Page 8 of Pragma
Thank god, he didn’t. He’s botching the cut terribly.
“Cutting hair feels so influential, so…freeing. And speaking of freedom, if you answer one little question, I’ll free you.”
The guy’s eyes fly open. “Bu-bullshit!”
“Let me put it this way, even pig shit has a use—you being the shit in this metaphor—and I need to send a message to your dickface boss. So if you get it right, and manage to stay alive, I’ll…free you. Why isn’t he here?”
“I don’t know.”
Aki pouts, then he stands and shoves the other half of the blade into the guy’s shoulder. A high-pitched cry is ripped out of his throat as Aki goes back to sitting on the table and to the haircut.
“The superior being up there is on standby right now,” Aki points up toward the ceiling with a finger, “waiting for me to end you, to place your rotten soul into a gag-inducing worm body foryour next life. And although they’re patient, I’m fucking not.” He hisses as he gives the sword a twist. “So guess again.”
“I can’t!” the fucker screams, as another text from Karin appears in the chat, this time saying everything looks good outside. I reply as I check the time. Fifteen minutes have passed since we entered the restaurant, and it’s my rule to check in with the crew every fifteen minutes.
“Then let’s go back to the teeth sprinkling.” He cuts the last long lock, then cleans the short blade on the guy’s sleeves before grabbing the handle of the katana and yanking it out in one go.
There’s a spray of blood just before the fucker drops on the ground wailing like a newborn baby. No one keeps the tough attitude for long under Aki’s methods.
“You are ruining my masterpiece!” Aki grumbles, raising his sword once again. Is he talking about theEdward Scissorhandsedhair?
“He-he was never meant…to-to come here,” the guy suddenly coughs out, stopping Aki’s movement. “The boss just wanted to fuck with you.”
I knew it. That crazy dickhead.
“I see, Fuckchill is asking for a bullet up his ass.” Aki pouts again, glancing at me. “You don’t happen to know your soon-to-be-dead boss’s future plans, do you?”
“No…he doesn’t share them with any—” Aki doesn’t give him time to finish, but skewers him all the way on his long blade. Next he grabs what remains of the fucker’s hair and beheads him.
“Ugh! Don’t give me that scowling-bunny look. I know I said I’d free him, and I did. I freed his head from his body.”
“We could have questioned him—” Before I can say more, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. Sunglasses is gripping a knife, ready to throw it at Aki. I rush and jump in front of him, instantly feeling a sharp pain radiating through the back of my shoulder. I groan as my eyes find Aki’s shocked gaze. Luckily, he looks fine. My body shielded him.
I take a step back, and, lifting my hand, I get a grip of the blade’s handle to quickly pull it out of my back with a grunt. It fucking hurts, but after nine years in the yakuza, I’ve learned how to endure the worst pain.
I turn toward the fucker and let out an angry roar. Dropping the knife on the floor, I’m on him in two steps. I don’t use my gun, but grab the front of his shirt with both hands and lift him up until I smash his head against the low ceiling. The thin board breaks as I keep busting the piece of shit into it. When I hear the crack of his skull I drop him, staring at his bloodied, caved-in head.
I tense when I feel a hand trying to grab my gun from inside my coat. The sweet scent of osmanthus makes my fingers relax as Aki takes possession of my weapon and proceeds to empty the magazine into the already dead body.
When he lowers the gun, I tell him, “You always get too much into the fun and forget to watch your back.”
“I have you for that. Can’t make your job too easy.”Like he would be any easier.
He shrugs unapologetically, handing me back my weapon. I look at the bloody mess around us. Fuck! We are gangsters, but itdoesn’t mean we go around causing trouble all the time. And if we do, there are certain places for that.
Aki is pouring water on his sword’s blade to clean it before placing it in its sheath again. “Your shoulder?”
It fucking hurts like a bitch as I grab Long Hair’s cell phone from the ground. But the blade was small, and it didn’t penetrate all the way inside. I can still move my arm. “A little glue, and I’ll be fine.”
He stares at me intently before moving toward the sliding door. He suddenly halts his advance after only a couple of steps.
“Ugh! My new shirt.” He’s looking down at the blood smearing the fabric, then turns a glare at the beheaded body before giving it a kick.
“Tell Soma to come and get the head.”
Long Hair’s head? “Why?” I ask, while putting my shoes on.
“I need it,” he replies enigmatically as he walks down the corridor. The fact that there are no other clients in the whole restaurant should have made me realize this was a fucking trap. I grit my teeth and call Karin again to tell her we are about to get out. Then I send a text to Soma—about the head.
