Hey guys! Hello and welcome to another installment of Roanapur Shakedown. This chapter's gonna see the start of some more action! Anyway, please R&R!
To Meech: You are very right. Eda probably isn't her name, in this story or in the manga/anime itself, but I think I'll leave a real name up to imagination for now.
Ch. 12: …Is My Friend
A thin cloud of smoke billowed around the Russian mafia queen like a veil as she expelled the cigar smoke from her lungs. It was well after dark and she was still seated behind her desk filling out paperwork for the Bougainvillea trading company. The documents for her business front were the farthest thing from her mind, however, as she sat in restlessness; pondering over recent events.
Chang's presence had been expected an hour ago, and still she was alone with herself to mull over the situation with the Japanese yakuza head. Hotel Moscow had been fortunate enough to remain unharmed as both sides surveyed each other for weakness in the intervening days since the dock incident. Chang's 4K, on the other hand, had endured multiple attacks as the Yakuza slowly began to encroach on the triad's turf.
This Shinji was really becoming quite bothersome. The problem was that Rock was right. This was not a foe that she or Chang could just wage a normal war against…not without help, anyway.
That was how they came to be locked in their little stalemate while the citizens of the city continued to grow more uneasy at the prospect of a full scale war; not that she cared about them. Her only loyalty was to her men and to power.
It was just after twenty-two hours when the door of her office finally creaked open and Boris poked his head in with his usual subservient greeting of "Kapitan" followed by the Triad boss. Per Balalaika's previous request, Boris left the two to discuss business in private.
"You're late." She noted, not even bothering to veil her pent up irritation at various matters as Chang made himself at home on her sofa. His response was simply to flash her his usual carefree smile and light himself a cigarette. "Yeah, sorry about that. Had to lose my tail."
Balalaika nodded in understanding as she sat across from him. The Yakuza had begun spying on both factions of late. "Just another nuisance to deal with. First this shit head comes to town, then he blows twelve of my men to hell with a bomb, and now I'm forced to endure a staring contest with the man. It's just shameful." She took a long drag of her cigar to calm herself and unclenched her fist as Chang harrumphed in response. "You say that like you're the only one gettin' fucked here, Balalaika. Don't forget…my place was bombed too, ya know. On top of that, those yakuza samurai fuckers keep butchering my collecters on their routes."
The burned woman's brow twitched with impatience as Chang spoke and by the time he was finished, she had reached her limit. "So, what do you suggest we do?" She snapped, "It's just this bastard I've got to deal with, oh no. As if that weren't enough, now I'm being hounded by the bosses in Moscow to go deal with the Albanians waging war against the Red Mafia in New York."
She forced the Triad boss back into the cushions as she loomed over him and invaded his personal space a little more with each word until he was buried in the plush cushions smiling up at her rather awkwardly with the cigarette askew in his mouth.
"Albanians, you say?" Chang had been going to all his contacts to dig up any information on Shinji that could be of help and something about Albania seemed to ring a bell. He wracked his brain hard for the details.
"Yes." Balalaika went back to her seat, crossing one long, slender leg over the other and regarding him curiously. "Do you know something of this?"
Chang took a deep drag of nicotine from the cancer stick between his fingers, "Maybe not about your particular issue, but I do know that the Albanians in question have a keen dislike for one Shinji Matsuzaki."
"Oh?" Balalaika perked up in interest.
"Apparently, when Shinji's Yakuza spread its reach to eastern Europe a few years ago they were able to forge a co-existence with the local gangs. However, the Albanians weren't quite as welcoming. The poor bastards resisted so fiercely that most of their number was butchered in a month long war. The rest eventually fled to The Big Apple to make a name for themselves."
The Russian leaned forward to snub out her cigar, mulling over this new information in her mind. "So, like cockroaches, the insects fled into the darkness to regroup and multiply their numbers."
"Exactly." A familiar Cheshire grin spread across Chang's face as if they had already won the war. "And who do you think they hate more: the gang they're fighting for territory, or the gang that forced them out of their home country?"
Balalaika was quick to catch his point and her own maniacal grin spread slowly across her face at the thought of their combined forces finally laying waste to the pest.
"Excellent."
"So," Chang leaned forward to crush his cigarette into the ashtray, and then rested his chin on his laced fingers. ", how do you wanna handle this?" It was obvious to the both of them that a trip to the states was in the near future for Balalaika, but they both knew that leaving the city at a time like this could have some serious consequences.
The Russian Mafioso rested both arms on the back of the couch and leaned back, looking to the ceiling in thought for a few moments. "The last time Hotel Moscow reduced its presence in Roanapur, it took weeks to restore order. We simply cannot afford that at such a delicate time."
Chang nodded along, agreeing with her words, then followed suit as Balalaika stood. Both of them hovered near the door of her office while she laid out her plan and brought their meeting to a close.
"Sergeant Borisov will take command of Hotel Moscow in my absence; I shall enlist the Lagoon Company to travel with me to New York. I've got a feeling the Yaponski's negotiation skills and Two-Hands' guns will prove very useful."
"So then that's settled." Chang smirked, pulling out his pack of smokes again before moving to open the door, "Goodnight to you, Miss Balalaika. Watch yourself."
"Same to you, baby." Balalaika grinned devilishly at his displeasure toward the nickname and shut the door behind him, turning back towards her desk to resume filling out the mountain of paper work.
It was just past midnight a couple nights later at the Yellow Flag, and two members of Lagoon Company were seated in their usual spots in front of the bar. The contrast in behavior of the two was enough to tell anyone who was familiar with the pair that something was amiss. While Revy was up to her usual heavy drinking antics, Rock was just on his second drink. He simply sat cautiously swirling the drink around in the confines of its glass and admiring his dangerously wild partner from not so far away. Enough time had passed that Rock had remembered exactly what had happened after their little bet, and he suspected Revy remembered too. Still, as innocuous as the happenings that night were, he couldn't bring himself to resume their normal competitive routine. Revy flat out refused to discuss the issue or much else with him in spite of the fact that all they did was sleep in the same bed.
"Yo, Rock! The fuck you doin'!" Her vaguely slurred voice cut into his morose train of thought, "Hurry up and finish yer fuckin' drink! We're here to get wasted, right?" His new drinking habits grated on the fiery woman's nerves intensely…more so than his attempts to get her to talk about what had (or hadn't) happened between them.
Rock merely gave a small shake of his head in response, prompting more goading from his partner. "You're missin' out…" she drawled in a sing-song voice draping an arm over his shoulder and prodding him in the chest with the index finger of her right hand. "This could be the last good drink we have in a while, partner." Again, the businessman refused and shrugged her arm off of him.
"Suit yourself," Revy shrugged, getting ready to go right for the throat with a tactic that had never failed to entice her uptight partner when he wasn't exactly in a drinking mood. "I'll just finish this drink, then we'll go down to the nearest dress shop and pick you out a pretty little outfit." To her surprise and immense irritation, even that failed to make Rock budge an inch as he continued to toy with his rum.
"Grrr, what the fuck, Rock!" Revy growled, slamming her own drink down on the bar and turning to face him fully. She knew exactly what his problem was, but had been choosing to ignore it up until that point, because frankly, she didn't want to address the issue behind it either. Although, her inhibitions were lowered just enough, and her patience had run out to the point that a crack appeared yet again in her armor as she tore into Rock. "Are you really gonna get all fuckin' pansy-ass on me just because we fuckin' shared a bed!?"
In an instant, every head in the bar including Rock's was turned toward the gunwoman, though everyone present was smart enough to keep their mouth shut lest a bullet find a home between their eyes. Rock was just as stunned as the rest of them, staring at her like a fish flopping around on a dock. He could safely assume it was the alcohol, but this was the first time she'd openly made mention of what happened despite his attempts to discuss it. He still wanted desperately to talk about it too; to explain his feelings on the matter. He wanted to know where she stood after thinking that there had been sex between them, and after openly offering it to him. Alas, Rock knew that this was not the time. She was tipsy, they had an audience, and most importantly, she had already crawled back into her shell. So, in answer, he flashed her a smile then turned to Bao, whose mouth was slightly agape at Revy's words, "Bring us all the Bacardi you've got."
"Fuckin' A!" Revy cheered, her mood doing a complete 180 in a matter of just a couple seconds.
Once Bao returned with the rum, the atmosphere in the bar grew tense as the pair faced off with each other. It was a simple drinking match and yet they stared each other down as if they would be drawing guns on each other any second now…a laughable thought when it came to the white collar of the pair.
The Vietnamese barkeep poured them both a shot to start and stood between them like a referee between two prize fighters.
"Alright, folks, you know the rules: fifteen shots, last one standing wins. If either of you can't hold yer liquor, you lose fer that, too. Not to mention one o' you gets to clean that shit up."
There was quiet chatter in the bar as the other patrons watched intently in the moments before the start of the contest. Some were already making bets, and others just filled with excitement at what was about to go down. Drinking contests between Rock and Revy were legendary in this bar.
As the barkeep pulled out a cloth to throw into the air, the gunslinger's hands twitched in a manner reminiscent of a cowboy moments away from drawing his six-shooter. The bars patrons expected Ennio Morricone's theme from 'The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly to start playing out of thin air any second now.
Finally, the ratty old cloth that once resembled something white in color floated down to the surface of the bar and the two were off! They started at an unusually slow pace, matching each other shot for shot for the first three or so, and then Revy began to speed up the pace, downing three shots of the burning liquid in rapid succession.
"Come…Come on." Revy slurred just after downing her twelfth shot, looking at Rock through bleary, bloodshot eyes, "Is that all…you fuckin' got?"
Rock was lagging a couple shots behind, but at this rate, he had the feeling that tonight was his lucky night. They both stood on wobbly legs, teetering on the edge of losing their balance and clutching on to the bar with their respective free hands. The businessman struggled to keep his arm straight as he reached for his shot and brought it to his lips in a defiant display before slamming it down and flashing his partner a cocky smile.
"I should…I should ask you the same question, Revy." He clutched on to the bar with both hands as the room began to move ever so slightly, watching while his partner reached for shot number thirteen. "Go ahead…drink another one." The businessman goaded. Normally, she would've been able to handle all fifteen before keeling over, but Rock suspected that the drinking she had done before they started had pushed her to her limit prematurely, and so he opted to stand back and watch while she struggled to bring the sloshing liquid to her lips.
Once Revy had finally managed to drink the thirteenth shot, the whole of the bar watched in anticipation to see what would happen next. Another brief staring contest ensued when the pair's eyes locked and they fixed each other with devilish smiles. Without breaking eye contact, the gunwoman reached a wobbly hand down on the next shot glass, but the match was decided in the next moment. In an instant, Revy's legs failed her and the ground came up to meet her with a hard thud and the sound of broken glass as the shot glass in her hand was shattered on the wood floor.
Rock and Bao leaned over to get a better look at her and realized that she was indeed unconscious. Triumphant yells and quiet grumbles of defeat permeated the bar as Bao lifted Rock's arm up in a declaration of his victory and the rest of the patrons began passing bills between each other.
Several minutes later, Rock was outside the apartment building that served as a home to each member of the Lagoon Company. Revy had been out like a light the entire time. He opened the passenger side of the GTO and reached his arms in under her legs and behind her back. It came as a surprise when one well-toned arm reached around his neck suddenly and pinned his face into her generous bosom.
'Shit, now what?' The businessman blushed furiously as his attempts to wriggle from her iron grip brought his face even closer to her. He was glad of the fact that the alcohol was keeping her well sedated. If she punched him for accidentally grazing her boob a couple weeks ago, he could only imagine what she might do to him for rubbing his face in her chest.
A few minutes of stumbling, awkward twisting, and maneuvering later, Rock had arrived at Revy's apartment. Thankfully, he was spared having to grope her any further for a pair of keys by the fact that Revy didn't lock her door. She never bothered because she figured she could take care of herself, most people in the city knew not to pull that shit on her, and if she got robbed while she was out she'd just go looking for the asshole and teach him a lesson he'd never forget for the remainder of his very short life.
Rock gently placed his partner onto her mattress and brought the thin sheet up to her chest before turning to leave. He was stopped in his tracks halfway to the door as a soft mumble met his ear. He turned towards the bed and listened closer, attempting to make sense of the noise in his alcohol addled mind.
"…Rock…" The soft murmur fell upon his ears again even as he read it from the woman's lips. Involuntarily, his pulse quickened and his palms began to sweat at the sultry sound. She couldn't really be dreaming about him, could she? Staggering a bit closer to the bed, he took in her sleeping form, scrutinizing the way the moonlight streamed in through her broken blinds and made her look like the most peaceful creature his eyes had ever beheld. He waited for some confirmation that he had heard her right; some unguarded sign of her affection as he stood there in the darkness of her disheveled bedroom.
Eventually, he heaved a defeated sigh and turned back toward the door, resigning himself to finally getting the sleep he so desperately needed. Rock wrapped his hand around the door handle and pulled. Just as the door creaked open, he heard the sound again.
"Stay…" It was clear as day that time and Rock's eyes widened as he once again turned to face the sleeping woman to make sure she was still sleeping. Then again, as tender as her voice sounded, she had to be. He could never imagine that kind of tone coming from the gunslinger were she awake and in control of her faculties. Alas, he decided that it would be best not to grant her involuntary request, and so, he watched longingly as she rolled over to face the window before he retreated back into the hallway and toward his room.
The next day, Lagoon Company had assembled at the Bougainvillea Trade Company where they were making a few last minute preparations for the trip to America. Due to Hotel Moscow's problem with Yakuza spies, it had been decided that Boris would drive the group to Don Mueang International Airport in Bangkok in an unmarked van.
"Kapitan," Boris addressed, stepping up to the head of Hotel Moscow and saluting, "The final preparations have been made. Your tickets have been confirmed and the passports we got them have come through." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out four fake passports, putting them back in just as soon as he did so.
Balalaika pulled out a Cuban and clipped of the end. "Excellent, Sergeant. Right on schedule; we will depart shortly." She extracted a lighter from the pocket of her business suit and immersed the tip of the cigar in the small flame until it caught, taking a puff. The ever stoic Sergeant gave a small grunt of acknowledgement before speaking again, "Kapitan…you should know I don't like this."
The Russian woman chuckled grimly, releasing a ring of smoke into the air between them. "I don't like it either, but our hand has been forced. I'm afraid it's the best option we have at the moment." Her eyes got a far away look in them and a sense of déjà vu washed over her as her memories took her back to her war days.
"I seem to recall a similar situation that we faced in Afghanistan, don't you, Sergeant?" Boris nodded grimly. Indeed he remembered it well. It was the day they had each acquired their respective battle scars. The fighting was hellish and the sand was just as hot. Their platoon had been fending off an assault by the Mujahideen forces for hours. At some point during the fighting, Balalaika had set up a vantage point in the ruins of a building atop a cliff, but the rest of the platoon had been forced back in their attempt to join with her; effectively leaving her alone behind enemy lines.
At the time, one of their allies was also in the area. The moment Boris realized what had happened, he tried like a mad man to get them on radio, and when that failed, he circumvented the battlefield in a mad dash to get to that unit. The last thing he remembered before waking up in the infirmary was the glass of a jeep's window flying at his face as it exploded. He'd been surprised to see his Kapitan lying comatose in the bed across from his with horrid white bandages across most of her burned body; of course, the horrific sight of those stark white bandages was nothing compared to the horrendous injuries hidden beneath them. According to the medic, one of the enemy soldiers had managed to get close enough to toss a Molotov cocktail through a window of the building she was sniping from.
"Well Sergeant," The Kapitan spoke up as she snubbed out her cigar, her voice putting an end to their dreadful reminiscing, "We'd best move out."
With that, the six of them loaded into the inconspicuous black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter model van. Balalaika and Boris were, of course, seated in the front two seats, and the Lagoon Company made themselves comfortable in the back, content to sit quietly for the moment. It was still very early in the morning; not even the ass crack of dawn yet, and given that Revy and Rock had both been out drinking the previous night, Dutch was the only member of the crew showing some semblance of cognizance. Benny and Revy were never really the early bird types and Rock was understandably hungover. He wasn't suffering alone though, Revy, who was trying to catch some shut eye on the ride to the airport, could be heard muttering tired curses under her breath as the van sped over bumps in one of the various poorly maintained roads. Dutch snickered quietly at the sight of his two employees simultaneously grabbing their heads every time a horn blared.
Several minutes later, the van was completely out of the city and entering the Thai countryside. It was then that Balalaika spoke for the first time since leaving Hotel Moscow HQ. Her eyes flitted to the passenger side mirror as she gazed at two cars that Boris had been subtly trying to shake off for some time now.
"It seems that, despite our efforts, we've managed to pick up some pests." She addressed her second in command, but spoke loudly enough for everyone in the van to be included in the conversation. Revy's ears twitched and she immediately perked up. Balalaika caught sight of the action from her peripheral vision and a predatory smile spread across her scarred face as her lust for violence took over.
"I see you're eager for a fight, Two-Hands." She chuckled, hiding a smile behind her hand. The same expression of bloodlust that had adorned the Kapitan's face just a moment before began to show itself on the face of Lagoon Company's gun as the thrill of the impending action overpowered the headache that had been hammering away at her all morning. "Would you care to give our guests a proper greeting?"
"Sure thing, Sis." Revy spoke with a perky tone that was unnatural for someone about to send fellow human beings to the bowels of hell. With one swift kick, the doors to the back of the van were kicked open. It took but a split second for the gunslinger's practiced eye to pinpoint exactly which cars were tailing them. One burgundy colored Volvo and another green Yugo, each with a team of two men. If Revy had to guess, she'd say both cars were stolen, but that was unimportant.
"ALRIGHT!" In a flash, both cutlasses were drawn, cocked, and aimed at either car. "I hope you like lead for breakfast, mother fuckers!"
Alright, I'm gonna end it there with a nice cliffhanger. I hope you've enjoyed it this far! It's been a blast to write so far! Be assured that next chapter will start off with a bang. Anyway, Please R & R!