Akiko curbed her temper, knowing there was no point arguing. “How can you be so casual betraying the Empire?”
“Because I’m doing it for the greater good.”
She’d eaten the top layer of her tostada, but couldn’t go deeper without smearing her face in food.
“Do you need help?” Ben asked.
“No,” Akiko replied. She struggled to clamp the handle of her spoon, unused to the mechanics of her artificial hand. It took her a while, but she fed herself. That was when her stomach started growling. “I have to use the restroom.”
She headed for the lavatory, a private one with only an Eastern-styled toilet in the ground. The lock on the stall door was too hard for her to manipulate so she gave up and squatted above the toilet.
Twenty minutes later, she opened the door and called to Ben.
“You OK in there?” Ben asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “ I need some assistance.”
“What’s up?”
She looked at the tip of her prosthetic hand, covered in shit, toilet paper ripped to shreds. She was embarrassed, but defiant as well.
Ben saw the struggle in her face and asked, “Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
Ben did not flinch or make any overt reaction. He assisted her as best as he could.
They both washed at the sink.
“One of my commanding officers told me the best way to make a prisoner go crazy was leave them in a dark room and not clean up their shit,” Akiko explained. “We called it ‘excrement torture.’ I did it to a woman obsessed with cleanliness. Stuck her in a room for a month. Never let her shower or clean up her piss or shit.”
“What happened to her?” Ben asked, as he rinsed with soap.
“When we let her out, she wasn’t human anymore. I thought she was weak. But I know now I couldn’t have handled even a day of that.”
They dried off quietly.
7:44AM
Outside Orochan’s bar, two men and a woman stood threateningly, each holding clubs.
“It’s closed,” the woman with jewels all over her body said.
“I need to see Orochan,” Ben replied.
“Orochan hasn’t paid her dues, so she can’t see customers that haven’t been approved by the Mosquito.”
“Who’s the Mosquito?” Ben asked.
“Get out of here before I have to hurt you!” the tall male with the beard snarled. He had long boots, a leather jacket, and the tattoo of a lizard’s face covering part of his eyes.
Ben wasn’t sure what to do, but Akiko stepped in and said, “My name is Akiko Tsukino.”
“I don’t give a shit who you are.”
“I’m an agent of the Tokko,” she finished, and noticed their aggressive body postures wilt. “I know everything about each one of you and your families. Anything I don’t know, I’ll find out.” Akiko looked at the woman, spotted the ring on her wedding hand. “I’m aware of what you and your husband are doing. Don’t think it’s escaped our attention.” To the lizard face, “You think I don’t know about what you did to your friend?”
Lizard face asked, “What are you talking about?”
She recognized the tattoo. “Don’t play dumb unless you want me to humiliate you. I know you’ve had surgery done, but does your boss know why you really left the Tokage family?”
“H-how did yo–”
“Step aside before you get in trouble.”
“But Mosquito–”
“I’ll deal with him later!” Akiko snapped.
She led Ben in and they did not stop her. Instead, they were vexed, fearful of the implications of believing the Tokko was watching them.
7:52AM
Orochan was a big woman, more robust than heavyset. She wore a ceremonial robe on top with short shorts underneath, which buttressed her thick legs. Her purple mohawk complemented her purple-tinted contact lenses. She let out a gusty laugh before asking, “How did you get in here?”
“She was persuasive,” Ben said about Akiko.
“Must have been. What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time, Ishimura?”
“Who says I’m in trouble?”
“Why else would you be here so early in the morning?”
The bar had twenty posh leather couches surrounding marble tables and mahjong sets. The shelves on the walls were lined with wine and sake bottles. Eleven portical game stalls were in the corners, including a popular pinball title. There were no clients, though male and female prostitutes lingered on the bar with halos of perfume around them. A painting of the Emperor was displayed prominently at the front, a coterie of Buddha statues to either side of him. Ben handed Orochan a set of expensive chopsticks, finely carved and hand polished from rosewood.
“For me?” Orochan asked. “Very sweet of you.”
“Specially ordered from Italy.”
“Who’s your persuasive friend?”
“This is Akiko.”
Orochan’s eyes went to Akiko’s prosthetic arms. “She police?”
“Something like that,” Ben replied. “I need transportation.”
“Only place we go to is Catalina.”
“That’s where I need to get.”
She cast Ben an apprehensive glance. “What’s your business there?”
“Imperial business. You don’t want to know the details, do you? What’s your price?”
“There’s no price for you. But I’m having some problems, as you might have noticed.”
“What kind?”
“A local Yakuza thug, Mosquito, thinks he owns us and is only letting approved customers in. He’s causing a hell storm for my boys and girls. Already carved up three of their faces. Doug! Doug!” Doug was an effeminate male in his early twenties and had a boyish charm about him, if it wasn’t for the scar ripping across his face. “Doug used to be my most popular host, and now he washes dishes in the back because Mosquito wanted to make a point. Doug, where are your manners?” Doug bowed respectfully to both of them. “Go back to sleep.” He bowed again and left. “Mosquito is demanding a tax on every transaction and won’t let us go to sea unless we pay him boating fees. He’s taken our ship for personal purposes, trying to start a gaming deck inside.”
“What can I do?” Ben inquired.
“Nothing, unless you can help me get rid of him. But that’s pretty much impossible.”
“Why?”
“He has a group of ex-sumo wrestlers as bodyguards. No one’s getting through.”
“Is there some other way? Maybe we can make an arrangement with him?”
“He’s not making any arrangements. I’m sorry, Ben.”
Ben was unsure what step to take next.
“Do you have an extra gun arm?” Akiko interjected.
“I can get one,” Orochan answered.
“You get me a good one, and I’ll take care of your Mosquito.”
“Wait a se–” Ben tried to say.
Akiko fired a ferocious glower in his direction. “I’ll take care of this, understand?”
Orochan looked at Akiko. “This is different from those guards.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“His personal bodyguards are professionals.”
“Do I look scared?”
Orochan laughed with a clap. “Reiko-chan.”
“Hai,” a young, petite woman replied with a short bow.
“Take care of Ben for a few minutes.”
“Where are you going?” Ben asked.
“I’m taking your friend to the storage room so we can check out some gun arms. I trust you won’t get into trouble without me?”
Orochan led Akiko through a room behind the bar into a dim corridor filled with bedrooms. The walls had European paintings of couples copulating in bizarre poses. Most of the doors were shut, though a few clients were enjoying a raucous soiree. Orochan led Akiko down the stairs into a sealed room filled with crates, sex toys, and guns.
“What did Ben tell you about me
?” Orochan asked.
“Nothing.”
“You Kempeitai?”
“No, Tokko. How’d you–”
“It’s my job to know. I served with Ben in San Diego as a requisitions officer.”
“You supplied arms?” Akiko asked, as she looked at the assortment of items on display.
Orochan grinned. “They had me gather comfort companions for the soldiers.”
“Governor Ogasawara outlawe–”
“I know the law. But privately, those laws got thrown out the door. I was ordered to take the American prisoners and prostitute them for our soldiers. Most of the women had never even slept with a man. Strange religious belief that they shouldn’t have sex before marriage. I had to prepare those girls, mentally and physically. If one didn’t perform and some fancy officer was displeased, they’d shoot ’em. They sent us the dumbest and cruelest soldiers around. It was a helluva challenge, but I always protect my own. You come under my roof and there is no race.”
“I’ve studied San Diego and I’ve never heard of this.”
“Of course not. The scholars hid a lot of the terrible shit that happened,” Orochan said.
“Why?”
“You didn’t see San Diego. Children would approach officers and blow themselves up. Our soldiers killed civilians indiscriminately. Whole parts of town were wiped out. Whenever we took prisoners, they’d kill themselves.”
“They shouldn’t have rebelled.”
“We killed so many of them first.”
“You think we’re to blame?” Akiko asked, incensed by the suggestion.
“No. I’m just saying it’s a long and bloody history,” Orochan replied, preemptively trying to calm her. “Ben saved my ass twice.”
“How?”
“I don’t like dredging up the past. But if he’s in trouble, I’ll do anything to protect him.”
Akiko’s eyes went to a particularly lethal-looking cannon that was pitch black, a long corpulent barrel with grooves like fangs. “What’s that?”
“German prototype I scored a few years back from some arms dealers visiting from Rome.”
“What’s it do?”
“They called it the death ray. It uses crystals to power energy beams that are more deadly than bullets. Only problem is, it’s heavy and impractical as a gun arm. The recoil sucks even with the muzzle brakes. Hard to aim and balance.”
Akiko noted that it was made of alloy steel and had a revolving barrel that switched bullets with lasers. “Can I try?” she asked.
“I’ve tried to move this since I got it. It’ll screw up your shoulder and back. You should try this Type 22 light machine gun. They’re not too heavy, fire Arisaka cartridges, and–”
Akiko’s eyes were on the death ray. “Indulge me,” she said.
Orochan helped Akiko remove her prosthetic.
“Your scar is still fresh,” Orochan said, noticing the cuts and the wound. “You need more time.”
“I don’t have time.”
“This won’t hold long.”
“I don’t need long,” Akiko insisted. “Just a few days.”
Orochan had to use both arms to lift the death ray, screw in the rivets, connect the electric nerves, and calibrate the trigger. “This a five-axis swivel on the sock?” Akiko grunted in assent. “I’m using an amplified osseointegration process with this titanium bolt. This’ll sting, but it’ll attach the part to your bone with this abutment. These patches will accelerate the osseointegration, but if you’re not careful, it’ll rip out your bone.”
The integration felt like a hammer on her joints, a stabbing motion that jolted her entire body. Akiko clenched her teeth. The wires looked like cracks in a drought-ridden desert. Globules of fat and flesh surrounded the junction point. She felt as though she were being penetrated by a thousand needles, her skin imploding.
“Do you want me to take it out?”
Akiko shook her head.
“Give the microportical a chance to calibrate with the nerves in your arm,” Orochan said.
“How much longer?” Akiko asked, through bated breath.
“Soon.”
Her vision was blurry and her thoughts corroded. Beniko didn’t look like her brother; he was more confident, taller, and suave. And yet both had something about them that was nervous and uncomfortable. What had her brother been so afraid of? He used to brush the back of his uniform because he had so much dandruff and had been devastated by disapproving reviews from superior officers. He dreamt every night that his shadow fell in love with a woman and ran off without him. The world was untempered chaos, shadows consummating each other with the urges of night. Her thoughts were as cluttered as those dreams. There was a gigantic stomach on the ceiling. She could smell ground beef and stir-fried intestines pouring out its asshole. Jenna Fujimori invited her to dinner. “It’s very delish,” she said. They were inside her stomach and the pressure of congestion forced dissolution.
“You awake?” Orochan asked. “You knocked off.”
Akiko stared down at the cannon that was her arm. She forced it to move, though it was a struggle to keep it up.
“How does it work?” Akiko wanted to know.
“You can set the energy levels on that knob,” Orochan explained, pointing to a dial with numbers. “There’s the trigger or you can activate it with–”
Akiko set it to the lowest level and fired. A laser beam fired into a dildo, puncturing a hole that made the whole thing melt.
“The recoil isn’t too bad,” Akiko commented.
“That’s because it’s at the lowest level.”
“How does it recharge?”
“Solar powered. If the ray runs out, you can switch to the machine gun until it builds back up. You need to flip out the side barrel.”
Akiko played with both. “Do you have steroidal enhancers?” she asked, feeling the duress on her arm.
“Why?”
“Do you want me to take care of your problem or not?”
“I do.”
“Then give me enough enhancers to last a few days.”
“They’re upstairs.”
Akiko examined the gun arm again. “You don’t care if your Mosquito is dead or alive?”
“I’d prefer alive. But I’d also prefer if he can’t talk. I don’t want his cyborg Yakuza members to come after us.”
“You know where he’s at?”
“A hotel near Murder Alley. I’ll give you directions. You’ll also need to take a gift with you.”
“What kind of gift?”
“Civil War relics. The Yakuza have a fetish for American rebels and Robert E. Lee.”
They went back upstairs. Reiko was flirting with Ben, trying to kiss him, though he deftly avoided every foray, chuckling, amused by her flirty ways.
Orochan injected chemicals into the gun arm that, in turn, was connected intravenously with Akiko’s arm. She packed several capsules into a case, added an emergency syringe, and handed them to her.
“Let’s go,” Akiko ordered Ben.
“Where?” he asked, noticing the huge gun arm.
“We need to swat some mosquitoes.”
9:16AM
They walked towards Murder Alley.
“What are you going to do?” Ben asked.
“What do you think?”
“We have to be careful how we approach these cyber Yakuza.”
“Don’t you have any guts?” she asked. “I’ve never met such a timid officer, Ishimura. Is your animal spirit a chicken?”
“Our mission isn’t hunting Yakuza. It’s catching Mutsuraga.”
“And we aren’t going to get anywhere near Mutsuraga without getting to Catalina, right?”
“Let me talk to him a little, reason with him,” Ben said. “I know Orochan would like to start a turf war, but we’re not going to be the cause of that.”
“What’s the story between you two?”
“What’d she tell you?”
“She told me you saved her
twice in SD.”
“What she means is, I staved off her court martial. Some colonel got mad at one of her girls and nearly beat her to death. Orochan cut off his chinchin. None of the soldiers got violent again. But she was brought up on charges.”
“How’d you get her off?”
“A few gifts, a few portical revelations with information some officials would rather not have disclosed.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“I have a soft spot for officers in trouble,” Ben said. “By the way, nice bluff with Mosquito’s guards earlier. I wasn’t sure it was going to work.”
“Low level Yakuza thugs only respond to strength. They weren’t too bright either.”
“What if they hadn’t fallen for it? Like what if the lady wasn’t married and that guy’s tattoo was just a mistake after a drunk outing.”
“The moment I saw the weakness in their eyes when I mentioned Tokko, I knew they would believe anything I said.”
“But the truth–”
“Doesn’t matter when you have a stronger will.” A sudden stench overwhelmed Akiko, a mix of vomit, feces, and rotten flesh. “What is that?”
“That’d be Murder Alley,” Ben answered.
“It smells terrible.”
“You go there and get murdered a hundred different ways. They bring you back to life for a price.”
“It’s a service?”
“An expensive one.”
She looked in the alley and it was dark, nothing visible from outside. “Why would anyone do it?”
“Boredom is the root of all trouble in the world.”
“There are so many enemies of the Emperor that need to be eliminated. I don’t understand how anyone could be bored.”
“Not everyone has the same cause to believe in.”
“Don’t you feel bad?” she asked.
“Why?”
“All you soldiers suffered so much in San Diego, and this is the world the survivors have created.”
“Never thought about it that way.”
“We have to make the USJ a better place.”
Ben laughed dubiously, thinking she was being ironic, but saw the seriousness in her expression. “Let’s deal with Mutsuraga first.”
9:42AM
The “mosquitoes” were four former sumo wrestlers, with bodies like blocks of concrete, no visible neck, and arms that were rectangles of fat and muscle. Their eyes disappeared into their round faces and their hair was tied into knots. They each had mechanical pinkies, a rite of passage for members of the Yakuza to sacrifice the least of their limbs. They were guarding room 301.
United States of Japan Page 20
