The rookie reporter nervously tugged at the camera that hung around his neck.
He knew, with the kind of knowing that comes from deep within, that the newspaper sent him here as a joke. That's all he was to them; a joke. It didn't matter that he was the best in his class in college, or that he knew how to get in in ways others were too proud to. Well, he had to admit, this assignment was too far.
The bell dinged as the door of the velvety bar groaned open. It was as if the disembodied cigar smoke itself paused just for him. Everyone subtly turned as the man of the hour stepped into the atmosphere. Everyone suddenly turned into friends, true or fake, greeting him with loud salutations or raised glasses with round pieces of ice clanking loudly against the walls of their cups. A young, petite woman rushed to welcome him. The man swamped the dazzled waitress in size, peering down at her with an easy smile as she gestured to him.
The Reporter gulped and quickly unhooked the noose of a camera around his neck as he saw his interviewee land his bright pink eyes on him. It took everything in The Reporter not to squirm.
The Underbelly eats those who squirm. The Reporter knew that from experience.
The mountain of a man lumbered his way to The Reporter's corner seat across the bar. Those fuschia eyes never wavered as they glued to The Reporter's face. It didn't help that he, the interviewee, had blood on his hands. Not a lot, just specks and splatters.
For a moment, The Reporter forgot his manners. He stumbled as he slid out his seat to greet the man properly.
The man grumbled his approval and waved The Reporter to sit down. The seat groaned under the interviewee's weight, straining as he adjusted himself. Still, the seat held.
The man shrugged off his fur coat and leaned against the table, his massive muscles bulging under the white cotton of his tailored dress shirt. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, causing the napkins on the table to flutter in excitement.
The Reporter gulped but put on a smile.
"How are you this evening, sir?"
The man leaned back, "I'll be better when I have a drink in my hand." He picked into the breast pocket of his handmade vest, pulling out a fat cigar - which looked like a cigarette in his hand - and a cigar cutter made to fit his massive fingers. "You mind if I smoke?"
The Reporter quickly shook his head and flagged down a waitress.
"What would you like to drink?" The Reporter hated how weak his voice sounded.
"Whatever you can afford." The man's eyes glowed against the small flame of the lighter, bright and dangerous.
The Reporter smiled tersely and had the best bourbon brought out. He poured the interviewee a glass and placed it in front of him. The man chuckled, causing The Reporter to grimace. Feeding a rabid stray mutt was easier than giving this man a drink.
The man noticed this and leaned forward. The Reporter pulled away and straightened in his seat.
"You're Tanaka's boy?"
The Reporter flinched and tired to cover it with a shrug, "Yes, sir, I am."
The man hummed and nodded slowly before taking the cigar from his mouth to sip the hard liquor. "I knew I recognized you. Tried to get outta here, didn't cha?"
The Reporter said nothing and smiled a small smile.
"The {Daily News} told you to come back home. Ha, they knew what they was doin'. Ya know, I almost squeezed your boss' head off when he came up to me to ask for an interview. Had my fingers wrapped around his breather when he said your name. Took me a minute but I knew who you were." The man clamped his teeth on the butt of his cigar and took a drag.
"Yes sir, I got a job with him. Seems to think he can do what he wants around here since he's got me on his roll."
Crap, The Reporter realized, he spoke too much and he spoke out of turn. His carefully looked up to meet the man's hard gaze.
The man suddenly let out a hoot, "You're funny. I like you. Might keep you around."
The Reporter let out a small exhale. Should he be relieved or worried?
"So whatcha come for anyway, Tanaka? You ain't homesick, you haven't seen your old man, haven't seen anyone on your old stompin' grounds. Must be pretty bad that you come in some secret."
The Reporter, Tanaka, cleared his throat. "I've come to do my job, sir."
The man waved his hand, causing a breeze to brush over Tanaka. "Call me Miguide, everyone here does."
Tanaka suppressed a shudder and gulped, "Yes sir, I mean... Miguide."
"That's better. Making me feel old. So tell me what you want, I'm gettin' tired. Long day, ya know."
"Miguide, they sent me over to ask about..."
The pause rushed blood into Tanaka's eyes and ears. His leg began to bounce.
"Ask about?" Miguide pushed as he took another drink of bourbon.
"They sent me over to ask about... Ena."
The thick glass in Miguide's hand shattered like nothing. The bar and its patrons froze in fear.
"What was that?" Even in the dimness of everything, Tanaka could see the fuchsia dissipating to black.
Tanaka switched gears, "They're snooping. The heroes and their shoe-licking society. They're making connections about her. They thought they could send me to get answers but I just wanted to warn you."
The pink slowly began to brighten. Tanaka was tempted to breathe but he knew better.
"Warn me, huh? So why you sitting all skittish across from me? You came to warn me so that means you're not working for them." Miguide grabbed a few napkins from the pile and began to wipe the liquor from his hand and clothing. Tanaka tried to ignore that dried blood mixing with the alcohol. It wafted to his nose and he tried not to cough.
Instead, Tanaka smiled tersely, "I wasn't sure where I stood. Everyone knows I left to leave all this behind so I knew I had to tread carefully. Especially with you."
Miguide groaned, "You're home will always be here, boy, whether you like it or not. You made a good choice, though. What else they wanna know?"
That evening, the reporter was interrogated about everything he knew. At the end of the evening, Tanaka's jaw ached terribly. Luckily, this seemed to appease Miguide, as the King of the Underbelly finally stood and stretched.
"You're good, kid. I'm definitely keepin' you around. I'll send Kuroba with some notes about the story we're whippin' up for Ena, so you don't needa worry 'bout that. Let's meet here once a month for all the updates, ya hear?"
Tanaka nodded, pushing past the pain of his sore buccanator. If I don't, he wanted to ask. If I don't come back?
"Oh, and if you fail to keep your end of the deal, I'll send your beloved boss on a treasure hunt for you. For every piece of you. Got it?"
Tanaka exhaled and nodded again. Miguide tossed some money on the mahogany table and began strolling out the door, humming along to some no-name song. The smell of liquor, blood, and cigar smoke lingered in his wake. It took everything in Tanaka not to break down.
He fought all of hell to escape and now he was in the palm of the one he spent his life avoiding.
Curse it all.