(Standard disclaimers apply)
The Wake
4. Taken
His dreams had been troubled for as long as he could remember. Ever since he was a young child, he would wake up crying, not knowing the exact cause of his distress. He could never recall what his dreams were about. All he remembered were the suffocating feelings of hurt and anger and betrayal that followed him into the waking world. He was not even sure if those feelings were his own or someone else's. What he did know for sure was that somewhere, someone was lonely and was trying to reach out. Reaching out for who or what, he could not tell.
'I'm here' he wanted to say to that seeking presence. But he had no voice. He had lost his ability to be heard years ago.
XXXXXX
Ryuji woke up with a start, his brow tinged with sweat. Taking in a ragged breath, he tried to remain calm under the barrage of intense emotions that always plagued him during his first few minutes after waking. He allowed his gaze to roam and it quickly dawned on him that he was lying on his side, in a car (the hand brake was digging uncomfortably into his shoulder) and on someone's lap. That last bit of information caused his heart to leap to the back of his throat, for he definitely felt it beating there. The owner of the lap on which his head was resting was wearing black pants. And he could think of only one person who wore black pants all the time.
In retrospect, what he did next was decidedly unwise. He should have noticed that the owner of those black pants was still asleep at the time, and that he could have sneaked away without being noticed; but he didn't. What he ended up doing was jerk upright, smash his skull against Porcupine-head's chin with a loud crack and cleave to the opposite end of the car in a desperate attempt to place as much distance between them as possible. His panicking mind failed to point out to him that he should have opened the car door then and run as if a pack of hellhounds were snapping on his heels. As a consequence, he was still gawping like an idiot on the passenger seat when Porcupine-head's beady, hostile eyes fell on him.
"Damn you, Ginji! Can't you…" Those eyes widened in shock when what Porcupine-head saw finally pierced the haze of sleep over his mind.
Ryuji knew what the short-fused Get Backer was about to ask next, so he beat him to it. "Ick! Why the hell are you sleeping next to me!" The best defense is offense.
Porcupine-head looked furious, stunned and confused at the same time. Perhaps the psychological trauma of discovering that they had spent one whole night in close proximity to each other had yet to pass. "That's my line, you brat! This is my car! How the hell did you end up sleeping in my car!"
Ryuji seriously thought about the question. How the hell, indeed. He recalled their fiery exchange last night, whereby he had successfully tricked Porcupine-head into promising to let him stay with Ginji- at the cost of more cigarettes; but it was a small price to pay. As for what happened afterwards, his memories drew a blank. He must have fallen asleep sometime during the rest of their drive back to Honky Tonk, or wherever the car was parked right now. No matter what, Porcupine-head was the one who fell asleep after him, so he was the one to be blamed for this highly regrettable incident. "Believe me, it's definitely not because I wanted to! And if you really did mind so much, how come you didn't kick me out last night, instead of glowering at me now as if it's all my fault?"
"It is your fault!" barked Porcupine-head, the confused look still lingering on his face. Ryuji was beginning to suspect that something about what happened last night deeply troubled Porcupine-head; so much so that the jerk's usually sharp barbed comebacks were presently quite blunted. "If you hadn't…"
"Please try to keep it down, Ban-chan," piped a familiar, groggy voice from the backseat. "It's really hard to sleep when you're yelling like that."
Immense relief flooded Ryuji upon hearing that voice. Porcupine-head wouldn't dare do anything to him with Ginji around... well, most of the time anyway. At the very least, Ginji could serve as a good distraction when he and Porcupine-head were a hair away from chewing each other out both figuratively and literally. Like right now."Ginji!" There was a deep-throated rumbling coming from Porcupine-head, making him sound like a bulldog about to pounce. "Care to explain to me why you're back there while little psycho here is on the front seat with me?"
With hair sticking out at odd, messy angles, Ginji sat up and yawned loudly. "I came back late last night and uh… heh… got a bit lost on my way back. I didn't have enough money on me to pay for the return ticket, so I had to walk the rest of the way and um… You know how bad my sense of direction is, so…" Ginji blinked his sleep-glazed eyes. "Sorry, what was your question again?"
Before Porcupine-head could do more than sound like a bulldog and do the actual pouncing itself, Ryuji quickly supplied the question. "Why didn't you wake us up when you got back?"
"Oh, that." Ginji chortled in amusement. "Both of you looked so cozy together that I didn't have the heart to wake either of you up."
Both Porcupine-head and he could only stare at the blonde with identical gob-smacked expressions on their faces. What was frightening, and even a little disturbing, was that there was no trace of sarcasm in Ginji's voice. For someone who demonstrated unbelievably keen perceptiveness at times, it was baffling how Ginji could be so blind to certain glaringly obvious truths; such as if Ryuji was given the choice between sleeping on an anthill and sleeping near Porcupine-head, he'd choose the anthill any time.
"I'm hungry. What are we having for breakfast?" asked Ginji, radiating innocence like a small sun.
XXXXXX
Ginji whimpered as he massaged the tender lump on top of his cranium. "Ban-chan, is it my imagination or are you hitting me more than usual lately?"
"It's your imagination," said Ban unrepentantly. They had managed to ditch the brat at the ratty apartment he was staying (most likely rented using the rewards of his thieving career) and were presently making their way to Honky Tonk to see if they could wheedle some breakfast out of the tightfisted café owner. "I could bloody well have woken up with a knife between my ribs thanks to you, partner."
Ban was still having difficulty believing that he had dropped his guard so much as to actually fall asleep with the brat right next to him. He was a survivalist, and one does not survive by falling asleep with potential hostiles nearby. His grandmother would somersault in her grave if she ever witnessed this incredibly stupid blunder of his. Since the day he spurned Maria's protection, the only people he had ever slept soundly with had been Himiko and her brother and, more recently, Ginji only. Having to use his Jagan thrice in rapid succession last night must have drained him more than he realized. That was the only logical explanation for his carelessness.
"Ryuji would never do such a thing!" said Ginji, sounding genuinely shocked by the implication. No surprise there, seeing how Ginji was always so quick to trust and so slow to believe his trust was misplaced despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. However, Ban was grateful for this trait of Ginji's that had allowed the blonde to stick by him for such a long time. Not even Himiko's warnings or, though Ban wasn't aware of it, Miroku's were able to drive Ginji away. "I think you're overreacting a little. Ryuji is a nice kid."
For reasons he would rather not think about too deeply, Ginji's quick defense of the brat ground on Ban's nerves like broken glass. "I can think of a thousand adjectives to describe that pain in the ass, Ginji," snapped Ban. "And 'nice' is definitely not one of them. In fact, 'nice' hurtles in the opposite direction of every word I would use to describe him."
Ginji frowned, clearly not pleased with the way he had chosen to label the brat. "I don't see how you could even suspect him of hurting you. You're the one who hits him all the time. It's never the other way round."
Ban swung his right hand in front of Ginji's face and waved his index finger about in an almost menacing manner. Ginji had to stop in his tracks to avoid having one of his eyes accidentally poked out. "Yeah? Then try explaining this."
Ginji's eyes tracked the waving finger nervously. "Explain what?"
"The cut on my finger, you nincompoop!" yelled Ban, focusing his ire on Ginji only because his intended target was out of range at the moment. "That pet dog of yours not only barks, but bites as well!"
"Ryuji did that to you?" Ginji's frown deepened. "When did this happen?"
"Just last night."
"What happened last night?" asked Ginji curiously.
"He…" Ban caught himself before he revealed more than he should. "Never mind." Saying anything more on the matter would only make Ginji ask more questions that he would much prefer not to answer. Ban deliberately avoided Ginji's eyes and dug into his breast pocket for a cigarette. Upon finding only an empty rumpled packet, he swore loudly. "Damn!"
Ginji smiled weakly at him. "I thought you went out to buy cigarettes last night."
Ban tried to school his features into one that didn't resemble guilt nailed to a wall. "Eh…" Think, brain, think! "None of the vending machines were working and I couldn't find a grocery that was open at that hour." The lie sounded feeble even to his own ears. There had never been a shortage of 24/7 stores in Shinjuku; and no matter how dense Ginji may be, he could not possibly be ignorant of that fact.
"Ban-chan." Ginji sounded resigned rather than accusatory. "If I need to know something, you'll tell me, won't you?"
Ban was once again reminded why they worked so well as a team. "Of course." Ginji's implicit trust in him was more than what he deserved.
"Good. That's settled then." Ginji's smile widened. "Can we get going now? I'm really looking forward to that breakfast."
Shaking his head in amazement, Ban watched Ginji skip ahead of him with that childish exuberance which always made him feel decades older than his partner. However, he would not wish it to be any other way. Having seen and experienced first-hand the other side Ginji, the full dark, brooding intensity of Raitei, Ban had taken upon himself to make sure Ginji remained the way he was supposed to be. If it meant having to keep a few ugly secrets, so be it.
XXXXXX
The waiting room was crammed full of people of different ages and races, the only things common between them were their impaired health and desire to get better. The receptionist, whose duties also included managing the practice and performing in the capacity of a nurse, was busy registering one of the patients when the door swung open to admit a scruffy kid with a limp. The receptionist became slightly wary when she saw that there weren't any accompanying adults with him. The kid cast a dismissive glance at the crowd around him and proceeded to walk nonchalantly into the treatment room, shutting the door behind him with a distinctive click. The sheer audacity of the kid temporarily froze the receptionist, but outrage soon stirred her into action.
So the practice wasn't exactly located at the friendliest of neighborhoods and it wouldn't be the first time that their drug cupboard was raided. However, it was the first time she had seen riffraff from the streets going about it so blatantly in front of so many witnesses. Armed with righteous indignation as well as the baseball bat that she had kept hidden under the table, the receptionist marched towards the treatment room, determined to evict the young punk by force if necessary. She failed to notice the looks of trepidation she was drawing from the patients in the waiting room; and, frankly, she wouldn't have cared even if she had noticed. Her job was tough enough as it was without complications such as drug-addicts attempting to rob her employer right under her very nose. A highly effective deterrent was called for in such situations and she found, through experience, that the simple threat of imminent bodily harm spoke louder than any number of words of gentle persuasion.
After unlocking the door with one of the keys in her possession, the receptionist slowly stepped into the treatment room, her bat raised in preparation for either self-defense or intimidation. What she saw caused her to lower the baseball bat uncertainly. The kid had taken out only the antiseptic solution and wound dressings from the cupboards and was tending a punched-out wound in his right calf. Perspiration had caused the kid's black locks to cling to the sides of his face, and she could see that he was gritting his teeth in pain. The kid did not even look up when she entered, either because he was too engrossed in his task or because he had chosen to ignore her completely.
Feeling that it was up to her to break the silence, she issued her warning, "Who do you think you are! Barging in here like this and just helping yourself to whatever's on the shelves! If you don't leave this instant, I'll call…"
A calm, familiar voice brought a sudden halt to her outburst. "It's okay. I know the boy."
She turned around to find her employer, the sole practitioner of the clinic, standing behind her. The lanky man in the white coat had streaks of grey hair at his temples and an eye patch covering his left eye. "You… know this kid, Dr. Mikaido?"
"Yup," the doctor said simply. "So, you won't be needing that for now." He took the bat from her unresisting hands and leaned it against the wall. As his attention returned to the injured kid, the usual carefree smile on his face became strained. "Will you cease your amateurish efforts and stop wasting my supplies? You can't get a decent clean of that wound until you get some local injected into the area."
The insolent kid ignored the doctor as completely as he had ignored her earlier. Her fingers twitched with the urge to march forward and smack some manners into the kid, who reminded her too much of her own surly teenage son. Unaffected by the icy treatment he was getting, Dr. Mikaido went about getting the local anaesthetic ready and then approached the kid with the hypodermic syringe in his hand. Surprisingly, the kid did not protest or put up a fight when the doctor swatted his hands away and examined the wound more closely. "Keep still. This will sting a bit."
The kid winced when the needle penetrated his skin but made no sound. The kid remained so quiet throughout the doctor's friendly chatter and careful ministrations that she was beginning to wonder whether he was a mute.
"I really wish you would take better care of yourself. The bullet had missed the vital structures this time, but you might not be so lucky next time," said Dr. Mikaido, bandaging the thoroughly cleaned wound with an efficiency that came from years of experience. The doctor's expression turned wistful. "However, I'm glad that you're still willing to come to me for help. It has been a while since I've last seen you. How have you been?" When his question was met with utter silence, the doctor merely sighed. He taped the bandage in place and stood up. "Don't get up yet. I'm giving you an antibiotic as well as a tetanus booster shot just in case."
After the injections were given, the kid wasted no time getting up and moving towards the door. It was almost as if he couldn't get away fast enough.
"I've missed you," said Dr. Mikaido, causing the kid to pause in mid-step. "You can come and stay with me anytime, you know. If you want to."
The kid's face, like his dark eyes, was taut and unrevealing. The receptionist could not understand why the kid refused to acknowledge Dr. Mikaido at all. In the end, the kid left without saying anything.
"Who is that kid?" asked the receptionist, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer.
"He's my ward and nephew," said the doctor somewhat ruefully. "I'm afraid I haven't been a responsible guardian ever since I took him under my wing."
"With that attitude of his, I can easily understand why you're having difficulties with him. Is he… um… mute?"
"No." The doctor pulled off his latex gloves and threw them into a bin. "He just refuses to talk to me, that's all."
She helped to clear away the dirty bandages and iodine-soaked cotton gauze. "Why? Is he angry with you for some reason?"
"You can say that." The doctor absently raised a hand to touch his eye patch. "He would have been a happier kid if it hadn't been for me."
When she saw that her line of questioning was making the doctor increasingly sombre, she decided to change the subject. "Break's over, doctor. You've a waiting room full of patients clamouring for your attention right now."
Dr. Mikaido flashed her a grateful look before walking out of the treatment room. Soon after, she picked up her baseball bat and followed him. Sometimes, the maintenance of a relationship depends on the preservation of boundaries.
XXXXXX
"You blood-sucking scrooge!"
The howl was directed at the impassive smoking man behind the counter. "Oh yes, using one of your nicknames for Hevn on me is going a long way to convince me to ignore your tab."
"You know how excellent we are at our jobs! We can settle that 317, 270 yen debt easily once we complete any high-pay assignments that come our way."
"It's not your ability to complete assignments that I have doubts about."
A palm came down heavily on the counter, force kept in check so that no property damage was done. After the smashed wall incident, Paul was pleased to see that Ban had become more cautious in demonstrating his strength during his fits of rage. "It's not our fault that our clients refuse to pay us afterwards!"
"It's really aggravating when people owe you money but don't pay up, isn't it?"
"My point exac-" Ban's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Now what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means what you think it means," said Paul evenly. "I can't keep this business afloat if I keep on handing out free food and coffee. You two eat and drink enough for ten people."
Ban glowered at him. "We're not asking for free food like beggars! We're only asking that you put it on our tab so that we can pay for it later!"
"Ban-chan, Master does have a point." Ginji was attempting to fulfill his daily calorie requirement by consuming the sugar that was placed on the tables. Paul made a mental note to keep the sugar hidden from sight and dispense it only upon request by his customers henceforth. "Maybe we should come back after we get enough money to pay off the debt." Ginji's placating smile faltered when Ban's glower shifted from Paul to him.
"We wouldn't be in this position if we've gotten that one million yen from our last assignment! And whose fault was that?" Before Ginji could even open his mouth to speak, Ban raged on. "Yours! Yes, yours! And no! Don't tell me you're sorry! Being sorry doesn't do anything to fill our pockets or our stomachs! And will you stop hogging the sugar and hand me one of those bowls!"
Paul was almost moved to pity when he saw his two successors downing one mouthful of sugar after another, the sickly sweetness of pure sucrose eventually causing their faces to scrunch up in distaste. Almost. "Instead of whining about your current bankrupt state, why don't you two go out and do something about it?"
"Easy for you to say," grumbled Ban, granules of sugar flying from his mouth. "All you do is sit here in this air-conditioned café and expect customers to fall on your lap! We, on the other hand, actually have to stand outside and draw our customers under the blistering sun."
Paul rolled his eyes heavenward, the movement neatly hidden by his shades. "You should be thankful that I'm letting you use my air-conditioned café as a meeting place for your business dealings."
"You should be thankful that we're bringing in more business for you. Hey, come to think of it, you should be paying us commission…"
Paul blocked out the rest of what Ban had to say and concentrated on reading his newspaper instead. Hmm. The price of petrol had increased by another twenty yen per litre today. Transport costs would undoubtedly increase as a result. He wondered if he would need to increase the price of his coffees one day.
"… Are you even listening to me?" said Ban angrily.
"Nope," said Paul, taking a drag on his cigarette. "By the way, Himiko said she'd be coming in today to look for the two of you. Mentioned something about an antidote and how much you still owe…"
A panicked look seized Ban's features and he rounded on Ginji who was sitting next to him. "Enough of sitting around here whining, Ginji! Up, up, up! It's time to look for more work!"
"But I didn't-"
"Stop arguing with me and move!" Ban propelled Ginji out through the door with a firm shove to the back.
Paul took a moment to relish the peaceful silence that was restored to the Honky Tonk. He had met the famed Lady Poison only a few times, but he was starting to like her already. The beatific expression slid off his face when the phone chose that moment to ring.
XXXXXX
"Unfortunately, you've just missed them." The voice coming through the receiver had a weary tone to it. "They left here not long ago."
"Can you tell me where I can find them?" The man in the phone booth crushed the flyer he was holding in his gnarled hand without being aware of doing so.
"I don't normally keep track of their whereabouts. They could be anywhere in the city. Why don't you leave behind your number and I'll get them to call you when I see them?"
"No, I'd prefer to meet them face-to-face when I discuss my matters with them." The man unclenched his fist and smoothed out the wrinkles in the flyer. "When do you think they'll be back at the café?"
"My guess is sometime later today or maybe even tomorrow. As I've said, I don't keep track of their comings and goings."
"Thanks anyway. I'll try to get hold of them whenever I can then," said the man before hanging up.
Shortly after he stepped out of the booth, a woman's distressed shriek drew his attention to a young purse-snatcher heading towards him. While the other pedestrians scrambled hastily to get out of the way, the man remained still and held out his walking stick before him.
A knife flashed menacingly in the one of the purse-snatcher's hands. "Get out of my way, old-"
No one at the scene could give a clear account of what happened next. Even the purse-snatcher, who was the directly involved party, could not explain how he was running on flat ground one second and dangling from a nearby tree branch the next. Perhaps the only person who could shed some light on the matter was the mysterious old man who had been standing less than five feet away from the purse-snatcher when it happened, but he was nowhere to be found for questioning.
XXXXXX
Ryuji didn't want to be here. His leg was still sore; there was still a crick in his neck from his awkward sleeping position the previous night; and worst of all, he was forced into a position where he had to behave civilly towards the people around him. If he was to say 'Irasshaimase' one more time in an artificially jovial voice, he would throw up. Why, oh why, had he allowed that perky waitress to dupe him into this?
"Here's the skinny latte for number two, and three glasses of iced tea for number seven." Ryuji silently took the tray of drinks that was pushed into his hands. "And don't forget to smile." Ryuji could tell that the man in the apron enjoyed torturing him like this.
The smile Ryuji plastered on his face was frozen and fake, almost painful to look at, and looked more like a frown turned upside down.
"On second thought, maybe you should go back to looking the way you were before," said the man in the apron. "Just try to look a little less murderous this time, okay?"
Ryuji did not find the jibe amusing in the least. "Hey, I didn't agree to this! My agreement with that girl-"
"Her name's Natsumi. Mizuki Natsumi."
"I don't care what her name is! The thing is that I've never agreed to serve any customers! I thought I was only supposed to… I dunno… clean dishes or something."
"You've agreed to take over my assistant's job for the rest of her shift. And that, my boy, involves serving customers. Now get going before that coffee turns cold."
Ryuji shambled away with the drinks in his hands, sulking all the way. When he returned to the counter for the next round of drinks to be distributed, the man in the apron dropped a pair of rubber gloves onto his tray.
Ryuji looked up at the man with uncomprehending eyes. "What's the meaning of this?"
"You should've told me that you're hurt. Why don't you go and do some washing at the sink while I handle…"
Bristling like an offended cat, Ryuji snarled, "So what if I'm hurt? You think I can't even do something as easy as serving drinks in my present condition?" Ryuji swept the gloves off the tray and started piling steaming cups of coffee on it. "Which tables do these go to?"
The man in the apron looked like he was about to say something else but Ryuji's stubborn, challenging stare convinced him to change his mind. "Two short blacks and one hot chocolate for number eight. The rest are for number twelve."
The next two hours passed in a flurry of activity for Ryuji. He refused to slow down even when his wound started to throb. It took the man in the apron several tries to finally persuade him to take up his dishwashing duties. At that time, the last of the customers had left and Ryuji reluctantly conceded that there was more washing to be done than serving.
He was about to begin the washing when the man in the apron stopped him. "You can do that later. Sit down and have a cup of coffee with me first."
Ryuji saw that there were two cups of coffee set out on the counter. "I'd rather finish this…"
"Those dirty cups and saucers aren't going anywhere. Sit. You've been working non-stop since you came in; you're making me look like a slave driver."
Ryuji decided to take up the offer, as it would give him the chance to rest his leg. Not that he needed the rest, of course. The aroma of the coffee that wafted into his nostrils was one that he was not familiar with despite having served practically every single coffee on the menu that evening.
The man in the apron chuckled. "This coffee is called Blue Mountain, in case you're wondering. I only make it on special occasions; for friends, old and new."
Ryuji made no move to touch the cup. "How much are you charging for it?" he asked, deliberately misinterpreting the gesture of friendship.
There was a brief pause before the man in the apron responded, "You don't like to accept gifts from strangers, do you?"
"Yes." He had no qualms about stealing from strangers though; especially filthy rich ones who wouldn't know how to use their money wisely anyway.
"That problem is easily solved." The man in the apron extended his hand over the counter. "Hi, I'm Wan Paul. Pleased to meet you."
Ryuji ignored the proffered handshake. "Stop being ridiculous."
The hand did not waver. "You're the one being ridiculous here. It's only a cup of coffee I'm offering you, and this is just a handshake."
Ryuji eyed the café owner's hand as if it was diseased. "If I drink the coffee, will you keep that hand to yourself?"
"I'm not contagious."
"Look, I've agreed to drink your damned coffee already," growled Ryuji in exasperation. "What more do you want from me?"
"Well, more appreciation of my personally brewed coffee, for a start." Wan Paul finally withdrew his rejected hand. "But I suppose we should take things slowly, one step at a time."
Ryuji stirred four teaspoons of sugar into his coffee before lifting the cup to his lips. He found himself wishing that the coffee tasted horrid so that he would have another reason to snap at the man in front of him. He was dreadfully disappointed. "This actually doesn't taste too disgusting," said Ryuji generously.
If Wan Paul was upset by his comment, he gave no indication of it. "I'm amazed that you can even taste the coffee after you've added in all that sugar. You really should try it without sugar one day."
Ryuji studied Wan Paul quietly as he took a second sip. "You know, in some ways, you remind me a lot of Amano Ginji."
Wan Paul's eyebrows lifted in amusement. "And in some ways, you remind me a lot of Mido Ban."
Predictably, Ryuji choked on his drink. He gasped, wheezed and clawed at his throat as he tried to expel the hot liquid that had gone down the wrong tube. When he recovered, he lifted his head to glare at the older man with the stern ferocity of an executioner. "Don't. You. Ever. Say. That. Again," Ryuji warned. "Ever."
Wan Paul shrugged. "I'm merely voicing my observations."
"Do me a favour and keep your goddamned observations to yourself!" snapped Ryuji, his temper fraying. Ugh! The nerve of that man to even suggest such a preposterous thing! He's nothing like Porcupine-head! Nothing!
The jangle of bells that accompanied the opening of the café door cut off Ryuji's internal screams of denial.
Tap.
The sound of a metallic stick striking the hard polished surface of the floor was loud in the suddenly quiet café. Instinctively, Ryuji's whole body began to tense up and tremble. His heartbeat quickened and pounded in his ears. Danger. That was what he sensed coming from the person approaching him from the side. His hand inconspicuously reached for the switchblade he had concealed in an inner pocket of his jacket. Ryuji kept his eyes carefully focused straight ahead at Wan Paul, who mirrored the grave look on his face. Neither of them said anything or moved as the person who had entered the café walked towards them.
"Fancy meeting you here again, kid."
Ryuji recognized that voice, and there was no more doubt in his mind as to who the person was. Escape was impossible and any resistance on his part would be futile, if not suicidal, but he could at least try to draw the danger away from Wan Paul. Without turning his head, he flung the cup he was holding in his left hand at the wizened man before leaping off the barstool and sprinting towards the exit. He couldn't risk getting too close to the man to attempt a stab; so he threw his knife instead, aiming for the thigh. There was a clang of metal hitting metal behind him, informing him that his knife had been deflected, which didn't surprise him. He knew that it was a long shot anyway. Ryuji's fingers almost brushed the doorknob before the back of his head exploded in pain and the world turned black around him.
XXXXXX
"Stay back," commanded the old man, holding up the boy's limp body by the neck with one hand. His other hand held his walking stick parallel to the ground in a battle stance.
Paul assumed his most harmless-looking manner as he continued to take small steps towards the old man. "Oh, come on. You can hardly consider me a threat, can you? Not with the abilities you have."
The old man tightened his grip on the boy's neck and Paul froze immediately. "Most people don't consider me a threat as well, and you can see how wrong they are."
"You were the caller asking for the Get Backers earlier, weren't you?" asked Paul, his face hardening with impotent fury.
"Yes," said the old man. "And you must be the owner of this place who took my call."
"If you're after the Get Backers, why are you targeting this boy?" Paul demanded. "He has nothing to do with them."
"One of the Get Backers also said the same thing to me last night. I didn't believe him then, and I don't believe you now." The old man draped the boy over one of his shoulders with ease, his shrunken frame belying his strength. "I'll call again to set a time and place for them to meet me. Don't worry. No harm will come to this boy as long as they accede to my request."
At that moment, the door opened again and a petite tanned woman stepped into the scene.
XXXXXX
Two suspicious-looking figures were seen hiding behind a vehicle that was parked near the Honky Tonk café. Occasionally, one of them would stick his head out to cast a furtive glance through the glass window of the café before quickly ducking out of sight.
"Damn it, I can't get a good view at this angle. We have to move closer," said the darker-haired of the two.
"I don't see why we have to sneak around like this," said his mildly self-conscious companion. "Even if Himiko is inside…"
"Before you say anything more along those lines, tell me why we're hiding from her in the first place."
"Er… Because we owe her money?"
"Yes, and why do we owe her money?"
"Because… of me?"
"Yes. So, that makes it…?" The unfinished sentence hung in the air.
"My fault?" squeaked Ginji.
"Good. I'm glad you understand," said Ban as they scuttled behind another car- one that offered them a better view of the Honky Tonk's interior.
"It still doesn't make sense for us to avoid Himiko but not Master. We owe both of them money, don't we?"
"Can we not debate about this right now?" said Ban irritably. "It's now your turn to check and see if that vixen is there."
Ginji raised part of his head above the hood of the car and peered into the café. He saw the person whom he was supposed to look out for, but he also noticed other things. Overturned chairs. Broken tables. Unmistakable signs of a battle. A feeling of unease came over him. "Ban-chan…"
"What? Is Himiko in there?"
"Yes, but-"
"Get down then, you baka!" hissed Ban, grabbing Ginji by the collar and forcing him to the ground.
"No… Something's wrong!" Ginji stood up suddenly, startling Ban into releasing his grip, and rushed into the café.
Cursing a mean streak, Ban followed suit. His cursing stopped when he saw what had caused Ginji to behave the way he did. Ginji was trying to find out what had happened from a lightly bandaged Himiko and a solemn Paul, the blonde's agitation making his words barely coherent. Ban caught sight of something familiar glinting on the floor and picked it up.
"… just suddenly attacked…"
"… no, I've never met this guy before…"
"… why was Ryuji…"
As he retracted the blade of the flick knife in his hand, Ban interjected, "Was it an old man who took the brat away?"
The other three people in the cafe stopped talking and turned towards him in surprise. It was Paul who finally answered. "Yes."
Ban rubbed his fatigued eyes. He could tell that it was going to be another long night.
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Author's note: I apologize for this extremely late update. Writing this story has become increasingly difficult for me, but I'm not giving up yet. And to show that I haven't given up on this fic, I've put up this chapter despite misgivings about its quality and its content (e.g. evil cliffhanger, highly contrived scenes, new characters that come and go faster than you can blink). Any feedback is welcomed. Thanks Atropos' Knife, for pointing out to me that the Jagan is a technique that drains its user significantly. I hope I have managed to acknowledge this fact in this chapter. Once again, I wish to thank Bahaghari for her gracious help in proofreading this chapter for me. I like to respond to each reviewer personally; so do leave behind an email address or some means for me to get hold of your email address (e.g. by logging in when you review) if you want me to reply to you :) Thanks for reading.