Post by Dino Pollard on Jan 29, 2009 3:45:17 GMT -5
Osaka
One Week Ago
The common term for places like this is a hostess bar or snack bar. Places where lonely businessmen can spend several thousand yen an hour in order to talk to beautiful young women. Some are simply places for conversation but others, like this one, are prostitution fronts run by Yakuza clans.
The British expatriate who sat with beautiful young Japanese women on either side seemed perfectly at home here. He held a glass with Suntory whiskey in one hand, the ice rattling around with each sip. His other arm was draped around one of the women.
“I think we need another round here,” he said in perfect Japanese. “Also, I seem to be out of Silk Cuts. Anyone got a cigarette I can borrow?”
The girl his arm was draped around reached for a pack of Mild Sevens on the table. She placed it between his lips and lit it for him.
“You, my dear, are too kind,” he said.
She smiled and placed her hand on his upper thigh. “I can be even kinder.”
“Wouldn't that be something,” he said. “I love Japan, the people are so...accommodating.”
“We like Englishmen here,” said the one who sat on his other side, rubbing his chest.
“I can see that,” he said.
“What is your work?”
“Well, if you must know, I'm a spy.”
“Like James Bond?”
He winked at her. “Better. The name's Wisdom. Pete Wisdom.”
{This is growing pretty tiresome.}
“Just relax, love,” said Wisdom as he wrapped his arms around both girls, pulling them tight and acting as if he was speaking to them. “This night is going perfectly well.”
“Have you been to Japan before?” asked one of the girls.
“Been a few years but yeah,” he said. “But I came here because I thought a mate of mine died. Then it turns out he had just disappeared for a spell. Now, I find out he's back and I came to surprise him.”
“Oh really?”
“Gospel truth, love.”
“So where is your friend tonight?”
“I've been here for two weeks, haven't had much luck tracking him down yet,” said Wisdom. “I know he comes to places like this a lot, so I thought I might run into him.” He paused for a moment to take a sip of his whiskey and a drag on his cigarette. “Say, maybe one of you knows him? Not the most social guy. His name's Ken. Ken Harada.”
The girls both pulled away, their expressions betraying their words. “I—I don't know anyone named Harada.”
“Somehow, I don't believe you,” said Wisdom. He drew on the cigarette again and blew out a few tiny smoke rings. “I want you to tell him Pete Wisdom came to leave some flowers at his grave before he found out the sod's back among the living.”
“B-but we don't know him.”
Wisdom sighed. “Right. Then find someone who does. Now get moving.” He raised his finger and it began to glow white-hot and elongate. “Don't make me ask twice.”
The girls both scampered off into the back room. Wisdom sat back against the couch, sipping his whiskey and smoking his cigarette. He watched as the other girls began to shoo the customers towards the door, telling them they should go outside for air. Soon, the place was empty save for the bartender, who ducked down.
“Very interesting,” said Wisdom.
The door to the back room opened and a tall, imposing Japanese man stepped out, clutching a katana blade that crackled with energy. “Wisdom.”
“Hello there, Kenuchio,” said Wisdom. “You get a chance at reincarnation and you decide to return to that ugly sack of skin?”
“You have five seconds to explain yourself before I relieve your neck of the burden your head places on it.”
*CHK*
“I think not,” said Wisdom. A featureless black figure dropped from the ceiling, pointing a gun at Harada's head. The figure's form shifted, transforming into a woman with indigo skin, burgundy hair, yellow eyes and a white leather jumpsuit. “I believe you know Mystique.”
Wisdom stood and a cloud seemed to fly off him, forming into a young woman wearing a burka. “And this is Dust.”
“What do you want?” asked Harada.
“Information,” said Wisdom.
One Week Ago
The common term for places like this is a hostess bar or snack bar. Places where lonely businessmen can spend several thousand yen an hour in order to talk to beautiful young women. Some are simply places for conversation but others, like this one, are prostitution fronts run by Yakuza clans.
The British expatriate who sat with beautiful young Japanese women on either side seemed perfectly at home here. He held a glass with Suntory whiskey in one hand, the ice rattling around with each sip. His other arm was draped around one of the women.
“I think we need another round here,” he said in perfect Japanese. “Also, I seem to be out of Silk Cuts. Anyone got a cigarette I can borrow?”
The girl his arm was draped around reached for a pack of Mild Sevens on the table. She placed it between his lips and lit it for him.
“You, my dear, are too kind,” he said.
She smiled and placed her hand on his upper thigh. “I can be even kinder.”
“Wouldn't that be something,” he said. “I love Japan, the people are so...accommodating.”
“We like Englishmen here,” said the one who sat on his other side, rubbing his chest.
“I can see that,” he said.
“What is your work?”
“Well, if you must know, I'm a spy.”
“Like James Bond?”
He winked at her. “Better. The name's Wisdom. Pete Wisdom.”
{This is growing pretty tiresome.}
“Just relax, love,” said Wisdom as he wrapped his arms around both girls, pulling them tight and acting as if he was speaking to them. “This night is going perfectly well.”
“Have you been to Japan before?” asked one of the girls.
“Been a few years but yeah,” he said. “But I came here because I thought a mate of mine died. Then it turns out he had just disappeared for a spell. Now, I find out he's back and I came to surprise him.”
“Oh really?”
“Gospel truth, love.”
“So where is your friend tonight?”
“I've been here for two weeks, haven't had much luck tracking him down yet,” said Wisdom. “I know he comes to places like this a lot, so I thought I might run into him.” He paused for a moment to take a sip of his whiskey and a drag on his cigarette. “Say, maybe one of you knows him? Not the most social guy. His name's Ken. Ken Harada.”
The girls both pulled away, their expressions betraying their words. “I—I don't know anyone named Harada.”
“Somehow, I don't believe you,” said Wisdom. He drew on the cigarette again and blew out a few tiny smoke rings. “I want you to tell him Pete Wisdom came to leave some flowers at his grave before he found out the sod's back among the living.”
“B-but we don't know him.”
Wisdom sighed. “Right. Then find someone who does. Now get moving.” He raised his finger and it began to glow white-hot and elongate. “Don't make me ask twice.”
The girls both scampered off into the back room. Wisdom sat back against the couch, sipping his whiskey and smoking his cigarette. He watched as the other girls began to shoo the customers towards the door, telling them they should go outside for air. Soon, the place was empty save for the bartender, who ducked down.
“Very interesting,” said Wisdom.
The door to the back room opened and a tall, imposing Japanese man stepped out, clutching a katana blade that crackled with energy. “Wisdom.”
“Hello there, Kenuchio,” said Wisdom. “You get a chance at reincarnation and you decide to return to that ugly sack of skin?”
“You have five seconds to explain yourself before I relieve your neck of the burden your head places on it.”
*CHK*
“I think not,” said Wisdom. A featureless black figure dropped from the ceiling, pointing a gun at Harada's head. The figure's form shifted, transforming into a woman with indigo skin, burgundy hair, yellow eyes and a white leather jumpsuit. “I believe you know Mystique.”
Wisdom stood and a cloud seemed to fly off him, forming into a young woman wearing a burka. “And this is Dust.”
“What do you want?” asked Harada.
“Information,” said Wisdom.