Chapter One #3
“Well, that won’t be so bad,” Aki hisses, tossing the empty glass behind his shoulder onto the floor. The tatami cushions ease the fall, muffling the sound, as well.
Witnessing the excitement in Aki’s eyes at the promise of bloodshed makes all confidence leave Long Hair. He jerks back and then cries, keeping his speared shoulder still.
“Just do it!” he screams, finding some desperate cockiness.
Aki chuckles. “Do you think I’ll shoot you? I’m more of a slice-and-dice kinda guy. But River here…could. Especially after the freak comment.”
Long Hair swallows as he sends me a quick, frightened glance.
“But I won’t let him. Because you see, what I want to do right now is rip out your tongue and knock out every last one of your teeth.
Then, while you’re still alive, bury your body six feet under—well, I’ll order someone else to do the burying, but I’ll be the one sprinkling your teeth on your unmarked grave like confetti at a wedding. ”
The guy starts shaking as Aki raises his knife. He grabs the long lock of hair with gum on it and starts cutting it—doing a very poor job.
“Wha-what’re you doing?” I can clearly hear the bafflement in the fucker’s unstable voice.
The disastrous trim keeps going as Aki says, “I always thought I’d have become a hairdresser if I hadn’t been born into this family.”
Thank god, he didn’t. He’s botching the cut terribly.
“Cutting hair feels so influential, so…freeing. And speaking of freedom, if you answer one little question, I’ll free you.”
The guy’s eyes fly open. “Bu-bullshit!”
“Let me put it this way, even pig shit has a use—you being the shit in this metaphor—and I need to send a message to your dickface boss. So if you get it right, and manage to stay alive, I’ll…free you. Why isn’t he here?”
“I don’t know.”
Aki pouts, then he stands and shoves the other half of the blade into the guy’s shoulder. A high-pitched cry is ripped out of his throat as Aki goes back to sitting on the table and to the haircut.
“The superior being up there is on standby right now,” Aki points up toward the ceiling with a finger, “waiting for me to end you, to place your rotten soul into a gag-inducing worm body for your next life. And although they’re patient, I’m fucking not.
” He hisses as he gives the sword a twist. “So guess again.”
“I can’t!” the fucker screams, as another text from Karin appears in the chat, this time saying everything looks good outside. I reply as I check the time. Fifteen minutes have passed since we entered the restaurant, and it’s my rule to check in with the crew every fifteen minutes.
“Then let’s go back to the teeth sprinkling.” He cuts the last long lock, then cleans the short blade on the guy’s sleeves before grabbing the handle of the katana and yanking it out in one go.
There’s a spray of blood just before the fucker drops on the ground wailing like a newborn baby. No one keeps the tough attitude for long under Aki’s methods.
“You are ruining my masterpiece!” Aki grumbles, raising his sword once again. Is he talking about the Edward Scissorhandsed hair?
“He-he was never meant…to-to come here,” the guy suddenly coughs out, stopping Aki’s movement. “The boss just wanted to fuck with you.”
I knew it. That crazy dickhead.
“I see, Fuckchill is asking for a bullet up his ass.” Aki pouts again, glancing at me. “You don’t happen to know your soon-to-be-dead boss’s future plans, do you?”
“No…he doesn’t share them with any—” Aki doesn’t give him time to finish, but skewers him all the way on his long blade. Next he grabs what remains of the fucker’s hair and beheads him.
“Ugh! Don’t give me that scowling-bunny look. I know I said I’d free him, and I did. I freed his head from his body.”
“We could have questioned him—” Before I can say more, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye.
Sunglasses is gripping a knife, ready to throw it at Aki.
I rush and jump in front of him, instantly feeling a sharp pain radiating through the back of my shoulder.
I groan as my eyes find Aki’s shocked gaze.
Luckily, he looks fine. My body shielded him.
I take a step back, and, lifting my hand, I get a grip of the blade’s handle to quickly pull it out of my back with a grunt. It fucking hurts, but after nine years in the yakuza, I’ve learned how to endure the worst pain.
I turn toward the fucker and let out an angry roar.
Dropping the knife on the floor, I’m on him in two steps.
I don’t use my gun, but grab the front of his shirt with both hands and lift him up until I smash his head against the low ceiling.
The thin board breaks as I keep busting the piece of shit into it.
When I hear the crack of his skull I drop him, staring at his bloodied, caved-in head.
I tense when I feel a hand trying to grab my gun from inside my coat. The sweet scent of osmanthus makes my fingers relax as Aki takes possession of my weapon and proceeds to empty the magazine into the already dead body.
When he lowers the gun, I tell him, “You always get too much into the fun and forget to watch your back.”
“I have you for that. Can’t make your job too easy.” Like he would be any easier.
He shrugs unapologetically, handing me back my weapon. I look at the bloody mess around us. Fuck! We are gangsters, but it doesn’t mean we go around causing trouble all the time. And if we do, there are certain places for that.
Aki is pouring water on his sword’s blade to clean it before placing it in its sheath again. “Your shoulder?”
It fucking hurts like a bitch as I grab Long Hair’s cell phone from the ground. But the blade was small, and it didn’t penetrate all the way inside. I can still move my arm. “A little glue, and I’ll be fine.”
He stares at me intently before moving toward the sliding door. He suddenly halts his advance after only a couple of steps.
“Ugh! My new shirt.” He’s looking down at the blood smearing the fabric, then turns a glare at the beheaded body before giving it a kick.
“Tell Soma to come and get the head.”
Long Hair’s head? “Why?” I ask, while putting my shoes on.
“I need it,” he replies enigmatically as he walks down the corridor.
The fact that there are no other clients in the whole restaurant should have made me realize this was a fucking trap.
I grit my teeth and call Karin again to tell her we are about to get out.
Then I send a text to Soma—about the head.
Yuna is in the entrance. A perpetual scowl is painted on her face. She’s tall and slim, all covered in leather, short hair, piercings in her ears, lip, and nose.
She bows, and then asks with her raspy voice, “Did you leave anyone alive, Akira-san?”
“Afraid not.” He smirks at her as I keep the door open to let them both out of the restaurant.
Karin is waiting for us outside, ass parked on her Kawasaki Ninja, feet dangling.
She’s Yuna’s opposite. Petite and curvy, curly blond hair down her shoulders, always wearing a floral garment—tonight is her velvet shorts.
She beams when seeing us and waves her small hand excitedly—is there blood on it?
She looks sweet and cute, but just like Yuna, she’s lethal.
“I’m going in.” Soma quickly gives us a salute before jogging inside the restaurant, carrying an empty duffel bag.
“Any problem out here?” I ask, as Aki stops near the car. I open the door in the back for him, but he doesn’t get in until he hears Karin’s reply.
“Two of their goons smoking. We took care of them.” She winks at Yuna before turning to me again. “We also compensated the restaurant folks as ordered and called the cleaning crew. They’ll take care of the bodies.”
I nod. I’m still extra pissed, though, about the waste of time that tonight was.
“We need to get moving, just in case the pigs decide to check out the…prank call,” Yuna lets us know, as Soma exits the restaurant and gets behind the wheel—after handing me the duffel bag with an indifferent expression.
“Good work,” I tell her, even though I know she doesn’t give a damn.
I sit next to Aki, gritting my teeth when my wounded shoulder presses against the leather. Fuck! I need to take care of that.
The BMW takes us down the streets of South Bronx with Yuna and Karin behind us, riding their motorbikes, one black, one neon green.
We are Aki’s crew, the girls, Soma, and I. We have each other’s backs, and we all pull our weight, not afraid to get our hands dirty. Aki and I go way back with Yuna and Karin; we met them in high school. While Soma is the latest addition.
Three years ago, he came to my apartment in LA drunk off his ass, offering himself to repay his mother’s debt with the Hebikawa family—she owed a truckload of money.
Aki took him in—like a stray. Trained him, until Soma felt he had to repay his giri—a very complex concept of duty unique to Japanese culture, which can be translated into a strong sense of social obligation, of owing something, whether it’s a favor, a service, or even a debt of revenge.
He ultimately decided to stay and become a permanent part of the crew.
With Yuna and Karin, he helps me keep Aki alive while taking care of other tasks.
“Let’s get some yakitori on the way home. I didn’t eat yet, and all that blood made me ravenous,” Aki declares. He made short work of the three guys inside the restaurant. Fighting usually stimulates his appetite.
“I’ll stop at a place I found a couple of days ago, boss.” Soma lets Aki know.
“Who are you calling?” he asks me, moving the duffel bag and his sword to the other side of the seat to press his cheek against my shoulder.
“Kumicho needs to be briefed about this,” I tell him. The big boss is in LA, but she is due to arrive tomorrow to check on the progress we made.
“Bo-ring.” Aki huffs. “I’ll call her from the loft later.”
“You need to explain what happened tonight,” I insist, and he nods too easily. “Kumicho is not going to be happy about it.”