THIRTY-NINE

“Shit, hurry it up, boys!” Antoni Lupo shouted out from the back of his black van as it pulled up right out front of the Kojima family’s condo building. “We might already be too late!”

“I hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t look good, Antoni,” Fido said from the front passenger seat, the fire from the burning car across the street reflecting brightly off the lenses of his sunglasses. “Looks like the party started without us.”

As soon as the van had parked, all five members of Antoni Lupo’s crew, along with their new recruit Fido, got out of the vehicle and charged across the street towards the entrance of the building.

Lupo led the way, smashing his way through the glass security doors outside. They charged across the building’s foyer. The power was out inside and the elevators were not running, so they made their way up the fire stairs quickly.

***

As Sierra stood there looking down through the shattered window at the burning wreckage below, the last thing he was expecting was for more intruders to show up. He dropped to his knees in exhaustion as the front door of condo suddenly burst open and a wave of heavily armed men came rushing inside, torches flashing around wildly on the ends of their weapons.

The intruders quickly secured Kenji and all the other captives, screaming out instructions to each other that Sierra could barely comprehend in his exhausted state. Two of the intruders turned their attention across the condo then, where Sierra was still kneeling by the broken scenic window; the beams of their flashlights zeroed in on him, burning at his unprepared corneas.

“Don’t move, bub,” one of the intruders called out in a thick Texan accent, noticing the knife in Sierra’s hand. “And unless of course you want to become acquainted with Machinegun-Betty here, I suggest you drop that pig-sticker!”

Sierra nodded obediently, letting his knife clatter uselessly to the floor.

“Nice work, kid.” The Texan approached him cautiously. “Now get down on the floor, spread-eagled, and interlock your fingers! And don’t you be trying anything cute, I’m not in the fucking mood!”

Sierra did as he was told, the Texan pressing the barrel of his weapon against the back of his neck.

“Do what we say and you’ll get to walk away from all this,” the Texan said. “Try any hero shit, it’ll be time for your body to find itself a new head. Got it?!”

Sierra showed the man he understood by nodding. As he did so, memories of his childhood, and his suffering in Hector Chilavert’s torture cells, came flooding back through his head, robbing him of any resolve to fight.

…

“Who the fuck are you people?!” Kenji growled as the group’s leader crouched down right beside him, after the others had extinguished all of the surrounding flames. “You’re obviously not with Loa Lacroix. Why the fuck are you trying to kill us?!”

“It’s best you got your facts straight, Mr Kojima,” Antoni Lupo said with a slight smile. “We’re friends, not enemies. We’re here to help.”

“Well, you’re a bit fucking late for that,” Kenji snorted. “My pal Sierra has already taken care of that bandage-clad freak who was trying to cook us.”

Lupo seemed to take a few seconds to digest Kenji’s words. He looked out across the room at Sierra with a puzzled frown. “Good for him. But unfortunately, this is not over just yet, Mr Kojima.”

“What do you mean?”

“All of this is your brother Saito’s doing. He has betrayed you; he and his followers have taken over control of the Kojima building by force. They are holding your father captive there.”

Kenji frowned. “I’m calling bullshit. Why would my brother do that? Saito may be a prick, but he’s not a psychopath!”

“I don’t know his reasons, and truth be told, I really don’t give a shit,” Lupo said. “But since that Guerrero he sent could find you here, chances are your brother will send someone else along once he learns of the man’s failure.”

“What’s it to you if I die anyway?”

“You can ask my boss when you see her. She wants you alive and well, Mr Kojima. All of you. So you can come along with us willingly, or we can take you by force. It’s your choice.”

“Hey, wait a sec,” Kenji’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “I know you, don’t I? You’re Antoni Lupo; one of Fabian Paravinchi’s best killers…”

“No, not one of the best,” Lupo corrected him. “The best.”

Kenji turned then as one of Lupo’s colleagues walked over and knelt down beside him. His eyes opened even wider as he recognised the second man’s face; it was the same man who had saved him from the Haitians the previous night at the Marino nightclub. “You again? What exactly is your obsession with saving my arse?”

Fido shrugged. “What can I say? I guess you’re a lucky man.”

“Really, you think so?” Kenji shook his head and looked around the room at all the destruction, at his colleagues still lying unconscious on the floor right beside him. “I sure as shit don’t feel so lucky.”

…

From across the street of the Kojima condo building, hidden by darkness, a lone figure watched on in secret as Sierra Rico and his colleagues were escorted outside over to a waiting van and pushed inside one by one.

Mickey Toma let his hand brush teasingly over the grip of his Guerrero knife. Sierra was still alive, just as he had expected. Good, Toma thought, everything he had planned was still on track. Soon he would have his hated enemy all to himself.

Soon, Toma reminded himself, but not just yet.

He watched as the last of Antoni Lupo’s men got inside the van, then he turned away and took out the small polaroid photograph from his pocket he had been holding on to. A smile crossed his face as the vehicle pulled out onto the street behind him and drove off.

…

The journey in the back of Antoni Lupo’s Humvee had been rather uneventful. Lupo had relieved everyone of their weapons and kept Sierra’s Guerrero gun belt around his own waist for safekeeping. Everyone had remained silent for the most part.

At last the vehicle came to a stop outside the front gates of a palace-like compound. The sign out front said ‘The Paravinchi Institute’. The Humvee drove inside as the heavy iron gates opened.

Sierra looked out the window at the massive inner-city building they had just arrived at. The main structure was all made of glass and five storeys tall, its design somewhat resembling that of a castle; it was square in shape with an interior courtyard and four guard towers. There were armed guards stationed all around the compound, most of them in modest suits; Mafioso thugs no doubt.

Rather than driving straight up to the main entrance, the Humvee rolled around to the side of the mansion, entering a massive garage via a steel roller-door. There were at least ten other vehicles parked inside that Sierra could see.

Once the Humvee was parked, Sierra and the others were all escorted inside the main building through a series of corridors. After a good five-minute walk they came at last to a pair of brightly lit holding cells, which were located directly across the long hallway from each other. There they were split into two groups. The four Kojimas were all put inside one cell, Sierra and his friends in the other. Then the heavy metal doors were locked closed behind them.

***

It was the cheapest hotel in town. The whole room smelled like used condoms, and the bedsheets were even worse. Detective Randy awoke with a start, gagging and thrashing around as he found himself buried beneath the filthy sheets. His phone on the bedside table was ringing, and had been for quite some time. Finally he managed to free himself and pick up.

“Yeah,” Randy answered, his brain still half asleep, “Ran-man here.”

“Hello there, Ran-man; hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.” The voice on the other end of the line instantly cleared the drowsiness from Randy’s head. It was distorted electronically, and he knew exactly who it was.

“El Maestro,” Randy cleared his throat to stop himself choking on his own sticky saliva. “Sorry, I was just—”

“Fucking that local news reporter bitch Sonya Bravo. Yes, I know. You can spare me the details.”

At that moment the TV reporter stuck her head out from under the sheets, wrapping her arm sleepily around Randy’s waist. Randy quickly sat up on the edge of the bed, swatting her away. It amazed him how his boss was somehow always able to keep tabs on him no matter where he was.

“Why are you calling?” Randy asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Your man Lacroix has been in contact. It seems the shooters he sent over to the Port of Balboa to kill Fido have failed. All but one of them are dead.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

“I wish I was, Ran-man. It would certainly be much better for you if that were the case.”

“Okay, okay, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, you did promise that our mutual problem would be handled, did you not?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry, I’m just trying to make sense of things,” Randy shook his head in disbelief, still trying to comprehend how things could have gone wrong. “Jackson and I gave Lacroix the address of Fido’s girlfriend and—”

“So I was told,” the called cut him off. “The survivor, one Mr Jacky Sanders, says that several well-trained shooters showed up and saved Fido. They killed everyone but him.”

“So Fido still has friends in town, even with Gomez and Sanchez both gone,” Randy scoffed. “Who knew?”

“Do you think this is funny?!”

“No, boss, it’s just… I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have time to micro-manage my employees, Detective, so I’ll give this to you this straight up: either you finish your fucking job, or I’ll find someone else who can!”

“Ran-man?” Sonya Bravo said suddenly as she opened her eyes, studying her lover with a sleepy frown. “Why are you awake?”

Randy shot her a glare. “Shut the fuck up, slut, I’m on the phone here!”

The reporter started to sob, mascara running down her face.

“Oh Ran-man? Are your still there?”

“Ah… yes,” Randy nearly fumbled the receiver. “Sorry about that, boss. You weren’t meant to hear that.”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m giving you forty-eight hours to clean this mess up. Failing that, you and your partner should start planning for an early retirement. You dig that, Ran-man?”

“Yes, but if—” The caller cut off before Randy could finish his sentence.

Setting the phone down, Randy slumped back into his bed and let out a long, deep sigh. “Yo, Jackson,” he called out, “wake up and get your ugly arse out here!”

Right on cue, Randy’s partner emerged, popping his head out from under the sheets right beside Randy and the reporter. “What’s up, partner? Something wrong?”

“Yeah, Jax, something’s wrong,” Randy said seriously. “Lacroix’s men fucked up. Fido’s still alive.”

Jackson’s face turned sour. “Damn. I guess that means we have to get moving. And I didn’t even get to finish my round with Miss Bravo…”

Randy glanced across at the teary reporter and smiled. “Fine, you can have her for three more minutes, but then we’ve got to go.”

Jackson’s eyes lit up again. “Don’t worry, partner, I’ll only need two!”

Randy got out of bed and walked over to the nearest window, doing all he could to block out his partner’s high-pitched squeals of delight as he pulled the reporter back under the sheets with him.

“Okay, two options now,” Randy muttered to himself. “Find a homeless drifter and put him in the ground within two days, or tie my own toe tag. Seriously, how the fuck did I get myself into this shit?!”

***

Saito Kojima looked up from the paperwork on his desk as Ichi Fujita entered his office.

“Something wrong?” Saito asked.

“I just got news back from our men back in Kobe,” said Fujita. “Somehow the elders have already found out about our rebellion.”

Saito didn’t seem all too concerned by the news. “Well, how did they react?”

“Pretty much as we expected they would. They have dispatched a private jet here to Panama City. Their private hit-team, the Tenchu, are all aboard. Somehow I don’t think it will be a social visit.”

Saito sighed disinterestedly. He knew all about the infamous Tenchu. They traveled all over the world carrying out the Kojima-gumi’s dirty work. Usually news of them coming to kill him would be cause for some serious concern, but now he had the resources at his disposal to deal with such a threat.

“What’s their ETA?” Saito asked.

“They’ll get here in the early hours of the morning. How do you want to handle it?”

Saito paused then as a door to his left suddenly opened. Mickey Toma strolled into the room, taking a seat on the edge of Saito’s desk.

“So, you heard?” Saito asked the eavesdropping Guerrero. “Any ideas?”

“No need to panic,” Toma said coolly. “We’ll inform Los Diablos to arm themselves up and then drive them out to Tocumon Airport. They can greet the Tenchu plane when it arrives.”

Saito nodded over to Fujita.

The Smiling Assassin’s grin widened. “Ok, I’ll see to it.”