Courier? I don't even...
Stepping outside the shops for a breather, I saw one of the local yakuza goons coming down the street. I knew he was yakuza for three reasons: first, the garish tattoos that covered his arms; second, the yak head; and third, he was doing that special extra-nonchalant walk that people only do when they're up to no good.
Assuming the yakuza were behind what was happening to the shopkeepers (which was only logical, because the yakuza were behind everything to some degree), I followed him into the maze of alleyways colloquially known as "Curbstomp Lane", keeping as far behind him as I could without losing him.
After a time, he stopped at a reinforced metal door and looked around. I ducked behind a dumpster just in time to avoid being spotted, and watched him give an elaborate knock and whisper to whoever was behind the door. They let him in.
Damn. So much for getting any sort of information. For all I knew, he was just going to a private mah-jongg game. I made my way back to the alley entrance, lit a crumpled cigarette, and almost dropped it in surprise when I saw the same yakuza goon climb out of a manhole with a brown paper package under his arm.
He kicked the manhole shut, and glared at the people around as if daring them to notice. Of course nobody did. It was Chinatown -- you didn't go around noticing things like yakuza couriers climbing out of manholes in broad daylight, not if you wanted to be able to notice anything else ever again.
I followed him down the street to the Shiawase-Mitsuhama Zaibatsu building. He let himself in the front door with a keycard, so I stood in the shadows of the adjacent alleyway and smoked my last cigarette while I waited for him to come back out. When he eventually did, it was without the package -- unsurprisingly.
"Hey, buddy," I hissed at him as he passed the alley. "C'mere."
"Huh?" he grunted.
"You forgot something back there. The boss wanted me to give it to you."
"Oh?" he said, coming closer. "Whassat?"
"This!" I slammed my fist into his gut as hard as I could. It was like punching a flank steak wrapped around a cinder block.
| Hell. This is gonna hurt. |
