TRAGEDY REVEALED ON A NEW MEIJI MORNING

Date: Monday, February 6, 2060
Time: First thing in the morning, office time
Place: Department of Justice, New Meiji Branch Headquarters
Characters: Takagi Tokio and her secretary, Murakami Oharu

"Good morning Takagi-san," chirped a pleasant looking middle aged woman, as soon as she'd seen the young prosecutor walking toward her desk.

"Good morning, Murakami-san, " Tokio replied to her secretary, Murakami Oharu.

Oharu's desk sat facing the DOJ office pool. Behind her desk was the door to Tokio's private office. In this position, Oharu could keep an eye on the comings and goings of the members of the office pool, and monitor any visitors that anyone of them might have. It also allowed her to intercept idiots –as Oharu called them- trying to head straight for Tokio's door without permission.

"The whole department is buzzing about the hot time you had yesterday at the Sunshine Café," the older woman winked and there was a slightly teasing tone to her voice.

Tokio gave Oharu a sour look. Seems like the gossip train in New Meiji arrived at the station faster than it ever did in Yokohama. Well, that might have been due to her brother Morinosuke. The man was a stickler for insisting that the office was for business, the coffee shop and beauty parlor were for gossip.

"Very poor choice of words this morning, Murakami-san," Tokio let out with a sigh, since the word, 'hot', reminded her of a melted flak jacket and a very red and blistered back, not to mention her own tender palms, which had sustained a painful sunburn-like scorching when she removed the officer's body armor.

"Sorry, Boss-san, but my brother was one of the responding EMTs and he knew that I worked for you." This time Oharu's eyes were filled with concern, as was her voice.

"He told me about your hands, too," the woman added quietly.

"Then he must have also told you that I was treated on the spot, and I only have to wear these light weight protective gloves for a day. " Tokio held up her hands, revealing the skin colored medi-burn gloves that were standard protection after being treated for a light burn on the hands.

Tokio smirked. Thank the kami for voice recognition word processing. It's not like they were back in the old days where office workers had to use a key board. Plus, it wasn't like the protective hand covers would get in the way of anything she wished to do today. One of those 'to do' things, she reminded herself, was to return a small side arm to a certain amber-eyed Cop-san. She shuddered involuntarily when she thought of his wounds, when she thought of his body covering hers so protectively, shielding her from the chaotic gunfire.

"Well, Third Squad Leader Saitoh is well known around here. You replaced a good friend of his, Fujita Hiroshi." Murakami-san paused before adding, "So any news about him is quick to make the rounds."

"Then your brother probably told you about the injuries sustained by Captain Saitoh." Tokio was tempted to roll her eyes. Was nothing private in the DOJ's New Meiji branch? Sure didn't seem like it.

"He did," she replied seriously. Tokio's secretary then became thoughtful for a moment. It was almost as though she was trying to decide whether to speak, or keep her mouth shut. Finally she spoke,

"Both of them, Saitou-san and Fujita-san, have some similarities in their backgrounds."

At that comment Tokio raised her brows. Similarities? What kind of similarities? She knew her predecessor had died in the line of duty, a victim of assassination. Not only that, his family had been killed right along with him.

Tokio had an expectant look on her face. Her secretary looked back at her sheepishly, knowing that she had started something that her boss would most likely finish. The two of them had only worked together for a week, but in that short time they had developed an understanding of sorts, an understanding about their respective work habits and personalities, and that good communication was the key-stone for any good working relationship.

"Come into my office please," the assistant prosecutor politely requested. Tokio was reasonably sure that whatever was similar between Saitoh-san and his deceased prosecutor friend was nothing that the office pool needed to hear, or in the case of many of them, had likely heard already.

Oharu followed Tokio into her office, closing the door behind them. The tall prosecutor slipped into the leather chair behind a large, neatly appointed cherry wood desk, indicating with her hand for her secretary to take one of the two upholstered chairs facing her, which she did.

"Well, about three years ago," the woman began, hesitantly, after settling into the chair, "there was an incident."

Tokio's back stiffened and her breathing became shallow in anticipation of what she was about to learn about the broad-shouldered police officer whom she felt all too familiar around considering he was a total stranger to her.

"Some trouble; truthfully, it was horrifying, " the woman went on. She was reasonably sure that Tokio knew the danger involved in being in law enforcement in New Meiji. Neither the cops on the street, nor the attorneys who prosecuted the accused were safe.

"I know that you know that Fujita-san and his wife and children were murdered," tears welled in Oharu's eyes as she remembered her late boss and his sweet little six-year old daughter.

"Saitoh-san had a wife and two little boys," the secretary continued.

Tokio was slammed by one of the stray thoughts that been randomly plaguing her ever since she'd encountered Cop-san in the Sunshine Café yesterday. 'But didn't he have three boys', her mind said to itself. Shaking her head, she refocused her attention on the story that was being told.

"Saitoh-san's wife, Shinoda Yaso, was murdered three years ago by some thugs from a still unidentified crime syndicate. They broke into the family home while Saitoh-san was away on assignment."

Tokio felt like she'd been gut kicked and hit over the head with an end loaded baseball bat all at the same time.

"Yaso-san had the presence of mind to hide her little boys. Word around the office at the time was that she made them promise to keep quiet and then deliberately led the intruders away from where the boys were hiding."

"Poor woman was assaulted, brutally, and tortured for information about the whereabouts and details of her husband. Of course, Captain Saitoh had never told her anything about his work, probably to keep her safe, but look what that got her." Oharu frowned before speaking again. "Saitoh-san arrived home shortly after and she died in his arms. I remember someone saying that there was blood everywhere." The woman shuddered, remembering how she'd felt when the news first hit the DOJ office.

If a heart could break inside a person's body, Tokio's would be in shreds right now. She had no idea why the tragedy of a stranger and his family would affect her so deeply, so strongly. Yes, it was a sad story. It happened a lot. The crime lords made the uncorrupted public servants pay for their ideals by slaughtering their families. It was common, almost an everyday event here in New Meiji, less so back in Yokohama. Mori, her brother, always had to watch his back, and his family was guarded there was absolutely NO reason why Tokio should take what she was hearing so personally. There was no reason for her heart to ache so deeply for an amber-eyed man with a deep soothing voice. No…reason…at…all…

But her secretary was not yet finished with her narration."Poor man, he turned to the bottle presumably to drown himself. It was office gossip for about two years until he went on the wagon about a year ago. However, you would never have known he was a problem drinker by just looking at him. He never appeared or acted drunk or smelled of alcohol at work, ever, not even for a single day in all those two years." And no one so much as saw the man put his lips to a bottle, either, she added to herself with a sigh.

Oharu stopped, not sure whether to continue. But she'd gone this far; she might as well finish. "Ah…rumor has it…and what I am about to tell you is only rumor, but apparently his best friend found him passed out one day."

Locked in his office, passed out, near death, a victim of alcohol poisoning. The only reason that Oharu knew that little fact –and it was no rumor, it was true- was that her brother had been the EMT who responded to Okita's desperate call. But that was more than Takagi-san, or anyone else had to know, period. After all, the man had been a good friend to her late, beloved boss, Fujita Hiroshi, and he deserved to keep his dignity.

Tokio just sat in her chair, stunned, staring straight ahead, hurting so much for a man she didn't know and his three, no two, little boys. She felt a strange, unwarranted gratitude toward Yaso for trying to save her children. Now that was a strange thought, as was the impression that the officer really had three children, not two. But her secretary surely would know the correct number of children involved. Incidents involving children were not often forgotten.

What about the children? Murakami-san hadn't said a word about them surviving; all she said was that Yaso had hidden them. Tokio felt a moment of irrational panic, cleared her throat, trying to suppress the emotions welling just beneath the surface of her composure. She was truly troubled that the misfortune of the Saitoh family was causing her such unnatural grief. It would be different if the family were her relatives, friends, or even neighbors, but they weren't. They were TOTAL STRANGERS.

Hesitantly, Tokio posed her question, "So…was Yaso-san successful, did the boys survive?"

"Thankfully, yes they did, but I can't begin to imagine the trauma the little fellows must have suffered." Oharu was so kind-hearted. She couldn't stand to see the suffering of children, or animals.

Deep in her mind a thought echoed, 'Rest easy, your boys are safe.'

Tokio nodded to her secretary, a whispered reply on her lips, "That's good." Then she had a strange, unbelievably strong desire to take those little boys in her arms and hold them as if her life depended on it. There I go again, she thought. I do NOT know these people. I am NEVER going to know these people. It has to be the stress from yesterday kicking me in the head.