Nariyaki, nick name Dojo. Used to be a shateigashira. And a very capable one. Now he's one of the abandoned pawns of the gumi. The nickname 'dojo' first came from the inner circle of the organization, later on, it became known in the streets too since this guy got a lot of 'friends'. Instead of dedicating himself to the organization and his new brothers and seniors, dojo likes to wander around the organization's territory, making accountancies of all kinds.
Back before he was punished, he used to be seen around the many underground casinos of the southern ring (Via Martinase). And some of the folks with more insights at the boryokuda, mentioned he also managed some of the debt-collecting business but he never do the dirty work himself, always got some of his shatei or many of his 'friends' to do it for him.
He was a player too, his name was known around downtown and even in Noch for being well-connected and.....less rigid about the rules of his gang. (Some said he prefers Glen Avenue more than some of the kyabakura)
The days when he can walk around the city center with people bowing at him left and right came to a dramatic end. The reason is completely oblivious to outsiders, all we knew was that he must have done something truly fucked up to get himself where he is now.
After a certain incident, the yakuza released an open contract for his head, not metaphorically they want his 'head' for good money.
As soon as the bounty was announced, he disappears. Many of his friends were questioned by the gang and freelancers but the answers are all the same, they don't have the slightest clue where he is.
Eventually, mercs and the gumi got tired of searching. They believed he skipped town which was the most reasonable action considering everything. But two months later, he came back.
Most of the outsiders thought his name 'Dojo' got something to do with the bullshit samurai stuff the japs won't shut up about, for the word is commonly known as the place where swordsman practice.
But the truth is, the pronunciation of 'dojo' has more than one meaning in Japanese. Such as loach, which is the real meaning of his nickname. They called him dojo because the guy is one slippery motherfucker and no matter how hard you try to catch him, he always gets away.
Nariyaki came back and convinced his former brothers not to gut him on sight and listen to what he had to say.
The rest is unknown to outsiders again, I've only heard parts of the story from some of the seniors in the mob. All we know is, they committed a 'sakazuki' and cut off both of his pinkies which is rare because usually sins that can't be amend with one pinky is paid in blood.
After the ritual, the yakuza withdraw the bounty. He's a member of the family again, but the glorious days are over for him. He can only manage this specific entertainment area and nothing more, he can not recruit new members (theoretically), and he can not expand, if anything goes wrong here he will have hell to pay. And so, this small kobukicho became his cage.
But as the organization basically ostracize him and left him to rot in this place, the dojo got his own plan. He starts contacting all his old pals, not for favors just to 'chit chat'.
The guy knows his way around small-time gangsters, hustlers on the ring, and thugs from all over the city. After a bunch of phone calls and some gatherings, he opens his new business in an under-construction station. It was about 10 years ago, not long after I came to Faust.
During these ten years, he had turned his cage into a palace, his own little kingdom. Before he was assigned here, the place only has a few sets of pachinko machines and plastic benches.
Now it's one of the most well-known underground streets in Via Martinase, and every bouncer, bartender, clerk, receptionist, playgirl, manager, thug, doormen, and guard are all his 'friends' who monitor every little detail of customers, they'll lick the words accidentally slips from people's mouth and sing it in dojo's ear.
He became a fixer, trading information for the price he sets to the folks he chooses. And a very successful business man who got half of the thugs, homeless, street punks in his pocket. Those that are rejected by gangs and society come to him and became one of his 'friends'.
'Dojo' Nariyaki transformed from a gangster to a kuromaku, a king of pawns...... Though his weight remains the same over the years.
But if anyone knew about club 57 and is willing to tell me. It's him.
***
"As you know. I've been off town for a while," A smirk forms on my mouth, and my eyes narrowed. "Now when I'm walking down the street I felt like I missed out quite a lot in the past few months. So I thought I might pay my friend a visit to see how he's holding up and let him help me catch up on the latest news."
He raises his head up slowly until he can see the ceiling as his mouth clicks. All of a sudden his head drops back to facing me in a violent motion, a smile forming on his face faster than a blink. Layers of fat on his neck shakes, a drop of sweat squeezed out of his skin, falling down from the tail of koi carp.
"What's the gloom for than?" He starts laughing with the sound of a hyena. "Just an innocent chit-chat between friends...... nothing serious." Dojo pushes his seat back and crosses his legs, head resting on the wall behind us, right neck to my case.
I smile wordlessly.
"Last few months..... uh. How long are we talking about?" Nice fucking try.
"Few," I said with a wider smile. Dojo's eyes drift up to the ceiling again.
"Well..... war is about to break down in the southern parts. But you already know that." His lips twitched at the end.
"Kind of a long time going eh? What makes everyone think is going to happen now instead of dragging another five years?" He shrugs.
"Five years of anguish is enough reasons...... Mr.Lee, things had heated up quite a bit since you were gone. Heard there were 9 Russians dead just this month alone."
"And the Qins?"
"Around the same number I guess, my friends and I tend to.... Keep our distance from them. But I've heard they offed some scouts on rector street a few days ago?" He raise his eyebrow. That was a question towards me, not an answer. I sign in my head and nods slowly, turning my body towards his direction like I'm about to tell him something big.
"Aye, nasty business. Those two were Igor's scout...... between you and me..... I heard his preparing for a retaliation very soon."
The place is dark as hell but I can still see Dojo's left eyelash move as he quickly memorized what I said.
"And what about the other saints of Faust? Been keeping it down while the other two are playing?" I quickly change the topic before he asks for more.
"The Italians stated they want no blood, Chinese or Russian, in their lovely neighborhood. They don't want shit from this conflict or coming towards them either......Although some of Don's boys are itching for action." I raise my eyebrow, he shrugs gesturing that's all he knows......or that's all he can tell.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
"Not surprised. They have been keeping it down for some time now, no reason to suddenly get involved in this bullshit. But the tinos on the other hand...."
"It's been dead silent over there too, my friend. Besides the usual bloodshed on Desalos, the priest's many 'child' seem to be uninterested either. Ha! For the first time in history, Desalos isn't number one district on body counts." His Adam's apple moves up and down as he laughs.
It's not like them to let go of such an opportunity
"So everyone be sitting at their porch eating popcorns and watching the bloodbath down south?"
"At least in the gumi....."Dojo raises his open palms. But then, a glint slashes through his eyes. "But in the freelance market ..........I'm not so sure." Again. It's a question towards me instead of talking to himself.
"I came back two or three days ago. I only got a chance to have a drink at the lanes yesterday and from what I heard...... the market demand for.....physical labors is basically the same. The Qins are still a bunch of petty motherfuckers not releasing anything worthwhile to outsiders even at war. And the mob...... let's just say they're only testing the water now. Not much different to the freelancers anyway."
I watch Dojo slowly digest what I said, thinking about what he can make out of it.
"What about the reapers?"
Some folks in town likes to refer to cleaners as reapers since that's what they are essentially.
"The big names in the industry haven't done anything dramatic. If those celebs were involved in this shit I'll definitely hear about it ...... but the ones inside organizations though...... I'm not too sure." I said in the same tone he used a minute ago. Dojo smiles a crooked smile.
"No works of white death at Nochnaya or Piao Jie for the past few months. A friend told me he saw her when he wander off too far off Lesnaya late at night......."
".......And ?"
"He ran a marathon back to his apartment, lock the doors and lay on his bed with a fruit knife for the rest of the night. And the next morning he wakes up, he found his bed sheet drenched in sweat and piss."
Dojo smiles softly while shaking his head. For some reason, he looks ridiculous when trying to express compassion.
"Did he..... mention anything about her? How did she react?" Dojo tilts his head to the side, his cheek pressing down on a photo of three teenagers on Harley Davidson.
"Now thinking about it. He did mention she whistled something, but he didn't quite catch that as he was running away."
If the guy is smart he'll leave this life behind and never go back to noch again. He was damn lucky she wasn't in the mood.
"Sounds about right... What about the yakshini? Any news?"
Yakshini (or Yaksha) is one of the legends in this city, a very capable assassin owned by the Qin family. Known for sneaking through people's backyards and killing them when they least expected.
Fame is a double edge sword in the city as I mentioned before. These celebs such as the white death, yakshini, and many solo cleaners were known for their work, and some for their.....'ways' of operating.
But no matter the case, being one of them means you're destined to face retribution and unwanted late-night visits. So they developed their own way of dealing with it.
Yarkshini can be seen as the best at hiding tracks. People only knew of the person's existence because one of the Qins slipped it.(he payed for it)
Although haven't been proven, Yarkshini is commonly refer to as 'she' since the guy who slip it used a female noun.
From past records, she seldom leaves witnesses or survivors. The person was known for wearing a full Oni mask (the image of oni actually originated from Yarksha) to hide the identity of her or him. Even with such an obvious trait, the person was still mostly regarded as a myth since she is very very less seen compared to other folks of her caliber.
And considering my situation, it's best to know more about her too.
"That's the interesting thing, Mr.Lee..... You see, my friends and I are all very......keen on collecting interesting information." Gossiping rumors. "But over the past six, maybe seven months she's been out of sight."
"That. Sounds.......unsettling. I might go ask around some of my own friends about it."
Dojo nods slowly before tilting his head to the side. A flash of greed goes through his face as he gets off the wall.
"Bosu." The cook had brought him a plate of six yakitori.
***
"What about you, friend?" He asks while munching his mouth full of food, a drop of dark brown sauce was going to fall down from the corner of his lip but his pink tongue licks them off first.
Two minutes in and dojo already finished half of his food.
"Tea, please!" I don't answer dojo right away instead, I raise my empty cup to the cook. He nods and mumbles something as I turn my head back.
"What about me?" He swallows the rest of the meat on stick and grins. Eyes narrowed down to a thin line which made me question if he can see like this.
"Are you going to stepped in the eyes of storm or wait it out like others?" I laugh with my teeth in full display and turn back facing him completely.
"I'm going to buy a nice little condo downtown, every morning I'll go to one of those fancy coffee shops and sit by the fifth street, drinking geisha coffee from Jaramillo while reading newspaper to see which side is still standing."
And definitely not going to get myself meddling with some emperor's only daughter....
Chewing the chicken meat off the fourth skewer, dojo nods rapidly. The cook refills my cup wordlessly.
"Smart move....but I would recommend you buy the little condo up north. My other friends......still have some issues with you, Mr.Lee." I tilt my head.
"And what may those be?" Dojo knit his eyebrows as his lips curl downward.
"You still worth a lot, I'll tell you that. But the contract changed about two months ago..." He stares at me with a hint of smirk. "As long as you don't go into one of their establishments, the contract is dispensable." Moving down to the last stick of chicken meat, dojo finishes it in one go, his fingers twirling the bamboo stick.
"Meaning...?"
"Meaning if anyone sees you in our establishments and they kill you. They'll still get paid. But only in that situation do they get paid ....... such as now."
The fat fuck launched the bamboo stick to my face and stop in mid-air as broadly as it begins. I remain motionless the whole time. Dojo rolls his eyes and return to his comfy position.
"I almost forgot you're the calmest person in the city......when you're not drinking." I exhale like I'm letting out laughter.
"Welp, that's because I have faith in you, my friend. If it was someone else I would've left three gaping holes on their head." I shrug casually. He wipes his mouth clean with his sleeve.
The tea is getting cold in my hands.
"Hum...speaking of which. I wonder what made them loosen the web. The fathers treat disrespectful acts very seriously you know?" I put my hands around the cup, feeling its warmth slowly dwindling.
Yeah, I sure as fuck know.
"Don’t have even the slightest clue. All I know is I'm extremely grateful of this outcome."
"I'll let them know if I have the chance." Dojo rubs the sweat off his neck as steam from the grill behind the counter heat up the joint. Dojo starts pursing his lips.
".......When you said I still have a price on my head. How much are we talking about?"
Dojo takes a quick glance at me before he raises his right hand, thumb curling inward, the other three and a half fingers extended. His jacket sleeves drape down showing a glimpse of a full-body tattoo.
"Grand?" Dojo let out a high-peach laughter that sounds like a newborn then proceeded to cough like a heavy smoker.
"....Add another zero."
I can feel my mouth curling downward while raising my eyebrows. As I nod slower and slower until I'm freezing in the seat. From the corner of my eye I can see dojo's expression changes a few times like he's thinking what should he respond to this situation.
That's almost the same as three months ago...... still enough to give people funny ideas even though the contract is limited now.
"Tomoyo. Kanpai!" All of a sudden, I dragged my facial muscles to form a smirk and raise my cup to him in a vital motion. Dojo laughs like a deflated ballon till he starts coughing again.
"Kyodai! Ocha o kudasai!" Before the cook can react to his order. I pull out a relatively heavier envelope in my inner jacket, place it under my cup and push both to his side.
Dojo's eyes tilt to my side as a smirk forms on his face while his still coughing. The greed in his eyes is palpable. He ignored the tea and pulls the envelope first to weight it before stuffing it in his pocket then finishes the cup in one swig afterward.
"Something else on your mind, friend?"
In his shop, asking questions comes at a price. Most of the time you can pay him back by sharing some stuff he's interested in.
But sometimes when you're asking some serious stuff or you want to keep the fact that you asked the question a secret you need to give him some extras. And what I just gave him suggests both.
Nariyaki leans forward, elbows on the table, stroking his chin, staring at the broken piece of white tile in the kitchen across the counter. The smile and carefree attitude on his face is gone.
"What do you know about Club 57?"
I clenched my hands together and lowers my head before asking. Nariyaki side-eyes me with his eyebrows practically stick together, glints of many things rush through his eyes. Anger, doubt, speculation, warning..... pity. He chooses warning at the end as he makes a mouth click and nods.
The cook decided now is a good time for a smoke break and walk out with a towel hanging on his neck.