“I see. So I guess they just cultivated and mixed those pills themselves? Y’know, there’s something to be said for young entrepreneurship.” Akabayashi chuckled, shaking his head.
Mikiya noticed that the smile did not extend to his companion’s eyes and glanced at the cell phone again. “Well, they’re certainly crafty. Everyone in their operation from the dealers on up communicate only through phones. They change numbers regularly, so they must be using burners.”
Burners were phones registered under falsified names designed to be used for short periods of time. It was easy enough to pay a large number of people a small amount of money (or a bit of debt relief) to sign up for a phone and then collect the phones for anonymous use. Once the cellular contract ran out or the police got involved, the phones were unusable, so you just switched to the next disposable phone. It was a favored tactic for scam artists and others outside the law.
As a matter of fact, Mikiya and the Awakusu found burners to be handy tools at times, too. “Kazamoto said he’d run the numbers of the phones past his burner dealer, but it’s not clear if we’ll be able to track down whoever’s at the center of this operation. Apparently, they’re all college students, though…”
Mikiya tsked his tongue, his expression still flat. “It’s an ugly time to be alive. Normal-lookin’ kids, using the Internet or whatever to get into our side of the business? People talk about the yakuza blending in with regular professionals—but these kids are just straight-up normal.”
“Good point. If those guys yesterday didn’t have the fake tattoos, they’d just look like ordinary fellas who happened to be well-built.”
“…By the way, you know about a group of kids called the Dollars?”
“Where’s this comin’ from?” Akabayashi asked, not bothering to mention or deny his registration as a member of that very group.
“Well, the kids who Kazamoto ‘questioned’ yesterday told us a whole bunch of stuff…but one of the things they mentioned was that there was some kind of upper organization that they only talked to on the phone…”
“Apparently, they were founded after the Dollars’ model—only this group just sells drugs online.”
The same moment, Awakusu-kai headquarters
The Awakusu-kai was an organized crime operation, or what the rest of society termed a “violence group.” It was a large group, one of the midsized members of the Medei-gumi Syndicate. No one outside of the gang had a firm grasp on their total number, but the name itself carried quite a bit of clout within Ikebukuro.
In the depths of the office building that the group used as a headquarters, a spare room held an overbearing atmosphere, as a person spoke in a gravelly voice.
“Ahh. There is no problem with that matter.”
The timbre of the voice marked him as a significantly elderly man. But there was powerful strength to it, as well as a solid menace, like a looming craggy mountain.
“We have no intention of souring our relationship with you. However, we cannot handle the matter ourselves, you understand. With reconciliation with the Asuki-gumi at hand, it would not do to have rumors that we are killing our own. If he screwed up, that would be one thing, but this is entirely your own request.”
There was no answering voice from within the room; he was apparently speaking on the phone.
“But…I can promise you that however you wish to settle things with him, the Awakusu-kai will not take action. If he should meet an unfortunate accident or turn up missing, that would not weaken our position with the Asuki-gumi.”
He spoke in clear, polite language, neither debasing himself nor patronizing his conversation partner. It was clinical and businesslike, with no hint of personal emotion.
“On the other hand, you will not harm anyone else of ours. If anyone else, be it member of our organization or their relatives, is brought into this—there will be a reckoning.”
After this there were a few more statements, and the speaker ended his call. A wrinkled hand set down the receiver gingerly, as if licking at the air.
During the call, he had been perfectly composed and utterly in control, but his next words were a lament. “Even after decades…I just can’t get used to this phone thing.”
Hanging lanterns and a little shrine altar decorated the space, making it the only room in the place, decked out as it was like some kind of securities office, that looked like the chamber of a traditional yakuza.
Sitting in the back of this head honcho’s office was the speaker, sunk deep into a rich leather chair. It creaked, releasing some of the suffocating tension in the room. He leaned back behind his desk—which was simple in design but clearly built of very fine wood—and gave a toothy grin.
“Funny thing is, most of my teeth are fake by now. Got a couple of bolts jammed into my pelvis. Wouldn’t that make me a— What’s the thing from the movies? Cyborg? A robocop? And somehow I don’t know my way around a machine. God musta made some mistake with me.”
He rubbed the silent phone receiver and addressed the large man standing near the door. “What about you, Aozaki? You like phones?”
Aozaki and the old man were the only ones in the room. He bowed his head and rumbled, “If you want me to, boss, I’ll destroy my own cell phone in a snap.”
It sounded like a joke, but the tone of voice indicated otherwise. The old man, Dougen Awakusu, just chuckled and shook his head.
“If you don’t call me ‘Chairman,’ you’ll get an earful from our director and Shiki, too.”
Dougen was in his early sixties, if appearance was any judge. His actual age was a mystery, but the full white beard did a good job of projecting maturity. It was well-kept, so he looked more like Santa Claus than some ragged old hermit from a fairy tale.
The other man, one of the most combative and aggressive of the Awakusu officers, said politely, “There’s no one around to hear me, boss. So was that call about the you-know-what?”
“Hmm? Ahh yes. Is that what you’re here to talk about, too?”
“Indeed. I’m surprised that those remnants are still going after him—and even more surprised that they actually called you directly, boss. Say the word, and I’ll have them wiped out within a day,” Aozaki said.
His words were rough, but his deference to the boss was unmistakable. He was an overbearing man by nature, and he often slighted Mikiya, the actual heir to the group—but he had nothing but deep respect for the Awakusu boss before him.
“Ha-ha, I’m sure you could. You’re not the Blue Ogre of Awakusu for nothing.”
“Don’t mention that, please. It makes it sound like I’m just great pals with that Red Ogre guy.”
“What’s the harm in that? You know you respect Akabayashi’s skill.”
“Oh, he’s trustworthy in a fight, that’s for sure, but it means nothing against a whole organization. He might have that little group of pet bikers under his wing, but the man’s not suited for working with a team.”
Aozaki paused, squinted up at the ceiling.
“Which is probably why stuff like this comes up.”
Dougen Awakusu cackled dryly and said, “Perhaps. Those remnants want nothing more than to kill Akabayashi. Nothing else matters to them.”
“What group are they affiliated with now?”
“You promised to snuff them out in a day without knowing the answer to that question? Well…I suppose I should have expected that from you.”
Dougen leaned forward off the back of the chair, resting his elbows on the desk. He tapped the surface with his index finger and smiled cruelly. “Apparently, a number of them got out of jail recently and decided to start their own group. It operates under the guise of a small realty office.”
“They never learn.”
“Can you blame them? They’ve still got their suspicions,” Dougen said, stroking his beard with an eager smile.
“They still think it was Akabayashi who killed their old boss.”
There was a rumor about Akabayashi.
While he was an important officer with the Awakusu-kai, he hadn’t come up through the organization. In fact, he had originally been a muscle man for a rival group that had fought with the Awakusu for territory in Ikebukuro.
He wasn’t really just a disposable muscle man used for suicide missions, but a highly prized all-around weapon for the group. His presence there was invaluable…
But the group did not last.
The kumicho—the boss of the group—was murdered.
At the same time, the police discovered a large drug-smuggling operation the group was running and arrested most of them. It was essentially disbanded.
But Akabayashi, one of the most notable of its members, was absent from the major arrest. And he had been the bodyguard with the kumicho when the murder happened.
These two facts were enough to plant suspicion in the minds of the men who got caught. Perhaps he had killed the boss and ratted them out to the cops.
Their suspicions festered and grew, but no evidence supported them.
And now, Akabayashi was a principal member of the Awakusu-kai, their former rivals. Regardless of suspicions of murder, this was more than enough to earn the rancor of his former comrades.
But then the Awakusu-kai were brought under the umbrella of the Medei-gumi, and the remnants of that now-rival gang were totally powerless to do anything about the matter.
And now, the man in question was known as the Red Ogre of Awakusu. However, most of the fame behind that moniker stemmed from his past exploits; since joining the Awakusu, he had been a valuable member but was seen as a relative moderate among the muscle flexers.
And of course, there were those like Shiki, who saw Akabayashi’s aloof attitude as a mask to hide his true nature and stayed cautious of the man.
“Most of the ones who handled the drugs are still locked up, but for those who did manage to get out early, I bet they were sure Akabayashi did it, once they found out he’s with us now.”
“Normally, when you kill your own, you don’t last long in our world. Where there’s smoke, you gotta assume there’s fire…and yet you brought him aboard, boss.”
“I suppose I like to go against the grain. And I wasn’t going to be shy about a few rumors when there was good money to be made. Somehow, he really gets around with the younger folks.” Dougen cackled.
“But you just cut down that money tree on the phone right now,” Aozaki cautioned.
“Perhaps I did.”
“Let us settle our score with Akabayashi.”
That was the request the brand-new group had been making of Dougen recently.
They were former rivals, fresh out of prison. Normally, this matter would have been ignored, but from the very start, these fellows seemed suicidally desperate.
“We don’t intend to start anything with you. But none of us can go to our deaths knowing that we haven’t avenged our boss. If you cover for him, we’re prepared to go out in a blaze of glory.”
Ultimately, Dougen ended up giving them his answer, minutes ago: “If you make it unrelated to our group, through accident or disappearance, we will not retaliate.”
This wasn’t out of some yakuza tradition of honor or recognizing a wrong that ought to be made right. It wasn’t out of respect for their desperate gamble to avenge their slain leader.
To Dougen, it was sheer practicality: Starting a war now would make the Medei-gumi look bad and lower their standing before making peace with the Asuki-gumi.
On top of that, men fresh out of prison would naturally be under police scrutiny. Starting trouble with a desperate gang was a risk for very little reward—even if they could be crushed “in a day,” as Aozaki promised.
They were no fools. They were men of the night, responsible for building the darkness of Ikebukuro.
“You see, I can’t betray my men…but I can abandon them.”
Six years ago, Tokyo, near Sonohara-dou
It was supposed to be like any other night.
The job was simple: Act like a robber and rough up a store owner.
He had given up a tender conscience long ago. He never even thought about guilt anymore.
What possible threat could the owner of an antique curio shop pose?
The man’s arrogance was a symbol of his violence.
He had little interest in money or women. But he didn’t glorify poverty, and he wasn’t attracted to men. He just loved being a conduit for violence.
“If necessary, involve the wife and kid,” they’d told him, but he wasn’t particularly interested in doing that. He just wanted to rough up the owner and be done with it. He’d never been violent against women and children, but it wasn’t out of some sense of kindness or chivalry—he just found no interest in doing so, because it wasn’t worth bragging about.
He didn’t know how he started learning how to fight. What was more important was that he had honed his skill through constant combat and experience.
He had no interest in humans themselves—they were vivid targets for exhibiting violence, but little else. His fist was clenched today for the sole purpose of displaying his strength, to create new scars that would speak of his existence.
But as he approached Sonohara-dou, he noticed a figure standing in the street. He had chosen a moonless night, so the only light to illuminate the person was the flickering streetlamps. He couldn’t really tell who it was.
“Hey…who are you?”
He couldn’t just ignore them and continue on his way.
There was a long silver object in the figure’s hand—a katana.
“…A shock trooper sent to eliminate me? If you think havin’ a sword will give you the edge, you’re gonna learn a real painful lesson,” the man threatened, cracking his neck aggressively.
Normally, he would seize the advantage by throwing something before talking, but on this day, he didn’t. Something about the figure, something eerie, chilled his instincts.
Once he was within ten steps of the katana’s range—
The blade flickered, like a heat haze in midsummer.
That ripple in the darkness threw off his sense of distance. It felt as if the figure had approached five steps within a single flicker of the streetlight.
But in fact, there was another part of the scene he felt closing the distance.
The sword…stretched…?!
The blade should have been an ordinary length for a katana, but in the span of that brief moment, it changed shape, stretching to nearly double the length.
The man knew from experience that while a solid thrust or iai drawing of a blade could create the illusion of shifting distance, this was not one of those cases.
The reason he couldn’t understand it was because the truth was that the blade really did stretch.
The streetlight flickered on again, and he was able to see the figure clearly.
A woman?!
It was a woman wearing indoor clothing—her eyes glowing red like the light on a police car.
Wait, is that who they talk about…?
Like two red moons shining from her eye sockets.
Gleaming. Blazing.
The slasher…
The next time the light flickered on, his mind reached further depths of confusion. Somehow there was another katana stretching for him, but from where her shoulder met her neck, rather than her hand. The tip reached out to him, desperate to pierce his skin.
—!
He leaped sideways on reflex, evading the two oncoming blades by just the slimmest of margins. When he recovered his stance and turned back, ready to fight, his body froze.
What is this?
Blades.
What am I looking at?
Not just from her shoulder.
What the hell is this?
The silver of the blade was protruding from her limbs, her back, her stomach—even the ends of her long hair. It wasn’t chaotic growth like wild mushrooms, but functional and methodical, sprouting from locations like her elbows, such that the blade
s were like bits of body armor.
What am I looking at?
A mechanical puppet, a robot bristling with blades.
Those red glowing eyes had to be made with light bulbs, he imagined. It was an utterly nonsensical image, but the thing was there. Right in front of him.
Is this…real life?
It was a monster. The slasher was a monster.
A red-eyed monster sprouting katana blades wherever it wanted on its body, performing impossible feats.
He didn’t know this monster’s name.
“Dammit…”
He was unfamiliar with Saika, the cursed blade that loved humanity.
“What the hell are you, dammit?!”
There was no reply. The monster clutched in the red-eyed woman’s hand spurred its wielder’s body onward into a direct leap toward the paralyzed man. It was the jump of a female lead in a romance movie, leaping into the arms of the man she loved.
But this sword’s lips did not caress the man’s mouth or his cheek.
He managed to break out of his emergency paralysis and tried to move out of the way.
But the tip of the sword stretched out even farther…
And split his right eye, directly down the middle.
Present day, Tokyo, empty room
There was an air of abnormality shrouding the shop.
It was an empty building that combined a storefront and living space under one roof, plopped down in the midst of an ordinary residential area far from the station and shopping district.
There was a sign out front reading SONOHARA-DOU, but the letters were faded and missing so that it was nearly impossible to make out any longer. All the furnishings that identified it as an old antique shop were still there, but the display cases visible from the outside were full of nothing but piled-up dust.
It was obvious at first sight that the building was abandoned, though the details of the empty display cases and oddly patterned pillars gave the place a type of presence that went past strange and right into creepy.
Durarara!!, Vol. 7 Page 9
