The Yakuza at Hyaku Dojo Chapter Eight: Dropjaw
Hajime regained consciousness several hours later. Spreading his eyelids against the will of his entire body he slowly absorbed the bright rays of light that pieced his window blinds. He was struck moments later by a throbbing sensation in the rear of his skull, causing him to cradle his head in the palm of his hand like a mother cradles her new-born child. He ran his tongue across his cracked, dry lips moistening them and flavouring the bitter remnants of last night's events.
Pushing himself upwards with his free hand Hajime sat upright between his duvet and mattress, he began studying the surrounding area, as to prove to himself that he was in fact at home, in his
bed. After verifying his whereabouts with his own conscious, albeit sleepy, mind he painfully made his way onto his feet shaking unsteady backwards and forwards as he fought against gravity for control of his balance.
With his hand still planted firmly on the top of his head, Hajime stumbled towards the bathroom. He fell forward and planted his hands on the cold ceramic rim of the sink, the cooling affect of the ice-like structure sending a prominent wake-up call through his body. Straining his neck upwards he glanced at himself in the mirror and scowled disapprovingly at the image that stared back at him.
"I think I'll stick to sake next time," he muttered in a gruff tone. Clearing his throat he turned his attention to the small shower cubicle that stood in the corner of the room. Sliding open the clear glass door he leaned in and turned on the spray, covering his head in a downpour of icy cold water before he had a chance to pull himself back out.
Hajime emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, water running down his stick-like frame. A damp towel clung to his equator feverishly held together by Hajime's tight grip. He threw his head back and ran his fingers through his long brown hair. He let out a sigh of relief as he banished the germs that once rid his body to the dank depths of the Liberty City sewage system.
Before the moistened mobster had time to dress himself a loud vibrating noise hurled itself from across the room. Hajime dashed towards the source, quickly grabbing the mobile and hitting the pick-up button immediately, without stopping to check who it was. He held the device to his ear and spoke into it loudly, and confidently.
"Hajime? Is that you?"
Hajime paused for a moment. He did not recognise the man's voice. He was defiantly not a member of The Yakuza, due to his thick American accent and lack of manners.
"Who is this?" Hajime responded.
"I'm Jimmy O'Malley," he explained, "I am an associate of your 'Oyabun
', is it? Anyway, he told me that you were the person I needed to talk to if I wanted things done in this city."
"How do I know you're really who you say you are, Mr. O'Malley?" Hajime responded with a sharp tongue and strong distrust.
"Believe me if you want, whatever, there's hundreds more people in this city who do exactly the same thing you do; for less. f*cking punk-ass chink."
Hajime's blood boiled inside his veins. He growled violently down the phone and barked uncontrollably at Jimmy: "You son of a bitch! Either you tell me what you want right now, or I'll come down there and kill you myself!"
"Woah! Woah! Calm down, pal," Jimmy's tone suddenly changed as he began to realise the potential danger he was in, "I just need to you, ahem, 'take care' of a few trouble-makers for me. Can you do that?"
"How much?" Hajime rallied immediately.
"Okay, okay, three-thousand; but that's my final offer," Jimmy said, defeated, "I run a bar down in Portland. A few of my regulars are refusing to pay their tabs. Now I want you to go down there and waste those worthless f*cks. Once you've done that, steal their car and bring it back to me. Understand?"
"Understood," Hajime said. He discussed the details with Jimmy before putting the phone down and getting dressed ready for his next mission. Donning his usual attire of a black, unfastened suit and white shirt Hajime equipped himself with his trademark MAC-10 and katana, placing the former in the holster attached to his chest. Finalising his image he exited his apartment and made his way towards Portland.
Arriving at his destination, Hajime brought the red and white Stinger to a halt. Leaving the engine running he stepped out and walked slowly along the sidewalk towards a small huddle of men positioned at the corner of two roads. They were talking mindless dribble about nothing and everything until one of the group noticed Hajime approaching.
"Can I help you?" he queried in a annoyed tone.
"Which of you lot are Patrick and Trent?"
"That's me," Patrick announced angrily, expecting a fight, "And this is Trent."
"Jimmy says you don't need to worry about your tabs anymore," Hajime explained. He pulled his katana from behind him and quickly unsheathed it before swinging it violently at the pair. He narrowly avoided the rest of the group but managed to embed the blade deep in Trent's neck. Hajime placed his other hand on the hilt of the sword and pulled it out sharply, letting a jolt of blood shoot from the dead man's artery.
"Holy f*ck man!" Patrick shouted as he watched Trent gargle uncontrollably on his own blood as he fell to the floor grasping his neck. Hajime set his eyes on him next and dashed forwards towards the lowlife. Fear set Patrick's body to autopilot, causing him to strike out randomly at the Yakuza. He landed a solid punch across Hajime's jawline, causing him to loose his sword in the process. The large blade clattered to the floor as Patrick stood in awe at what he had just done.
Hajime stepped back and admired the patron's dumb luck. A deranged smirk crept across his lips as he met Patrick's eyes with a killer glare. "You're quite the feisty one," Hajime grinned, "This will be even more fun than I expected!"
Reaching in to his suit jacket, Hajime wrapped his fingers around his MAC-10 and felt a surge of power overcome his body. Slowly pulling it out into the open, he began to cackle menacingly. "Try and save yourself now!"
He pulled the gun from it's holster and took aim at Patrick. Squeezing off a quick burst of ammunition he sent the man flying to the ground in a hail of bullets. A pool of blood quickly amassed around his dying corpse as Hajime slowly made his way over to the lowlife. Picking up his katana from where he dropped it, The Yakuza stood over the cadaver and scowled.
He raised the blade above his head and drew it to the ground with great force. The sword severed Patrick's neck, separating his body and head. Crimson life juice flooded from the freshly opened wound adding to the preexisting puddle that surrounded him. Rumaging around in his pockets, he pulled out a pair of car keys. Hajime wiped the blood from the katana and returned it to it's sheath.
Paying no more attention to the decomposing cadavers, Hajime casually headed for Patrick and Trent's car. Opening the door he got behind the steering wheel. Starting the engine he reversed out of the road and left behind two rotting corpses and a group of drop-jawed bystanders. ___
This was originally meant to be a 'short' story just to get me back into BUYG. I think I went a bit over the top.