Michi's faded tan overcoat swathed his body from neck to ankle. The caped shoulders flared out, widening his silhouette at chest level. The Kurita dragon dyed into the leather of the right shoulder padding was a pale serpent, almost invisible. The battered disk clasping the coat rode somewhat higher than on Theodore's, allowing an observer a clearer look at the distressed battle jacket and heavy sidearm belted on it. While Theodore carried his own two swords, Michi had a single, long sword slung on his back, the grip protruding over his left shoulder. The hilts of all three weapons had scuffed, nondescript fittings and braid.
Turning from their reflection, Theodore observed a woman weaving toward them through the crowd. Deftly avoiding or countering hands that snaked out to grope her or delay her passage, she was clearly used to receiving such attention. Michi stepped into her path, blocking Theodore's view of the woman's red-sheathed form. Unable to hear their conversation, Theodore was surprised to see Michi pull out a folded piece of paper. A large denomination C-bill was held to its underside. The woman smiled at Michi and took a step back. His offering vanished into the soft crevice between her breasts, which heaved visibly in the circular cutout of her dress. The woman waved a nonchalant hand toward the bar and turned away.
Michi nudged his companion with an elbow and tilted his head in the direction of the bar. Theodore nodded and followed willingly. Two stools emptied as they approached.
Michi slid onto one, pointed at the dirty cups already present, and held up a hand with the last three fingers extended. The paunchy ugly behind the bar nodded and poured two cups, holding them in one greasy paw until Michi slipped several C-bills into his other, outstretched hand. Theodore sat next to Michi and picked up his drink. His nose wrinkled at the foul stink of the booze, but he downed it, for the sake of his disguise. They waited.
The bartender had just extracted the payment for a third round when Theodore felt a familiar unease. He scanned the room for the source until his eyes settled on five men emerging from a doorway that led to the inner reaches of the building. Soft light emanated from concealed fixtures beyond the doorway, backlighting the men and making it hard to distinguish their features.
The first two were clearly kobun,soldiers of the yakuza.
They were big, muscular men with hard faces. Both wore jackets of shegila leather, the iridescent scales glittering in the light from the inner room. The next two were dressed in dark business jackets over the open-necked plaid shirts popular with corporate types in the inner Combine. But one look at their faces told Theodore that these were no simple businessmen. Their hard eyes and scarred visages pronounced them as much kobunas the first pair.
The fifth man was different, though he wore a businessman's jacket as well. The other kobunshowed such deference to the older man that Theodore was certain it was Yasir Nezumi, the oyabun.He was the gang boss they had come to meet.
The kobunnodded and bowed to acknowledge their instructions from the oyabun.As they started around the bar, their leader took a half-step back and leaned against the door frame. The light from the inner chamber now illuminated his face. Theodore noted the thin-lipped mouth, relaxed expression, and perfectly trimmed gray hair, not a strand out of place. Theodore was surprised to find him so distinguished-looking. Despite what Michi had told him, he had been expecting someone more like the classic Lobinsonu, whose coarse mug had inhabited many a gangster holoflick.
The four kobunwalked the length of the bar, stopping when they reached Theodore and Michi. As they did, the music cut off, making the room seem suddenly silent despite the continued noise of gambling and bawdiness throughout the chamber.
The shorter of the two in business jackets rolled his shoulders, then tugged at his lapels to settle the garment into a straighter line. His rough voice grated on Theodore's ears. "Nezumi -samacan't see you. He is very busy."
"That is unfortunate, friend," Theodore said, slowly revolving on his stool to face the man. "Opportunity is passing you by."
"Don't need no soldiers," the man said, with a plastic grin that never touched the steel in his eyes. "If you really want to join the family, we got toilets that need cleaning."
Theodore recognized the insult. Traditionally, new members of a gang did menial and trivial work, including housekeeping chores for the boss. Often it would be years before a new yakuza was allowed to participate in the real work of the gang. But toilets! This kobunwas offering them work reserved for women.
"Wouldn't dream of taking your job, Jokan."
The yakuza soldier's nostrils went wide with rage. He snarled and reached out to grab Theodore's lapels, but Theodore deflected it with his forearm. Converting his own motion into an attack, he brought the rigid edge of his hand down hard on the man's sternum. The kobunstaggered back, coughing.
Michi had swiveled his stool and stood up as soon as the kobunmoved on Theodore. He drove his fists into the bellies of the two brawny toughs. They doubled over, wide-eyed expressions of shock on their faces. Michi pulled his hands back, blood dripping from the blades that protruded from his vambraces. As the yakuza crumpled to the floor, Michi rotated his forearms with a snap, flicking the blood from his weapons. The wet slaps of the drops, spattering the floor and fallen kobun,were loud in the suddenly silent room.
The fourth yakuza saw that he had the undivided attention of the two men his group had outnumbered a moment before. He took several halting steps backward, nearly stumbling to the floor when he hit a patron too slow in clearing the way. Theodore reached back toward his sword, and the man turned, running for the door. Theodore changed his reach for the sword into a motion to scratch his left ear.
Michi tapped him on the shoulder, then pointed a thumb toward the back of the room. "Our host has vanished."
Theodore noted that Michi's blade had vanished as well, as he turned to confirm that the doorway was, indeed, vacant. The light was gone and only the dark wooden panels faced the barroom. "Shall we let ourselves in?" he asked.
"Iie.We haven't got the firepower.”
“All right. We'll at least leave him a message." Theodore tossed a folded piece of plastisheet onto the bar, and followed it with a black plastic credit key and a small wad of C-bills. Then he turned to the man he had struck. The man's face was contorted with the pain of his coughing, as he tried to breathe with a cracked sternum. Theodore hooked his hand under the kobun'sjaw. The man struggled to stay on his toes to avoid choking. "Most of the stuff on the bar is for your boss. I trust you can manage to see that he gets it." Theodore dug his fingers into the flesh of the man's neck. "The C-bills are for you. Take some etiquette lessons, friend. You have very bad manners."
Theodore released the kobun,who fell into a sobbing heap. Theodore looked down at him and shook his head. Too fragile. He had expected the yakuza to produce tougher soldiers. Perhaps this plan was flawed.
"An inauspicious start."
"Perhaps less so than you think," Michi commented. "But I believe we are no longer welcome here."
Theodore let his eyes rove the room. Hard-faced men turned away, returning to their pursuits, but not before Theodore read the hostility in their eyes. "You're the guide."