'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 16

Domino comes face to face with Yamada...

Yamada hated indecision. He found himself growing increasingly agitated as he prowled his walk-in wardrobe, seeking the perfect item to complete his ensemble for the evening. He knew the aesthetics for that night's appointment would be just so: everything from the décor to the food would be complementary. His vanity insisted that he not detract from that carefully cultivated ambience.

At last, he found it: a long, hand stitched cashmere coat, tailored for him in Hong Kong, when reliable craftsmen still operated out of small shops near the harbour. The charcoal of the fabric was conservative, the fit immaculate. Yes, it would do nicely.

He moved through into the reception room, his eyes scanning the rich spread of food and drink set out on a low table. He had made careful choices there, too. Something for every palette. Yamada turned to his control console and set about preparing the rest of the room. The picture windows morphed into forced-perspective renderings of Ueno Park. The panorama was a night view, set during the optimal period for hanami, or cherry-blossom viewing.

There was a hyper-realism to the depiction, each tree perfectly illuminated, the delicate pink and white sakura blossoms almost neon-like in their reflected intensity, contrasting with the inky night sky. Yamada paused, added a hint of Shinobazu Pond beyond the trees, the Benten temple in the middle. The small red lanterns hanging from tree branches over the pathways came last.

Of course, this Ueno Park was devoid of people, its pleasures reserved exclusively for Yamada and his guest. For anyone else, this ghost-town surrealism would have been unsettling. Hanami festivals were crowded, social affairs. Yamada however, found pleasure in the idea that this place was his and his alone, an expression of his power.

A 'beep' from the intercom broke Yamada's immersion in his virtual world.

“Your guest has arrived, Yamada-sama,” came the anxious voice of Ito. “The maiko, sir,” he continued. As if such clarification were necessary.

Yamada tutted softly before responding, “excellent. Please escort her to my suite.” He had tried to sound eager, but not too eager. Friendly too. A generous, benevolent boss. Not at all like the Yakuza oyabun suggested by so many vicious rumours.

Moments later, the doors to his penthouse sanctuary opened slowly, admitting his guest. As she took her first tentative steps into the room, Yamada felt a surge of exhilaration. The maiko seemed to have stepped straight out of his vision of Ueno, her fragile beauty enhanced by his painstaking creation. He made a mental note to commend the house-mother on her choice and stepped forward to receive his visitor.

The plush carpeted hallways of the Ebisu seemed as if they belonged to a different building now; fewer guards could be seen patrolling, all evidence of her previous assault wiped away like some inconvenient spill. Domino moved slowly, following demurely behind one of the pseudo-ninjas. His gait was awkward as he was forced to adjust to her minimalist figure-of-eight footsteps, the clip-clop of her tall geta sandals almost conducting his pace. Under other circumstances, she might have found their unlikely procession funny.

They arrived at the foot of the stairs, the only spot which hadn't been completely restored yet. Deep gouges in the plaster-work and nearby door frame remained as mute testament to the ferocity of the blast she had engineered to throw her from the Ebisu. Domino wondered briefly if she would encounter the sumo here again. She hoped not.

Her escort paused, indicated the damage and gave a nervous bow.

“Please excuse the damage. Faulty gas pipe. Repaired now,” he assured her.

She returned his bow with perfect form, smiling her acceptance.

“This way, please. You must climb the stairs. Apologies,” he said, offering two more dips of his head for good measure. “Please,” he said, gesturing for her to continue alone. He then stood to one side, looking for all the world like some bizarre hotel concierge. Domino offered a final polite bow to the man before daintily ascending the indicated steps.

The imposing façade of hand carved oak doors awaited her at the top of the dimly lit stairway. She knew from her review of the blueprints Angel had obtained that the doors would, in fact, stop anything short of anti-tank weaponry. They also provided complete soundproofing, which may yet prove useful.

The doors opened automatically on her approach, revealing hundreds of vivid cherry blossom trees against a perfect night sky. Red festival lanterns swung gently in an imaginary breeze. Walking towards her, among all that beauty, was the man she had come to kill.

His face bore the lines of the intervening years since Domino had seen him last and his hair was now more salt than pepper but it was most definitely, unmistakably him. Kentaro Yamada. Yakuza oyabun, respected businessman, supplier of weaponry, destroyer of innocence.

Domino felt unbridled fury and anguish welling from deep within her as she confronted this spectre of her past. She fought urgently to sublimate it, hide it away. He couldn't see. Couldn't know. Not yet.

The rage won out. She was trembling all over and the cranes on her kimono began to take flight.

Oh, but this is just delightful! Yamada thought to himself as the maiko stood before him, her nerves all too evident as she flushed and trembled like a leaf in an autumn breeze.

She was truly magnificent, the epitome of Japanese beauty. Her appeal was enhanced by a faint sense of familiarity, almost as if she reminded him of a high-school sweetheart. He watched with ill-concealed amusement as the smart-silk kimono reacted to her anxiety, the brush-stroke cranes fluttering briefly into the air as if disturbed by a predator.

Her face was a mask, impassive in spite of her nerves. That impressed Yamada. He decided to make her life a little easier.

“My name is Kentaro Yamada. Welcome to my home. Won't you please come in? Let us enjoy a perfect night.”

His greeting seemed to relax her and she bowed deeply before taking her first steps closer to him. Her perfume reached him then, subtle floral tones tantalising him, carrying with them a hint of a promise. She reached slowly into the elegant drawstring purse at her wrist, her eyes still not meeting his. 

Copyright © A. Flood 2010 

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 15

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

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 14

The action from the Ebisu continues...

The surface of the water seemed to ripple with brilliant, polychromatic flames as it reflected the hues of the skyline along the bay. A pretty image to hide the filth below, Borislav mused. His body submerged in the heavily polluted waters, only the very top of his head breaking the surface, he waited.

A cyborg-grade covert-ops dive rig encapsulated his body, shielding him against not only the intense chill but also the murky by-products of the city's fast-forward consumption.

A cramp twinged just beneath his shoulder, prompting the realisation that he had been carrying considerable tension in his muscles. He didn't like the apparent recklessness of Domino's plan and liked even less the idea that he had so little control over the situation.

It was odd that he should care at all; after all, the two girls were essentially strangers to him. Yes, they were paying him, or rather they had already deposited a ridiculous sum of money previously 'acquired' from the late Capricia's accounts. He knew they intended for him to use those funds to pay for his daughter's operation. Borislav still could not fathom their generosity; his best guess was that maybe the Domino girl empathised somehow. He had the feeling that perhaps she had lived with extensive prosthetics and cybernetics since an early age. At least by helping them now, he would feel a little more like he had earned that much-needed money.

He glanced at the chronograph on his heads-up display. Domino had been in for twenty seven minutes now. Had she been overwhelmed? Perhaps she had underestimated their forces.

Suddenly there came a muted 'wumph', followed a split-second later by the distant sound of shattering glass. Borislav instantly shifted his focus up to the high corner of the Ebisu, where he saw tendrils of fire licking the edge of a ragged breach in the imposing façade of the hotel. His eyes desperately scanned for signs of Domino, with no success.

Damn that stealth suit! Crazy girl! he cursed.

He dropped his gaze to the surface of the water, seeking any sign of her impact. Almost instantly, he was rewarded with a violent splash. He dipped his head and commenced his dive towards her, immediately engaging the dive rig's propulsion units. He could waste no time in reaching her. Without proper equipment, she would not survive long.

Angel hurriedly locked the door and started changing out of the gyrau disguise. Within a few heartbeats, she was down to her underwear and boots. She pulled on the heated raincoat she had stowed in the squat and ducked back into the dilapidated main room. Grabbing the large canvas bag offered by the skinny boy waiting there, she tossed him a roll of cash and a hurried smile.

“Thanks, Chubb. Gotta go.”

She hit the stairwell at breakneck pace, trying not to focus on her live feed of Domino's gunfight. By the time she barrelled into the bustling street, her hair and skin tone were back to normal; no one would associate her with the group from the Ebisu now. She hoped. Her hand dipped into the coat's pocket, finding some sense of security in the hard-edges of her snub-nosed flechette pistol.

Traffic leading to the docks was in full blown gridlock, raised voices and honking horns warning her away from hailing a groundcab. Her eyes found a row of pedal cycles in a nearby alley, each secured with a rudimentary passkey wrap-lock. A simple workaround later, and she was flying along the edges of the nose-to-tail vehicles filling the street.

As she arced around the bay towards the rendezvous point, she struggled to suppress the urge to scream as the feed from Domino blinked to nothingness in her peripheral vision. Her rational brain told her Domino would be okay but her emotions were tugging insistently, inviting panic.

Lactic acid traced pathways of pain through her muscles and her heart was thrumming violently against the inside of her ribcage by the time she skidded to a halt at the water's edge. She glanced across the bay and saw the smouldering hole Domino had left in Yamada's hotel and shuddered. Borislav's comms channel crackled into life in her ear.

“I have her. She is safe,” he said in that steady, matter-of-fact way of his.

Angel felt relief, joy and anxiety rush over her and she crouched to stave off the sudden light-headedness she felt.

“Thank you, Borislav. Thank you. So much...” she trailed off.

“You are welcome.”

Why did she still feel so worried?

“Borislav... I still don't have anything on her feed. And I can't get her on neural link comms.”

“That is because she is unconscious. You are at meeting point?”

“Yes, I'm here.”

“Good. ETA for me is three minutes.”

Angel heard Borislav close the channel. She stared momentarily at the water in a futile attempt to find some sign of them before turning to unlock the storage unit behind her. Only as she stepped into the comparative warmth of the lock-up did she realise she was soaked through and shivering uncontrollably. She dropped the kit-bag on the floor and returned to the water's edge to wait for Domino to arrive.

Yamada stared up at the lavender irises of his custom maid-unit, perfect in form and poise as she lit his cigar for him. He inhaled deeply and smoothed a hand over his carefully groomed silver hair as he savoured the rich, rarefied smoke. The maid unit stood back to attention, awaiting his next command. He regarded her momentarily, considering her fully revealed doll-like proportions, before waving her away.

The commotion from the floor below had died down some time ago now. He wondered if perhaps this had been the attack anticipated by his security or some other, unrelated matter. After all, he was not without his enemies. No, he decided, this had to be the same people who had targeted his subordinates. He leant back in his antique calf-skin recliner and awaited the report which would no doubt come at any moment.

He absently called up the haptic interface for his desk console and, with a flick of his fingertips, the picture window to his left transformed into a high resolution display. The tremor in his hand was still evident as he browsed a selection of financial reports. He frowned slightly at this; his station did not allow him to display weakness or fear and his pride demanded his denial of such things.

The door chimed softly and the automated security scanners announced the arrival of Ito, his head of security. The maid unit hurried over to the door, her delicate hand hovering over the release switch.

“Master?” she intoned cheerfully, seeking his approval.

Yamada pulled up a visual feed which confirmed that it was, in fact, Ito at the door. The rigid posture, the slight favouring of the left leg, the barely perceptible misalignment of his left scapula, caused by its support of his cybernetic arm. All these things reassured Yamada that this was no imposter.

“Yes. Open the door,” he nodded.

Ito stepped into the refined hush of Yamada's suite, the images from the massive vid-screen reflected, convex, in the visor of his helmet. He offered a deep bow, extending the proper respect, before removing his boots and proceeding to Yamada's side.

“The threat has been removed?” Yamada asked curtly.

“Of course, Yamada-sama. We faced only one operative. We suspect she had a computer systems expert aiding her remotely but-”

“Wait. She?” Yamada had not expected this.

“As far as I can tell sir, yes. She was using a stealth suit.”

“I see. And you are sure she is dead?”

“She triggered an explosive device at the foot of the stairs to your level. We suspect it was a... a kamikaze run, if you will. What remained of her body was blown through the window and into the bay. It would seem she grossly underestimated the structural integrity of your building. That, or she experienced a malfunction in her equipment.”

Yamada pondered this new information. He had thought for a moment that perhaps... but no, she would not have made such a blunder. He would already be dead.

“Dredge the bay.”

“I have already taken the liberty of giving that order, Yamada-sama. It seems unlikely we will find anything. The nearby filtration units will have no doubt already pulled the remains away and disposed of them. We search, nonetheless.”

“Excellent work, Ito.”

Ito bowed low again. “Thank you, sir.”

Yamada closed his eyes and slowly massaged his temples, bursts of vague colour flashing and fading behind his eyelids. Stood close-by, his head of security had the good sense not to comment and simply waited in silence. At length, Yamada sat upright and dismissed the reports overlaid on his vast window.

“I have been at work in this room for too long, Ito. I think perhaps it would be a welcome diversion if I were to take a walk, survey the damage done.”

“Yes, of course, Yamada-sama,” Ito said, bowing once more.

Yamada could not have cared less about the damage, the sole purpose of the tour was to keep face with his employees. It would not do to appear as a timid thing, cowering behind the armoured walls of his private sanctuary. No, he would stride out in the wake of this threat, demonstrate beyond doubt that they had not shaken him. That done, he would return here and enjoy the full range of the maid unit's massage programming.

Her fingertips brushed the nape of his neck, barely a touch, as she helped him on with his moleskin overcoat. He suppressed a shudder of pleasure, not wanting Ito to notice his growing anticipation of her attentions. Yamada smiled contentedly. This was turning out to be a fine night, after all.

Copyright © A. Flood 2010