by Amy Faye
He dipped and grabbed the guy around the throat with one arm and pulled him up, then dragged him forward and over his shoulder, tossing the big body into the next guy, who fell back into a third still trying to make it through the door.
The fourth guy, though, stepped back and then leapt over the pile of bodies, and got a lucky punch through. Wes took a half-second to shake off the ringing in his head, but the damage was done. Pushed back, the others surged inside. With one exception, Wes noted with a grim pleasure.
The next one to come in caught a counter-punch on the chin that folded him and left him in a crumpled heap on the floor.
The attack, combined with being surrounded, opened his back up. The guy behind him caught him in a full nelson. Wes kicked out with his legs to send the guy who came after him back, and then flipped his weight forward and sent the guy grabbing him to the ground under him. He let out a loud "oof" as they landed on top of his unconscious friend, and then the grip on Wes was loosened and he was back up. Three left.
One caught the back of his fist as he turned on the cheek.
"Who the fuck's this bitch?" The sound of the voice surprised him, but Wes didn't have time to respond to it. He slipped another punch and responded with a hard, pointed elbow that caught the guy in the teeth and made him fall back an instant onto the back of the sofa, clutching at his mouth.
"How the fuck should I know? Just get your ass over here."
The guy who'd asked about Minami decided he was going to get smart, and picked her up in an easy motion, the blanket falling off as she was lifted up off the bed. Wes could see, dimly, that she was fighting to get free, but he could see that the big guy had a good grip on her.
Wes brought a foot down, heavy and hard, on the face of the guy who had caught him up in the full nelson, connecting with a satisfying crunch, and the guy bunched up in pain, like everyone tends to do when they're hurt bad.
That left three people, and one of them didn't look like he was in a fighting mood. He pulled his hand away from his mouth, his hand covered in blood that continued to spurt out of his cut-up lips.
The other guy looked new. Not 'Wes hadn't seen him before' new, but 'oh, fuck, I made a mistake' new. To his credit, he kept his hands up. He must have hoped that on some level this would still be a fight, but he wasn't counting on the fact that Wes was more experienced in street fighting than all of the men the kid had come with, combined.
"Get the hell out of here," Wes growled.
The kid looked at the unconscious bodies of his comrades on the floor and then looked up at the guy who was picking his teeth out of his cheek. For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, and then the guy leaning back against Wesley's second-hand sofa shook his head and shouted, as best he could, "What the fuck are you waiting for? Kick his ass!"
The kid looked from him to Wes, and then turned his ass around and ran. Wes stepped forward and hammered the talkative son of a bitch in the stomach. He bent over and didn't talk any more.
"Stop that shit, or I break this bitch's neck."
Wes let out a long breath, the first chance to catch his breath in the whole fight. Minami's head was twisted at an odd angle. Wes looked at him a minute.
"What do you want exactly?"
"I didn't sign up for this shit, man."
"Then leave, dumb-ass."
"And, what? Have that rat-bastard refuse to pay me? No. You take your beating like a man, or the girl's gonna get it."
Wes weighed the options. The odds of her neck breaking weren't good. The guy wasn't one of the smarter ones. He probably thought they twisted off like a soda bottle, like on TV. Just another few inches, and snap, she's dead.
But that wasn't how it worked. More likely she'd have a muscular strain, sure. She wouldn't like it, and she'd probably have to wear a neck brace a week or so. These guys couldn't have been sent to collect her, which meant that for the time being, whatever was happening, Wes wasn't getting the holy hell-storm that Todd had promised him.
Which meant that these were the expendable ones. Still, Wes didn't like leaving a job half-done. He put his hands behind his head.
"Fine. Come and take it, big boy."
The guy dropped Minami in a pile on the floor, still too asleep to fall in any semblance of a comfortable posture.
The big guy reared his fist back and brought it into Wesley's stomach hard. The guy could hit, Wes had to give him that. The big Japanese he'd fought earlier that day would have hit harder, but then again he had technique. He had skill. This guy was just swinging on hopes and dreams, and for that, he was doing a fine job.
But that didn't mean he got away scot-free. Wesley brought his hands down on the guy's shoulders and pushed him back. He braced against it, which is what Wes counted on. He shifted his weight back, sudden and hard, and pulled the guy forward, then brought his knee up to meet the guy's teeth. He went down hard and in a pile.
Wes turned to the guy by his sofa, the guy who seemed to be trying to pool all the blood drooling out of his mouth in one hand for some reason.
"You gonna clean this mess up, or…?"
Nine
Minami
She couldn't avoid her father forever. Minami knew it, and in spite of all that she wasn't exactly looking forward to when she had to go home. It was going to be an ugly affair at best. But that didn't change her sitting in the cab the next morning, her throat just as bruised from where that gigantic oaf had gripped her than the kisses.
She sucked in a breath. Her father hadn't sent those men. If they had, then she would've been unharmed. Even pampered, no doubt, because the first priority in Father's eyes was always the importance of family and loyalty. They'd have had the job of getting her first, getting her out, and then coming back.
The second piece of evidence that her father wasn't involved was that they hadn't been carrying pipes or bats or knives. Something to prove they were serious. Which meant that it was likely Higa trying to cover up his mistake. By itself, that was laughable.
It was clear that whether he'd come to the Shimizu chairman like a man, or he hadn't, there was no question that she wasn't still out with Higa. If he was going to try to reclaim her, or insist that he'd dealt with the situation, and only send around a few unarmed men, he still had a lot to learn about the Shimizu.
She stepped out of the taxi again. He'd be busy, now. Or, more than likely, passed out. The work day in Father's line of work rarely started before 9 P.M., and he'd had a late night waiting up for her.
The noise of the floors wasn't nearly so amplified in the light of day, but she skipped the noisy steps as much as she could anyways.
Her parents' room was closed. She made her way into her own, checking carefully to make sure she wasn't in for another nasty surprise before stepping fully inside and dropping her clutch on the desk. It landed with a soft *thud.*
She had slept, but it was fitful and brief, and in the end she was still exhausted. Minami took her dress off and threw it away. It was ruined before the fight had started, and now it looked like little more than rags. Oh, well. If she needed to replace it—and she didn't—she didn't lack for money now that her parents had moved into the area and insisted on her moving back in with them. 'For the family's image,' supposedly.
Minami wondered what it said for their image that the Shimizu clan chairman hadn't been back in Japan for the better part of a month, and wasn't going back for another several days. And then it would be a short trip, because he insisted that he had to insert himself in his daughter's life.
Minami sighed and laid her head down on her pillow, got good and comfortable in the bed, and drifted off to an uneasy sleep.
She was awoken by the a knock at the door. She opened her eyes and slowly pushed herself up to open it, only to find that it was already open. Her father stood in one of his nicer suits and that usual stony expression on his face that never seemed to vary—except when he was angry.
"Minami?"
"Yes?"
"We'r
e going to go meet with Higa's parents. They're a small family, there shouldn't be much of an apology involved. Especially since, Majima tells me that he took you—to a parking lot?"
"An underground fight."
Her father had practiced, for years, the art of not responding to things. It was important not to overreact to any news when you work in the Yakuza. People take things much more harshly than they might in everyday life.
For Minami, though, his faces were easy to read. Subtle, but she knew each one well. He pinched his lips together in a way that told her that he disapproved of the idea. He was likely reconsidering the entire idea of an apology, but he would still go through with it in either case.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she said, softly.
Her father nodded gravely, and then turned and he was gone. Minami let out a breath. He'd calmed down more than she would have imagined. Whatever had happened, she wasn't going to question it, but that didn't mean that it wasn't going to come down on her head. She took a breath and laid back on her bed, now fully awake.
It was constant uncertainty with her father, never knowing what was going to set him off, and never knowing what was going to set him right again. Everything was pride and honor and face with his life. With a family so large.
It was doubly ironic that the Shimizu family was so large, when the head had only one child. The people around the house, of course, were not afraid to discuss the rumors that it wasn't for a lack of trying, but that the Chairman's second wife was infertile. They wouldn't have discussed it if they knew Minami was listening, but that was easy to avoid when she wanted to know the juiciest gossip.
With Minami's 'real' mother being murdered when Minami was only a baby, she had been raised thinking of Aki as her mother. It was almost a surprise to learn the woman wasn't her mother, but then again it changed nothing. Aki was her mother, whether or not she gave birth to her.
Minami pushed her blanket off and dressed slowly. Her door was closed, but it mattered surprisingly little. As many men as there were in the house, and as much as she couldn't have trusted them around any of her girlfriends, Minami was so far off-limits as to be in an entirely different galaxy. They wouldn't dream of trying to peep, because even if they caught an accidental glimpse, if they were caught doing it, the punishment would… well, it certainly wouldn't match the crime, that much was certain.
Minami shrugged on a shirt and pair of shorts that showed off her long, slender legs. Comfort was king, particularly after such a long day. Tonight her father was going to speak to Higa, and that meant that there was a good chance he got the whole story. Which had further implications, she knew. There was no way that he was going to hear about the story and then not find out about Wesley.
She realized at that moment she needed to make her decision between the two of them. It wasn't a hard decision to make.
Wesley was a stranger. A stranger with a great cock, and the right know-how to use it. But whether or not she approved of the world her father came from, he was her father nonetheless.
At least, it shouldn't have been a difficult choice. But then, how many more times would she be in this situation? Somewhere where some man takes her away because some arranged-marriage candidate brings her into some place she shouldn't ever have gone in the first place?
She knew better than to think it would happen again. Her father would take precautions against that. No doubt he was fuming, right now, and the conversation would only go as well as they let it go, by letting him fume silently.
If Higa spoke up, though, it wouldn't take long for his frustrations to become known, and then all bets were off. She almost couldn't help smiling a the thought of the noodle-thin twerp getting his just desserts.
The smile faded when she thought of what would happen to Wes.
Ten
Wes
"I can't send any money this week."
Wesley didn't like saying the words. When they answered 'we understand,' it was like he was being hit in the gut. Because as far as he could tell, she understood. She wasn't angry or upset or hurt by it. Nothing like that.
She knew that it wasn't going to happen and understood that that happened sometimes. Wesley's head pounded in frustration. What was the God damned point if it didn't matter when he didn't come through?
He already knew the answer, as he said his goodbyes and hung up the phone. It mattered. It was the difference between eating and starving. It was important that they had that money. They were just children. They needed the food.
But they weren't angry, hurt, even disappointed. They understood. Wesley didn't deserve that kind of approval or appreciation.
Why hadn't she screamed at him? Told him how he was a piece of shit for not coming through for people who were expecting him to make it work for them? But no. Instead, they understood.
Wes stopped himself slipping the phone into his pocket and pulled up the dialer. He jabbed Todd Bradley's name on the contact list and pressed the little green phone icon.
He picked up after 3 rings.
"I need a fight."
"I told you I'd call you if I had something."
"Then make something."
"Wes, I can't—"
"Look, I'll fight anyone. I'll take anything. Half my usual fee, but I want to fight. Tonight."
"I can get you a fight in two days, another big one like last night, and if you don't fuck up somehow, you'll be golden."
"Okay, what about tonight?"
"Are you that fuckin' impatient, Wes?"
"I need the money, you know that."
"Yeah, I know. Look, I can get something. It's not the usual place, and it's not the usual guys. I don't trust these guys, so… I dunno, bring a piece, and bring a friend."
"I'm not worried," Wes said softly.
"I'll make a call, let them know you're coming."
"What time?"
"Two."
"Send me a location when you've cleared everything up."
"Yeah."
"Thanks, Todd."
"Yeah."
Wes hung up first and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Todd was right to worry about him, to think that this was too much. It was lucky that he'd only been fighting guys who Wes either outclassed or got lucky and didn't have to fight long.
If the fights took more than a few hits, and he took more than a punch or two, then it wouldn't be a pace he could maintain. It wasn't as if he had much choice, but he would do what he had to do, regardless.
Wes let out a long breath. He couldn't keep fighting like this. He couldn't keep fighting every night, knowing that if he got a broken nose, it wasn't going to matter. He would still call Bradley the next day, try to show up with a big white bandage holding his nose in place.
It would paint a big goddamn target right on his face, which wouldn't be particularly helpful. How long could he keep it up? A month? A year? Not long. Not long enough to see the kids out of high school. Certainly not long enough to put them through college. Not long enough.
But there were no alternatives for him. Nobody was lining up to make sure that he was doing fine, to make sure that everything wasn't going to shit. Would it matter if they did?
The fact was that he needed a meal-ticket that wasn't a constant risk. He'd considered it before. There were plenty of places that he could go to get regular jobs. Even places that would hire an ex-con for legit work. It wasn't as if construction was bad work, or anything. But it wasn't enough money. Never enough money.
The places he could make more were exactly the sort of people he'd come here trying to avoid. Falling back in with the same crowd he'd left New York to get away from was a one-way ticket back to New York, and as nice as it would be to see the girls, there was a reason he couldn't go back.
Wes settled down into his sofa. His hands hurt, and the wooden floor was stained with that idiot fucking asshole's blood where he'd let himself bleed all over the damn place. Couldn't these thugs at least have the decency not to
get their blood all over his stuff?
He tried to gather up the energy to put everything back in order, but it was only a kind of halfway order anyways.
The idea occurred to him a few minutes later, while he tried to calm his nerves. There was an alternative. Something that he could do to make money. Free money, not much work involved.
Wes was no expert on the Yakuza, but Todd Bradley was a man with connections much higher up than either of them, and if he put out the call and got back that Shimizu wasn't to be fucked around with, that meant they weren't some hick, backwater family.
Minami was every bit the rich girl he'd pegged her for, but it wasn't her boyfriend's money. It was her father's. He could exploit that relationship, if he tried. No problem. He tried to muster up some moral reservations, but the fact was that he didn't feel anything like that. There was no time for morals, not when it was about his family.
The idea lit a fire under his ass, sent him shooting up from the couch. He wanted to make something happen, make sure that she was on the hook. He knew she was; she'd come back twice in one night, and that wasn't the sort of thing someone did lightly. Not where he came from, and that went double for the daughter of some big Yakuza family.
She would come back eventually. Maybe even 'soon,' if he was lucky. Then it would be time to turn on the charm and see how much he could get out of her. With luck, he could do it without scamming her. He could talk to her about it, eventually. He'd tell her the truth.
Not right away, though. He wasn't a god damned idiot. When it was time to tell the truth, he'd do it, but first he'd have to get closer to her. Women didn't always like a man to have that sort of history. Men didn't particularly like it in their women, either.
Once she was on the hook, he'd be able to tell her, and she'd understand. Until then, he'd keep it from her as long as he had to. Because there wasn't any other option. He had a responsibility to those girls, and the fact that Minami might not approve didn't change the responsibility.
