I think it’s about time they saw what was on the other side.
I take out my face mask and slide it into place. I turn to Collins and smile.
He smiles back but not to lighten the mood. His eyes are wide. His hands fidget and twitch. He’s nervous.
“What?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just remembering what happened the last time I saw ya wear a mask.”
Ichiro frowns. “What happened?”
I direct my smile at him. “I’ll tell you when we’re done here. Over a nice, cold beer and some rock ‘n’ roll.”
He holds my gaze for a few seconds before laughing. It’s the old Ichiro laugh. From the belly and a little unnerving. “Shinigami!”
I look at Ruby. She’s holding a shotgun low by her side. Gripping it tightly with wet hands that are rigid and pale. She curls one side of her mouth into a fiendish grin.
Yeah… she’s ready.
“Okay, boys and girls,” I say to them. “I’ll be right back. Be ready.”
“For what, exactly?” asks Ruby.
I look back at her as I stride around the car. I smile but don’t offer a reply. There’s no need. She knows me well enough to know how I intend to make my presence known.
I pick my gaps in the traffic and navigate my way across the street at a steady pace. I reach the sidewalk and stare at the handful of steps leading to the entrance of Kazawa Towers. I’ve not registered on either of the guards’ radars yet. The few people walking the streets give me a wide berth. Most of them have umbrellas up, so seeing someone without one in this weather must be strange enough to make them think I’m worth avoiding.
The lights of the city reflect in the puddles on the ground. I take a moment to stare into them, watching the faint image distort with raindrops. I’m up to my eyeballs on painkillers, but many of the aches and pains have gone. Or, at least, they’re no longer registering. I believe the time for suffering and feeling sorry for myself has come and gone.
Never seen you channel your Inner Satan from this side before. It’s probably scarier than when I was alive, watching from a safe distance!
My Inner Josh seems to be on board, which is comforting. The last thing I need is my own mind doubting me.
I take a step forward, placing a boot firmly on the bottom step. I look up and stare at the guy to the right of the door, waiting for him to make eye contact. After years of winning every psychological confrontation I’ve ever found myself in, I know I can look intimidating when I need to. Dressed all in black, this face mask on, and…
I draw both Raptors from my back and hold them out to the side, nice and visible, with my fingers resting gently on the triggers.
…these bad boys.
Yeah. That should do it.
The guy on the right finally looks at me. Then he looks away. His gaze is nothing more than a fleeting survey of the area, not paying any attention to—
His head snaps back. His eyes are wide, transfixed like an animal in the headlights of an oncoming car with nowhere to go.
There we go.
Believe it or not, I do most things for a reason. Dressed in black… trench coat… mask… guns—all part of the plan. Of the image. Of the character. Channeling the Brandon Lee vibe. I would bet good money that this guy just shit in his pants when he saw me.
He starts shouting and pointing. His friend looks over. Then he starts shouting and pointing too. They draw and raise their guns, keeping a comfortable distance between us by staying close to the door.
I climb another step and keep my eyes locked on his. With his free hand, the guy on the right snatches a radio from his belt and mutters into it. A moment later, two more guys appear from inside. They’re dressed in similar suits, holding similar weapons. They fan out into a wide line of four, their guns trained on me with unsteady hands.
I keep looking at the guy to my right. The guy with the radio.
“You got a direct line to your boss?” I ask him, shouting to make sure I’m heard over the noise of the rain.
I take a patient breath, letting my Ili do its job.
After a moment, he shakes his head.
Shit.
Okay. Plan B.
I look along the line, allowing my gaze to settle for a moment on each of the men standing before me.
“Any of you got a direct line to Kazawa?” I ask.
The guy on the far left takes a miniscule step toward me.
“I… I do,” he replies, his voice quivering.
I smile. “Good. That means you win.”
I whip both Raptors forward and squeeze both triggers twice. The first bullets to explode from each barrel hit the guy second from the left and the guy on the far right respectively, burrowing effortlessly into their foreheads like a railroad spike being hammered through a pillow. Their heads snap back, and their bodies lurch away from me, crashing unceremoniously to the ground.
The second bullets plant themselves decisively into the chest of the guy who was standing second from the right. One center mass. The other just below the throat. He joins his friends, lifeless and bloody in front of the doors.
No more than three seconds start to finish.
I holster one of the Raptors and aim the other at the remaining guy, who’s visibly shaking on the spot—and not, I’m guessing, because of the low temperatures. I suspect what just happened hasn’t fully registered with him yet.
“Get Kazawa on the line and pass him to me,” I say to him, almost spitting the words out as I stare, unblinking, through my eyebrows.
The Ili translates, but it doesn’t replicate the tone, so it’s important to get that right so the urgency of the request isn’t overlooked.
Without even having to ask, he slowly crouches, placing his gun on the ground. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a cell phone. He dials a number and holds it out for me without waiting for it to ring.
I climb the remaining steps and casually brush his gun away without breaking stride. I take the phone and hold it to my ear, pressing the barrel of my gun to the top of his skull as I do. I shuffle to the side and outstretch my arm, putting safe distance between us, should he get any silly ideas.
The phone is answered.
“What?”
I recognize Kazawa’s voice instantly. The light, arrogant tone, brimming with confidence.
I pull the trigger. The guy crumples into a bloody heap at my feet. His blood quickly forms a thick river that flows begrudgingly down the steps.
“Kon’nichiwa , douche-nozzle.”
There’s a pause.
“Adrian Hell.”
“Tetsuo Kazawa. Been a while. Man, I haven’t seen you since… what? Last week, when you tried to kill me?”
“You’re a lucky sonofabitch. But that luck won’t last forever. You’re a dead man walking.”
I turn a slow circle, making sure I’m still alone. I see everyone standing over by the car, watching intently.
“I think you and I have drastically different opinions as to what constitutes luck, but that’s a discussion for another day. Tell me, why have you been hiding up in your ivory tower for the last week? Miley not given you your balls back yet?”
He laughs. “You’re trying to get a reaction out of me. Pitiful. It was unfortunate my club was destroyed for nothing, but no real loss. However, I am a smart man, Adrian. Business comes first. There are a lot of police on my payroll, but I still needed to lay low for a while, given the media coverage the explosion drew. There’s no shame in that, so fuck you.”
“Which is fine, except it wasn’t the explosion that garnered the attention, was it? It was the torturing and attempted execution of yours truly at the hands of your psycho girlfriend on YouTube.”
“Nothing less than you deserved!”
I can’t help rolling my eyes. “Oh, please! You had no issue with me before she came along. This vendetta is hers. You’re just going along with it so you can get laid.”
“Think what you wan
t. The fact is you’re on borrowed time. I run the most powerful Yakuza family in all of Tokyo. And you… even though you’re still breathing, I doubt you resemble anything close to being alive. Young Miley did a real number on you!”
He starts laughing to himself. Prick.
“No need to tell me,” I say. “I was there. But I think you’re underestimating my resilience. See, she might be the Harley Quinn to your Joker, but the truth is bigger and better people than either of you have tried to kill me before, and I’m still here. I’m not saying it didn’t hurt. I’m not saying it didn’t piss me off. I’m just saying you should check my resume. After you take on the president and get away with putting a bullet in him, everyone else just seems… insignificant, y’know?”
His laughing stops. The silence on the line is claustrophobic. It seems to affect the world around me, as even the rain has fallen quiet.
“Still trying to get a reaction out of me?” says Kazawa after a couple of moments.
“Yeah. And y’know what? It’s working.”
“Fuck you!”
“See?”
“Your day will come, Adrian. Very soon, you’ll find yourself face-down in the dirt, and no one will even remember your name.”
“Meh… you first, sweetcheeks.”
“And how do you figure that?”
“Because I’m outside your front door, surrounded by the bodies of your dead men, and I’ve got a bullet each for you and your prom queen. Be seeing you, asshole.”
I hang up before he can speak and pocket the phone.
He’ll call back.
I holster my Raptor and head down the steps, back over to where everyone’s waiting. Halfway across the street, I realize something doesn’t feel right. I stop in the center of the intersection and look around. The traffic has disappeared. The sidewalks are empty.
Hmm. That might be why it felt quieter just then…
I understand the gunfire scaring the pedestrians. Word will travel fast. People will avoid the area. Authorities will be called. But that won’t suddenly block the roads off in all directions, emptying the entire intersection. Not yet. And this isn’t Kazawa’s handiwork. I just got off the phone with him. His pet cops aren’t psychic.
I turn around and look back at the building. I hear a noise, a low rumbling, distant and incoherent. I take a step closer, my hand reaching behind me and gripping a Raptor for reassurance.
What is that?
Then I see it. The doors burst open, and a sea of dark suits and white shirts emerge. They flood the entrance area and quickly flow down the steps, spreading out across the sidewalk. There must be twenty… no, thirty men, easily. Some have handguns. Some have SMGs. I even see a couple of shotguns in there.
I’m right in the middle of no man’s land, positioned between the horde of new arrivals and my friends. I let go of my gun, bring my hands around, and hold them out to the side. No sense in even trying to draw. But the fact they didn’t shoot on sight is promising. It perhaps means—
The cellphone in my pockets starts ringing.
I breathe an internal sigh of relief and answer it.
“You’ve reached the home of the Whopper… what’s your beef?”
“Cute,” says Miley.
“Oh, it’s you. I’ll be honest, I was kind of hoping something horrible and painful had happened to you.”
“I’m afraid not. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Don’t be. I’m used to it. I mean, look how you let me down last time we spoke. There I was, hoping to finally get some peace, and you couldn’t even kill me when I was tied up and strapped to a bomb. God, you’re pathetic.”
“Fuck you, Adrian! Fuck… you! I’ve been waiting years for this. Your death is inevitable.”
I frown. “Well… yeah. Isn’t everyone’s?”
“I’m going to end you.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve already proven you can’t. Now put your boyfriend on the phone. The grown-ups need to talk.”
Silence again.
I take a moment to survey the small army standing before me. I trust Ruby, Collins, and Ichiro with my life, and I respect their abilities more than anyone, but there’s no way they could save me if someone decides to start shooting.
“How is the welcoming committee?” says Kazawa.
“I’ve seen better.”
“Best I could do on short notice,” he replies. “Give it a couple of minutes.”
As if on cue, the slow wail of sirens drifts in on the wind. I look down the street in the direction of the noise.
“Oh, yeah. Those your cops playing my tune?”
“They are. In a few minutes, you’ll have half the Tokyo PD and another fifty of my best men surrounding you. Any last words?”
“A few, actually, if you have the time?”
He chuckles. “Be my guest.”
“D’you know what? Put me on speaker. I want Miley to hear this too.”
There’s a crackle on the line. It sounds hollow and spacious.
“She’s listening. Go ahead,” says Kazawa. “And make this good because you’re about to die.”
“Oh, I will.” I begin slowly walking backward, pausing after each step, trying to make my retreat more discreet in case these two dicks can see me. “You see, the thing is… I didn’t come here alone.”
Miley laughs. “Aww, did you bring your sister-slash-girlfriend to watch you die? How cute.”
“Yeah, Ruby’s here. She says hi, by the way. Oh, and FYI—sister and girlfriend are only the same thing in Arkansas. But no, I don’t mean her. I brought an old friend who works for GlobaTech Industries. You’ve heard of them, right?”
I don’t give either of them chance to reply.
“Of course, you have—it’s GlobaTech! Anyway, long story short, they’ve somehow managed to obtain evidence that you’re selling their weapons illegally. Tetsuo, you naughty boy! Remember how they replaced the old U.N. Peacekeeping Force after 4/17? Well, it turns out, they have the authority to arrest and detain when laws have been broken on foreign soil too. And they’re here for you. Now, you can shoot up the street all you want with your local Yakuza wars, but you haven’t got the stones to start an international incident.”
There’s a long pause.
…
…
…
“You’re bluffing,” says Kazawa confidently.
“No, I’m really not.”
“Japan doesn’t have its own ATF,” adds Miley. “And the U.S. doesn’t have jurisdiction to get involved in our business here.”
“Very true, but GlobaTech does. Their authority isn’t bound by borders. Plus, it’s their weapons you’re selling, so it’s kinda personal to them.”
“You’re bluffing,” says Kazawa again.
“Believe me. Don’t believe me. I don’t really care. But the fact of the matter is this: if you open fire on me or my GlobaTech friend, you’ll be attacking a U.N.-sanctioned operation. You said you were smart… how bad would that be for business, do you think?”
I hang up.
Your move, asshole.
I step away slowly, walking backward until I make it to Ichiro’s car. I lean against it, keeping my eyes locked on the men in front of me.
“So…” says Collins. “How’s it going?”
“Perfect,” I reply without looking around.
The sirens get louder.
“Erm… Adrian?” says Ruby, just as ten police cars screech to a halt in front of us, five from each side. The cacophony of doors opening, boots hitting the wet ground, and weapons being drawn and aimed fills the air, drowning out the increasingly heavy rain.
That’s easily another twenty guns in Kazawa’s pockets that are now pointing at us.
She turns to me, eyebrows raised questioningly. “You were saying?”
I smile awkwardly. “Heh… it’ll be fine.” I look over at Collins. “Ray, GlobaTech has the authority to uphold the law in countries other than America, right?”
He looks at me with narrowed eyes, as if he can’t tell whether or not that was a serious question.
“Adrian, we can’t uphold laws anywhere . Including America. We’re not a law enforcement agency. We develop weapons and technology for the highest bidder. We also outsource our own military force to the U.N., as you know, but not in a lawful capacity. For all intents and purposes, we’re not affiliated with any country. We’re just kinda… here to help. We’re peacekeepers.”
I nod slowly, processing his answer. It turns out I was bluffing…
“Okay, well, let’s hope Kazawa doesn’t use Google in the next five minutes.”
“Shinigami , this is very bad,” says Ichiro. “This is small army. This is a hundred guns against four. This is very bad.”
“I know, all right?” I say with a sigh. “I know.”
“Why aren’t they shooting?” asks Ruby.
“I think Kazawa’s trying to prove a point,” I reply. “The ultimate show of strength. Miley wants to beat me mentally. She wants me to die broken.”
“She sounds like a real peach,” says Collins.
“Oh, she’s something, all right…” I mutter as I scan the crowd before us.
Ichiro was probably right on the money when he said a hundred guns. This… this didn’t go as well as I hoped. I’m not—
I hear tires screeching. Engines roaring. In the distance and closing in fast.
More cops?
Christ, Kazawa! There’s proving a point, and then there’s just showing off…
A fleet of black cars rush through the narrow gap left by the Tokyo PD to our right, sliding to a halt on the wet road. Five… six cars now. Windows blacked out. Nothing more than huge shadows in the street. They form a thick, semi-circular wall in the middle of the intersection, separating us from the crowd of Kazawa’s men, directly ahead of us, and the two platoons of Tokyo’s finest on either side.
They’re definitely not cops. And no one’s emerged from the vehicles since they stopped, so they can’t be Kazawa’s. The engines idle, revving occasionally.
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