As Domino moved slowly through the narrow, neon-lit streets and alleyways of the night markets, she realised that she felt more alone and perhaps more vulnerable than she had in a long time. She knew on some level that she had sought the anonymity of the crowds here in order to find some feeling of security. That she was disguised helped a little and yet she still felt oddly exposed.
She wore a long sharkskin duster over black cargo pants and a tattered sweater. A discoloured re-breather mask and goggles covered most of her face, the rest concealed by smudges of oil and dirt, her hair a tangled bird's nest kept in check by a pair of mismatched, gaudy plastic grips.
Beneath the long coat she carried a sleek black semi-automatic, easily concealed in a shoulder rig, yet effective enough to deal with most targets. The hard edges of the weapon against her ribs felt reassuring as she picked her way gingerly through the press of people surging along between the shops and stalls.
She had left her pain suppressor deactivated, wanting to test the limits of her body, of her pain threshold. Wanting also to avoid the all too addictive qualities of the implant. The pain from her injuries was still gnawing at her, instilling doubts as to her abilities, reminding her of the dangers she would constantly face if she continued on this path.
While Domino had been recovering at Suture's, Angel had worked on Capricia's laptop and gained access to the last level of Yamada's intranet. It had come as no small shock to them both when they discovered that Yamada was based in Neo-Tokyo. They had always assumed that he would run his arm of the Yakuza syndicate remotely, likely from some orbital palace or rural retreat. But in the end, one of the men responsible for her parents' deaths and, by extension, all that had followed turned out to have been polluting the very city she had been living in.
Certain that the news of both Koralev and Capricia's demise would filter back to Yamada, Domino had expected him to flee the city. However, Angel had tracked his movements and he had shown no signs of leaving. Instead, he had seemingly remained in his tower, a heightened level of security the only concession his arrogance would allow. Yamada's private cops were already looking for her now. Of that she was certain. She had made too many mistakes. Reaching him now would be nigh on impossible.
As she moved aimlessly along a sheltered side street, her eyes were drawn to a makeshift stall set up in the alcove between a café and a beauty salon. Girls poured from both establishments and paused to coo over the wares laid out on the floor. As Domino drew closer, she saw in detail the jumbled spread of pink tinted items which had first caught her eye, making her think of Angel.
She selected a pendant made from a tiny, discarded segment of circuit board and handed over the asking price without bothering to engage in the frantic barter all the other girls were enjoying. The stall owner, a dark skinned boy with ridge-like tribal tattoos, smiled his thanks as his grubby hands pushed the cash under his poncho.
Domino felt a twinge in her newly repaired hand as she pocketed her purchase and wondered briefly if maybe the damage had been more severe than Suture's analysis had established. She dismissed the thought, remembering Suture's warning that she might experience 'phantom pain'. Why was she so worried? She had sustained far worse damage in the past and endured countless repairs and patch-up jobs. Why did she feel different this time?
The strong aroma of hot tea and tonkotsu ramen wafted tantalisingly under her nostrils as she moved deeper into the market district. Her stomach grumbled, prompting her to make a stop at an old fashioned ramen shop. She ordered some of the pork-bone broth noodles and a pot of green tea from the ticket vendor and perched herself at a window seat, pushing her goggles up onto her forehead and her mask down around her neck.
Flanked by a fatigued, off duty beat cop on one side and an equally downtrodden joygirl on the other, she lit a Mild 7 and forced herself to relax and enjoy the break from the stream of people outside. Her face awash with the soft red light from the chōchin lantern hanging outside, she smiled faintly as she tucked into her comfort food between drags on her cigarette.
“Long day, huh?” the cop suddenly asked her.
“Aren't they all?”
The cop chuckled and nodded, a gesture of empathy.
“You got that right. You here to shop?”
“And eat,” she said, wiping some post-slurp broth from her lips.
“Yeah, they do good noodles here, right? So... you work the loaders?” he ventured, referring to the semi-robotic exo-suit load lifters used in factories and transit centres.
“Sometimes,” she said, smiling. She was secretly pleased that her disguise was giving off the right type of vibes. “How'd you guess?”
“Hey, I'm a cop; it's my job to read people.”
Domino felt her smile widen as she found herself imagining what this cop would do if he had attained an accurate read on her.
“So... er... you maybe want someone to keep you company on your way home?”
“That's sweet, but I have a lot to do after this. I'm a busy girl,” she said in the gentlest tone she could manage.
“Hey, no problem,” he grinned. “Nice meeting you. Have a better one.”
He retrieved his uniform cap from the counter and tipped her a farewell salute as he ducked out into the rain-swept street.
“Shit,” offered the joygirl as she leant closer to Domino, her voice low and conspiratorial. “You feel like giving me your secret, honey?”
“Sorry?”
“You roll in here looking like you do – no offence – and still you get a guy angling for a date? I could use some of what you've got. Shit,” she affirmed.
“Maybe he likes the manual labour types?” Domino suggested.
“Hey honey, I do manual labour all the time...”
Domino laughed at the joke as the blue haired joygirl gathered her things from the counter.
“I'll see you around, sweetie. You stay safe, now.”
“You too,” Domino called after her.
She watched the joygirl smooth her thigh-high socks and tug at the hem of her hotpants before sauntering over to a nervous looking young man with a polished chrome cybernetic hand. Moments later, the newly formed pair disappeared around a corner.
Domino finished her meal and made her way through the narrow, low ceilinged room and pushed open the door to the bathroom. The ancient squat toilet there gave her a rush of nostalgia as she tugged down her pants so she could relieve the heightening pressure on her bladder.
Without really thinking about it, she lit a cigarette as she balanced over the curved ceramic trough, her dark eyes scanning the layers of graffiti tracing the cracked plaster of the walls. She read the crude 'guest book' of the ramen bar for several minutes and smoked the Mild 7 down to the butt before finally wiping herself. Her cigarette fizzed briefly in the swirl of the flush.
Moments later, she was threading her way through the crowds again, her movements more assured now, her confidence returned and most of the excess tension drained from her body. Yes, she decided, the stop at the old noodle bar had worked wonders. She moved deftly from the shelter of awnings to passing umbrellas and back again, enjoying the game, the test of her agility, the simple childish pleasure of splashing through puddles while simultaneously dodging the falling rain.
As she reached the dark heart of the market district, the storm had deepened and the rainfall intensified, causing ageing electric cabling to spark and neon signs to fizz. She paused to buy an umbrella of her own, selecting a hot-pink one with an illuminated handle. Another gift for Angel.
At length, she reached the alley she sought and ducked under the web-work of tarpaulins and corrugated sheets sheltering the passage. Illumination was sparse here, with only a few naked phosphor bulbs strung overhead at random intervals. She passed murky tanks with gloomy-looking fish inside, cages housing rodents, birds and reptiles, all interspersed with myriad old vending machines offering tobacco, alcohol and coffee.
She hugged the heavy duster tightly around her body as her breath started to mist in the chill which seemed to drift along the cluttered alleyway. She was shivering by the time she spotted the tuna fish sculpted from scrap metal which marked her destination.
The small shop was home to a jumble of grimy jars, tanks and vaguely scientific looking apparatus. A skinny girl sat with her breasts exposed, basking in front of a bank of UV lamps at the back of the shop, a black 'x' of electrical tape covering her nipples. She wore a tiny pair of panties seemingly made from the same material as the tape. The girl nudged her sunglasses up onto her forehead and lazily raised a questioning eyebrow at Domino.
“Nozomi... Is he in?” Domino asked.
The girl nodded and called out, “Keroppi-chaaann!” Even her voice was lazy.
Nozomi's nickname for the shop's owner stemmed from his resemblance to a frog. It had proven so popular among his fellow traders that few ever used his real name. It didn't seem to matter to them that they might be hurting his feelings.
“Hello Roland,” Domino called as the squeak of the man's wheelchair preceded his appearance.
“Hello, Sookie. Welcome back,” he said warmly as he clasped Domino's hand in his own.
“Is it ready, Roland?”
He inhaled sharply and scratched vigorously at his stubbled chin before replying, his eyes fixing her with an intense gaze from behind his jam-jar thick spectacles.
“It is. But -” he broke off abruptly, wagging a cautionary finger, “you should warn your client that this is serious stuff. Not to be used lightly. It is, if you like, the proverbial 'one way street'. I only made it out of scientific curiosity.”
“Of course you did,” Domino teased as she pressed a thick envelope into his hand. “I'm sure it will be used appropriately.”
Domino tucked her purchase into the pocket of her coat and gave Roland a soft kiss on his cheek before leaving the bizarre little shop. She set off along the covered alley again, her fingertips toying with the instrument of Yamada's demise.
Copyright © A. Flood 2010
Copyright © A. Flood 2010
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