Blowback

by James P. Sumner

I roll away, turn, and push myself up to one knee in time to see his face slide over and off the top railing and flop down onto the second. The angle of his body is enough to hold him there. His hips are almost flat to the floor, but his back is being held up at an angle most yoga instructors would blush at. His chin is hooked over the middle railing, keeping him in place.

  Oh, dear.

  I ease myself to my feet, stretch and crack my aching bones, then bring my leg up and stamp my foot down hard on the back of the guy’s neck. I feel his throat give against the stubborn metal railing. Pretty sure I heard a snap too.

  His head slides off the railing and hits the floor, finally letting him rest flat.

  I quickly crouch and take the mag from his gun. Put it in my pocket. Then I stand up and turn a slow circle, surveying the carnage now engulfing the deck of Kazawa’s yacht. No more signs of life, although if there are more guys below me, I’m pretty sure they know I’m here now.

  Just need to find—

  Oh.

  Hello.

  I finish my turn staring ahead to the bow and the bridge that stands upon it, level with the height of the helipad at the opposite end. It has windows on all sides, offering whoever’s inside a three-sixty view of the boat and the ocean.

  Standing side-by-side at the window, looking out at the flames and the dead bodies, are Miley and Kazawa. The glare of the fire illuminates the glass enough for me to see their faces inside.

  His eyes are wide. Shock? Probably. Fear? Maybe. If he’s not scared, he fucking should be.

  Miley’s a little easier to read. She looks pissed.

  I stand my ground. Square my shoulders. Take a deep breath. Relax. A sigh of relief this particular battle is over.

  Then I wave at them and smile.

  I see Miley slam her hands down and turns to Kazawa. I can’t see her mouth moving, and I can’t lip-read even if I could. But a blind man could see she was shouting at him.

  Excellent. My work here is done.

  See you soon, assholes. I’m going to—

  Huh.

  …

  …

  …

  That feels a lot like a gun barrel pressing against my head.

  I glance over my shoulder and find myself staring at the barrel of a handgun. It’s pointing directly at my head, held steadily in place about an inch from me. Looks like a Heckler and Koch USP. Pretty sure the Japanese version of a SWAT team uses that. Makes sense that some of Kazawa’s security detail are cops, I guess.

  I shift my focus beyond the gun, to the person holding it. Somewhat surprisingly, it’s a woman. She’s not as tall as me, but the look of determination in her eyes, coupled with the understandable confidence she has, tells me now isn’t the time to resist. There are three men standing right behind her, all with their weapons trained on me.

  “Drop the gun,” she says.

  I do, allowing it to hang loose on my shoulder. Immediately, one of the guys behind her moves around to my side and takes it from me, discarding it across the deck, toward the fire. He stays there, shoving my shoulder, directing me forward.

  I throw him a look that tells him if he touches me again, it’ll be the last thing he does. No need for words.

  “Let’s go,” orders the woman, pointing to the stairs.

  Looks like I’m being taken below.

  As I reach the top of the stairs, I look back over at the bridge. No sign of Kazawa, but Miley is there, laughing at me.

  Shit.

  30

  23:09 JST

  Below deck is surprisingly spacious and far more luxurious than above. This likely justifies what I imagine is an extortionate price tag for these things.

  The corridor we descend into is much wider than the one below the helipad. A similar set of steps are visible ahead of me at the opposite end, presumably leading up to the bridge. The flooring is made from a non-slip material; I feel the extra grip tugging on each step I take, yet it still looks really expensive, designed to resemble marble tiling.

  My new friends have maneuvered themselves into a box formation, putting two in front of me and two behind. We double-back on ourselves and head toward the stern, along the starboard side. There are three doors on the wall to my right. The first door we pass is half-open. I catch a glimpse inside as we pass, but that’s all I manage, as the woman with the gun gives me a heavy tap with the butt on the back of my head.

  “Eyes front, asshole,” she barks.

  I wince from the impact. But that’s okay. I saw enough.

  I saw the arms of two men, and I saw a metal rack full of weapons.

  It was the armory.

  Good to know there is one.

  We carry on and stop outside the second door along. One of the guys in front of me opens it and steps aside, signaling me to go in. I glance around and see no one is making any attempt to follow me.

  I step inside, ducking slightly under the frame.

  I let out a low whistle.

  This place is nice!

  The floor is wooden—a light beech that immediately brightens the room. The ceiling is off-white and much higher than in the rooms above. High enough for a couple of chandeliers, anyway. In front of me, dominating the room, are two wide, semicircular sofas. They look like white leather. There’s a narrow gap between them at each end and a circular table in the middle. The layout reminds me of the symbol you see on the power button of any piece of equipment. They’re sunk into the floor, one step down. Ahead of me is a wide, panoramic window looking out into the night.

  To my left is a four-poster bed, this time raised up by two steps. There’s a closet built into the wall on either side. The whole area is illuminated by spotlights in the floor.

  To my right, there’s a mini bar against the near wall, some computer equipment set up in the opposite corner…

  And Kazawa.

  He’s holding a bottle of beer in one hand, with his other in his pants pocket. His suit jacket is open. Shirt, no tie. Hair a little ruffled but still styled. Casual, like there isn’t a care in the world.

  Prick.

  He’s smiling at me.

  I hear the door close behind me. I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one followed me in.

  They didn’t.

  I make an exaggerated point of looking around before directing my gaze at him.

  “You’re either mighty brave or mighty stupid,” I say.

  He takes an easy sip of his beer. “How so?”

  “Shutting us in a room together. Is Miley nagging you so much that you just want to die for the peace and quiet? Thought you have to be married for twenty years to reach that stage…”

  He laughs but not with any humor. “The queen of my empire allowed me some time alone with you, so I can have my fun… and take my own revenge.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “If, by saying that, you’re insinuating you’re the king, how come you’re only here right now because your queen allowed it? Sounds to me like she’s the real power behind your family. What did she do to make you hand it all over to her? No way you were swayed by her winning personality. She must be dynamite in the sack.”

  “Say what you want, Adrian. You won’t get inside my head. Not this time.”

  “Whatever you say. But come on, I’m curious. What did she bring to the table when she recruited you to help her get to me?”

  He pauses for a moment, then shrugs. “What the hell… you’re dead anyway. She approached me eighteen months ago. She had money and training and a detailed plan to get to you. She also had the promise of more money. A little over three weeks ago, she transferred sixteen million dollars into my holding account. Additional funding to help get her plan off the ground. I couldn’t say no.”

  “She wasted her mother’s fortune, if you ask me. She’s clearly capable of coming after me on her own.”

  “That depends on perspective, Adrian. Money well spent, in my opinion. Oh, and for the record… yes, she is dynamite in bed.”

  His smug smile
suggests that is supposed to make me jealous in some way.

  I grimace. “Hey, do you mind? I’m already fighting back seasickness here. But whatever works for you. Anyway, what do you mean, your revenge? For what, exactly? You only have a problem with me because she does. Hell, someone in your organization hired me a while back.”

  He points a finger at me. “You’re responsible for one of my biggest sources of income going up in flames. You’re also responsible for the deaths of many of my men. I fucking owe you.”

  I’m genuinely baffled by his logic. “You need to lay off your own Kool-Aid. First of all, you’re responsible for your club blowing up, not me. You set the bombs and left me trapped inside. You could have just put a bullet between my eyes. Being honest, you should have. So, that’s on you. Secondly, your men tried to kill me first. Well, most of them. I’m claiming self-defense there. Thirdly, the only reason you’re still alive is because I turned down the job to kill you. Something you still haven’t thanked me for, by the way, you ungrateful dick.”

  He takes another sip of his beer, looking on impassively. “Ah, yes. A smart move, siding with Akuma Oji. How did you get him to help you?”

  “Honestly?” I shrug. “I just asked him.”

  “Really? Huh…”

  “Yeah, turns out trying to find people who fucking hate you isn’t all that hard.”

  “His involvement is irrelevant. He’s had his time. Japan is ready for a new era of Yakuza. My era. I’ll deal with that old prick later. But for now, I’ll focus on making you suffer for a little while, before my darling Miley can have her vengeance.”

  “I’m gonna be honest with you, Tetsuo—can I call you Tetsuo?—I’m done suffering.”

  I take a couple of steps into the room, casually pacing toward the bed, away from the door.

  “See, I’ve had a pretty shitty couple of weeks. You know that, because you’re the main reason for it. We both know Miley’s nothing more than a hormonal teenager with daddy issues. She tried to sleep with me, albeit as part of her act. She apparently is sleeping with you, which is gross. We’re both old enough to be her father. So, no… the real brains behind this is you. Has to be. And I’ve gotta hand it to you, man—you’ve pushed me farther than anyone ever has. You know who I am. What I’ve done. But you still managed to surpass everything and everyone that’s come before you. You beat me. You damn near killed me. You even made me believe I was going to die. Made me accept it.”

  He makes a theatrical gesture with his hand. It’s half-shrug, half-impatience. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that after all that, I’m still here. You don’t get it, do you? Somewhere out there, there’s someone who has my number. Someone who is just that much better than me that I have no hope of surviving them. But Tetsuo… it ain’t you.”

  He smiles. “Really? Are you sure? I mean, you’re on my yacht… surrounded by my men… unarmed and trapped in a room with me. Your body is broken. You are tired and weak. You will die today, Adrian. You will die very, very soon.”

  I start laughing. For two reasons. One, it’s unnerving as hell when an enemy starts laughing at you for seemingly no reason. All part of the psychological warfare. And two, because he’s confirmed to me everything I need to know about this situation. His mindset. His arrogance. His… naivety.

  This is too easy.

  He’s glaring at me. Frowning. Confused. He throws his near-empty bottle across the room. It smashes against the wall, just beside the mini bar.

  “What’s so funny, asshole?” he asks, unable to mask the frustration in his voice.

  “You really haven’t been paying attention, have you?” I reply, still smiling.

  He’s no longer relaxed. He’s shifting his weight back and forth between each leg, stationary but restless, unsure whether to run at me or keep me talking.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like you say, it depends on your perspective. Take a look at your big, fancy boat. Half of it’s on fire! You’re also… eleven men down, by my count. I did that. Me. Adrian Hell, broken body and all. Also, I’m not actually as stupid as I look, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. What? You think after everything I’ve done tonight—not just on your boat, but back there outside your little penthouse… after all that, do you honestly think I’d be blindsided by four of your security guards? I’m exactly where I want to be, asshole. See, you got it all wrong.”

  I quickly draw the Raptor from my back, which his amateur foot soldiers didn’t bother to check for, and aim it unwaveringly at his head.

  “I’m not unarmed at all… and I’m not trapped in here with you—you’re trapped in here with me.”

  His eyes bulge wide with an indecipherable cocktail of emotions. I see anger. I see frustration. I see fear. I see realization.

  Yeah… back there, when I was waving at the bridge, I had an inkling more people would be heading my way from below. I was running out of bullets and energy to fight them off, so I gambled on the fact that if they came for me, they would capture me and deliver me to one or both of these assholes. I could bypass any more fighting and head straight for my target. That’s why I made a point of showing I was relaxed, or making it look like I was paying no attention to the stairs behind me.

  Sneaky bastard!

  Thanks, Josh. Glad you approve.

  I’m also now standing far enough away from Kazawa that if he runs at me, I have plenty of time to get a shot off. And we all know I only need one. Plus, I’ve positioned myself on the other side of the door, so when it inevitably opens, it will be pushed toward me, shielding me from view as the people outside file in. It will be like shooting fish in a barrel.

  That’s… impressive.

  Appreciate that, Satan. The pair of you have taught me well.

  The look on Kazawa’s face tells the full story. His eyes dart in all directions, perhaps seeking a way out of this. His body language is becoming increasingly restless. Using just a couple of steps to pace subtly back and forth. Flexing and clenching his hands. Visibly breathing faster.

  He’s panicking.

  I look on with a mixture of fascination and satisfaction. Here’s the guy who was behind the near-surgical destruction of who I am. A man in a position of unfathomable power and influence in Tokyo. And I broke him in less than five minutes.

  I almost feel sorry for him.

  Finally, Kazawa unleashes a visceral scream, releasing all of the emotion that was consuming him moments ago. Then he charges me. A desperate move that will only end one way. And I think he knows it.

  I allow him two steps before I pull the trigger.

  The bullet strikes between his eyes. Dead center of his forehead. His skull snaps back as a thin plume of crimson mist erupts behind him. His body’s momentum carries him forward, though, and he falls heavily through the gap between the sofas, landing lifelessly in front of the table.

  “I know you were probably looking for a long, drawn-out fight,” I say, more for my benefit than his at this point. “But you were right. I’m tired. I need to save my strength for your girlfriend. Sure, you pissed me off, but I never regarded you as a serious threat. You were never more than an obstacle. A means to an end. You simply didn’t matter enough to me. You deserve nothing more than a quick bullet. But I can promise you this: your empire dies with you tonight.”

  The door flies open.

  Ah, showtime.

  Two of the men from outside rush in, because Kazawa’s body would have been the first thing they saw as the door opened. There’s no consideration for where I am at all. These guys are amateur hour.

  With all the time in the world, I line up my next two shots.

  BANG!

  …

  …

  …

  BANG!

  Headshots. Both men are punched to the floor.

  I move closer to the wall, a little farther out of sight behind the door. The other two should be right…

  The woman steps into view, her
movements more cautious than her colleagues.

  …there.

  As she turns to look at the room, she sees me leaning against the wall, my gun aimed at her head. Her eyes pop wide a split-second before I squeeze the trigger. The impact of the bullet sends her toppling over the back of the sofa nearest to her. She rolls off it and lands awkwardly on the floor, trapped between the sofa and the table.

  One bullet left.

  The last guy is probably a little apprehensive to come in, but I doubt he’ll leave to fetch back-up. I examine the door. Specifically, the thin gap between the edge and the wall, caused by the large, metal hinges. I see him move to stand directly behind it, preparing to pop out and surprise me.

  I take one step forward and kick the door, thrusting my leg as hard as I can with the intention of going through the door. I hear the grunt as it slams into the guy on the other side.

  Dumbass.

  I move around to see him sprawled across the corridor, his face blank with disorientation. I glance left and right to make sure there aren’t any reinforcements heading my way, then holster my gun. I reach down and drag the guy up by his collar, then deliver a short jab to his nose. Not hard enough to break it but sturdy enough to make his eyes water. I take his SMG from around his neck and toss it aside. Holding him by the throat with one hand, I quickly frisk him, searching for any handguns or spare ammunition.

  Nothing.

  Shit.

  I look him in the eyes. “Well, you’re useless, aren’t you?”

  I then use both hands to grab his collar again. With more effort than it would normally take, I hoist him over the railing and watch as he plummets into the dark ocean below.

  I pick up the SMG and step back inside Kazawa’s cabin. I know there are at least two more guys on this boat between me and Miley. Possibly more. I need to take the fight to them before they figure out what’s happening.

  I do a quick sweep of the dead bodies and grab what spare ammunition I can find. Nothing for my Raptor, annoyingly. But I’m more than prepared for what’s next. There can’t be that many guys left now—the boat isn’t that big.

  I check the mag in my SMG. It’s full. I reload it, work the slide, and chamber a round. I set it to fire single shots. Safety’s off. My trigger finger is extended, resting against the guard. That’s my safety. Only touch the trigger when you want to squeeze it.