Fixer
"This is it, sir?" The man glanced out the window, running a hand over his smooth, bald head, his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on his nose. He looked up at the driver and nodded coolly.
"Yeah. This is it," he replied. The driver nodded silently, driving the limousine up the curving driveway to the massive three story mansion. The sleek ebony Cadillac limo halted right in front of the entrance to the manor, then the driver exited the car and opened the rear door for his boss.
Calmly, the bald man stepped out of the car, adjusting his sunglasses, then fixed his silver tie as he strode easily into the house. A butler stood in the doorway, as if expecting him.
"Hello, sir," the butler said with a thick New York accent. The bald man nodded in reply, then strode past him, into his office. Once inside, he shut the dark rosewood door, locked it, and walked to his desk. Sitting down, he picked up the off-white phone and dialed a few numbers, immersing himself in conversation.
"Hola, mi amigo."
"Well, hola to you too, Nathaniel! What brings you a-callin'?" the voice on the other line answered jovially. The bald man sighed.
"Gustavo, I need you to be up front with me. Is it true?"
"Is what true, Nat?" Nathaniel sighed, massaging his temples with his left hand.
"Is the rumor on the news true? Was there a jailbreak?"
Gustavo sighed. "Si, amigo. Inmates rioted and broke out of the penitentiary."
"Was he included?" When Gustavo sighed, Nathaniel knew the answer.
"Yes. He has escaped. I would be on my highest watch if I were you, pal. He was well-taught by old man Montinero while he was in prison," Gustavo said. Nathaniel groaned inwardly. Just what I was afraid of, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he spoke.
"Gustavo, mi amigo, I need you here tonight. You're the most efficient bodyguard I know of. You have to help me tonight, for if I know Gordo's kid, he's coming after me first." Nathaniel grunted to himself in certainty.
"Of course, Nat! I'll be there in a few hours. What time is it now?" Nathaniel looked down at his gold Rolex watch.
"It's eight o'clock."
"I'll be there in a half-hour. Adios, amigo."
"Adios." The phone clicked as Nathaniel set it into the cradle, sitting up in his massive leather swivel chair. He set his elbows down on the desk in front of him, then massaged his forehead with both hands. He's out, he's out, he's out, kept ringing in and out of Nathaniel's mind. For only the second time ever, Nathaniel feared for his life.
The young man sighed, looking out the huge glass window into the darkness. Stars shined bright in the clear Brazilian night, and a full silver moon rose slowly into the center of the sky. Memories swam through his mind as he gazed blankly across the nearly cloudless ebony sky. Looking up, he could've sworn he saw the wizened face of the old man who had treated him as a grandson, taking him under his wing when he had entered prison. Montinero had taught him the ways of caopiera, and for that, he was ever grateful. In fact, after tonight, he was bound to finding Montinero's granddaughter, for he had promised the old man that he would teach the fighting style to Christie after he had finished his business.
Sighing forlornly, he pressed a hand to the glass and closed his eyes, remembering his incarceration. Eight years of pure hell, but to him, it was worth it. Now that he was a master of caopiera, and out of jail, he could now hunt down the men who should've been in prison instead of him. His father's murder would be avenged.
So lost in his thoughts was he that he barely noticed the knock on the door to his left. Slowly, he dropped his hand from the window, opening his eyes, and walked over to the door, pulling it open to reveal a housemaid with a cordless ebony telephone.
"Phone for you, senor," the short, gray-haired woman said with a Guatemalan accent. The young man took the phone and nodded, dismissing the lady. Closing the door, he lifted the phone to his ear.
"Yes?"
"Trujillo's in town," an anonymous voice said on the other line. His eyes widened, and he sat down on an expensive rosewood piano bench.
"Talk to me, Manuel."
"Si. Trujillo arrived about eight o' clock tonight, and as far as I know, he's at his mansion just outside Sao Paulo."
"Anyone else there with him?"
"No, although I think he knows you're out now, so he might've called for security. You sure you don't want any help tonight?" Manuel asked. The young man nodded.
"Yes, I am certain. This is my fight, and my fight alone."
"Okay. Good luck, and buenas noches," he replied. The young man echoed the farewell, then stood, looking at the phone in his hands. It was now, or never. He set the phone on the piano bench and strode out of the house.
A half-hour later, he strode up to the gates of Nathaniel Trujillo's estate. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the gates open, then glanced down non-chalantly at his watch. Midnight, exactly. Nodding to himself, he walked calmly up to the entrance of the house and knocked on the white painted door. A butler answered and regarded the young man somewhat distastefully.
"What is it, sir?" the butler asked. Straightening up, the young man rose to his full height--six feet, two inches--and looked the aging butler in the face.
"Tell me where Nathaniel Trujillo is," he replied coolly. Obviously shaken, the butler stood aside and pointed to a door not too far from the entrance. Nodding silently to the butler, the young man stalked inside the mansion to the door the butler had pointed out. Turning a corner, he took the golden doorknob into his hand, and flung the door open.
"Nat, I think he's here," Gustavo said uneasily. Nat sighed.
"Yes, I know he's here," he replied. Sure enough, they watched in slight fear as the gold doorknob on the dark wood door turned and flew open. Shocked, Nathaniel tore the glasses off his nose and regarded the young man who stood in his doorway. He looked nothing like the nineteen- year-old youth he had sent to jail eight years ago. This man seemed much more confident in himself, physically built, and much stronger than before. Turning to Gustavo, Nathaniel nodded, and Gustavo took the cue. He dashed at the young man and swung a right hook at him. The man dodged under Gustavo's shoddy aim, then shoved the man aside. Gustavo let out a small cry as his sunglasses flew off his nose and he crashed to the ground.
Nathaniel knew what was coming, and he tried to stave it off. Clearing his throat and straightening his tie, he came around his desk and stuck a hand out. "Eddy Gordo, it's been quite a while, no?" he asked, a smile pasted on his face and sweat breaking out on his brow.
Eddy saw through the façade and pushed the hand out of his way, instead grabbing Nathaniel's collar and glaring at him. "Tell me why I should let you live after the hell you made me live through," he growled. Nathaniel gazed back coolly.
"Oh, you must be talking about prison! Believe me, that was one of the best favors you did for us kid. Taking the blame for daddy dearest's death," he said, clicking his tongue. Angered, Eddy dropped the bald man on the ground, his eyes narrowed.
"How dare you call it a 'favor!'" he began. A sharp breath came from behind him, and Gustavo climbed to his feet behind Eddy and charged him again. Smirking, Eddy hit the ground, then balanced himself on his hands as he swung his legs around in an arc, tripping Gustavo and sending him across the room. Gustavo hit the wall forcefully and didn't move; he had been knocked unconscious.
Eddy turned on his hands and looked over to where Nathaniel was still seated on the ground. Difference was, Nat now had a pistol in his hand and was pointing it straight at Eddy's head. Eddy chuckled.
"You won't pull the trigger," he said. Nat gritted his teeth furiously.
"Give me one damned reason why I won't," he snarled.
Eddy promptly kicked out once more, hitting Nat's gun hand with enough force to knock the pistol out of his grip. The gun slid across the marble floor, stopping underneath Nat's desk. His eyes wide, Nat scrambled over to his desk to try and retrieve the gun, when Eddy grabbed a hold of his collar, knocking him onto his back. Eddy stood over him, Nat's collar tightly in his grip. He gritted his teeth furiously.
"Who in the hell killed my father? I know you had a hand in it. Don't lie to me!" Eddy whispered harshly. Nat trembled, frightened for his life.
"I-I-I don't know! Honestly!" he stuttered. Eddy wasn't happy with Nat's answer, and he shook Nat forcefully.
"Who killed my father, you good-for-nothing bastard?!" Eddy growled. Scared to death, Nat didn't say a word, but pointed to his desk. Eddy glanced over at the desk. "What's over there?"
"T-t-there should be a few answers there. Three pictures. They're of the man who hired us to kill your father. His name's on the back of the photo. I swear, it's all there!" Nathaniel practically squeaked out the final words.
Eddy looked over at the desk again, still grasping Nat's collar. He looked back down at the bald man, his eyes narrowed. "You better not be lying to me," he said. Nat held his arms up, and Eddy stood, dropping Nat's collar as he strode over to the desk and sat down.
Just as Nat said, there were three photos spread out. A left profile, right profile, then a full facial shot. They were all of the same person; a seemingly middle-aged Japanese man. Confused, Eddy took the facial shot into his hand and looked over it. The man looked familiar, though he couldn't place it. He turned the photo over. Kazuya Mishima was written on the back of the photo.
Mishima…that was the name of the man who'd put together that tournament he had just been in. That Mishima, however, had been Heihachi. Eddy dropped the photo onto the desk, his left hand still on it.
I knew there had to be more to Mishima, Eddy thought. Sighing, Eddy sat in silence, looking over at the photographs on occasion. At least he was getting somewhere in this mystery, but he still needed answers. Something told him that this Kazuya person might be the one he was ultimately looking for.
"This is it, sir?" The man glanced out the window, running a hand over his smooth, bald head, his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on his nose. He looked up at the driver and nodded coolly.
"Yeah. This is it," he replied. The driver nodded silently, driving the limousine up the curving driveway to the massive three story mansion. The sleek ebony Cadillac limo halted right in front of the entrance to the manor, then the driver exited the car and opened the rear door for his boss.
Calmly, the bald man stepped out of the car, adjusting his sunglasses, then fixed his silver tie as he strode easily into the house. A butler stood in the doorway, as if expecting him.
"Hello, sir," the butler said with a thick New York accent. The bald man nodded in reply, then strode past him, into his office. Once inside, he shut the dark rosewood door, locked it, and walked to his desk. Sitting down, he picked up the off-white phone and dialed a few numbers, immersing himself in conversation.
"Hola, mi amigo."
"Well, hola to you too, Nathaniel! What brings you a-callin'?" the voice on the other line answered jovially. The bald man sighed.
"Gustavo, I need you to be up front with me. Is it true?"
"Is what true, Nat?" Nathaniel sighed, massaging his temples with his left hand.
"Is the rumor on the news true? Was there a jailbreak?"
Gustavo sighed. "Si, amigo. Inmates rioted and broke out of the penitentiary."
"Was he included?" When Gustavo sighed, Nathaniel knew the answer.
"Yes. He has escaped. I would be on my highest watch if I were you, pal. He was well-taught by old man Montinero while he was in prison," Gustavo said. Nathaniel groaned inwardly. Just what I was afraid of, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he spoke.
"Gustavo, mi amigo, I need you here tonight. You're the most efficient bodyguard I know of. You have to help me tonight, for if I know Gordo's kid, he's coming after me first." Nathaniel grunted to himself in certainty.
"Of course, Nat! I'll be there in a few hours. What time is it now?" Nathaniel looked down at his gold Rolex watch.
"It's eight o'clock."
"I'll be there in a half-hour. Adios, amigo."
"Adios." The phone clicked as Nathaniel set it into the cradle, sitting up in his massive leather swivel chair. He set his elbows down on the desk in front of him, then massaged his forehead with both hands. He's out, he's out, he's out, kept ringing in and out of Nathaniel's mind. For only the second time ever, Nathaniel feared for his life.
The young man sighed, looking out the huge glass window into the darkness. Stars shined bright in the clear Brazilian night, and a full silver moon rose slowly into the center of the sky. Memories swam through his mind as he gazed blankly across the nearly cloudless ebony sky. Looking up, he could've sworn he saw the wizened face of the old man who had treated him as a grandson, taking him under his wing when he had entered prison. Montinero had taught him the ways of caopiera, and for that, he was ever grateful. In fact, after tonight, he was bound to finding Montinero's granddaughter, for he had promised the old man that he would teach the fighting style to Christie after he had finished his business.
Sighing forlornly, he pressed a hand to the glass and closed his eyes, remembering his incarceration. Eight years of pure hell, but to him, it was worth it. Now that he was a master of caopiera, and out of jail, he could now hunt down the men who should've been in prison instead of him. His father's murder would be avenged.
So lost in his thoughts was he that he barely noticed the knock on the door to his left. Slowly, he dropped his hand from the window, opening his eyes, and walked over to the door, pulling it open to reveal a housemaid with a cordless ebony telephone.
"Phone for you, senor," the short, gray-haired woman said with a Guatemalan accent. The young man took the phone and nodded, dismissing the lady. Closing the door, he lifted the phone to his ear.
"Yes?"
"Trujillo's in town," an anonymous voice said on the other line. His eyes widened, and he sat down on an expensive rosewood piano bench.
"Talk to me, Manuel."
"Si. Trujillo arrived about eight o' clock tonight, and as far as I know, he's at his mansion just outside Sao Paulo."
"Anyone else there with him?"
"No, although I think he knows you're out now, so he might've called for security. You sure you don't want any help tonight?" Manuel asked. The young man nodded.
"Yes, I am certain. This is my fight, and my fight alone."
"Okay. Good luck, and buenas noches," he replied. The young man echoed the farewell, then stood, looking at the phone in his hands. It was now, or never. He set the phone on the piano bench and strode out of the house.
A half-hour later, he strode up to the gates of Nathaniel Trujillo's estate. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the gates open, then glanced down non-chalantly at his watch. Midnight, exactly. Nodding to himself, he walked calmly up to the entrance of the house and knocked on the white painted door. A butler answered and regarded the young man somewhat distastefully.
"What is it, sir?" the butler asked. Straightening up, the young man rose to his full height--six feet, two inches--and looked the aging butler in the face.
"Tell me where Nathaniel Trujillo is," he replied coolly. Obviously shaken, the butler stood aside and pointed to a door not too far from the entrance. Nodding silently to the butler, the young man stalked inside the mansion to the door the butler had pointed out. Turning a corner, he took the golden doorknob into his hand, and flung the door open.
"Nat, I think he's here," Gustavo said uneasily. Nat sighed.
"Yes, I know he's here," he replied. Sure enough, they watched in slight fear as the gold doorknob on the dark wood door turned and flew open. Shocked, Nathaniel tore the glasses off his nose and regarded the young man who stood in his doorway. He looked nothing like the nineteen- year-old youth he had sent to jail eight years ago. This man seemed much more confident in himself, physically built, and much stronger than before. Turning to Gustavo, Nathaniel nodded, and Gustavo took the cue. He dashed at the young man and swung a right hook at him. The man dodged under Gustavo's shoddy aim, then shoved the man aside. Gustavo let out a small cry as his sunglasses flew off his nose and he crashed to the ground.
Nathaniel knew what was coming, and he tried to stave it off. Clearing his throat and straightening his tie, he came around his desk and stuck a hand out. "Eddy Gordo, it's been quite a while, no?" he asked, a smile pasted on his face and sweat breaking out on his brow.
Eddy saw through the façade and pushed the hand out of his way, instead grabbing Nathaniel's collar and glaring at him. "Tell me why I should let you live after the hell you made me live through," he growled. Nathaniel gazed back coolly.
"Oh, you must be talking about prison! Believe me, that was one of the best favors you did for us kid. Taking the blame for daddy dearest's death," he said, clicking his tongue. Angered, Eddy dropped the bald man on the ground, his eyes narrowed.
"How dare you call it a 'favor!'" he began. A sharp breath came from behind him, and Gustavo climbed to his feet behind Eddy and charged him again. Smirking, Eddy hit the ground, then balanced himself on his hands as he swung his legs around in an arc, tripping Gustavo and sending him across the room. Gustavo hit the wall forcefully and didn't move; he had been knocked unconscious.
Eddy turned on his hands and looked over to where Nathaniel was still seated on the ground. Difference was, Nat now had a pistol in his hand and was pointing it straight at Eddy's head. Eddy chuckled.
"You won't pull the trigger," he said. Nat gritted his teeth furiously.
"Give me one damned reason why I won't," he snarled.
Eddy promptly kicked out once more, hitting Nat's gun hand with enough force to knock the pistol out of his grip. The gun slid across the marble floor, stopping underneath Nat's desk. His eyes wide, Nat scrambled over to his desk to try and retrieve the gun, when Eddy grabbed a hold of his collar, knocking him onto his back. Eddy stood over him, Nat's collar tightly in his grip. He gritted his teeth furiously.
"Who in the hell killed my father? I know you had a hand in it. Don't lie to me!" Eddy whispered harshly. Nat trembled, frightened for his life.
"I-I-I don't know! Honestly!" he stuttered. Eddy wasn't happy with Nat's answer, and he shook Nat forcefully.
"Who killed my father, you good-for-nothing bastard?!" Eddy growled. Scared to death, Nat didn't say a word, but pointed to his desk. Eddy glanced over at the desk. "What's over there?"
"T-t-there should be a few answers there. Three pictures. They're of the man who hired us to kill your father. His name's on the back of the photo. I swear, it's all there!" Nathaniel practically squeaked out the final words.
Eddy looked over at the desk again, still grasping Nat's collar. He looked back down at the bald man, his eyes narrowed. "You better not be lying to me," he said. Nat held his arms up, and Eddy stood, dropping Nat's collar as he strode over to the desk and sat down.
Just as Nat said, there were three photos spread out. A left profile, right profile, then a full facial shot. They were all of the same person; a seemingly middle-aged Japanese man. Confused, Eddy took the facial shot into his hand and looked over it. The man looked familiar, though he couldn't place it. He turned the photo over. Kazuya Mishima was written on the back of the photo.
Mishima…that was the name of the man who'd put together that tournament he had just been in. That Mishima, however, had been Heihachi. Eddy dropped the photo onto the desk, his left hand still on it.
I knew there had to be more to Mishima, Eddy thought. Sighing, Eddy sat in silence, looking over at the photographs on occasion. At least he was getting somewhere in this mystery, but he still needed answers. Something told him that this Kazuya person might be the one he was ultimately looking for.