Meeting of Families

[Zixin Kao]

Now that the baser business was attended and the Syndicate stabilized, Zixin turned toward smoothing things over with the Yakuza. Their alliance had not fully eroded away, but it was going to take a show to demonstrate that things were getting back on track.

Five clubs were slated to be opened. The Red Light District near central Moscow was out of the question. The Russians ran the district and it was locked down tighter than a Soviet gulag. Eventually, they might expand into it, but the idea was to slice out a piece of the pie from under the Russians noses, in parts of the city where they wouldn’t necessarily bother to fight over. The local gangs might put up some trouble, but they were easily intimidated by the larger, more organized Syndicate.

Five clubs.

They were all going to be hosting clubs according to the Japanese style. Establishments where clients pay to talk and drink with beautiful and charming men and women, were found in nightlife districts all over Japan, and were extremely profitable and popular. A patron didn’t need to commit to a single host once inside as different hosts were brought to tables on rotation. If a client took an interest with one, they could request the host stay with them the rest of the night, and they were pricey, too. Dropping at least a thousand or more per night was expected. The allure was appealing for workers promised all the glamour and money of the nightlife without the dangers and diseases of the street, but the truth was far less exciting. Hosts and hostesses were often coerced into their jobs, kept addicted to substances onto which their paychecks depended, or were flat out were threatened with harm if they left. The leverage that kept them there usually hinged on their illegal status, meaning the human traffickers benefited far more than the employees as they had no where else to go. The safety of the employees was also far less guaranteed. Sexual favors were an expected part of the job and often performed within view of other clients.

The hosts were only part of the plan. The Japanese also intended to intertwine the sport of Puroresu with their clubs, a modern Japanese style of professional wrestling where gambling rings made the most profit. Entertainment and sex, the only thing left was drugs.

The CCD was flush with all sorts of legal pharmaceuticals. One could walk up to a vending machine on most corners for push-button highs, but there was always something on the cutting edge that promised the better, longer, deeper binge. Moving drugs out of the Golden Triangle and into Moscow was possible, but not without competition from the Russians. Zixin knew there were rumors of something else out there. He intended on tracking down the source soon, but for now, there were more logistical issues to handle.

The Japanese brought the business model, the Syndicate brought the workers, that left the sites and clubs themselves, and it was a Custody man that jingled the keys to their possible new kingdoms that Zixin would meet tomorrow.

For now, he entered the dive bar that the Japanese were known to frequent. Called The Hole, it was in some shitty, lower class neighborhood in Moscow. He wore black on black for the night: an expensive black suede shirt and leather coat, and stood out as a result. The place stank of oil and musk, but Zixin was careful not to curl his nose at it and risk offending his guests.

After entering, a second man followed him inside. A syndicate on the payroll, he took up a place in the corner to watch over his man. There were certainly more outside, out of sight.

Zixin walked up to a table and stared down at a man and woman sitting there. He nodded his head, face blank with intention, and the guy mumbled something, tugged on his girlfriend’s hand, and vacated the spot.

He promptly sat down and ordered a beer.

[Kiyohito]

The Yakuza were opening clubs in Moscow. Kiyohito imagined he knew exactly what that meant. It wasn’t his place to judge the ventures of the Edenokoji running their business, but it sounded like a bad idea to run something that big under the noses of the Russians. Haruto was certainly out of his league.

“Thank you,” he bowed to Kota once more. “I am in your debts,” he added, hoping that he would be more sensible about the honorable exchange of services than his sister.

Her question tugged his attention once more her way. Haruto was always resisting. He was practically a master at worming his way out of responsibility.

“Like I always do, I suppose,” he replied. There was a measure of comfort imparted in the answer.

He had a direction now, and an idea about how to find Haruto. If there were clubs to be opened, the Edenokoji-gumi would be exploring inventory, hosts, sites. Plenty of opportunities for Haruto to stick his experience into the mix.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather walk out the front door than climb the dumpster again,” he asked, not expecting an escort, but it was the honorable thing to offer his hosts the chance to see him fully away. It would be an offense otherwise. Kota hadn't been there at the time. The comment might take him by surprise, but he would allow his sister to explain if one was desired. 

He wasn’t sure which of them would be his guide down and back through the kitchen.

[Eidolon]

“We learn much in defeat.”

She glanced in Kiyohito’s direction for the first time but did not meet his eye. Acceptance was gracefully met, and she wouldn’t press further. Maybe she was relieved. Kōta would watch what he needed to, but with any luck they would see neither Kiyohito nor the brother he was looking for again. It was a resolution she was at peace with.

Kōta accepted the thanks with rote formality. He seemed bemused by the manner of Kiyohito’s entrance, and looked like he was about to say something he probably thought humourous, at which point Eido stood. She did not protest Kiyohito’s decision to leave through the bar below, but she did not wish for her brother to be seen with him should he take it upon himself to be a gracious host. The bar frequently hosted Moscow’s underworld, and as Kiyohito himself had pointed out, information was currency. Eido’s escort, on the other hand, would be perceived as something quite different.

“Of course,” was all she said. She paused to don her shoes at the threshold, and gave him time to do the same. In the meanwhile, Kōta’s farewell and magnanimous offerings of good fortune for Kiyhoito’s search were as booming as his greeting had been.

No conversation accompanied the route back down, though her silence was not an uncomfortable one. In the heat and noise of the kitchen no one looked up. The people here were good at averting their eyes. It did not mean they did not see.

Eido led him through the narrow corridor that adjoined to the bar, not the flapping service door used to deliver food beyond. She scanned from the shadows, out of instinct not concern, and did not pause on any of the faces of the patrons she could see from where she stood. A hand gestured Kiyohito was free to take his leave. “I wish you well,” she said. She intended on returning to her brother, sure he would otherwise slip away back to whatever business she had pulled him from before they had a chance to speak.

She was aware of Gus in her peripheral; he usually worked the bar, and she knew his shrewd gaze would be the first to consider whether this was a problem that needed addressing. Eido sidestepped neatly away from where he tried to steer her shoulder, though there was scant room to manoeuvre. Glass clinked where her heel brushed the boxes of bottles behind her step. Gus frowned like he always did when she reacted that way.

“If that’s what you’re doing up there, Eidolon, then I expect a cut.”

[Kiyohito]

He was led through the kitchen without incident. None of the Russians looked up. There weren’t many. The bar wasn’t a large establishment, but surely their passage didn’t go unnoticed. He couldn’t help but wonder how the Russians perceived their Japanese tenants. Not well, he had to assume.

He told Eido goodbye from within the privacy of the kitchen, then exited first. She followed a few moments later, but as he had explained earlier, he did not want to endanger them simply by association.

His gaze swept the bar on his way out. No Yakuza had joined. But as he crossed the end of the bar, Kiyohito paused in his tracks. A face looked up as he passed by. He was dressed in a black shirt, wearing a black suede jacket over it. His dark hair was swept back from an angular face. Kiyo’s heart jumped into his throat, and he had to stop himself reaching up to touch it.

The man didn’t frown. He didn’t do much in return at all except size up the individual who stopped to stare. He started to say something when another voice interrupted the memory replaying in his head.

“If that’s what you’re doing up there, Eidolon, then I expect a cut.”

Kiyo immediately went to the bar. Leaned over the edge.
“That’s not what she was doing,” he explained, voice firm but not aggressive. After a rifle around in the pocket of his jacket, he produced money and pushed it across the bar in his direction.
“Here’s a cut to prove it. Take it easy on her,” he added.

He didn’t seek out Eido’s face for a reaction. In fact, he largely left her out of the interaction between the two of them.

He wasn’t sure how the owner was going to take it, but he pocketed the money with a snort. Probably didn’t believe Kiyohito anyway, but no man would pay twice for that kind of service.

Then the stranger appeared at his shoulder. He ordered a beer, then checked the bar rail for sticky substances before propping an elbow on it.

“Do I know you?” he asked Kiyohito. As soon as he spoke, Kiyo identified him as Singaporean. There were enough in Japan to stand out and he certainly looked Chinese.

“No,” he replied.

“You stared like you know me,” he added. The beer was produced and the man pushed the bottle to his lips without the same concern for dirt as he did for his jacket. A smile curled around the bottle as his gaze landed on the pin on Kiyo’s lapel. He reached out to touch it.

Kiyo put up an arm to stop him.

The man smirked and gave him the space.

“What’s that one?” he asked instead, pointing at the pin.

Kiyo glanced at Eido, making sure she wasn’t a part of this. The man was being rudely intrusive.

“Korii-kai,” he explained. “Enjoy your beer,” he added before turning to leave. The memory from the dream still hovered like the echo of fate, and his heart had not yet stopped pounding. As soon as he saw the man’s face, he knew exactly what it meant, and it wasn’t a pleasant destiny.

Kiyo was several steps away from he heard the stranger ask the Russian how much ”his girl” cost.

The Yakuza flashed as swift as that knife in the dark. The man dropped with a maniac laugh.

[Eidolon]

Eido gave no obvious response to the accusation. She only intended to watch long enough to ensure Kiyohito was not followed, or to at least mark anyone who gave undue interest to his passing through. Gus’s assumption was not pleasant, but neither was it unanticipated, and it served to divert his attention away from questions he might ask instead. Their landlord was used to Eido’s silences and downcast gaze. It perplexed him but he rarely pressed. He wouldn’t stop her simply walking away the moment Kiyohito was out of sight, whether she answered or not.

The money presently slid across the bar surprised her though, and it twisted an unexpectedly visceral reaction in her stomach. She couldn‘t say exactly why, for it was a gesture well meant by the words that followed. But it pulled her attention to Kiyohito; the first clear look she’d taken of his face. He was younger than she’d thought, given his old-fashioned mannerisms.

It seemed like a good time to leave. Gus wouldn’t argue with cash, and neither would he wonder at what he was being paid to forget. But she was aware by then of the man sauntering up to the bar; the one who Kiyohito had looked a little too long at, before. He came closer than he needed to, which prickled unease against her skin. It seemed a better time to leave, for this was assuredly no longer her business, but she didn’t. Even Gus looked watchful as he popped the top off a beer and passed it over. A fractious moment lingered and seemed to disarm itself.

Eido turned away from the stranger’s goad. Neither did she want to hear the calibre of Gus’s reply. But her eyes widened as she caught the flash of movement in her peripheral.

“Take it the fuck outside!” Gus bellowed. The stranger was laughing. Eido’s path diverted around the bar; closer instead of away. A frown pressed her brow, but she was acting not thinking. Instinct swept a wary gaze over the other patrons. She was surprisingly swift. “My honour isn’t worth an enemy; I have none to defend, and a man dressed like that will not be here alone.” The Japanese felt strange on her tongue after so long. She ignored the stranger. Neither did she quite meet Kiyohito’s gaze, unless he seemed reluctant to accept the advice. Her hand hovered like she was going to place it on his arm, but refrained from that too.

[Zixin Kao]

Stone face took a swing. Zixin’s laughter punched back, but his arms remained peacefully at his sides. He did duck though. He didn’t want to ruin his pretty face. Not so early in the day at least.

Before the Yakuza full on lost the rest of his mind, Zixin held out his palms as a sort of peace offering. His smirk didn’t die.

“Apologies, friend. I meant no disrespect to you or your lady. She is your lady, yes?” The girl was close, trying to disengage her companion from bloody violence. She was sweet as a flower, though. Perhaps a sister? Perhaps not.

The Yakuza was stilled by the surprising admission. Feminine coaxing retracted the muscles filling out his suit sleeves until his stance shifted. In recognition of safety, Zixin warily regained his feet. He dusted himself off, though it was primarily for show.

He glanced at the fat staffer behind the bar. “So that one’s spoken for. Got any others back there?” he laughed at their expense, but he did not truly expect a response.

The Russian grumbled about not running a whorehouse, which Zixin accepted with a doleful nod of the head.
“Fair enough!” he said, after which he paid for all the open tabs at the bar in gesture of good faith.

Yakuza guy was eyeing the door, though. He proudly ignored the woman’s checking on his welfare, but Zixin wasn’t ready to let this fish off the hook yet.
“Stay, stay,” he rounded on them, flashing a handsome smile at the lady despite her best effort to not meet his eye like the good japanese girl she was.

“It’s the least you owe me,” he said to the Yakuza.

Who immediately responded: “I owe you nothing.”

“Oh but you do, Korii-Kai An innocent mistake and you take a swing. We share a drink, if not a woman, and then your debt is discharged,” Zixin said with all the confidence of knowing how to manipulate honor. Certain that it would work, he held out a hand and his name filled the tension building between them.
“Zixin Kao,” he waited for a long moment for the man to shake his hand in return. If it wasn’t so bitterly given, Zixin might have laughed again.

“Kiyohito,” he replied and reluctantly followed him to a table.

[Eidolon]

The violence resolved itself, if not the currents of tension still charging it. Kiyohito’s reaction was unusually virulent towards someone he claimed not to know, whatever besmirchment of honour he perceived in the flippant comment. It seemed clear there was something about the man himself he disliked, though Eido could not fathom what one might find so offensive in a stranger. But it appeared simple common sense finally prevailed, and when Kiyohito contained himself her hand drifted back down to her side. She had not needed to touch him. Nor did she look up. Under her lashes her peripheral attention watched those around them, seeking indication of who might have roused should things have escalated.

What any of them thought she was now, Eido did not concern herself with. A whore was not so denigrating as the actual curse laid upon her shoulders, though it could hardly be further from the truth. She had been living in exile long enough to navigate peaceful paths through inclement waters, and took little of insult to heart. But the notion of ownership sharpened the twist in her stomach to the kind of stab even she was at pains to ignore. Between the well-intentioned money slid across the bar and the words floating above her head like she was an object that might be easily bought, bartered, or shared, Eido was bothered. The conflict did not settle easily in her soul.

She found no fault with the stranger’s peace or charm, nor even his explanation, though clearly he was needling for another rise more than he was genuine in the offering of either. Kiyohito’s permissive silence did not sit comfortably, for it barred her from easily voicing her own defence. Demurity aside, she was perfectly capable of telling a man she was not for sale. Neither was Kiyohito a father or brother to concern himself with offering such protections in the first place. Yet to reject it now would only be rude. He seemed uncomfortable himself. Her eyes remained lowered.

She demurely bowed her head and lingered behind as the stranger laid a trap out of honour. He imparted a winsome smile, but did not pause to remark or cajole her meek decline of the invite as he swept Kiyohito away. She should have felt relief for the reprieve. Caught between a lone Yakuza and an unknown member of the Syndicate was not where she wanted to be. And yet, as her gaze briefly followed their path to a table, Eido did not consider leaving.

She slid onto a barstool to wait until one or the other man finally made an exit. Dark hair shielded her expression as she laid her phone on the bar to keep herself solitary and occupied. Two messages already waited from Kōta. The first was a clean-up code, which told her he’d already vacated the room upstairs. She smothered a sigh but was unsurprised, and it wasn’t like the conversation couldn’t keep. The second was even less well received by the sombre nature of her reaction.

You’re allowed to live, Hiro-chan.

She deleted both messages and sent one of her own.

There’s a man in the bar called Zixin Kao

She was listening to the conversation behind but not unaware of Gus in her peripheral. Pungent, old fashioned smoke bloomed as he lit up and stuffed the lighter back in his pocket. “Take the drinks over, Eidolon. Go be nice. This Kao is clearly not a cop, and he’s loaded. Best he knows he’s welcome here after your friend took a swing. You help make the trouble, you help unmake it too.” He knew better than to pause for an answer. She could hear the clink of bottles and glasses as he moved about. Though Eido completed small jobs around the place at her own discretion, she was not an employee, and he’d never asked her to serve from the bar before. He had far better options for the task of charm if he intended to ensure patronage, which her silence only illustrated. She was still watching the screen of her phone for Kōta’s reply when he added. “You’ve no CID and nowhere else to go. Wasn’t kittens that scratched up your arm. Maybe I don’t need that kind of problem upstairs.”

The tray slid onto the bar. Gus’s heavy arms propped too. One tattooed hand pat the pocket into which Kiyohito’s money had been safely stashed. “No man pays twice. And he sure as shit doesn’t pay for something he didn’t even get in the first place. Are you hanging around because you want to know how much he imagined you’re worth?”

She didn't answer, and she didn’t look up. No emotion crossed her expression, but she did smoothly stand, pocket her phone, and take the tray.

[Kiyohito]

It was difficult to look Zixin in the eye. It was his face that attacked him in the dream hut. His knife slashed and life poured from Kiyo’s throat. Even then, he swallowed as he held the gaze of an enemy; surely the meaning of the dream was a warning to this meeting. Yet for the knot in his stomach that said it was foolish to judge the man as evil from dreams alone, Kiyohito could not discharge the lump in his throat that said it was true. His behavior was abhorrent, but not overtly villainous. He was a hothead man that liked women and alcohol, and he was accustomed to cash buying his way in or out of his whim. It was not unlike the behavior of any other criminal. In another reality they might have worked together. Kiyohito knew plenty of Yakuza just like him.

In short order, it was Eido who delivered the order, and Kiyohito twisted in his seat to meet the gaze of the Russian that made her do it. The same conflict that made him knock Zixin to the ground twisted his insides as well. One chat with the Russian would make a difference, but even Eido’s own brother allowed her to be mistreated and Kiyo truly had no right. Perhaps it was Kōta that he should meet in the dark and discuss familial duty.

Thoughts for another time. Thoughts he was unlikely to act upon; surely. He tipped the drink to his lips in silence.

Across from him, Zixin was beaming with entertainment. He lifted his glass, awaiting the mimicry from his drinking companion a painful amount of time before Kiyohito complied. His heart was not into toasting.

As much as it felt natural, he specifically did not watch Eido’s movements following the deposition of drinks. He’d not give Zixin the satisfaction. Meanwhile, the Singaporean man was overtly watching Eido's every flinch. He even licked his lips as he stretched forth to place the drink in front of him. Kiyo spoke for the single purpose to draw his attention away.

“You are of the Singaporean Kao family?”

It worked. Zixin's attention was drawn from Eido to him instead.

“You have not heard of Kao Syndicate?” he asked, perplexed.

Kiyo shook his head no.

Zixin did not seem offended. “My family has been in Singapore for hundreds of years. Duty passed father to son for many generations. Is not the same for Korii-kai and Kiyohito-san? Probably not. Yakuza families rise and fall like the tides.” There was a twist to his lips that made Kiyohito’s frown deepen.

He couldn’t possibly know Kiyo’s origins.

Zixin continued as if probing old wounds to see if they might reopen. He would be disappointed. Kiyo’s scars were invisible.

“You’re probably old by Yakuza standards. Probably a shatei too? What brings you so far from home? Not seeking a lost little brother are you?” Zixin’s question hung on the air like smoke.

Despite the concrete of Kiyo’s expression, his posture shifted into one of mocking relaxation. He leaned back in order to plunge a hand into the pocket of his jacket. From there he produced a pack of cigarettes, and went so far as to politely offer one to Zixin before tapping out one of his own. He preferred the drag over the drink anyway.

“Alright Mister Kao, you have my attention, and now I accuse you of knowing me. If you know Haruto, I ask you tell me where to find him.”

Zixin waved away the offer of a cigarette. His head cocked sideways, smirk hovering as always until it bloomed into a smile of pride.

“Your shatei, Haruto? Yes, I believe he is around, but if you want a favor of me, I will require one in return.”

The smoke filled his chest with warmth and settled some of the wariness from before. When Kiyohito leaned forward, it was a signal that he seriously considered the opportunity.

“I will make this deal.”

Zixin retrieved a piece of paper and slid it across the table. The name written on it meant nothing to Kiyohito, but the accompanying request of what to do with the person was implied.

[Eidolon]

The trivial task was met with the same graceful duty of care and attention she applied to everything in her life. Eido did not rush, if only from stubborn refusal to be cowed by the situation she found herself in. While she attended she was wary of any movement in the corner of her eye, for the things she was prepared to tolerate did not extend to the unwanted roam of a stranger’s hands. But there was no need for the vigilance. She decanted the bottle from the tray last and left it on the table between them, with compliments implied not spoken.

The weight of Zixin Kao’s attention afterwards did not go unnoticed, though. Neither was it welcome, but Eido only ignored it.

“You know him from home or something?” Gus enquired as she slid the tray back on the bar towards him. He scrubbed a hand through his thick beard and watched the table over her head. He was not talking about Zixin's stare. Noting the tone, Eido finally considered if retreat might be the wisest course of action. Conversation began to smooth behind, if not entirely friendly then certainly civil, but the knot of responsibility did not ease. She wondered if she was simply mistaking guilt for her brother’s lone work in the shadows. Her finger traced a thin scratch on her wrist. Repeating silently the risks she could and could not take.

When it was clear by his stance Gus was in the mood to persist with his questioning, she shook her head. She did not know him.

“You ever going to actually speak to me?”

“Kuchi wa wazawai no moto,” she responded after a moment. She did not presume Kiyohito was listening, though she believed the Japanese would carry. Such reminders of home always did, to her own regret. He had stirred up too much. Home was not a place she could return to any longer. 

“I can’t decide if you're going to cause me trouble,” Gus grumbled. She could feel the prickle of his attention, but did not look up to meet his gaze. This time when the glasses clinked, it was with a drink he poured for himself. Meanwhile Eido listened. She and Kōta were well travelled since leaving Kyoto, with no small portion of it spent traversing the other islands of southeast Asia. When they first arrived in Moscow, Kōta had been surprised to discover the Syndicate presence here little more than a bastardisation of the red krysha. If they were finally expanding territories it probably meant for turbulent times ahead.

“It means the mouth is the source of disaster,” she said for Gus's benefit.

Zixin knew too much. Kiyohito spoke himself of the careful guard to be kept around knowledge. Yet this stranger offered too quickly, too much, and too freely.

“Is anything simple and innocent?” she added as he downed the vodka in a single swallow.

Gus barked a short laugh. “Including you?”

[Zixin Kao]

Zixin waved away the offer of a cigarette.

Kiyohito was quite accommodating, which bode well for Zixin. Two unaffiliated Yakuza in Moscow and both were in the business of owing favors to the new head of the Syndicate? He couldn’t plan it better himself. Oh wait. He did.

Kiyohito pocketed the paper and stood. He glanced at the girl on the way out of the Hole, but to Zixin’s surprise, no final words passed between them. He was sure there had been a connection, which was why he pressed into it. The brooding Japanese man wouldn’t have reacted so violently if nothing was there, but Zixin would have bet money on the solidification of parting.

Good thing he didn’t. It’d be more fun to light the bills on fire.

Which meant he was alone in the Hole. Well, not exactly alone. He kicked his feet up on the seat next to him while he sent messages on his wallet. There was a drink to finish, after all.

Afterward, he settled the final bill, but Zixin only lingered near the bar just to see if the girl would squirm away.

He left soon after. A car picked him up outside. Once settled in the back, he made a call.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

The voice on the other end chuckled. “Yep.”

“I’ll wire you the money. Go light it on fire and we’ll see what burns down,” Zixin laughed as he ended the call.

Afterward, he made another call.

“I’ll call you as soon as it’s time.”