#kishito sanjo

[achtung-attitude]

When the battle was over, they found the bodies of Park and a woman strewn across the street in front of a burned out launderette. Their bodies were peppered with bullets, and no-one could be sure who had fired them. In an overturned stroller, a baby squalled. 

All-Kill had never delved into his friend’s personal lives, being too busy, and too reluctant to share his own past. Regretfully, he wished that he could have at least met Park’s girl before she died by his side.

Without a word, he crouched to observe the crying baby. Hot tears ran down the left side of its contorted face. Its right eye was weeping blood. This was the most important day of the child’s life. For no reason at all, without any say in the matter, he would never know his parents. For a brief moment, All-Kill chewed his lip. 

He took the child. Gangak stared at him as he passed, a hollow look in his eye as he stood in the battleground that was his neighborhood. All-Kill didn’t notice.

All his attention was focused on the wailing baby boy in his arms. He had him now. He would be protected. His name would be Park Sang-ok. 

***

For all their valor, Koreatown was still hit hard by the rioting. Shops were destroyed. Lives were lost. But they had survived, thanks in no small part to the man they now called All-Kill. Other areas were not so lucky. South Central, East LA and Compton were utterly ruined, leaving it more exposed to the dealings of criminal organizations.

Ganmyeol left his and Gangak’s auto shop to focus entirely on helping Koreatown to rebuild, using his financial expertise to bring back stability. By year’s end, there was no denying that, for the Korean diaspora of Los Angeles County, their leader was All-Kill.

[achtung-attitude]

“Yeah, OK. I’ll see you at 8. Bye.” After hanging up, Sanjo turned back to the warehouse and walked to the door. Yet, he shuddered as he approached it. The music was still playing, but he couldn’t distinguish any human voices. Swallowing his anxiety, he gripped the handle and pulled open the steel door. Despite the hinges being freshly oiled, it creaked loudly.

He was greeted by the sight of Gangak and everyone else dead. Blood oozed from every orifice, and their faces were contorted in expressions of agony. And amidst the carnage was T’onga, standing over Gangak’s corpse. 

She almost didn’t notice him. When she turned to look at him, her expression was completely blank, her eyes like those of a corpse, half-open and unblinking. “...The HOUSE OF PAIN is in effect…”

“You… YOU FUCKING CUUUNT!!!” Sanjo howled, and began to pull a gun from his jacket. She was quicker though, producing a hidden knife and throwing it at him. It went through his hand and he dropped the gun. Sanjo hardly seemed to notice, though, as he then charged, pulling the knife out of his hand. Before T’onga could react, he was upon her and stabbed the knife into her face. 

“AAGHH!!” She yelled, and then shoved him away desperately. She sprinted for the door and dove outside, slamming the steel door behind her. She pressed her hands on the door and  cried “HOUSE OF PAI-!!”

But before she could summon her Stand, Sanjo kicked the door open from the other side, throwing T’onga backwards. The old man glared at her with death in his eyes, standing in the doorway, the door hanging off one hinge. 

Terror grips T’onga’s heart with a vice grip. Somehow, she knew that she could not defeat this old man. and with a desperate spurt of energy, she picks herself up and  flees. She didn’t try to use her Stand again, she didn’t think about completing the mission, she didn’t look back. She simply ran.

Sanjo didn’t chase her, though he would regret that decision for years to come. He ran over to his friend’s body and fell to his knees, weeping bitter tears. “Gangaaaak… Oh God…!” he moaned, cradling Gangak. But then, strangely, something emerged from Gangak’s forehead. 

Taking the object, Sanjo strained to see it through tearful eyes. It was a CD, with otherworldly smoke fogging up its silver sheen.

                                                       ---

All the while, something appeared above the wailing baby. It was like a bare wooden doll, which became all the more solid and real, as the infant became more and more transparent. This doll floated down and unlocked the door to the playpen, freeing the girl, then disappeared, as the invisible baby crawled away. The babysitter finally returned downstairs to the living room with a triumphant expression, having at last found the stuffed doll, only to be greeted with silence and a playpen full of vacant baby clothes…

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 35: Dear Mama

Gangak Yeoh’s jaw drops. “Do you… do you mean it?”

T’onga nods. The girl with no heart sits across from him in his suburban living room, a home he bought with profits gained by trafficking drugs into the metropolitan areas in Tokyo and S-City,  the entire operation run from this sleepy coastal town of Morioh-cho.

There is a human being growing inside of her. The mission from All-Kill had been to infiltrate Gangak’s gang by any means necessary, but it was Brother Dust that hinted at the most effective means of doing so. The preacher man said nothing explicitly, merely hinted at what All-Kill, he claimed, had not the heart to tell himself. She put the rest together easily enough. She had been good, and she had been careful. But not nearly careful enough.

She had considered keeping it secret, perhaps even terminating it. If not for Sanjo, and his ever-watchful eye, she probably would have. The old bastard never gave her the opportunity. Now she is 13 weeks in, and her belly swells. It is time to inform the father. 

Gangak’s shock melts into delight beyond reckoning, his face glowing in a white-toothed smile the breadth of his whole face. “Do you mean it? A-are you sure, I mean? What I mean is... ! Oh my God… Oh my God, I’m gonna be a Dad!”

T’onga smiles sheepishly, playing her role. But in the cold part of her mind, her thoughts are in disarray. One question emerges at the core of her confusion: Why is he so happy?

She had studied animals and recognized the primordial urge to produce offspring, in order for one’s genes to survive into a new generation. But such a thing was the furthest thing from Gangak’s mind. She knew him to be a creature of the moment, living only for the fulfillment of each day. A man of big dreams and tall ambitions.

Before she has a chance to puzzle it over anymore, he sweeps her into his arms and waltzes around the living room, laughing and crying at the same time. He was a creature of the moment, and his emotions were like ocean currents, so big that few couldn’t help but be swept along with them. When she too began to laugh with him, it was not entirely an act, though she did not understand herself.

                                                           ---

“You can not be serious,” Sanjo groans.

“I am! Isn’t this great?! Gangak replies. T’onga makes tea in the kitchen and listens closely to everything the men are saying in the living room. It has already been a day since she told him, but the joy hasn’t left him.

“No, Gangak. It ain’t great.” Sanjo says, shaking his head.

“I know, right, it’s…! Wait, what?”

“It’s not great, Gangak. It’s the opposite of great, in fact!! You think we have time to play house while we’re trying to set up this business? We aren’t even close to secure enough to start playing around like that…”

“Why do you always have to bust my balls like this? Don’t forget this business was my idea! I know how to run my business, Sanjo! Why can’t I start a family too?”

“I run the business, fool! You're great with ‘ideas’, but I’m the one that makes ‘em happen! Don’t you forget that! I swear to God, it’s always like this with you! We got one good deal going and a bit of profit, I tell you to keep quiet about it, and what do you do? Buy a whole damn house in town, that’s what!”

“It’s a nice house, and I am keeping quiet. I’m not playing around anything!” Gangak protests. “If we wanna do business around here, it’s less suspicious if I’m a resident. Small town folk always suspect city folk are drug dealers. They never suspect their neighbors!  And also, even if they did, what’s wrong with wanting to start a family with someone you love?”

“Ughh, there it is again…” Sanjo groans again, exasperated. “You really always just have to dive in, don’t you, kid? This chick’s been hanging around, for what, six months? You put a kid within three, and now you’re talking love? Just my luck I go into business with a man that takes up with some creepy broad that came outta nowhere--”

If Sanjo meant to say anything further, he didn’t get the chance. From the other room, T’onga heard Gangak rise abruptly from his seat and kick over the low table between them. There is another sound, but only she picks up on. The displacement of the air created by something appearing where none was present before.

“That is the LAST TIME you speak badly of the mother of my child! You hear me?!” Gangak thunders. His Stand hovers next to him, a humanoid form wreathed in white smoke. Its name was SLEEPYHEAD.

The old man couldn’t see the Stand, or hear it, or smell it, or sense it in anyway. If he could, perhaps then it would make sense that he should be subordinate to Gangak. Even if he couldn’t, if Gangak simply used the Stand’s ability against him, fear would cause him to fall in. But Gangak never harmed him in any way. This moment was the closest she had observed to a true confrontation. 

It was obvious to T’onga that the old man was the more capable of the pair, even despite his age. And yet Gangak was the boss, and Sanjo the lieutenant. She approaches the room, all smiles and innocence bearing the tea tray, in time to hear him apologize. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” he says, relenting, his tone softened, “You won’t hear it outta me again.”

He couldn’t see the Stand, but he surely knew about it. He knew Gangak too well and intimately for him not to know. And yet he was not at all afraid of him. Sanjo was otherwise easy to understand. He desired power, because it allowed him to feel safe. But with his wit and acumen, he surely could have found a more secure situation, with a more malleable partner. Instead he stuck by Gangak, who caused him no end of frustration.

If she asked the reason why, T’onga knew what the answer would have been, but even so, she would not understand it. It was a simple word, but the effect it had on others, on Gangak, was dramatic. She would whisper it to him, playing her role, every so often, and he would change. His cheeks would flush, and he would smile, and look away. For him, it was an entirely natural reaction to hearing the words “I love you,” but the girl without a heart could not begin to know why.

[achtung-attitude]

DORA!!

CRAZY DIAMOND bursts out from its user and jabs, knocking the metal blade away. The Stand punches at the old man’s head and misses, driving its armored fist into the engine. The punch dents it, sending echoes throughout the room.  

The old man cackles momentarily. Suddenly, Josuke feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns on his heel.

DORARARA!!!

CRAZY DIAMOND’S barrage actually lands a hit on the old man right on the jaw, who misjudged the speed of the police officer’s Stand. He goes gliding away into the engine with a clang. Sanjo slides down, falling between the metal struts, and doesn’t move. Josuke immediately moves his attention back to Shizuka

“Are you OK? Did he cut you anywhere?” he asks, attending to his sister.

“...uh, just on my face. I don’t think it’s bad...” she responds, tapping her cheek. He touches it gently, feeling the warm trickle of blood running down from her cheekbone. CRAZY DIAMOND motions towards the cut, healing it instantly.

The policeman scowls, looking at Sanjo’s motionless form with contempt. “Asshole,” he spits, “after all that crap, he really thought he could take the both of us on his own.”

Shizuka says nothing to this.

“Hey, come on. We better restrain before he wakes up. Then we can…Shizuka?”

Shizuka suddenly snaps out of whatever trance she was just in. “What?! Oh, yeah, yeah... restrain him, and...”

“Are you sure you’re ok? You don’t sound so good...” And only then does he notice what’s wrong.

The smoke. The smoke is still hanging in the air. The sick from Sanjo’s stand, which should have disappeared when he was knocked out. Only now does Josuke notices, squinting through the pitch blackness, that Shizuka doesn’t have her respirator on.

“Bro, y... your mask...!”

Too late, he smells it. The stench of something acrid and foul. Then the sound comes, like something shriveling up. Inside his mask, the cloth filter inside is wearing down at an incredible speed. The masks begins to be soaked up with toxins, past its limit. Josuke tries to hold his breath, but it’s too late. The toxins have already made their way into his respiratory system.

The policeman feels something in him slip. As if suddenly submerged in water, he feels a pressure on his skin. He sways forward, steadying himself, then sways backward stumbling against the engine. Through bleary eyes, he sees Shizuka going through the same thing, trying to support herself against the wall.

“What’s happening?” he says with a numb tongue.

“SMOKE ON THE WATER…”

Josuke looks and sees Sanjo dragging himself up, clearly still woozy from Crazy Diamond’s attack. He puffs on his calabash pipe as he holds it close to him, the embers still smoldering. The old man inhales, then exhales, as his vitality appears rejuvenated, whilst the fire embers glow.

“I told you,” Sanjo sneers, watching Josuke fall to his side trying to reach him, “Patience. My powers get stronger the longer I use them. It takes a while, but if I keep it going long enough, I can convert the smoke’s composition into... anything I want, really. Any sort of drug.

“That’s how you manipulated... the people back at the neighborhood...” Josuke growls. Sanjo straightens himself up, brushing off whatever damage CRAZY DIAMOND inflicted him with.

“Little bit of psychoactive. All I did was blow the smoke, then their hatred for the authorities did the rest. You wouldn’t believe how powerful a few chemical reactions can make a man. In your case, you’re breathing in the equivalent of every opiate and downer that ever was, all at once.”

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(Sorry for the long break! One of us was out of the country for a while, but now we’re back!)

[achtung-attitude]

And when he looks down, he sees all of the smoke flowing down the hallway, like a coal-colored bloodstream.

Then he sees the stream freeze, and his eyes go wide as he throws Shizuka away from him, just as the smoke moves as a single unit, converging onto him. The smoke circles around Josuke's face. He feels it on his face, like the hand of a ghost. He clenches his jaw, holds his breath, not allowing it into his airways.

The old man appears from around the corner, his smoking pipe in hand. “It's obvious you're the only real threat,” Sanjo says. “I should have just killed you from the start. Once you're gone, no-one will be able to stop me. So, breathe it in, Sergeant!”

Josuke's feet leave the floor and he floats next to Shizuka, the smoke lifting him up into the air by his throat. He cannot breathe, he mustn't breathe. But he does. An inch is all it takes, and then he feels the smoke force its way down his airways and clog them, cutting his breathing off. Josuke's brain goes fuzzy, as he continues to suffocate.

“JOSUKE!!!” Shizuka yells. She tries to pull her brother away, try and blow the smoke out, but it's no use. She's powerless to save him. Shizuka collapses to her knees, as she looks on in pure distress.

Then, not a moment later, does Shizuka notices something in the corner of her eye. She turns her head towards Sanjo, who's kept on sucking on his pipe, the embers flaring, the tobacco burning. And that's when she realizes it.

Achtung Baby can only control light. It cannot produce it. In full darkness, it is helpless. But all it needs is a single spark.

In his blurred and foggy vision, Josuke sees Shizuka step into his periphery, holding her right hand out, bringing her left up to the sunglasses on her head. She flicks the shades down, and snaps her fingers.

“Achtung.”

[achtung-attitude]

A man shouldn’t complain, though. What choice do we have but to take our lot in life? You do the best you can with what you’ve got. A dear friend said that to me, once. And I’ve carried it with me ever since.

They say nothing, letting the old man talk. CRAZY DIAMOND’s hands appeared, reaching out and gripping the handle and turning it, slowly, quietly. The hinges creak, but so does everything else on the ship.

Youth is wasted on the young. That’s another thing I was told once, when I was young myself. It’s not like it’s your fault. You just don’t know any better.

The steel door creaks open, and the siblings duck inside as quiet as possible. Shizuka turns on the flashlight she brought and shines it across the engine room. The humming erupts in volume. Even in the low light, they can tell they’re in the engine room. The main engine towers over them, pipes and valves twisting out of it and crawling out of the walls like the head of Medusa. The human sound continues over the mechanical ones. They listen close, and track the voice from behind the giant machine.

You run around half-cocked, so reckless. So impatient. You think you can take on the world, because you haven’t been in it long enough to know just what it can do to you. What it can take from you. And when it does, there’s nothing you can do, except wait. Be patient.

Josuke scowls. He’s tired of hearing this old fart babble. He approaches the blind spot of the engine, the source of the talking. Josuke knows that’s where he must be. Shizuka is on the opposite side, flashlight off, counting down from three. Josuke does the same. On one, they will turn the corner and catch the old man from both sides. He keeps talking.

That’s one of the best. The best virtues that come with age. From losing important things, valuable things...

One. Josuke turns the corner, Stand at the ready. He spots his sister at the opposite side, flicking on her flashlight and covering the cramped space in light.

Sanjo isn’t there. They hear the steel door creak. Slam close. And lock.

Patience.

“Shit,” Josuke hisses. He runs back around, meets Shizuka, standing back to back with her. Peering into the darkness, searching for their enemy. Over the machine noises, he carries on his hot air.

This is what I’m talking about. You’re so arrogant, thinking things would be this easy. Honestly, you put on some flu masks, and think they’ll solve all your problems? I expected this much from the little princess, but you, Sergeant? Honestly...

“What do you want from me?” Shizuka demands the darkness, “what did I ever do to you?”

It’s nothing that you did, princess. It’s just... seeing your face has brought up some memories. Memories of... valuable things that I lost. And I’ve waited a very long time for a chance like this... For a chance like you, to show itself. But still, it’s painful memories you’ve dredged. So before I do what I need to do, I think I’ll hurt you a little. To make myself feel better, see?

“You’re sick.”

You’re telling me! It’s not your fault, sweet girl. It’s not your fault you were born from a monster!

Shizuka was taken aback from that last word. In her confusion, her attention is focused solely on what he just said. “A… a monster?...”

“Don’t listen to him, Shizuka,” Josuke says, “he’s trying to freak you out, make you slip up. He can’t touch us as long as we’re not breathing in his filth, and we don’t need to worry about that as long as we have these masks. We’re going to be just fine.”

There is no reply except for the din of the engine.

Sanjo appears out of the smoke and shadow. A swift, agile kick sends the flashlight spinning out of Shizuka’s hand. They hear it hit the ground hard, as the batteries rattle out. The light disappears, shrouded in the dark.

Josuke blinks from the sudden departure of the light, and moves towards the sound of scuffling. He hears a flick. The low glint of something metallic. A knife.

Josuke moves to intercept. Too slow. The blade flashes upward. He hears a soft yelp. Josuke sees the silhouette of his sister dodge backwards, as if she was just cut. Josuke has had enough.

[achtung-attitude]

Shizuka is standing up by now, supporting herself on the back of the couch and coughing violently. Josuke gets up too, but trips over a coffee table and smashes it through. He growls, a deep, throaty noise. A kind of aura appears around him, trying to take form into something vaguely humanoid, but it is unstable, and it sputters out before fully forming. Then the door to the kitchen opens.

A man wearing a brightly colored tracksuit steps through, holding his hand out in front of his mouth. In his hand is something heavy and metallic. The man clenches his fist.

There is an explosion, fire bursts out of the barrel of the gun, once, twice, three times. Josuke’s ears ring. His sputtering aura takes form enough into an arm, thickly muscled with glittering armor grafted to its flesh. The fist deflects the bullets, punching straight and sparks flying off its adamantine knuckles. The tracksuit man sees this, and his eyes goes wide. He fires again, and fires wide, the first bullet barely grazing the policeman, the second not even coming close.

But then there’s a small gasp.

A tiny black hole appears in Shizuka’s stomach. He watches his sister twitch in place, then lurch backwards as all feeling vacates her legs. He catches her as she falls towards the couch, and she looks up at him in shock and confusion. And the policeman looks up and sees Sanjo. He is leaning in the doorway behind the tracksuit man, watching. Smirking, and smoking his foul pipe.

The ringing in Josuke’s ears is replaced by a howl. His own voice. He charges and in the same moment, his soul splits in two and his Stand emerges. A humanoid form appears in all its furious glory, rose colored skin laden with unbreakable diamond armor shaped like hearts.

DORARA!!! replies the Stand, coming towards Shizuka and tapping her stomach with its fist. The bullet flies out in reverse, as the wound closes up, healing Shizuka. Josuke turns attention to the flying bullet, as it finds its way back to the tracksuit man’s gun. As the bullet cocks back into place, the tracksuit man is left astonished at what he just saw. Looking towards the now enraged Josuke, the shooter makes a run for it.

Her brother is already advancing on the tracksuit man, leaping over the armchair and descending on him. The Stand is instantly back at his side, not giving the tracksuit a chance to fire again before punching right on the jaw with a sledgehammer fist. CRAZY DIAMOND picks the goon up, lifts him over its head, and hurls him out of the window, letting cool, fresh air to flood into the room. And like that, Josuke and Shizuka can breathe again, whatever blockage there was cleared.

The policeman stumbles, light headed from the sudden rush of oxygen, falling backward into a cupboard full of china cups, making them rattle. His throat hurts, and his eyes are weeping. He rubs at them roughly, and squints to see his sister getting shakily up from the couch.

Coughing once more, he gets up and tears round the doorway. Searching for the old man, with fury in his eyes. He isn’t in the kitchen. He is nowhere to be seen. Down a hall and round a corner is a backdoor, which hangs open, swinging in its frame as someone threw it open violently. Checking outside reveals only a view of a sparse back yard. Coming around to the front, Josuke finds nothing still.

Nothing except the groaning figure of the man in the colorful tracksuit. He groans louder as the policeman picks him up and holds him against the wall by his collar. “How did you do that?” he says through a cracked jaw.

“You wouldn’t get it if I told you. You get one chance to tell me where the old man went,” Josuke growls.

“How did… how did you even… you didn’t even touch me, but…” his words are cut off with another throw against the wall.

“I’m asking the questions, asshole! I’m asking you where the old man went!”

“He - he’s gone!” exclaims the tracksuit, throwing his hands up, “he told me to get rid of you if you started making a fuss!”

“Well, that’s your tough luck, pal, because one of those limpdick stray bullets you popped off went and hit my. Little. Sister. So you have 10 seconds to tell me where he’s going before I seriously hurt you!”

As Josuke watches, the man’s jaw begins to move. Crazy Diamond’s power acts upon where it hits, reforming it back to an ideal state. But when Josuke is angry, then those same objects become warped, as the tracksuit learns as his broken jaw bulges into a protruding wedge. His mouth stretches along with it, the left corner of his mouth pulling over his teeth and gums.

“Ma face! Wha did you do ta ma face?!” screams the tracksuit, his words slurred.

“5 seconds now! 4, 3, 2…!”

“You… you da same… da same as he is!”

“What? What are you on about?”

The man’s voice becomes low, whispering. “Hit meh without touching… done summing ta ma face… you da same as he is. Da boss. You got… mysterious powers!”

Josuke grimaces. “So it was him, huh? Inside, when we couldn’t breathe, that was Sanjo? Damn… And what the hell is so funny?”

The tracksuit giggles out of his deformed mouth, glaring at the policeman. “Ya can find da boss atta inland bay, 3 miles south o da harbour. Dass one of our drop-off points. He’ll be in one o da old ships there.”

“Drop-off point?”

“Das right, pig! But it don’t matter! You mighta found us out, tracked our op, ration down, but it still don’t matter. Da boss is stronga then yu, so even if ya find him, he’ll kill ya dead. And then we keep bringing in our drugs and make all da money in da world. So do whateva ya want ta me, cause ya don’t stand a chance!”

The policeman raises his eyebrows. “So, you guys are the new pushers in town, the Koreans?”

“Of course we are! That’s why you’re here, ain’t it? You here to drive us out, shut down our business!”

“Nope. I came round here today for a totally different reason. Seems like there’s been a miscommunication. But hey, it sure was generous of you to spill everything like that. Now, what was that you mentioned? About doing what I want to you?”

The tracksuit’s mouth flaps up and down like a goldfish. It is a grim satisfaction as Josuke sees him recognize the pressure exuded by the emerging Stand, even if he can’t see it. The policeman steps back, giving CRAZY DIAMOND space to loom over the tracksuit with fists raised high.

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(We’re back from a short break!)

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER THREE: Achtung Baby/Back to Morioh – Part 3

Sanjo returns from the kitchen after a few minutes. Josuke can’t help but feel like a breeze has come in from the back of the house, as Sanjo sits down at the armchair. “I used to rent out rooms in this house. Your mom came to me in the middle of the night, looking for a place to stay. This was in… 1997. April 1st. I figured it was a prank, but then she pulls out a wad of 500-yen bills. She was desperate, and she was scared. So I… took pity on her, I guess.”

The old man pauses to light up a match and apply it to his over-sized pipe.

“She was young, couldn’t have been more than 18,” the old man resumed, talking through his teeth, “And she was a strange one. Always polite, sure, but she was quiet. Almost mute, in fact. All the same, she was a good kid. Worked for her money, paid her rent on time, cleaned up after herself. And polite, like I said.”

He paused again to take a drag from his pipe. The cinders in the calabash flared, then died as he exhaled. Smoke poured out the side of his mouth like a Victorian coal engine. He tilted his head to keep the smoke out of his guest’s eyes, but the scent of the smoke still made the hairs in Josuke’s nose stand up.

“Things were fine, but they started getting complicated. At that time, I had a… business partner. A friend, name of Jouga. A big guy, real friendly-type. We knew each other from a while back, used to live in the same neighborhood, outside of Tokyo.”

“What was your business?” Josuke asks, wrinkling his nose against the acrid smoke. The old man pauses and looks at him. Shizuka looks over too, frowning. “…If you don’t mind me asking,” he adds, his tone level.

“…We owned a couple warehouses. Holding cargo for merchant ships. That’s not important. The point is, Jouga and the girl… well, putting it bluntly, they took one look at each other, and they could hardly keep their hands off. Beg your pardon, Miss.” He gestures apologetically to Shizuka.

She waves her hand limply, muttering something like ‘it’s fine.’ Then, clearer, “So, then, your friend. J-Jouga, he was my…?”

Sanjo nods, removing the pipe from his mouth in the regular motion. “He would be your dad… Now, you should understand. There was a major age gap between them. He was almost twice her age. But they had something that was really special. He loved her, I can say that much. Doted on her, every moment he could. If you’ll let me be blunt again, it got in the way of business in a bad way.” He chuckles to himself, crossing his arms.

Josuke didn’t like the sound of that at all, as he scrutinized the old man. Shizuka meanwhile, looked as she waited on his breathe.

“When you were born, ahh… that day was the happiest day of Jouga’s life. I suspect there wasn’t a happier man in all Japan. Maybe the world. As for her, well… she was as quiet as ever. Ladylike, I suppose. I never could tell what she was thinking, but I can tell you that she never took her eyes off you for the first month. Jouga would complain to me how she wouldn’t even give him a chance to hold you. I think, in her own way, she loved you more than anything in the world. More than Jouga, even.”

The old man smiles then, meeting Shizuka’s eyes. She sits stock-still, her mouth clamped shut as if sewn up, her eyes not even twitching.

The perceived happiness from Sanjo’s face left soon, though. It would only be replaced by an expression of sadness and dread.

“And then… then, it happened…”

Shizuka’s brow furrowed. “W-what?…”

Then there is a loud CLICK from the kitchen and Josuke nearly jumps out of his seat.

“Ah!” Sanjo exclaims, “that’ll be the tea. I’ll just, uh, go get that ready.” He pulls back into his chair, and makes to rise out of it, movements slow and doddery.

“Oh, let me help you!” says Shizuka, snapping out of a daze.

“No need, no need!” replies the old man, waving her back into her seat. “If I can’t serve my own guests tea, what am I, then? You just wait here, I’ll fetch it for you.”

He shuffles out of the room and Josuke and Shizuka are alone again.

“Isn’t this great, Josuke!” Shizuka declares to her brother. It’s not a question.

“Ah… I guess…” he replies, watching the door where the old man exited.

“What do you mean, ‘you guess’? Don’t you realize how amazing this is? Of all the houses we could have come to, we ended up at this one! It feels like we’re already halfway to finding my mom already! This has to be fate at work!” Her eyes glitter with delight.

“I don’t know about that. He hasn’t given us a name, or an address, plus he left right in the middle of his story. Not to mention… the old guy himself seems kind of… odd.”

“Josuke, don’t be rude! He brought us into his home and telling us what he knows. Besides, he’s a senior-citizen living all alone, he’s allowed be eccentric.”

“Shizuka…”

“What’s your problem?” she demands, raising her voice, “Isn’t this what we came here for?”

Taken aback, Josuke argues, “Yeah, it is, but I’m just saying we shouldn’t be too quick to trust someone that we’ve just met.”

“Trust? That makes no sense, Josuke. What reason would he have to lie to us?”

The policeman’s glowers at his sister, and says in a low tone, “I don’t know, but somehow… I know he’s not what he seems.”

She means to ask him what he means, and then she freezes in place, her eyes gouging out of her head. Josuke stares at her, then realizes that he can’t breathe. He coughs once. Clutches at his throat. Coughs again. Tries inhaling, sucking in air, but it does not reach his lungs. As if something is clogging his airways. There is a foul taste on his tongue, like something burning. Like…

Like tobacco.

[achtung-attitude]

Together, they walk towards the city. On their way, the pair are stopped by about a dozen people, mostly old folks greeting Sergeant Higashikata with a parental pride. He greets them back, and introduces them to his kid sister, visiting from the States, and they look at the girl with the painted face and hair, and he feels the looks they give her, like a grinding ulcer in his gut. Soon, they reach a more unfriendly area…

“Hey, cutie,” whistles a teenager in a leather leaning against a bike rail, “loving the ganguro look!”

“I don’t know what that is, but thank you!” Shizuka replies, waving chirpily.

Josuke shoots the kid a look that sends him scuttling, then frowns at his sister. She asks, “What?”

“Nothing…”

Perhaps it was karma, after all. When he and Joseph discovered her, in 1999, an invisible baby crawling about a remote area of Morioh, they were at a loss with what to do. It had been a good idea to use foundation make-up to make her transparent flesh visible.

But whatever the circumstances, the fact remained that they had applied make-up to an infant girl, and something about that was just wrong. Now it seems Shizuka never wore that off…

“Shizuka, I need you to listen to me for a second.”

“Hmm? What’s up?”

He stoops low and speaks in a confidential voice. “This neighborhood we’re going to is pretty close to where we found you, not to mention there were a few missing persons reports from around this area.

“Actually, there were more than a few. In 1999 alone, over half the missing people case in Morioh were reported from this neighborhood. You get what I’m saying, don’t you?”

“I… think so.”

“Let me make it crystal. This place might look innocent enough, but make no mistake. This is a dangerous place, filled with a rough crowd. Stay on your guard, understand? And stay close to me. This isn’t a place that takes kindly to policemen… or strangers.”

Then, the policeman casts a look at his surroundings, and his sister does the same. And only then does she seem to notice the people watching them. The women whispering behind their hands. The children stopping their play to watch their every move. He hears her swallow. He nods, satisfied that she understands.

They walk the rest of the way in silence.

They stop in front of the house marked 30-3, and Josuke checks his notebook to confirm the number before knocking twice, light but firm on the front door. After two minutes, the door opens up a crack and a wizened eye peeks out. A weak and tempered voice speaks.

“…Please, I’ve lived here for 20 years, I never had no trouble with the police. If you’re here looking for something, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

“There’s no trouble. This isn’t official police business, more of a personal matter.”

“Then why wear that fancy uniform?”

“…It’s good to keep up appearances. I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine.” He steps a bit to the side, presenting his sister. “This is Shizuka, she’s with me looking into a case from…” says Josuke, and then something heavy drops from behind the door and the wizened eye goes wide.

The door closes shut. From inside, the scraping of several locks. Then the door swings open and an old man hobbles out, with skin like old paper and silver hair poking out in tufts beneath a baseball cap. “Incredible,” the old man croaks, staring into Shizuka’s face with wonder.

“Uhm… have we met before?” Shizuka asks.

“Yes,” replies the old man, still staring. But then, his expression softens. “And no. It was a long time ago. You wouldn’t remember. But still… my god, you look just like her, don’t you?”

Shizuka says nothing, balling her hands into nervous fists.

“Hold on,” Josuke cuts in, “are you saying… you know who this is?”

The old man nods. “Unless I’m completely wrong, the last time I saw this young lady was a little over 18 years ago. 18 years ago…”

“Incredible. There’s no way. No coincidence is this crazy!” Josuke declares.

“If you prefer, you might call it fate.” The old man dodders, turning around, going on, “you must come in, in any case. Please, I insist. We clearly have a lot to talk about.” As he turns, the girl catches his wrist, and Josuke swears he sees something change in the old man’s being, something passing over him that changes his face, but only for an instant, and his back is to him and he can’t say for sure.

Once they’re inside, the old man bows to his guests, properly introducing themselves. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. You can call me Sanjo. Please, have a seat.”

Shizuka immediately takes her seat on a long couch, adjacent from an armchair. Josuke takes a moment to place himself next to Shizuka, who promptly bows in return.

“Thank you for having us, Sanjo-san! My name is Shizuka.”

Sanjo smiles warmly, “A beautiful name…”

“Did you know her?” Shizuka asks, a pleading in her tone, “Did you know my mother?”

The old man sighs, a nostalgic look on his face. “Yes, I did. She lived with me for over 2 years.”

Shizuka seems to forget to breathe for a moment.

The old man makes his way out from the living room, towards the kitchen. “You’ll want tea, of course. We have cookies if you want them. You can go ahead and make yourselves comfortable while I boil the water, and then we can talk. I hope you don’t mind I smoke.” The old man produces a pipe from some secret pocket, a great, curving, polished calabash, and presents it to them with a collector’s pride.

“It’ll be just a moment…”

END OF CHAPTER TWO

[achtung-attitude]

“...I won't be deceived by you again,” Shizuka spits out, balling her hands into fists.

“You have a birthmark on the left side of your mid-back, like a little red splotch of ink,” Sanjo replies, “Gangak showed me a picture, not that I asked him.” She swallows, unnerved at hearing an intimate truth about her body.

“Look at me,” the old man spits back. “Why would I lie now? I didn't get to finish my story earlier. The plan was to kill your big 'brother' there and leave you alive. Then I could keep you alive long enough to tell you exactly who your mother is, before sending you back to her, piece by piece. You still want to hear the rest, do you?”

“You sick son of a bitch, I'll...” begins Josuke, before Shizuka waves him into silence. Sanjo sneers, as begins.

“Gangak and I were drug smugglers. That was our business. We took care of holding onto drugs smuggled into this side of Japan, and organized their transport across the Pacific. But before that, we were members of one of the most powerful crime gangs in the United States, based in L.A… Los Angeles, California...”

“Why the move?” Josuke asks, crossing his arms.

“Because the boss was a madman and a psychopath, and we were sick of working for him. We all came from the same community of Korean immigrants, but that man... in all my time on Earth, I have never... seen anything like... anyway, we left. Started our own enterprise, right here in Morioh. Right under your granddad's nose, Higashikata.”

Josuke keeps his face set, saying nothing.

“By spring of 1999, we were middlemen for half of the northern Pacific drug routes. And we decided to hold a party for our clients, in one of our secret warehouses. Chinese triads, Russian mafia dons, I'm talking the kings and queens of the international underworld, all coming on over to our side of the world to celebrate our newfound prosperity. And Gangak just had to bring that bitch with him, clinging to him like a leech.”

Sanjo shakes his head, and Josuke realizes that he is crying. Salty tears run down his wrinkled cheeks, though his voice remains as steady and hateful as ever.

“I went outside, to get some air or smoke or take a piss or something. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I went back to the warehouse, and before I'm a minute away, I realize something is wrong. The music is still playing. The disco lights are still shining out of the windows. But there are no voices. No human sound. And when I opened the door...” and then the old man chokes back a sob. When he speaks up again, the sob is still in his voice. “When I opened the door, they were all dead.”

Something in Josuke's memory stirs, something which becomes clearer as Sanjo keeps talking. “Every single one of them. All our crew, and our clients. No wounds on their bodies, but blood everywhere, spilling out of their eyes and ears, their mouth, every hole on their bodies. I found... Gangak right in the center, dead as can be. It was like a nightmare.”

A bizarre headline, Josuke remembers, which, though grisly and horrible, ultimately barely registered in a summer filled with bizarre incidents. It was Jotaro who decided that the mysterious deaths of over 50 people in a warehouse was best left to the police. In the end, the deaths were attributed to an unusually powerful case of ammonia poisoning, caused by old chemicals in the very walls of the place.

“And then I saw her. Stepping out of the shadows. That woman. Gangak's girl. Only she wasn't. She had changed completely, as if she'd become a different person. But that was wrong. The girl Gangak knew, that was the lie. She looked up, and she saw me, and with one look, I knew exactly who she was. I didn't understand how she did it then. I didn't have my Stand then. But I knew! She was an assassin. A Stand user from Los Angeles, sent by the boss to kill us all!”

The old man's tears are flowing freely now, and his voice quakes with pain and rage. He strains against his bonds, snapping at Shizuka like a crazed dog. “So I cut a piece out of her! Right out of her face! I took my knife, and I stuck it right below her right eye! Carved a cut like a fish hook on her pretty face, so now, even if I didn't kill her, she won't fool anyone else with a pretty look again! And you... you have her eyes.

“Do you understand? Do you hear what I'm saying to you? Your father is DEAD! Your mommy KILLED him! She murdered him, murdered my friend! And she got away with it, slinking back to L.A.! That's who squeezed you into the world! That's who you're looking for! What do you think of that? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK OF THAT-?!”

Josuke boots him once in the face and Sanjo is knocked out. A sudden gust of wind blows then. It blows against the hull of the old tanker, hard as a drum, vibrating the insides and making a sound like a prehistoric beast.

“Shizuka...” Josuke says, turning to face his sister. She is quiet, still looking down at Sanjo's unconscious form. The wind blows her hair over her face, obscuring her features. And whatever the policeman was about to say, he has forgotten it. The wind dies, and her hair falls back over her face.

“Shizuka, are you...?” he says, taking ginger steps towards his sister. “Are you OK?”

She doesn't answer. Then she looks up at him, a bright, cheerful smile across her face. “Isn't this great!” she declares. Again, it isn't a question.

Josuke is taken aback, jolting in place at the sight of Shizuka's smile, eyes transfixed on her overwhelming cheer as she advances past him.

“He finally finished his story, and now we have a new lead! Los Angeles! I just have to go there and look for my mom there! Oh my gosh, I've never been to L.A. before! I wonder if I'll meet anybody famous! Ooh, I wanna go swimming, and see the Hollywood sign and walk down the Miracle Mile! If I find my mom there, then we could do all that stuff together, too!”

“Shizuka!” Josuke cries, and she stops at last.

“What is it, Josuke?” she asks, confused, and surprised at the volume of his voice.

The policeman blinks, staring at Shizuka and struggling to find words. “Are... are you sure you're OK?”

She holds his gaze, then smiles again. Gentler this time, endearing. “Of course I'm OK, big bro. I've never been better. I'm going to find my mom.”

She says so as if it's obvious, as if nothing could possibly be wrong. Josuke is in a kind of daze, and remains in it even when his sister skips over to hug him, absently returning the embrace. He looks up at the sky, and decides it must be somewhere around 3pm by now. The sun makes its slow tilt towards the horizon, and he looks east, across the Pacific Ocean. On this side of the bay, the sea seems to take a dirty green color. Staring out across the sea, Josuke frowns and chews his bottom lip.

SANJO

STAND: SMOKE ON THE WATER

RETIRED

[achtung-attitude]

The locals call it the Poacher’s Reef. It lies 20 kilometers north of the so-called “Boing-Boing Cape”, which itself forms the outer edge of the Morioh town land. In ages past, the settlement of Morioh lived and died on trade along its coastline, and this remains true in this modern age.

The abalones, the highly durable sea mollusks for which the reef is famous for, float lazily along the summer tide as if drunk. They cling to the hull of the boat as it weaves covertly between the rock formations known as the Leopard Spotted Rocks.

It’s the middle of the night, but the warmth of the day has fallen to a groaning, sticky humidity. Men in suits wait at the rocky coast fidget, uncomfortable and sweaty. They are with an old man, who met the suited gentlemen and lead them to this point; the delivery dock. They wait for a dingy old ship to reach them. There are two of them, wearing sunglasses, despite the cover of darkness, and are carrying shiny American handguns under their blazers.

The boat pulls up to the shore after an eternity. The little old man blows the ashes out of his smoking pipe and puts it away. He gets up from the rock he was sitting on and hobbles to the shore to stand beside the men in suits. He produces a flashlight from some pocket, and flashes it, guiding the ship in.

“Beautiful night, ain’t it?” he says, gesturing to the clear night sky above. The yakuza don’t answer. The shorter, wider one, clearly in charge, adjusts his grip on his brown leather briefcase. The sudden tide caused by the ship’s landing splashes saltwater onto his shiny black shoes.

A tall man in a tracksuit appears over the side of the dinghy. In the next moment, he has vaulted over the edge and lands on the shore in a crouch. Strapped over his shoulder is a large duffel bag, filled with something.

“Can’t say I’m fond of this location,” says the short yakuza. His partner, a gangly creature with too many bones in his face, curls his lip, demonstrating how above this he is.

“You’ll be even less fond of prison,” says the guy in the tracksuit, his accent betraying his continental origins. The smaller yakuza hadn’t been to Korea in a long time, but he knew a Seoul accent when he heard it.

“Do you have what we came for?”

The Korean doesn’t reply with words. He removes the gym bag from his shoulder and zips it open, displaying the contents within. The short yakuza peers in. “20 kilos,” says the Korean, “Straight from the old country. There’s 100 more on the boat.” With that, he quickly zips up the bag, hiding contents from sight.

“Well, there’s no need to be so stingy.”

“This coming from yakuza? Come on.”

“You got a problem with yakuza, loser?” snarls the bony man, “at least we got real jobs. We don’t need to hang around no pissy little Podunk!”

“Keep your voice down, Ogami,” the short yakuza commands, wearily.

“Come on, Kentaro, you know this is bullshit!”

“Don’t tell me what I know. We are here to do business, and as usual, you are disgracing yourself and our organization with your lack of professionalism. So, knock. It. Off.”

“Speaking of business,” says the Korean, “you got the money?”

“Sure, we do,” the boss says, tapping his briefcase, but making no move to present it to the Korean. “It’s just… well, it’s a lot of money, isn’t it?”

“You planning to skip out on us?”

“Of course not!” exclaims Kentaro in his best salesman voice “But times are tough, as I’m sure you know. And you’ll have to forgive my rudeness, but it’s an awful lot of money to pay, especially to an independent trader.”

A low, hoarse cackle from behind. The yakuza look back and see the old man has gone to sit back on his rock, pipe back in hand. “If I was you boys,” he said, lighting up his pipe with a wooden match, “I’d quit while I was ahead.”

Ogami snarls, “Mind your own business, old man! You want to take a midnight dip? I hear the tides are crazy this time of year…”

“Ogami, please!” Kentaro interrupts, straightening his tie. Turning back to the tracksuit-wearing dealer, he continues, “Try to see it from our point of view. We’re putting a lot of faith into this investment. Taking a lot of risks. Thing is, why should we buy from you over the home market?”

“This isn’t your run-of-the-mill, diluted crap you find in Tokyo, man. We’re talking about art, understand? Cultivated from the poppy fields of Kashmir and refined with techniques going back five generations. It’s like comparing the Mona Lisa to a grade school art project.”

A plastic smile. “I’m not doubting the quality of your product. The boss, our long suffering oyabun, he says to me, ‘Kentaro, make our new partners feel welcome.’ So, naturally, I agreed to come out to this less-than-ideal location. Considering that, I was hoping we could… negotiate a price reduction?”

The Korean says nothing. He simply stares. And then, suddenly, Kentaro can’t breathe.

As if someone reached inside his throat and pinched his windpipe, he feels his airways close tight as a safe. Immediately, his eyes bug out of their sockets as the flow of oxygen ceases. Patting his chest does nothing. He can’t even cough. In his peripherals, he sees Ogami suffers the same affliction, his flesh turning blue over his bony face. Trying to turn, Kentaro slips over loose stones and falls painfully to the ground. He twists and sees the old man. The old man is smoking his pipe, a big, curving calabash, and it’s the old man, who is somehow suffocating the two yakuza.

“Your consideration is much appreciated,” the old man says, the voice coming from far away, “as is your loyalty. That’s why we’re paying you this courtesy. We’re the ones feeding your habits. You’d best not forget that, now.”

He is crouching now, crouching so that Kentaro is looking right up into his face. He takes a long draw of his pipe and removes his shades before blowing the smoke into his eyes. The yakuza’s eyes tear up, even as he chokes to death.The small humble dinghy is no longer in view, as a large Korean freighter obscures the night sky.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” the old man goes on, with a vulture’s grin “you’ll come where we tell you, you’ll take what we give you, you’ll pay what we ask. Are those terms acceptable?”

Blackness creeps into the corners of Kentaro’s vision. He feels like he’s going to die. Any minutes, any second. He nods his head once; a sharp, violent kowtow.

And like that, he can breathe. Kneeling in the rock and dirt, he inhales a massive gulp of beautiful, clean, life-giving, sea salt oxygen. He notices his briefcase is gone, and he doesn’t care. Then the gym bag is laid beside him, and the pride and the anger returns. But when he looks up, he sees the old man, standing up straight, walking just fine and inspecting the open briefcase. When he notices Kentaro staring, he smiles and says, “See you guys next month.”

The yakuza says nothing, does nothing. Instead, he collects Ogami up off the dirt and drags him back to the van at the crest of the cliff. He takes the bag of drugs with him and places it neatly in the back. And even though all he wants to do is drive back to Tokyo, he must sit and wait for the Koreans to bring the rest of the drugs. So, he sits and waits, ignoring Ogami’s wailing and not thinking about the old man and what he could do.