"Are you Dargent?"
"Yes. You're finally expecting me?"
"Let him go, we must talk within."
"Sure thing." Tset delivered a kick to the man's ribs, and one of the body guards winced.
He sat at the conference table with the other men, he'd shucked his coat and it was only his grey blue pinstripe shirt and navy tie above the table.
One of the body guards, a brawny man with hair that made Tset think 'Don't touch this-', spoke, indicating the short little man at the head, "This is Daimyo Yoto-Oro. He is the chief here."
Tset nodded, "Nice to meet you, I'm Dargent, keep me paid and I keep you alive."
The Daimyo smiled an ill little smile.
The mobster mentally dubbed Hammertime cleared his throat, "Yoto-Oro wants to know, why did you decide to come to Japan?"
Tset sighed and looked weary, cracking his neck, "You know who Tset is, correct?"
The skin tone of the men around the table went white, "Yes." Stuttered Hammertime.
"Well, he and I had a falling out, a spot of differences arose between us, and... well, I'm finding new turf."
An inhalation of breath, "You know Tset?" Yoto had a high, reedy voice, nasal and grease-laden.
"Yes."
"Can you kill him?"
Tset regarded the Daimyo for a minute, 'He's an overstuffed Japanese Igor!' But he did not smile, "No. Why do you think I moved? I don't even know who he is besides half-Jap."
"Jap? Japanese?"
Tset nodded the affirmative, "He's a Japmerican. Only saw him once without a mask on. Showed me his face to show me he could, and that's when I left. He said I could have the homeland if I wanted it."
There was whispering at the head of the table, Tset picked up all of it, but it was inconsequential.
"You're lying." Said Yoto, finally.
Tset had seen that coming, "Fine, I can surely find a less honorable division of your mob and do some errands for them."
He stood to leave, and Yoto-Oro called him back as he reached the door.
When Tset turned his seat was indicated with an outstretched hand, "Sit, please, we must talk."
"I thought-"
Yoto reddened, and Hammertime spoke up, "We are giving you a trial period. Do not backtalk, barbarian."
Tset felt his chin, "You know that means 'bearded' right? I shave."
Hammertime was confused.
Tset reached into his pocket, and the bodyguard from earlier flinched again.
Tset slowly retracted a small slip of paper while he stared, "Calm it down." He laughed.
He scribbled on the paper and handed it to Hammertime, "There you go, Hammertime, call me when you need me." He'd written the Pelican phone's number down on it. It would trace back to a EuroAmerican telecommunications firm, not Pelican, Tset had put that together while waiting at baggage claim.
He lit a cigarette on the way out the door and closed it gently behind him.
The man behind the desk was livid, and still bore marks from the carpet pile.
Tset glowered, "Excuse me? You have something to settle?"
As Tset was asking, "Axe to-?" The man was pulling a gun and firing, and as Tset was finishing with, "-grind?" The man was tumbling down the steps with a broken arm.
Tset emptied the chamber and removed the clip from the nine, before he threw it at the receptionist's head, "No sudden movements, idiot." On his way out he ashed on his face and kicked him.
The man was too far sedated to do anything but groan.
Tset was waiting in a shabby hotel room when he got his phone call.
"Hello."
It sounded like Hammertime, "Come to the docks. We're moving tonight."
'Docks? Oh.' This high up, there was no seawater, but the 'docks' were the name for where the monorail shipment trains stopped and went, there were even 'wharves.'
"Sounds good, see you in a few."
Tset donned his coat and took his time walking, stopping to get egg drop soup at a Chinese food store. He also stopped a few minutes to decide whether or not to buy some fresh sashimi.
When Tset arrived, it was still raining, lightning flashed outside the perimeter of the towers, and only one rain-soaked Yakuza stood to greet him.
He said nothing but pointed to a lit brick house almost leaning over the edge of the docks.
"Thanks."
Tset went up the steps and knocked, politely. He knew he couldn't push it with the main body of the mob, they detested rudeness.
The door opened, a weary woman stood on the other side, her eyes flashed and she asked, "Yes?"
"Oh, sorry, wrong house."
Yoto-Oro screamed from the inside, "Bitch! Get away from that door! Let him in! Hurry up!"
Tset bowed politely and stepped around the woman even as she opened the door for him. A little dark-skinned girl sat nearby and she watched him without expression as he moved through the hall.
"Who's that?"
Yoto-Oro ushered Tset through the door, "One of my women, never mind her. You're here for babysitting."
"Babysitting...?" Tset had closed the door, and the voices faded deeper into the house.
When their voices had faded completely, Hiroshi Akemi bit her lip. This man, babysitting her daughter?
She prayed, and looked to her girl, who'd cocked her head curiously, "Mom?"
Interlude, Chapter Six - Jacqueline
Jacqueline sat in the entryway of her hated surrogate father's house.
She'd grown bored of the book she had been reading, and now she watched her blood mother sketch - she loved her mother's sketching.
In fact, the only thing she could peg that she loved in all the world was her mother.
She was fourteen, and an alien in her own birthplace - everything about it she detested. The people, the art, the music, the architecture, everything.
She couldn't figure out if it was because of Yoto-Oro, that despised little man, or because her sense of aesthetics just felt violated.
Jacqueline, factually, should have been dead. Her mother, Hiroshi, had come home pregnant from a diplomatic mission with Yoto-Oro in India.
There had been celebrations, blessings poured over Yoto-Oro and his favorite concubine - "Let this be a son!" Jacqueline felt she could remember the happily shouted prayers, though they were in Japanese, and she refused to speak or hear that language.
But Jacqueline was born, those fourteen years ago, a daughter, and dark-skinned. Yoto-Oro had been so shocked he hadn't known what to do, and Hiroshi so shamed she never admitted to him what had happened, but said she would keep Jacqueline, and hoped to give Yoto a son one day.
That day never came and Jacqueline grew and grew - her dark skin, at the very least, had her shunned all over and hated in any upper-circle she walked. Her beauty and elan brought a robust jealousy along with that hate. White skin was important, the whiter the better. Cream skin was low class.
Jacqueline was copper-tone at best.
More reason for her to die.
She rebelled, and loved only her mother.
But Yoto had a plan for her. Jacqueline could be an assassin - females excelled at it, and given her importance, she was disposable.
He was excited by her immediate prowess; at age ten, her abilities seemed unrivaled. Small and lithe, like a dagger she felled four of his enemies for him only because they went through the medium of Hiroshi - Hiroshi asked and she did.
Then, one day, she disappeared. She fled to America. Their universities admitted children from all over the world every decade, just five of them, of which Jacqueline was one.
When she was thirteen, she was brought back, threats on her mother, and she was given another task as assassin. Yoto was infuriated by her refusal.
She would never kill anyone again, she swore. It wasn't what she believed in; beguiling sneakiness did not run in Jacqueline's blood - she had always been such a seeker and purveyor of truth that when she was seven years old and Hiroshi told her Yoto was not her true father, but an
Indian soldier, she had told her mother, looking from her Dr. Seuss, "I know."
Her mother had cried, and Jacqueline had let her. The education in America had only reaffirmed her beliefs about things and given her more windows through which she could view the world, in the form of books.
Now, there she sat, all these years later, her mother's love for her being literally the only thing keeping her alive - if not for Hiroshi, Yoto would simply kill Jacqueline, and had even tried, but only half-hearted. He still loved Hiroshi in his own parasitic way.
There was a polite knock on the door, and Hiroshi rose to answer it.
"Yes?"
A strange voice spoke from the other side of the door - Jacqueline, an English major by the age of twelve, would've described the tenor and timbre of it - it was warm, she could tell, but something had cooled it, and slight embarrassment had dulled it, "Oh, sorry, wrong house."
Then Yoto's screeching tones, the 'weasel's abattoir' as she'd written in her personal journal, "Bitch! Get away from that door! Let him in! Hurry up!"
A tall dark-haired man passed around her mother like a shadow, Hiroshi unable to stop him if she'd wanted to. This was odd, but he pointed and asked, "Who's that?"
Yoto-Oro ushered the tall man through the inner door, "One of my women, never mind her. You're here for babysitting."
"Babysitting...?" Tset had closed the door, and the voices faded deeper into the house.
But Jacqueline picked up his voice again, "Who was the little dark-skinned girl?"
"A slut. Ignore her."
Words were inaudible, but the response from Tset sounded annoyed.
'Annoyed? At Yoto-Oro?' Then she saw her Hiroshi staring at her, "Mom?"
Hiroshi rushed forward, "Oh, Jacqueline, don't be upset." Her whisper was hot, fast.
Jacqueline pushed Hiroshi away, "What is it?"
"I think Yoto-Oro has finally found a way to use you."
Jacqueline cracked a grin, "No, I don't think so." Something about the tone of his voice, his lack of total interest in what would otherwise have been merchandise, "We're fine ma - I really think they hired him as a babysitter. Yoto hates taking me along, and maybe it's a test for the new American incumbant, don't you think?"
"Jacqueline! Hiroshi! Come here, now!"
They stood and rushed to the inner chambers together.
Jacqueline moved quietly around the outside of the firelight - she detested her skills as Ninja as well, but she may as well use them - and she saw the stranger, he sat relaxed in a large arm chair and Hiroshi went forward to greet him as she should.
Tset stood, nodded to her, but did not offer his hand until she did, he called her 'Ma'am' and complimented the kimono. He was at ease and smooth, and the room was filled with killers. Jacqueline had the idea he was a wolf amongst kittens.
Jacqueline caught her mother's eye, which swept down to indicate the whisky on rocks the stranger had.
Jacqueline froze, realizing she could have been wrong, she knew what alcohol did to men - her mother had told her so. Her eyes narrowed when the dark stranger turned and found her immediately, he crouched and smiled at her, his odd sunglasses reflecting the firelight, "Yo." He said, pleasantly. "Name's... Dargent."
Ugly name, surname.
Jacqueline simply eyed him.
"You know, Daimyo, I'm no good with kids, don't you think you'd rather have me kill someone? It's simpler."
Yoto shook his head, and Dargent turned back to Jacqueline, "Alright miss, let me lay it down for you - the adults are going to the theater, and I'm supposed to make sure you don't get into any trouble."
Jacqueline looked to her mother, behind, her mother's eyes said everything in an instant - this was a ploy set up by Yoto-Oro.
Dargent was a john.
Jacqueline steeled herself - she'd never had to endure this sort of punishment. What had she done to anger Yoto? She hated theater...
Dargent stood and turned, "So... any advice?"
Yoto smiled as he ushered his entourage out the door, "Don't turn your back on her."
Dargent tipped a salute and turned back around to the tiny creature crouched in the corner of the room, he hunkered down.
"So... hungry?" He was removing his coat and had produced a bag from underneath it.
Jacqueline was silent.
"Okay. I brought me some sashimi, so, if you dig this, which I can tell you don't, you can have some."
Tset went about pleasantly munching. He was deft with chopsticks though he still wore his black gloves.
After a minute he looked up at her, "What do you eat?"
Jacqueline was still absolutely silent, glowering, but wondering why. He was friendly... warming her up?
Dargent wondered, "Do they beat you women so you're quiet like that? The Daimyo's woman was too polite, too, though you're a bit rough around the edges, I can tell. Is there a reason they have me watching you and not one of the schmos?" Tset was nervous around children he didn't know - what if they did something or had weird habits or Bible study? So he was yammering to break the ice.
'Schmos...' thought Jacqueline. He'd just called Yoto-Oro's right hand men schmos as he crouched on her floor and tore through sushi like only an American could.
"Like, you stab Hammertime?"
Jacqueline immediately understood the reference, and could not stifle a laugh.
"There we go. Little girls aren't just to be seen, talk it up, tell me about yourself, or say something, anyway, I might go nuts with your intense little face just glaring at me like that. I don't dig on the whole Japanese manners shit, so cut me some slack and give me some pointers."
Jacqueline spoke then, "Don't worry, I hate them too."
"Good. Yoto's a creepy little fucker. So, what do you do for fun?"
Jacqueline shrugged, "I don't have fun."
"You don't eat, and you don't have fun, eh? Your life sucks a bit, m'dear."
"No, I eat."
"What then?"
Jacqueline thought for a minute, "I like popcorn. And beef."
"Ah! A steak-eating lady. Says something for your disposition. Not a salad chick, alright, how do you like it done?"
"Medium."
"Good, good, I do steak, too, but I figured since I was in Japan I should do like the Romans."
Tset's, Dargent's, untraditional humor was having an effect on Jacqueline.
"So... what do you do when you grow up?"
Jacqueline immediately turned a blue hue and looked down, she said, softly, "Kill."
She heard a grind, "What?" Dargent was furious, "What?"
"I'm an assassin, Mr. Dargent."
"They expose a pretty little gal like you to gunfire and bloodshed? You like it or something?"
Jacqueline was almost stunned, "N-no. No! Of course not."
Tset stabbed his sashimi, killing a roll, then stabbing it again, "That's messed up. What do you want to do? Do you go to school?"
Jacqueline shook her head.
"Boyfriend?"
Shake.
"Parents?"
Jacqueline sighed, "Hiroshi, the Daimyo's concubine, and the Daimyo's my surrogate father. Mother tells me he, my real dad, still lives in India, writes if he can."
Tset whistled and sat back, "Mind me being honest?"
Jacqueline was still not totally sure about Dargent - what had happened to the fury? Did it really dissipate? So quickly?
She shook her head anyway.
"If how you look now is any indication of how you'll fill out, get the fuck out of Japan and go be a model or a TV actress or something. Fuck this scene."
Jacqueline nodded sadly, "I tried it. I got into America on a scholarship, they take in kids from all over the world to teach in their universities sometimes, but, but, they, here... mom." She was having a hard time keeping her voice even.
Tset lifted her chin with three fingers, "Never you worry. You'll work something out. If I didn't sleep in dance clubs and make my money making enemies, I'd give you two
a place, but I don't have one for you."
Jacqueline looked up at him, "Who are you?"
Tset knew the meaning of her question and was not taken aback, "Dargent. The friendly hitman."
That word stuck, "So you murder."
Tset cracked a grin, "How do I explain this? I, ah, I'm like a superhero."
Jacqueline was familiar with the concept, she had a small store of comic books, so she scoffed, "Like how?"
"Like you know about Chase Bank's problems?"
She nodded.
He leaned in and whispered close to her ear, his breath smelled like fish and tabacco, but somehow not entirely unpleasant, Jacqueline, distracted, did manage to catch what he was saying, "I did that. They hired me to kill Edward Hendriksen, II, so I killed the plant they had in there and framed him for it. Chase and their Petrezon pawn both got slammed for it, and little Edward's still alive."
He leaned back and Jacqueline just looked up at him, "You really are a good guy."
"Ish." Tset shook his hand, "Got a cruel streak Superman never did."
Jacqueline didn't like Superman - too wholesome. Dargent was more like Batman, or Wolverine. She felt her little heart beat and found herself adoring Dargent, crushing on him like only someone her age can. She imagined going to America with him, but he broke her reverie, "So, you do anything for fun?"
"Chess."
Tset grimaced, "Eugh. Okay. You definitely don't have fun."
"What's wrong with chess?"
"I suck."
"C'mon! I'll show you how to play!" Jacqueline brought a busted wooden box from under the sofa and began setting up the chess board. "White or black?"
Tset grinned, "I'll be black, you be white. S'appropriate."
Jacqueline found herself blushing when he sat down across the small board from her - the man was poetic, too.
What else did he do? Aside from drink whisky or sake like water.
Surely he didn't play chess, Jacqueline repeatedly beat him despite her constant advices and how many avenues she left open.
Interlude
Chapter Six: The Assassins' Council
The Chrome Magnum
Miles away, in the theater, Yoto-Oro thought about what Dargent had said. Calling him names had soured his mood, but didn't mean much and was not enough to go on. Coming over his little earpiece was only the sound of chess-pieces clinking, occasional swearing from Dargent.
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