Post by Remy Nakamura on Mar 8, 2021 9:39:25 GMT -6
She calls herself Mistress Yin and claims to be a simple -- but successful -- madam, looking to ply her trade in Vegas. Women aren’t in short supply here, although most of them have gone underground; holed up in casinos and unwilling to emerge for fear of being caught by Corey Bull’s allies. Miss Yin claims to have ways to guarantee safety, for her girls and for her clients.
Shibata knows there’s more to it than she’s letting on. For one thing, she’s White Lotus, and pretty high up in the hierarchy, if she’s arranging meetings with Yakuza bosses. So while the old man hosts her for tea, it’s up to Mako and me to do a little investigating. Not really our line, but we’re short-handed these days and everyone’s pulling double duty.
It takes a little doing, but a couple of tips lead us to a shuttered restaurant over on South Las Vegas Boulevard. Boarded up windows and a broken sign make the place look desolate on the outside; the heavy-duty locks on the doors, however, tell a different story. A few moments of work with a lockpick, and Mako has it open. Inside, the place is a study in overstated opulence. A crystal chandelier hangs over the wide space; thick crimson carpet absorbs the sounds of our footsteps; private booths are sectioned off behind ornate wooden screens. I peek inside one of the booths to find a long, thin pipe and a thick, tarry residue smeared on a porcelain dish. Above me, I can hear the faint sounds of creaking bedsprings and the hint of a low moan. Mako glances past me to the paraphernalia on the table.
”It’s not just a brothel,” he whispers. ”It’s an opium den.”
”That wasn’t part of the agreement. The old man won’t be happy about this. Let’s go.”
”Yeah… about that…”
His tone puts me on edge. Slowly, I turn to face about a dozen dudes, all pointing guns at us. Mako and I exchange a glance.
”Well, so much for discretion.”
Everything happens in a blur. The gunmen aren’t expecting resistance, and they’re damn sure not about to cause any damage to Mistress Yin’s place. Mako and I are under no such compunctions. I rip the wood screen free of the booth -- not a difficult task, since it’s mostly decorative -- and hurl it at the assailants. That’s all the distraction we need to make a break for the door. A couple of them decide to try and block our exit. Mako responds with a short-arm clothesline; I go for a knee kick and follow up with an enzuigiri. Another gives chase, and gets a double superkick for his trouble. The door is within easy reach, but once we’re outside, they won’t hesitate to shoot.
Bad for us. Worse for civilians. Fortunately, I’d had the foresight to stash my sword just outside. As we slip through the door, I snatch it up and unsheath it in a single motion. The blade slices through the barrel of the first gun to emerge as if it were a plastic toy. A quick jab with the handle bloodies the man’s nose and sends him staggering back. Two more come after us, and are battered back with the same ease. My blade orients itself toward them, as if of its own accord -- and I can’t be sure it isn’t, to be honest.
”The boss said no killing!” Mako hisses.
I give him a nod and we take off down an alley. The gunmen come after us, but the alley is narrow and they can only come two at a time. Easy enough, even without the sword. I sheathe the blade again and use it as a club instead. The fight is over in seconds, mainly owing to the fact that none of these men are trained fighters. They’re thugs with guns. No skill, no finesse.
Coincidentally, just like my opponent this week.
With the immediate danger past, I focus my thoughts on the tournament. It helps to steady my mind, and quells the impulse to draw my blade again. I don’t even want to; but the sword does. It wants to turn back, finish the battle. Every time I hold it, I have to fight the urge to strike something down. Maybe it’s just my imagination. Maybe the story Oyabun told me about it got me shook.
Either way, I have to distract myself, so I consider Jason Wilds. Simply thinking the name calms the sword’s influence, as if he’s so unworthy a target that the Ryohoko o kiru ha would rather remain dormant than bother with him at all. And for what it’s worth, the sword would be right. The best that can be said about the man is that he’s an imbecile. A dedicated fuckup. How he even got into the tournament is beyond me, except that maybe the powers that be decided we needed some kind of comic relief. This shit has been getting pretty intense lately.
Even so, he may be a moron, but he’s got friends, and between the three of them, there might be one complete, functioning brain. I’ll have to watch for the other two, but at least I’ll have the old man in my corner. He’ll put a stop to their shenanigans real quick-like. Speaking of the old man, Mako and I better hurry. He won’t like it if we’re late checking in.
Kneeling on cushions just outside the doors of the tea room, Mako and I watch as the door swings open and Mistress Yin sweeps past, flanked by a pair of bodyguards. Her hair is a cascade of pure silver, flowing loose over her shoulders and down her back. Dark eyes dart suspiciously around the room, never settling on either of us, even for a moment. A cold chill surrounds her and steals the air from our lungs. As soon as she’s out of sight, the chill dissipates and we can breathe. A sharp call from within brings us to our feet, and we hustle in, offering a deep bow before we settle on the empty seats at the table.
”As you suspected, Oyabun, there’s more to Mistress Yin’s business than she let on,” I tell him.
”Opium,” Mako elaborates.
Shibata gives a brief nod.
”She indicated she might want to branch out; she never said she already had. Duplicity isn’t a healthy start to a business relationship. I take it you gentlemen left a calling card?”
”We didn’t exactly trash the place,” I reply, ”but she’ll know we were there. In fact, I get the impression we were expected.”
”It would have been foolish of her not to have anticipated us, Remy. Now we have our cards on the table, plain to see.”
”That woman’s got one up her sleeve,” Mako says.
”Of course she does. And so do we....”
Shibata knows there’s more to it than she’s letting on. For one thing, she’s White Lotus, and pretty high up in the hierarchy, if she’s arranging meetings with Yakuza bosses. So while the old man hosts her for tea, it’s up to Mako and me to do a little investigating. Not really our line, but we’re short-handed these days and everyone’s pulling double duty.
It takes a little doing, but a couple of tips lead us to a shuttered restaurant over on South Las Vegas Boulevard. Boarded up windows and a broken sign make the place look desolate on the outside; the heavy-duty locks on the doors, however, tell a different story. A few moments of work with a lockpick, and Mako has it open. Inside, the place is a study in overstated opulence. A crystal chandelier hangs over the wide space; thick crimson carpet absorbs the sounds of our footsteps; private booths are sectioned off behind ornate wooden screens. I peek inside one of the booths to find a long, thin pipe and a thick, tarry residue smeared on a porcelain dish. Above me, I can hear the faint sounds of creaking bedsprings and the hint of a low moan. Mako glances past me to the paraphernalia on the table.
”It’s not just a brothel,” he whispers. ”It’s an opium den.”
”That wasn’t part of the agreement. The old man won’t be happy about this. Let’s go.”
”Yeah… about that…”
His tone puts me on edge. Slowly, I turn to face about a dozen dudes, all pointing guns at us. Mako and I exchange a glance.
”Well, so much for discretion.”
Everything happens in a blur. The gunmen aren’t expecting resistance, and they’re damn sure not about to cause any damage to Mistress Yin’s place. Mako and I are under no such compunctions. I rip the wood screen free of the booth -- not a difficult task, since it’s mostly decorative -- and hurl it at the assailants. That’s all the distraction we need to make a break for the door. A couple of them decide to try and block our exit. Mako responds with a short-arm clothesline; I go for a knee kick and follow up with an enzuigiri. Another gives chase, and gets a double superkick for his trouble. The door is within easy reach, but once we’re outside, they won’t hesitate to shoot.
Bad for us. Worse for civilians. Fortunately, I’d had the foresight to stash my sword just outside. As we slip through the door, I snatch it up and unsheath it in a single motion. The blade slices through the barrel of the first gun to emerge as if it were a plastic toy. A quick jab with the handle bloodies the man’s nose and sends him staggering back. Two more come after us, and are battered back with the same ease. My blade orients itself toward them, as if of its own accord -- and I can’t be sure it isn’t, to be honest.
”The boss said no killing!” Mako hisses.
I give him a nod and we take off down an alley. The gunmen come after us, but the alley is narrow and they can only come two at a time. Easy enough, even without the sword. I sheathe the blade again and use it as a club instead. The fight is over in seconds, mainly owing to the fact that none of these men are trained fighters. They’re thugs with guns. No skill, no finesse.
Coincidentally, just like my opponent this week.
With the immediate danger past, I focus my thoughts on the tournament. It helps to steady my mind, and quells the impulse to draw my blade again. I don’t even want to; but the sword does. It wants to turn back, finish the battle. Every time I hold it, I have to fight the urge to strike something down. Maybe it’s just my imagination. Maybe the story Oyabun told me about it got me shook.
Either way, I have to distract myself, so I consider Jason Wilds. Simply thinking the name calms the sword’s influence, as if he’s so unworthy a target that the Ryohoko o kiru ha would rather remain dormant than bother with him at all. And for what it’s worth, the sword would be right. The best that can be said about the man is that he’s an imbecile. A dedicated fuckup. How he even got into the tournament is beyond me, except that maybe the powers that be decided we needed some kind of comic relief. This shit has been getting pretty intense lately.
Even so, he may be a moron, but he’s got friends, and between the three of them, there might be one complete, functioning brain. I’ll have to watch for the other two, but at least I’ll have the old man in my corner. He’ll put a stop to their shenanigans real quick-like. Speaking of the old man, Mako and I better hurry. He won’t like it if we’re late checking in.
~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~
”As you suspected, Oyabun, there’s more to Mistress Yin’s business than she let on,” I tell him.
”Opium,” Mako elaborates.
Shibata gives a brief nod.
”She indicated she might want to branch out; she never said she already had. Duplicity isn’t a healthy start to a business relationship. I take it you gentlemen left a calling card?”
”We didn’t exactly trash the place,” I reply, ”but she’ll know we were there. In fact, I get the impression we were expected.”
”It would have been foolish of her not to have anticipated us, Remy. Now we have our cards on the table, plain to see.”
”That woman’s got one up her sleeve,” Mako says.
”Of course she does. And so do we....”