Chapters One-Six

“As the YOSA strike drags into its fourth week today, many analysts question the decision of chairman, Chow Yakamoto, not to meet the demands of the—“

Chow ripped the plug from the back of his radio. The last month had been incredibly stressful for him, almost driving him to an early grave. He glanced at his timepiece: 17:23. It would be best to take the elevator today, after all, at half past the hour he had a meeting with Kenji Hokoyama... Normally he took the stairs, and the funny thing was, his arthritis should have prevented him doing so, many moons ago. It must have been his amazing resilience that allowed him, twice a day, to take the one-thousand-two-hundred and twenty one step trek to the 42nd floor without fail every day for the last nine years.


As chairman of YOSA Pharmaceuticals he undoubtedly was a powerful man, with the bank account to boot. Yet for all his wealth, he was eerily humble-living in rented accommodation in a backwater Tokyo suburb for the best part of 20 years. Chow quickly snapped himself out of a day-dream as the lift doors glided open, and hobbled through with the aid of a cane.

A couple of minutes later he emerged at the ground floor. No matter how many times he had walked through the lobby, he had always found himself dumbstruck by its grandeur. Colossal marble pillars rose from the ground to almost sixty feet above him. A crystal like lattice roof stretched as far as he could see, normally reflecting on the tiled flooring. However, iin the last few weeks it had become increasingly grubby. The halls were all but deserted, the half-dozen security staff nowhere to be seen.

He tottered towards the seemingly never-ending row of metal detectors, and suddenly a splitting pain ripped through his midsection. A bullet had torn through his stomach, which was now teeming with blood. He knew his time had come. In vain he tried to walk on, but his legs would not allow it. He fell to his knees and let out a wretch of pain. Exactly four seconds later another echo rang through the lobby of YOSA Pharmaceuticals.

Instantly Chow fell to the ground, his frail body clattering off the marble floor like a ragdoll. His attacker casually put his Type 77 back into his suit pocket, before confidently walking toward Chow’s now decrepit body. “Excellent”
He muttered. Pulling a digital camera no bigger than a matchbox from his pocket, the murderer hastily snapped a few pictures of the blood splattered corpse, and before the clocks had knelled half past, the assailant was all but a fleeting shadow in the dimmed streets of suburban Tokyo





Chapter 1


The insidious ringing of the alarm clock had driven Iain Mattheson to the brink of insanity. The torture in he had faced when a mercenary was nothing compared to this. He jolted upward in his bed and ripped the battery from the clock, throwing it across the room where it landed among a pile of discarded motor parts
On his rusting bedside cabinet lay a half-empty bottle of contraband Jack Daniels- on its side amongst a pile of barbiturates- which stared menacingly at him- the dark of ether, too attractive to ignore.

For the last sixteen months he had been living in the Rosana Templar apartments. Unmaintained for the best part of ten years, Rosana Templar had come to house the rejects and castaways of Tokyo.

Increasingly of late, drink and drugs had become the most important things in Iain's life. Having lost his wife, his father, his house and his job, all in the last six months, he could hardly be blamed for turning to alcohol. In fact, most days found him more drunk than sober. Iain Mattheson was a wreck, both emotionally and physically. The Jack Daniels hit him hard, the soothing bitterness numbing his angst. When he had moved to Japan with his wife, nineteen years ago, he had never dreamed he would end up a drunken vagrant in an urban ghetto.

lf only he know he would end up a drunken vagrant in an urban ghetto. His room was fresh with the smell of ammonium from the makeshift crack lab above him.

The sharp smell of ammonia drifted through the ceiling, from the makeshift crack lab on the floor above. He didn't know what was worse: the thundering bass of heavy metal music blaring twenty four hours a day, or the muffled moans of lust from the brothel below him. Even in his sleep his inner demons tormented him, turning dreams into nightmares.

The first grey light of dawn crept through his grime encrusted window, and he buried his head beneath his pillow, trying to escape the hammering beat of the gang-bangers boom box in the next room. Someone hollered, cutting through the booze induced fog that shrouded his aching head. The hammering continued. It wasn't the boom-box; it was somebody banging on his door.
Rousing from his drink-induced coma, his hand dove beneath his pillow as he fumbled for his pistol. He grabbed it with one hand and pulled the door open with the other.


“Yeah, what the fuck do you want?” He shouted.
“Iain Mattheson?”
“Mabye...”
“We are... here on behalf of your... previous employers wife, Mrs Yamamoto's”

Ahhh, those were the days- sketchy memories of trips to Paris, Milan, Lisbon, Rome and New York, flashed before him. Guarding Chow Yamamoto had been the golden years. All ruined at a conference thirteen years ago. All because he had turned up late for work, he should have been at Chow's side, instead- he was finishing a shot of Tequila in a Manhattan bar. That year- 1994- was also the year of the YOSA re-forms. Chow had made redundant 400 Eastern Seaboard employees, and was a target for attacks, but under the watchful eye of Iain Mattheson he came to no harm. But the day he wasn't with Chow, a disgruntled employee managed to plunge a 4 inch blade into his back- narrowly missing his lung. Chow was hospitalized for 21 days, and was very lucky to escape with his life. Iain wasn't so lucky- the moment Chow arrived back in Tokyo he fired Iain, with no redundancy package.

“Mr Mattheson” One of the men shouted, snapping Iain from his thoughts.

"What does she want with me? And how in the hell did you find me?"


“I would rather not discuss that here, I would prefer if you came to this address—and please... Please clean yourself up before you visit.”

One of the men passed Iain a small bit of paper, he assumed, with the address on it.

“Why the hell should I trust you guys, you show up at my lot, unannounced, scare the living crap out of me and tell me I should turn up at an apartment the other side of town?”

One of the men began to plead: “Please, Mr Mattheson, you know about Chow, you have information that we need, we are representatives of Chow's guard. Chow was found dead--
the other man lifted his hand to motion the other to stop. He did so immediately.

Overcome with a cocktail of sadness, bitterness, resentment and anger, Iain did not know what to do, but he knew he wanted to find out more.

“Fine, I'll be there” he said.

“Excellent” replied the suits in unison. “We will leave to allow you to prepare at once”

“Whatever” replied Iain, closing the door.

He returned to his unkempt bed and sat for a moment, scrubbing his fingers through his hair as he tried to figure out what the hell he had just agreed to. His visitors had been telling the truth when they claimed to be Okamoto's men -- they wore his insignia on the breast pocket of those eight hundred dollar suits. Chow was dead; that alone he could barely stomach. As much as he hated the man, he respected the fact that it hadn't been for Chow, he'd still be working the nightshift at the local superstore.

“Well, I'm not going to learn anything here, may as well check out this address” he thought. He had one good suit left, it sat untouched in his makeshift wardrobe, made out of a car bonnet and engine pieces scavenged from the local automotive factory.

This was his wedding suit, of all the items that had came and gone, he cherished this most. His wife may have left for the states with another man, but this did nothing but strengthen his feelings for her. He ran his fingers up and down the suit, before replacing it in the wardrobe. After a quick shower, he reached for his razor blade. Painful memories unveiled as he did so- just two weeks prior he had tried to end his life. With sheer willpower he forced these thoughts from his mind, shaved and got into the suit.

He closed his door behind him, and ran the gauntlet down a dimly lit corridor littered with human excrement, urine and discarded syringes. Crossing the road, to the train station, he waited for the 0821 service, which was running thirteen minutes late.
























CHAPTER 2


Four men of Afro-Carribbean origin confidently strutted toward the refuge entrance from a parked Cadillac. They walked through the lobby unchallenged- the attendant was up to his eyes on drugs, and couldn't tell the difference between a smackhead and the Queen of England. Marching up the stairs, they navigated around the urine-stenched hallways until they reached Room 101. Stopping outside, they drew their weapons, before the most muscular of the quartet gave the door an almighty kick. The door buckled, coming flying off its hinges, reverberating on the floorboards. Three of the men ran in, the smallest waiting at the entrance. The others ran in militaristically, guns raised, firing in every direction- unloading two clips each. After thirty seconds of non-interrupted firing, besides stopping to reload, the smallest of the group ran in, and shouted for the others to stop. For his lack of stature, he made up in ruthlessness. Reggie “Tiny” Tang, and his gang of thugs were the number one contract killers in the area. Man, Women or Child, if the money was right- the hit was on.

Although, much to Reggies's annoyance, today appeared to not be at all like the other 193 hits. Their mark wasn't at home. Their intel, provided off-site by a fifth member, was obviously flawed. The three henchmen braced themselves one of the outbursts Reggie was famous for. Instead, monotonously he murmured:

“You guys go wait in the car. I'll catch up with you in a minute.”

The hoodlums shuffled out the room silently, relieved to not have a bullet in their kneecap. Jester meanwhile seized the opportunity to open a barrel of gasoline that had been conveniently left in the apartment He uncapped the top and moved from side to side as he emptied the drums contents across every last corner. When the drum had emptied, he threw it across the room into the bullet-riddled wall. As he walked out, from his pocket he pulled a four-foot long string of wire. He led this wire from the middle of the room to the entrance. Fumbling in his pocket for a Zippo Lighter, he noticed a figure making its way up the corridor. Instantly his training kicked in, in a millisecond he pulled a Colt 1911 from his pocket, aimed, then pulled the trigger four times at the target. Instantly, the shadow fell to the ground. In a flash he re-holstered his gun and drew the lighter, set fire to the wire, and ran down the corridor for the exit. He figured he would have 45 seconds to get out of here- it should be enough- but then again-politicians shouldn't tell lies. He was never a man to have a fallback plan, but his way had suited him in the past, and no matter the circumstances he had managed to pull the job off. Sprinting down the corridor, he did not stop to look at his latest victim, or the look of terror painted on his face. Thirty seconds later he emerged from the lobby, kicking his way through the sliding doors- smashing the glass while doing so. The car had been started up by his faithful sidekick and half-brother- Chink Tang. The other two goons sat in the back.

By the time he had shifted into second gear, a fireball ripped through the first floor window.







CHAPTER 3

Iain figured it was only a five minute walk at most from Shinjuku Station to the listed destination. This side of town couldn't be further from the area he had came from. It almost reminded him of Middle America. Row upon row of two story houses stretched down the street as far as he could see, the pavements lined by knee-high shrubs with not a hint of litter in site. Kids played happily, with not a care in the world. Iain felt as if he could stand all day and watch this community go about their day to day tasks, it was so tranquil. And he would, if there weren't more pressing matters at hand- the chairman of a multi-national pharmaceutical company had been found dead. It was sixty-seven year old Chow Yamamoto. This was what made the murder even more bizarre- Chow was sixty-seven, frail, and crippled from an earlier murder attempt.

Sure, he had his share of enemies, but he could be taken care of via other methods- not murder. His wife would in no doubt be distraught, but Iain did not want to end up playing the part of a reluctant comforter come investigator. He was here to see if Chow had left anything for him in the will. His stash of money back at the apartment was running low- he guessed he had a week of drinking and drug money at most. When that ran out, he would go into a force detox- which would probably kill him.

After a walk lasting about ten minutes, he found the address in question: 3244 Kongini Row. He knocked twice, with a quite tentative knock. When he watched the handle turn downward he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. But he could not have guessed what lay on the other side.

The door was answered by a fairly burly looking man, dressed immaculately in a black pinstripe suit, who initially overpowered Iain with a whiff of Versace from his neck.
He spoke, his English much clearer than earlier.
“I'm glad you could make it Mr Mattheson, please, right this way”

Iain followed him through to the living room, which was filled with expensive goods. A '42 plasma television sat in the corner, directly below a glass chandelier. In the middle sat a mahogany coffee table, atop a white rug. On one side of the table was a three-seat leather settee, on the other an extravagantly expensive fireplace. On the couch sat who he presumed to be Mrs Yamamoto, and another man, at least twenty-years her junior, with his arm around her. Presumably, relative.

She proceeded to light a cigarette, take a large draw, and perform perhaps the most eloquent French-inhale he had been at liberty to witness. She held her cigarette between her nicotine-stained fingers, and in between frequent draws began to address Iain:

“That....That Bastard Chow! Thirty-three years I had known him. I loved him, cared for him and cherished him. While he went globe-trekking I stayed here and made sure everything was okay for him when he got back. I had to put up with the hate mail, bomb threats and harassment that came with marrying him. Everything that damaged Chow, hit me with a vengeance. And in the last year or so, it has become unbearable.”

She paused to take a lung-busting drag on her cigarette

“I had no one to turn to, and then I met Siag. He was there for me when I needed him, and gave me all the love a woman could ever have asked for. Two weeks ago we were making love when Chow decided to come home early from work. He caught us in bed together. And I do think you know that Chow was a man of morals- the next day after this episode I learned he had wrote me out of his will. I have been left with nothing, the house would have been re-possessed if it wasn't for Siag. He is worth two-hundred million dollars, and cannot even leave me a cent! To make matters worse I have had detectives at the door accusing me of murder! I know that you knew Chow well, he talked of you last month- I remember- he wanted to trace you. He knew you were loyal despite him having to sack you. Indeed he said that you were one of the most loyal men who had ever worked for him. He told me a net was closing in on him, and he was desperate to find you. For that reason I ordered my sons to get in touch with you. Please- tell me what you knew of Chow.”

The moment Iain laid eyes on the forty-something man sitting next to Mrs. Yamamoto he wanted to punch the living daylights out of him. Throughout her talking with him, the man had sat with a horrible smugness, a grin beaming on his face from cheek to cheek. The thing that pissed Iain off most was probably how attractive the Chinese man was. His teeth looked liked they had recently been bleached, his hair sat perfect atop his head and his biceps protruded from his shirt- two symmetrical mountains on either side of his chest. His face reminded him of one of a guy he had seen in a strongman competition- couldn't remember who.

“Mr Mattheson?”

“First, I would like to know something of you- what had been going on at Yosa that could have lead to Chows death”

He intently started through the Chinaman while he spoke. He observed that Mrs Yamamoto was immediately taken aback by his question.

“Should I answer that or should you Siag?”
The Chinaman replied “Lieu my dear, I will”

“I first met Lieu three years ago, she was accompaning Chow to a function in Cairo. I do not know how much my sons have told you, but I had held a position at Yosa Pharmaceuticals for the last ten years. I resigned my position the year after I met Lieu- but not due to that. The in-fighting at Yosa had been terrible, especially in the past four-years. You could say the workforce were divided into two armed camps. Those who supported their governmental contracts and those who did not. Chow was completely against the programs- the reasons for which I do not know. Eventually the other board members managed to push through the start of the contracts, and this in turn, lead to a general strike by the workers. The strike has been republished as a protest against Yamamoto's low-pay long hour's policies, but this was merely spin created by a government-controlled media.

The real reason is that many were unhappy at the treatment of Yamamoto by the other board members, and refused to work on the government contracts. At least that is all I know. As for who killed him- I have no clue. The reason why we brought you here is moment is to ask if it is possible of you to see Detective Tang-Lou at the downtown precinct. His unit is in charge of the investigation, and we are begging that you tell him that as an old-friend of Chow, we had no part in the murder. This may seem bizarre to you, but Chow held you in a very high regard, despite the fact he had sacked you. In actual fact he had been trying to find you for the last eight years. Isn't it ironic, that my sons were the ones who finally did so?”

Iain merely managed a mumble-this was information he didn't particularly want to hear. He was not going to be coming embroiled in an investigation into the death of his old employer.

He didn't particularly care for Chow Yamamoto, and he was sure Chow Yamamoto didn't particularly care for him, despite what he was being told. Originally he thought he might be in for some sort of pay-off- that was why he had traveled this distance.

“I'm going to decline that offer, there is nothing in this for me. Nothing at all” He walked toward the door, not caring to look back.

“We will pay for your services!” shouted Mrs Yamamoto.
Now they were talking,
“How much?” inquired Iain.
“Well, Kenji is able to put up six-thousand US initially; we might be able to raise that.”
This was what he had been waiting to hear. He had a measly stash of $400 at the apartment, the offer of $6000 was great- despite the fact that while working for Chow he earned that per month.
“Kenji, that has made me re-consider. But first, I would like to travel to my apartment, collect some items, then I will go and see the Detective. I do not know what use I will be to the investigation, but I will provide whatever I can. However, I must say- with any contract I take out I demand 20% up front.

Kenji smiled,

“That is not a problem, I will need to fetch the money from the bank, I will leave within the next hour and should have the money by tea-time.

“Sounds Good”

Mrs Yamamoto then butted into the conversation

“I could have one of the boys drop you at the police station right away”

Iain lapsed into a momentary panic. He had $200 worth of prescription only barbiturates in his jacket pocket. He didn't have a prescription.

“Thanks for the offer, but no thank you. As I already said, I would like to take care of a few things first- then with haste I will make my way to the station”

“Okay, and Mr Mattheson.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for the help- we have more to tell, but now is not the time”

Before he had a chance to reply he was ushered out by one of the sons. He needed to go back to the Yosana Templar building, preferably before nightfall, plank the barbiturates and make for the Downtown Precinct.








CHAPTER 4


They had been driving for some two hours now, and the occupants of the Cadillac had thankfully almost reached their destination. “Tiny” always made sure they traveled “low-key”. Tiny's main bodyguard- Chink Armstrong- had complained in the past about the state of their transportation, but this had always fallen on deaf ears. He knew better than to not press the issue For the most part, the journey had been silent, these men were business partners- not friends. They hardly had anything in common, except a drive to kill for cash. Originally Reggie met up with the others in 1994 while serving in Colombia as drug-runners. Reggie always fancied himself as a natural leader, and took five members of a drug-smuggling cell and introduced them to the lucrative world of contract killing. South East Asia offered the best contracts, so that is where they went. When they first started, work was almost non-existent. This resulted in descent within the group, and the sixth member- whose name was not discussed- attempted to get out: he stole $40,000 dollars from the groups fund, and then tried to make off with Reggie's yacht. He didn't get very far. Chink Armstrong caught him at the Marina attempting to berthed the boat, complete with a briefcase containing 40,000$. Instead of killing him there and then, he brought him to be dealt with by Reggie personally. Reggie tied him to a chair, and unleashed what many in the underworld rate as the most inhumane beating ever handed out. When the body turned up nine days later in a binbag , the coroner was physically sick. An army operative had to be brought in to perform the autopsy. Word spread like wildfire about the beating, and the guy responsible. Ever since the execution, there had been a standing joke in the criminal fraternity- if you want to make it, kill your partner. This of course was not whispered within earshot of Reggie
TO BE FINALLIESED



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Chapter 5

Iain found himself bewildered by recent events: twelve hours ago he was out of his mind on alcohol and contemplating suicide. Now, he was wearing a suit for the first time in three years, and was being offered six thousand dollars to speak with a police officer. Some would say he'd struck it lucky, but it didn't feel that way. There was still a part of him that felt saddened by the premature death of Chow Yamamoto. Always the optimist, he hoped that Chow had died in a better manner than if the last attempt was successful. From what he had heard, the ambulance that came for Chow in New York had no analgesics, forcing him to suffer in an agony best confined to B movie horror flicks.

Snapping a look at his watch, a tattered circle of leather with a clockface cellotaped to the middle, he snarled to himself:

The train has to be fuckin late when I'm in a hurry.

He had been standing on the platform at Shinjuku station for roughly twenty minutes now, waiting on the 0921 service. It was twenty to ten. Then, he felt a rush of wind from one of tunnels, which signaled the impending arrival of a train. He exhaled a sigh of relief as the train braked to a halt at the station. It was mobbed, mainly with angry suits pissed at the unusual lateness of the morning service. As the train accelerated away from Shinjuku, an announcer cackled over the on-board intercom some gibberish in Japanese. Iain didn't normally pay any attention to the announcements, mainly because he couldn't understand them, but he managed to decipher the voices of two westerners from the Japanese of the other passengers:

“Why do you think they closed Kongi-Arashi....
“ Think it's JRA?”
“Who knows man, who knows”

Fuck! That's my goddamn stop!

He felt tense, anxious- ready for another anxiety attack. Never one to care about the reactions of others, he took out a shot measure of Jack Daniels that he had been carrying about and downed the lot.
Other passengers scaled at him, eyeing him up and down as if he was some sort of parasite.

Slant eyed fuckers.

He didn't pay them any attention, there were more important things on his agenda. It would be best to get off at the stop after Kongini-Ashai.

The next stop was only about two minutes away, and before he knew it he had gotten off the train. As he staggered about the platform, trying to get a sense of direction he unwittingly had become a spectacle of sorts, much to his distaste. Pairs of eyes watched and pointed at him from the safety of the train.
The other element of his military training kicked in- he flashed a one-fingered salute at the train as it pulled away.

Hogini-San station was deserted. Looking in the direction of Kongi-Arashai, he couldn't fail to notice a billowing cloud of smoke rising from beside the station.

Probably another fucking bomb.

In a campaign of terror, the newly formed Japanese Red Army had killed 129 Tokyo citizens and 32 foreigners in the space of seven months. There was no obvious reason for the sudden outburst of attacks, the JRA were thought to have been put out of action in the 1970's. This new wave of terror had the Japanese people fearful, even moreso since the attacks had been completely indiscriminate. One week a school, the next a supermarket. Much had been said by the government about “bringing the terrorists to justice”, but in reality very little had been done. Sure, they did run high-scale campaigns against the JRA, but in-reality their only purpose was as eye-candy for a scavenging media. They turned the capture of a low-rung member last week- a 20 year old Chemistry student- into a “major breakthrough”.

Iain wasn't all that bothered by the plumes of smoke coming from the Kongini district. As long as it didn't directly bother him, he couldn't give a flying fuck. Slowly the environment around him metamorphosised from a respectable, working class suburban community into a shantytown, complete with overgrown gardens, boarded up windows and graffito on every corner, the street hyphenated with cigarette butts. He was nearly within viewing range of the apartments, when he encountered a police road block.

Shit

He reluctantly approached the on-duty officer

“Can I get through to my apartment? It's just round the corner”

The officer must have thought Iain was having a laugh, he was dressed in a suit worth more than a policeman's monthly salary and was saying that he lived in one of the most rundown areas in Tokyo. The officers hardly had a proficient grasp of the English language:

“Name? Name?”

Kim-Jong fuckin Lee

“ Iain Mathheson”

“What room you live?”

Fuck, room? How about the one above the brothel but below the drug factory?

“I haven't looked”

“Two Second! Two Second!

The policeman lifted a radio from his waste belt, and diverting to his natural language, mumbled into the radio. Seconds later, a response filtered through.

“You go round corner and report to mobile room of incident”

You go and stick that radio up your ass.

Iain did not bother giving an acknowledgment to the lawman;
he jogged through the cordon before he had a chance to say anything. He fully expected to be greeted with a blown up train-station, instead, he saw a Gargantua's crater slap bang
in the center of the Rosana Templar apartments.

What the fuck.

The only logical explanation that came to mind would be a gas leak; despite attacking almost anything and everything a hostel wouldn't be high on the JLA list of potential targets. The scene was also surprisingly quiet, the streets had been closed off, and there were no reporters within visual range. The police incident room was a simple tent, which was only partially erect. Iain approached the entrance, when without warning a detective, no more than five feet tall, walked right into him.
Iain, the best part of six and a half foot, strained his neck to look at the little guy at his waste.

“Hello Mr Mattheson, we have been on lookout for you”
“And who the fuck are you?”

The detective was irate at this display, his face turned a shade of red, and a vein bulged in his neck.

“DO NOT TALK IN SUCH A DISRESPECTFUL MANNER. ANY MORE AND I WILL SEE THAT YOU SPEND A WEEK IN NAGOYA PRISON!” The officer paused, his words had left him breathless...
He started back up again, the thousand-decibel tirade pounding in his head.

“MY NAME IS KIM-JONG LEE. YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS DETECTIVE LEE.

Iain chuckled.

Fuck it, he's an asshole

“Calm the hell down little man”

Iain knew as soon as he said it, it was the final straw, but he didn't care.

“THAT IS IT!”

Lee clicked his fingers, upon which four Japaneses men exited the tent, headed for Iain, banging their batons against their thighs.



This served as a reality check: should he run, put up a fight or let them take him. It didn't matter- his thoughts were broken by an unmistakable Alabama twang behind him. He wheeled, and got a taste of heaven. Behind him stood a sight, which could only be described as drop-dead gorgeous. Her skirt was long enough to be respectable, short enough to set thoughts racing in his head. Her brown locks arched and twisted down her back and her eyes twinkled blue with a subtle hint of naughtiness. Iain couldn't give a toss that the four policemen were ready to grab him, this girl made it all worthwhile. She took the detective aside, and whispered in his ear.

What she said was out of earshot, but whatever it was, it was good enough to piss the hell out of Kim-Jong-Lee. He stormed off in the direction of the tent, his officers following. Iain did not know if he should try and speak with her, but it didn't matter. She was already speaking to him, that southern accent, so darn attractive. She shouted over to him.

“Iain Mattheson, right?”

Iain tried to speak, but couldn't manage his words. His brain was overrun with ecstasy. Instead, he nodded.

“Congratulations Iain, you just became Reggie Tang's next target.

Reggie Tang? Who the fuck is Reggie Tang?

Iain was able to stutter out some words.
“Forgive my ignorance- but who the hell are you?”
He kicked himself- that sounded far too harsh than was warranted by the situation.

But all the women did was chuckle, he guessed she was used to meeting people like Iain. She walked over to him, and outstretched her hand. The smell of whiskey hit her, as it did to anyone within a five-foot radius.

“On the rocks?”

“You could say that”

“I think it's a bit late for an introduction, but I think I owe one to ya. I'm Dolly Moses, nice to meet ya.”

Iain shook her hand quite timidly, not wanting to hurt her. He held her for quite longer than was expected of a normal handshake, he admired her nail polish, glinting in the mid-morning sun. He drew his hand away, and spoke, quite stronger than before.

“So Dolly Moses, what do ya' want with Iain Mathheson?”

She changed her tone, far more serious than before.

“Word is out that you have a bounty on your head, and it seems it has been taken up by the Tong brothers. Reggie and Chink Tong came looking for you earlier- when they saw you weren't in it looks like they blew up the whole place. A bad move, if I must say, now they know you know you are on them. ”

Iain now felt threatened by the girl, a babe with brains. Damn.

“Why in the fuck do I have a contract on my darn head; who do you work for?

“Iain, you have a contract on your head because somebody decided to pay the Tong brothers a six-figure sum to see you dead. Who it was that paid them, we don't know.

We are a group of underworld “regulators”. As bizarre as it sounds, we are on the books of the Japanese government to make sure that there are no indiscriminate assassinations. The problem had gotten so bad in the last four years that they decided to stop all elements of “crime-prevention”, instead focusing their resources into regulation- and of course this is all kept hush-hush. Our unit has worked very well since we started up, that was until Reggie Tang decided he would no longer be bound by the agreement we had. He started accepting contracts from anyone with a bank-account. Made himself into the most wanted man in Tokyo. The government is furious, and it looks like I will be going back to Langly. Tang probably has someone watching the crime scene right now, you're not safe here. I guess you don't have anywhere to stay. Here is one-thousand yen, it should be enough to get you a room in a hotel. The net is closing on Reggie Tang, he should be in custody by this time next week. Until that time, you're life is at risk. Please, take the money, check in under a false name and lay low Iain.”

This is crazy.

Detective Lee abruptly stormed out of the tent, and shouted to Dolly.

“Phone! You have phonecall from my commanding officer!”

“Guess I'll have to go, please take care of yourself Iain. I'll be in touch.”
She winked, and turned to face the tent.

As she walked over to the tent he took the time to admire her rear, just as hot as her front.

Even the most irrational of persons would be petrified at the thought of Reggie Tang being within a mile of them, but Iain was not. He had came across what he considered far more dangerous characters in the Congo, men who would kill you if you said Hi to them one day, and shoot you between the eyes for blanking them the next.

Now, for the police-station.

Getting to the police station meant a long walk back up to Hogini-San, and then catching a train to downtown. All in all, it was roughly an hour away. But for six-thousand dollars, it was worth it.
















Chapter 6

He was strained, years of planning had taken their toll. To make matters worse, his contact was late. Had he been killed? Arrested? If so, it would be best to get out the country, or commit suicide. He contemplated if he had given the right address, it wasn't like is co-conspier to be late. Then he saw a car snaking its way up the winding driveway. He ran down the stairs to meet his contact, elated that all had went to plan.

“I heard the news, we got Yamamoto.”

The driver of the car did not bother stopping the engine, or getting out of the car. It was obvious this visit wasn't scheduled to last very long.

“Yes, we did”
“Do you think it is best to start the Reich project?”
“I have organized an emergency meeting for five o'clock today, I take it you will be there?”

He nodded vivaciously

“I will be seeing you then, in the meantime do not do anything stupid . I should not worry you with other details, but I think you should know that Chow's wife has recruited an investigator to look at the case. He won't get far, so I wouldn't worry”

“Investigator?”

The car was already making it's way down the other side of the driveway.