Wight

by Dorien Vincent

  The man retracted his arm and held it up next to the other, a sign of peace, of surrender.

  Tset stood up and regarded him from a few feet, "Mind telling me who you are?"

  "I'm your contact." The man was in obvious pain.

  "Yeah? Why the grab? Why not talk to me?" Tset leaned against the far wall and lit a cigarette.

  "Ran a little late... had to grab... girl in the red dress is Yakuza... we don't like Yakuza, so we had to know where they were hiding out. Mop-up'll go down soon."

  Tset smiled, he'd known it, lure. Being used was mildly irritating, however.

  He retorted, "I coulda handled it."

  "Hmph, don't be too sure."

  "Obviously someone is, otherwise I wouldn't be here talking to you. So, move it or use it."

  Tset helped him up, jolting his arm, "Ach! And you got that line wrong." He limped forward.

  Tset still had his smirk, "But we're moving, shutup and shuffle."

  "Where are we going?" Tset had a hand on the man's shoulder and he squeezed.

  The man slouched under the press, "Can't tell you."

  "Why not?"

  "You're a bit of a radical, sir, don't want you killing the boss."

  Tset grinned, ivory. "So, here's a deal for you - we split, you go to the place, stand outside the door for exactly five minutes, then I'll join you. Sound fair? No one tips a hand, except you, if you're planning on pulling my card."

  The man had nothing up his sleeve, so far as he knew, so he shrugged, "Sounds fair."

  "Good."

  Tset was gone.

  The man looked left, looked right, rubbed his face with his good hand and proceeded to La Madame Argent, the restaurant where the boss was waiting.

  He stood around, looking like an idiot for six minutes before he checked over his shoulder to the boss's table - Tset was sitting slid low in a chair, laughing and drinking coffee.

  When Tset called to the waitress he caught sight of his contact outside and waved him in.

  Tset was still grinning, "Back door. Did you know your security men will give up their earpieces if you pull a gun on them and lie real good? They thought I had the place covered... Jesus."

  Tset pulled out a chair for him and sat him in it despite a half protest.

  "What's your name today?"

  The contact looked up, the extended glove was taken lightly and shaken once, "Smith."

  "Smith, nice. And your name again?"

  Tset was grinning to the pallid Pelican boss, "Stone."

  Tset nodded, "Smith and Stone, and I believe the man in the kitchen introduced himself as Mason?"

  A waitress laid a bowl of ice on the table, Tset pushed it to Smith, "That's for your hand."

  Smith looked hesitant, abashed, but Stone waved his doubts away and nodded, "Use it. Your fingers are purple."

  Tset looked back to Stone, "So, what is it you wanted from me?"

  Stone rubbed his temple with his fingers, "Do you even know who we are? Do you care what we're going to ask you to do?"

  Tset gave a laugh, "I'll let you in on a little something. Those guys you see I killed who maybe weren't the most ethical hits? Let's just say all I killed was their papers. I'd make an offer, their bank account, for their life, and I'd thrown in the life of the fucker who'd hired me. Where do you think Dargent comes from?"

  "Dargent? What about him?"

  Tset leaned back, "That's my nickname, so when I work, I can play both sides of the table. Say you hire me, Tset, to kill Sam, and Sam hires Dargent to kill you. If you're just all bastards, I walk off with two fees and nobody worth a shit gets hurt."

  Stone gawked, "You? You're-"

  "The two, the only. And no one'll believe it, either. My paper trail and alibis read like a faded New Delhi roadmap."

  Stone hesitated, but Smith spoke up, "How old are you?"

  "Mid-twenties, I'd estimate. When you spend most of your time chewing through a dime-novel a day, or three, you get some pretty good ideas to fuck around with."

  Stone sighed, "If you don't agree with our plans, however...?"

  Tset shrugged and looked out the window, "Doesn't matter. Don't give me the contract. I'll probably make it a point to bump you guys off one by one or in twos if I think you're really low, but," He shrugged again, "Eh. 'Sup to you."

  "What do you know about America?"

  Tset grinned, "I know people think I'm a national."

  Stone leaned back, but still he didn't relax, he was grey-skinned and worn, "You do talk like it. And shoot like a Second Amendment nut, if the rumors are true."

  "Second Amendment?"

  Stone smiled tightly, "So you're not."

  "Not?"

  Stone shook his head, "I'm sorry, it's been a long life, you're not American, are you?"

  "Not a drop of your blood in me."

  "What would you think of helping us to protect The States?"

  Tset thought back to the news channels after his first hit, the Americans, all calm, their children playing in the sludge of Washington D.C.

  "I like 'em, what do you need me to do?"

  Stone laid it down for him. Essentially, the Japanese mob wanted the nation and were prepared to war for it. They only needed to establish an army. Pelican hunted and killed any Yakuza, good or bad, who went for any office of civil service in Japan or who even threatened to, preventing the Yakuza or their front groups from garnering any public power to launch an attack on the States. But, things had been quiet recently and Pelican needed a spy.

  Tset nodded, "And you're paying for it?"

  "What we can. We're exiles."

  "What?" Tset looked back to Stone.

  Stone sighed, "We're American exiles... we don't exist, technically, in Europe, but we're not allowed to return to our shores."

  "Because?"

  "Because we attracted too much attention. I founded Pelican to do what we're doing now, twenty years ago, and the American people asked us to leave - for the first time in a long time, America was on the international stage, and being looked at as a threat from many directions."

  "So you left?"

  "So we left. There were fifteen of us, now we're down to ten, and we're all aging."

  "So, you've been separated from the land you're fighting to protect?"

  Stone shook his head, "No, not fighting, more, we guard. It's slow business most years 'round."

  "Regardless, it's why you look so shit-tired." Tset was musing privately and Stone's bark of laughter caught him off guard.

  "You're direct," And Stone clapped his shoulder, "I like that."

  "You better. I'm about to go direct the Yakuza." Then Tset furrowed his brow, "Speaking of which, they already know who I am... by that chick lure."

  Stone shook his head, "Don't worry. We've already handled that 'chick lure' and her pals. And we're sticking you with a littler bastard, named Yoto-Oro. Runs his immediate family. Not popular."

  Tset barely grinned, "So must be an army of about fifteen thousand."

  Stone snorted, and shook his head, "No. They do have goons."

  "Of course, but one tiny ruff in the fabric of this little kimono you weave."

  "What's that?"

  "I recently shot Yoto-Oro in the bank account and killed a squad of his and made it impossible for him to exist in Europe for a good decade by blowing up a parking lot."

  Stone blinked, his obvious answer dying on the tip of his tongue, then he tried again, "So? Dargent."

  Tset nodded, "Excellent point. So?"

  "So, you'll get your papers at your hotel."

  They shook hands and Tset patted Smith on his way out.

  He came back in the door a second later, walked across the foyer and laid a wad of tangled cords on the table, "You're gonna want to put your security force back in touch."

  Stone smiled but went grayer. 'If we can't trust him.' The thought was final.

  Tset winked - visible by the lowering of his eyebrow.

  Outside, he lit his ci
garette and walked to his bike.

  Interlude

  Chapter Five: Yoto-Oro

  Tset had a package waiting for him at the front desk of the hotel.

  He picked it up and retrieved his suitcase without checking out. He would, via e-mail, later.

  He opened the package, pouring the contents into his hand and throwing the wrapping away.

  It included a plane ticket, one way, a cellular phone, a passport, and three separate IDs, one in the name of Dargent for Haliburton. The other two were inconsequential names.

  Tset smiled at the little cards, wondering who they thought he was, he chuckled and shook his head, "Old-fashioned Americans."

  He scanned the IDs with his own card and threw away the duplicates - if they served any importance, he'd rather keep them digitally.

  Tset waited by a cab stop, below an old-fashioned street light, musing as to what to bring with him.

  He settled that he would not be taking his Shadow - he may as well wear a name tag. He lifted his suitcase - with magnetically-imprinted lining to fool airport scanners into thinking it wasn't a number of weapons coming aboard. He checked his watch, and with a shrug he stepped into traffic, banging the hood of an angrily honking cab with his hand before he got in.

  The cabby was upset, visibly, "What you think you doing, man?" He was olive-skinned.

  "Drive and I'll tip you, don't drive and I'll miss my flight." The grin on Tset's face was unflinching and out of place.

  The cabby calmed, turned, battled with himself and then pressed down on the pedal. "When is flight?"

  "An hour."

  "Oh, better drive!"

  Tset put his arms along the back of the seat and relaxed, he had another four hours before the next plane to Japan left and felt like napping.

  The cabby prattled on, soon leaving Brussels and entering The City Proper - the Airport District was some miles hence and so the driving was erratic, but not so that the cabby closed his mouth for more than a syllable.

  Tset listened for silences - there were none, which meant nothing was in his road.

  He rather liked that. He closed his eyes.

  "Sir?"

  Tset's eyes slid open behind his glasses, and his grin spread across his face, "Yes?"

  The cabby hesitated, "We are here. You have few minutes, yes?"

  Tset checked his watch, "Plenty of time." It had been only forty minutes.

  The cabby was definitely feeling ill at ease by now, and when he swallowed, more of the grin showed itself, the white eye teeth peeking through, then the corner lifted up and Tset started laughing.

  The cabby shared his twitchy smile.

  "Sorry, I just... nevermind." Tset handed forward €$350.

  He patted the cabby on the shoulder and clambered out of the vehicle.

  He felt his issued cell-phone ring, so he answered.

  "Tset, before you go to the airport-"

  "Already there."

  There was a pause from Stone, "... alright."

  Tset chuckled, "What was it?"

  "Nevermind. Smith will meet you when you land. He asks that you not kill him."

  Tset spoke noncommitally, "Whatever strikes my fancy."

  There was a long pause as Stone digested the joke.

  "I was kidding, Stone. Just don't let me find a coke ring or vampires in your closet."

  Stone scoffed, "Vampires and coke? Neither, thank you."

  "Excellent, so what else were you going to say?"

  "I'm sending you all the necessary information. This job is very delicate, but I know you can be an artisan when needed - you took out Wilks, someone said - in other words, it's going to be dangerous."

  "Yes. But danger and lucre are my sort of thing, so just make sure there's some of the latter after the former's done and there won't be any more former."

  Stone was beginning to catch on to Tset's brutal brand of humor, "Tough words. Think I'm scared?"

  Tset had lit a cigarette as he walked through the airport lot, "Might be a good idea." The smoke escaped through his teeth and he slipped the phone shut.

  In his basement fortress, Stone hung up his phone and looked across the table to Mason. The guard stared steadily back, "Do you think...?"

  Mason, a younger man, shrugged, "Too late, wouldn't you say?"

  Stone sighed and hunched, pouring himself a whisky, "Yes."

  The other shrugged, "Either way, want to get Blacky just in case?"

  Stone sneered, "No. I'm extending my trust, and I don't like Blacky anyway."

  "Fair enough."

  Stone lifted his snifter and knocked the import whisky back, he gasped and coughed, "I really hope he was joking."

  Tset took a first class seat in the airplane and sipped the same brand of whisky.

  He relaxed into the well-cushioned chair and had the hostess bring him a laptop so he could check his e-mails.

  He could do this from his phone, but the larger screen went more with his stuporous mood.

  He accessed the one encrypted e-mail he had, using his phone's modem to decipher the encryption processes remotely for the computer.

  Within a few minutes, he read:

  Pelican and Associates

  MISSION BRIEF

  Dargent,

  Thank you for taking this mission. It is indeed extremely sensitive.

  You will be being met by Smith while in Japan, he will show you the necessary means to get into Yoto-Oro's circle, if not even inner circle.

  They are expecting you, Dargent, not Tset - and I'm sure with your prowess you can show them why you should be hired.

  Do be careful, the Japanese are extremely racist, and no matter how important you make yourself, they'll still kill you for being an ignorant Westerner.

  The mission terminates once you've determined what exactly is happening there in Japan. With your call sign and reputation, you can do it, any of our other agents would be caught and killed.

  Respectfully,

  Stone

  Tset was grinning. He was going to make this mission a lot more to Stone than Stone would ever have thought. He still had Toe Jam's CDs.

  Tset closed the laptop and nodded off while he thought about it.

  When he awoke, he was landing on one of Japan's elevated airstrips.

  The plane had to descend only a few hundred feet to reach it, and the idea of sheer height made Tset uncomfortable as he looked out the windows and to the roiling sea a mile below.

  The airstrip stretched horizontally out of the side of one of the Japenese enviro towers - huge structures built with the original islands as bases, originally to house machines to control tectonic and weather patterns, but eventually being expanded and used to house the largest grouping of humans on the planet.

  The skyline was surreal and highly technological - magnetic trains and hovercraft were often seen passing between buildings.

  He shrugged his shoulders, as he was apt to do to get rid of unpleasant sensation, "Fuckin' Epcott Center," and left the plane - he had his small carry-on.

  He saw Smith almost immediately, but snuck up behind him. "Hello."

  Smith jumped, but turned, "Jesus Christ."

  "If only." Tset was grinning good-naturedly.

  Smith sighed, "Okay, so, your Yak contact is in the redlight district."

  "Ledright disric'." Tset was still grinning.

  Smith regarded him for a time, "Did you just lose the bit of your soul that made you feel worry and regret or something? Or... you're maniacal."

  "Eh, it's how it is. I'm good at what I do, but I'll go see the contact."

  Smith nodded and handed him a card, "This is the address."

  Tset took the card and clapped his shoulder, "Okay, go now, I know it's not safe for you here."

  Smith was faced with unreadable sunglasses and unable to garner any idea of if Tset was simply being disjointed again. "What?"

  Tset chuckled and was lost in the crowd immediately, ghosting into nonexistence.

 
After that, on his way out, Smith thought he saw him at baggage claim, or in the Duty Free store, but couldn't be sure.

  Tset picked up his purchases at the Duty Free and went to generally ignore Japan. He had no Japanese money, no valid cards, and no interest.

  People tried to talk to him, or approach him, specifically in the redlight district, but he would slip by them without taking his hands from his pockets or his cigarette from his mouth.

  It was raining and dark, chilly, and Tset was experiencing new-bed syndrome and was uncomfortable. Something sour was creeping in on his mood, and he found it to be his personality.

  He checked his card as he crossed the street - he should be nearing the correct dive, 'Of course, it's all in Japanese, I could just walk into the mayor's bedroom misreading 'toilet.''

  A car honked and swerved around him, but Tset paid no mind. Away from true people, an ache gnawed at him and irritated him.

  He checked an address, numeric, and then went in through the front door.

  He went up four small steps, and around some carpeted stairs, he found a small greasy Jap who stood to confront him from behind a desk.

  "Yeah, here about the job." Tset handed the Jap the card.

  "No jobs tonight."

  Tset gave the small man a look that pierced his lenses and made the littler one to feel stupid, "Are you fucking with me? You're the Japanese mob."

  The man shook his head, and said sternly, "No jobs."

  "You're sure as shit unprofessional too - how often does a hitman like Dargent come to work for some tag nut little subdivision of the Yaks like this? The fact that I even hunted this hole down should bring great honor to your families."

  The little man turned red. And Tset split a fresh grin.

  At this the man dove over the desk to strangle Tset.

  He was easily blocked and returned to the floor.

  When the door opened on the floor above, Tset was standing on the receptionist's head. He looked up into the eyes of some sharply-dressed mobsters.

  He waved, "Your man said there was no work."

  There was silence and hesitation.