by David Haynes
He waited a second, watching the shapes for any sign of movement. Nothing. Michael was a vegetable now anyway and the woman was feeble, hysterical. Even so, it didn’t pay to take risks, or to underestimate people like this. Despite appearances.
He edged forward, sliding the handle of the knife deeper into his palm for leverage. He’d slit the woman’s throat, and with her out of the way he could go to work on him. It wasn’t personal, they never were. This was all business. Part of Ookami’s plan. Nothing more or less than the completion of a contract or the signing of an agreement. Business that went on in every city across the world. He wouldn’t have chosen for it to happen here or now, in fact they’d planned something different, but you had to make changes when they were needed and go with them. That was what kept Ookami at the top. For now, at least.
He was about two feet away from the bed when he heard a click. He froze – he knew the sound very well.
“Hey,” he whispered, “what’s the…”
The flash from the gun barrel was dazzling. It burned into his eyes as if he’d stared directly at the sun. He was blind for a moment. Then came the pain. Such pain as he’d never felt before. His whole body screamed as a blazing jolt ripped into his shoulder. Even above the deafening sound, he heard bones cracking beneath the skin.
He howled and fell to the floor. It was a good thing too; a second shot rang out, the whining bullet parting the air a couple of inches from his face. He screamed again, raising his hand to his shoulder. Blood, hot and tacky, coated his fingers. It took him a moment to understand it. He’d been shot. The motherfucker, Michael had put a round in him. Shot him in the shoulder.
“Fuck!” he shouted. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He’d never been shot before, only stabbed a couple of times and that was bad enough, but this…this was on a whole new level. It felt like something was chewing through his shoulder, gnawing away on his bones, pulling the muscle and sinew away with barbed teeth.
He curled up in a ball and closed his eyes. He was either going to vomit, pass out or shit himself. Possibly all three. He heard movement on the bed, listened to the old springs groan as someone climbed down. They were coming to finish him off.
“No!” he shouted. “Uncle!”
He heard footsteps on the boards before the dark figure loomed over him.
“You came to kill us?”
“No! No, no, no!” he shouted. “I came to check up on you, see how you were!”
“Liar!”
It was her. It was the wife. “You crept up here like a dirty little roach.” She looked at his hands. The knife had fallen from his hand when he fell. He couldn’t see it now, not that it would serve him any purpose. He doubted he could have lifted it. Blood warmed the back of his shoulder and his neck.
“You can’t kill me,” he whined. “You can’t!”
“Why?” she snarled. She pulled the hammer back on the gun. It looked enormous, far too big for her. Its long, silver barrel was ablaze with candlelight. It was a weapon fit to kill a devil.
“He…” he blurted. “He told me to…”
“Alison!” someone, a man, shouted out. He couldn’t see who it was and he didn’t want to risk looking. His money was on Leo.
But Alison didn’t turn either. She kept the gun trained on him, pointing it toward his head. The first shot might have been a lucky one, a freak shot in the dark to scare him off. Or it might have been a good shot, perfectly executed to wound and pin him where he was. Either way, even if he’d thought about making a move, he couldn’t. His whole arm was screaming with white-hot pain.
“What’s going on?” This time it was a woman’s voice. The cop. “Jesus,” she hissed.
There was a moment of silence.
“You need to put that down, Alison,” the cop called. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
She didn’t move, her eyes narrowed.
“Alison? Put the gun down.”
Did she too have her gun drawn? He couldn’t turn his head to see. If there was a shootout, he’d be killed. He knew that.
“You-you need to listen to her,” he stuttered. “I only came to see…”
“Shut your mouth,” Alison spat.
“Put the gun down and let’s talk about…”
Alison moved the gun, pushing it against his head. “I ought to shoot you right in that arrogant little mouth of yours. You pathetic little boy!”
He fought back the impulse to rise to the insult. At any other time, this would have meant death to the person who uttered it. As it was, with the barrel of a cannon pushed against the side of his head, he was forced to take it. He looked into her eyes. This wasn’t the woman he’d met before, the quiet subservient wife of Michael Abe. She was someone else entirely. He swallowed and closed his eyes.
“You don’t want to kill him,” said Kim. “He’s an asshole, but you don’t need his blood on your hands.”
He heard Alison take a deep breath. Her eyes flicked over to the cop and then settled back on him. “He came up here to kill us,” she said. “Like a coward, sneaking about in the dark.”
The knife. Where was the knife? He needed to get rid of the evidence.
“What?” said Kim. “What are you talking about?”
“Tell them.” She pushed harder with the barrel against his temple.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about.” The knife was by his feet; he kicked them as if in panic. If he could push it under the bed, he’d be in the clear. “I only came to check up on you and Michael, to make sure you were…”
“Kenta?” It was Ookami’s voice. He was with them now.
“Tell them, Uncle,” he said. “Tell them what you…”
“Damara Seru!” he shouted back. Silence.
He closed his mouth instantly. This was the voice of the man who commanded respect on the street. It was not his uncle but his leader. He kicked his legs again, coughing loudly as he did. He felt the knife against his shin. It slid away from him and under the bed.
“You had a knife,” Alison said. “I saw something in your hand.”
“Kenta? Is that true?” Leo asked.
He looked up at Ookami, standing just behind the boxer and the cop, eyes narrowed.
He said nothing, just shook his head. Ookami’s order of silence still echoed in the room.
“If I came over, I could check?” Leo said. “I could search him and make sure? Would that be okay?”
“Then what?” she asked. “You’ll arrest him? You think a man like this will ever go to prison?”
“Just let me check him over,” Leo said. “And if he’s got that knife, I’ll throw him out of that window myself. We’ll see how he gets on with a busted arm and head out there in the snow.”
“Right hand,” she said. “Check his right hand.”
He pushed the knife deeper into the shadow beneath the bed. The pressure on his head decreased as Leo came toward him.
“Mind lowering the gun for a moment?” Leo asked. “I can turn him over and check under his body then.”
She nodded and took a step away, the gun still trained on his face.
The boxer grabbed his right hand and then his left. He pushed his face close up. “If you were trying anything up here, I’ll kill you myself.”
Kenta wanted to spit in his face but now wasn’t the time. That would come later and he’d enjoy every second of it. Instead he screamed when the man’s brutal hand reached under his shoulder and rolled him over.
“I’ve been shot you stupid fuck!” he shouted.
“I know,” he replied, an obvious and genuine smile on his face. “But it’s not so bad, just a graze.” He handled him roughly, running his hands through the blood and under his body.
“If you want to take a feel of my ass you only have to ask,” Kenta said. The pain had subsided slightly, just enough to bring things into focus again. He wanted to distract Leo. The knife was under the bed but how far and how well hidden it was, he didn’t know.
&nbs
p; “Aren’t you going to arrest her?” he shouted. “She shot me!”
Nobody replied. When was Uncle going to come and help him? He looked up at him. He just looked angry, filled with fury from his boots to the tips of his neatly trimmed, business-like hair.
Leo lifted his legs, ran his hands all over him, checked his pockets.
“Ooh, that’s nice. Do it again,” he said. “Are you enjoying this as much as I am?”
Leo took his shoulder and gripped it much firmer than he needed to. For a moment his vision swam and his stomach lurched with the pain.
“Keep talking, Kenta and I’ll keep my thumb just here.”
The pain went up another notch as the man pressed against the bullet wound. He was on the verge of vomiting when he released the pressure.
“Looks like the round went through and out,” he said. “It’s a shame.”
“Fuck you,” he replied.
Leo lifted his head and looked at the others, including Alison. “He hasn’t got anything. No knife.”
“Impossible!” Alison shouted. “I saw it! He must have thrown it or dropped it when I shot him.”
“We can have a look?” Leo said. “I’ll search…”
“I’ll do it!”
It was the kid. The kid whose girlfriend he’d shot. Sam. He walked over, his little flashlight blinding Kenta. His heart sank. They would find the knife, find the evidence and then kill him. His only hope was standing by the door, looking like he wanted to kill him himself.
The kid dropped down before anyone could argue. He shone the flashlight across the floor, around the bedroom and then stopped by the bed. He should act, do something. Grab the kid, move against Leo, maybe even reach Alison and take the gun from her. The beam swept under the bed, moving from side to side. The kid crawled under a little way reaching into the shadows.
“Anything?” Leo asked.
The kid paused.
Here we go. Move, move now. His arm might be useless but he had another one he could use. He could…
“Just this,” Sam eventually replied. He slid out from under the bed and got to his feet. Everyone watched him hand a stick of Juicy Fruit to Leo. “This yours?”
“That it?” Leo’s face was marked with deep lines. They looked so cavernous in the light that they resembled scars.
He almost smiled himself. The kid was even stupider than he looked.
“Just that and some shorts I didn’t want to touch.”
The knife must have been hidden by the shorts and whatever else he had festering under there. By the time it was found this, whole mess would be over with.
“I saw it!” Alison screamed. She stepped toward him again, her finger curled around the trigger. “You piece of shit, I saw the knife! What have you done with it?”
He cowered, trying to find cover behind the boxer. “She’s crazy! I don’t have a knife. You took my gun. I don’t have anything!”
“Alison, you need to calm down. Just back away, and put the gun down.” Kim’s voice was calm against Alison’s near-hysteria.
Alison turned, snapping her head around. “This has nothing to do with you!” she snarled. “You keep your nose out of it.”
“Someone pulls a gun and it’s always my business. Especially when that gun is a Taurus. You’d hit him squarely with that and Leo would be picking bits of Kenta out of his toothbrush for the next couple of years.”
“It’s Michael’s,” she replied.
“And why would Michael need something like that?”
Alison lowered the gun. It looked heavy and there was a thin sheen of waxy sweat on her forehead.
“Again, I repeat myself. This has nothing to do with you.”
Kenta liked this. They were bickering between themselves. This woman was not the shrinking violet they’d all assumed her to be and she was holding her own against them. He didn’t care who was pointing guns at whom, so long as it wasn’t anywhere near him, he couldn’t give a damn.
He wriggled backward until he was leaning against the wall. “Someone want to fix my shoulder? It hurts like hell.”
They ignored him. The cop had her gun drawn and although it wasn’t pointing at Alison, it still felt like an old-fashioned gunfight. The boxer stood between them like a referee. Kenta caught Ookami’s eye and offered a smile. For the moment, he was in the clear. There was no weapon, and only a mad woman’s word against his. And right now, she was butting heads with the cop. Ookami didn’t return the gesture but his expression had softened. Just a little.
He was angry again. Just how far would Ookami have allowed that little charade to go? Would he have left him high and dry if they’d found the knife? It was his goddamn knife anyway. Would he have gone in to bat for him? Kenta looked away; he knew the answer. The thing that bound them together, what kept them together, was trust. Ookami trusted him to do certain jobs without screwing them up, and in turn Kenta trusted him to get him out of any trouble he found himself in – with the law, the other gangs, anybody who tried to mess with him. If that trust hadn’t gone already, it was slipping away. From both sides.
The kid was making his way across the room, back to the stairs. It didn’t look like he wanted to get caught in a crossfire either. He walked like a geek, like he had no confidence in himself, no importance. He would always be a nothing.
The two women glowered at each other. It was tense but the atmosphere was slightly less threatening that it had been a moment ago. Leo stared at him and then turned to Ookami.
“You said you’d keep him under control. Keep him in the storeroom until we got out of here. Yet here he is again right in the middle of a stinking pile of shit. Doesn’t look like he’s listening, Ookami.” The boxer turned back to him. “You want to tell me what you were doing up here?”
“I came to check on her and him.” He pointed at the bed where Michael was sitting like a statue.
“Bull!” he replied. “I don’t buy that and neither do they.” He jacked his thumb at Kim and Alison. “You better tell me why you’re sneaking around or I’m going to….”
“Okay, okay!” He glanced at Ookami. “I was cold. All right? I was freezing my balls off down there and I thought I might find myself something a little more comfortable than a goddamn cardboard box to sit under. You got that? I was cold.”
The man eyed him. Did he buy that? Right now, he didn’t care what the man thought, as long as he didn’t believe that crazy woman.
He winced and then groaned. “Have you at least got some Advil? This hurts like a bitch and I’m not sure how much blood I’ve lost but…”
“You should be quiet, now.” Ookami walked slowly toward him. “There is something we must do. It cannot be avoided any longer.”
His eyes widened as Ookami pushed aside his jacket, revealing his knife. His real knife.
“Uncle?”
17
Leo’s eyes widened. The knife was almost a machete but there was nothing agricultural about the weapon. There were engravings along the length of the blade, symbols he didn’t recognize. It was undoubtedly Japanese. The markings continued down onto the handle, which was black and glossy like oil. It was as beautiful as it was hideous.
Ookami said something in Japanese to Kenta, who looked up at him with confusion swimming in his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Leo asked but Ookami ignored him, keeping his eyes only on his nephew.
Ookami crouched beside Kenta and whispered something to him. The younger man shook his head, pushing his body down the wall. A dark smear of blood marked the place where he’d been sitting. He looked panic-stricken.
The older man said something else and then nodded at everyone else in the room. His words were barked, said through gritted teeth. The meaning was unclear but they were harsh.
Ookami turned the knife, offering the handle to Kenta.
Leo stepped forward. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Arming a murderous lunatic with a knife would only end badly for everyone. What was he doing?
He had to intervene.
But Kenta shook his head, even more vigorously. He was crying now, tears running down his swollen face.
“No,” he whined. “No, Uncle.”
Ookami shouted something and then withdrew the knife, holding it himself. What the hell was going on here? He looked at Kim. She was trying to keep her eyes on both Kenta and Alison at the same time.
Was he going to kill him? It would solve a lot of problems and probably make all of them sleep easier, but it wasn’t right. This wasn’t right.
“I think you better put the knife down, Ookami,” he said. “Put it away.”
The man got to his feet and turned to face him; his eyes flared black and orange, full of fury.
“He must pay for his disobedience!” he shouted. “It is the only way!”
Leo stood his ground, watchful of the huge knife between them. “I’m just saying, there’s been enough violence, enough of…”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Ookami interrupted, looking him up and down, an expression of distaste on his lips. “Gaijin.”
He didn’t know what the word meant and he didn’t need to. It wasn’t a term of endearment, that much was clear.
“He will atone.” He turned back to Kenta. “You failed me. Again.”
Kenta shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I’m sorry, it won’t…”
“Hold out your hand!” Ookami knelt beside him again. They slipped in and out of English whenever they wanted. This time it was all English, it was for show. For emphasis.
Kenta sniveled but said nothing, only clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Your hand! Now!” Ookami yelled.
Leo turned to Sam. He was standing by the stairs, transfixed. “Get out of here!” he shouted.
The kid glanced up and then shook his head.
“Go on!”
Sam ignored him, his eyes trained on Ookami.
Kenta dropped his right hand to the floor, crawling his fingers across the wood.
“Please,” he begged, even looking up at Leo for support.
“Ookami, you don’t have to…”
The blade dropped across Kenta’s pinky and ring finger, slicing them off at the second knuckle. Kenta howled, cursing in both languages, screaming and wailing, thrashing against the wall.