Page 7 of Pragma
The smell of iron and death quickly invades the room as I keep my eyes on Aki. The scene in front of me is nothing new. I’ve seen him fight thousands of times. I admire his ruthless, meticulous technique, his quick and fluid moves. He’s merciless but graceful, like waves relentlessly hitting rocks. He can turn vicious, bordering sadistic when he feels like it, but he’s one ofthe best because of it, to the point that his extreme dedication to his work tends to compulsion.
Aki yanks his knife out of the dead guy’s shoulder and turns toward Sunglasses, who’s crawling, arm outstretched toward his serrated blade lying on the floor. Aki tilts his head to the side as he gazes at him, probably pondering the best way to kill him. As soon as the guy wraps his hand around the knife’s black handle, Aki lets out a bored sniff and then impales the guy’s hand to thetatamiwith his own knife. Next, his sword comes down. slicing all the fucker’s fingers with one swing.
A scream of pain booms inside the private room. Aki is quick to silence it as he stabs the guy in the head, sliding the long blade deep. The fucker’s eyes widen, then a death rattle comes out of his mouth before life leaves his body.
Aki pulls the katana out, spilling blood on the table and mat floor. His focus returns to Long Hair grunting in pain on the table.
“It seems like death has come to your doorstep,” Aki states, using a teasing tone. He fists the fucker’s long hair and uses the tight grip to bang his head loudly on the table.
A low groan comes out of him as blood starts running down his forehead.
I move to the door and slide it slightly open, gun aimed at the corridor as I check if someone is coming. It’s empty and too silent. The waitress must have called the police already when she heard gunshots. We don’t have much time. In a neighborhood as shitty as this, and on a Saturday night, we probably have twenty minutes.
The difference between American Mafia and yakuza is that the latter is seen as inevitable and somewhat necessary back in Japan, hence why the yakuza is not a very secretive organization. But this is not Japan. It’s the US. Things are different here. And the fact that there’s no love lost between us and the Triad makes things more complicated.
I call Karin to let her know to take care of the restaurant employees and the owner. We can’t kill them since we are trying to establish ourselves around here, and starting with a group assassination doesn’t seem smart. We shouldn’t draw any attention to ourselves. So bribery it is.
I can’t stop myself from wondering if this was Ling Wang’s plan all along. Did he try to get us in trouble with the police a week after we came to New York? Tension has been running high since we arrived. The rise of a new boss is never welcomed by anybody, not even their own organization.
Aki has let go of the fucker, who has cinnamon gum sticking to his hair now. Did he spit it there on purpose? As I slide the door closed again, he lifts his sword vertically in the air and spears Long Hair’s shoulder, stopping the blade halfway in. I gotta give it to him, he doesn’t scream, but he lets out a long grunt before starting cussing in Chinese.
Aki grabs a napkin from the table to clean the blood from his hands and cheek. “Did you get any holes in you?” he asks me.
“Just the ones I was born with.”
Yuna writes in the crew chat, saying they took care of the people in the restaurant and managed to call the police and stop them from coming.
“The pigs are not coming,” I let Aki know.
He smiles enthusiastically at Long Hair. “Excellent! So we can relax now. Order more sake. Ask a few questions.”
Pretty sure no one will come if I ring the bell on the table.
“Where is your monkey’s ass boss?” Aki asks, taking a seat on the table.
His glass of sake is miraculously lying untouched on top of it. He takes it and downs it as Long Hair answers, “You’ll never get to him.”
Aki tsks, then pettily flicks the blade sticking out of the fucker’s shoulder with his finger, making him groan. Sweat and blood are both dripping down his red face as he tries hard to breathe.
“And-and even if you do, you’ll have to…uh, go through the whole Triad,” he continues with another grunt.
“Well, that won’t be so bad,” Aki hisses, tossing the empty glass behind his shoulder onto the floor. The tatami cushions ease the fall, muffling the sound, as well.
Witnessing the excitement in Aki’s eyes at the promise of bloodshed makes all confidence leave Long Hair. He jerks back and then cries, keeping his speared shoulder still.
“Just do it!” he screams, finding some desperate cockiness.
Aki chuckles. “Do you think I’ll shoot you? I’m more of a slice-and-dice kinda guy. But River here…could. Especially after the freak comment.”
Long Hair swallows as he sends me a quick, frightened glance.
“But I won’t let him. Because you see, what I want to do right now is rip out your tongue and knock out every last one of your teeth. Then, while you’re still alive, bury your body six feet under—well, I’ll order someone else to do the burying, but I’ll be the one sprinkling your teeth on your unmarked grave like confetti at a wedding.”
The guy starts shaking as Aki raises his knife. He grabs the long lock of hair with gum on it and starts cutting it—doing a very poor job.
“Wha-what’re you doing?” I can clearly hear the bafflement in the fucker’s unstable voice.
The disastrous trim keeps going as Aki says, “I always thought I’d have become a hairdresser if I hadn’t been born into this family.”
