Kohai
Glossary:
Kohai: "the word that implied protegé, assistant, apprentice, and sidekick all in one." (Greenfield, "Speed Tribes")
Chimpira: "literal translation: little pricks." I guess in context, it would be something like, "young Yakuza wannabes" who just hang around the real stuff, acting as errand boys or whatnot.
********
Komiya needed coffee. Totally fucking needed it right now because he felt like a walking ghost whose very essence was sucked out of his body and into some artificial generator of violently false images. This always happened when Kubota suggested an all night Soul Blade blowout marathon: 1000 yen to play, 500 more to re-enter once you've lost, double that once you've lost twice, and double that once you've lost three times, and so on. Winner take all. They even managed to enlist some locally reputed video game champs with nothing better to do into the competition, given that they paid an extra 300 yen fee for not being part of the Izumo-kai.
Kubota was brutal. By four a.m. everyone else left and it was just him and Kubota in the outfit's office with a whole shitload of money. The boss'll be pleased. Komiya had lost at five minutes past midnight, but stayed after Kubota gave him the "I need moral support" gig.
What am I, your cheerleader? Though Komiya never really decided to say it. He didn't mind. Plus, Kubota-san seemed to be having a good time. He didn't mind that either. Not that there was anything else better to do. Fuck sleep. People spent half their lives sleeping anyway, and after that, sleep was the only thing they did. He didn't need sleep.
Komiya blundered around the small kitchenette in the back room of the office. No instant. No filters either. He swore to himself.
"Just use a paper towel."
He jumped, his nerves shot. "Uh...gotcha." Kubota was behind him, leaning into the door frame. Kubota-san's always so quiet, Komiya thought to himself as he silently got to work in heating a beat up kettle- what comes from not allowing women into the Yakuza, he added mentally. Close your eyes for a second, and Kubota-san's there where he wasn't before.
"Aren't you gonna get home?" Kubota asked from his seat at the table. He had emptied out his cigarettes and was now starting to stack them into a tower. "Your mom might be worried. Hey, make some for me too?" Komiya set an extra cup in front of him fitted with a folded paper towel and a few teaspoons of premier blend Colombian coffee.
"She's out." Komiya said, which basically meant she was with a client at some grungy love hotel in the red light district, smoking it up and having sex till sundown or till said client (usually a salary man she convinces herself looks like her former husband- and it was during times like these when drugs really did the trick) was called back to work or home; perfectly outfitted with doting wife, school kids, and a well prepared, hot meal. The teapot started to whistle. "In any case, she only worries about me when she's running out of stuff. You're stuck with me all day if you want."
"Ah." Kubota picked up the highest cigarette from the tower and lit it. Taking a drag and blowing it out into the air above him, he took off his glasses and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he blinked at his second in command who quizzically returned the gaze, trying not to betray his own apprehension. Where in the depths of hell it came from, Komiya didn't know. Kubota with his eyes and his smile and his mind games scared the shit out of him. The room would always drop a few degrees.
He steeled himself for -something- that never came. Never mind that he never figured out whatever that something ever was. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to. He wasn't sure if he was curious. After all, you know what they say.
// You're doing it again, Kubota-san.
Doing what?
That.
You like?//
"The kettle sounds like a dying opera singer." Kubota said at last.
"Huh?!" Komiya whirled around and was met by a muggy punch of steam in the face. "Aw fuck!"
His face went red.
He heard Kubota-san's laughter.
Or maybe he heard Kubota-san's laughter, and then he went red.
// You're doing at again, Kubota-san.
Yeah, well. I know. //
Dawn came slow and the two did little more than sit in silence; Komiya counting their earnings that night and Kubota cleaning his gun. By six the sun started creeping in through the curtains, the dull slants of light slashing through the wooden table where they sat.
"I wish Sanada-san would give us an electronic money counter or something. I'm sick of being junior accountant." Komiya mumbled more to himself than to Kubota as he pushed a pile of 10,000 yen off to the side next to a considerable amount of other bundles of cash and change. "All in all, I think we did well tonight."
"Ayumi-san called."
"Eh?"
Kubota lifted the barrel and inspected, one eye squinted as if looking through a telescope. "She was wondering if you wanted to drop by the hotel cause you left something there last time. You were in the bathroom, though, so I couldn't really go and get you."
"That was an hour ago, Kubota-san."
"Slipped my mind."
"Oh."
A secretary would be nice, but Komiya wouldn't be one to let her answer his cell phone. No, there was no need for a secretary, he amended. Who needed a secretary when Kubota-san took liberties in answering his cell anyway? It would have been a waste of money.
"Don't worry about it," Komiya said, regardless of the fact that Kubota never apologized. "I was getting tired of her anyway. She didn't like when I started..." He shut up. Now that was getting too personal.
"She seemed to be in a bad mood. D'yo stand her up?" He seemed mindless about the question, as mindless as he would be whenever he was putting his gun back together. Seemed like he was somewhere else, as if the weapon was always a "Kubota's not home" sign.
Click. Click. Click.
It was easy enough to take apart a gun. Putting it back together was the harder part. "Don't think so. She say anything else to you?"
"Yup." Kubota inspected the newly assembled gun. Satisfied, he stuck it back into his jacket.
"You gonna tell me what, Kubota-san?"
"Wasn't planning on it unless you asked. You look kinda on the edge today."
"I'm asking now."
"Well," he started before delaying the answer with another cigarette. Through the smoke, Kubota looked him dead in the eye, mirth bubbling up from behind his glasses though it never reached his mouth. "She sorta asked who was fucking who, sorta like, between us."
"Oh." Komiya wasn't ready to hear that. And to hear it come so shamelessly from Kubota-san's mouth was too much. "Oh." // Wow is that a crack in the wood? Maybe I'll go to Sanada-san and request for a new table today. // "That's...um..." //That and I'll have to go buy a new kettle after collection rounds. And since when has the wallpaper been turning yellowish?//
Kubota waved a hand in front of Komiya's face. "Yo, kohai. You have to breathe sometime." The voice brought him back from overanalyzing the deteriorating coloration of the wall and the cracks in the ceiling. Komiya huffed, finally coming to.
"Why'd the bitch have to ask something like that?" Komiya fumed, slamming his fist into the table. The crack got bigger.
"Dunno." Kubota let him rant.
"She's got an overactive imagination."
"Yup."
"I mean, what was she thinking?"
"Dunno."
"She's crazy."
"Yup."
"Why would we fuck each other anyway?"
"Dunno."
"Shit. She probably thinks its you screwing me since you're leader now."
"Yup."
"But I mean, we would never..."
"Dunno."
"It's like, what are you gonna do, seduce me?"
"Yup."
It was like slamming into a wall. "What?!"
"Sorry, just keeping the pattern." Kubota smiled sheepishly. He ground the cigarette into the ashtray. "You were saying?" Komiya buried his face in his hands in frustration, adding an angry growl for good measure.
With Ayumi's fondness of gossip, it wouldn't be good for him at all. So much for being a tough Yakuza. The glamour of it all, the prestige; it seemed to slipping through his fingers like dry sand- his public image among the Yokohama outfits turning into ashes as he felt himself being put into the new position of Kubota Makoto's chimpira.
"Kubota-san?" he said after calming down. Maybe there was hope.
"Hm?"
"So what did you tell her in the end?"
Kubota rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I never really got to answer. She just kept talking and hung up."
"The world's gonna end. My career is over and I'll be back to muck." Komiya whined. "What'll happen if Sanada-san finds out?" The other raised a brow, slightly amused.
"Finds out about what?"
Komiya ignored him. "I'm fucked...in more ways than one." Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm, hauling him up.
"New day, time to work. You'll feel better once you get some air. I betcha 500 yen on it." But before Komiya could punch a protest, he was out the door and the two of them were on the streets again.
The city came alive slowly. At first it was just store owners opening up shop and mopping up their section of the sidewalk, then school kids came and everyone else. "Kubota-san was right", Komiya admitted to himself as they wandered out in the open air. "I am feeling better." The morning was crisp before it was warm. People were compliant. They always paid lately, mostly due to Kubota and his reputation for being violent. No one wanted to take any risks.
Business was great yet Komiya still sulked. Nothing had changed, but one word still nagged him to near obsession: Chimpira.
Breakfast tasted like cardboard today. Afterwards, they received a call from Sanada to come to the main office. As usual, the boss wasted no time in seeing them.
"They'll be waiting for you in a warehouse near the allocated docking point. Watch your back, Kubota-kun. We're dealing with freelance negotiators. They'd double-cross a Yakuza family for its rival if it meant getting a better offer."
"No prob."
Sanada smiled at Kubota. "I knew taking you in would be a good investment. Personally, I'm quite satisfied with your work."
// I never really liked the way the boss looked at Kubota-san. He always seemed hungry in a dirty sorta way. //
"Thanks." Kubota said, then hauled Komiya out again by his sleeve. "Cold in there. Let's run to a stand. I'm out of cigarettes."
// He wants you, Kubota-san.
Yeah, well. I know. //
Glossary:
Kohai: "the word that implied protegé, assistant, apprentice, and sidekick all in one." (Greenfield, "Speed Tribes")
Chimpira: "literal translation: little pricks." I guess in context, it would be something like, "young Yakuza wannabes" who just hang around the real stuff, acting as errand boys or whatnot.
********
Komiya needed coffee. Totally fucking needed it right now because he felt like a walking ghost whose very essence was sucked out of his body and into some artificial generator of violently false images. This always happened when Kubota suggested an all night Soul Blade blowout marathon: 1000 yen to play, 500 more to re-enter once you've lost, double that once you've lost twice, and double that once you've lost three times, and so on. Winner take all. They even managed to enlist some locally reputed video game champs with nothing better to do into the competition, given that they paid an extra 300 yen fee for not being part of the Izumo-kai.
Kubota was brutal. By four a.m. everyone else left and it was just him and Kubota in the outfit's office with a whole shitload of money. The boss'll be pleased. Komiya had lost at five minutes past midnight, but stayed after Kubota gave him the "I need moral support" gig.
What am I, your cheerleader? Though Komiya never really decided to say it. He didn't mind. Plus, Kubota-san seemed to be having a good time. He didn't mind that either. Not that there was anything else better to do. Fuck sleep. People spent half their lives sleeping anyway, and after that, sleep was the only thing they did. He didn't need sleep.
Komiya blundered around the small kitchenette in the back room of the office. No instant. No filters either. He swore to himself.
"Just use a paper towel."
He jumped, his nerves shot. "Uh...gotcha." Kubota was behind him, leaning into the door frame. Kubota-san's always so quiet, Komiya thought to himself as he silently got to work in heating a beat up kettle- what comes from not allowing women into the Yakuza, he added mentally. Close your eyes for a second, and Kubota-san's there where he wasn't before.
"Aren't you gonna get home?" Kubota asked from his seat at the table. He had emptied out his cigarettes and was now starting to stack them into a tower. "Your mom might be worried. Hey, make some for me too?" Komiya set an extra cup in front of him fitted with a folded paper towel and a few teaspoons of premier blend Colombian coffee.
"She's out." Komiya said, which basically meant she was with a client at some grungy love hotel in the red light district, smoking it up and having sex till sundown or till said client (usually a salary man she convinces herself looks like her former husband- and it was during times like these when drugs really did the trick) was called back to work or home; perfectly outfitted with doting wife, school kids, and a well prepared, hot meal. The teapot started to whistle. "In any case, she only worries about me when she's running out of stuff. You're stuck with me all day if you want."
"Ah." Kubota picked up the highest cigarette from the tower and lit it. Taking a drag and blowing it out into the air above him, he took off his glasses and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he blinked at his second in command who quizzically returned the gaze, trying not to betray his own apprehension. Where in the depths of hell it came from, Komiya didn't know. Kubota with his eyes and his smile and his mind games scared the shit out of him. The room would always drop a few degrees.
He steeled himself for -something- that never came. Never mind that he never figured out whatever that something ever was. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to. He wasn't sure if he was curious. After all, you know what they say.
// You're doing it again, Kubota-san.
Doing what?
That.
You like?//
"The kettle sounds like a dying opera singer." Kubota said at last.
"Huh?!" Komiya whirled around and was met by a muggy punch of steam in the face. "Aw fuck!"
His face went red.
He heard Kubota-san's laughter.
Or maybe he heard Kubota-san's laughter, and then he went red.
// You're doing at again, Kubota-san.
Yeah, well. I know. //
Dawn came slow and the two did little more than sit in silence; Komiya counting their earnings that night and Kubota cleaning his gun. By six the sun started creeping in through the curtains, the dull slants of light slashing through the wooden table where they sat.
"I wish Sanada-san would give us an electronic money counter or something. I'm sick of being junior accountant." Komiya mumbled more to himself than to Kubota as he pushed a pile of 10,000 yen off to the side next to a considerable amount of other bundles of cash and change. "All in all, I think we did well tonight."
"Ayumi-san called."
"Eh?"
Kubota lifted the barrel and inspected, one eye squinted as if looking through a telescope. "She was wondering if you wanted to drop by the hotel cause you left something there last time. You were in the bathroom, though, so I couldn't really go and get you."
"That was an hour ago, Kubota-san."
"Slipped my mind."
"Oh."
A secretary would be nice, but Komiya wouldn't be one to let her answer his cell phone. No, there was no need for a secretary, he amended. Who needed a secretary when Kubota-san took liberties in answering his cell anyway? It would have been a waste of money.
"Don't worry about it," Komiya said, regardless of the fact that Kubota never apologized. "I was getting tired of her anyway. She didn't like when I started..." He shut up. Now that was getting too personal.
"She seemed to be in a bad mood. D'yo stand her up?" He seemed mindless about the question, as mindless as he would be whenever he was putting his gun back together. Seemed like he was somewhere else, as if the weapon was always a "Kubota's not home" sign.
Click. Click. Click.
It was easy enough to take apart a gun. Putting it back together was the harder part. "Don't think so. She say anything else to you?"
"Yup." Kubota inspected the newly assembled gun. Satisfied, he stuck it back into his jacket.
"You gonna tell me what, Kubota-san?"
"Wasn't planning on it unless you asked. You look kinda on the edge today."
"I'm asking now."
"Well," he started before delaying the answer with another cigarette. Through the smoke, Kubota looked him dead in the eye, mirth bubbling up from behind his glasses though it never reached his mouth. "She sorta asked who was fucking who, sorta like, between us."
"Oh." Komiya wasn't ready to hear that. And to hear it come so shamelessly from Kubota-san's mouth was too much. "Oh." // Wow is that a crack in the wood? Maybe I'll go to Sanada-san and request for a new table today. // "That's...um..." //That and I'll have to go buy a new kettle after collection rounds. And since when has the wallpaper been turning yellowish?//
Kubota waved a hand in front of Komiya's face. "Yo, kohai. You have to breathe sometime." The voice brought him back from overanalyzing the deteriorating coloration of the wall and the cracks in the ceiling. Komiya huffed, finally coming to.
"Why'd the bitch have to ask something like that?" Komiya fumed, slamming his fist into the table. The crack got bigger.
"Dunno." Kubota let him rant.
"She's got an overactive imagination."
"Yup."
"I mean, what was she thinking?"
"Dunno."
"She's crazy."
"Yup."
"Why would we fuck each other anyway?"
"Dunno."
"Shit. She probably thinks its you screwing me since you're leader now."
"Yup."
"But I mean, we would never..."
"Dunno."
"It's like, what are you gonna do, seduce me?"
"Yup."
It was like slamming into a wall. "What?!"
"Sorry, just keeping the pattern." Kubota smiled sheepishly. He ground the cigarette into the ashtray. "You were saying?" Komiya buried his face in his hands in frustration, adding an angry growl for good measure.
With Ayumi's fondness of gossip, it wouldn't be good for him at all. So much for being a tough Yakuza. The glamour of it all, the prestige; it seemed to slipping through his fingers like dry sand- his public image among the Yokohama outfits turning into ashes as he felt himself being put into the new position of Kubota Makoto's chimpira.
"Kubota-san?" he said after calming down. Maybe there was hope.
"Hm?"
"So what did you tell her in the end?"
Kubota rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I never really got to answer. She just kept talking and hung up."
"The world's gonna end. My career is over and I'll be back to muck." Komiya whined. "What'll happen if Sanada-san finds out?" The other raised a brow, slightly amused.
"Finds out about what?"
Komiya ignored him. "I'm fucked...in more ways than one." Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm, hauling him up.
"New day, time to work. You'll feel better once you get some air. I betcha 500 yen on it." But before Komiya could punch a protest, he was out the door and the two of them were on the streets again.
The city came alive slowly. At first it was just store owners opening up shop and mopping up their section of the sidewalk, then school kids came and everyone else. "Kubota-san was right", Komiya admitted to himself as they wandered out in the open air. "I am feeling better." The morning was crisp before it was warm. People were compliant. They always paid lately, mostly due to Kubota and his reputation for being violent. No one wanted to take any risks.
Business was great yet Komiya still sulked. Nothing had changed, but one word still nagged him to near obsession: Chimpira.
Breakfast tasted like cardboard today. Afterwards, they received a call from Sanada to come to the main office. As usual, the boss wasted no time in seeing them.
"They'll be waiting for you in a warehouse near the allocated docking point. Watch your back, Kubota-kun. We're dealing with freelance negotiators. They'd double-cross a Yakuza family for its rival if it meant getting a better offer."
"No prob."
Sanada smiled at Kubota. "I knew taking you in would be a good investment. Personally, I'm quite satisfied with your work."
// I never really liked the way the boss looked at Kubota-san. He always seemed hungry in a dirty sorta way. //
"Thanks." Kubota said, then hauled Komiya out again by his sleeve. "Cold in there. Let's run to a stand. I'm out of cigarettes."
// He wants you, Kubota-san.
Yeah, well. I know. //