Young Offender, Part 26:
Hitomi Kitagawa slowly removed her over-sized sunglasses and looked over to where the door of her car opened. Her husband, Hondo, slid in beside her. He scowled and crossed his arm; then, he barked curt orders at the driver to take them home.
When they were on their way home, north, from the new Kansai International Airport, he leaned over and kissed the cheek she offered. He didn't expect her to speak until they were in total privacy. He appreciated his wife's discretion and restraint; he knew it came from the public persona she was forced to maintain. Also, her model-perfect features were apathetic; it was her normal expression behind closed doors.
He was surprised, and irritated, to see her brother's car in the driveway as they pulled up to their seaside mansion. "So, you didn't tell me we had company."
"I guess I was too busy cleaning up behind you," her icy, yet rich, voice sent shivers down Hondo's spine.
"No one asked you to," he snapped.
"Takuma did. After all, Shimamura Electronics was put in an uncomfortable position by your special guests in Switzerland. The club you and Takuma are in requires some answers," she said, turning her gorgeous, brown eyes away from him.
He turned his face away, rather than show his disapproval at her interference in his business affairs. This was a violation of their agreement. He would keep his business dealings covert to protect her reputation, and she would have no say in what he did to earn their fortune.
It was an arrangement that had worked for almost ten years of marriage; at least, it worked until her brother had invited him to join the Black Ghost two years ago. Now it seemed that Hitomi felt as if she had more of a right to interfere with his business decisions.
He got out of the car and went around to let Hitomi out. He tucked her smooth, petite hand in the crook of his arm. They entered the home and went immediately to Hondo's study. It suited his masculine taste, with heavy, mahogany furniture and leather bound books. He looked to the leather, cordovan sofa where his brother-in-law sat sipping a whiskey out of a lead crystal glass. Takuma sat beside Ryu as he flipped through one of his children's adventure books.
Ryu looked up at Hondo and shouted, "Papa!" The nine-year-old child leaped away from his uncle and raced to Hondo's arms. He felt elated at seeing his only child and hugged him tightly after lofting him into the air.
"Have you been a good boy for your mother and Uncle Takuma?"
"Of course, Papa," he chirped brightly. He studied his child's face for a moment. He was glad Ryu had gotten all of Hitomi's good looks and her brains.
"Listen, I need to talk to your uncle. I promise to spend time with you before dinner."
"I'm glad you're home," Ryu said as Hondo set the child beside Hitomi. The woman clasped her child's hand and tugged him out of the study. After the door was shut, Hondo fixed himself a whiskey and glowered at Takuma.
"My sister had to bribe a lot of men to cover up what happed in Switzerland. You know her career is very important; Akira Kurasawa important. And, there are rumors you lost my blueprints I sent with you to give to the Black Ghost."
"And I lost millions of American dollars! We all lost! Who knew that Black Ghost project would come back and cause trouble. I thought they were trying to put those cyborgs on ice?"
"You're positive it was the Double Zero Cyborg experiments?" Takuma asked placidly before another sip of whiskey. Hondo nodded his head in a jerky fashion and fixed his own whiskey from the small bar.
Takuma, who had the same elegant smile and empty eyes as his sister, set aside his drink and fold his tapered hands on his lap. "That's where you come in and can ask for forgiveness, Hondo. They want to know every detail of the attack. It was inconceivable that the cyborgs would rebel like this. They thought that such wonderful gifts would be appreciated. Their ingratitude is outrageous."
"Sure, what does Black Ghost want?"
"They want you to meet with a Russian woman tomorrow. She'll quiz you on the details, and then they can, hopefully, regain control over the Double Zero Cyborgs."
"I'll do it," Hondo snarled. "That kid made me look like a fool! Do you realize that every time I saw a police officer, I couldn't help but talk about my business? He did something to me. Thank goodness it wore off, whatever he did."
"Good, she'll come to your house around ten in the morning. I'll pick up Hitomi and Ryu before then. I think it would be best if my nephew didn't know any more about your business than he already does."
Hondo's eyes narrowed. "Get out. I'll take care of Ryu. Mind your own business and your pregnant wife."
Takuma Shimamura flashed a smile, the same charming smile from Hitomi, and nodded. "Tomorrow."
Hondo nodded back, and his brother-in-law left. He flopped on the cordovan, leather sofa and snorted. He gulped another swallow of the burning liquid.
Jet jumped back slightly to avoid the swinging bat. Mario swung again with the bat raised high. Jet stepped to his left and grabbed the end of the bat as it came down past his side. He yanked the bat away from Mario and gave him a hard shove to the snowy, concrete ground.
Mario rolled over and leaped back to his feet. Jet chuckled and tossed the bat in the air. He gracefully caught it on the smaller side and shook his head. "I was always better than you, Mario, so just go home now. It's over."
"It's not over until you're bleeding," Mario said.
Jet felt a strong blow to his lower back that knocked the breath out of him. He stumbled several steps and remained standing. If he wouldn't have been a cyborg, that would have crushed his spine. It was still painful, though. He turned to see Paul loft his two-by-four and was about to hit the top of Jet's head. He dodged, but Paul caught him on the left shoulder.
He swung the bat with his right hand and was able to crack the two-by-four. Jet's mind went blank as he charged Paul and swung the bat into his stomach. Paul crumpled to the ground, giving Jet enough of a chance to turn around to face Gino.
Jet couldn't move back fast enough to avoid the swipe to his stomach. The switchblade sliced through his white teeshirt and made a deep cut in his artificial skin, but the tip didn't hit anything vital. "Dumb ass, Gino! I got a bat you idiot! How are you going to get close to me?"
"Screw you, Jet!" Gino shouted, charging Jet. Jet quickly hoisted the bat and swung at Gino's hand, trying to avoid giving a fatal blow to Gino's head. Jet was pleased to see the switchblade go arching off into the dark, snowy night, with Gino stupidly staring after it.
"You were always such an idiot!" Jet raised the bat and faked a swipe towards Gino face. "Scram or I'll beat the shit out of you!"
Gino, like the mindless goon he was, turned and ran out of the alleyway as Paul sat up, glaring after Gino. Paul tried to stand, but Jet shoved him back against a brick wall with his foot. "Listen, candy ass, don't move a muscle."
Jet turned to see Stevie and Carlos come at him with their chains. He knew they could get the upper-hand, because they were smarter and quicker than the other three. Jet glanced down and discarded the bat in favor or a baseball sized chunk of concrete. He pitched it quickly at Stevie's chest, right as he ran towards Jet.
Stevie fell back, winded, but Carlos still came. Jet tried to avoid the chain swinging towards his left arm, but couldn't. It slapped painfully around his arm; again, he knew if he weren't a cyborg, his bones would be crushed. Carlos yanked back the chain, tearing Jet's artificial skin. His left arm was oozing what would appear to be blood in dim light to his former gang members.
Carlos took aim and swung the chain at Jet's head. Jet ducked down, the chain grazing the top of his head. That's when it really dawned on him. They were really trying to kill him! Carlos swung again. This time, Jet took the punishment and grabbed the chain with his left hand. He jerked the chain and grabbed more of it, taking a shocked Carlos off balance. Jet brought his knee into Carlos' gut and shoved him to the ground.
Carlos held up his hands in surrender. Jet turned around and was amazed to feel a sharp pain to his stomach. He was staring at Mario's hardened eyes, then he looked down to see Gino's blade had been used to stab him.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Jet roared and shoved Mario back with a surge of adrenaline. His anger exploded as he grabbed the baseball bat, once again, and came after Mario.
The stunned greaser stumbled backwards and slipped on a patch of ice. Jet hoisted up the baseball bat as he screamed. He about brought it down on Mario's head, but the guy cowered. A memory cut through Jet's red, hazy anger.
Jet remembered he and Mario standing outside a toy store on a hot August day when they were eight-years old. They fantasized what it would be like to use a real bat, ball, and glove instead of a stick, a rock, and their bare hands.
They then went over to a park in a wealthier area and watched, with envy in their hearts, a bunch of other kids play baseball with proper equipment. When the other children noticed them, they started teasing Jet and Mario, finally chasing them off with loud laughter. The envy in Jet's heart turned to shame, and then bitterness. He knew it was the same for Mario.
Jet lowered the bat slowly and let out a shaky breath. His anger drained leaving behind only sympathy. "It's over, Mario. If you or the guys see me on the streets again, turn the other way. Next time, I won't hold back."
Mario nodded, wide-eyed. Jet stooped, with considerable pain, to get his coat from the snowy ground. He didn't put in on because it was wet. He walked home, resting the baseball bat over his right shoulder.
"So what do you want to know, Mrs Gamo?" Hondo asked in German, gesturing to a black winged-back chair. German was the only language they mutually knew. The plump, older woman removed her hat, gloves, and coat. She smoothed down the front of her drab, gray dress and fixed him with a scrutinizing gaze.
"You won't have to say a word, Mr Kitagawa. Just rest comfortably on the sofa. I'll be able to retrieve your memories easily. Afterwards, I'll report my finding, and we'll hope to capture them soon."
Hondo was baffled at how she was going to do this, hypnotism perhaps. "Would you like something to drink?"
"No, and I hope you haven't drank in a while. It'll make the process easier."
"Not since yesterday afternoon." He took a seat in the middle of the cordovan sofa. He started loosening his gray, silk tie when he saw the Russian woman's blue eyes start glowing a faint amethyst. He paused and wondered if he was seeing things because of his jet lag.
"You aren't seeing things, Mr Kitagawa. Sleep," she ordered.
"Mon Dieu! Jet! What happened?" Francoise gasped, jumping off the couch. Albert rose, looking absolutely shell shocked.
"I ran into some old buddies, and we partied hard," Jet mumbled, dropping his coat and purple scarf after shutting the front door.
"You're bleeding out fluid!" Francoise said, coming up to him. She started to grab for his teeshirt, but he flinched before she could touch him.
"I'm okay."
"Jet, don't be stubborn. Let Francoise treat you," Albert ordered in a soft, yet firm, voice. Jet let Francoise lead him to the bathroom. He removed his teeshirt and sat up as straight as he could on the edge of the bathtub. Francoise got out a large, leather case from a towel closet, and removed a roll of flesh colored tape and a small can of sealant.
"Are any of your internal organs hurt?"
"Naw."
"Your back and shoulder look like hell," Albert said, leaning on the sink while watching them.
"Yeah well, my friends wanted to give a memorable welcome home."
Albert frowned as Francoise cut strips and placed them around his left arm and hand. She then cut another strip and covered the slice across his stomach and the puncture wound above it. She then shook the small can of adhesive.
"Hold your arm over the bathtub."
Jet did as Francoise asked. She sprayed the adhesive on his left arm. It stung horribly as the strips of artificial skin started bonding with the skin on his arm. She quickly applied some to his stomach and put the cap back on the spray can.
"It's a good thing Kozumi invented that. We'll have to have him send us a case if you keep going for walks by yourself," Albert said, giving Jet a sharp look.
"Let me see your bruises," Francoise ordered. She quickly left the bathroom with a thin towel. Jet was baffled at the sound of the front door opening and closing. She came back a minute later with some icicles wrapped in it. He hissed at the stinging cold against the hot bruise. "You'll need to keep this on your back to get the swelling down. Our muscles still act like our natural ones, only tougher. At least that's what Kozumi told me, once."
Jet stiffly looked down and stared at his arm. The replacement skin looked like crackled patches stuck to his cuts. He took his thumb nail and started picking at a spot on his wrist. "Don't pick at it! It'll take at least a week to bond your skin together. Let it melt and work."
He smirked, but didn't respond. She then asked, "Are you sure nothing internal is hurt? You're back is getting purple. You know, Jet, they took our original muscles and laced them with wire to increase the strength and protect them. You're not indestructible."
"After what I've been through, I'm starting to think I am," Jet said causticly.
"Oh, Jet, please don't be like this. I'm so sorry. This was my fault. I should haven't pushed you. You wouldn't have left. I'm so very sorry."
Jet's anger suddenly surged up; she didn't appreciate the struggle he'd been through and placed no value on the accomplishment of earning his freedom. She had taken Jet's decisions and made them her responsibility. She didn't understand that he had chosen this.
Jet glowered at her, barely repressing his anger. He didn't think he could explain himself to her, but he tried. "You don't get it! I needed it to happen. I'm okay. I'm better than I have been in a long time. I feel a little freer, and I don't need your condescending attitude. Patch me up and shut up!"
She gasped and looked almost on the verge of tears, her cheeks reddened. Albert said, "Jet, don't talk to her like that. At least give her concern for you some respect."
Jet clenched his jaw and waved his hand in the air. "Fine. Sorry," he spat out through grinding teeth. It was hopeless trying to communicate with Francoise. They were too different. The three of them sat in silence for several long minutes.
"I'm still so ashamed of what I said." Francoise clasped her hand in front of her chest, looking sorrowful. "I talked with Albert while we waited for you to come back. I think I said those things because, I'm really jealous that you still have the ability to talk to your parents." Jet wasn't shocked at Francoise's confession, but it was the first time anyone had said they envied him. Her attitude turned somber.
She turned her heavy, aqua eyes to meet his and said, "I lost my parents when I was thirteen. It's been so hard on me. When I used to dance, I'd imagine them out in the audience, proud of me. During the holidays, it was so hard. Jean-Paul would do his best, but he was missing them, too. I guess I felt you were taking your family for granted."
Jet chuckled and shook his head. "Family isn't just blood, Frannie. It's when you watch someone's back, and you know they have yours. It's trust. Real trust is something you just don't hand out to anyone."
Jet felt awkward seeing a tear trickle down Francoise's left cheek. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulder and squeezed her quickly, aware of his shirtless state, but stilling needing to let her know they were at peace. He sat back from her and placed his right hand on her shoulder.
"Listen, Frannie, there are things about what happened to me when I was a kid that I'm trying to sort through. I don't really want to talk about it, but my parents weren't like yours. You got to understand that they drank a whole lot and didn't handle their... stress... well. Can you just let it alone at that and give me some room to think?"
"I promise I will, but please think about it. Once they're dead, you'll never get the resolution you need. Just think about yourself and what you need."
"Okay. Thanks for patching me up."
Francoise let Jet take over holding the makeshift ice pack. Then she closed the black case and stowed it away. "I'm exhausted. Good night." She leaned over and gave Jet a quick peck on the cheek. She then turned, rose on her toes, and gave Albert a peck on the cheek, too. She said to him, "Thanks so much. I appreciate your wisdom."
After she left, Jet turned towards Albert. He realized that they had had a long, serious talk about him while he was gone. He took a deep breath and stood on unsteady feet. Albert grabbed his elbow and helped him to their couches. Albert sat beside him and leaned over, elbows on his knees.
"You're mad at me?" Jet asked.
"Yes. We don't have the resources to risk on getting injured. It was irresponsible." Jet was about to interrupt, but Albert continued. "I do understand. Women try to be too helpful, sometimes."
"I know that now hangin' out with one all the time. I need my space and I hope she knows that after your little talk with her."
"I know and I think she understands. You need to figure some of this out on your own, getting along with women." Albert ran his mechanical hand through his graying hair and had an exasperated expression. "So, you ran into your old gang like I'm presuming?"
"Yeah. I was 'jumped out.' I'm rid of them now. Small miracle. No one ever gets jumped out and lives to talk about it."
Albert gave a jerky nod. "Let's get some sleep."
Jet was amazed; Albert understood his motivations, even thought he didn't like the execution. Albert was willing to let him struggle and have his own accomplishments. "Yeah, I'm exhausted."
Albert stood up and turned off the lights. Jet tossed the icepack on the floor and fell over to his side. He let out a groan as his body throbbed in pain.
"Are you okay, Jet?"
"Never better," Jet answered honestly, Albert settled on his couch across from the coffee table.
"Good night."
"Night," Jet said, wishing his sore body would dull so he could get some sleep.
"Report," Scar snapped. Fyodr Gamo looked over to his wife as she tugged off her gloves.
"I discovered that 001 has increased in power a great deal. I also discovered that the cyborgs did this for money and to destroy those plans from Shimamura Electronics. No doubt, a feeble effort to halt Black Ghost's research and development. Their move smacks of desperation. I get the impression they would try to do this again if their money ran out or they foolishly thought they could get some petty revenge."
"Yes," Scar agreed. "What else did you learn."
Dr Gamo watched his wife's smile spread slowly. "That we have a spy among us. It turns out my son is more clever than I thought. He's been in contact with one of your hardest working scientists."
"Really? Name the dog!"
"Doctor Isaac Gilmore."
Scar slammed his fist down on the arm of his throne, but then Fyodr was baffled. Scar actually started howling in laughter. "Lord Scar?" Dr. Gamo asked.
"This could actually work to our advantage. We will start feeding false information to Gilmore as a test. Then, we'll set a trap."
"Excellent idea," Erika said, nodding.
"You did as I asked?" Scar asked.
"Mr Kitagawa had a tragic brain hemorrhage after I finished my interrogation. Such a pity, but his young wife and her brother were enthusiastic about guiding Kitagawa's business ventures in a different direction. I believe Mrs Kitagawa will be an asset to the Merchants of Death," Erika said.
"I'll need you two to remain silent about what you know. Mrs Gamo, you'll be the one I'll need to subdue 001 and bring him back into the fold. Also, the three other errant Double Zero Cyborg. When they are back under out control, I want you, Dr Gamo, to give them all lobotomies. I think Dr Gaea has a point."
"As you wish, Lord Scar," Fyodr answered, stroking his thick, black beard.
To be continued.