Of all the western foods she’d tried, spaghetti remained Oichi’s absolute favorite. There was something so rich and delicious about the succulent meat sauce, and the awkward slurping of noodles was so similar to yakisoba, that the taste difference was practically forgettable. A bit of garlic, some tomatoes and onions, ground beef…it all spelled of a delicacy she would indulge in every meal if allowed to. She made a silent pact with herself that, as her last meal on this earth, she would eat a heaping bowl of spaghetti, with extra meatballs…because what is spaghetti without meatballs? Her father would tease her for trying to eat an entire meatball in one bite; calling her a “savage carnivore,” but it didn’t matter to her. Now she’d gladly cut the meatballs into chunks to make it go farther. Eating pasta like this? It was an art in of itself.
She sat at the dining table, the plate of spaghetti and a smaller plate of salad by her. In the center of the table was a tray of garlic bread and olive oil for dipping. It was a lovely spread; far more fancy than she would have expected from the individuals who worked under Hamen. As such, she had prepared it all herself. Oichi enjoyed working in the kitchen…it was liberating. The feeling of cooking was practically intoxicating at times, as it allowed full creativity and control of her environment. Nothing was more satisfying than a dish done well. Across from her, on the other side of the table, there was another plate of spaghetti, waiting for someone to be seated before it. Despite the temptation to dig into the glorious meal before her, Oichi waited patiently for her guest to arrive. It felt like an eternity to wait, but proper manners must be met. It was important she make a strong first impression.
At long last, the door opened to the dining room and, in walked two of her lieutenants, now sharply dressed in suits and ties, looking much more presentable. She’d instructed them to dress this way for her plan to work…but she would enforce this style of dress in the future if she could; it made them look professional and masked the lack of refinement they had revealed previously. Behind them walked another man. He was Hispanic with long oily hair and a dirty goatee on his face. He had a confident smirk and a white, grungy shirt on. Around his neck were at least three gold necklaces, and he had on pants so torn, that they looked more like ribbons than pants at this point. Oichi just smiled as he walked in and whistled at her like a leering wolf.
“Damn, no one told me the new boss of this lil’ outfit was such a hottie.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Oichi ignored his comment. “My name is Oichi Taiga, head of the newly formed Taiga family. And your name?”
“You can call me whatever you like, beautiful.” He smirked, sitting down and leaning back, using his foot to sustain balance on the table. “Get to know me a little, you might even call me ‘daddy.’” Oichi smiled a little at this and grinned.
“I’ll hold you to that.” She grinned. “I’ve invited you here to eat with me so we could discuss future dealings with your boss…Mr. Mitchel? Head of the Black Death syndicate?”
“Yeah, the boss ain’t gonna renegotiate anything.” The guest snorted. He reached over and grabbed a slice of garlic bread and chewed on it, winking at Oichi. “Buisness meeting over then?”
“Hardly.” Oichi replied, more forcefully. “I have no interest in negotiating terms or deals…I’ve invited you here to inform you that, as of now, we are no longer paying the Black Death syndacite for their protection. We’re reestablishing our contacts with the cartels and rebuilding our infrastructure. Within half a year, we’ll be back in business and able to compete…and it’d be bad for business if our future business partners believed we were under the thumb of a gun running group like the Black Death.” At this, the rude young man paused and leaned forward, a bit surprised.
“That’s one twisted sense of humor.”
“It’s not a joke. I’m dead serious. You’re here so I can offer you and your boss the chance to accept the terms and leave.”
“I don’t even need to go back and tell Mitchel…I know what he’ll say. He’ll tell you to go fuck yourself.”
“Is that a fact?” Oichi asked. “And you’re sure of that?” The punk nodded and picked up his fork, notching it under a meatball. He hit the end of the fork down, creating a makeshift catapult that launched his meatball into the air. He leaned back to catch it in his mouth, but it bounced off his nose and landed on the floor. He shrugged and set himself up to try again. Oichi glared at him.
“See, here’s the way it works, bitch…you don’t tell Mitchel what to do. When your late husband was running things, he knew the pecking order…the food chain, if you like. You do what the Black Death wants, you’re gonna be alright. You say ‘no’ to what we tell you…and we break your world in half.”
“…Really?”
“You could ask your husband if you want...” He laughed, as if to drive home his point. Oichi just smiled that sinister grin, and for the first time, the sarcastic punk felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
“I would…but you see, I don’t operate the way you Black Death individuals do. You say you ‘break’ those who don’t follow your rules? I don’t ‘break’ those that threaten me….I remove them.” She explained. “My late husband was a foolish, sluggish, lazy, and arrogant twit who was running our family into the ground. I did not ‘break’ him. I removed him. Now, the Black Death syndicate is threatening to ‘break’ us if we don’t conform? Then I think I’ll just remove the Black Death syndicate as a factor.” The dead silence that filled the room was thickening, and, as if to save face, the punk tried to laugh it off.
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“Okay, THAT’S funny. That’s really fuck’n funny.” Oichi said nothing, just smiled. “You got balls for a hottie. You want me to go back and tell Mitchel that you’re just gonna stop paying us, and he’ll just leave you the fuck alone!? Are you shitt’n me?” He leaned back and stood as if to leave. “Yeah, ya’ll can kiss our ass in hell.”
“…So I can assume it’s war then?” Oichi asked.
“Pfft~ What, you think this is some movie, bitch? Ya think we’re all some kind of big nation waging war like those dumbass knight movies? This is life! In life, you survive. You win by doing what you gotta do. Spare me this bushido bullshit.”
“Fine…I’ll spare it.” Oichi raised her fingers and snapped. Instantly the doors flew open and in walked two of the lieutenants, and this time the grabbed the punk by the arms and kicked out his calves, forcing him on his knees.
“OW! THE HELL WOMAN!? WHAT YO-”
“Be silent.” She snapped back. Her voice was lower, but the sinister sneer on her face was terrifying enough to force the man to be quiet. “You entered my home without a name, and insisted I called you what I want. This entire meal, I sized you up…and I’ve decided on a name for you. You show no respect to your host, by reclining at a dinner table like it were your own. You disrespect my cooking by playing with your food and not eating it as you should. You insult my family and my way of life without remorse or offer for apology. And then finally you make threats to me and my family when you don’t get your way. Based on all this, I think I’ll name you Rat.”
“Chill out, bitch!” He shouted, struggling against the two men holding him down. “The fuck is wrong with you!?”
“I brought you here tonight to offer you a chance to concede…to allow us to leave peacefully. But by your own admission, that will never happen. Your callous and rude behavior tells me you’re the kind of scum that needs to be exterminated from society, or else you’ll spread your disease of incompetence and foolishness around like a plague. Yes, Rat is an excellent name for you…now for the extermination.”
“WAIT!” He shouted. “C’mon, you can’t shoot the messenger!”
“What? I’m not going to shoot you.” Oichi laughed. “So overdramatic….a knife is far more subtle.”
From beneath her dress, she pulled out a simple kitchen knife and plunged it into Rat’s gut. Rat let out a scream of pain, but was silenced as one of the lieutenants covered his mouth to muffle it. Oichi removed the knife and set it aside.
“You’re going to run home, little Rat.” She whispered. “And as you scamper home to your boss, begging for the bleeding to stop, I want you to remember these words carefully: You and your syndicates days are numbered. After you, I’ll flush out the other gang rats of this city and exterminate them too. The Taiga family is coming.” She then released him and turned her back. “Get him out of my sight.” The two lieutentants, both amazed by her savagery, nodded with delight and dragged out the groaning and cursing Rat. After he left, Oichi sat down at her table and finally began to eat her meal, savoring every bite. Shortly after beginning, Marcus walked in, noticing the few drops of blood on the floor and the meatball next to it. He looked up at Oichi and she smiled.
“What can I do for you, Marcus?” She asked.
“Did you have to kill the messenger? I thought you wanted to take the moral highground here.”
“He won’t die of that wound. He’ll be shamed and humiliated…but he won’t die. He’ll run back to his boss, Michel and tell him about the meeting…and that will spark the Black Death’s anger. They’ll react with full force.”
“But…no offense but…I don’t see how this helps us.”
“Anger is a funny thing, Marcus.” Oichi smiled, slurping noodles into her lips. “Anger is not a bad state to be in. It fuels you with power and it can drive you to perform maximum damage to that which stands in your way….but anger is hard to control, and those who lash out in it without thinking will often find themselves being bested by it.” She sighed and cut a meatball in half as she grinned. “I predict that Mitchel will use his biggest weapon to try and trounce us…and when he does, and we overcome it, he’ll not know how to respond.”
“And what IS his biggest weapon?” Marcus asked.
“Send a message to our major headquarters with an important message I want these tasks done tonight, and I want them done well. Understood?” She handed a list of written instructions to Marcus who opened the folded paper and read over it in the dim candle light. “And kindly burn that when you’re done, won’t you?”
“What will you do?” He asked, glancing up at her, marveled by the instructions she’d given.
“I’m not doing anything until I finish eating.” She giggled. “To be honest, I might’ve stabbed him even if he had agreed to concede….I hate people who waste food. Speaking of which…care for some spaghetti?” She asked, indicating the plate across from her, mostly untouched. “It should still be warm.”