Thread: If I Had Just Killed You in the First Place!

??So this is it, then?? The small man stared out the window, mismatched eyes taking in everything. The glass was polarized so the three men sitting in the back of the limo couldn??t be seen, yet had no problem looking out. The speaker was the smallest of them all, thin, with a pretty face and delicate wrists. Ageless, he was. He was probably past thirty, but that feminine face made him look so much younger, so much more fragile. The illusion served him well. Hopefully it would today. One man bowed his head as he spoke, his Japanese much more polite. ??Yes, Older Brother,? he said. Gangs like these pretended they were family. It worked best, even though ambitious ones like him knew it was a lie. Contrary to the rumors, Imasuke had been born in a normal family not a test tube, he lacked the markers for that, and he certainly wouldn't imagine slitting his grandfather??s throat. These men, easily, and he would should they prove useless. He smiled thinly, a woman??s smile his own superior said, and turned back to watch the park they were pulling up to. It was a nice place, really. However, it was much too open, too hard to secure. Not somewhere he would actually like to conduct a deal, but that was the point. They had let slip information to the authorities. Their own men would make it worse, earning them much needed ? Well, not sympathy, sympathy didn't exist in this line of work, but reasons to enlist smaller ??Families??. The police here were trying to crack down on them, the group they were bargaining with were hated. This ploy would kill two birds with one carefully placed stone. Outside of giving them an advantage in recruitment, it would put them on the defensive, to think they police had a mole in their organization feeding them information about this and other things. His own family, the Ishikawa, would continue to give the police good leads, good data to fan the fear. The Ishikawa were good at fear. Imasuke might hate his own 'Older Brother' and his 'Father' past him, but he could recognize good work when he saw it. If nothing else, they were good at spreading fear, and he'd take those lessons in mind when he gained control. Imasuke was, of course, the first to step out. The day was grey, with hints of rain on the breeze. No, not breeze, much too windy to be called that. His thin tie whipped up, his previously artfully mussed hair got in his eyes. Bloody hell. Nice place, but too cold and too windy. Imasuke doubted he??d cut an intimidating figure all wet, so he prayed to any deity or bodhisattva that was listening that it wouldn??t rain. At least the men he was with looked big and scary. The lithe man reached back for the suitcase that held the money not that it would be needed, then straightened, smoothing down his suit??s jacket and subtly checking his holster. A little further on he could hear the doors opening the slamming as men escorted two hostages with them. -------------------------- Oh wasn't it a wonderful thing, that he'd been sent out like this. Russel was not an outstanding member. He had not done anything amazing, he was not a person you could count on, and he wasn't related to any of the top members. So why had he been sent out? Well, he'd been lucky enough to show up that day. This was a full time job, managing stolen money, shooting people, creating an underground world of chaos. But Russel rarely showed up for it. Perhaps that was why he'd been stuck in this position, toting around this little shithead. Maybe the boss saw it as some kind of punishment. And honestly it was a punishment. Russel was a good shot. Probably one of the best they had. But under pressure he was horrible, and fucked up. That was why he had been out for a while. He'd gotten shot in the thigh, and that bugger took quite a while to heal up. He was wearing a dark suit, probably black from the looks of it, or a dark blue. Under it he had on a dress shirt, minus the tie. His pants matched the jacket, and he stood beside a male that was considerably shorter than him. This male next to him was the idiot his boss had sent out to collect the money and the hostages. Little shit. Hadn't stopped talking to Russel the whole car ride. He was not tall, Russel, but he was not short either. There was a rather nice illusion to his suit and form that made him look taller than he actually was. The suit was tighter, and he was quite slim. Of course he was lean, muscular. But not on the broad shouldered side. He'd never really liked the way those men walked. His hair was a sandy color, and it blew wildly in his face. It was not long, but not short either. Just like his figure. The longest it probably fell was to just below his ear, and it was layered so it stuck up in awkward places. There was a faint amount of hair on the edges of his jaw, close to his ear, and a bit in little patches on his chin. Hey. He hadn't expected this. And he wasn't even the one doing business today. Who said he needed to look professional to see that everything went properly. This little shit between he and his partner didn't seem to want to stop talking even now as they walked from the car. Russel rolled two vibrant green eyes, so green they looked quite unnatural. There were four of them altogether. Two holding the hostages, the short male in the middle, who was sent to do the talking, and Russel. Russel really seemed to stand out among them all. Honestly, he could probably talk much better than this wise ass could. The male next to him was probably in his mid thirties. Almost forty. Russel was twenty-seven. He glanced forward, spotting the other men in front of them. Oh god he hoped this went smoothly. He didn't want two months of recuperation again. Nor did he really want to die. ----------------------- Imasuke stepped forward, holding his hands out. Cultural differences and all. White people tended to want to shake hands. ??Thank you so much for coming here today,? he said, a wide smile curling his lips. Pretty, but it??d be better if the expression actually crinkled the skin of his eyes. As it was, the smile was empty, fake. Oh, he could pull off a proper smile, but everyone knew this ??Family?? was an enemy of the Ishikawa. It??d be too much to suddenly be best chums, it??d put them on edge. The man he was dealing with was short, with a face that would blend easily into a crowd. Imasuke didn??t recognize him, and he filed away the affront he was one of the best negotiators publicly, privately, he had much better uses, and they sent some random lackey. His smile widened as the short, stubby man stepped forward as well, taking his hands. ??May this be good for both our families, yes?? His English was tinged with an affected accent, part of the ??harmless?? faade, and he rested his hand on the other??s forearm, taking in the other men. Three older faces and one young one, with lambent green eyes. His grandfather had once collected sea glass, and he could remember one of the polished pieces being that same colour, and after staring at scores of brown and black eyes, these were a pleasure. A shame he??d be dead soon. He nodded politely to each, then turned back to say something to his men in Japanese. ??Bring the hostages forward.? He imagined at least one of the four of the rival family would have a translating piece in, so he didn??t risk any last minute detail-checking. This plan would work, or it would not, and there was nothing that could be done now about it. The slim man turned back, pushing hair out of his face. He kept his eyes, one coffee brown, the other black, on the little chubby one, though he wanted to see Green Eyes?? gaze before he died a real shame, yes. ??Forgive us. You must see, we??re nervous. If your, ah, how do you call, your Senior had not requested such an open area, we would not have thought to come to a place like this.? Imasuke turned his wrist over, checking his watch casually. ??Well, then. It??s twelve now.? Two minutes, he thought, setting his internal clock. ??Shall we conduct business so we can be off to lunch?? ---------------------- Russel didn't like the middle man the second he saw him. He wasn't even sure what it was, but something about the other really bothered him. Later on, that would prove to be quite true. Maybe it was the fake smile, or maybe it was the feminine air he had about him. It reminded him of women, and women were so damn careless. He'd pretty much given up on them a while ago. Not because he didn't like them. They were well enough. They just bitched and moaned like it was nobodies fucking business. Then again too much friendliness was bad as well. This male in front of him though... He was smiling. Not too friendly. But the kind Russel had seen girls give him when all they really wanted was a good boning. This was not the way he wanted somebody of an opposing gang smiling at him. Definitely not. The short fat man stepped forward and shook Imasuke's hand. Russel didn't pay much attention to this, his eyes were still focused on the man. He noticed the other take a little attention to him, and Russel didn't avert his eyes from the shorter man. He could give less a fuck about Japanese culture, or about what were the right code of conduct or manners for the situation. This male would just have to fucking deal. Russel wouldn't have made a very good negotiator. He got angry far too quickly, and got nervous almost just as quickly. As stated before, he was a great shot. He could shoot a gun almost like no other, but if he got nervous his hand got shaky, and there that went and got all screwed up. Perhaps Russel was a little under-appreciating of other cultures and customs. Hell, he was under-appreciating of just about everything that didn't go along with what he liked. What a stubborn bastard. The fat man nodded his head and nodded backwards to the two men who were holding Imasuke's own hostages and beckoned them forward. All the while Russel kept his eyes on Imasuke. ------------------------- That fat face smiled widely. He was a ruddy man, with bright eyes. ??Of course. And let me say, this is a pleasure for us.? At least he was polite, Imasuke thought, that thin, mysterious smile on his lips. Better than Green Eyes, who kept staring at him and probably not for a good reason. One minute, twenty-five seconds. Green Eyes wouldn??t look away, and the small Japanese man met his gaze calmly for a moment, then looked away to the others. Maybe he was a designer kid, but most people didn??t give up children they paid good money for to a gang. Not that low, at least, not to be hired muscle. A few of the higher ups had heirs that had been genetically designed at birth, everything down to the hair thickness, but that was as much a sign of wealth as their trophy wives who paid surrogate mothers to birth pretty babies. ??Perhaps they have not be so in the past, but may our families both prosper from our dealings henceforth.? Fifty-five seconds. The hostages were exchanged, both pairs surly. Imasuke kept that same polite smile on his lips. Green Eyes was still looking, and it annoyed him. He??d aim for right between those eyes when he killed him to make himself feel better. ??And let this???? ??Cops!? One of his own men shouted, pulling Imasuke back into a bear hug. Now he could hear the bullet, felt the shock as it hit his bodyguard. One of hostages went down, gurgling. Imasuke reached under his arm for his holster, taking careful aim as smoke started to fill the area. There was screaming, too, civilians caught in the middle of a nasty confrontation. The smoke was necessary, acrid as it was, but the negotiator had put lenses in his eyes today to guard against it. Wouldn't help the lack of visibility, though. One shot, and he took down the chubby man, hearing the scream if not the thud as he slumped down. One of the cops one of their own, he recognized that nose shot the second hostage, but there were more of the Feds there then their own men. And they??d been early. Damn it. He squinted, nose and throat burning as he took aim and fired at Green Eyes. His second bodyguard took that moment to grab him, making his hand jerk. Too low! Didn??t matter. The cops would get the rest, having instituted a ??shoot first, ask later?? policy with the gangs. ---------------------- Russel was pretty much disgusted by the men that he'd been sent out with. He knew none of them, except one of the men who was holding a hostage. And even then, he knew him only by name. That's what being out for a while did to your reputation and your knowledge. He'd been out shooting just in the morning, and some shit ass kids thought they could come in and outshow him. How idiotic. What were they, twenty-one, twenty-two? They'd quickly be picked off. He'd seen it all before. The origins of Russel might have actually made Imasuke laugh. Not because other's could easily find it funny, but the other's interest in his eyes would make it quite humorous. He -was- actually a designer baby. One that had been requested by height, hair color, fitness, and... Eye color. One of the higher ups of this very gang had requested his birth. Specialized in the most complex of ways. He'd been conceived, and all was well. But after birth, it came to everybody's attention. The color of his eyes. Funny, that wealthy people could be so picky as to throw a child away simply because of the color of their eyes. It was also quite funny that somebody would request a dark brown, instead of the vibrant green blue that inhibited his irises. The male had been a rebel from the start, even from conception. Honestly, it made sense. The boss that had requested the child was going to raise him as his own. And anything that made you stick out in a gang, such as green eyes was not considered a good thing by any means. He didn't want his child being able to be picked out by an assassin so easily as that. So Russel had been tossed aside, a reject test tube baby. His surrogate mother had chosen to keep him, instead of throwing him away with some idle civilians. And when he was old enough to, he joined the very gang that had rejected him. His mind of course, had not wandered to these depths while they stood there. He was still concerned about what this bi-eye colored male had in mind for this. Only a few seconds later he figured it out with the shout. His eyes searched around wildly, and when he realized there was a slow smoke filling the area, he growled and his green eyes went back to trying to drill a hole through Imasuke's head. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as he reached down to pull out his hand gun, only to be met with Imasuke's gun aimed at his head. He was quite far from the other, but if shot at from this distance, a shot to the head would be deadly. Perhaps it was a good thing then that it hit him on the side of his torso. Just on the edge between his bulletproof vest and his skin. Russel felt the bullet pierce his skin, but it didn't exit. Fuck. It wasn't even that deep either. But a more animalistic instinct took over and he fell to the ground. A groan was murmured from his lips, and he felt a cold sweat build up on the back of his neck. This was it, huh? He was going to die now. Not from this puny wound to his side, but from being trampled, or being shot at while still on the ground. Cowards. Hell, he was one too. How long had it taken him to even think about pulling out his gun?! Mentally, Russel cursed himself. Maybe he deserved this. He wasn't good at doing this under pressure. He wasn't good at anything. Except perhaps defying everything he stood up against, including fate. And that was exactly what he did when one of the Ishikawa grabbed him up and pulled him towards the van, practically tossing him behind it. For a second, Russel wasn't sure what he should do, so he just sat there staring forward. He could have very easily run away, but something kept him from that. Perhaps the pure surprise at the fact he'd been pulled out of harms way by one of his own enemies was what kept him frozen there. --------------------------- Imasuke ducked into the limo, his surviving bodyguard pulling his head down, covering him with his body and keeping him below glass level. ??Ike!? he shouted. Go!, though that was unnecessary. The driver was experienced. As soon as the shooting had started, he had the car ready, cigarette gripped between his crooked teeth. Even now, he had his foot on the gas, the limo squealing as the wheels tried for traction, found it, and they were gone. ??Damn. The suitcase,? the thin man growled, sitting up and straightening his suit once they were a few kilometers away. They had dropped the suitcase. That had been Sasaki??s job, but the big brute had gone and got himself killed. That would come out of flesh, it would, the missing money, but Imasuke would dance and plead till his superior sent him away with a lighter punishment. After all, the job had gone off well, they had got their two men back and this would be the perfect spark on the short fuse the gangs had around here. Two years of drought had lead to high prices for water and food rations and the Ishikawa had their hands all in the necessities black market. Fighting would just make things better. ??Some hobo??s going to jizz in his pants finding that suitcase, eh, older brother?? Imasuke glared at the driver looking back at him in the rearview window. Boring, brown eyes. Not like Green Eyes, who was probably dead by now. Was dead by now. No probably about it. He sighed, punching the button that raised another polarized window between the driver and the back. The man was cocky. He knew, after all, the skill involved in being a good driver, knew he was safe. The ride back was uneventful. Quiet, too, save for the small screen in the back. Public news, but no matter how tight the Gov kept the bad news, it always managed to leak. Imasuke watched, hunched over the screen and taking in every bit of filtered information. Wait. Six bodies? There should have been seven. Had his men pulled away the body of their fallen brother? Before he had even finished that thought, his phone rang. Imasuke flipped it open, pressing the slim medal device against his ear, motioning to the bodyguard to turn down the volume. ??Hello?? ??Murakami.? Shit. That was Nakata, the second in his territory. And something in his voice told Imasuke something was wrong. ??Our older brother will want to see you when you get here.? Shit. Shit, fuck, shit. Imasuke answered in the affirmative, thoughtless. Nakata??s words were clipped, careful. Something was wrong. He sat back, flipping the phone shut with an irritated click. Thirty year old gang members didn??t sulk, but what he did on the remainder of the way back was something very much like it. Nakata??s man was waiting for him when the limo pulled up to the Ishikawa??s main house. Imasuke wasn??t quite sure what his superior??s real family name was territory bosses took the surname of the family to add to the illusion. The house was beautiful, with a well-tended garden that took enough water to keep a family hydrated for a month every day. One of Ishikawa??s many maids took his suit jacket and shoes, giving him a pair of slippers for walking in the place, and led him to the center room. He never got used to the opulence. Hell, it he was even walking on real wood, no imitation being able to creak just like that. The maid knelt down in front of a finely painted sliding door, kimono sleeves brushing the ground as she slid open the door carefully then pressed her head to the floor. Damn. Ishikawa was already entertai?? That was Kim, an uppity and ambitious Korean. He had one of the men from earlier who had been in charge of the hostages there and? damn! Green eyes! A roughed up and unbandaged Green Eyes, but the white kid none the less. Imasuke almost didn??t have time to school his face into a bland expression before he dropped to his knees in front of Ishikawa, head pressed to the ground. ??Ah. Murakami. Brother Kim here was just explaining his good fortune at saving what we hope could be a useful member.? Imasuke didn??t look up. He knew Ishikawa??s rough, angular face. Knew Kim??s look of triumph, too, having showed up his peer. Damn him. ??It seems that this one might fetch a bit of a price. A thrown off son and all. One would think this only happened in stories.? He chuckled, a deep rumble in his throat. ??You may sit up, Murakami.? ------------------------ A grin curled up on Russel's face when he saw that suitcase sitting there so abandoned. If anything made his day, that did. Not even that he was saved. He watched as the man with the strange smile drove away. He'd known. He'd known before it happened, and he'd done nothing. Not that he regretted it because of his fallen comrades. More so because it would be a pain to explain this. That, and he had a fucking bullet under his skin. Not deep, but it was still there. But before he could relish in this accomplishment, he was snatched up by the collar. This male grinned at him, then hit him on the side of the head, a pressure point. That was all that he had remembered. He'd been shoved into a van and driven off. When they'd arrived at the residence, Russel had just been coming to. He was swearing and cursing up a storm, until he realized he was surrounded completely by people who could kill him in a second. Russel had his hands tied behind his back, and he looked in an unshapely state. There was blood on his shirt, from where the bullet had pierced, and a few scrapes on his face. Those were probably from the rough housing. His hands were tied behind his back, and he was sitting 'comfortably' on the ground. He snickered when he saw Iwasuke bowing to Ishikawa. This male that had been in charge just a while ago was now bowing, almost before him. There was an obvious grin on his face, even though this situation was not in his favor at all. But he found it at his liberty to speak then. Price? Haha. Like anybody would pay anything for me. They don't give a shit. Why do you think they tossed me off in the first place? This was probably not something to say to somebody who was holding you captive. In most cases, hearing something like that would cause the captor to take the captive out back and shoot him.