Writer's Note:  Mmm…lots of stuff going on lately…school…dramas…illness…hope you guys are doing well!!!  Go out and laugh up a storm.  :D  This next section was written with a bit of trouble.  Hope it turned out okay.

(The only change I made is that Omasu is the news reporter.  I suddenly realized that Omasu was the one with the cute, innocent voice.  THAT'S the one I meant!  :P )

Mibu Saints is brought to you by…the letter "J."

The Next Day

Golden Leaves Hotel, Suite #24

Crime Scene

            Special Agent Kenshin Himura took a look around the bloody chaos of the room with a shake of his head.  His yellow eyes narrowed as he thought about the new situation.

            Yahiko sighed heavily.  "It was a fucken massacre, that's what it was."

            Himura seemed at a loss of where to start.  He looked behind the sectional couch to see a bloody body.  "Myojin, how many bodies are there?"

            "Eight."

            The agent sent him a look.

            "Shit!  I forgot about that one!  Nine.  Nine?"

            Kenshin leapt onto the sectional's backing and balanced as he walked its length.  "What do you guys think?"

            Yahiko smiled, he was feeling a bit more confident at this point.  "All these guys were part of a major Chinese syndicate called the Juppongotana.  Look, I don't care about all the other fucks," he said, walking to the center of the room where a body was haloed by its own blood, "this guy was their target."

            Kenshin remained impassive.  "What makes you say that?"

            "His name's Makoto Shishio.  He's the guy who's been leading the whole operation.  Plus, he's the only one who was done right:  double tap to the head.  They definitely went after the queer man."

            "Excuse me?"

            There was a pained silence.  Everyone was aware of how femmy the special agent was, but no one had said anything until now.

            "…the weird man," Myojin corrected.

            "Well," began Himura a bit haughtily, golden eyes sharp, "now we know what everyone really thinks about.  So…you think they went after the queer guy, huh?  Makes ya feel like Riverdancing."

            Without further ado, Himura began dancing a little jig as all eyes only stared.  As if humoring them, the redhead asked, "But why the pennies?"

            Everyone looked at the bodies strewn about, all with pennies on their eyes.

            Detective Kaoru looked at the man who seemed to be surrounded by a halo of an entirely different kind.  "Uh…the killer wants to leave a distinctive mark?"

            Kenshin shook his head.  "No.  There's something else going on here.  They were placed with religious intent.  Some still place pennies on the eyes of the dead.  The Sicilians.  The Italians…"

            Yahiko furrowed his brows.  "What's the symbology there?"

            "Symbology?" the agent raised a brow at the young detective.  "The word you are looking for is 'symbolism.'  What is the symbolism?"

            Jumping down from his perch, Himura prepared himself to give them a lesson.  "In Greek and Roman mythology, after you died, you had to pay the fare for Charon—the boat fare man who rowed you across the river to the afterlife.  When a body died, you would place pennies on the eyes of those who passed on so that they could atone for the sins they committed in life."

            Yahiko smiled.  "That's pretty impressive."

            "That's because I'm an expert at 'nameology,'" he grinned before walking to the body of the one called Makoto Shishio…the one with the holes in the back of his head.  "Look at these burn wounds.  What do they tell you?"

            Kaoru squinted, trying hard to see something on the gory entry wounds.  "Um…he was shot at a downward angle…they put him on his knees?"

            "Excellent, Detective Kamiya.  Chief?"

            "There were two shooters."

            "Fan-freakin-tastic.  Myojin?"

            "Uh…they shot him at a downward angle…?"

            Himura's face fell.  "No.  It tells us, he was the last to go."

            Yahiko threw his hands up in confusion.  "Whoa!  Wait a minute!  How do you get that?"

            Kenshin gave a patient smile.  "The guys came in here, shot everyone and put this guy on his knees for a proper execution-style death.  Pop pop.  And then they go and put pennies on everyone's eyes."

            "I guess that makes sense…" eyed Myojin reluctantly.  "But what about one guy, two guns?"

            The agent shook his head.  "The angles are too extreme.  No guy would cock out his elbows like that.  If you were gonna shoot a guy in the back of the head with two guns, it's natural to hold them side-by-side.  Besides, you're telling me, one guy came in here and shot eight guys with eight incredibly well-aimed bullets?"  he shook his head, "Had to have been at least two."

            In the vents of the upscale hotel, Hajime and Aoshi crawled around, flashlights waving.

            Makoto Shishio stood in the center of the suite, many Juppongotana members sitting on the sectional couch, others standing ominously around.  He was speaking passionately to the assembled men.

            Hajime paused, flashlight searching the area in front of him.  He looked over his shoulder at his brother and the ducts beyond him.  "Shit…"

            He crawled a few feet forward before turning a full 180 degrees and squeezing past his brother in the opposite direction.  Aoshi followed suit and turned around in the narrow space, his feet scuffing the bottom of the vent.

            "Where the fuck are you going?" Aoshi demanded.

            "SHH!  I'm trying to figure out some shit!"

            "Fuck you!  I'm lugging around this fucking duffel bag, sweating my ass off.  It must weigh fifty pounds!"

            Hajime sat up a bit higher.  "Yeah, well, I'm carrying your stupid fucken rope.  It's chafing me."

            Aoshi hit Hajime in the forehead with his flashlight.  "Get a fucking hold of yourself!"

            Hajime returned the gesture with his own flashlight.  "You get a fucking hold of yourself!"

            There was a tense pause before both brothers lounged at each other, heedless of where they were.

            Makoto Shishio was definitely yelling at his subordinates, gesticulating wildly.  The Japanese were at war with the Chinese.  Polite rivalry was no longer a part of the repertoire.  The Juppongotana were going to trample the weaker Japanese boy scout forces such as the Sekihoutai and Yakuza.  There was no room for failure.

            The two men wrestled angrily in the air duct, banging against the metal sides, their ropes tangling around them.  Both stopped simultaneously, holding their breaths—reality coming back to them.

            "Shit," Hajime said.

            Beneath them, the vent gave way and they fell through.

            The man who would later be identified with two bullet holes in the back of his head, ducked out of the way of crumbling plaster.

            The tangled rope held the brothers suspended in the air—upside down—their backs together.  The other Juppongotana members kicked into action, pulling out their pieces and pointing them at the invaders.

            Still dangling like Christmas ornaments, the Omitsu Brothers fingered their shoulder holsters and fired their shots like expert marksmen as together they spun—giving them free range of the entire room.  Cold blue-grey eyes surveyed the carnage as shot after shot, the wicked were taken down.  Hajime deftly rifled through his duffel bag and quickly cut the ropes with his Rambo knife, the boys falling to the carpet.

            Makoto Shishio, on his knees with the Omitsu Brothers standing behind him, masks discarded, implored his men to take action.  Two guns pressed against the back of his head held by two gloved hands whose marks were hidden from all…engraved to the very bone was Aku Soku Zan with Honor Through Strength.

            Together, the brothers chanted a familiar verse, "And shepherds we shall be…for thee, my Lord, for thee.  Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands.  So we shall flow a river forth to Thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be.  In nomeni patri et fili spiritus sancti."

            And thus, two holes in his head made not Makoto Shishio alive.

            In all righteousness, both men pulled out their crosses, a strange new blood coursing through their veins.  Their gloved hands held pennies, which they placed very carefully on each unseeing eye in the room.

            As if drunk on the blood he himself spilled, Hajime raised his arms toward heaven, appearing very much like Jesus Christ crucified, his eyes closed with the sensation.

            Aoshi lifted his rosary to his lips, feeling the warmth of his cross like a familiar lover's.

            Kenshin looked around him once more, the bodies in a scattered circle.  Above him, the gaping hole in the room left no question of the place of entry.  "Television," he said to himself.

            "Excuse me, sir?"  Kaoru turned to give the FBI agent a questioning look.

            "Television," repeated the man, "That's the answer, that it is.  He gestured to the hole above.  "Crawling around through the vents, crashing through the ceiling…that James Bond stuff doesn't happen in real life!  Professionals don't do that!"

            Yahiko snorted.  "Kids these days.  Watching too many fucken movies."

            The two brothers looked around the room in awe.  They seemed very proud of themselves.

            "That was surprisingly easy," mused Hajime, already lighting a cigarette and puffing happily.  "In the movies, there's always that guy that jumps out from behind the couch."

            "And then you have to shoot him for ten fucking minutes, too!" Aoshi agreed.

            In the lighthearted aftermath, both looked about the room with amused smiles on their faces.

            "Name one thing we're going to need the stupid fucking rope for…" Aoshi prodded.

            "To stick it up your pussy ass, motherfucker…" mimicked his brother crossly.  In the next moment, Hajime stroked his chin in mock contemplation.  "What do you suppose is in that case over there?" he asked, indicating a small briefcase leaning against the wall.

            There was a still silence before both brothers bolted for it.  Just to be sure Aoshi was not the one to reach the case first, Hajime shoved roughly at his brother's shoulder and put on an extra burst of speed.  With a click, the case opened, revealing neatly stacked columns of money.

            Aoshi eyed the loot as his brother passed a wad of it under his nose, inhaling at that minty-fresh, I'm-your-new-best-friend smell.  "The hits just keep coming," came Aoshi's amused voice.

            Standing behind the suite's mini-bar, Kenshin poured drinks for the gathering detectives.

            "This is no small matter.  We will soon have a secret war to be wrought among the Chinese and Japanese.  For decades, there has been much animosity, but since the Chinese have been invading known Japanese mob territory, it has escalated in the past few years.  I have a dossier on every man in this room.  This is serious stuff."

            A knock on the suite's door followed by a gruff, "Room service!" turned our heroes' attention away from the money.

            "What?"  Hajime eyed the door suspiciously.

            "Did you order room service?"

            "What??"  Hajime knocked his brother over the head.  "Fuck no!  Are you fucken retarded??"

            Both crept to the door's peephole and Aoshi squinted into it.  "Shit," he whispered, looking at his brother in shock.  "It's Sagara."

            Hajime shoved his brother aside to see for himself.  There stood The Funny Man…a tasseled bellboy hat on his scruffy hair, maroon uniform, and a little nametag that read:  Jafar.

            Hajime stifled a laugh as a mischievous spark flashed in his eyes.  "This must be his first job!  …We've gotta fuck with him!"

            Both brothers chuckled to themselves as they slipped on their dark ski masks, guns in hand and hiding on either side of the door as they allowed it to open.

Sanosuke Sagara strolled in, pushing his food cart.  Before he got three feet in the room, the door slammed shut behind him and someone grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling him to the ground.

            "Get on the fucking floor!!!" the voice bellowed.  "Get on the fucking floor!!!"

            "Where's your gun?" the other masked man asked, his own piece aimed for the fighter's head.  "I said, 'where's your gun,' fucknuts??"

            Hajime tore a pistol from The Funny Man's uniform pocket.  Releasing Sagara's hair from his grasp, he gave a colorful curse.  "Look at this shit!!!"  Hajime showed his brother the gun.  "This is a fucken six-shooter, genius!  There's nine bodies. What were you gonna do??  Laugh the last three to death??  FUNNY MAN??"

            Aoshi, gun still pointed at Sano's head, let out a low growl.  "What should we do?"

            "We gotta kill this motherfucker."

            "Wha-what??" Sano choked.  "Takeda told me there were only two guys!  In and out!  I won't tell 'em nuthin', I swear!"

            "We gotta do this…sorry, lover."

            "No!  No!!"

            As Sano curled up into a fetal position, the brothers burst out laughing.  Hajime tossed the man's gun to him and chuckled at his pathetic friend.  Aoshi pulled off his mask and bent to ruffle the younger man's hair.

            When Sagara noticed that nothing was happening, he opened his eyes and looked around.  No one was there.  Sitting up, his gaze roamed the room and he saw bodies strewn about, as well as the Omitsu brothers tucking their things away in duffel bags.

            "FUCK!  It was you guys??  …nice work."

            Hajime chucked a thumb at the man.  "Look at this rookie motherfucker."

            "ROOKIE??"  Stomping towards the wiry man, Sano got in his face.  "Do I look like a fucken rookie to you??  You're no seasoned veteran, dipshit!  You think you have the right to judge me??"

            From behind, Aoshi tackled the Sekihoutai runner and got him in a full-Nelson.  Hajime slapped the younger man's ass repeatedly, laughing as he yelped with each blow.

            "Ow!  OW!  Seriously, that hurts!"

            "GET A FUCKEN HOLD OF YOURSELF!!!" roared Hajime with mock sternness.

            Chuckling, both brothers released him and stalked off.

            "Clean up this shit," scoffed Brother #1.

            "Hey, you guys wanna hang at my place for a while?" Sano asked, the argument already forgotten.

            "Aa," said Brother #2, "you're buying dinner."

            The soft, sweet voice drifted through the speakers.  "Hi.  This is Omasu outside Golden Leaves Hotel, where a violent and bloody massacre occurred earlier today.  Some of China's top mob lords in a group called the Juppongotana, were congregating yesterday when two men barged in and shot all nine dead.  The police are not releasing any information about the killers, but it is known that they are at large and considered armed, dangerous and most likely have a death wish.  Omasu signing off on Channel Five.  Ciao!"

End Notes:  "In nomeni patri et fili spiritus sancti" is Latin for "In the name of the father, son and holy spirit."  (Thus, nomeni=name; patri=paternal/father; fili=son; spiritus=spirit; sancti=holy/sanctified)

Lol…Omasu as a news reporter…I keep seeing Ulala saying, "Spaaaaace Channel Five!"  (Those of you Space Channel Five fans will get what I'm saying.  If I could groove like Ulala, DUDE.)

"The queer man" is originally the "fag man" and the officer corrects himself by saying "the fat man."  But since Shishio could never really be considered "fat," I found that remark inappropriate.  :P  Being that Shishio could easily be considered "weird," "queer" seemed to be a good slip to make.  ^o^

I'm afraid that the next update will be slow in coming.  I apologize!  I'm beginning to get hampered with two many projects at once, so I regret to say that this is going to bear a bit of that.  But have no fear…I will complete this story.  Oh yes.  It will be done.  (Wayne's World reference!!!)

There are way too many jokes for me to amuse myself with…so without further ado, I'd like to thank everyone who ever gave me encouragement.  ^_^  It is deeply felt.