Blowback

by James P. Sumner

  “But we don’t have a choice. We both know that too. Just because I’m not ready to fight, do you think that will stop them coming after us to finish the job? Do you think Miley’s gonna sit there and say, ‘Hang on, let’s leave it and give him time to recover—fair’s fair?’ We either do what we can now and take the fight to them, or we die licking our wounds. I can promise you, Ruby—they’re coming for us. They might be lying low for the moment, but wherever Kazawa and Miley are right now, they’re getting ready to finish the job. I can’t sit here and wait for the inevitable. We have to fight. War isn’t convenient. It doesn’t work around you. It is what it is, and you better be ready to step up when your enemy comes for you.”

  She looks away. Wipes a tear from her eye. Take a deep breath.

  “Why is this fight so different?” she asks. “I don’t understand. All the shit you’ve been through. The shit we went through together. You took all that in your stride. You did what you had to do, but you never once took an unnecessary risk.”

  I smile, mostly to myself. “I think Josh would disagree with you there.”

  Ruby rolls her eyes. “No, he wouldn’t. Because he knew you better than anyone. Certainly better than me, but even I know you play a part. This reckless… devil-may-care approach you have to any situation. The shoot-first-never-ask-questions mindset. You know I see right through it, don’t you? Just like Josh did.”

  “I don’t know what you mean…”

  “You’re one of the smartest, bravest, most violent and caring people I’ve ever met, Adrian. There’s a reason you’ve enjoyed the reputation you have for so long. You don’t even take a breath unless you’ve calculated every possible repercussion of it.”

  I lower my gaze. “That’s not true…”

  Her hand squeezes my knee. “Please. Who are you talking to, jackass?”

  We exchange a small smile.

  “So,” she continues, “tell me why this is different. Tell me why you’re willing to sacrifice yourself to win this fight. Why not play this like every other job, every other conflict you’ve ever had?”

  “Because this isn’t like anything else I’ve been through. Look at me. Miley Tevani has spent the formative years of her childhood focused on nothing except killing me. She’s highly trained—perhaps more so than her mother was. She’s aligned herself with one of the most powerful Yakuza families in Japan. And at the risk of blowing smoke up my own ass, she single-handedly managed to neutralize the best assassin who ever lived. But she still failed because I’m still alive. I saw it in her eyes, Ruby. When she was saying all those things about me. When she was beating on me. I saw the same look I saw in myself in the early years after my family was killed. The same darkness that consumed me has consumed her. I know what it’s like to have someone that driven… that passionate… that sadistic hunting you. And she is hunting me. Hunting us . Right now. If you play it safe, you die. End of story.”

  Ruby gets to her feet and starts pacing back and forth in front of me. I watch her, content with the silence. Each time she turns and walks slowly toward the windows, she glances at the black bag of goodies left by Buchanan. Finally, she stops in front of the TV. Folds her arms across her chest. Cocks a hip. Looks at me.

  “So, get your ass up. Let’s fight.”

  I nod. “Only way that’s happening is if I take the edge off. That’s the sad truth. If I go anywhere feeling everything my body’s going through, I’m no use to anyone. I can’t protect myself. I can’t protect you.”

  She raises an eyebrow and screws her face up, unimpressed.

  “Do I look like I need protecting?”

  I shake my head. “No, but then, I didn’t say you did.”

  “You literally just said—”

  “Just because you don’t need protecting, that doesn’t mean you’re not worth protecting.”

  She grins at me. Her eyes search my face.

  “If you didn’t have a little bit of vomit on your chin, I would kiss you right now.”

  I bring my hand up quickly, embarrassed.

  “You’re kidding me?”

  She points to her own face, tapping the area just below the corner of her mouth with her finger. “Just a tiny bit of sweetcorn, right there…”

  “Ah, Christ.”

  I hate my life.

  20

  22:40 JST

  The sidewalk vibrates beneath my feet. The rain-glazed road perfectly reflects the neon luminance of the city’s nightlife.

  Ruby and I stand side-by-side, staring at the Octopus Bar directly opposite. There’s a large fluorescent graphic of an octopus above the double doors of the entrance. Different legs light up bright pink in sequence, giving the impression it’s waving at me.

  Stood on either side of the doors is a man wearing a fitted suit. Hands crossed, held low in front of them. Professional. Alert.

  I turn to Ruby. She’s staring intently ahead, focused.

  After I wiped the puke from my face, I grabbed a shower, tried to freshen up a bit. We talked about the best way forward. She suggested I dose up on regular painkillers and caffeine. I argued I was already screwed, so those last two Oxycodone aren’t likely to do much additional damage, compared to the upper hand they would give me over the course of the next hour or two.

  She slapped me again before flushing them down the can.

  So, three cups of coffee, a handful of painkillers, and a hot shower later, here we are. We stand together, facing what is hopefully the final stop on our journey to Kazawa.

  But inside this karaoke bar, protecting Ko, is likely to be a small army of Yakuza foot soldiers. Not to mention a whole bunch of innocent people. This isn’t going to be easy.

  We’re both dressed in black, head to toe. I’m wearing black denim with a black T-shirt, underneath a black coat that hangs down to my knees. At my back, both Raptors are holstered, ready should this shit go south.

  Ruby’s idea of discreet differed slightly from mine, although you have to give her points for trying. She’s wearing a black skirt that comes barely halfway down her thighs and leather boots that come to just above her knees. Her black top clings to her chest but leaves her midriff bare. Her coat runs to her ankles and is tied together at the waist, concealing the belt of throwing knives and the silenced SMG over her shoulder, tucked around her back.

  We’re also both wearing black neck gaiters with half a skull imprinted on them.

  Ruby turns to me. “So, how do you want to play this?”

  “We go in, identify Ko, and get as close to him as we can before people realize who we are and start shooting. Ideally, we can secure him and use him as a shield to get back out of there. We get him to tell us where Kazawa is hiding, then we kill him.”

  She nods. “Good plan. And do you have another plan if that plan doesn’t work?”

  “A back-up plan, you mean?” I pause. “Nah. Where’s the fun in that?”

  She laughs. “No, really—what’s plan B?”

  I look over at the building, squinting in the pink neon glare. When I look back at Ruby, my heart rate is steady and slow. I’m as at peace with what comes next as I’m ever going to be.

  “We kill everyone. Hope Kazawa comes to us.”

  She nods again, slower this time, more reluctant. “Okay…”

  I’m not sure if she can tell if I’m being serious or not.

  I look up and down the street before setting off across the road.

  For the record, I am. Deadly serious.

  We approach the entrance without slowing. No reason for these two bouncers to suspect anything. We’re just two people entering a nightclub. No one else would hesitate or feel conspicuous, so why should we?

  They both turn as we near them. Naturally, their attention is drawn to Ruby. The guy on the left steps slightly to the side—a small gesture to allow her into the club while subtly checking her out. I look at the guy on the right and give him a courteous nod as I follow her through the open doors.

  So far, so
good.

  Inside the main entrance is a small vestibule. Another set of double doors stand between us and the inner arena of the club. The music, such as it is, is much louder here. The bassline still obscures any real tune, but it gives a clear indication of the atmosphere within.

  It’s loud. It’s busy. Which means there will be a lot of people—potential targets and otherwise—to contend with.

  A booth dominates the left side, made of Plexiglass. A woman stands inside it, blowing bubbles with some gum. Her dark hair is styled into pigtails with bright pink streaks in them. Beside the booth is another man, wearing a similar suit to the guys outside. This guy, however, has a visible earpiece.

  There’s a hierarchy in all aspects of Yakuza life. Even in places like this. The guys outside will be the lowest-level members. No earpieces, so no contact with the more trusted security inside. They’re simply there to look intimidating and to make sure the wrong people don’t come in.

  A fantastic job so far…

  But this guy’s connected. One wrong move here, and everyone inside will know to prepare for trouble. Ruby and I steel ourselves, running the same routine as before. As we near the doors, the guy steps in front of us, holding up his hand as a silent instruction for us to stop.

  He points to the booth and says something I don’t understand. I give him the universal gesture of tilting my head to the side and tapping my Pilot.

  …

  …

  …

  “Ten thousand Yen entry fee.”

  Christ, that’s extortionate! But whatever.

  We both turn back and approach the booth. I pay our entry fees. The girl inside the booth stares impassively, apparently numbed by the routine and mundanity of her job.

  “Hands.”

  We each hold out a hand in turn. The girl stamps the back of them with a pink Octopus.

  I look at it for a moment.

  “This shit better wash off,” I whisper to Ruby.

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s the thing to concern yourself with right now. Dumbass.”

  “What?” I reply, shrugging.

  We head for the doors once more. The guy looks us up and down, glances past us at the bouncers standing outside, then nods and steps aside, gesturing us to head further inside.

  Ruby and I push open a door each and step inside the club.

  …

  …

  …

  Jesus!

  We’re hit by a wave of music that makes my ribcage pulse. Which, given my injuries, actually hurts. A random dance song is playing I’ve never heard. Easily a hundred people are crammed into the space, moving to the music. This place is packed!

  Wide steps lead down to the main floor, where three large blocks stand with glass casing resting on them. Each one contains a samurai sword. Possibly decorative. Possibly real. Hard to tell from here.

  The floor itself is shaped like a horseshoe, bordered by a waist-high counter with bar stools around it. In the center is a raised platform that has a large screen and a microphone stand on it. Someone’s standing with their back to us, singing. Sort of. It’s more like screaming. Actually, it’s more like the sound a cat makes if you stand on its tail. But everyone here seems to be enjoying it.

  I glance quickly at Ruby. She’s discreetly nodding her head to the rhythm as she concentrates.

  Figures.

  Along the side walls are several single doors leading to private karaoke booths. The glass is mirrored, so I can’t see inside. I assume they’re all occupied. Halfway along both walls are staircases leading to the upper level—a wider horseshoe with seating overlooking the club.

  At the far end of the room, built into the curve beneath the balcony, is the bar. Dozens of bottles of spirits line the wall behind the counter. A crowd of people three-deep is stood waiting for their next drink.

  “What do you think?” I ask, shouting over the noise.

  “I think this sucks,” Ruby replies. “I count over a dozen security guards, all armed. And that’s just down here.”

  “Yeah, I counted fourteen for sure. God knows how many are up there. Let’s find Ko and get the hell outta here.”

  We walk down the steps, standing either side of the central plinth. I take a look at the case. The sword inside is a beautiful weapon. Pretty sure it’s real. The blade is like a mirror, and the hilt is fashioned as a green dragon with red jewels for its eyes. I reckon it would—

  “Adrian?”

  I look over at Ruby. She’s staring ahead, looking up at the upper balcony. Her eyes are narrowed with focus.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve found Ko.”

  I follow her gaze. Leaning on the balcony, dead center, surrounded by men in dark suits, is Ko. He’s dressed as he always is—casual, as if he’s heading to the beach. Even from here, I see the expression on his face. A mixture of surprise and disdain. He’s pointing right at us.

  I let out a heavy sigh.

  It was all going so well.

  21

  22:49 JST

  We both stand, frozen to the spot, staring up at Ko. A million things are running through my head right now. This definitely didn’t go the way I had hoped. There’s still a lot of real estate between us and him, and the fact he’s already seen us doesn’t bode well at all.

  My priority is wrapping my hands around this prick’s throat and punching him until he gives up Kazawa. A close second is making sure no one in this place gets hurt who doesn’t deserve to—which isn’t going to be easy, given it’s hard to tell who’s Yakuza and who isn’t. A place like this, it won’t just be the suits who have ties to a family. For all I know, every single person in here could be gunning for us.

  Another growing concern is how weak and ineffective regular painkillers are. My right hand is aching. A familiar throbbing is gradually spreading across my entire palm, a sign that a painful tremor isn’t far away. Not ideal, given my current situation.

  I glance to my left.

  Ruby is also a slight worry. Her legs are rigid, and she’s rocking forward on her toes, like a sprinter in the starting blocks, waiting for the gun. Her fists are clenched tightly, draining the color from her knuckles. Her eyes are unblinking, transfixed on Ko.

  I can’t imagine what Ko and his friends subjected her to before I arrived at the Golden Tiger, but I can imagine the way Ruby feels right now. I know the look. That thirst for revenge. She will be salivating at the prospect of beating the holy hell out of him, which makes her a liability. I can’t worry about her staying focused while dealing with everything else.

  I place a hand on her arm, spinning her toward me.

  “Listen, I need you thinking straight here, okay?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Are you seriously lecturing me on restraint right now?”

  “No. God, no. In fact, I’m doing the complete opposite.” I cast a quick look up at Ko. His security guards are flooding toward the staircases on both sides of the room, flanking us. “I need you at your most lethal… your most crazy… your most Ruby-like. But I also need you thinking clearly. Don’t get blinded by your obvious and understandable lust for vengeance, okay? We need to stay on mission here.”

  She’s breathing fast and deep, evidenced by the prominent rise and fall of her chest. I see her eyes dart in all directions, taking in what I saw a moment ago. Assessing the battlefield. When she looks back at me, the focus remains in her eyes, but her expression softens slightly.

  “He’d be so proud of you, Adrian,” she says with a small smile.

  I return the gesture and shrug. “His boy’s all grown up, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  We turn back to face the room. A line of suited Yakuza security guards appears from either side of the room, forming a wall that blocks our access to both stairwells. In the center, the crowd of people seems oblivious to what’s happening, lost in their own world, dancing like they’ll die if they stop.

  The men all brush their suit jackets aside, r
evealing handguns tucked inside their waistbands. I look back up at Ko, who is still surrounded by a dozen men. He’s standing with his arms folded across his chest, arrogant and tall, confident in his preconceived victory over the two of us.

  I take a deep breath, then move a hand to my back, reaching for one of my Raptors. I see Ruby do the same behind me.

  “Tell me we’re going to get through this, and I’ll believe you,” she shouts to me, her gaze never leaving the sea of enemies before us.

  Before I can answer, the person stood on the raised platform steps down, replaced by a young man wearing a sleeveless vest and ripped jeans. The background music fades as his song of choice begins. The familiar sequence of chords blasts out as “Thunderstruck” starts to play.

  Weirdly, I catch myself thinking that’s a brave choice of song for someone who probably isn’t proficient in the language. But I’m not complaining. I sing it to myself as the guy starts.

  Thunder!

  I reach inside my coat and take out the protective carbon fiber mask the hospital gave me. I slide it over my head and adjust it on my face for comfort. Then I turn to Ruby and smile. She looks back at me and frowns. I mouth the words again, this time to her.

  Thunder!

  She rolls her eyes.

  I smile wider and nod.

  “We’re going to get through this, Ruby,” I shout back. “You know why?”

  She shakes her head. I point generally to the roof just as the man singing says, “You’ve been… thunderstruck!”

  I pull the neck gaiter up over my nose and mouth. Ruby does the same and nods once, signaling she’s as ready as she’s ever going to be. I draw my Raptor. I’ll keep things left-handed for now. I tilt my head to the side slightly, a silent here we go to Ruby, then I take aim and start firing. Now isn’t the time for diplomacy. You shoot first or you die first.

  The first three rounds find their targets, dropping the first three men on the right. I set off running toward them, emptying my gun at them, more as a deterrent for them to retaliate than to hit anyone specifically, although I do catch another guy in his shoulder as I near the stairs.