Prologue

Violence was an expected part of the job. If it weren't for the fact this client had been consistent and the highest payer, she would've just run. Instead, her compliance only earned her a punch in the gut.

"Please!" The girl said, crying between heaved gasps as she struggled to lift herself against the concrete wall of the building.

"Don't you ever call me daddy again!" the client said, gripping a fistful of her black hair and pulling her up to the tip of her feet. She wailed and placed her hands on his arm, trying to match his height where he pulled her hair, trying to alleviate the pain.

"You understand?" his face was so close to hers that his putrid breath mixed with beer infiltrated her nostrils, his beady eyes contorted into an angered furrow beneath his oversized, wired glasses. The stench from his mouth made her cough in his face, which earned her another hard slap.

"Looks like you still need a lesson," the stout client said, the corner of her eyes watching his big fist reel back.

"Stop! I'm sorry, please!" She said, knowing it was in vain. Unfortunately, that's just how it goes in this line of work. But, of course, the client will eventually leave her after he's satisfied.

Instead of feeling another impact that threatened to break her, she instantly felt the tight grip on her hair release, making her fall to her knees and drop her pink leather purse. Rubbing her scalp, she looked up to see her client now face down on the ground of the alleyway he dragged her to, grabbing at his side as he writhed in pain.

"God damn–who in the hell?!" he said, gray hair frantically shifting as he rolled his body to face the sudden intruder in their private conversation.

A figure walked their way further inside the alleyway, passing the girl. The client got up as they stepped into the ray of light from a lamp above the dark alleyway. The light revealed a plain young man, running a hand over his properly combed hair before adjusting the thin glasses on his face.

"Call the police," the young man said, his stern gaze unwavering from the gray-haired client, who picked up his spectacles from the ground. Instantly, the girl scrambled over to her fallen purse to pull out her phone.

"You traitorous bitch!" The client said, spitting as he closed in on the intruder, "Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

A stray punch met nothing as the intruder slipped under the client's disorganized strike, leg-checking him and landing a low hook to his liver that sent him crashing against the wall beside the girl. She yelped and crawled backward as her client sprawled down on the dirty ground, her phone against her ear.

"That's funny, coming from you," the young man said as he knelt by the old, fallen client.

"Mister Yoshida."

The name caused the client to look up at the bespectacled young man. Blue light reflected against his glasses as his eyes widened in horror at a clear picture of him and the girl walking inside a hotel. Sweat trickled down his wrinkled forehead as a thumb slid against the smartphone to reveal another picture, one of him and the girl kissing by the entrance as they exited. Then a clear picture of him holding the girl by her hair. With a red, inflamed cheek on her pale face.

"Infidelity, and then beating on young girls you cheat on your wife with?" The young man said as he turned off the screen of his phone and moved to place it back in his pocket, "At least she's smart enough to catch on."

"Bastard!" Mr. Yoshida said as he struck at the man's face, grabbing his arm and tumbling back as Mr. Yoshida forced himself on him while pulling at the man's phone. Ignoring the pain, the young man shifted his hips to wrap his legs around Mr. Yoshida's arm and dropped the weight of his body on top of him.

"Couldn't just walk away, huh?!" The young man said, his body bouncing as Mr. Yoshida struggled beneath his hold. Finally, hyper-extending Mr. Yoshida's arm made him cease his struggle, and the man threatened to bend backward.

"Fuck you! FUCK! YOU!" Mr. Yoshida placed a hand on the ground and gathered the strength to lift himself, earning him a swift elbow to his temple that sent him back down.

"Looks like you still need a lesson," The young man said, sliding his knee on Mr. Yoshida's tricep.

The girl placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp as she watched her sudden savior use his hands to grip Mr. Yoshida's wrist, then rip it diagonally. It happened in a moment, but the image of Mr. Yoshida's bone bulging on the skin on the underside of his elbow would stick in her mind. The moment of heroism would've earned this man a free night for her services, but the sadistic satisfaction on his face as he snapped Mr. Yoshida's arm left her trembling.

The man lifted himself from the ground with his phone left undamaged, wiping some accumulated blood on the side of his lip as Mr. Yoshida rolled over and cried as he held at his fractured arm.

"You alright–" The man said as he moved to check on the girl, but panicked and shuffled away as soon as he tried.

"Stay away from me!" She said, her eyes staring back at the young man in horror.

He opened his mouth to try and comfort her but stopped as bright flashlights caused him to squint, lifting an arm to cover the blinding rays of light.

"Police, freeze!" One of the officers said, and the young man placed his hands up to his sides. The girl on the ground awkwardly raised her hands, and Mr. Yoshida stayed face down, gripping his head as he wept, with his shambled arm dangling from his shoulder.

They always kept the interview room freezing, and he hated how they would make him wait for hours until they could get to questioning him. The poor girl, they're probably speaking to her. She's already been through enough tonight, the young man thought as he moved to adjust his glasses, only to be reminded how his hands were bound to the table by locked handcuffs. With a frustrated groan, he bent his head down to a hand so he could push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He only realized how dumb this was as his glasses fell from his face as soon as he looked down. Closing his eyes, he sighed through his nostrils, continued his motion, and planted his forehead on the cold, metal table.

Another hour passed as the un-spectacled young man considered falling asleep. A loud knock at the door had him shoot his body straight up before an officer wearing a warm blue jacket entered the room. A blue lanyard hung around his neck attached to a name tag, a gold star police insignia under his I.D. Tired bags under his brown eyes contrasted with the picture of the once bright and motivated officer.

"Sergeant Koji," the young man said, yawning as he fought the exhaustion overtaking him. The sharp pain from the corner of his lip stopped him mid-yawn to swear at the nuisance.

"Always the damn hero, aren't you, Yamaoka?" Sergeant Koji said as he stood at the head of the table, looking down at the young man.

"Only when you guys aren't around," he said, "Which is pretty often, by the way."

With a sigh, Sergeant Koji took Yamaoka's glasses from the table, facing it before his face. The officer squinted and shook his head, "God, you're blind as a bat."

"And you're an old fart," Yamaoka said, and they both looked at each other before sharing a laugh. Then, Sergeant Koji placed the glasses back on Yamaoka's face, pushing them up the bridge of his nose forcefully, which caused him to recoil back.

"Easy on the eyes, officer!" Yamaoka said.

"My bad," Sergeant Koji said, chuckling as he took his place on the folding chair across the metal interview table.

"Think you could've taken these off too while you're at it?" Yamaoka pulled the cuffs up taught against the table that trapped his arms in place.

"Sorry, Yamaoka, it's protocol. Speaking of," Sergeant Koji pulled out his notebook and pen from his jacket, the click of the small black pen resounding in the empty room. Here we go, Yamaoka thought.

"Please state your name and occupation."

"My name is Cowboy Tanaka. Howdy."

"Just say your damn name and job, son," Yamaoka noticed the frustrated tone in Sergeant Koji's voice.

"Ishii Yamaoka, the private investigator at Promised Retribution."

Sergeant Koji snickered.

"It's a good name!" Yamaoka said.

"Next question,"

"This guy–"

"What happened? And why were you there at the scene of the crime?"

From there on, Yamaoka described that a client hired him to tail a suspect. It was just another mundane job he got off of many in his business email. This one paid more than the usual infidelity cases, which isn't unheard of, but it was the highest bidder. The wife must've really wanted the truth, and Yamaoka obliged to keep his apartment.

"Do these jobs usually involve breaking the arm of your suspect?" Sergeant Koji said flatly, looking at Yamaoka with a disapproving glare.

"Alright, what kind of question is that? You've seen her bruises; he was beating on the poor girl!" Yamaoka moved to pull out his phone, only to be stopped again by the cuffs.

"Mother fuck–Look, I took pictures of the adultery and when he was hitting her. Get my phone from my pocket; I'll show you."

Sergeant Koji stood from his seat and walked around to Yamaoka, digging his smartphone from his pocket and placing it in front of him, giving him access to unlock the screen.

"Feast your eyes, Sergeant," Yamaoka said as he opened his photo gallery and showed the pictures. Sergeant Koji looked over the P.I.'s shoulder as he scanned the images.

"So? Are we good?" Yamaoka said as Sergeant Koji returned to his seat.

"Good?" Sergeant Koji said with an incredulous look, "Yamaoka, you dislocated Mister Yoshida's arm when we both know you're fully capable of subduing him normally."

"I was in full justification in defending myself and the girl!" Yamaoka said and slammed his fists on the metal table, "If your guys came sooner, it wouldn't have escalated to that!"

Silence filled the room for a minute, the Sergeant breaking it with a heavy sigh.

"You'll never change," Sergeant Koji said, closing his notebook and placing it on the table.

"You know why it took me so long to get here?" Sergeant Koji said, "It's because I had to drive to the nearest hospital because Mister Yoshida was being treated. So then I had to wait to question him when I arrived!"

"When I was done talking to him, I had to go and talk to the girl to learn what really happened. And, what do you know, I drove back here to see your clown ass!" The seasoned police officer stood up and made his way back to the head of the table beside Yamaoka.

"What you did hinges on battery. If it weren't for the girl and the photos to corroborate your story, you would be charged as a criminal."

"My boys and I; we are thorough because we are the law. You need to learn to respect that," Sergeant Koji said, "Just because we're friends doesn't make any difference between what is just and unjust."

"You're just a wannabe hero only playing detective. Know your place."

Sergeant Koji stared down at Yamaoka, who could only glare up at the discerning officer. The staring match ended as the officer turned around and headed for the door.

"You'll be let off on self-defense, but this is the final warning I'm giving you. Ease up, or you'll be on the wrong side of a jail cell next time something like this happens," Sergeant Koji said before slamming the door shut as he exited.

Yamaoka pushed out another butt of a cigarette in his unkept ashtray as he exhaled a cloud by his office window, waving the smoke outside. That made four cigarettes and a second cup of coffee, but he still could feel the fatigue of last night's events weighing on his body as he slumped over on the chair by his desk.

The money from this job will be worth all this hassle, he thought as he rolled the chair over to the printer on the side of the room. Yamaoka took Mr. Yoshida's printed images and slipped them into a manilla folder. He placed the folder on the edge of the other side of his desk alongside a box of tissues.

It's going to be hard to have that comforting charm suited for the end of this sort of case, Yamaoka thought as he stared at his reflection in his smartphone. The corner of his lip sported a small bandage covering the cut Mr. Yoshida had left him. A soft rapping at his front door prompted him to turn the screen on to check the time, which was right on schedule.

The entrance of his apartment was close enough for the P.I. to make a quick trip to the door, and he opened it to reveal a short woman with shoulder-length dark hair and a yellow scarf to protect her from the onset of cold in Japan.

"Missus Yoshida, how punctual of you," Yamaoka said, moving to the side to invite her inside.

"I got a call that my husband was in the hospital before he was detained," Mrs. Yoshida said as she stomped inside the apartment, "What in the world happened?!"

"Take a breath, ma'am. There's an explanation for this. Just have a seat, please," Yamaoka said as he shut the entrance door and guided her to a comfortable chair in front of his desk. Mrs. Yoshida sat down with a huff, and Yamaoka took his place on the other side.

"Well?" She looked at Yamaoka expectedly, and he nodded to the manilla folder before her. It was better if she saw this with her own eyes.

The anger on her face was replaced with a troubled look as she looked at the first page of the makeshift dossier Yamaoka put together overnight after he was released from the police station. As she flipped page after page, her face went through stages of grief right before the P.I.

"I knew it," Mrs. Yoshida choked out, tears welling up in her brown eyes, "That good for nothing–"

Mrs. Yoshida's sentence was cut off by a distressed hiccup as she flipped a page to reveal Mr. Yoshida violently gripping the hair of the girl from last night.

"I'm sorry," Yamaoka said, watching her take a couple of tissues from the box next to the opened folder.

"He'll be charged with child assault and battery, to list a few," Yamaoka said as Mrs. Yoshida looked up at him, drying the corner of her eyes, "If you press charges now and go through with the divorce, it will go in your favor, and you'll win the case by a landslide."

Yamaoka watched Mrs. Yoshida's cries turn into intense sobbing and spoke between exasperated breaths, "What have I done?"

"You did the right thing–"

"No! No, you don't understand!" She said, crumpling the tissue into her clenched fist, "If this is true, then that means–oh God!"

"What kind of a mother am I?!" She said, placing both her hands on her face.

Yamaoka tilted his head. During his online research of Mr. Yoshida, there were mere mentions of them having a child. If what he saw from the father was an example of how he treated other younger girls, Yamaoka only dreaded what this could imply.

"Missus Yoshida," Yamaoka said, leaning forward on his desk, "I don't understand what you mean."

"He–I… My daughter," She said in between gasps, taking deep breaths before she lowered her hands from her face enough for her puffed, red eyes to stare back at him.

"You won't tell anybody about this, will you?"

The knot in his stomach grew tighter.

"Client anonymity is one of the many reasons people hire private investigators, ma'am. What you say here will stay between us," Yamaoka said, "Within the confines of the law, of course."

That somewhat helped, seeing as Mrs. Yoshida's sobs had dimmed to sniffles. She took another deep breath before she continued.

"I didn't know then, but after this," She said, pointing at the scattered pictures at the desk, "I'm sure now. I'm positive that my husband," She said, choking up before summoning the courage to continue, "Raped my daughter."

Yamaoka listened, rubbing his thumb and his index finger together as he waited for her to go on. He didn't feel bad for snapping Mr. Yoshida's arm last night, but now the deep-seated hatred that stirred inside had him wishing he could've done much worse.

"Then he told me about how she–she seduced him. I was so angry," She said, her gaze shifting down to break eye contact with Yamaoka, "She ran away after."

"Did you talk to the police?"

"I–I couldn't."

"You couldn't? Or you didn't want to?"

"Please, Mister Yamaoka! Do you know how shameful this is?!" She said. The P.I. moved a hand to rub at his forehead, cursing silently to himself. He knew what this was about to lead into.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but trust me when I say that the police have more resources to be able to search for your daughter–" Yamaoka said, stopping as more yen than what was first agreed on was shoved toward his side on the desk.

"I'll pay up front! Please, I just want her back!" Mrs. Yoshida said, this time not caring to wipe the makeup-mixed tears trailing down her cheeks. The sight alone was enough to tug at the young investigator's heartstrings. Looking down at the stack of yen in front of him, then at Mrs. Yoshida, Yamaoka opened a drawer from the desk, took out a notebook and pencil, and opened the book.

"Okay, I'll do it."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" she said, smiling for the first time as she entered his office and bowed.

"Don't thank me until we find her," Yamaoka said, "And we need to file a missing persons report now. It's the only way to find her as soon as possible."

"Whatever we need to do, I'm willing to do it," Mrs. Yoshida said, brows furrowed with newfound determination. Yamaoka would've smiled if it didn't hurt his mouth to do so.

"What's your's daughter name?" Yamaoka said, placing the tip of the pencil down on the notebook.

"Saki Yoshida."

Promised Retribution