Chapter 8 – Ghost

15 Years Ago

He got a job. He wanted to keep moving, not sit in an office, so he got a job as a limo driver. He got to wear a suit – not a good suit, with the cheesy driver hat, but it kept his eyes shielded, and he liked that. He liked that he could ignore people, and be rolling his eyes, even if he was facing them. He was dark and mysterious and a loner and it all suited him fine. He sat quietly in his driver's seat and no one gave him any shit. And if they did, his pistol was tucked in the back of his belt. Wearing a shoulder holster would be noticeable. This wasn't.

He didn't talk much with the customers. He had a list of their names and where to pick them up, and that was the whole of it.

"The Sheraton. And step on it." The man – a big guy with a briefcase on his lap – spoke English in a Russian accent.

Jigen didn't bother to look up his name as he pulled out of the airport and onto the familiar superhighway. The man – obviously busy and agitated in a very businessman way – was in no mood to talk, and neither was he. He was more concerned with his rear windows. "Someone's tailing us," he said after he was sure.

"What?" But somehow, the business man didn't seem overwhelmingly surprised. "Since we left the airport?"

"Yeah. The blue car on the left." He remained completely calm, and so did his client. "I've been trying to shake him, but we're about to hit traffic on the next overpass."

"Then get off the highway," he commanded. "Find another route."

Jigen looked at his sheet. The man's name was Korosky. Nothing rung a bell. "Whatever you want."

He made the next exit, and the blue car was tailing, two behind. He heard Korosky shifting around in the back nervously. "You scared?"

"Nah," he said without real emotion. "Oh, and hold on." He veered the car sideways, making and abrupt turn into a quieter street. Unfortunately, their pursuer seemed to get the message and pulled up behind them. Shots from an unfamiliar gun roared in his ears as the car swung out of control. "Fuck. He shot a tire. Still holding on?" He managed to slow it down, but only by doing a 180 that brought the car to a halt.

"Stay in the car," the client ordered him, and stepped out to meet the two men getting out of the other car. They were short and puggish, and brandishing guns.

Damnit. If Korosky got killed, the ride would come out of his pay. He got out, not even bothering to ready his weapon. Korosky and the men were yelling in Russian.

"This doesn't involve you," one said to Jigen in Japanese. "Unless you want to die for this man."

"Not for this guy. But not for you, either." He drew his gun and shot the gun out of the man's hands without so much as an extra twitch. "Now GET LOST."

It took another couple shots in the air and one aimed rather close to their heads, but the thugs seemed to get the message. Korosky turned to him, trying to see under his hat.

"You saved my life," Korosky said without formality. "What's your name, kid?"

"Jigen," he said, reholstering his gun. "And I'm not a kid."

His client had a wicked smile on his face. "Obviously not. Where are you from? You're not a national. Not totally, anyway."

Jigen said nothing as he opened the passenger door.

"I could report this to the police. You have an unlicensed firearm. And you assaulted two men."

"It was self-defense," he said impatiently.

"Technically, yes." Korosky was still smiling, but he did get in the backseat. Jigen started up the car again as if nothing had happened, but his client wasn't done speaking. "Tell me, Jigen-san, have you ever been to Russia?"

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Silvia Magnelli expected Chris to jump in front of her, or at least make some attempt to take down the gunman who had a pistol pointed at her head. Sure, their marriage wasn't perfect, but it seemed like a nice courtesy. "Chris – "

"No." He merely stepped away from her, in the opposite direction. "This is between you and him."

That seemed impossible. She didn't know this hairy thug who looked like he had stepped out of a 30's gangster movie. Granted, her life was a gangster movie, but she liked to think she lived in the right decade. "It's been a while," he said, smoke coming out in plumes from his mouth. His grip on the gun was perfect and unwavering, as if blowing her brains out would be the easiest thing in the world.

Skinny, arrogant, black eyes that were hidden carefully behind a fedora, a distinct gun – he looked like a ghost of someone she knew. A friend of Chris', that punk with a Jap mother. "Jimmy?"

"Somehow I didn't really think you would have forgotten me." Nothing about him wavered, not even an inch. "You've got about five seconds to explain why I shouldn't blast you to hell. Five. Four – "

"Jimmy," she said with some resolve. After all, her life was on the line. Jimmy Diesi, who had once been an attractive, clean-shaven up-and-comer in the Outfit. "I can't – Chris, do you know who this is?"

"I should; I had him shot," he said coldly. "At the time, I didn't feel remotely bad about it. Now it just tears me up inside."

"Hey, I said to forget it," Jimmy said with a smirk. "Doesn't let her off the hook."

"You guys. What am I really supposed to do? You were always scheming together. Thick as thieves," she said. For some reason, this made Jimmy chuckle. She ignored it. "Something tells me whatever I say is going to get turned against me."

"Karma, ne?" Jimmy said. "Three, by the way."

"Okay, okay." She turned to Chris, but he stared back at her coldly. "I have to say I'm impressed. You survived, changed your identity, and turned my husband against me. What do you want, Diesi? There must be something – other than me dead."

"No. Two."

"Come on. I don't remember you being such a simple man." She was getting nervous. "Seriously. What do you want? I have everything."

"Funny – so do I. One." He turned the safety off.

Silvia closed her eyes. There was no point in running – Jimmy was an excellent shot, and this was a very small room. All she heard, though, was a click – of an empty gun barrel. She opened her eyes – and he had lowered his gun, flipping open the barrel. No bullets.

"This is why I'm sorta glad I was kicked out," Jimmy said. "I've got no heart for execution. Especially in a church."

"Yeah," Chris said. "I always knew that. Silvia – you're in with Tony, and he's going down. So you're going down with him."

"Oh, and you're such a saint," Silvia said, but then remembered she had to keep herself in check. Somebody in this room was still armed. But her life had just been spared, and she was relieved.

"You won't see me again," Chris said coldly. "Which is, I suppose, the way it has to go. I'll mail you the divorce papers when I get your prison address."

"You're just going to leave me here?"

"If anyone asks where Chris went," Jimmy said, "tell him he left with a ghost." He fired into the air, sending a cloud of smoke over the room. By the time it had cleared, they were gone.

"LUPIN!" The door next to her swung open, and a very disheveled Asian man stormed in. "Where's Lupin? Where is he hiding?!?"

"Who the hell is Lupin?"

"He's a very dangerous criminal and he's hiding here somewhere!" He looked about ready to tear up in the wooden pews. "Lupin! Wait – are you Lupin? Is this some clever disguise?"

"What? No – "

But he had already slapped the cuffs on her. At that moment the regular policemen and FBI agents followed him in. "Inspector Zenigara!"

"Zenigata," he muttered.

"You've single-handedly brought down an entire crime family – and it looks like you've caught one of the Magnellis," said the agent. "Congratulations!"

"Uh... thanks." Never did a cop seem less enthusiastic about praise.