We join Angel some time after the events at the Ebisu...
A sub-sonic hum, randomly oscillating, permeated the air as Angel walked back from the Peruvian's fast food stand, some odd hotdog variant clutched in her hand. The sound was felt more than heard, produced by unseen machinery of obscure purpose. It comforted her on some basic, primal level. Made her feel at home.
She munched on the hotdog, hot chilli sauce disguising the uncertain juiciness of the mystery meat sausage. Her lips tingled with the accumulation of the sauce as the food warmed her. Screw nutritional value, she thought, cramming another mouthful into her cheek, hamster-style.
Two days had gone by since the run on Yamada's place, most of that time spent watching over Domino as she slept in some anonymous rent-a-cube hotel on the edge of the airport. Angel had tried to unwind with manga and animé she had pulled off the net, stints of online gaming, BBS lurking... shit, she had even done her nails. Still the tension gnawed at her neck like a throbbing, persistent night-cramp.
She was fairly certain she must have looked like crap, a tanuki raccoon-dog caught wide-eyed in the headlights of a lumbering load-hauler. She was also fairly certain she didn't much give a shit. A soft call for spare change drew her gaze down to a doorway on her left, a transient there, his wiry hair kept in check to the best of his ability, his slightly grimy and mismatched business suit a resilient denial of his circumstances.
Angel stopped, perused the jumble of skin mags and technical journals arrayed in front of him, each and every one recovered from a bus or a subway train. She singled out a dog-eared manual, written in Korean and Chinese, for a force-feedback gaming module, the type that net addicts used for extra immersion. On top of that, she selected a surprisingly pristine copy of 'Menz Hole Pantsu Maniac', mainly for shits and giggles.
The transient accepted her nu-yen, his grateful smile showing through his overly-enthusiastic beard. She returned his smile, handed him the last part of her chilli-dog. Leaving the old man to his meal, she continued on her way back to Suture's place.
Massive support pillars, steel reinforced concrete giants which supported the local elevated express-ways, loomed ahead, a landmark for the back-alley clinic. She came to a halt beneath Suture's archaic green-cross sign, some strange echo of a bygone age. 'Pharmacie', it read, backlit with spastic fluorescents. Her hand didn't quite close on the door handle, almost as if it might give her a jolt. Angel decided she wasn't in the mood for making small talk while she waited for Suture to be done with his exam of Domino.
She turned, walked back to the mouth of the alley, and stood watching the near-silent traffic arcing overhead. Her thoughts drifted back to Domino, to the efforts she was making to free herself of the syndicate, to the questions Angel had at the back of her mind. She felt her anxieties building, swelling and coalescing into some violent emotion she couldn't quite identify. Angel just stood there, in the shadows cast by the over-pass, her shoulders shaking.
The door to Suture's opened behind her and she heard heavy footfalls which could only belong to one man. Borislav cleared his throat and she turned to face him.
“Oh. You have been crying,” he said.
“Yeah.”
He shifted, uncertain of what to say or do.
“She will be fine. Mister Suture seems confident. The rest has done her good. She is tough, your Domino.”
Angel smiled and whispered, “yes, she is.”
Borislav moved to stand at her side, his massive hands fidgeting as he gazed up at the over-pass, unable to meet her gaze.
“I – I can no longer aid you. It is time for me to return to Karina, my daughter.”
Angel placed her hand on top of his, saying, “about time. You've helped us out plenty.”
“Maybe...” he mused. He hesitated over his next words, as if he were choosing how best to say what he wanted to say. “I think you should both stop now. It is too dangerous, what you are doing. Crazy even. Maybe.”
Angel couldn't help but laugh at that. “There's no 'maybe' about it. But, so long as certain things stay the way they are, she'll keep going. Me too.”
“I see.”
“Yeah.” She squeezed his hand then and said softly, “thanks, Borislav. Have a good life, you and Karina. Go get her fixed up nice.”
“I will do, thanks to you. You are super data thief eh?” he bellowed, grinning broadly.
“Keep it to yourself, okay?” she winked at him. “See you around, Borislav.”
“I do not think so, no. But I wish you well. Farewell, Angel. Go. Be with Domino. Suture has her linked to too many strange machines. She will need you.”
Angel smiled as she watched Borislav walk away in that almost mechanical gait he had. As he was about to step behind one of those massive support pillars he paused and turned back, his arm firing off an exaggerated salute. She giggled softly and waved, just as his hulking form was swallowed by shadow.
Borislav had been right. Domino was going to need her. This thing wasn't over yet.
The air conditioning was turned up too high in the back of the luxury air-car, and even beneath the heavy folds of her ornate kimono, Domino felt a deepening chill. She looked at her own distorted reflection, saw her features cast into the rose-white heart of a doll's face, an ebon frame of carefully up-swept hair, adorned with impossibly intricate seasonal decorations.
If she shivered at all, it would only play into the image of a young maiko, assigned an important client for the first time. Indeed, that was the set up, Angel having run an intercept program, flagging any emails exchanged between Yamada and the geisha house he employed. He had sent the house-mother a request for entertainment for that night and had received a response suggesting a new maiko, just embarking on her geisha training.
He had, of course, accepted. The allure of a fresh maiko was difficult to resist for someone like Yamada. Domino remembered enough about the man to know he would enjoy the exclusivity of being among the first to 'encourage' a maiko's development as an artist.
As a child, Domino had received sufficient training in the necessary arts to pass muster as a trainee geisha, or at least enough to get her by the guards without raising suspicion. Angel had monitored proceedings at the Ebisu: in the weeks since her 'death', Yamada's security had seemingly relaxed. She was more than a little amazed that the ruse had worked so well. All she would have to do now is look the part as she made her way to the appointment.
She shifted slightly in her seat as the air-car banked, the smart-silk of her kimono responding with slight adjustments in its faintly luminescent pattern. Stylised cranes moved slowly through exquisitely depicted waters, concentric circles of cobalt brush-strokes radiating from their twig-like legs.
Domino was a melding of the new with the old, a high-tech girl wearing the trappings of an ancient profession. She appreciated these echoes of history which ran deeply through her culture, knew that what had gone before would often inform that which was yet to come. This was a lesson Yamada would learn tonight.
The pilot's voice came to her through discreet speakers set into the ceiling, his tone carefully polite, addressing her in formal Japanese.
“We are nearing our destination, Miss. If you would like to take a moment to glance out of your window, I'll adjust our final approach so as to provide you with some spectacular views of the bay and marina area.”
“Thank you,” she replied, disengaging the privacy buffers so she could be heard. “That's very thoughtful of you.”
“Thank you for choosing Hou-ou Skyline. We hope you will consider us for your future travel needs.”
Domino smiled at this. The Hou-ou, or Japanese phoenix, formed this air-taxi rental firm's corporate logo. Angel's choice. Her little joke. As it turned out, the company also specialised in low-profile, high-privacy transportation; just the thing for a young maiko.
She traced a finger down the edge of her window and the reactive glass reduced its tint level to allow greater visibility. The dark waters and garishly-lit buildings of the marina streamed steadily by below her. Slowly, almost ominously, the Ebisu came into view, sleek, black and all too familiar.
Butterflies of anticipation and fear conflicted and fluttered rapidly in her stomach. It was almost time.
Copyright © A. Flood 2010
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