sorry," he says, kneeling. "Let me help you."
"N-no," the girl blurts. Her hands dart out and start yanking the books towards her. "I mean, it's fine. It was my fault. Totally my fault."
"I wasn't looking," Akira tells her. "It was my bad. Seriously, let me help." He reaches for a notebook.
"No," the girl snaps. "I mean, I'm sorry. It's no big deal, I just-"
"I bumped into you," Akira says. He hears the increased speed of his words but doesn't stop. "It was my fault. I'll help you clean up. It's fine."
She shakes her head. "Please, I didn't mean to-"
"You didn't do anything," Akira tells her. He doesn't remember standing. He looms over her now. "It's not a big deal. I'm not going to do anything to you. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm not going to do anything to you."
She doesn't reply. She trembles. Why couldn't she stop looking at him like that?
Akira feels a hand on his shoulder. "Dude," Ryuji whispers.
He becomes aware of the surrounding crowd. Hears the tentative silence all around. Sees the look in the girl's eyes. Akira takes a step back.
"Let's go, man," Ryuji says.
Akira spares the girl one last glance. "Sorry," he mutters. He's not sure what part he apologizes for, but he hopes it's all of them. Instead of heading for class, Akira makes for the stairwell, Ryuji behind, and proceeds upwards to the roof's door. Neither force it open.
"Why did I do that?" Akira asks. He pushes his glasses up and rubs his eyes with his fingers. "Why didn't I just walk away?"
"It's hard, man," Ryuji says, with a shrug. "It was the same with me last year. After Kamoshida shit all over me."
Akira sits on the top step. "How did you deal with all of that?" He can't recall ever asking.
Ryuji leans against the wall. "I dunno. Guess I just ignored it. I didn't at first, you know? I got mad and pissed off whenever anybody mentioned me. So I'd start shit, or I'd try to start shit, but that didn't help. It just made people hate me more. You can't fight everyone, you know? Too many fights means you're just flailing in every direction, and you tire yourself out and can't win any of them. It's like running. You have to push when you're runnin' up a hill, but when you're going down, you have to conserve your energy. You naturally want to run fast downhill, but if you do that you're likely to bust up your knees or lose your wind. You gotta pace." He chuckles. "I mean, it's kinda ironic, me saying all this shit. You bailed me out of something just yesterday. It's harder when people shit talk your friends. But you don't have to get mad when they talk shit about you, you know? It's like, 'I know people think badly of me, but I'm not gonna act badly because of it.' Like that, yeah?"
Too many fights, Akira thinks. He looks up at his friend. "You know, you'd be a good... I don't know. Coach, I think."
Ryuji makes a face. "Eh?"
"I'm serious," Akira continues. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself to his feet. "I can't control what people think of me. But I can decide how to act."
Ryuji grins and slaps him on the shoulder. "Yeah, bro. Exactly."
Akira nods towards his friend's hair. "So, should I dye it blonde like you?"
Ryuji shakes his head. "No, man. That's my look. You copy me and I'll get pissed." He laughs. "C'mon, dude. We should get to class."
#
"Everyone ready?" Akira asks.
Ann and Ryuji nod. Morgana, perched on the table, bobs his head. "All set." He turns, hops down, and descends the steps to LeBlanc's ground floor. Ann stands up and follows, disappearing downstairs. Ryuji perches close enough that Akira can see him from the top of the stairs.
Haru, Yusuke, and Makoto couldn't make it. Akira couldn't wait for them. He picks up Ali Baba's burner.
He queues up their number and hits 'Send.' He doesn't have to wait long. "Finally," the distorted voice spits. Akira winces and holds the phone a distance from his ear. "Took you long enough!"
Akira recovers quickly. "The last time we spoke," he says. "You said you wanted us to change your heart. If we're going to do that, then we'll need some information. We'll need your name and location."
Silence on the other end. Then, "Why?"
"That's how this thing works. We need the name of the target, you, and the location. Are you in Japan?"
"You have my name."
"Ali Baba isn't your real name."
"It's the one that matters."
"That's not how it works," Akira protests. "We need your real name."
"No," the voice snaps. Akira mentally stumbles over the harshness. "That's stupid. If you want my help, just do the change of heart. You shouldn't need all this extra crap."
A retort dances on his tongue, but he holds it back. Getting angry won't help. It didn't help earlier, with that girl, and it wouldn't help here. "Okay. Look. Let's start with something else then. Are you in Japan? You can at least tell me that, right?" Feels like I'm talking to a child.
He hears something like heavy breathing, then a quick, "Yeah," comes through the phone.
"'Yeah,' as in you agree, or 'Yeah,' as in you're in Japan?"
"I'm in Japan!"
"Okay, okay," he says, quickly. "That's something. A start. We can talk about something else now. Like, Kaneshiro. You know we're going after him."
"Uh-huh."
"You also said you could help us with that. How?"
"I found you, didn't I?" The voice replies. Akira can hear the confidence creeping back in. "I can get into police databases, show you what they've got on him. I can sift through dark web networks. Those yakuza guys use those a lot, and I could tell you what they're talking about."
But what we need to know is what Kaneshiro views Shibuya as. Ryuji had raised the suggestion of using a dictionary to just cycle through word after word. Akira was beginning to think that wasn't such a bad idea. "How long would that take?"
"For the police, that's easy. I'd overnight that shit. For the Dark Web stuff? A bit longer. Two days."
Akira looks down the stairwell at Ryuji and nods. This is Morgana's cue to dislodge the microphone.
"Alright, why don't you do that?"
Silence.
"Hello?" Akira asks.
"Um? Could you hold on a second?"
Akira smiles. "Sure."
The group relocates upstairs. Ann flashes a thumbs up. Akira reaches out and pats Morgana on the head.
A moment later, and Akira hears sounds coming through the phone. They're digitized, so he's no idea what they were, but Ali Baba returns with, "Hello?"
"Do we have a deal?" Akira asks.
"Fine, sure. I've got to go."
"Hold on," Akira insists. "We still need to talk about your change of heart."
"Not now. Whatever. I've got to go." The line goes dead.
Akira lowers the phone. "That was interesting."
"Well, what happened?" Morgana asks.
Akira walks them through the conversation.
"They just agreed?" Ann asks, arching a brow. "Just like that?"
"Our messing with the microphone must've freaked them out," Ryuji says, with a grin.
"Regardless," Akira says. "They agreed to get us information on Kaneshiro. If they decide to drop by and fix the mic, we'll have a face to the name." He knows there are other ways things could play out. Ali Baba might not bother with the microphone anymore. They might hire someone else to fix it for them. But with Iwai's camera downstairs, and Morgana having memorized the layout of Yongen-jaya, Akira is confident with his plan.
#
Kawakami taps Akira's paperwork with her pencil. "This is fine, but you could do better. You should reread the third chapter and take more notes."
Akira reaches out to take back the document. They've been at this for a while now. Kawakami insisted on drilling down the exam material. He couldn't blame her. Exams were fast approaching, and although he had other things on his mind, he knew this was important.
It doesn't help that he still feels awkward from their last conversation. Kawakami wants me to get good grades so Principal Toko gets off her back, he repeats to himself. Even he doesn't buy that. "Alright, I'll review it tomorrow."
Kawakami nods and settles back on the couch. Morgana sits on the railing over by the stairwell, eyes trained on the darkness below, waiting for any sign of Ali Baba.
"Listen, Kawakami-sensei. I-"
Knock, knock, knock, knock!
Akira twists in his chair, and Morgana jumps in shock and topples off the railing to the floor. Kawakami whips around. The violent knocking repeats from downstairs. "Who's that?" She whispers, alarm in her voice.
"No idea," Akira replies. Ali Baba? Why would they knock? Morgana looks back at him, and Akira nods. He rushes down the steps and throws on the downstairs light, squinting towards LeBlanc's door.
Knock, knock, knock, knock!
"Akira," comes the voice from outside. The dark shapes in the doorframe resolve themselves into Ohya. "Let me in, dammit!"
"Oh, shit," Akira mutters.
"Who is it?" Kawakami calls from upstairs.
"Just, uh, my cousin," Akira replies. "Wait a second, and I'll send her away."
He rushes down the length of the bar. Ohya ceases her hammering. Akira flips the lock and opens the door a crack. As he begins to speak, he takes a step back. The scent of whiskey wafts in and over him.
"She's completely wasted!" Morgana hisses, scrunching up his face.
"You bastard!" She cries, and shoves the door open so quickly, Akira can't stop her. She barrels past him and stomps down the bar towards the stairs. "I'm onto you!"
"Ohya, wait!" Akira calls.
Morgana bounds after her, shooting between her legs and hissing up at her. "Back off!" The cat snaps.
Ohya glares down at him with a sour look on her face. "Oh, piss off."
"What're you doing here?" Akira demands, chasing her.
She walks around the Morgana, who intensifies his hiss, but unaffected, ascends the stairs. "Let's go upstairs. I need to talk about-" she stumbles as the stairs twist, but realigns herself as Akira reaches for her.
"Stop, Ohya!"
"Get off me," she spits and yanks her hand out of reach. She continues, and Akira makes one final, desperate lunge, but misses. He clambers up to his room, behind her.
Ohya, a faint smirk on her face, stares directly at Kawakami, who looks to have attempted to hide behind the couch. "This is new." She turns to Akira, seems to lose her train of thought, then steadies herself. "Who is-"
"Uh, um, uh," Kawakami whispers. She bolts out from behind the couch and says, "I should go."
Ohya starts to laugh. "Okay, okay. Wait. For real, what's going on here?"
"This is," Akira says and gestures towards Kawakami. Then, he stops. "Wait. What are you doing here? Why'd you show up here, drunk?"
Kawakami halts at this, and her face grows stern. She takes a few steps towards Ohya and sniffs. "My god," she exclaims. "You smell like a gas station." Ohya mutters something that sounds mean but Akira misses it.
Then, Ohya's eyes narrow. "Wait, you look familiar." She looks past her at the open textbooks on the desk. "What is going on up here?"
"Nothing," Akira snaps.
"Nothing?" Ohya growls out. She shoves an accusing finger into Akira's face. "I know all about you, cuz."
Akira meets her gaze. Even with the surliness from the alcohol, he can read the intelligence underscored in Ohya's eyes. This isn't some idle nonsense she's haphazardly thrown together. She knows. His mind begins to race. How? He takes a breath, trying to calm down. He didn't know that she knew.
"Can we," Akira starts, turning his body towards Kawakami, "pick this up again later?"
Ohya snickers, but Kawakami nods. "Sure," she says. "I should get going." She moves towards the stairs, then hesitates. "Are you okay, Akira? Are you sure you don't want me to stick around?"
Ohya guffaws, but Akira holds up a hand before she can say anything, and thankfully, she doesn't. "No, thank you. I'm alright. I'll, uh, see you." He would see her tomorrow in homeroom but knows better than to blurt that out.
Kawakami looks almost ready to curtsy, but she frowns at the two of them instead and begins to clomp down the stairs.
Akira whips back around to face Ohya. "What are you doing here? What do you think-"
A shout rises from downstairs. There's a clatter, and Kawakami shouts, "Akira!"
He doesn't even think about it, bolting forward and following Kawakami's voice until he finds her at the bottom of the stairs, pale as an eggshell, staring out into the bar.
"What?" He demands, following her gaze. He sees nothing, save for an overturned stool by the booth where the microphone had been set up.
"There was someone here," she says, and points towards the door. Akira hadn't heard it chime, but now we can see the faint movement of the strung up 'Closed' sign, swinging to a stop. "They were dressed all in black. They were standing on that stool, and they fell when they saw me and-"
"What's going on down there?" Ohya shouts. She sticks her head out from Akira's room.
Morgana had followed Akira downstairs. "Ali Baba!" the cat hisses. "It has to be!"
"Did you see which way they went, when they went out the door?" Akira asks Kawakami.
"I," she begins, then shakes her head. "I don't know. Right, I think?"
He looks down at Morgana. "Go, now!"
"Right," his friend declares, and bolts for the door. Akira sprints down the bar, seizes the door handle and yanks the door open for him. Morgana darts outside and into the night.
"What're you doing?" Kawakami asks.
Ohya has struggled her way halfway down the steps. "Did you just sic your cat on a robber?"
"Look," Akira tells them both. "Don't worry about it, alright?" He looks at Kawakami. "I was expecting that… uh, person. Just not tonight. They must've freaked out when they saw you. It's not a big deal. You should head on home." He glances at Ohya. "And you should wait upstairs for me. I'll be right there."
Ohya shrugs, turns and crawls back up the steps.
Kawakami rests her hands on her hips and frowns at him. "What're you talking about, Akira? Who the hell was that?"
Akira lifts his hands defensively and steps towards her. "I'll tell you about it tomorrow, okay? Please." That should give him enough time to come up with a plausible excuse. "For now, I need to talk to that one upstairs."
Kawakami doesn't look cowed. "Akira, these are important exams coming up. Whatever you're involved in, it shouldn't take priority over-"
"It's not. They don't," Akira says, hurriedly. "Please. I know they're important. I do. I'm asking you to cut me some slack here."
Kawakami glances back up towards the stairs. "I don't like leaving you here with that person. They're hammered."
Akira sighs. "She's always like that. It's nothing new. I can handle her, I promise."
Kawakami arches a brow. "Alright. If you say so. You still better see me after class tomorrow and explain just what the hell is going on around here."
"Okay," Akira says, and nods. "I promise."
It doesn't take much longer for her to leave. Once she's gone, Akira trudges back upstairs. Morgana has yet to return. He finds Ohya slung across his couch, staring at her phone. "So," he snaps. "What's so damn important you needed to barge in here in the middle of the night, but not so important that you couldn't get drunk before coming over?" He regrets the words the moment he says them, but if Ohya feels offense, she doesn't show it.
She lowers her phone and slides it across the table towards him. Akira picks it up and stares at it. It takes him a moment to realize what he's seeing. His GPS signal. The building by Tokyo Bay.
"You're busted," Ohya drawls.
"This is-" Akira starts, sounding nonchalant.
"The police are investigating that building," Ohya says. Akira feels his stomach twist. "They know it's where a bunch of text messages instructed Rin Sugimura to go to, the night he drowned in the Bay."
Akira shakes his head. "No," he says. "No. Rin Sugimura's driver went crazy and drove them both into the water. It's not-"
"Akira," Ohya says, and she suddenly sounds very sober. "They know he was at that building. They've seen the messages from the burner phone. They've got forensics combing that place all over." She holds out her hand, and Akira hands her the phone, not by any conscious decision, but because it's just an action to take to distract his mind from the panic that is settling in. "I know, based on your GPS location, that you were there. They're going to find out, Akira. The police are going to find out you were there." She straightens on the couch. "So why don't we cut the 'what's this supposed to be,' bullshit? Why were you there?"
She knows. The thought is like gravel in Akira's mind. It crunches and pulverizes together into less than conscious knowledge and becomes dread. The police will know. It's over.
Akira staggers his way over to the bed and collapses down on it. He looks at her, and even in her drunken state, whatever Ohya reads on his face, it's enough to make her blink several times, and her face hardens by degrees. "Akira... what's going on?"
"Are you recording this?" Akira asks.
She frowns and spends a few moments yanking her phone from her pocket. She tosses it to Akira. He doesn't even bother trying to catch it, but it lands face-up on the bed next to him. "No," she says. "Should I be?"
He nods. "If you wanted a big scoop, you would." He doesn't laugh, but there's a sound that leaves him then that's similar. He shrugs. "Want some coffee?"
"I'd rather you cut to the-"
"I'm a Phantom Thief," he cuts in.
Ohya stares at him for a time, then crosses her arms and shakes her head. "I fucking knew it."
"But I messed up," he tells her. "I messed up, and now it's over." He nods towards his phone. "As you just pointed out. You know I was there, the police know I was there, I..." He trails off, suddenly very tired. "What's the point in talking about it? You know. They know. Everybody knows."
A kind of pall settles over him. He is surprised. He didn't want to be caught yet he remains caught, all the same.
Another box, he thinks, the thought unbidden but beating through his head like a drum. The familiar, terrible sensation. The windowless room. The solid door. Ohya is speaking to him, but she sounds very far away. He picks up her phone, walks it over to her and hands it back. "I'm tired, Ohya," he tells her. "I want to go to bed."
She shakes her head and seems to be fighting her way back towards some state of sobriety, knowing she can't fully grasp the scope of all this inebriated. "No way you're kicking me out now. We've got to-"
"No," he says, and he snaps to the tone he's heard Kaneshiro use so many times. It makes her think twice. He sees that. There's a strange look that passes over her face, and Akira is amazed again at how a simple word can carry so much weight. "You can wait here until you sober up if you want," he tells her. "But do me a favor and do it downstairs. Or here on the couch, doesn't matter. I'm going to bed." He listens as she cracks a joke about him being worried about her taking advantage, but the words bounce off him, and he doesn't bother responding. There's nothing to laugh about. Not anymore.
He drops into bed.
##
Surprise!
Hello, beautiful people. It's been a while.
I know what question you want to ask, 'Is Crimson back?'
Alas, not quite. My son is due in two weeks, and things have been hectic these last few months (had to go to India for work) and will continue as such in the future. But, as I've been radio silent for a while, and since everyone has been incredibly patient and understanding, I wanted to post something to show my appreciation.
You are all the best, and it genuinely delights me to see how well-received Crimson has been these last few years (Jesus, YEARS). Thank you, my friends, and I hope to talk to you soon!