Spring, 2016
"Come on. Time to get up." Makoto, lost in dizzy darkness with nothing but dehydration, had no clue what was going on until the voice repeated itself. "You've been on my couch long enough, now you need to run along to whatever it is you do during the day."
Her disorientation wasn't just physical—whose couch had she slept on, and what the Hell was she supposed to do that day? She traced her steps back to the previous day, to ordering shots at the Old Imperial bar for the purpose of celebrating her promo—"...Mmphuck," Makoto grunted into the couch. She hoped the couch's owner would grant her the mercy of not revealing the time and letting her think she still had a chance to get to work.
"Lazy one, aren't you? I could always call the police, let them know about your special friend…"
Special friend? Makoto barely had normal friends. Who could her special friend be? Also, who was the woman and why was she on her couch? Again, Makoto checked the unorganized filing cabinet of memories of the previous night. Her poor decision at the Old Imperial led her to the streets, which led her to trip over outside the coffee shop, the place where she met her special friend.
"Fuzzy Dunlop…" She rolled over and sat up, stretching the soreness out of her back by leaning forward and finally opening her eyes. Light and nausea were one and the same. "Dammit, Makoto."
The couch's owner, a short, dark-haired woman dressed to work at an edgy health clinic gave her an unfriendly sight. "'Dammit, Makoto' is right. I don't know what a Dunlop is, but dammit, Makoto, if you don't get out of my—"
"Sorry, just trying to think straight." Makoto felt no anger towards the woman for lashing out; she had every right to be upset. That and the confusion from her headache were too strong for Makoto to feel anything more than a passionate desire for a nap. Unfortunately, her first day as a detective awaited her, though she hoped it waited patiently. Time was a concept she was yet to grasp that difficult morning.
"I don't know how much you drank, or how long Ren spent with you, but—"
"What?"
"What do you mean, 'what?' You're Ren's one-night-stand, are you not?"
Makoto was disappointed—she expected someone who referred to themselves as Fuzzy Dunlop to have a much more interesting name, though she could rationalize that he compensated for his simple name with the most amusing nickname she'd ever encountered.
"No… I made some bad choices and got myself lost. He—Ren—found me, then brought me here. At least, that's what I remember…" Makoto tried to find gaps and blank spaces, but her memories yielded none. She could trace a straight line from the Old Imperial door to Leblanc, to Ren's arms, then to the woman's home. Maybe she couldn't remember the specific path, but the order was clear enough. "Not a one-night-stand or anything like it."
"I know. I just wanted to confirm what you think of him before I kicked you out." The woman smirked at getting the better of Makoto, forcing Makoto's eyes away. "As for your memories, believe what you want. It's your responsibility to remember your bender, not mine."
God, a bender? Makoto did not want to consider what was meant to be some light celebration a bender, but she also didn't want to object to the woman who'd shown her more than enough kindness by not kicking her out or calling the police. And her smirk? Confirming what Makoto thought of Ren? What was that about, and how did Makoto give away her answer without saying anything?
"Look… I'm truly sorry. I wasn't prepared for how much I drank and—"
"It's not a problem so long as you're off my couch before I leave," she said as she checked her watch, "which is in one minute and twenty-eight seconds."
Makoto performed her hardest task since downing that first shot—standing up. Her legs didn't shake and her vision didn't swim, but falling over was oh-so-tempting. The comfort of the couch didn't help, either. With both legs under her, Makoto could stand on a little bit of gained pride and ready her ego for the inevitable blow that would come with checking the time.
She checked her pocket for her phone, thankfully finding it with no differences. Sliding it out, Makoto quickly glanced down to see that she still had another hour before she officially started as a detective, giving her time to go home, clean herself and her thoughts, and grab some food.
Maybe even some coffee.
Makoto began the easier-said-than-done process of walking to the front door. Her body wanted to lean to whichever side she gave weight to, but she managed to stay upright with muscle memory. "Um… Do you know what time that coffee shop opens?" she asked just as she reached the door.
"Why? You wanna go talk to Ren again?" the woman teased, toying with Makoto for whatever reason.
The woman made enough judgments of Makoto; it was time to be vague. "Maybe."
"He might be there, but I doubt it. Leblanc is open when he wants it to be open, and that's why it's closed."
So he ran a coffee shop as a side gig? And just why was he there at midnight? Makoto's first day as a detective had her asking questions about things that shouldn't have mattered, but curiosity and Ren were a bad combination.
"Do you know where I can find him?" Makoto excused her need to see him as a need to be polite—he deserved thanks for not letting her freeze or wander herself into danger. She definitely didn't want to learn about him or look at him with sober eyes… Not at all.
"Don't worry about that. He'll talk to you eventually," The woman said, waving at the door to remind Makoto of things of more immediate importance. The two minutes and forty-three seconds drew to a close. "When he does, could you give him a message on my behalf?"
"Sure."
"Tell him he can go fuck himself."
"Ah…" Makoto's lack of reaction served as agreement for who she assumed to be Tae. The woman smiled at Makoto, so she decided to just move on. "Thank you for your hospitality."
Tae showed her manners by finally smiling at something that wasn't related to judging Makoto. "Yeah, yeah…" Still, she had places to be and pushed Makoto out the door while following behind her.
"Erm, if I'm not intruding, where are you going?" Makoto asked, watching Tae twist the key with all her might to lock her door.
"I run a private clinic down the street. Stop by when you regret meeting Ren."
"Will do."
"What if we start by doing some research? Take a day at the office just to make a plan and punch some numbers," Chihaya said. Her voice sounded like it had seen a morning of road rage after a sleepless night. She kicked her feet up on the table, getting one joyous millisecond of relaxation until Mamoru reminded everyone that they were on the job by quietly pushing them off the table.
Thankfully, her shoes failed to stain the table of their new conference room entrusted to them by Sako and his bosses. It and the lockable door it came with were Makoto's two favorite resources she'd been granted; a lock meant no one could approach her when she needed to lock in on cross-referencing files or just thinking about the case. She knew she'd be doing a whole lot of that in the coming month.
However, it was still up for debate whether the undersized conference room (which barely fit the five-man team around a table with some filing cabinets against the walls) was a boon or a hindrance to productivity.
"Screw that." Research, relaxation, and relief were not words in Chie's vocabulary. "We're going out there, kicking ass, and blowing this case open on the first day!"
Yukiko spent the first fifteen minutes of her day unsuccessfully rubbing the night out of her eyes. "I think we're all a little too hungover for that.
"B-but Yukiko…" Chie didn't have the heart to argue with her best friend. "Fine. We'll spend the day at the office… Reading files… Doing nothing… Slacking."
Makoto sat up in her chair. "No, we're not doing that. We're doing what I say." That got everyone's attention. Their hangovers weren't enough to stop them from noticing Makoto's attempt at leadership. "Satonaka and Amagi, you guys will patrol Shinjuku. Try to keep to yourselves and listen—don't act. Chihaya, you get your wish. Stay here and do some research. Hayase, you're with me. We're going to Shibuya Crossing. Everyone understand?"
"Uh…" Obviously, Chie did not understand. "Where's the fun in not arresting anyone?"
"Because then they know that we're watching. Please, Satonaka, don't be reckless."
"Got it, Niijima-san."
"I may or may not have mentioned this to you guys, because I can't remember if I did," Makoto admitted.
Yukiko reminded her partner that she wasn't the only one."We can't remember either!"
Makoto kept a smile to herself while the rest of the group got their laughs in. When they slid into silence, Makoto regained her speaking voice. "The final member of our squad is currently out on assignment, but he should be fully committed to our case within a few days," she said.
Mamoru, always attentive and quiet, spoke up. "Who is it?"
"It's—" A knock on the door interrupted Makoto. The whole team turned their heads to the door to see their visitor. "Yes?" Makoto said loudly to invite the guest. The door opened, allowing the team to see the department's favorite detective and the media's boy wonder.
"Ah, good morning Niijima-san," Goro Akechi said pleasantly as he nodded toward the other people in the room. "How goes the investigation?"
"It's fine, thank you." Makoto's brusque reply should've made her intent plain and clear to Akechi—if he didn't have any actual business interrupting, he needed to leave. She had heard from coworkers of Akechi's legendary nosiness, and watching him silently analyze each member of her team helped her understand it first-hand. "Is there something you need, Akechi-san?"
"Just checking in on my favorite Niijima." He winked. "Anyway, I'll let you guys get back to it. Please come to me if you need help with anything." He closed the door himself, leaving behind an unceremonious staredown between the members of Makoto's team.
Makoto shot down what everyone thought. "Don't go to him for help. We don't need it."
Always first to react, Chie protested."Wha—"
"We don't need it," Makoto repeated.
She garnered confused looks and unsure glances shared between the members, but she didn't doubt herself. They may have looked up to Akechi as the most famous detective of TMPD. To Makoto, he was just another coworker who happened to be quite good at his job and even better at retelling his cases on morning shows. His youth helped his image, too.
But if her team couldn't see why bringing a celebrity onto the case would harm their chances of making progress, Makoto needed a new squad, one full of older detectives who detested the new style that Akechi embodied.
At least she could keep two of the cops already on her team: Mamoru and...
"As I was saying, the final member of our team is—"
"Is it Amada-san?" Chie interrupted.
"No," Makoto said, getting a pout out of Chie in response. "It's Tohru Adachi."
"At least we get to wear street clothes."
"Whatever," Chie said, crossing her arms and sulking against a brick wall. "We should be out there chasing every guy with an inch of ink tatted, not standing around in an alley."
Yukiko did her best to keep Chie in check. "That wouldn't be wise for a case this important." Thus far, she'd managed because she and Chie had grown so attuned to one another through years of experience. They had met at the training academy; the perfect place for them to learn about one another's strengths. Yukiko led them through the book side of training while Chie subjected Yukiko to rigorous workouts so they could pass their physical exams. By the end, both were near the top of their class.
Success in the department came less easily. They stuck together, but their bosses never understood that they came as a duo, dividing them up and weakening their talents. Yukiko did work on a decently important case and Chie seemed to be at every possible arrest to kick the door in, but neither felt fulfilled.
Unfortunately, the Aka Handan Ikka case seemed to be more of the same, except for the fact that they got to work together.
"But I gotta get my blood pumping!"
Yukiko blamed it on the hangover. Nobody felt like working, much less standing around waiting for information to fall from God himself into their expecting hands. Even worse, asking around or brute-forcing their way through Shinjuku would dampen their chances of progress.
For the time being, Yukiko and Chie hid away in a south Shinjuku alley with short leashes from Niijima. They couldn't interrogate prostitutes or intimidate drug pushers with jail time, only listen from their hiding spot.
"Just relax. Restlessness won't get us anywhere."
"And being lazy won't do much more," Chie spat. Pushing off the wall, she stood straight up and looked at Yukiko. "We should at least be asking around."
"Bōryokudan don't like people asking questions. Sooner or later, they'd find out about us. Then they know they're being investigated, then they get more careful. Ensuring that they don't know they're being investigated is how they'll make mistakes. As long as we're ready for those mistakes, we can take them down." Yukiko thought about this approach many times. Makoto was right to start things off with a little reconnaissance, even if it likely wouldn't prove fruitful in the near future. The organized crime power vacuum would surely force the Aka Ikka to slip up, but nobody could guess when that would be.
But, then again, wearing street clothes was nice. The power that the police uniform inherently brought with it was gone, but the physical and social comfort that street clothes brought was nice. With street clothes, Yukiko wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb.
Kick the door open. Point. Shoot. Kick the door open. Point. Shoot. Kick the door open…
Makoto vividly relived every second of that moment. Kubo's body crumbled against the window countless times, an unending amount of blood stained the wall again and again, and infinite flip phones hit the floor to signal Makoto's realization of her mistake.
The days immediately following the shooting weren't bad for Makoto, mainly because she couldn't even wrap her inexperienced head around the fact that she killed someone. The promotion, all the encouragement from her coworkers, and the night of drinking certainly helped. Hell, even the hangover from that morning helped in its own way, but, like everything else, it faded with time to leave her with nothing except work to focus on.
When work consisted of treading through the streets of north Shinjuku, waiting to hear even just a sliver of information on a yakuza clan they knew nothing about, Makoto had nothing to do but mentally recap her week.
She'd killed someone and had been rewarded for it; or had she been punished? To everyone in the department, the Aka Ikka case seemed like a dead end. No—the department wouldn't waste her raised salary on a throwaway case. It was worth investigating not only for Makoto but for the higher-ups as well.
All week long, she'd been congratulated for taking down Kubo. A few peers even commented that Makoto made things easier for everyone with how slow due process could be, especially with organized crime. Makoto felt none of that—just confusion. She killed someone and felt nothing; she took a life and received the shiny keys to a new destiny for it.
And so, Makoto lived in that particular moment over and over and over again. Kick the door open. Point. Shoot. Kick the door open…
"Feeling alright, Niijima-san?"
Makoto remembered that she and her partner were supposed to be patrolling through their section of Shinjuku. She looked up at Mamoru and nodded. "Fine. The hangover's still getting its kicks in."
Mamoru's experienced, modest eyes looked down at her from his height advantage. "You shouldn't have let Amagi-san and Satonaka-san pressure you into having a drink." The look he gave her reminded her of the one she'd received from Akihiko so many times, but Mamoru could feel none of the pride that Akihiko felt for Makoto. Mamoru's habit of silence made his point even murkier than it already was.
Still, it was a judgment and Makoto had grown sick of those since she'd been reintroduced to Tae with the rude awakening. "I chose to have that drink."
"After they chided you for not doing so."
"What's it matter to you?" For Mamoru to imply that she, Makoto Niijima, couldn't stand up to her subordinates… Some nerve he had, that was for sure.
Mamoru shrugged. "It doesn't. I just think you should be more cautious when we're working on a case this important."
Makoto wanted to thank Captain Obvious, but sarcasm wouldn't get her anywhere, especially on the first day of the investigation. The hangover hadn't been a great way to start, but the team would surely find their way soon enough. Instead of antagonizing Mamoru, Makoto let the moment sit, rest, and deflate.
"Sorry if that was too blunt; it's been a stressful week," Mamoru said out of nowhere. He drew Makoto's eyes to his sulking form. His eyes focused on empty space, never jittering around as a normal person's would. His calmness was known throughout the department, but seeing it in person unnerved Makoto.
"You're telling me," Makoto scoffed.
"Sanada shouldn't have brought you—no offense. He knew that mission could've erupted, yet—"
Perhaps he was right, perhaps Makoto never should've been there to stalk down the hall and shoot Kubo. All of those possibilities were just those—possibilities. Makoto didn't need to concern herself with fantasy.
"Yeah, well, it happened. I'm trying my best to not think about that and move forward."
"Handling it well?"
"What?"
"I asked if you're handling it well." Mamoru's eyes shot up from the ground to Makoto's face, not making eye contact but looking just below at what she assumed to be the dark rings under her eyes. "Are you?"
To Makoto, the simple facts summed up her thoughts perfectly. "I killed a man." Just how was she supposed to feel about such thing?
"And saved many more while giving your sister one less case to worry about."
Makoto had yet to speak to Sae since the mission and following promotion. Her older sister would hardly be elated to not be the center of attention, and sticking it to her would give Makoto some pride, but she gave up on that way of thinking long ago. Sae's impossibly lofty expectations were best left forgotten and discarded like the sisterhood they came with.
Plus, Makoto wasn't even at fault; Sae hadn't contacted her either. She definitely knew of Makoto's achievement, yet she couldn't even send her a text of congratulations. Some sister she was.
"I'm not sure she cares."
"She does," Mamoru said as if he knew something Makoto didn't. Maybe he wanted to be nice and reassure her, so Makoto let him do that. Mamoru didn't talk much—having a conversation with him where she didn't oppose his sentiments would be great for team morale. "She's your sister."
However, Makoto didn't want to think of Sae any longer. "What about you? Any family?"
Mamoru unlocked his gaze and found another space to analyze. "Five younger siblings."
"Tell them about the new case?"
"No, not much time to talk. They have school, I take on as much work as I can to pay for it. You know how it is."
"I guess…" There were jobs far more profitable than law enforcement in Tokyo, yet Mamoru used it to pay for his whole family. Either he loved the job enough to not work a day in his life, or he had a special arrangement with the books. "Why'd you join the force?
"What do you mean? Like everyone else, I needed money and thought law enforcement was a good way to get it."
Makoto thought she got her answer. "You joined just for the money?"
"No, not quite." Mamoru scratched the back of his head. He glanced over at the ever-wandering crowd of Shinjuku, constant noise filling the streets and crawling into their listening post of an alley. Turning back to Makoto, he looked her in the eye. "Those five siblings came with a sick mother. The academy offered me benefits because of my history with kendo and I never looked back." As Makoto processed Mamoru's past, he added more detail with a chuckle. "I guess that's why I commented on your drinking from last night. I've been taking care of people for years, so…"
…So he left her to wander the streets of Yongen alone, cold, and unsuspecting of danger. Makoto knew her harsh thoughts only spawned from her poor sleep and faded hangover, but that didn't mean she let them go. Mamoru's words felt like an incorrect math problem without a clear mistake—she couldn't tell what was wrong or right.
"Speaking of caretaking, you know what happened to me last night?" Makoto asked, getting a raised eyebrow from Mamoru. "After we went to the batting cages in Yongen, I ended up having to sleep on a stranger's couch."
"Ah…" Mamoru gulped down a regretful feeling as his eyes dipped from Makoto. "I'm sorry. I had some business to take care of and I was in a rush. I should've made sure you were alright to get home."
Makoto didn't know why she told him. She didn't want Mamoru to feel guilty, or to try and get back at him for the night before, but she told him anyway. "Don't worry about it. You weren't the only one. I made a new friend, so that makes up for it."
If Mamoru cared, he didn't show it. He kept his gaze averted and looked to the crowd, responding to Makoto with silence.
With the brief conversation over, the toil of waiting for the Aka Ikka to fall into their clutches resumed. Makoto knew it wouldn't go anywhere. They were stuck on a dead-end case doing dead-end listening patrols with barely any hope for progress—she needed to make a change.
"What do you think about the squad taking a day off?"
Mamoru didn't take her seriously, continuing to look at the crowd. "We just started."
"Exactly. We started hungover and idea-less. Taking a day to brainstorm and allow Adachi-san to finish his assignment would do us some good."
Mamoru sighed. "Adachi-san will be late if he can help it."
"He already is," Makoto said. "But we'll let him be because of how skilled he is. Give him some early leeway, then tighten the leash as we make progress. You'll see."
"You're the boss."
At the 953's bar, Ryuji sat down, a glass of liquor in hand, ready to do the day's work. His agenda included renewing the Aka Ikka's hold on their territory, reviewing the newer personnel of the family, and avoiding Ren's little task if he could help it.
Plus, the dancers looked too nice for him to leave. Ryuji would drink, order people around, and relax as he handled the Aka Ikka's business like he always did. He never envied Ren's life of withdrawal and secrecy because it allowed him to kick back and run the Aka Ikka's day-to-day operations as he wished, effectively making him boss when Ren didn't have specific orders for him to carry out.
It was a strange way to run a family, but Ryuji had to admit that they had great success with Ren's caution. They eliminated the possibility of hits on Ren because of his lack of public appearances, consistent schedule, and his feared habit of weekly shopping. Not only that, legal threats to him were minimal if he was never present at the 953 or with Aka Ikka members.
The only way cops could pin bōryokudan affiliations on him was to break into Leblanc while Ryuji or their third-in-command was there. Alas, Ryuji and the third guy rarely needed to venture to Yongen, allowing them to call the 953 home most of the time.
The 953, a dingy gentleman's club in Shinjuku, owned by one Naoya Todo—who didn't exist—attracted a certain kind of person. In fact, the only people who spent time in The 953 were the dancers, Ebi-chan the bartender, and members of the Aka Handan Ikka.
Ren occasionally breached its shabby doors when he needed to, but he was a rarity at the 953. Even when he did arrive, he entered through the back and slipped into the office unseen by any family members.
To them, their boss was an unseeing, all-knowing entity that ruled by fear with Ryuji as his eyes, ears, and vocal cords. They obeyed because they knew that the boss may have been too scared to go to the bar, but he wasn't scared to ruthlessly cut down his soldiers if they questioned him—at least, those were the stories Ryuji heard being passed around the bar. He couldn't speak to their validity, except that the names of the betrayers would go on Ren's shopping list and erase any need to worry over them.
But Ryuji didn't have to worry about that list yet. He could send out members to do business and strengthen the family, then hang around the rest of the day. Maybe he could even find a loophole to get out of asking his contact at the precinct about that officer.
"Tatsumi!" Ryuji called out, prompting the burly man to stand up from his seat in the back of the club. Tatsumi came over and joined Ryuji at the bar. "There's a ramen shop in Ogikubo. Owner's giving us problems."
Tatsumi nodded. "Got it." He stood up to walk away, only stopping because Ryuji added an extra order.
"And tell that Hanamura kid to get over here when you're on your way out."
A few solitary minutes of drinking later, the fresh-faced Hanamura sat down on the barstool next to Ryuji. He was a little too green with inexperience, but he could be trusted enough to carry out dirty work, as proven by running his own crew as a subset of the Aka Handan Ikka.
Ryuji lowered his voice before leaning over to Hanamura. "Boss's got a special request for ya," Ryuji began. "In the back alley, there's a car with your early Christmas present in the trunk. Get what I'm sayin'?"
Ryuji chuckled when Hanamura gulped. The order wasn't a special request from Ren; it was just Ryuji taking advantage of his power. It should've been his job to get rid of the body of Yuuki Mishima, but the dancer on stage C made Ryuji want to toss his wedding ring in the trash. How could he be expected to give that up just to dispose of some lowlife Second Kaneshiro shitbag?
"Um… How am I supposed to do that?"
Hanamura spent a year with the Aka Ikka. His specialty was scams and low-stakes burglary, so Ryuji's assignment was something of a promotion for him. He'd done far more than any of the other recruits from the year past, but still wore his inexperience on his sleeve.
Ryuji slapped Hanamura on the shoulder, chuckling at his subordinate's incompetence. "Pave him into the street." He hoped that the traditional yakuza practice didn't fly over Hanamura's head, but the nervous, twitching face in front of him confirmed his fears.
Yet Hanamura didn't ask for clarity; he nodded and got up from his stool. He stumbled for his first few steps, likely because of his nerves, but he righted himself and walked out the back door.
Hoping to finish up his business early, Ryuji whipped his phone out of his pocket and dialed his occasionally favorite number.
"It's me," he said when the phone stopped ringing. He got a grunt of approval in return. "Second Kaneshiro plans on shipping guns in through the docks. Watch out for it."
"Got it. Anything else for me?" the man on the other end asked. The static of the phone call did his voice no justice for how deep it was in reality. It had been so long since they spoke in person that Ryuji almost forgot that voice, but his memories were strong and unrelenting.
"I'm hopin' you'll compensate me with some information on a coworker of yours," Ryuji said into the phone. He leaned back in his chair and watched the clock tick on the wall as he waited for the usual approving grunt. When he got it, he dropped the bomb. "Makoto Niijima—that mean anything?" Immediately, the line went flat and Ryuji was left with a useless piece of metal against his ear. "Guess so…"
From time to time, Ryuji's contact would shoot down requests for info if they were too demanding, but not like he just had. A polite, "No," or a negative grunt usually did the trick. Ryuji didn't take it personally—he just moved on to his next avenue of information. He navigated to his text messages and opened the chat with a labeled unknown number.
SR: Check Makoto Niijima.
ALIBABA: Last I recall, you tried to skimp on paying me for the last time, then told me to "Fuck off," when I got upset. Ring any bells?
Other than some slight outlying instances, Alibaba and the Aka Handan Ikka had a great working relationship. They paid him; he scrubbed Ren and a few other Aka Ikka identities off the internet and protected their phones from surveillance. Maybe she deserved a bit more, but that could be arranged if she asked nicely.
SR: We'll pay in advance for this one.
ALIBABA: Send it over.
Ryuji sighed. He'd never been a tech person and he never would be, but his real gripe was seeing numbers go down. His job consisted of making those same numbers go up for everyone, so paying Alibaba in advance felt detrimental to his day. A minute after he sent the money, Ryuji's phone buzzed.
ALIBABA:
-I'll drop you a file in a few hours.
Ryuji relished in The 953's main service as he lazily sat in front of stage C in an armchair. The club throbbed with music and conversation—Ryuji tried to drown all of it out for the girl dancing before him. Somehow, someway, the words always snuck into Ryuji's ready ears.
"Kubo's dead, and we're sitting around! Think of how much money is waiting for us in those districts!" Some low-rank member of the family rambled on about the Aka Ikka not participating in the power vacuum that would probably get all of them killed. He wasn't the only one; since Kubo's death and the start of the Fourth Tosu imploding, new recruits—many formerly of the Tosu—rolled in. Their unfulfilled life-long commitment to the previous family didn't bother the Aka Ikka unless it became a problem.
They were all young and inexperienced. Tensions flared easily and infighting sprung often, but their itch for violence wouldn't be scratched by Ryuji. Following the excursion to Leblanc, the biggest priority was not provoking any of the major families, especially the Second Kaneshiro.
The buzz of conversation through the club slackened in an instant. Ryuji knew why, enjoying the moment of awe within the club as the second most dangerous man in Tokyo entered. Ryuji stayed seated as his company took a seat in the chair next to him, joining him in looking up at the dancer. Conversation slowly resumed and Ryuji's company was free to begin.
"Kamoshida already dispatched soldiers to Kōtō. The port will be theirs by the end of the week," the low, monotone voice said from Ryuji's left.
"That's expected. What else?"
"Soldiers have crossed into Meguro as well."
That was less than expected. Either Mishima's disappearance became noticed far too quickly and the blame fell on the Aka Ikka, or they'd coincidentally executed a saiko-komon just when Kamoshida began to take action. Ryuji immediately whipped out his phone and shot a text over to Ren.
SR: Meguro's under pressure.
AR: Don't care who it's from, give them a warning shot.
Ryuji's eyes rose from his phone to scan the club, disregarding the dancers this time. Most members were already out on assignment. After his unsuccessful search, Ryuji's eyes fell on the man next to him: the Aka Ikka's third-in-command and Ren's bodyguard when necessary, Yusuke Kitagawa.
"Yusuke, go to Nakano and take one of Kamoshida's stores for us." The well-dressed slender man nodded slowly, quickly standing up to leave and fulfill his orders. As he began to walk away, Ryuji added the most important part. "Oh, and Yusuke?"
Yusuke stopped in his tracks and turned back to face Ryuji. "Yes?"
"Whatever you do, leave that gun in your jacket. I'm begging you to not shoot a single person. Can you do that?"
"What kind of man would I be if I showed my weapon at a small slight? You forget my passive temperament, my friend."
Ryuji didn't forget shit—Yusuke had some serious problems. Having him fire the warning shot with the intimidation of crossing his arms and looking tough would be difficult, but Ryuji had confidence in Yusuke. Hell, they were friends and even Ryuji felt a little scared around him at times. That was just Yusuke's nature.
"Yeah, whatever. Get to it."
"I can't believe you promised me a car in front of them," Hifumi called from the bathroom. Ren sat in bed and checked his phone while his wife got ready to turn in for the day. "You're a little too eager to show off."
"What? Let the kid have a dream. I was humoring him."
"You were encouraging him. He's going to ask about it every time I see him."
"It'll build character. Let him learn some patience."
Hifumi emerged from the bathroom, no longer with the makeup she'd put on for dinner. "I suppose… but are you really going to get me a car for my birthday? Neither of us needs it, and, like you said, you don't drive."
"You want something else?"
"I mean, I don't know. My birthday is still a ways off…" Hifumi flipped the sheets open on her side of the bed before getting in and getting comfortable. "Do you want a list of gift ideas?"
"I would just buy everything on the list."
"You could try to spend less money. You're not going to be this successful forever," Hifumi said, scooting closer to Ren. She took her face in her hand, stroking his cheek. Ren set his phone down and turned to face her. "When are you going to stop all of it?"
Hah! She knows what you do, but she doesn't know. Bosses don't stop or retire or any of that shit—they die or spend their remaining days in prison. It's a lifetime commitment and you oughta remind her.
"I'll stop when I have enough to my name that I don't have to worry about how much I spend." He didn't say a word of it with conviction—he just wanted to give Hifumi the answer she wanted, even if she pretended like she didn't. As Ren hammered his point home, his second phone buzzed with excellent timing. Ren grabbed it from the nightstand, taking one look at the notification before getting out of bed.
"Where are you going?"
"Quick bit of business to end the day. I'll be back in a minute."
"Should I wait, or…?"
"Do whatever," Ren said as he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He opened his phone to make his weekly phone call that would impact how he spent his next few days. As the phone rang, Ren pressed it to his ear.
"It's me. Get your pen and paper," Ryuji said. This time, he didn't wait for Ren to begin the business. "It'd be nice if you could buy some grapefruits from Hisoka Nagamine. Also, we need to restock on dish soap. Go buy some from Shig Koizumi and his friend Dai Horiuchi. Asuka Amari's shipment of mangos came in, so you should probably check on that tomorrow. Naomi Sugawara thinks you should be investing more of your money in toilet paper. Yasushi Tanaka needs a coin or two. Lastly, Ryuu Yasui and Yukio Suto need more deodorant, so try to buy in bulk."
Ah, I've always loved those. Ryuji bullshits as hard as he can to make you guys feel less bad about what you're gonna do to these people. Top-notch bōryokudan, I say.
Ren scribbled the names and associated goods onto a small notepad, one that would be accompanying him to Leblanc in the coming days.
"I looked into that cop. I'll send her profile PDF in a message."
PDF? This fucker didn't talk to his connection at the precinct—he called Alibaba. That lazy son-of-a-bitch!
"I have Alibaba's number, too. I would've just gone to her if I wanted the digital file."
"Yeah, well, my friend didn't feel like talking. Hung up on me, actually."
"It's fine. I'll make do with what we have, and you can leave your informant for another opportunity."
"Got it." The line clicked and Ren dragged his phone down from his ear, feeling it vibrate in his hand. He checked it to see Ryuji holding true to his word. Ren opened the PDF to a different face than the one he saw the other night. Her cheeks were paler, her eyes more narrowed. No eagerness to take her profile photo showed, but Ren didn't care about that. What he did care about surprised him.
Fuck do you care about her looks for? I mean, she's just a cop. If you're interested in her, I'm finally giving up on you. All your failures, all the shit you've pulled over the years, and this is the dumbest. Falling for some cop. If I could, I'd slap some fuckin' sense into you.
Ren hated himself for how long he scanned her profile and not even at the details. Losing himself in the crimson of her eyes silenced his head, it quieted the hum of his ever-growing electrical bill, and it prevented Ren from thinking about the world outside of his bathroom.
She may have been a cop—recently promoted to detective, as read in the file—but Ren had to speak to her.
He just excused his interest as wanting to know what she was doing in Yongen.
