…and two men in dark suits walking toward me with guns poorly concealed inside their jackets.
Christ. I barely made it through the front door!
I stay where I am. Hold my hands loosely out to the sides, palms open. I’m not armed. I want them to know that. I’ve trained myself to feel comfortable not always having a gun on me. Not so long ago, I wouldn’t go anywhere unless I was prepared to shoot someone on a moment’s notice. But I feel those days are behind me. Now, I’m confident enough that I don’t need a gun to kill someone on a moment’s notice.
I hope.
The two men stop in front of me. Look me up and down. Both hold their jackets loosely with one hand, probably to counter the weight of the guns they have holstered underneath. The one to my right utters something in Japanese. I glance to the side and lower my head slightly, allowing him to see the Pilot in my ear, giving myself time to process the translation.
Arms to the sides.
I shrug and oblige. He reaches out and professionally pats down my arms and body. He steps back and assesses my legs. Satisfied, he nods to his partner, who, in turn, says something to me.
This way. Mr. Santo is expecting you.
They head back the way they came. I follow, through the security gates, past the bank of elevators, and toward a single door sunken into the left wall at the end of the wide corridor. The first guy steps through. The second holds the door for me in a gesture I figure is half courteous, half precautionary.
Concrete steps spiral counterclockwise before me. Sandwiched between them, we descend. One floor. Two floors. Three. We push through another door, identical to the one above, and emerge in the underground parking lot. It appears almost full. Cars are parked perfectly in their spaces, hoods forward, patiently waiting for their owners to return like oversized metal dogs. I look around, noting the lack of variety in the makes and models. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing I’m concerned with.
Yet.
The guy leading the way points to his left. We head in that direction and around a corner to another section. Large concrete pillars are positioned at the end of every fourth space. Parked alone, nose-in along the near wall, is a black sedan. Tinted windows. A man dressed identical to my escorts stands guard next to the passenger’s rear side. As we approach, he side-steps and opens the door. His movement is fluid and practiced.
A man wearing a light-gray suit climbs out. He’s maybe five-eight. On the heavier side of two hundred pounds. His face is exactly as I saw it in the picture. His eyes permanently laced with suspicion. His skin mottled and tight over his slightly inflated features. His mouth curled to a thin sneer, suggesting arrogance and entitlement.
Kon’nichiwa , Santo.
He stands tall and straightens his jacket. Takes in a deep breath, swelling his chest and broadening his shoulders as best he can. Looks me dead in the eye and smiles. “It is an honor to meet you, Adrian Hell.”
I’m taken aback by how good his English is. Well-spoken. Unbroken tone and pronunciation. Not what I was expecting at all.
Now for the part of all this I hate—the acting.
I bow very slightly, careful not to take my eyes off him. It feels like the correct thing to do. “The honor is mine. I’m flattered you would ask for me directly.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “I’m sure you’re used to it, a man of your caliber and reputation…”
I don’t like small talk, but I need to let this play out for now and wait for my moment. He thinks I’m here to discuss his job offer, after all.
I smile politely. “You’d be surprised.”
He clears his throat. “I asked our mutual friend, Ichiro, to arrange this meeting. I trust it’s not an inconvenience?”
“Not at all. A little unorthodox, maybe, but I’ve spent my life going against the grain, so I never take issue when someone else does the same, y’know?”
He nods. “Indeed. The reason I wanted to meet in person is because this job is of a… delicate nature.”
I nod. “Most hits are.”
“We of the Oji-gumi do not trust many people. Trust leads to complacency, which leads to death.”
“No arguments there,” I agree, shrugging.
“I hope I can rely on your discretion?”
I raise an eyebrow. “That goes without saying, Santo. There’s a reason you’ve heard of me. Nobody does this kind of thing better.”
He holds up a hand. “I meant no offense. I am simply a cautious man.”
Yeah, and you clearly think you’re more important than you are too… asshole.
The way he’s talking, you would think he was running the whole family. What a douchebag.
“No offense taken.” I glance at the three men standing in a loose triangle, surrounding me. I figure there’s at least one more in the car. “I only ask the same of you. I pride myself on my independent work, and it’s important to me that no one sees me as being affiliated with one particular family over another. I’m sure you understand?”
He nods. “Of course. You are a much sought-after talent, Adrian. I do not wish for your livelihood to be affected, in the same way I have no desire for anyone to learn how I choose to handle certain problems. The only people who know about this meeting are attending it. Apart from Ichiro, obviously.”
Bingo! That’s exactly what I was hoping he would say. If no one knows he’s meeting with me, there is even less chance of any suspicion being directed my way when he’s found dead. I know I can trust Ichiro not to say anything if pressed too.
Game on.
“All right, then,” I say. “What’s the job?”
He clears his throat. “Another family’s operation has begun to interfere with one of our own. We need that to stop.”
I frown. “I’m not here to take down a Yakuza business venture…”
He shakes his head. “No, of course not. We want you to take out the head of the family. That way, all business ventures will cease.”
What?
He said that almost casually, as if he’d just remembered something he should’ve written down on his list of chores. Pick up a loaf of bread while you’re out… oh, yeah, and kill that Yakuza boss while you’re at it. Fuck that! I’d have the entire Japanese underworld gunning for me! He can’t be serious?
I try to suppress a laugh of disbelief, but it slips out.
“Santo, with all due respect, you can’t be serious?”
He smiles back, but there’s no humor in it. His eyes stare blankly ahead. No emotion.
“You are the best there is, are you not? After what you have… accomplished in your career, surely this would be child’s play?”
Ah, flattery—the most transparent form of compliment. I need to keep this conversation going a little while longer. I just need one of his guards to get within reach…
“You’re right, this would be child’s play, compared to, say, killing a sitting president… or assassinating someone on the steps of the Vatican… but that’s not the point. It’s still not easy. And I’m not stupid. One of the golden rules of this business is you never let your ego get in the way of a good kill. I don’t need flattery. I don’t need a confidence boost. And I certainly don’t need an entire Yakuza family hunting me. Santo, your world revolves around honor and respect and tradition. What you’re proposing would betray all of that, and if anyone comes looking for answers or revenge, it’ll be me who gets thrown under the bus.”
He frowns, casting a glance at the men to his left. “Are you saying you are refusing the job offer?”
I take a deep breath. I have to play this just right...
I nod. “Yes, I’m afraid I am. I’m grateful for the opportunity and flattered to be asked for personally. I certainly mean no disrespect to you or your organization, but I’m not the man for this. Sorry.”
I hope that wasn’t too much. I’m trying to guide the situation, nudge it in the right direction to create the type of opening I need. But so far, it’s been much more civilized
than I expected.
“No need for apologies, Adrian. I understand and respect your decision.”
Really?
I nod. “Appreciated.”
He holds up a hand. “However…”
There we go.
“…I need you to understand my situation before you commit to anything.”
Pretty sure I just did commit to something. I said no. But never mind. This could be the chance I’m looking for.
I gesture toward him. “Please…”
He takes a step closer. “Are you familiar with the Oji-gumi, Adrian?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I’ve only been in town a couple of years, and I’ve stuck to low-level work, mostly. I know the name but little else.”
“The head of our family, Akuma Oji, is a powerful and proud man. He adheres to a strict code. He embraces tradition. Considers himself a samurai, in many ways. The man we want removing is Tetsuo Kazawa. Have you heard of him ?”
I nod. “Only because I worked a job for his family about ten months ago. His father founded the Kazawa family. Tetsuo took over when he passed away. Four, maybe five years ago?”
“You are correct, Adrian. You see, Tetsuo personally killed someone who worked closely with one of our larger business interests. Sliced his throat from ear to ear in his bed. It wasn’t an intentional slight on our family. We know that. It was simply an unfortunate coincidence. Yet, we cannot ignore such an act, no matter how much fate intervenes.”
“Which I completely understand.” I shift my weight from one leg to the other, growing restless and more concerned with how my current situation is unfolding. “But I—”
“Tetsuo, it seems, is running an organ trafficking ring behind the doors of a legitimate courier service. He killed our friend because he had a buyer for a heart, and he happened to meet the criteria.”
“And that’s wrong on so many levels, but—”
Santo steps closer. But I don’t want him this close. I want one of his bodyguards this close. He’s no use because he won’t be armed.
“Such a venture is an insult to God,” he continues. “And to the tradition and code our family is built upon. The tradition and code we believe all Yakuza should be built upon. It is our responsibility to not only send a message but to stop this atrocious business.”
I sigh. “Yes, I completely agree. Things like that shouldn’t happen. But—”
“Akuma Oji himself passed the responsibility of dealing with this to me. Naturally, I want it done properly, with minimal disruption to our business and our great ward. I’m sure you understand that someone like Akuma Oji cannot be left disappointed? The consequences of failure do not bear thinking about.”
I clap my hands together. “And I wish you all the best in your endeavors, I do. But I’m really not the man for the job.”
Santo laughs. “You are too modest. You are the perfect man for this job. You will be compensated, of course. With great risk comes great reward, after all. Does one hundred million yen sound enough?”
My eyes widen again. A hundred million? Jesus! That’s almost a million bucks. That is a lot of money for one contract. I’m struggling to think of a time when I was paid anything close to that for one job. Still, it changes nothing. I have plenty of money. More than I could ever spend. Not more than Ruby could ever spend, given half the chance, but still, it’s plenty for me.
Focus, Adrian.
“That’s… ah… that’s a very generous payday, Santo. But my answer remains no. I’m sorry.”
His expression hardens. He moves closer again, standing mere inches from me. “Adrian, I took you for a smart man. I thought, here is someone who has survived his profession longer than almost anyone else. Here is someone who has carved out a reputation so impressive, the very mention of his name creates fear among criminals across the globe. Yet, for a smart man, you make stupid choices.”
I shrug. “Yeah… so I’m told.”
“You would turn down such a lucrative payday? For what? Pride?”
I let out a short sigh. Not directed at Santo, or this conversation. Just a general, involuntary show of frustration. He’s so close, I can smell the piss-water he uses as cologne. I could easily grab him now. Snap his neck. Except that wouldn’t do me any good, because I would then be exposed to three, maybe more, armed bodyguards. So, if I grabbed him, I would need to use him as a human shield to get out of here. Or, at least, until I secured a weapon of some kind. Which is pointless, because I need to kill him, not take him out of here with me.
I need one of his guys to get close.
I think for a moment.
…
…
…
The guy on my left, just behind Santo, has a hand on the gun inside his jacket. The two on my right, my escorts, don’t—they’re standing loose, arms by their sides. The first guy might get a shot off before I move, but Santo’s partly blocking his view of me, so I have a potential window there because he would likely hesitate before pulling the trigger.
I could grab the guy nearest to me, use him as a shield while I take out his gun and shoot the other two. Then I could incapacitate him and be ready for whoever gets out of the car. Three down easily enough. Perhaps a fourth or fifth, if need be. That would leave me, armed, and Santo. He won’t do shit. He’s a mouthpiece, nothing more. He’d probably shit his pants before the other guys hit the ground.
Straightforward enough.
Didn’t even need my Inner Satan to figure it out.
Of course, there are a million things that could go wrong. But I’ve got to do it. The longer this conversation goes on, the harder it will be. It’s risky. It’s arguably stupid. But it’s the only way. I need to be fast. Precise. Uncompromising.
I sigh again.
I’m getting too old for this shit. I know I say that a lot, but this time I really mean it!
With no warning or preparation, I lash out at Santo with a strong left hook. It connects exactly where I intended—on the right side of his face, flush on his chin. The blow took everyone by surprise. As soon as I see him begin to stumble toward the two men who brought me here, I lunge the opposite way, grabbing the guy to the left with both hands. One around his throat, the other around his wrist, preventing him from reaching for his gun.
I spin him around, putting him between me and the others. I glance past him, over his shoulder. The two guards have caught Santo, stopping him from falling to the ground. Good. That means their hands are full, which buys me valuable seconds.
I release my grip of this guy’s throat and deliver a short jab to his nose, designed to disorient more than hurt. It stuns him. I push him away, reaching inside his jacket as I do, feeling for the butt of his handgun. As he flies away, the pistol draws itself, and I’m left holding it, aiming at the gathering in front of me.
So far, so good.
I hear a car door opening. Must be someone in the passenger seat.
Need to be quick.
I take a deep breath. Hold it.
My eyes dart in all directions, assessing the task ahead of me, programming the required movements into my brain.
I breathe out and fire three times, quickly snapping to a new target after each round.
Within seconds, all three guards drop to the ground, hitting the concrete with a dull thud. Santo is sent sprawling away from them.
I see movement in my peripheral vision. I spin left, weapon raised and ready. Another guy appears on the opposite side of the car, a look of shock on his face. I pull the trigger, putting a single round into his skull. He drops backward out of sight. A thin cloud of crimson mist slowly evaporates in his wake.
After quickly surveying the scene, I’m happy that everyone except Santo is dead, and there’s no one else around. No witnesses. I couldn’t even spot any security cameras, which I thought was strange at first, but then it made sense—if this is a Yakuza-owned building, they would have a ton of physical security, but no video feeds… nothing that could be used as evidenc
e against them.
I pace slowly over toward Santo, the gun held loose by my side. He’s crawling away from the car on his stomach, like a cockroach desperate to avoid being stomped on.
“See, here’s the thing,” I say to him as I draw level. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
I reach down and grab the back of his suit jacket, hoisting him up to his feet. He yelps with fear, like a dog who knows he’s disobeyed his master. I move in front of him and begin walking, forcing him to back-peddle. His eyes are wide. His lips are quivering.
What a piece of shit.
I keep walking him backward until he’s pressed up against the car. I scratch my brow with the barrel of the gun.
“Yeah, the reason I can’t take your job is because I’m actually already working one,” I explain. “A young man fell in with the wrong crowd. He was blinded by the allure of being a badass, ended up in over his head. A head that soon got a bullet stuck in it—y’know what I’m saying?”
He nods hurriedly.
“This guy’s old man, he wants justice for his boy but wants it the right way. So, he calls the cops. Problem is, the cops do nothing. Why would they? A kid gets killed in some bullshit Yakuza drama… it ain’t worth them getting involved. Hell, they’ve probably been paid to ignore it anyway, right? The father’s distraught. His diplomacy turns to anger. His desire for justice becomes a thirst for revenge. And so…” I gesture theatrically to myself. “…here I am.”
Santo’s expression becomes torn. His eyes are still laced with fear, but his brow is furrowed with apparent confusion.
“W-what do you mean?” he asks. “I don’t understand.”
I place the barrel of the gun slowly against his forehead.
“I mean, this kid who was killed… you killed him. Maybe not personally, but if you didn’t pull the trigger, you gave the order to whoever did, so you’re accountable.”
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