BRING ON THE RAIN

"Tomorrow's another day
And I'm thirsty anyway
So bring on the rain

It's almost like the hard times circle round
A couple drops and they all start coming down
Yeah, I might feel defeated,
I might hang my head
I might be barely breathing - but I'm not dead"

–Jo Dee Messina, 'Bring on the Rain'

Session 1: City Symphony

He stood by the wall of glass and looked down on the world below. As the torrent of rain streamed across the window panes it gave the illusion that he was standing behind a curtain of water. Blowing smoke slowly out of his mouth, he flicked his cigarette once, then twice. His breath was fogging up the glass, a sign that he was alive, but after a couple of seconds the patch of white would fade and the sleeping city would return. The coldness choked out the moisture—it sucked the very life from the metropolis. After a couple more seconds of staring at the bright lights that shone like stars, the leader of the Red Dragon clan flicked his cigarette onto the floor and stomped out its flame with his recently polished shoes. One less light burned. He turned to face me.

"Hey you. We got anything to eat in this place?" He asked gruffly. Surprised by the sudden break in silence, I scrambled to respond.

"Uh—yes, sir—what would you like?" I finally managed to ask. Pulling out another cigarette, he lit it and took a long drag. After taking a couple steps in my direction he exhaled quietly. The smoke swirled around me like a snake, wrapping me in its warm embrace. I shivered. Suddenly, he smiled.

"How about bell peppers and beef?" I had never heard such a strange request, but I played off my boss's eccentricity with a firm salute.

"I will see what I can find, sir," I promised. Patting me on the shoulder as if he had known me all his life, he gave a laugh that held no mirth and continued towards the door.

"You do that." He kept on walking, hands in his jacket pockets and cigarette dangling from his mouth. I stared after him as he stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The only light burning hung inches from his mouth. Then he was gone.

***

"Status report," he demanded as he propped up his feet on the long table.

"All operations are on schedule, sir. All Mars members are in position. There have been no reported incidents or… sir?" The syndicate member looked to the boss inquisitively. He was staring up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head, another newly lit cigarette pressed firmly between his lips. "Am I boring you?" He asked dryly.

"Yeah, sort of," he drawled. Taken back, the man shifted in his seat and said nothing. The boss finally sat up and took the cigarette from his mouth, balancing it delicately between his fingers. "If there's nothing to report, why are we having this meeting?" He asked with feigned innocence.

"Sir, it is our duty to keep you fully informed of all of the syndicate's—

"There are no threats. I am fully aware of that myself. Who do you think I am?" He interrupted. I sat up a little straighter. For once, there was an edginess in his voice. Everyone immediately stiffened. Whenever the boss got irritated it usually meant bad news for his underlings. At least, that's what I had heard. I had yet to witness his wrath myself. "Why are there no windows in this room?" He suddenly asked. His voice was once again soft and soothing. Had I imagined his tone of annoyance?

"Excuse me?" The captain said with a confused expression on his face. "…It's to ensure that the enemy cannot find our location during these meetings. Windows would open us up to unnecessary risks. Surely, you know—

"Of course I do. I want windows in this room. See to it," the Red Clan leader ordered as he got to his feet. Without waiting for the captain to protest, he made his way out the door. Once he closed it behind him, the representative slammed his fist loudly on the table.

"Damn it! Is he toying with us or what? At least Vicious was straight forward!" He growled. No one commented. No one dared to. The captain was walking the dangerous line of treason, and even though he had a point, no one would agree except in their own minds. All it would take was one person to agree and a coup would be born. One by the one, the various captains of the Red Dragon crime syndicate rose from their seats and left the room. As I made a move to follow them out, the captain addressed me.

"Shinji, isn't it? You're his new assistant. Try and find out what's inside his head. He may be strong, but to be a leader you need more than instinct. See if you can get through to him!" The captain pleaded. I merely bowed my head, offering neither agreement nor expressing my own doubts. The middle aged man sighed and placed his head in his hands. He appeared utterly defeated. In the year that Spike Spiegel had taken over the leadership of the Red Dragon clan it had flourished, but his methods were sporadic and often relied heavily on luck and gut instinct. The syndicate was meant to be a finely tuned machine with every part in its place, functioning as it should, when it should. Under Spike's rule, however, it was more like a wild mustang: powerful, unstoppable, and completely unpredictable. I wasn't sure which strategy served the company best, nor did I particularly care what the higher ups did, but if I wanted to live a long life in the underworld I would have to ensure the syndicate's continued success. Therefore, the possibility that Spike Spiegel would need to be reigned in was highly probable. That left me with one problem though—how could I, a newly enlisted lackey of the syndicate, tame a mustang?

***

I walked into the room where I knew Spike would be standing. Every night he stood on the top floor with his face only inches away from the glass. His hungry eyes scanned the city with an unknown purpose. Usually he would smoke half a pack of cigarettes, ask me to bring dinner to his suite, and then leave the room. When it rained, he would smoke a whole pack before asking me what there was to eat. After a week of watching him in silence, I still had not discovered what he was looking for or thinking about.

Spike was an enigma. He never spoke of the past, but he didn't need to. The entire syndicate spoke for him. I knew most of his past involving the Red Dragons, but for some reason I felt like I didn't really know the whole truth. One evening, I almost worked up the nerve to ask him myself, but one look into his two differently toned eyes and I immediately lost my resolve. To make things even more difficult, Spike acted nonchalant about everything and anything, except maybe food. Many syndicate members despised his easy going personality and said he wasn't taking the business seriously enough, but I felt it was the opposite. Spike's go-with-the-flow mentality frightened me. He successfully fooled everyone around him into thinking he was an idiot, but I caught the calculating glances he would cast when he thought no one was looking and the fluid movements he made to place himself in the most opportune positions to attack or defend. He made everything look effortless and was a strategic mastermind. He was definitely deserving of the title of clan leader.

"Hey kid, what is there to eat tonight?" Spike asked, disrupting my musings. My head jerked up. The boss had only smoked two cigarettes. Perhaps the break in pattern shouldn't have disturbed me as much as it did, but for some reason I couldn't help but ask:

"Are you already finished, sir?" Spike blinked a couple of times, obviously perplexed. "You only smoked two cigarettes tonight. Would you like me to grab another pack for you?" After a moment of silence, Spike broke out in a boisterous laugh. It was the first one that I had ever heard from him since I had joined the syndicate. "Sir, did I say something funny?" I wondered.

"You're a perceptive son of a bitch, aren't ya?" Spike exclaimed. "You're right, what was I thinking? It's definitely too early to turn in just yet. Thanks, kid." Spike continued to chuckle as he turned to face the window once more. His reflection gazed back at me with an unreadable expression. I sighed heavily and made a mental note to keep my mouth shut from now on. It wasn't any of my business what the boss did or didn't do. I was merely his lackey. The less I knew about the higher ups, the less likely I was to be killed, and I liked it that way.

"Jackson asked you to get in my head." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. However, it was said so smoothly that I didn't perceive it to be a threat, merely an observation. While Spike lit his third cigarette I was able to think of a response.

"Yes sir, but I'm not exactly sure what he meant by it," I admitted. My boss shrugged. Ah, that familiar nonchalance.

"He just has his panties in a bunch because I discovered his double dealings. He'll be dead by dawn so don't let it bother you." Spike's tone was conversational so it took me a moment to register what he was saying.

"Double dealings? You're having him assassinated then?" I asked in surprise. Spike blew a large cloud of smoke directly into his mirror image's face.

"Yup. That's what I said. Can't go poking holes in a balloon, otherwise it will burst." Spike's words only added evidence to my theory that the syndicate leader was more than he seemed. Some more minutes passed in silence. I wasn't sure how to continue the conversation. Shifting awkwardly, I looked around the room. I wasn't sure why the top floor wasn't furnished. There was enough space to build a lavish apartment, or at least use it for storage, but Spike strictly forbade anyone from coming to the top floor without him present. He kept it completely empty. The floor was concrete and the only thing occupying the room were the pillars that kept the ceiling from caving in.

"Sir?" I said meekly. Oh gods, why did I speak? What could I possibly have to say? I bit my lip, hoping Spike would ignore me, but to my surprise, he responded.

"Yes?" He actually turned to make eye contact, which caused my insides to twist. Quick, you idiot, say something! I thought to myself.

"Why do you come here every night?" I finally blurted. I expected Spike to make some sort of joke, turn back to the window, and continue smoking, but he surprised me yet again. Tossing his cigarette on the concrete, he snuffed out the light and approached me. The buildings below gave off enough light that shadows fell across the clan leader's face. When he stood no more than a foot away, he turned and leaned up against the wall next to me. Crossing his arms across his chest he looked up thoughtfully.

"I suppose it's because I'm waiting," he admitted. I perked up without even realizing it. Was Spike really answering a personal question? I couldn't resist the urge to ask him more. I leaned towards him in the dark, attempting to get a better look at his face.

"Waiting for what?" My question came out in a whisper, although I knew not why. For some reason a heavy feeling came over me, almost as if I were trespassing on restricted territory.

"Waiting for a reason to live," Spike answered with a shrug. The cryptic answer disappointed me. I decided to try my luck one more time.

"So you're waiting for something in particular?" By this time, Spike was finishing up his fourth cigarette. He waited a long time before answering my question. So long, in fact, that I almost forgot about it. Then suddenly, as he squashed his fourth cigarette of the night against the cold wall, he responded.

"Yes. I'm waiting for the right moment to get their attention. Perhaps that makes me conceited…" I waited, hoping the boss would continue, but he shook his head as if realizing he had said too much. Putting a flame to his fifth cigarette, he gave a deep laugh before pulling up off the wall. "Have dinner brought to my room, kid," he instructed. I bowed as he left, but couldn't help lifting my head to catch a glimpse of his back. His shoulders were squared and hard, almost as if they carried the weight of the world on top of them.

***