Chapter 2
==
Stepping off the bus and into the thickening fog, Ryo strode through the gates of New Yokosuka harbour. Already the white noise of revving forklift engines could be heard as the keener employees at the harbour started their days' work. One passed Ryo as he made his way towards the Alpha Trading Office, where he was promptly handed his forklift keys. Around the back of one of the storage warehouses, Ryo found the corresponding forklift and, turning on the engine, studied his route map.
"To warehouse number 18," mumbled Ryo to himself as he carefully slid the paper into his back pocket. It was a familiar route. Glancing up from the steering wheel with the glazed expression of someone who's day was set before him in mind-numbing predictability, Ryo suddenly realised he was staring into the face of a young man with long, black hair and a white leather jacket. The man was looking directly at him from a distance, his hands placed casually into his pockets, his expression one of intent curiosity. Sensing another pair of eyes focused on him, Ryo glanced towards his right to see two men, neither looking friendly, standing huddled in the cold and seemingly waiting for Ryo to move. Fully aware that there were no other harbour workers nearby, Ryo floored the accelerator and at the same moment felt a thick, strong hand grab a hold of his jacket collar from the left side. The forklift growled loudly as it lurched forward several metres with Ryo not in it.
His head hit the icy tarmac.
A heavy, well-made boot placed itself firmly upon Ryo's chest. The cold slush on its sole seeped through Ryo's t-shirt. The face of the longhaired man was staring down at him, and moments later was joined by several other faces, sneering and cocky, as Ryo attempted desperately to keep himself in the realm of consciousness. There was a thump in his right side, followed by sharp recoil as Ryo squirmed with the pain.
"Why the hell did you kick him?" demanded a deep voice, belonging to the white-jacketed man pinning Ryo down with the cold boot.
"I don't know, I just-"
"Well don't," retorted the other, snarling at the younger man. "You break his ribs and it'll be harder for us to carry him. So don't. Alright?"
An aching lump was already beginning to throb on the back of Ryo's head as an arm suddenly presented itself under his right shoulder, followed quickly by another under his left. His pupils dilating and body feeling increasingly overpowered, Ryo was roughly hauled upwards and found himself struggling in vain as the gang members restrained him, and awkwardly shuffled him forwards.
==
The light switch was flicked on. Ryo squinted as the enveloping darkness was broken. The light switch was flicked off again.
Footsteps could be heard pacing softly around Ryo's chair, as he fought with the tight ropes that bound his wrists and legs, and cut agonizingly into his stomach, restricting his ability to breathe. How long he had been unconscious? Was he even really awake? Ryo grunted and strained as he tried to free himself, his surroundings unseen and threatening. The soft, pacing footsteps were audible again, only metres ahead of him. Somewhere far across the room, water was dripping rhythmically onto corrugated metal.
Ryo continued to struggle.
"You know," cackled a malevolent voice without actual humour, "if you just stopped trying to struggle, then this would be far cleaner for both of us."
Ryo stopped fidgeting. Through the impenetrable darkness, he listened intently, and tried to determine from where the sound had emanated.
A smile was audible in the voice's next utterance.
"Now that's more like it."
Ryo began tugging violently at the ropes on his wrist. With his mind racing in realisation, his leather jacket creaked in the echoing blackness as he fought with his bindings. He was here because he had witnessed the old man's death.
A hard fist plunged itself suddenly and swiftly into Ryo's stomach with a smack that resounded across the large interior of the building. In the silence that followed, a forklift could be heard passing outside, and Ryo, pressed stiffly against the back of the wooden chair and writhing in pain, ceased to battle with his wrist bindings. It was no use. A gasp escaped his lips.
"What," breathed Ryo heavily, as the rope across his stomach seemed to tighten, "what do you want?"
The surmounting tension in the room almost scented the cool air.
"What do you want?" mimicked the voice, mockingly. "What do I want?"
Ryo flinched as he heard an empty container of some sort kicked with a vengeance. There was no pretence of amiability going on here. No transition from nice guy to bad. Whoever was standing before Ryo in this dark, clammy excuse for an interrogation room was almost begging for an excuse to snap Ryo's bones, and there was little Ryo could do but hand that opportunity to him.
"I'll tell you what I want," snapped the throaty voice through the shadows. "I want to know what your friend is doing poaching on our.. reserves."
Ryo, despite his own invisibility, could not refrain from frowning at this answer.
"What?"
There was a long pause, in which Ryo could hear only the irregularity of his own breathing. Then, finally, came a controlled, concisely spoken reply. The surpression of rage was obvious.
"Your friend. Gui Zhang," drawled the disembodied voice. "He has been snooping around on our territory. Now, we want to know why, from you, or we will make you very uncomfortable.. do you understand?"
Suddenly a shaft of light appeared across the room as the squeak of a metal door opening sounded, and several nearby voices whispered panicked expletives. Three or more figures ducked for cover in the remaining darkness and Ryo found himself being hurled upon by a muscular figure, bringing his chair crashing to the ground. Once again Ryo's head began to throb.
Silence.
Someone was whistling.
A solitary harbour Security Guard had entered. It was he who could be heard whistling jauntily as he strolled carelessly, unsuspectingly into the room. In the watery half-light that the open door provided, Ryo could see that between the toppled chair he now occupied and the small grey door, two large crates were unfortunately placed, effectively obscuring him from view. The less than subtle sound of a flick knife opening failed to attract the guard's attention, and Ryo felt the sharp blade pressed precariously against the exposed flesh of his throat.
"Make one sound," hissed the same impatient voice as before, "and I rip you a second mouth. You got that?"
Ryo dared not utter a reply, knowing the risk even of swallowing next to the blade. His eyes fixed upon the distant metal roof of the warehouse, barely visible in the dim light. His hands were beginning to numb, trapped under the heavy back of the fallen chair. Obviously the Mad Angels had not anticipated visitors to this particular warehouse number. This intrusion, he realised, was merely a setback. They would continue.
The Security Guard left just as blissfully unaware of trouble as he had arrived, presumably with a forgotten chocolate bar or lost clipboard or something of no importance whatsoever. Meanwhile, no effort was made to resume Ryo's chair to an upright position.
"Now tell me straight," purred the deep voice with a barely-disguised yawn. "I got no desire to play proverbial boxing matches anymore. Although, I expect," added the voice with an unpleasant snarl, "there was nothing proverbial, to you, about it."
"I don't know what you're talking about," sighed Ryo. "I have no part in Gui Zhang's business affairs."
The figure shrugged in the darkness. "Well, so be it," replied the voice. "You know why you're here." The blade was removed from Ryo's throat.
"Turn the light on!" roared the man over his shoulder to the assembled small group of Mad Angels lurking behind him in the shadows.
Ryo was let go, but still tightly bound.
"You know what they say," quipped the voice angrily, yet with a slight sneer.
The light switch was flicked on once more, and Ryo found himself staring upwards, bleary-eyed. The wild eyes of a fanatic stared back. The bearded lips parted with contempt. A smile began to crack on Terry's features.
"When a killer lets you see his face, you're a dead man."
==
Stepping off the bus and into the thickening fog, Ryo strode through the gates of New Yokosuka harbour. Already the white noise of revving forklift engines could be heard as the keener employees at the harbour started their days' work. One passed Ryo as he made his way towards the Alpha Trading Office, where he was promptly handed his forklift keys. Around the back of one of the storage warehouses, Ryo found the corresponding forklift and, turning on the engine, studied his route map.
"To warehouse number 18," mumbled Ryo to himself as he carefully slid the paper into his back pocket. It was a familiar route. Glancing up from the steering wheel with the glazed expression of someone who's day was set before him in mind-numbing predictability, Ryo suddenly realised he was staring into the face of a young man with long, black hair and a white leather jacket. The man was looking directly at him from a distance, his hands placed casually into his pockets, his expression one of intent curiosity. Sensing another pair of eyes focused on him, Ryo glanced towards his right to see two men, neither looking friendly, standing huddled in the cold and seemingly waiting for Ryo to move. Fully aware that there were no other harbour workers nearby, Ryo floored the accelerator and at the same moment felt a thick, strong hand grab a hold of his jacket collar from the left side. The forklift growled loudly as it lurched forward several metres with Ryo not in it.
His head hit the icy tarmac.
A heavy, well-made boot placed itself firmly upon Ryo's chest. The cold slush on its sole seeped through Ryo's t-shirt. The face of the longhaired man was staring down at him, and moments later was joined by several other faces, sneering and cocky, as Ryo attempted desperately to keep himself in the realm of consciousness. There was a thump in his right side, followed by sharp recoil as Ryo squirmed with the pain.
"Why the hell did you kick him?" demanded a deep voice, belonging to the white-jacketed man pinning Ryo down with the cold boot.
"I don't know, I just-"
"Well don't," retorted the other, snarling at the younger man. "You break his ribs and it'll be harder for us to carry him. So don't. Alright?"
An aching lump was already beginning to throb on the back of Ryo's head as an arm suddenly presented itself under his right shoulder, followed quickly by another under his left. His pupils dilating and body feeling increasingly overpowered, Ryo was roughly hauled upwards and found himself struggling in vain as the gang members restrained him, and awkwardly shuffled him forwards.
==
The light switch was flicked on. Ryo squinted as the enveloping darkness was broken. The light switch was flicked off again.
Footsteps could be heard pacing softly around Ryo's chair, as he fought with the tight ropes that bound his wrists and legs, and cut agonizingly into his stomach, restricting his ability to breathe. How long he had been unconscious? Was he even really awake? Ryo grunted and strained as he tried to free himself, his surroundings unseen and threatening. The soft, pacing footsteps were audible again, only metres ahead of him. Somewhere far across the room, water was dripping rhythmically onto corrugated metal.
Ryo continued to struggle.
"You know," cackled a malevolent voice without actual humour, "if you just stopped trying to struggle, then this would be far cleaner for both of us."
Ryo stopped fidgeting. Through the impenetrable darkness, he listened intently, and tried to determine from where the sound had emanated.
A smile was audible in the voice's next utterance.
"Now that's more like it."
Ryo began tugging violently at the ropes on his wrist. With his mind racing in realisation, his leather jacket creaked in the echoing blackness as he fought with his bindings. He was here because he had witnessed the old man's death.
A hard fist plunged itself suddenly and swiftly into Ryo's stomach with a smack that resounded across the large interior of the building. In the silence that followed, a forklift could be heard passing outside, and Ryo, pressed stiffly against the back of the wooden chair and writhing in pain, ceased to battle with his wrist bindings. It was no use. A gasp escaped his lips.
"What," breathed Ryo heavily, as the rope across his stomach seemed to tighten, "what do you want?"
The surmounting tension in the room almost scented the cool air.
"What do you want?" mimicked the voice, mockingly. "What do I want?"
Ryo flinched as he heard an empty container of some sort kicked with a vengeance. There was no pretence of amiability going on here. No transition from nice guy to bad. Whoever was standing before Ryo in this dark, clammy excuse for an interrogation room was almost begging for an excuse to snap Ryo's bones, and there was little Ryo could do but hand that opportunity to him.
"I'll tell you what I want," snapped the throaty voice through the shadows. "I want to know what your friend is doing poaching on our.. reserves."
Ryo, despite his own invisibility, could not refrain from frowning at this answer.
"What?"
There was a long pause, in which Ryo could hear only the irregularity of his own breathing. Then, finally, came a controlled, concisely spoken reply. The surpression of rage was obvious.
"Your friend. Gui Zhang," drawled the disembodied voice. "He has been snooping around on our territory. Now, we want to know why, from you, or we will make you very uncomfortable.. do you understand?"
Suddenly a shaft of light appeared across the room as the squeak of a metal door opening sounded, and several nearby voices whispered panicked expletives. Three or more figures ducked for cover in the remaining darkness and Ryo found himself being hurled upon by a muscular figure, bringing his chair crashing to the ground. Once again Ryo's head began to throb.
Silence.
Someone was whistling.
A solitary harbour Security Guard had entered. It was he who could be heard whistling jauntily as he strolled carelessly, unsuspectingly into the room. In the watery half-light that the open door provided, Ryo could see that between the toppled chair he now occupied and the small grey door, two large crates were unfortunately placed, effectively obscuring him from view. The less than subtle sound of a flick knife opening failed to attract the guard's attention, and Ryo felt the sharp blade pressed precariously against the exposed flesh of his throat.
"Make one sound," hissed the same impatient voice as before, "and I rip you a second mouth. You got that?"
Ryo dared not utter a reply, knowing the risk even of swallowing next to the blade. His eyes fixed upon the distant metal roof of the warehouse, barely visible in the dim light. His hands were beginning to numb, trapped under the heavy back of the fallen chair. Obviously the Mad Angels had not anticipated visitors to this particular warehouse number. This intrusion, he realised, was merely a setback. They would continue.
The Security Guard left just as blissfully unaware of trouble as he had arrived, presumably with a forgotten chocolate bar or lost clipboard or something of no importance whatsoever. Meanwhile, no effort was made to resume Ryo's chair to an upright position.
"Now tell me straight," purred the deep voice with a barely-disguised yawn. "I got no desire to play proverbial boxing matches anymore. Although, I expect," added the voice with an unpleasant snarl, "there was nothing proverbial, to you, about it."
"I don't know what you're talking about," sighed Ryo. "I have no part in Gui Zhang's business affairs."
The figure shrugged in the darkness. "Well, so be it," replied the voice. "You know why you're here." The blade was removed from Ryo's throat.
"Turn the light on!" roared the man over his shoulder to the assembled small group of Mad Angels lurking behind him in the shadows.
Ryo was let go, but still tightly bound.
"You know what they say," quipped the voice angrily, yet with a slight sneer.
The light switch was flicked on once more, and Ryo found himself staring upwards, bleary-eyed. The wild eyes of a fanatic stared back. The bearded lips parted with contempt. A smile began to crack on Terry's features.
"When a killer lets you see his face, you're a dead man."