Session 12

The hours sucked the light from the alleyway, bathing it in a deep red. It would have been harder to see things if Masanori and his pair of enforcers, Dagger and Blake, weren't well accustomed to twilight stakeouts. Still, Masanori scrubbed his eyes while having Dagger take a turn staring through the cracked windowpane, Jayce certainly was taking his sweet time showing his scarred face. Masanori did figure this would be a long wait, but not all day.

Masanori glanced over at the corner where Blake reclined, an old ball cap with the logo worn off pulled down over his eyes. The man was snoring. Not that Masanori could blame him. The only excitement they'd had was when Dagger accidentally disrupted a sleeping bat. Fortunately some kids having an impromptu jazz session nearby covered the bat-chasing ruckus. Apparently Blake wasn't fond of small wings of death. No one was supposed to be up in this joint. That was the last thing needed, some curious cad checking the screaming out. Not that Masanori hadn't been forced to clean-up after prior wet work before. It was just that he liked to keep things nice and simple. A tangential murder fell far from that.

"Hey, boss." Dagger whispered from his post. "C'mere. I think we got a problem."

Masanori sighed as he trudged across the room. "What now? If we blow this job I'll have a lot of explaining to do. Jayce already evaded Jamieson's crew. That's why the job fell into Mao's hands."

Dagger pointed down into the alley. "Ain't that kid supposed to be our primary lookout?"

"Yeah." Leaning toward the windowpane, Masanori's eyes widened.

There in the alley beneath a lamppost the kid he'd fetched from Mao's raw recruits slumped, sound-a-bloody-sleep!

"Fat lo' of good this does us if'n all he can see is the inside of his eyelids."

Masanori's nails bit into the splintered wood of the windowsill.

Dagger shrugged. "One of the wors'. First he up and vanished while we was bat chasing, and now he's takin' a damn nap."

"It has been a long day." Masanori grumbled. "But still, he has one job."

"You told 'em to whistle, right?"

"Who do you think you're talking to? Damn right I told him that."

"Jus' checkin', boss."

Masanori threw him a dirty look. "Say that again."

"Wha' … Jus' checkin'?"

A growl and a pumped fist answered Dagger.

"Boss?"

Masanori ground his fist into the palm of his hand. "That part. Now you remember who is boss." And who will take the blame if this whole thing goes south. Still, I didn't pick the boy. That was on the suggestion of Mao's trainer. Sooo, maybe I won't—

A strange melodic whistle derailed his train of thought. Masanori whipped his attention down into the alley as the whistle repeated again. A man in a hoodie strode through the street toward the kid bathed in the streetlamp. The whistle—came from Spike!

As Dagger grabbed his blades, Masanori grabbed Blake's cap off his head as he passed by, rousing the snoozing man. "Wake up, Jayce is on the scene."

About damn time! Masanori cracked his knuckles. "You boys know what to do. Let's earn our reps."

~CB~

Spike peered through the slits of his eyes. The mark heard his whistle, but didn't slow his pace any as he trudged on past, rounding the corner.

This wasn't good. Jayce was getting away. From the tone in Masanori's voice earlier Spike could tell this guy was important for some reason.

Rolling up from his station beneath the lamplight, Spike eyed his back. Can't see Masanori yet. Gotta keep him here.

Flicking a pebble at the back of Jayce's head, Spike shouted, "Hey scar-face, you lose a match with a cat or something?"

The man froze in his tracks and ever so slowly turned around, a snarl distorting the already marred features of his face. "You talkin' to me, shrimp?"

Spike shrugged. "Well, you responded … sooo yeah. Guess so."

Jayce's fingers clawed the air. "You little shit!" He lunged toward Spike.

Agile as a cat, Spike sprung backward and grabbed onto the railing of the fire escape. He scrambled upward, laughing as he listened to the stream of curses below. Boy, was Jayce mad! When Spike spared a glance down he saw why. Jayce repeatedly jumped trying to catch onto the fire escape and repeatedly failed.

Now the real fun began. After all, Spike had spent all day staring at this alley and memorizing where shit was. Hand and footholds abounded as he darted along, evading the reach of the hooded target. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike caught the door to the building opening and out came Masanori flanked by two guys.

Jayce, distracted by Spike and foaming at the mouth, didn't notice a damn thing.

Spike leaned down, stretching his arm out so his fingertips were just out of reach. "Come and get me, dirtbag!"

"You little shit! I'll paint the alley with your blood when I catch you!"

Spike snickered. "That's nothing compared to what they're gonna do to you."

Jayce cocked an eyebrow, ceasing his mad scrambling for a moment. "Who?"

"The guys I'm helping." Spike pointed behind Jayce.

He turned in time for Masanori's bullet to smack him in the shoulder. Jayce screamed like a trapped rat, shoes slipping as he tried to gain enough traction to run. In a blind mad dash, he darted for the alley's exit leaving a trail of blood behind him … followed shortly by Masanori and company.

Time having been bought for them, Spike flipped down to the pavement and leaned against the wall near the lamp. He didn't have long to wait before three sets of footsteps came his way.

Lazily Spike looked up into the shadows of Masanori's face, he was flanked by two other dudes Spike hadn't met yet, but they were all grins. "Yo." Spike grinned. "You catch up with your guy?"

Masanori extended a hand and clasped Spike's warmly. "Sure did."

Dagger flashed a blade before tucking it away beneath his jacket. "Added a few new scars to that jackwad."

Blake sniggered. "Not that it matters to a corpse."

"Hey, though' you was nappin' down here." Dagger leaned against the post.

Spike laced his hands behind his head and offered a crooked grin. "Well if I fooled you, no wonder scar-boy fell for it too. Ehh, it's an old act. Perfect for picking pockets when you're desperate. Used to do it all the time. If folks think you're out cold, they tend to drop their guard."

For a moment Masanori blinked before ruffling Spike's hair. "Not bad, kid! You play hardball already, you'll go a long way in the syndicate."

Blake shifted a small bundle in his hand. "Isn't it past this kid's bedtime?"

A jolt of annoyance struck Spike, but he hid it behind half shut eyes.

"Dagger, Blake, you two make the delivery of proof."

"What are you doin', Boss?"

Masanori pulled out his phone and started to dial. "I'll take care of the kid." The moment the call connected he spoke into the phone. "Mao, it's done. I'll deliver the kid back to your place in a little while, ok? … Yup. No problem."

Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it while watching the other two thugs walk down the alley and vanish into the darkness leaving him alone with Masanori as he tucked his phone away. Masanori raised an eyebrow before lighting a cigarette for himself and gesturing for Spike to follow. "That was a pretty neat trick you did back there to evade Jayce when he noticed you."

"Well I did purposefully get his attention on me."

"Why?"

"He was about to leave. Figured if I got him to hang around you guys could catch up to him easier. Save you some legwork."

Masanori nodded, the tendrils of smoke dissipated into the night shadows. "Quick thinking. Look, Spike, I meant what I said. You're leagues ahead of the other brats I've taken on runs like this. I swore for a bit you were screwing up, instead you were playing with a full deck." He held the door open and let Spike go in first. "Keep that up, you're going places. And I don't mean an early grave."

The moment Spike went through the door the most alluring aroma hit him. Food! Real food! His mouth watered as Masanori guided him to a booth in the old-time styled diner. A real greasy spoon, complete with grease.

A waitress wandered over and popped some gum as she eyed Masanori. "The usual for you?"

He shot a finger gun at her. "Right you are, just make it two."

She barely even glanced at Spike before turning toward the swinging kitchen door.

Masanori spread his arms along his booth seat and eyed Spike across the table from him. "Before you ask, no I usually don't feed the rats on my own woolongs. I'm doing this for you because frankly you impressed me, and today lasted a lot longer than I thought it was going to."

Stubbing his spent cigarette in the ashtray, Spike kicked his feet under the table feeling the rhythmic tap of his shoelaces. "Don't worry, I won't let it go to my head." His eyes kept wandering toward the gun visible in the holster.

Masanori noticed and pulled it out, removing the mag before sliding it across the table. "Ever handle one of these?"

Spike picked it up and ran his fingers along the smooth contours, examining every inch. He shook his head. "It's lighter than I thought it would be."

"Yup, but you have to respect pieces like this. When you pull the trigger make sure it's aimed something you won't regret destroying. Many a fool forgets that, gets careless and … well … they end up in my gun sight because of it."

"I'll get a gun too?"

Masanori took it back and reholstered it just in time for a loaded burger platter to slide in front of him, and a second one in front of Spike. "Eat first, kiddo. Then we'll talk."

The aroma silenced Spike. This whole thing was for him? Piping hot, grease dripping down and soaking the bun—that stuff was actually a fluid? Any time he'd gotten any part of a burger it was cold. He bit into it and juices flowed down his chin. It was heaven! Pure heaven as his eyes rolled back. He munched in silence, not wanting to spare a moment for it get cold. Fries shoved into his mouth inbetween each bite. Damn, hot food was good! Bacon … that crispy stuff was bacon. He'd heard about that. And there were two different kinds of cheese. Cheese came in different flavors? How neat was that! Were those vegetables? Maybe, but he was in too much a rush to pause and find out.

"Whoa, Spike," Masanori leaned over his own food, "careful not to eat the plate itself."

"Mmmmph!"

"You never had a burger before?"

Around the mouthful Spike worked out, "Not a fresh one."

No comment from the man, just a glance away as they polished off the rest of the meal in silence … well, silence save for the munching noises.

Once their plates were empty, Masanori left a stack of woolongs on the table and tugged Spike into tow. Back out into the night strewn streets and down toward the river bank on the far side away from prying eyes. The lights of Tharsis city danced on the surface as Masanori pulled out his gun and clicked the safety off. "Ok kid, now watch carefully. Safety is off. You line up the target. Slide your finger inside the trigger guard, and pump it."

The shot rang out, plinking against a can and sending it spiraling out into the water.

The flash briefly lit up Spike's wide eyes. He'd seen guns shot off before. But never from this close. He'd always been a fair distance away, usually hiding. Not this time.

"Remember. What you aim at, you have no problem destroying. So—not at comrades. Not at those who rank above you. Nothing you don't want dead. Got it?"

Spike nodded.

"Come here, right in front of me." Masanori crouched behind Spike, one arm on either side guiding Spike into the two handed grip. "Finger on the outside of the guard until you are ready. Close one eye … "

That was easy, Spike knew how to aim for a pool shot. This was like staring down the shaft of the cue. There at the end of the sight he spied a discarded beer can.

"Nice and steady. Breathe out and hold it right before you pull the trigger."

Spike took a deep breath and exhaled. The moment his lungs were empty he slipped his finger inside the guard and pulled. The shot fired and the gun kicked back, the bullet pelted the sand beside the can. Masanori's bulk stopped Spike from rolling to far back from the force.

"Brace yourself next time."

Next time? I get to do this again?

To Spike's shock, Masanori guided his hands once more. "Now that you've felt the kick, prep for it. Same as before. You can do this. Widen your stance. That's better."

Spike shut one eye. The first time he'd tried a trick shot he'd missed. The key was adjusting. Dialing it in. This would be no different than gauging the backspin on a ball shot. Repetition.

He squeezed the trigger. The bullet pelted the bottom edge of the can, popping it up into the air. "I hit it!"

"Nice. Now, see if you can get the center of it. Aiming at the edges there is a chance of missing. A can isn't gonna hurt you, but a mark like Jayce would fuck you up pretty bad if you missed."

Spike offered a crooked grin. "But not if I plugged him."

Masanori straightened up. "So … you know?"

"What? That you offed him? Yeah. Wasn't hard to guess. The guy with the blades had some blood on him."

"Dagger." Masanori grumbled. "Ahh well, anyway, the sooner you learn how to aim a gun—the better."

Gripping the gun in both hands, Spike shifted the aim a bit. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because, it's a huge asset to get a recruit who actually knows what they're doing versus some hotshot who just thinks they do."

"Makes sense." Spike exhaled all the way and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck cleaner and spun the can out into the river. It sunk into the ripples.

Masanori applauded and sat back. "Anyone can do it once, kid." Now he pointed at a series of cans various distances in the sand. "One, two, three, four … and go!"

Gritting his teeth, Spike aimed for the first.