Shadow
Bashan Savage
Copyright © 2005 by B.A. Savage
Smashwords Edition
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Original Publication of Savage World Entertainment.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, except for use of quotes for review purposes. For information please contact: bashansavage@yahoo.com
Printed in the U.S.A.
ISBN #: 978-1-105-49063-7
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Chapter One
The lighting in the compartment car flashes each time it passes under one of the McLaughlin City's many tall buildings. Packed beyond full capacity, different sounds and smells bounce off the walls. It's late, so the majority of the people on this monorail ride are young, with a small mix of elderly and single parents with children. Using a handrail is a man who doesn't fit any of these categories, yet blends in quite inconspicuously. Wearing a trench coat on a typical summer night is not uncommon since the weather of this area usually permits it. On his head is a matching Stetson hat that barely exposes his face, except to the person sitting next to where he's standing.
He has already surveyed the train, no one interests him. He looks down and tries to zone out the various conversations he hears, including the people whispering at the front of the car.
He thinks, “Here I am in ‘Mac L’ City again. I haven't been here since the World's Fair, and it looks fairly different now.”
He looks out the window to see a few skyscrapers, “Yup, a little different. Well, I guess it's good to get out every once and a while with the people, so at least I can keep up with the local trends. It's not like most snitches wear the latest clothes or gear. I believe that's what they call it now days.”
The lady next to him looks up and blushes when she realizes a very handsome and well-groomed man in his early twenties has been standing right next to her the whole ride. He notices her looking. She realizes this and turns away.
The man thinks to himself, “Too bad lady, it could never be. There was a time when I was foolish enough to believe in love, but I've learned a long time ago, love and me don't mix.”
He looks away in effort to not encourage any communication. “So those are the new Trezelle Thomas shoes. And to believe in this day and age, with mass production methods and thousands of shoe companies that anyone would pay several hundred dollars for tennis shoes. And it's even less conceivable that people still kill for them.” A teenager seated a few feet in front of him provoked this thought. “I guess several all-star appearances and championship after championship really do mean something, like big pay checks.”
The train screeches to a slow stop. The man waits patiently for nearly everyone to exit the train before he does. The place he's going means very little to him and time means even less. Once he's exited the train, he stands off to the side and unfolds a piece of paper. “Who needs a smartphone when you can use a good ol' napkin.” The unfolded napkin reads, “Go up three blocks, cross the park by the statue and the tallest building is it.” He then throws the napkin into a nearby trash bin.
He can see the park off in the near distance, he heads towards it. “If I wasn't so bored with life...again, I probably would not have taken the job offer from these criminals. It's not like I need the money. For most people ten million dollars is a lot of money, but money along with time has lost its importance to me hundreds of years ago. I just hope that they aren't typical mafia type who wants someone dead, and for ten million it's probably a lot of someones.”
He enters the park. It’s late at night, so he's the only person in earshot besides a late night jogger and his dog.
“I don't kill for pleasure. Never have and never will. It's just not me. Now hurting someone is a different story. Usually these mafia guys have a tough time hearing that I don't kill for money, so I usually have to leave a room full of clear headed people.”
He comes up to the statue. “A statue of Donovan Wates? I thought that one day he would have a statue of himself...in his house but not in a so-called public park." He stands in front of the statue looking it over, he says, “A nerd with muscles? Can someone say ‘Oxymoron’?”
“No! But I can say give us your wallet!” demands one of three armed assailants who had approached the man from behind. He heard them approach but figured they were just nightwalkers, joggers, or something, so he paid them no mind. He turns around to find three men, two armed with knives, one with a bat. The three men start trying to circle him. He notices that the assumed ringleader is wearing a pair of nice Italian shoes, easily worth a couple of grand. The man figures that these shoes must have been specially ordered because the man's feet must be at least size fourteen.
“So much for the wallet, huh?” asks the man, who is standing non-chalantly.
“What?” asks the ringleader.
“Well, you asked for my wallet, but before I could even hand it over, you three started circling me.”
“Um...yeah give us a wallet!” says the assailant in a demanding yet uncertain voice.
“Where do they get idiots like this from?” thinks the man silently.
The ringleader who has more balls than brains demands again, “Give me a wallet!”
The man tries not to laugh at what he just heard and thinks, “Give me a wallet? Did someone forget his criminal acts flash cards?” He decides to have a little fun with these guys before he heads off to his business appointment.
“Can I give you his?”
“What? His what?”
“His wallet, you did say a wallet right? Not anyone’s in particular?”
The leader of this goon squad looks baffled but one of the other goons grows tired of this game and charges the man. The man easily ducks his attacker's wild swing, elbow’s him in the midsection, then raises his forearm sending him to the ground. Another one charges, the man dodges his feeble attempt and chops the attacker in his throat. The thug drops to the ground, choking gasping for air and rolling around.
The ring leader finally runs at the man, who easily sidesteps him. He trips him on the way past, sending the attacker head first into the metal statue. The collision sounds like a church bell chimed once.
“Ouch, that had to hurt,” said the unharmed man as he approaches the only one who's not unconscious, he's on his hands and knees. The approaching man says, “See, you aren't able to kick it with the big dogs, but I am,” then kicks the man in his face. Now all three would be attackers are out cold.
The man kneels down and digs into the downed man's pocket. He pulls out the man's wallet, then walks over toward the downed team captain and says, “Here you go champ, here's a wallet,” then tosses the wallet of his partner in crime on him. The man then continues his way through the park, with the Katsuya Corporation skyscraper in front of him.
Chapter Two
The man approaches the steps of the building. He stops in front and looks up at the skyscraper. He blinks his eyes, and when they open a sheet of yellow has replaced his pupils and retina. The man continues to look up, his vision greatly improved. He looks at the second to the top floor of the building. That whole floor's windows are lit up, while most of the buildings other offices are dark. “So, that's where the meeting's gonna be.” He blinks again and his eyes have returned to normal. He heads into the building. After clearing the revolving door, the security guard stationed at the desk asks, “Can I help you?”
“I'm here to see Mr. Katsuya.”
“And you are?”
“Here to see Katsuya. Something wrong with your hearing?”
The minimal wage rent-a-cop decides against questioning this man again considering that most of Mr. Katsuya's guests don't like being ID'ed. He picks up the phone, “Somebody is here to see Mr. Katsuya...I don't know he hasn't said, but he should be on your monitor.”
The man surveys the area, paying no attention to the guard’s conversation. The guard hangs up the phone, “Okay, you've been cleared. Mr. Katsuya is expecting you. Please take the elevator to the right. We only leave one running after hours.”
The man leaves the counter and heads toward the elevator. “Even though he didn't mention it, it's gonna be either one or two. I bet two,” he thought to himself. The elevator chimes as it stops at the lobby.
The doors open and two Japanese men in black suits are standing inside. “I was right,” thinks the man as he enters the elevator, turns around, and takes his place between them. The elevator starts its ascent. The man starts to think to himself, “I've heard some bad things about mafias, but none worse than what I've heard about this particular family of the Japanese mob. While these so called mafias don't hold a stick to the acts of Khan or even Zulu, as far as organized crime today, they are up there. I heard they even cut out the tongues of their spies and ninjas so they could never talk about the families activities, but that makes little sense because they could just write it down.” The elevator stops on the ninety-ninth floor, which apparently is the top floor, as indicated by the button options. “I could swear I saw a floor above this one.” He thinks as he exits the elevator with one man in front and one in back of him.
They make their way down a long winding hallway, then the front man open one of two conference room doors. The visitor steps in. A well-dressed Japanese man in his early forties is looking out of one of the office's wall-like windows overlooking the park. “Thank you gentlemen, you are excused.”
“Yes, Mr. Katsuya,” says the man who opened the door, who now pulls it shut behind him. The Japanese man sits down.
“Please have a seat.”
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure? It's gonna take a while to explain exactly why I hired you.”
“You mean ‘might have hired me’. I haven't decided yet.”
“Why do you sound so reluctant?”
“Because common street thugs don't wear thousand dollar shoes.”
“Come again?”
The man throws the ID card he took from the wallet of one of his would be muggers in the park, onto Katsuya's desk.
Katsuya inspects the card, “Oh...I see, but come on now, you understand I had to test you and see if you are as good as I've heard.”
The man understands this perfectly, he's been tested many times before and even tested others, but he doesn't show it, instead he sits down as a gesture of acceptance.
“Well, as you probably already know, I'm Jin-Jun Katsuya, one of the chairmen of the Katsuya Corporation, but you can just call me Kats. And what shall I call you?”
“You can't, the number is unlisted.”
Kats laughs, “Strong and funny. Must be a real lady killer.”
“I'm a nobody killer.”
“Oh, no, that's not why I want to hire you. I know you probably have heard some bad things about my company and my family, but let me assure you a lot of what you might have heard has been blown out of proportion.”
“Like cutting out tongues?”
“Exactly. Our agents are not mistreated like that. And that subject brings us to why I, we need your help. One of our ex-operatives is killing off our board members. And we need your help to stop her.”
“Ex-operatives? Sounds like a disgruntled ex-employee who wants payback. I'm sure your company has its own internal ways of dealing with issues like this.”
“Yes, actually we do, but this was no normal operative, this was Shadow.” Kats expression shows the degree of seriousness involved but the man doesn't seem interested but does say, “Shadow? The deadly female assassin? I heard she was only a myth.”
“That's what I heard about you,” says Kats with a grin.
The man leans back in his chair, “So, why is she killing your people?”
“We have no clue. That's why we need your help. After fruitless attempts to capture her, we the remaining board members decided that to catch a myth, let's use a myth.”
The man doesn't react to the comment; he continues to sit leaned back with his Stetson's brim blocking his eyes from view, “So you want her alive?”
“Yes, if possible. She had been missing for almost ten years; then, out of the blue, she reappeared killing off our board members.”
“Missing?”
“Yes, we sent her away on a mission to retrieve for us a lost artifact from the Tomb of King Foymama.”
“The King of Greed.”
“Yes, you heard of him?”
The man thinks back to the time he had to battle the King's pet killing machine, Taxa, to retrieve an item to save a village that was cursed. This was back in the days when the monks used to take care of him. “Continue.”
“Okay, where was I? Oh yes, well, she never returned from the mission and considering her mission success rate was one hundred percent at the time, we assumed she must have been killed.”
“So, you have no clue why she would be killing off her former employer?”
“Well, actually, we don't have anything solid, just theories and that is why I need to know if you are on board because if so, then the next board members life is in danger.”
“How many has she killed?”
“Six, all in Japan. The other members are now here in the states as a way to better protect them. We assume she'll be stateside within the next twenty-four hours.”
“How many are left and when did you move them here?”
“If she kills or attempts to kill Mr. Ioto, then our theory is correct and that will leave four. And we moved them here about twenty-four hours ago.”
“Let me get this straight. She's been killing your people in some kind of predictable order and you can't stop her? And you moved your people to the States and you believe that she'll be here for them that soon?”
She's that good. Now do you understand our need for concern?"
He feels like it could be the biggest challenge since he prevented Judaki from destroying the world. Even though he's starting to feel excited on the inside, outside shows nothing. He decides to cover his excitement, just in case it did show with a traditional gesture all mafia employers have come to expect, “So ten million, right?”
“Yes, ten million U.S. dollars.”
“Okay, I'll catch her and bring her back, but I need as much information on her as you got.”
Kats slides forward a folder that was on his desk on some papers. The label head says, “Codename: Shadow.” While the folder has the words “For Century” written in Japanese and black ink.
The man looks at the folder but doesn't pick it up, and then he looks at Kats who says, “I told you I had to test you. So now I know you understand Japanese, Mr. Century.”
The man starts to think of the emotional pain attached to that name. That was the last time he allowed his heart to love and he had to abandon it for the best of both them. The man grabs the folder and stands up and heads for the door.
“So we'll be in contact Mr. Century?”
The man says without turning around, “Yeah, real soon and if you're gonna call me by that, at least get it right. It's Century.”
Then he exits the room.
Chapter Three
The little girl sits excitedly as her mother works on her angel costume for the annual school play. The young mother of this bundle of energy has the dress almost complete.
“You're gonna be the cutest angel in the whole play,” says the mom.
“Yup and with the prettiest dress. I'll be a princess angel.”
The mother laughs, “Sure dear, you can be anything you want.”
“Mommy.”
“Yes dear.”
“Thank you.”