Sharp Shooter Tokyoite Page 3

  "Why fall for me each and every time," I said with some frustration, "when you know I have to leave?" You always let me go, too, I thought, but I didn't say that last part.

  Taka heaved a sigh and sat back, looping an arm around the back of my chair. "Why watch the sunset," he said, "when you know it leads to night? You are my sundown, Kei. That's all there is to it."

  I gawked at him. Overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him, I shoved another kampyo in my mouth.

  Then why, each and every time, do you let me leave? You let me go like our separation means nothing to you. It tortures me.

  We sobered up and finished dinner, but I wasn't willing to return home and sleep next to Taka in his bed after such a heavy conversation. So I suggested karaoke. Of course, by that time, it was either go for just an hour (impossible) or miss the last train and go all the way until the first train the next day, around 4:30 a.m. The decision was unanimous: an all-nighter at our favorite spot in Shinjuku.

  Shinjuku was hopping even for a Thursday. As always I noticed the toned-down yakuza wandering the streets and keeping an eye on things. Taka held my hand from the Yamanote-sen train all the way down the busy crosswalks and avenues to our karaoke dive. He paid the all-night pass and guided me to our walk-in-closet-sized room.

  This place had unlimited food and drinks, a big part of why we liked it, so Taka ordered us our first round of alcohol along with the perpetual stream of mango juice I required to keep from going hoarse as the hours wore on.

  We sang through the night, everything from American hits from the 20s to Japanese digital pop, which had both been favorites since our college days. What started as a bonding experience among a group of friends from the archery club in college became something Taka and I did almost religiously, a drunken ceremony of overcharged decibels and slurred second languages. Taka and I had always rocked at karaoke.

  At 4:15 a.m. on the dot, Taka checked his watch. "We gotta go."

  The brisk morning at the tail end of the monsoon season managed to perk me up a little. We dashed down the street with the bleary-eyed crowd heading to Shinjuku station, those around us probably equally tired after a night of dancing, hosts and hostesses, pachinko gambling, and who knew what else. Taka kept his hand at the small of my back or on my shoulder the whole way. I was half-asleep and drunk, but at least I did not need my mask so early in the morning. The city had not yet risen, so I could breathe.

  Taka hosed me down in his tiny shower before tucking me into bed. I was out like a light.

  *~*~*

  "Kei."

  I heard my name and felt a warm hand on my arm, but in my dream I was hanging out with Patrick on the ski lifts at Windsor, so the Japanese pronunciation of my name didn't make any sense.

  "Kei, wake up, buddy. Time to rock and roll."

  "Mmmmnn." I turned over and tugged on the conglomerate of cloth and flesh that had to be Taka.

  "The police station called," Taka said. "They've found a connection we need to hit, tonight."

  I groaned and pulled him all the way down to spoon in my arms.

  "Whoa!" Taka yelped. "Okay, we'll just sleep a little bit longer, all right?"

  *~*~*

  "Kei, wake up."

  I groaned. "Why?"

  "Because we have a connection we have to hit tonight. I told you. And it's four p.m."

  "Can't we do it later?" We always did our hits at night. Fewer witnesses.

  "No, now," Taka said.

  "Ugh," I whined, though I actually felt pretty good after sleeping all day.

  A hand carded through my hair gently. "We have to go now," Taka said, "because it isn't in Tokyo."

  "Where is it?"

  "Osaka."

  "Shit."

  I dragged myself out of bed and somehow maneuvered into clothing. Taka lead me to the train station, not bothering to caffeinate me on the way. The commuter traffic was picking up, everyone rushing home before the crowds got truly bad. I leaned against the wall while Taka punched our destination into the ticket computers, people pushing past us in a solid stream of skirts, suits, and blazers.

  "We'll get there pretty late tonight," Taka said. "This is the third-to-last train."

  I blinked. That woke me up. "Are you kidding me? I'm sorry I slept so long."

  His smile put me at ease. We got on the floating magnetic train and zipped for Osaka. It was the smoothest ride in the world.

  "We should try the floating bullet train from Beijing to Shanghai," Taka said. He stretched out in the seat next to me. "I read it's the fastest in the world, 370 kilometers per hour."

  "I'd be dead before I got to my seat," I said. "Considering I'd be in Beijing."

  Taka laughed the way he did when he didn't actually think it was funny. "So you'd have to purchase a full oxygen tank and never take it off?" Taka furrowed his eyebrows. "How would you eat or take a drink of water?"

  I remembered the suggestions of my respiratory specialist before I went to Japan to study abroad, years ago. "I'd have to go inside somewhere, make sure it was aerated and clean enough to take off the mask."

  "Even if you didn't breathe for just a slurp of water?"

  "The soot from the air would still get all over my face," I explained. "Even if I had a damp towel and wiped my face off before attaching the mask—all the while not breathing—I'd still have microscopic soot on my nose and lips that I'd breathe, which would trigger an attack." I knew this from experience. My doctor in Colorado had made me do tests before I'd moved back to Japan in college to study abroad in Yonezura. He had me do things like hang around a busy gas station and experiment with the mask while standing in all those exhaust fumes. It wasn't a fun time.

  But that made it sound like I didn't want to kick down doors and shoot people with my rubber bullets all over Asia with Taka, when in truth, I totally did. Coolest job ever. I just couldn't breathe.

  "We'd kick some serious ass, though," I said with a smirk I knew Taka loved.

  He bought it, that tender smile lighting up his face.

  *~*~*

  "Definitely hitting a hostess club tonight," I said, "then maids in the morning. Takoyaki for a midnight snack. I love Osaka."

  "No can do," Taka said as he swam with the crowd out of the Shin-Osaka station. "We'll need to get this hit done before the last train."

  I looked sidelong at him, putting my mask on. "Is it that dangerous?"

  "It might be," Taka said without meeting my eyes.

  "If you burn Osaka for me, I'll be so mad," I said. If I could never come here again, I seriously would be. The uninhibited vibrancy in the way people spoke here, the dialect, the takoyaki, the neon hair highlights, the Japanese dreds. It was like no other place in the world.

  Taka smiled and took my hand. "Don't worry. Put on a different mask, dye your hair, a new Kei is born."

  I snorted. The mask attracted enough attention.

  We rented bicycles, another disconcerting factor that made me wonder how fast of an escape we would really need. Cops could walk away from bust-ups, so why the precautions? Of course Taka wouldn't say anything, so I kept my eyes on his actions.

  We stopped at the Shin-Osaka main police headquarters near the station. Taka pulled out a huge wad of money from the ATM and deposited it with the cop at the front desk for the informant to pick up later. A cop from the back brought out two sets of riot gear.

  "Wait, hold up," I said. "Are those for us?"

  Taka avoided my gaze as he strapped a bullet-proof vest over my shoulders and around my torso. I lifted my arms up in compliance automatically, but I cocked my chin to look him square in the face.

  "What are you sending me into?" I said, as if it were only me, which—since I was the only one providing defense—in a way it was. I motioned to my tank and glared at Taka. If I'm in a bulletproof vest, what about my flammable oxygen tank?

  Taka did not meet my eyes and continued strapping me in. "I told the Chief you'd remove the tank before entering tonight, like you usually do."


  I clenched my jaw. I never did that. "Of course."

  Taka's eyes flicked to me and I could tell he'd caught the resentment in my voice.

  "Hey," I snapped when he didn't say anything. The words declaring I wouldn't go if he didn't tell me were on the tip of my tongue, but both of us would know that wasn't true. I would still defend him even if I completely disagreed with the situation.

  Taka buckled a heavy-duty belt around my hips, magazines of rubber bullets tucked on each side within easy reach. An extra taser, two tear gas canisters, and a smoke bomb. Taka knew how I felt about tear gas. I could only use it in a life and death situation because, to an asthmatic, tear gas meant serious trouble if my mask malfunctioned. When he tightened the belt, I put my hands on his shoulders for balance.

  The physical contact finally forced words out of him, though he kept his eyes down on what he was doing. "I couldn't determine what kind of hit this is. The investigators at headquarters and I both agree that it's connected to the contraband I confiscated in Akihabara, but as to what kind of connection, we can't be sure."

  I pulled the straps of my vest, tightening them along with my pistol holsters. Now that Taka was talking like this, I prioritized mentally preparing myself for what was about to happen, instead of trying to get us out of it. Regardless of whether I knew what I was getting into, I was committed at this point.

  Taka asked one of the cops at the reception desk to help him into his riot gear. I re-fastened my belt with trembling fingers.

  After a solid five kilometers of biking, Taka checked his GPS. "It's at the end of this block."

  We parked our bikes. The American in me looked for the U-lock—the habit never failed. But this was Japan. Even in Osaka you didn't need locks, just the switch lock on the back tire to keep it from moving.

  We ducked into an alley and got ready. I strapped on my sidearm, slid my knife into my boot, then my beloved revolver in the holster at my waist.

  "Wait," Taka said.

  I stopped at the end of the alley, peeking out then back, a question on my face. What he could see of my face, at least.

  Taka waved me over.

  "What?" I walked over and stood in front of him.

  "Take your mask off."

  I sighed and tore it off. "What's going on? You know I can't go in there without this—"

  Taka cupped the back of my neck, pulled me forward gently, and kissed me.

  Due to his close proximity, and I'd swear that was all, I closed my eyes.

  Damnit. Shit.

  I kissed him back, and in that place somewhere in my rib cage where my heart beat like crazy and my diaphragm and lungs still had room to work, I felt my vulnerability break loose like a water balloon slung onto pavement. I had tried to emotionally distance myself from Taka for the sake of my own heart, to not have him holding me here in Asia.

  Holding me…

  Strong arms wrapped around my back and a gasp escaped my lips. Taka pulled me flush against him. The steel toes of my boots scraped the ground. I draped one arm over his shoulder, clutching my mask out of the way. With my free hand I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, hard.

  Taka growled and deepened the kiss. Our teeth clinked and we flinched away from each other, but Taka did not let me go.

  We panted into each other's faces, inhaling the other's carbon dioxide and huffing it out again. Too much CO2 around here.

  "I can't protect you if I'm distracted," I said.

  Taka touched his forehead to mine and closed his eyes. "I can't go into this without kissing you."

  "Then say something," I said.

  "What would you have me say?"

  I pushed against him. He let me go and I stepped away.

  "I have someone," I said. "That's why I haven't slept with you."

  I chanced a look at him. Taka looked confused, then like I'd sucker-punched him.

  "At home?"

  "In Vancouver."

  "Are you sleeping with him?"

  I looked him square in the face. "No. Not yet." Patrick was weird about that.

  Taka scoffed. "What the hell is that?"

  I pointed my mask at him. "It means I don't know what to make of us, here."

  He recovered enough to step toward me. "Is what we have not enough?"

  "What we have?" I crossed my arms and closed my eyes. This was hard. "Seeing you thrice a year, for one month." Just fucking and fighting the bad guys. It was fun, but nothing more. "My partner in crime, sure, but my actual lover?" I said. "Yeah, it's not enough."

  Taka carded his hands through his hair and turned his back to me. He heaved a great sigh.

  "We can't talk about this right now," I said. I was already getting wheezy. "Let's go, before I crash."

  And oh yeah, let's not talk about this later either.

  When Taka lowered the riot helmet onto my head, we didn't meet each other's eyes. I strapped my mask back over my mouth and Taka helped me with the snaps. We locked eyes. Flammable oxygen in a potential shootout was a risk to both of us, but Taka was willing to take that risk if it meant I could be in there with him instead of someone else. I stepped into the street. I heard Taka's boots on the pavement some distance behind me and kept going. He made a psst in front of a dark building next to a soba shop. I waited for him to catch up and then we slipped inside.

  We went down an outside stairwell to the basement. Always the basement. It was dark but when I lifted the tinted glass of the riot helmet onto my forehead I still could barely see and the blanket of nicotine in the air stung my eyes.

  Taka stopped in front of the door at the bottom of the stairwell and I sidled up beside him, my revolver drawn. Ever so gently, he twisted the doorknob. It came open. That meant whoever was inside was expecting someone.

  That someone might be coming in behind us.

  A wall of cigarette smoke swept over us. I heard Taka exhale hard then hold his breath. I experienced a brief moment of terror as the smoke wafted past me, but then logic set in and I reminded myself I had my mask on. I took a deep, clean breath and settled down, but smoke meant humans were in here.

  It cleared, revealing a room packed full of mobsters, dressed in suits yanked open at the collar, arms adorned with dragon tails slithering out of sleeve cuffs.

  "Yakuza," Taka murmured to me.

  I looked sidelong at him.

  "Police!" Taka shouted, jolting us all in surprise.

  Shouts of alarm. I flipped the safety off.

  "Down! Everybody down now!" Taka shouted.

  His commanding voice sent a shiver of fear down my spine. This was way more serious than he'd let on.

  "What the fuck?!" Several men shouted at once in Kansai dialect.

  "Fire!" someone yelled.

  The room erupted in sound.

  I switched my revolver over to rubber bullets and dashed in front of Taka. I saw a table to our right and pushed Taka over to it, then flipped it and pulled Taka down to kneel behind. "Permission to use live rounds?"

  "No!" Taka shouted.

  "But we're getting hit by live rounds!" I bellowed. The table felt like it could shatter at any moment.

  "Rubber!" Taka screamed.

  Tears pooled in my eyes. If I didn't get us out of this, Taka might be killed. That bright, shining light—even though he always tried to make himself look cool. That light didn't deserve to go out early. The world couldn't afford to lose that light.

  I swallowed my fear, and kept up my fire. Bullets dinged off my helmet. If one hit my oxygen tank, it would explode right there on my back. I mentally screamed at myself to stop listening to the voice telling me to run—I was safe. As long as they didn't hit my tank, I was safe. I defended my friend.

  I did not draw my second gun but instead held both hands on my beloved revolver to get the greatest accuracy I could. I did not want to fire like crazy and have to change magazines every two seconds. Every break in my fire meant we, as unmoving targets, could be shot. The initial shock wore off and I found my breathing
again. With that focused calm, I took aim; and with nearly every shot, a man fell, clutching an injured hand or knee. If I missed, I focused harder, and dropped them the next time.

  I had to reload. I pulled the smoke bomb off my belt and threw it. It dinged off the floor and then the room filled with smog. Their chaos was mine as well, but the lull in fire gave me enough time to change magazines. I couldn't hear Taka anymore to tell if he was yelling anything at me, but I felt the pressure of him leaning against my back so I knew I was covering him. Just as I was taking aim again and waiting for the smoke to clear enough to find a target, a bullet chipped off my boot and burned my leg. I stumbled to the side away from the table. A bullet dinged my tank and it gave a wild hiss.

  In terror I tore my mask off and threw the tank as far as I could.

  It flew into the wall of smoke, exploded, and someone screamed. Blood splashed up on the walls, but I couldn't think of anything else other than that my next breath was one I was not allowed to breathe.

  I yanked my collar up over my mouth, but the air seeping through my panicked gasp scorched my mouth and I felt my throat contract in on itself. I shuddered out an exhalation and told my lungs not to inhale again, but bright colors twinkled in front of my eyes and I struggled to raise my gun and aim. I stumbled back against Taka.

  Strong arms wrapped around my torso and dragged me out of the room. As we were clearing the door, I saw figures emerge from the cloud of smoke and run after us. I staggered to my feet and grabbed Taka's arm for balance. We sprinted up the stairs and out of the building. Once in the street, I vomited. Something else clogging my windpipe was the last thing I needed. Taka pulled my helmet off as I lurched and once the dark glass was gone from in front of my eyes, I saw there was blood in my vomit. My lungs and throat were bleeding.

  Footsteps pounded up the staircase behind us. I pushed Taka forward as I spit chunks onto the sidewalk. I was too dizzy to ride my bicycle so I clambered on behind Taka and wrapped my arms around his waist.

  Taka pedaled like a madman, but we were fools for thinking that would be enough. If any of those mobsters had a motorbike, we were done for. Taka was shouting something at me, but I couldn't piece together his words. My throat wasn't letting me pull enough oxygen in, and when it came back out it was with blood and vomit.