Chapter Nine: A Learning Experience
It was a warm night in Tokyo's San'ya District. Sulfur streetlamps burned, casting orange light onto the cars parked below them. Plastic bags and wrappers littered the sidewalk or drowned in the sopping gutter. Sesshoumaru stepped silently around them as he made his way, keeping to the shadows. On his left, he passed countless buildings. Made from brick or concrete, they blended into each other, one after the other. Greasy restaurants. adult stores, and pawn shops. Behind their storefront windows, a latticework of bars stretched and signs hung. Closed.
Hearing a rattling jingle approach, he slipped into a narrow alleyway between two buildings. A man pushed a ramen cart past him, panting as he ran. In his blind hustle to get home, he didn't notice the daiyoukai in the shadows, an arm's length away. After all, night was settling in. And those who weren't meant to be in it were best tucked away behind a deadbolt or two.
The sound of the cart fading into the distance, Sesshoumaru stepped back out onto the sidewalk. Taking a deep breath, he absorbed the smells of the city. The earthiness of the concrete and the sourness of the sewer, they permeated the smoggy air. He let out his breath. This place, he realized, had something he hadn't quite expected. A pulse and it flowed through it like the trains over their tracks.
A brick wall turned into a chain-link fence, and his attention snapped back to his surroundings. At three times his height, the fence towered over him with coils of razor-wire looping over the top. Bolted to it, he found a battered sign. It read Police Impound Lot.
He looked through the fence. Rows of cars were parked in orderly spaces. Most of them were simply dusty, waiting for their owners to pay their past-due tickets. Further back were the mangled messes, ones that had been involved in serious accidents that still warranted investigation.
He smirked.
Its cargo hold rising higher than the cars around it, he spotted the delivery truck. He took a few steps back and leapt up. Not the acrobat he once was, he didn't clear the top, but grabbed on just beneath the razor-wire. He reached up for the wire and felt a biting sting. Surprised by it, he let go and dropped back down to the ground.
Putting his finger in his mouth, Sesshoumaru sucked on it until the cut sealed, his youki tickling his tongue. He felt a measure of gratitude for his youkai toughness as he imagined that more learning experiences were no doubt on their way.
His eyes followed the razor-wire. It curled at the top of every stretch of fencing, thwarting any further attempts. To leap over it, he needed to get higher. His gaze gravitated towards a building that neighbored the lot.
He walked over to it. There was a narrow alleyway that ran between them. He checked the distance. It was about three paces wide. It was easily enough.
With his back against the building, he faced the fence. Gathering his strength, he jumped up, but instead of grabbing the fence when he landed against it, he pivoted away to make another leap. The chain links rattled as he pushed off and landed against the building's wall. Now at twice the height, he instantly twisted back towards the lot and made his final leap. Sailing over the razor-wire, he landed on the pavement inside with a loud thud.
He rose up, his ears sharp as he listened for any security. But all he heard were air conditioning units humming in the distance. No one came.
He headed over to the truck. It still stunk of fuel and radiator fluid. Going around the cab, he found the driver's side door and lifted the handle. It was unlocked, and with a soft whine, it opened. Most of the interior had been stripped out and everything else was coated in a thin residue of fingerprint powder. The police had taken most of the evidence but not everything.
He sniffed the air. A multitude of scents filled his nostrils, muddling together. As he recalled, the television had stated that the truck was stolen, so he disregarded any stale scents. But relying on the fresher scents proved to be confusing. The police had been in and out of the vehicle for days, leaving behind their scents as they conducted their investigation.
As he tested the air, one scent stood out from the rest. Thick and salty, it clung to the seat. It was sweat. The police wouldn't have sweated in the truck. This scent could be the one he was looking for. The one that belonged to his prey.
He inhaled again, exploring the other scents that mixed with it. He was able to single out dirt, detergents, cigarettes, noodle broth, and automobile grease. Together, they melded together to create a distinctive scent profile of the man, and one that he could track.
Finished, he shut the door. Stealthily, he made his way back to the fence. And with a running jump, he leapt on top of a car and bounded over it.
Staying hidden like before, he walked down the sidewalk. The man's profile cycled through his mind as he teased each element apart. The dust from his clothes had notes of a unique soot and fuel. Since he started living in the city, he hadn't smelled it too often except when he and Souta made their occasional visits to the lumberyard.
He turned down a new street and headed towards the harbor and the industrial side of the city.
After a few shortcuts through alleyways and across empty lots, he found the familiar frontage road near the lumberyard. Running parallel beside it were the iron rails of a railroad track.
He sniffed the air and picked up the faint trace of diesel ash. He nodded. The earth smelled right.
He followed the road away from the harbor. There wasn't any sea salt in the man's scent. On his right, were a series of rundown buildings. Mostly they were hardware stores, restaurants, and repair shops made distinctive by squiggles of graffiti.
One place stood out. It had square-shaped cuts of cloth hanging from its eave. With one character written on each piece, the sign spelled out Noodle Shop.
He noticed a savory mix of aromas lingering in the air, still strong even though the restaurant had closed a few hours ago. There was miso and pork broth along with a blend of other seasonings. The proportions were uncannily like that which was in the truck.
He walked up to the dark storefront and sniffed again. The scents of dozens of humans overwhelmed him as he searched for the specific profile of the man.
Then his eyes widened.
He found the man he was looking for, but by the scent he had forgotten. The one scent that left him without any doubt. The man still carried the faint odor of the truck.
Stepping away from the restaurant, he followed the scent. Only a couple hours old, it was fresh. The man must have eaten there for dinner. He tracked it down the sidewalk until it pooled around a concrete building with steel, roll-up doors. An auto repair garage, it was protected by a chain link fence.
Considerably less intimidating than the one at the impound lot, he leapt over it easily.
There was a rustle followed by the pattering of racing paws. With burly shoulders and bared teeth, a dog charged around the corner. When it spotted him, it growled viciously, the fur along its spine standing up like ridge on its back.
Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed and he returned its growl with one of his own. Whining under its ferocity, the dog bent its head and lay down.
He snorted, satisfied that at least his rank among dogs hadn't changed over the years. He walked past it and towards the rear of the building. The thick smell of cigarettes inundated the air. Then his pace slowed when he heard men chuckling.
Peeking around the corner, he found them. The orange ember of a cigarette at their lips, they stood atop a short flight of steps, their bodies leaning against the railing. Backlit by cool fluorescent light, they smoked in front of a door propped open by a cinder block.
He watched them for some time, formulating his plan, when one of them ground his cigarette nub into the railing and tossed it into rusted can. With a casual wave to his friend, he walked back into the building.
Alone now, the other man took out his cigarette carton and shook it lightly until another cigarette fell out onto his palm. He put it to his lips as he shoved the carton back into his pocket and fumbled around for his lighter, oblivious to the danger that closed in from the darkness.
Flipping the cap up on his lighter, he went to light his cigarette when a shadow fell over him.
"Sousuke, you back already?" he asked, but his smile vanished when he noticed that the shadow had two points on top of its head. He turned around and his cigarette dropped. "What the hell?"
A sound hit to his stomach put an end to his questions. And as he crumpled, a hand flew over his mouth to smother his groan. He writhed weakly as Sesshoumaru dragged him down the steps until they were hidden in the darkness. Then he hoisted the man up and dropped him onto the pavement, knocking him out for the rest of the evening.
Sesshoumaru slipped back towards the garage and sniffed the air. There were four active scents, one belonging to the unconscious man. That left him with three more enemies. Quietly, he headed up the stairs and with sharp ears, he entered the doorway.
Inside, he discovered a short hallway that opened up into a large garage. Ahead, he could see a car raised up on a floor jack. A pair of black-smeared pant legs stuck out from beneath it. A hand reached out from underneath the car, tossing out a part. It slid across the floor until it landed with the others in a pile at the man's feet.
Reaching the end of the hallway, Sesshoumaru looked around the corner. There was another car beside the first. Not much more than a skeletal frame, a man wearing a metal hood walked around it carrying a blowtorch. As he set to butchering it, pale blue light flickered off the walls of the garage in rhythm with the popping sizzle of the flame.
Beneath the crackling, Sesshoumaru could hear the drumming of his own heartbeat. It surprised him to hear it. Fear and excitement swelled in him and he couldn't be more pleased.
Cutting away a new piece, the man with the torch turned away and Sesshoumaru stepped out. He walked over to the first man and grabbed his leg. Lying on a mechanic's creeper, the man rolled out with an easy tug.
"Hey!" he yelled until he looked up to see who had gotten him. The strike was fast as Sesshoumaru planted his fist in his face.
Hearing the yell over his cutting, the other man turned around.
Spotting Sesshoumaru, he turned up his torch and came after him.
Sesshoumaru scanned the area and spied a crowbar leaning against a crate. He picked it up.
The man lunged, and he twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding the scorching flame. He swung the crowbar up, hooking the man under the jaw. And then he yanked it back, slamming him down onto the ground. Groaning in pain, the man writhed on the floor, and Sesshoumaru whacked him in the gut to silence him.
Hearing the squeaking of scrambling boots over the polished floor, Sesshoumaru looked up.
Another man bolted towards the hallway and the exit beyond.
Without thinking, Sesshoumaru dropped his crowbar and reached for the butchered car. Lighter than expected, he picked it up and with a grunt, he threw it. The car flew past the man's head and collided with the hallway with a loud, crumpling bang.
Whimpering, the man fell back onto the floor.
Sesshoumaru stooped over and picked up the crowbar. Flipping it casually in his hand, he approached the man.
"What…" the man stuttered as he slid away until his back hit the wall, "What are you?"
"Those who are about to die needn't know what I am," he replied.
"Die? Wait! Wait! I'll do whatever you want! Give you whatever you want! Just don't kill me!"
"I'm still adjusting to this time, and this idea of not killing criminals is a difficult concept to grasp."
The man whimpered.
He struck him with the crowbar.
OOOOOOOOOO
The night faded as the gray dawn streaked the morning sky.
His head throbbing and his face sticky, a man slowly woke up. His eyelids cracked, exposing him to a blurry world. He tried to rub his eyes, but his sore arms were dead weights twisted behind his back. So instead, he blinked until everything came into focus.
In a daze, he stared at the side of a wrecked car in front of him and then turned his head to see the long row of them to his right.
His stupor lifted. Again, he tried to move his arms, and when he did, he heard the rattle of a chain. Looking around as well as he could, he realized that he was sitting against the rim of a truck wheel and the chain he heard was binding his arms around it.
A white figure stepped out from around the truck.
The man stifled a scream.
Unfazed, he walked over and knelt in front of him.
"Be thankful, human, for I have decided to grant you an opportunity," he said.
The man stared into the mask and the burning gold eyes behind it.
"You and your brothers must confess to the police. You must tell them of all your illegal activities, including those involving this vehicle."
"What happens to us if we refuse to?"
"I will return." He punched the truck's cargo hold, denting it deep. "Understand, human?"
The man nodded fervently.
Muffled by the thick steel, the men inside the cargo hold shouted.
"Your brothers are inside. The police will apprehend you shortly. Remember that this is an opportunity."
Then with a sweep of his trench coat, the figure left, a crowbar in his hand.