The jewelry store incident brought Michael Hardy many things. He got his 15 minutes of fame. He got the department's Medal of Valor for conspicuous bravery and gallantry in the line of duty and all that related jazz. He got his name pushed to the top of the list to fill an opening for sergeancy. He got recruited by the precinct's SWAT team, who were impressed by his tactics. He got a reputation as one crazy-ass motherfucker. He even got one piece of jewelry of his choice from the grateful manager of the World Jewelry Maxim- he took a rain check on that one for now, saving it for a hypothetical future Mrs. Hardy.
But at this very moment of time, Sergeant Hardy was sitting in his police vehicle parked inside the median of Route 101, pointing a radar gun out the window at passing traffic. His partner Detective Nick Anderson dozed off in the passenger seat that had been cranked all the way back. At this late (early?) hour, the traffic was relatively thin. The numbers on the scanner consistently came back in the upper 60's and lower 70's- all more or less law-abiding drivers... or just really alert ones. He yawned for the thousandth time of the night. The life of a cop: five cumulative minutes of excitement, ten years of pure boredom. It appeared his five minutes had already passed, leaving him with just another seven and a half years of pure boredom to look forward to.
A bright yellow rice burner approached. Seeing promise, he aimed the radar gun at it before the driver could notice the vehicle: 75 MPH, give or take a few due to calibration error. While deliberating whether or not to act, an equally sporty car in neon green passed by, clocking in at 73 MPH, give or take a few... acceptable margins for sure. Their close proximity suggested maybe following them might yield a ticket. Ultimately apathy won out and he decided to stay put. It paid off; a Mercedes cruised by a minute later doing 78. He nudged his partner. "Hey, wake up. It's time to go to work."
The yellow tuner continued down the freeway. The windows were rolled down to enjoy the nice warm summer night. Big beat blasted from the stereo. Like their ride, the two men inside were Japanese. They didn't speak, not that conversation would have been possible under the current conditions anyway.
As they turned off onto an exit ramp and followed the spiraling roadway, another car came up behind them at a rate much faster than the posted limit. It zoomed up on the driver's side as if to pass but then slowed down to keep pace alongside. Inside the bright green newcomer was a full load: four occupants. The one riding shotgun with arm hanging out the window looked straight at the driver of the yellow car with an intent stare. He was also Japanese. The driver returned the look as best he could while driving. Who are these guys, and what is their deal?
The passenger of the green car pulled himself out of the window until he was practically sitting on the windowsill. Now what is he doing? One of the backseat passengers handed him something. He raised the object: a liquor bottle with a burning cloth stuck in it... Then threw it into the window of the yellow car. It hit the steering column and shattered, dousing much of the car interior in flames.
The driver naturally lost control of the mobile inferno, which careened into the guardrail. It hit head-on, spun 180°, and came to a stop. The passenger door flew open and a man tumbled out swatting at his flames, quickly performing the standard advised procedure: stop, drop, roll. Fully engulfed in the flames, the driver continued to thrash around in his seat, held in place by the seatbelt that he was in no state of mind to release.
The green car pulled over to the shoulder and stopped as well. The driver and passenger riding shotgun stepped out first, then the backseat passengers. All four were of Japanese descent. The driver and Molotov thrower in particular had a striking resemblance to each other. The four marched forward, each one pulling out a handgun...
When rolling failed to smother all the flames, the yellow car's passenger managed to remove his burning jacket and throw it away. Now safe from his previous peril, the man became aware of the approaching gunmen. Knowing what was coming, he put on a defiant face as they raised their weapons. "Konichiwa, bitch," the Molotov thrower quipped. They opened fire, emptying the entireties of their magazines. Molotov Man walked forward as he reloaded. Standing directly above the bullet-riddled man, he shot him twice more in the head, just in case.
The driver was still alive and kicking, still trapped. One of the other gunmen stepped forward with his weapon raised. Molotov Man held out his empty hand as if to signal STOP. "Fuck it. Let 'em cook." He turned back to their car, the others following suit. They calmly walked- no hurry.
Headlights were coming down the ramp: a civilian SUV. Molotov Man said, "Just be cool," and led by example: leaning against their car, gun still held out for the whole world to see. The vehicle slowed as it approached the wreck. The driver then saw them, saw their guns, and promptly accelerated out of there. "Let's go," he announced, not the least bit visibly concerned about the witness that just passed by. Once everyone was back in the car, the driver departed with a peel out.
Another ticket for the shift's tally. Hardy and Anderson were still sitting on the shoulder watching their unlucky recipient drive off when the radio crackled. "Adam-Mary-2, come in... Adam-Mary-2..."
Their call sign- Nick answered. "Adam-Mary-2 here."
"Traffic collision with a fire, no further details, on the off-ramp of exit 7A."
"Copy. We're rolling." Well, good thing I didn't turn off the lights yet... Mike thought as he got the car moving. Nick asked, "Bet you can get there before the fire brigade?"
It was an old shtick they did. "A gentleman's wager?"
Nick checked his wallet. "Of course."
They had a straight shot to the scene; there was a firehouse a few blocks away- even money on who got there first with their head start. "You're on." The flaming wreck served as a beacon, the smoke and glow just visible above the dividing walls. A car was stopped nearby, the driver talking on a cell phone. There were no fire trucks or any other emergency vehicles present, though they could be heard closing in.
Nick snapped his finger: rats. "You win this one." A dollar exchanged hands. The cell phone guy waved his arms as if he wasn't certain they had noticed. As the car pulled to a stop, Anderson took the mic again. "Adam-Mary-2 is on scene." Mike exited the car and took a moment to fit his hat on; the very image of Calm and Collected.
The cell phone man, now sans phone, ran up: the very image of Not Calm or Collected. He pointed. "The driver... He's over there but... I think he's..."
Mike cut him off while he was between fragments. "Stay back, sir. I'm gonna check it out." The snap-crackle of the fire and approaching sirens dominated the air. The car was completely engulfed in flames and beyond the help of the fire extinguisher in their car. He couldn't see if anybody was inside, but the silence told him nobody was... or at least nobody alive. Taking a wide berth around the burning vehicle, he spotted the presumed driver on the pavement in a pool of blood, motionless.
Coming closer, he quickly tagged the guy as dead; his forehead was utterly destroyed. It looked to have been a hell of a crash. A quick check for a pulse confirmed this hypothesis. However, closer inspection revealed that the anticipated cause of death was incorrect. The massive head wounds were definitely not caused by the crash, and neither were the numerous chest wounds. He knew them all too well at this point: bullet wounds. This man was absolutely riddled with them. Looking around, he saw a pile of what he had previously thought were debris and now recognized them as shell casings.
He saw Anderson looking his way, stood up, and walked over. "He's dead. And not from the crash either. We've got ourselves a homicide here."
Anderson seemed skeptical. "What? You sure?"
His exasperation was only slightly diminished by the knowledge that his partner hadn't looked at the scene himself. "Either that, or he accidentally shot himself while driving about 30 fucking times. He's FULL of bullet holes."
"No shit?" It was the answer of a jaded cop. "Yeah, I'd say that is probably a homicide. But Joe Citizen here says he didn't see anything."
The fire truck and ambulance had arrived on the scene by now. "Call it in, I'll handle these guys." The firefighters were already prepping to go right to work and needed no further instructing. He briefed the paramedics quickly: "We got a crash victim over there. He's dead." They checked the body out and made their own determination: "Yep, he's dead." Mike and Nick went to work throwing down flares, closing off the ramp, and keeping the rubberneckers back. Additional units arrived on the scene.
The firefighters had the car doused in short order. One went in close to check out their work. He called out, "We've got another body in here!"
Emergency responders moved in, the paramedics elbowing in first. They said, "He's dead," and bowed right back out. The officers scoped the stiff, Michael included. The body was slumped over in the driver seat, charred black beyond all recognition. It was a nasty way to go, if he hadn't already been shot like his friend. It was impossible to tell what else happened in the body's current state.
However, the excitement of the crime soon waned as the dull reality of routine took over. The emergency personal whittled down to those necessary. The firefighters and paramedics left; the coroner arrived to investigate. Most of the officers who remained were tagging the evidence and doing the interesting tasks. Hardy and Anderson, being the first to arrive on the scene, were stuck with the task of maintaining the area.
After holding the line against the first news crew to arrive, Michael recognized one car as an unmarked police vehicle pulling up. Out stepped a blond-haired man, immaculately clad in dress pants, suit coat, white shirt, and tie. He wasn't brass- clearly way too young to have gotten that far. His boyish good looks quickly led to recognition. Well, well, so Pretty Boy caught this one...
Detective James Cools approached the yellow tape, reaching for his badge. Identification proved unnecessary; one of the officers standing watch was already lifting the tape up for him. He also recognized him right off: the hero of the World Jewelry Maxim robbery, Sergeant Michael Hardy. Also known by the nickname Rage, no doubt due to his quick temper and passionate (often vulgar) commentary on things he didn't like. James spoke first. "Sergeant."
"Detective. You're catching this squawk?"
"That's right. You the first on scene?"
"Right. Not much to tell you. The civilian standing over there is the one who called in the 911." Pointing accompanied the sentence. "We got his statement; he's just the one who reported it, not a witness. Everything was as it is now, except for the car being on fire."
"Got it."
Having laid out the situation, the Sergeant went back to crowd control. James took in the scene. At a distant glance it looked like a normal, if horrific, traffic accident. A series of tire marks clearly indicated the course the car took before coming to a stop. The concrete barrier bore a scar from where the careening vehicle had crashed into it. That was all he could make out from the panoramic, so he went in close. The coroner and the body that he was currently looking over was his first choice. Although the coroner was facing away and occupied, he was still easily recognizable. "Leon," he announced.
"James. You're working this one?"
"Yeah."
"Well, this one is easy," the coroner replied, getting straight to business. "The cause of death is numerous bullet wounds to the chest and the head," he said, obviously referring to the body at his feet. "The one in the car is completely burned to a crisp. I'll need to conduct an autopsy to tell you anything better than that."
James glanced around while Leon talked. Not far from the body was marked evidence: a whole lot of spent casings, too many to easily count at once. The pool of blood around the body was dispersed pretty evenly around. This guy didn't move or get moved after the shooting. "This might be a silly question, but... it happened here? What's the time of death?"
"Correct you are," Leon replied, thinking nothing at the seemingly obvious question. Making assumptions was a dangerous practice in police work. "This body is as fresh as you can get. It hasn't been here long."
A crime committed on a highway ramp wouldn't go unnoticed for long even at this hour. It was a bold killing; the murderer(s) could have easily been caught in the act. "Do we have an ID on them?"
"This one's license lists him as one Isao Nakamura. Nothing survived on the driver. However, the car is registered to a Makoto Okawa."
James knelt down and checked the body out. It was as Leon said: riddled with holes in the chest and a pair in the head. There was nothing else to glean that he didn't already hear from the coroner.
He walked over to the empty shells and picked through a few of them. They all appeared to be 9mm but the sheer amount of them suggested more than one shooter. There were well over 30 shells, maybe even 50. If there was only one killer, then he REALLY wanted this guy dead. Even an SMG would have needed to be reloaded.
Next up was the car and its occupant. Both were completely burnt out. The driver was still buckled in. He hadn't left the vehicle. And... that was all he could tell. He had never dealt with burnt bodies before.
Inspection of the car was limited to the cab. The glove box was warped shut from the heat and all the means to open the trunk had perished in the fire. Everything inside had melted down into unidentifiable lumps. The only things recognizable were bits of glass, mostly from the car's windows. However, one piece, though deformed by the fire, clearly didn't belong among the rest of the shards. It was cylindrical in shape and had something else stuck inside. It wasn't hard to identify as the mouth of a bottle with a cloth or rag stuffed inside. One homemade firebomb: a Molotov cocktail. The ignition method was now known.
With the car down, James did a final look around the scene. The only other item of interest was a pair of tire tracks that didn't come from the victims' car, thus probably the killer's. The tracks were short and went more or less straight forward. Perhaps hard braking, or maybe peeling out- a flashy move to pull after a double-homicide.
Overall summary: a murder executed (at least partially) from moving vehicles. Unless this was some serious road rage, the scenario and the overkill pointed to a hit. A gangland slaying? Virtua City had a significant yakuza presence; make them as some possible perpetrators and/or victims. The victim's background checks would hopefully provide some insight as to why somebody would do such a thing to them on a highway.
Preliminary figuring: the victim first party is cruising along when the hostile second party comes along. Second party runs first party off the road or maybe does a drive-by while in motion. Either way, first party crashes, second party stops to finish the job. First party passenger: either gets out of the car or is pulled out... either way, he gets shot to death. First party driver: sequence of events unknown- probably shot too, but not removed from the car for some reason; maybe knocked unconscious or otherwise incapacitated by the crash and executed right there and then, maybe even already dead. First party car is torched afterwards because... why? Just as a final Fuck you? To destroy the bodies or evidence? They left one body behind. Maybe they got spooked and left early? The details aside, the events played.
Gut feeling: This is going to be a good one...
Back at the station, James was on his way to the detective's bullpen when another officer flagged him down. "Hey Detective! You're the one working the highway killing, right?"
"That's right."
"Good timing. We've got someone who said he saw something. I was just about to go take his statement, but since you're here, I suppose you might want to have the first crack at him?"
"I do." The paperwork would have to wait; this was hotter.
"The guy's name is Nathan Barrows. I'll show him to your desk."
"Thanks." James grabbed a free chair and placed it at the other side of his workstation, then sat down to wait for the witness to arrive. The officer reappeared and pointed a man in his direction. "Mr. Barrows?"
"Yeah." Standard square john type- they may be here voluntarily but they're still wary.
"Sir, I'm Detective Cools. I'm the investigating officer," he said by way of introduction. "Have a seat." Nathan did so. "You were on the 101 earlier this night?"
"Yeah."
"What time was this?"
"About 1:30."
The answer fit. It begged his next question: "But you didn't stick around?"
Nathan got defensive. "Hey, they had guns. I got the hell right out of there."
This was looking promising. "Understandable. Let's start at the beginning... Did you see what happened?"
Nathan got uncertain. "Yeah… well… no."
"You mean you didn't see the actual incident?"
Nathan got firm. "No."
"What exactly did you see?"
"There was a car burning on the side of the road... And there were these four guys standing around... And another person was just lying on the ground."
It was getting good. "You're sure? You saw four guys standing and one on the ground?"
"Yeah, that was all I saw."
So this citizen also came after the fact, but only just, so he actually saw something. "The four people that you saw... do you think you could describe them?"
"I don't think so. I didn't get a good look at them."
"Well, can you tell me anything about them?" The witness was clearly trying to search his memory for details. A little prompting was needed. "Let's start with the basics. You said guys. Were they all male?"
"Yeah."
"Could you tell what race they were?"
"They were all white."
"Could you be more specific, like Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian?" He avoided stressing the last one to avoid leading the witness.
"They looked Asian."
Bingo- the victims were Japanese. If this was yakuza business, Japanese killers fit. "That's good. How about their ages?"
A shrug. "In their 20's or 30's, if I had to guess. I don't really know. They looked pretty young though."
"Now, can you name any individual characteristics?" Once again the witness was overwhelmed. James diplomatically ventured a guiding question, "Like say, hair color?"
"It was too dark to see. Three of them had dark hair... One had lighter hair... They all had plain-looking haircuts... That's the best I can do."
"Any facial hair?"
"No... I don't think they had any."
"Heavy-built guys or skinny?"
"They were all average-looking. Probably on the thinner side though."
"Any other distinguishing features, like tattoos or scars?"
"Nothing I could see."
The suspects seemed to be tapped out. He changed the subject. "You mentioned the burning car; were there any others nearby?"
"Yeah, there was another there."
"Could you describe it?"
Now the witness perked up. "Yeah, I could tell you about that."
Paydirt. "Make and model?"
The witness deflated. "Well, I don't know that..." Then he perked back up. "But it really stood out. It was one of those really sporty decked-out cars, probably Asian, bright neon green. It was some real Fast and Furious shit."
Potentially solid. If the car was distinctive enough, it might be findable. "That's a very good start, but could you nail any other characteristics? Like, was it a coupe, sedan, or hatchback?"
"Uh... coupe, I think. But it might have been a four-door."
"How about any modifications or decorations?"
"It had a racing wing on the trunk... I think that's it."
"No fancy lights or other distinctive features?"
"No. I'm sure I would have noticed that."
Rats. It wasn't THAT obvious. "I don't suppose you got a look at the license plate?"
"You gotta be kidding."
"Had to ask. Well, you've been a big help to us anyway." James handed over his business card. "If you happen to remember anything else, give me a call." As the witness left, he mulled over what he had just heard. Witnesses weren't exactly renowned for their accuracy as to what actually happened but at least some of what he said seemed solid.
Now it was time to begin the paperwork, but he jumped ahead on a hunch. Running the victims' names through the database yielded hits, big-time. He recognized Nakamura from his picture. Okawa was... less definitive. The general stats matched; add burned skin from head to toe and you could get Okawa. The two men had something in common: both were suspected yakuza, specifically soldiers of the Nakayama-gumi. Aside from association with other known members they were clean. Their murders implied they were indeed tight enough with the underworld to be targets.
The other matter was to look into the suspect vehicle. He hit up the vehicle database for a search of registrations within the city. The search engine made use of various key characteristics: make; model; manufacturer; color; body type. It was an extremely valuable tool for making ID's in cases of limited information such as this instance. However, it could only do so much when the search parameters were as broad as 'sports car' and 'green'. This was going to be a LOOOOONG list. Playing a logical hunch, he limited the search to just Japanese manufacturers to narrow the search. Loyalty was big in Japanese crime families; hopefully they extended to domestic companies. It was a start, albeit not a very good one. Search- click.
With the search going on, it was paperwork time. He opened one of his desk drawers and took a pack of Smarties off the top of several stacked rows. He ripped one end off and dumped the entire roll into his mouth. Then he got typing. Once the initial report was all filled out and filed, he returned to the search. He was not disappointed; the search yielded an ungodly long list of possible matches for the suspect vehicle. He was going to need a bigger sugar burst to sift through what was coming. He hit up his desk stash and administered another roll.
He wanted to whittle down the possibilities some more. Further playing the hunch, he scanned the list and singled out the Japanese names on the list. He ran checks on them for criminal records. Some came back dirty. The majority of the results were car-related offenses: moving violations and some street racing; sadly nobody had any priors for drive-by shootings or firebombings. Eventually one hit jumped out of the results at him: an identified member of another yakuza group: the Toshihiro-gumi. No arrests or convictions on record, but with dead yakuza victims, a yakuza possible suspect warranted a further look. He went back to the name: Yagi Takeshi.
This was hot... and heavy. He printed out a copy and went to see his commanding officer: Lieutenant Hunter. In addition to overseeing Homicide, the Lieutenant also commanded the precinct's SWAT unit. He rapped on the door of Hunter's office.
"Enter." He did so. The Lieutenant said, "James, you look like you've got something."
"Yes, something good. You're familiar with the case I'm working right now?"
"I should be, since I assigned it to you just hours ago."
"Right. Both of the victims are suspected members of the yakuza. An eyeball witness gave me a description of the suspect vehicle that I've got a possible match for. The owner of the car is another yakuza, from a different family."
Hunter frowned. "The Nakayama and Toshihiro families?" Although the response was phrased as a question, the Lieutenant sounded pretty certain.
James was surprised. "You know?"
"It's not a hard guess. There are only two Japanese crime families operating in this city and that's them. This was all way before you transferred here, but in the city's infancy they both set up shop here and fought each other for dominance. The Nakayama clan was bigger, stronger, and better connected. The Toshihiro though, were more vicious. They fought tooth and nail for even just a small piece of the city. The Nakayama family decisively won in the end, while the Toshihiro were greatly reduced in number. Luckily for them, the Nakayama clan wasn't keen on continuing the war and sought to negotiate a ceasefire. Even those mad dogs knew when to take an olive branch that was offered. It wasn't exactly the greatest deal they got though. While the Nakayama family lets them operate their own turf autonomously, they take a cut out of all their profits."
He took it all in. A vicious crime family chaffing under the thumb of another- it wasn't hard to use the imagination. "I don't suppose the Toshihiro like that very much."
"You're damn right they don't. It's the greatest level of shame these guys can know."
"You think that-"
Hunter cut him off. "I don't want to think about what this could mean. Their last war was ugly enough."
"So how do we proceed on this?"
The Lieutenant's response wasn't entirely unexpected. "With big guns."
The Kabukicho Grill: biggest restaurant in Little Tokyo. The owner, Hiroshi Iizuka, stood on the upper level looking down at the dining area, currently packed near to capacity. He remained for a minute before turning away and heading for the presidential banquet room. The room was not set up for a feast; it was configured strictly for business. Instead of the expected table and chairs, five big luxury chairs were positioned about the middle of the room: four positioned on either side of a carpet running down most of the room across from each other and one at the very end.
In addition to being the restaurant's owner, Iizuka was also the current chairman of the Nakayama clan. The patriarchs of all the subordinate families were already present: Hayao Daisuke, Sasaki Nakahara, Oba Hideki, and Nagoshi Kazuma, all standing in front of their chairs. The room was silent as he entered. The men stood at attention and bowed as he walked past to his own seat at the end of the room. He sat down, followed by everyone else a moment later. Then he spoke. "I suspect that everyone already knows why we're all here. You may have heard the rumors. I regret to inform you that they're true: two of our brothers were killed last night."
The men's reaction, or lack thereof, showed that they already knew. Hideki asked, "Do we know by whom?"
"Who do you think?" Kazuma's response was instantaneous and wholly predictable. He was a man known for his viciousness, not sense or patience. He had a reputation for personally doling out brutal bare-fisted beatings as punishment. Once he had a target his first order of business would be to go out for blood. It didn't help that both of the deceased were his men.
Iizuka's first order of business was to nip Kazuma's bloodlust in the bud. He replied to Hideki's question as if the outburst hadn't occurred. "No. We don't know who's responsible."
Kazuma raged. "The hell we don't! The Toshihiro want us gone! Always have. They would have gotten rid of us all earlier if they could have. They went to war with us before, remember?"
Hideki questioned. "Yet our families have been working together ever since. Why now, after 15 years of peace?"
Daisuke reasoned. "The Toshihiro are a shadow of their former organization. More importantly, their strength is a mere fraction of ours. We greatly outmatch them in every conceivable way. They'd be fools to start another war with us now."
Kazuma was not swayed by this logic. "They are fools. We were already far stronger when they went to war with us the first time and it didn't detour them then. They're a bunch of bloodthirsty animals. You can't expect reason from them." Nobody commented on the attendant irony of such a statement coming from him. It would have been an unwise action.
"Enough," Iizuka said firmly. "That is precisely why we must tread lightly. If the Toshihiro are not behind this act, a show of force can turn our relationship hostile. They are not the only other criminals in this city. Others might want to see us harmed."
Kazuma turned to the final member of the meeting who had not yet spoken. "Nakahara! Weigh in!" he beseeched. "Where do you stand?"
Nakahara and Kazuma often saw things eye-to-eye. They went back- all the way back to childhood. The pair started committing crimes together in their teenage years before becoming yakuza. Both were fond of using violence to solve problems. Nakahara had more sense and served as the brains of the duo while Kazuma was strictly the brawn. Nakahara learned restraint easily when they joined the family. Kazuma learned restraint begrudgingly, mostly at the 'insistence' of the rest of the family- it was bad for business. As it stood, Nakahara was quite possibly the most respected of subordinate patriarchs, if not by admiration, then by fear.
Nakahara didn't answer right away, as if deliberately milking the tension in the room. Finally he said, "I agree with our chairman. It's the right call; we can't just act precipitously against the Toshihiro." There was a sizable silence as Kazuma was defeated. The man looked almost betrayed. "However, we all surely must admit the fact that the Toshihiro are still the most likely culprits. They have the motive, the drive, and despite their weakened state still have a significant force. And what's more, word is that they've been stockpiling an arsenal recently."
Everyone exchanged glances. Kazuma snapped out of his defeated funk. It seemed they hadn't heard that rumor. "Whose word?" Daisuke asked.
Nakahara shrugged. "It's just the word on the streets. Maybe it's true, maybe not."
Iizuka rubbed his temples. "That doesn't change anything about our current situation. If the Toshihiro want another war, then so be it. We don't. We'll do what we have to, but we will not enter into open conflict unless we have to. We have very little to gain in another full-out war but much to lose. Tell all of your men to keep their distance until we can have a meeting. There are to be no direct approaches on the Toshihiro. No bracings. No leanings on anyone. Everybody stays out of their turf. If you see one on ours, leave him be." The room was silent. Hideki, Daisuke, and Nakahara vibed reception. He looked straight at Kazuma. "Is that understood?"
The man stopped fuming long enough to put on his most composed face. "I understand."
DVD Commentary: In Japan, their naming scheme is reversed. I was aware of this but totally forgot about it when choosing names so… If you're wondering if the names I've used are meant to be first and last- American style, or last and first- Japanese style? I don't know; I chose them at random. It probably doesn't matter, unless the names happen to be strictly for first or last but I wouldn't know.
I kind of decided somewhere along the line that the Lieutenant was the somewhat-important-but-unnamed cop that shows up in the third game a couple times and says a few lines. I remembered him as black though. Then he became named Hunter...
Yeah, a yakuza named Kazuma is no coincidence either. The characterization is a bit different; SEGA's own Kazuma is much mellower and a lot less bloodthirsty. But on the other hand he is by no means a pacifist as he brooks no shit and has no qualms with administering a (not lethal but certainly violent) beat down if he feels you deserve to be taught a lesson (Insurance fraud? Animal abuse? Theft? YO' ASS IS GONNA GET BEAT!) even though he could probably just put most dudes into headlocks or simply pin them down or otherwise peacefully subdue them. So perhaps it's more like he's taken up to 11. I got SEGA references throughout the story- see how many you can catch!
