Just when James had molded his flex hours into a shift he enjoyed, a call threw it out of order. We've got multiple dead guys at a parking garage with your case written all over it- it's your scene now. Arriving on scene, he tried to look for an officer who seemed to be in charge. The sheer number of cops present made that impossible, so he simply walked up to the nearest one on perimeter duty and identified himself. "The first on scene?"

"They'd be the ones with the paramedics last I saw," the officer answered, looking over his shoulder at a nearby ambulance. James' expression must have shown concern because the officer quickly added, "But don't worry, they both looked completely fine."

"This was an officer-involved shooting?"

"Some of it was at least. We responded to a shooting in progress. Those guys caught the tail end of the party. It was all over by the time I got here though."

"All right, thanks."

Walking around the ambulance, James could immediately recognize the officers being checked up. The one sitting on the ambulance's rear bumper was none other than Sergeant Hardy. He appeared to be unharmed except for a couple butterfly bandages for some superficial cuts on the forehead. You gotta be kidding... The one leaning against the side and smoking a cigarette was his partner, Nick Anderson.

The famous cop saw him before he spoke. "Ah, I figured you'd be interested in these guys too."

"That's right. We seem to be crossing paths a lot lately. You two were the first on the scene?"

"Yeah. I may just end up closing this whole case before you at this rate."

"What exactly happened here?"

The Sergeant sighed. "A lot. The short version is that a bunch of guys were shooting at each other until we arrived, then they shot at us instead. If you want the long version, just wait for my report. "

"No survivors on their end?"

"A few fled the scene when we arrived, but everyone who didn't is dead."

"Alright, I'll leave you alone for now."

"Have a good one."

Once inside the garage, the first thing he noticed were body bags lined up by the entrance. Once again Leon was on the job. "Geez, Leon, how many do we have this time?"

"Eight. I was excited the first time I saw one, but this is getting out of hand. We're running out of freezer room at our place. Anyway, they've all been shot at least once apiece in what was obviously one big shootout. If you want any more specific details than that-"

James cut in during the pause. "Just wait for your report."

"Yeah. The action happened on this floor and the second."

"Thanks."

Looking over the garage interior, he quickly came to a conclusion: just wait for everybody's report. As he was told, the ballistics team had already come and gone. He didn't envy their job of trying to figure out exactly what had happened. Bullet holes were EVERYWHERE. Entire rows of parked cars were shot to pieces; there were going to be a lot of unhappy owners. And what happened to THAT car? It's been burnt down to the frame. Several pools of blood ran across the pavement to the drainage grates. Shell casings littered the area: 9mm, .45, and 12-gauge, at the very least. The centerpiece of the scene, which all the destruction and carnage seemed to radiate outward from, was a trio of wrecked sports cars. He felt sorry for them; they were nice cars. All in all, there seemed to be nothing more to glean from the scene.

Upstairs on the second floor was much the same. The only things of interest were a van and SUV parked illegally, logically used by at least one party in the shooting. Neither contained anything interesting. All in all, the only thing to take away from both floors was the obvious: there was a big shootout. The only things left were the wrecked getaway cars on the first floor. The interiors had nothing unusual in them. Next, he started popping trunks. Inside trunk #1: nothing. Inside trunk #2: it would remain a mystery, as it was jammed shut due to the damage. Inside trunk #3: a pair of containers. He opened one to find it packed full of submachine guns. The other case held the same contents. He didn't know what they were intended for. but one word came to mind: WAR.

Somewhere behind him, somebody yelled, "Hey, which one of you motherfuckers stepped on my hat?"


A duel to the death. Two sword-wielding opponents. Not of the traditional feudal era of Japan; they wore futuristic looking armor and wielded blades that glowed with power. Battered from the fight, both barely clung to life, though neither showed it. The pair walked around in a circle, one occasionally stepping forward as if to make an attack, only to not follow up. Neither fighter fell for a feint, so this little dance continued. But time was running out and not on the side of the one who was more injured- his opponent's victory was assured unless he successfully attacked.

Eventually, the desperate fighter had no choice but to make a daring jumping attack. His opponent was ready for the sudden move and quickly dodged the strike. Committed to the attack, the warrior could do nothing as his opponent struck at his exposed side. The hit knocked him clean off his feet and into a spectacular, though unintentional, pirouette. Despite his condition the fighter immediately started to get back on his feet. However, his opponent decided to throw honor to the wind, drawing a laser firearm and shooting his helpless opponent as he tried to stand back up. The fight was thus finally decided.

A chorus of "Boo!" rose among the match's spectators on the couch. Akira, being the loser of the match, threw down his controller. "Oh, come on out with that fuckin' cheap-ass bullshit!" Goro, being winner of the match, simply laughed in answer. "That was fucking laser spamming!"

"No, that was just ONE single shot… Spamming requires multiple shots," Goro pointed out.

"That's technically true," Koji chimed in from the side. "He's got you there."

Akira was not amused by the logic. "Whatever. It was still a fucking cheap shot."

Shinji entered the room and the argument ceased. He had been on the phone to their employer. Their job hadn't gone anywhere near as well as they had hoped; their employer might have been pissed. Everyone was in suspense of what he was about to say. "So," Koji asked, "what'd the boss man say?"

"It's all good. The cops came through after we left and killed everybody else. All of the Toshies are dead. The final tally was eight. "

Everyone was visibly relieved, but nobody celebrated just yet. Koji asked, "Yeah, but we still get paid though, right?"


Mike stuck his head into the office of Captain Frank Karanza and rapped on the doorway. The captain looked up from the papers on his desk and beckoned him inside. "Mike... How are you holding up? If you want to take some time off, it's not a problem."

"No, I'm fine, sir."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that. Now, you know that you won't be back on patrol just yet after a shooting. If you want, I have a special assignment for you."

Hardy crossed his arms. "Let's hear it."

"All right. Now, I would assume that your natural curiosity as a cop has led you to find out who exactly you shot it out with the other day by now."

A pause- he head him off. "Members of the Toshihiro. One of the two yakuza outfits operating in the city, and the smaller of them. They're notorious for being violent. The two families have been getting rowdy lately."

"Rowdy? Is that what you kids call it now? Back in my day, 'rowdy' was a bunch of guys pounding on each other with fists, bats, or chains, maybe a guy getting shanked. We've got a double-digit body count, firebombings on the freeway, and shootouts in public places. And now they're shooting at us cops when we show up. We've already got someone on the investigation, but this case is too dangerous for just one man to work. Since you appear to be inexorably drawn to the ongoing investigation, you might as well be working on it. You'll be partnered up with the detective already working the case."

The assignment had just gotten considerably less appealing. Hardy leaned over the captain's desk. "So, this is a backup gig? You want me to babysit the rookie?" He kept his voice down so as not to let it travel outside the office where the person in question just might overhear; opinions aside, it wasn't conducive to piss off coworkers without a real good reason.

"No. Detective Cools has already proven himself as a fine police officer before his transfer to our precinct. His case history is short but impressive. In fact, I have a hunch you two are going to get along just fine. Now do you want the job or not?"

It was either special assignment or desk jockey duty. "Yeah, I'll take it."

Karanza stood and walked out the door before Mike could ask for more about that 'hunch' the captain mention, then called out, "James!" On cue, a detective stood up from the desk he was working at. "Detective, here is the partner that you were promised. I'm probably slightly biased, but I would call him one of our best men... Sergeant Hardy, Detective Cools. Detective Cools, Sergeant Hardy."

James extended a hand. "I know we've already met, but it's nice to formally meet you, Sergeant." Mike engaged in a nice firm handshake- they were partners now, so it would be well to avoid any drama... for as long as possible at least. But seriously, Pretty Boy? They were about as antithetical as two men could get. His own jacket and jeans stood in sharp contrast with his partner's immaculate full suit and tie. Was he a cop or an IRS agent?

Mike probably had at least a decade lead on his partner's age. James was maybe 25, tops. He looked even younger with his boyish good looks, which crossed slightly over into androgynous territory. His hair being cut very short helped, but as it was, just a few drinks and somebody might be in for a surprise. Speaking from an impartial heterosexual viewpoint, Mike had to concede he was probably more attractive to the opposite sex than he was. But for a cop, he was about as intimidating as Dicaprio. Actually, scratch that, maybe less so.

But truth be told, he didn't know a thing about his partner's performance on the job, which was the only thing that actually mattered, so he didn't really have anything against the guy. This assignment might not totally suck. Frank said he was good. The captain wasn't one to keep his opinions to himself. And he'd like to believe that Frank wouldn't jerk his chain. But still... fucking Pretty Boy? You can't judge a book by its cover, but you can very well make some reasonable assumptions.

"Okay, so you're acquainted. Now get to work." With that, the captain headed back to his office, leaving the two men to stand around awkwardly for a moment.

"Okay, James. What do we do now?" he finally asked.

"Bring you up to speed?" Sitting down at his desk, the detective rifled through his papers. "So, okay..." he said, clearly unsure where to begin. "I've got the full reports for you to read, of course, but as you're probably aware of the most important details of the case anyway, let's start with the most recent reports on the garage shooting. Reviewing all the reports, I think we've got a pretty good idea just what went down at that garage before you showed up. The ballistics report on the second-floor shootout came back with the following... One: spent shell casing were amassed in three groups, ergo the shooters were too. Two: analysis of the shot trajectories from each group indicated they were all firing at the other two groups mutually, meaning that there were three different parties involved. You encountered one group fleeing the scene in SUV's, apparently American, or at the very least not Japanese."

"Right."

"You saw another group flee the scene in sportier vehicles, then you engaged yet another group of Toshihiro before they could split as well."

Mike counted off. "The Toshihiro we know for sure... Odds are on the Nakayama being the unidentified party... The third group, presumably American- do we have any idea who they are or why they were there?"

"We don't know anything about them specifically, but we can guess why they were there. It was probably a business transaction. Despite the massive shootout, the Toshihiro had an arsenal of automatic weapons unloaded and stashed in their trunks. Clearly the weapons weren't brought along to be used right there and then. In the absence of any other explanation, I'd say it was an arms deal."

He considered this. "It fits. The Toshihiro aren't half as organized as the Naka clan. They probably don't have international contacts to get guns. So figure the American crew are just some local gun dealers doing business with one group when the other crashes the party. The dealers figure it's honor among criminals and everybody starts shooting at each other."

"Exactly," James replied… and said nothing more.

"Well okay, that's all good that we know what happened, but where does that get us in the investigation?"

"THAT dead ends. But the partial description of that car you saw leaving the scene along with the bikes was distinct enough to get a possible suspect."

He was surprised. 'Partial' was a very kind word for his observation- 'almost non-existent' would have been more accurate. All he had gleamed was the car was bright blue- he couldn't even remember the bikes at all from the brief flash he'd seen of them. If these guys weren't driving such flashy cars they'd have never been found. "Another yakuza?"

"Yep, and from the Nakayama clan too. The man is Yuji Kurosowa. He's a high-ranking member who has his own branch in the family tree."

"Where are we at on him?"

"We got a warrant to pick him up, but right now though we're waiting on something."

"Like what?"

"Opportunity," Yoshida interjected, sitting at a desk across the room. "He's not at home. The word is that everybody's already gone to the mattresses. But we do have an idea where we might find him in a day or two."

"Where is that?"

Yoshida smiled. "You'll see."

"Oh, I can't wait."

But as it happened, he would have to wait. With the current developments covered and no hot leads to pursue, Michael went reading through the reports on the freeway murders and the homicide of the suspect. It brought him up to speed, but sparked no new ideas. This left them with nothing to do at the moment.

"Well, I guess we're just about done for today. I'm gonna head down to the range and fill out the rest of my shift. Care to join me?"

James gave him a strange look but answered, "Okay."

There was silence as they walked down the hall. That was good. Awkward, but good- his partner didn't try to get all chatty. He raised his estimations for this partnership a little bit higher. There was a reason for this little shooting session besides simply marking time.

A police officer is only as strong as his or her backup. James had strong backup. Of that there was no doubt. But did HE have good backup? So James had solved a bunch of cases. Maybe he was even some sort of accomplished detective. But that didn't mean he could handle himself in a crisis situation. Mike didn't like the idea of going through a doorway with someone that he didn't know had his back. He could find out of course; he was a detective himself. Review his partner's case file would be an easy task, but there no time for that now. But there was another way, albeit slightly less conclusive, to at least make himself feel a little better... Or worse... But worse was better than uncertain...


The new partner kept his thoughts to himself, verbally at least; clearly he had some misgivings about this pairing. James did likewise. Once at the range, they each donned a pair of earmuffs and tinted protective glasses which protected your eyes but also washed the world in a slight shade of Urine Yellow. Maybe the choice of color was to discourage people from walking off with them. They claimed a pair of adjacent empty booths. James clamped down a man-sized target from the waist up and sent it back a standard 50 yards. Nobody else was looking, so he took out a roll of Smarties from his pocket, dumped a handful, and downed them. Then he drew his Guardian, raised it in a double-fisted grip, and squeezed the trigger. The gun jumped in his hands- he let it settle back down before pulling the trigger again. He continued to fire, doing so in a steady rhythm until the magazine was exhausted. He set down the empty weapon and pressed the button to call back the target.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Hardy had emptied his clip at a faster rate and already had his target back. He sauntered over, seemingly quite pleased with his work. And deservedly so: his target had two tight groupings of holes in the middle of the chest and head. Then he glanced over at his partners' target all inconspicuous-like, which had just returned to the booth. The head of James' target was untouched but the same could certainly not be said for the chest; the center-mass was almost obliterated by a grouping of holes that was just slightly tighter than Hardy's. His partner's eyebrows rose. "Whoa. That's... some pretty good shooting," he said simply.

"Thank you, Sergeant," James said modestly. Hardy said, "Alright, one more." James replied, "Okay." As soon as his partner turned away, James let out the grin he had been holding in.


God damn, that kid can shoot... Well, so can I... It's time to focus... Mike put up a fresh target and sent it back. Reloading his weapon, he brought it up and aimed... This time he paused longer after each shot to aim a bit more precisely before squeezing the trigger again. He now focused exclusively on the chest like his partner had done. Once empty, he brought back the target. The end result was better, his grouping just beating his partner's previous score. Now THAT is some pretty good shooting...

A voice cut through his thoughts: "Mikey." It belonged to Officer Costello. Cavers accompanied him. They had snuck in at some point while he was busy focusing on his shooting. "You just here for fun or are you brushing up on your skills?" They both wore shit-eating grins, obviously knowing exactly what this little session was really all about.

"No reason I can't do both at the same time." It was time to compare. James had used the same target as before, this time shooting up the previously untouched head. He almost had to grab his jaw to keep it from dropping. James had also apparently focused a little harder this time around because his grouping was also better than the first, once again edging him out.

Costello whistled. "Da-yum! Better watch out Mikey, it looks like you might have some new-" he paused as he glanced back at Hardy's target and compared the groupings. "...competition," he finished.

Just then, his target paper folded downward under its weight, wilting much like his manhood did at that moment. "Yeah, looks like it," he replied in the best indifferent voice he could muster.

"Oh shit, it's on now," Cavers commented.

"No it's not," Hardy countered.

"You've went and done it."

"No he hasn't."

"He's gonna do it."

"No I'm not."

"Do what?" Cools asked.

"He's gonna show you the drill. He's our resident shooting champion, you know."

He surrendered. "Fuck it." The gauntlet had already been thrown down for him. At least his friend's big mouth meant he wouldn't look so vain about it. "Okay, everybody grab a fresh target." They all did so, then latched them up and sent them back. Mike stood with hands hovering at his sides like a Wild West gunfighter. "Call it, Will."

"Four-one-three-two!"

As soon as the last number was uttered, he cleared leather and fired off two shots at the rightmost target. He slightly raised his aim and fired once more. He swung over to the leftmost target and fired two more shots, then raised his aim for another shot. Next, he swung back the other way to the third target and did the same thing. He repeated this once more for the remaining target. He then turned the gun sideways, racked the slide, and caught the ejected leftover bullet out of the air. Somebody whistled.

"Recall," he said as he hit his booth's button. The targets came back close enough to see the results. They all had three holes in them: two in the chest and one in the head. "Accuracy is good. Speed is good. Accuracy AND speed is unbeatable."

James nodded in agreement, clearly impressed by the display. That was good- his reputation was salvaged this session. Nonetheless, he left the firing range unsure whether he felt better or worse.


DVD Commentary: Jesus. Sorry it took so long but I had serious writer's block coming up with some satisfactory dialog. And also I've burned through all my prewritten material. AND I started working fulltime since December. As for other commentary, I might be playing up James's androgynous features. He doesn't really look that feminine except for a few pieces of artwork but whatever I went with it. Hopefully the next update doesn't take another 9 goddamn months. Happy 4th, if you celebrate that thing.