Chapter 1

Stray

September 2010

Majima Goro, the Mad Dog of Shimano, found himself wandering the lit-up streets of Kamurocho once again, as he had done countless times before. Be it here or Sotenbori, the entertainment districts never slept — from dusk until dawn, townspeople young and old kept on going in and out of the myriad of bars, restaurants, and clubs, some barely able to stay upright after treating themselves to a few drinks too many. The streets were bathed in the glow of the flashing neon lights, abuzz with chatter, laughter and sometimes shouting when arguments erupted between some of the more excitable partygoers. Although the surroundings had changed over the years, with some facilities shutting down and new ones opening in their stead, the nighttime atmosphere remained much the same. Different year, same shit — he would often think to himself.

The one thing that did not seem to change with time, however, was the pain inside and the loneliness he sometimes felt. While he was used to dealing with pain, at least of the physical variety, more than most, the feeling of loneliness would creep up on him at the most unexpected times. He had done a pretty good job of building walls around himself over the years, but, at times, it seemed like those walls were there not to protect him — but to keep the hurt inside.

He stopped in the middle of the street and looked up at the sky, unfazed by the people passing him by occasionally giving him the side-eye. Most of the time, when someone dared to look at him that way, he would shoot them an intimidating stare, warning them to mind their own business. That night, he did not care.

Compared to a usual autumn night in Kamurocho, there were relatively fewer people around, probably because of the rain that had been falling almost ceaselessly throughout the day. The sky was overcast, with no gap between the hoary clouds that could grant hope for a reprieve, and the air was unusually chilly. He could not recall why he had decided to go out on a night like this, especially when there was no work to be done. Perhaps it was out of habit; perhaps it was because he could not stand being holed up in the Family office or his apartment yet another night. Hotels and clubs, too, did the job only for so long. No matter how often he would haunt them — sometimes drinking until dawn, surrounded by beautiful women who would not leave his side as long as there was money to be made, sometimes even waking up next to a young, attractive stranger the next morning — when all was said and done, he would always end up alone. He told himself it was better this way — for everyone involved — and kept repeating it like a mantra whenever his mind wandered.

He had loved twice already. The reward for his devotion was loneliness and betrayal. The first heartbreak was one of his own choosing — he had decided that letting go of the one he loved was the only way to guarantee her happiness, even if it meant giving up his own. The other, however, had proven equally, if not more, painful.

Years ago, in Sotenbori, while he had still been in charge of Club Sunshine, one of the hostesses had told him he would make a great father one day. He had been too young back then to be thinking of having children, but he had taken it to heart nonetheless. Some years later, after he had married Park Mirei, the chance at fatherhood had been taken away from him as a result of a decision she had made on her own, behind his back. Although their marriage had been good while it lasted, in the end, she had chosen to follow her dreams, even at the expense of his — and that choice had left no room for him in her life; the only recourse he had had was to walk away. After they had parted ways, he had locked away any leftover dreams of marriage and fatherhood deep inside and thrown away the key. Now in his forties, all that remained was the pain, festering under his skin and bubbling up to the surface on nights like this one.

Time heals all wounds, my ass.

There was no relief, no salvation. Even his bouts with Kiryu — a wonderful, albeit temporary, distraction — were now a thing of the past after all that had transpired in recent years. The only ray of hope was his sworn brother, who had broken out of prison and returned to the Clan half a year earlier. Even so, having been made a family patriarch, Saejima now had a life and responsibilities of his own. As much as he hoped it would not come to pass, taught by past experience, Majima had a foreboding feeling that, eventually, he would lose his brother's company as well.

And yet, despite knowing everything in his life seemed destined to crumble, some part of him still yearned for something, anything that would last — something that could serve him as an anchor when the entire world burned around him. However, every time that single desire began to rise in his mind, he would squash it with utmost force, hoping that this time it would stay in its place.

Standing there in the street, motionless, he felt like a relic of the past. The world, the Tojo — everything seemed to be changing, and he found it increasingly difficult, at times, to change with them. He closed his eye and let the cold rain roll down his face, soak his hair and drench his clothes. If only it could wash away the scars of the past, make it possible for him to begin anew…

"Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine," he heard a female voice call out over to his right.

He did not react. What were the chances that the remark had even been meant for him?

"Hey, you! With the eyepatch!"

Now, he could no longer ignore it. His eyebrows came down in a frown and he scowled in the direction of the unfamiliar voice, trying to locate its source. In a dimly lit alley, he noticed a dark-haired girl. She was looking at him with an unamused expression, her gaze unwavering despite his eye now shooting icicles her way. She was leaning against the wall close to the alley's entrance, one arm folded under the other in which she held a lit cigarette.

Majima took a measure of her. He could not remember the last time a stranger had addressed him like that — and even if, this must have been the first time it had come from a woman. Sure, hostesses would sometimes try to lure him into their clubs as if they could smell the money on him, but this was different. Her clothes did not match any kind of hostess he had ever seen and, at the same time, were tame enough not to label her as a sex-worker. They were not what regular women would wear these days, either. She sported a black leather jacket with a white half-cut top underneath — even with her arms obscuring some of the view, he could still see her exposed shapely belly. Just under her navel, a studded black belt held up a pair of dark jeans that, to his eye, perfectly complimented her fit form. Was she a punk, or a goth? It was the closest thing he could think of, but her make-up and hairstyle were pretty mild compared to what punk or goth girls would usually wear in this city.

"Are you just going to stare, or will you come over here?" her voice pulled him out of his musings.

"Whaddya want?" he spoke up after a spell of silence, his tone a warning.

"So you can speak! Well, there goes my theory about you being half-blind and mute," she quipped. "Care for a smoke?" She waved a pack of cigarettes in her free hand, inviting him to partake.

Majima was taken aback — the nerve on this woman was extraordinary. Who speaks to a yakuza like that? Does she have a death wish?

"Keep talkin' like that an' ya may find this to be yer last one, girlie," he growled, hoping to dissuade her from bothering him further. He turned his gaze back to the clouds hanging heavy above, hoping that his words would be enough to make her think twice next time.

"Fine by me. Keep wallowing in your quite literal puddle of self-pity, then."

At this point, he could not decide anymore whether he was annoyed or intrigued. Perhaps both. Who the fuck was she? Glancing her way again, he noticed she was no longer looking at him. The cherry on the tip of her cigarette was gradually getting closer to her fingers. A part of him wanted to simply walk away, but now he was too curious what her deal was. Slowly, he walked over to the alley and stopped in front of her. Her eyes met his when she noticed him.

"Changed your mind?"

Again, he looked her up and down without a word. He had put up the most menacing scowl he could muster — but she just stood there, unmoved. Having taken one final drag, she threw the butt on the ground, and put it out with her boot.

On closer inspection, she looked to be in her thirties, but still as cute as they come. Sleek, raven-black hair draped the right side of her face, with shorter hair on the other side, and a spiky knot at the back of her head; her ears were pierced, with a few small silver loops along her left earlobe. All of this, combined with her clothes, gave her the look of a rebel.

Maybe he should teach her a lesson not to aggravate strangers like him ever again? He considered his options as he continued to scrutinize her.

"Don't even think of trying anything," she said, as if she could read his mind. "I've put a few dozen guys your size on the ground before."

His eyebrows arched up in amusement. This was becoming interesting.

"Oh? I'd like to see that."

She certainly looked stronger than your average girl but, nevertheless, he could not picture her beating him in a one-on-one. In spite of this, her defiant attitude tickled the fighter's instinct inside him.

"Why don't we go find a suitable place so ya can show me?"

Arms crossed, she regarded him steadily, thinking.

"Sure. One condition, though," she responded to his suggestion after a pause.

"Hm?"

"Come have a drink at my bar, and dry off while you're at it. No fun in fighting someone who's about to come down with a cold, or worse."

She motioned with her head and Majima's eye followed in the direction. A little further into the alley there was a sign with bright neon letters that read:

STRAY

Hard Rock Bar & Pool

How in the world had he never noticed it being there? He thought he knew every bar in the vicinity and yet, somehow, this one had managed to fly under his radar. Was it new?

At some point during this bizarre interaction, a chilly wind had begun to blow — only then did Majima realize he was soaking wet. His hair lay flat against his forehead and temples, small drops of water falling from the few strands that still struggled to remain upright. He felt a shiver run down his spine. In spite of this, he was all too eager to call her bluff. And if he could stake out a new place in town while at it, then why not. The night had already taken an unexpected turn — he might as well just go with the flow on this one, he thought.

"Fine. But don't think a few drinks'll make me forget what ya said."

A small smile appeared in the corner of her mouth, and Majima felt a sudden tingling sensation in his chest. Hell was she cute, even with just a hint of a smile on her face. Even if the whole thing was her play to cash in on him, it was still pretty daring. He respected that.

"That's the spirit. This way."

She headed for the bar's entrance and he followed closely. For a split second, he could not help imagining how pretty she would look with a full smile lighting up her face.

Majima followed the mystery girl down a flight of stairs that turned at a right-angle midway through. He could already hear the rhythmic thumping of rock music and the clamor of voices coming from within. When he entered, the heavy air filled with the smell of cigarettes, alcohol and baize hit his nostrils. He stopped in the doorway for a moment. Compared with the outside, the place was very warm, almost stuffy. It was a rather small venue, with only two rooms, at least as far as he could see. With the counter to the left, the main room was filled with couches and small tables, all currently occupied. Further to the back, through an archway, he spied a pool table. The lights were dimmed, the backlit shelves lined with bottles behind the counter and the neon sign with the bar's name above it an instant draw for the eyes.

To his surprise, the people inside gave him only a few passing glances. He noticed most of them were dressed in a similar manner to what she was wearing, some flashier and others more outlandish altogether. Now that he thought about it, some of their get-ups reminded him of what some biker gang members would wear. His garb, otherwise unique and eye-catching, seemed to be par for the course among this crowd.

"I'd offer you a couch, but as you can see, we're pretty packed," he heard her say over the ruckus. "There's a spot open at the bar, though. Make yourself at home and I'll be right back."

She made her way behind the counter, exchanged a few quick words with some of the patrons already seated there, then disappeared into the back room.

Majima walked over to the bar and took an empty seat in between two others. He looked at the backlit wall filled with all manner of liquor bottles in front of him — and waited.

She came back a few moments later, towel in hand. Now that she had taken off her jacket, his eye was drawn to a studded leather cuff on her left wrist.

"This is all I can do right now, I'm afraid," she said, handing him the towel.

He looked at her outstretched arm for a spell, deciding to accept in the end. He pressed the towel against his face. It smelled of perfume — there was something comforting, enticing even, about the fact. He wiped his face, then rubbed the cloth against his hair, neck, then chest. When he was done, he handed the towel back to her, and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to put it back in some semblance of order. Despite everything, the other patrons paid him no mind, or at least it seemed that way. Not like he cared, but it was nice to feel unbothered in a place so chock-full of people.

"So, what'll it be?"

She rested her forearms on the counter and was looking at him with curiosity. His eye focused on her entwined fingers.

"Anythin's fine," he answered dryly, trying his darndest not to look at her cleavage. A few years back, he probably would have already said something lewd or provocative to her, but not anymore. Perhaps he had changed — he simply did not feel like it that night.

"Whisky it is then," she decided for him and went about preparing the glass and ice. Taking an almost-full bottle from the shelf, she poured the golden liquid into the wide glass. "First one's on the house. And it's one of our best vintages, too, so enjoy. Welcome to Stray."

With that, she returned to serving other patrons and gathering up empty glasses from across the room. Majima put the glass up to his lips, and the earthy smell filled his nostrils. He took a sip. He had tasted many a fine spirit in his time, even some that went for more than a million yen a bottle, but this one wasn't bad either. He felt the fire travel from his mouth to his stomach — it was a surprisingly welcome sensation. Putting the glass down, he silently stared at the ice floating inside.

She came back not long after with a tray full of empty glasses and an exasperated look on her face. Majima observed her swift movements as she put one batch into the dishwasher and took out a fresh one to dry and start preparing new orders in. Judging by how busy she had been since returning with him, he could not help thinking that she could probably use some help.

"Ya run this place on yer own?"

She gave him a quick glance.

"No, actually," she sighed, sounding a little tired. "Usually, I have help, but she called in sick the other day, so I've had to deal with everything on my own. It's a pain in the ass, especially during rush hours, but I do what I can," she explained.

With her so preoccupied, there was no point in trying to keep up a conversation. Majima wasn't even entirely sure if he wanted to, for that matter. In a bar filled with so many people, the loneliness he had felt was beginning to creep up on him once again. After a while, his glass almost empty, he had half a mind to just stand up and walk out without another word, never to look back. He hesitated.

The next thing he knew, his drink was topped up again. He raised his gaze, confused. He had not even noticed her come back that time.

"You look like you need it. Don't worry, I won't charge you for the refill, but that's the last freebie."

A sheepish acknowledgement in the form of a low 'Ah...' was all that came out of his mouth. Maybe she was right — maybe this was what he needed to dull the pain that so stubbornly refused to leave him. Not like it had worked before, but he might as well keep trying.

Before he knew it, the hands on the clock hanging on the wall next to the entrance were pointing to three a.m. Observing her while sipping on his whisky, thinking, he seemed to have lost track of time. At some point, the intense songs from before had given way to melodic rock ballads. With closing time apparently approaching, the people were clearing out one by one. It became quiet, save for the music. Eventually, Majima was the only patron left. It was now nearing four in the morning.

Visibly exhausted, the girl pulled up a low-back chair from where it had stood unused behind the bar for the best part of the night, and sat down, letting her back rest against the refrigerator with soft drinks and bottled water. She produced a pack of cigarettes from beneath the counter and offered one to Majima for the second time that night. This time, he took it.

"So," she began, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Since you're still here, I gather my bar proved a better alternative to the rain."

"Hmph," he scoffed under his breath.

"What were you doing getting yourself soaked like that anyway?"

"Why do ya care?"

She shrugged.

"I shouldn't, true. But now that you're a patron, I can't help it. Sometimes it's good to just talk about what's eating you with a stranger, is all. You'd be surprised how many guys come here just for that."

"So you're a bartender and a shrink?" he jeered.

She gave him a smirk and shook her head.

"Nah. It's more like, people talk and I listen. If they want to know my take, I give it, but most of the time they just want to get things off their chest."

"I don't need a shoulder to cry on, if that's what you're implyin'," he bristled.

She watched him closely as they sat smoking on opposite sides of the counter.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to get into your business any more than I already have. Just wanted to let you know you're always welcome here when you need some downtime."

He did not respond. A few moments of awkward silence followed before one of them spoke up again.

"Alright, so if you don't want to talk, then why are you still here? Unless you want to help me clean up and close shop, of course. If not, then I don't mean to be rude, but I'd like to be done and back home before the sun comes up, if you don't mind."

She had a point — why was he still there? Now that she had pointed it out, he started mulling it over in his head. He would be lying to himself if he denied the fact that she had caught his eye. Women like her, with her no-bullshit attitude, were pretty rare. And with her looks, she could just as well hold a comfy desk job at some big company, not tend a bar in a place like Kamurocho. This life must have been a choice — or a statement. He felt drawn to her, he realized, for more than one reason. He was a creature of instinct, and right now his gut was telling him he needed to know more. At the same time, however, something inside was holding him back.

He snuffed out his cigarette against the thick glass of the ashtray laid out on the counter and looked up, meeting her eyes. Although the pain inside seemed to have subsided somewhat, his face took on a dark, menacing expression. Even so, her gaze did not waver. It felt as though her eyes were issuing him a warning. Try me and you'll get burned — they seemed to say. It made him feel giddy, and he loved it. Smirking, he stood up.

"Thanks for the drinks," he said before sauntering towards the exit.

One foot on the stairs already, he heard her call out to him from behind.

"Hey, what about that fight of ours?"

He stopped in his tracks, but did not turn around. He smiled, genuinely, for the first time that night.

"Sorry — not in the mood."

Raising a hand in a gesture of farewell, he climbed the stairs leading outside. He felt oddly excited — he had not expected the night to go the way it did, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

Later, he found himself lying awake, arms crossed behind his head, staring vacantly at the ceiling. He waited for the sweet oblivion of sleep to embrace him, but it would not come. The sky outside was beginning to turn to a lighter shade of gray, and he could not help but wonder if she had been able to make it home before sunrise, like she had wanted to.