Logan knew his getaway from this place, the back of the house wasn't secure, the front was, all the systems the owner had on it you'd think they'd have thought about the back wall. But no, this was no shogunate house, only a copy of one and a shoddy one at that. He'd been hidden in the brush over looking the house for a couple of nights now, just blending in with his environment.
Warfare isn't always about striking from the front, sometimes the attack can take days or weeks, a slow movement of action that isn't seen or heard but eventually when the drawbridge drops open, the occupants are already dead.
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He'd made sure to give the staff of the house something of a treat, seeing as it was a holiday, the food that was laid out on his own groaning table wasn't anything like he'd grown up with. The back streets of Honshu hadn't been kind to him or his brothers, but he'd thrived in the mess of gangs and double dealing. He'd been the point man to several groups, an floating independent he liked to call himself, that had been after the disaster of the JRA. Just why he'd even gotten involved with them he'd never really admitted to himself, but it had been his brothers cause to be honest. A dreamer, hopeless in reality but when he spoke he made you want to believe the world could change with a few words and a bomb or two in the right places.
He blew smoke out into the large room, people were having fun, enjoying the quaint atmosphere of his house, he'd built it 'old style'. When people knew how to build without glass and steel, oh he loved the money he made by selling the square footage he'd murdered and prised from dying relatives fingers. But he knew the value of 'tradition', a man can be lots of things but he wasn't a man until he'd built his own house, laid a foundation stone that his own clan would be proud of.
He watched his brother spin the grandchildren around the tatami covered floor, they'd been blessed that morning, the temple had been quiet but he'd made sure the monks had been well paid for their prayers. The future was all that mattered, the future would rewrite the past, just as the samurai did for their masters. Always watchful he nodded to the security, they could go on standby now, leaving only the family members in the house. He wanted to enjoy his holiday without thinking about his enemies, tomorrow would bring them soon enough.
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The caterers moved slowly and carefully, their jobs being done, their loads lessened by the appetites of the house they'd served, Logan watched them without judgement. But the arm of the driver made him wonder, a fish scale pattern ran along his wrist and obviously went under his white coat. Shifting himself Logan decided to have a closer look at the man with the tattoos.
“Get the bloody trays organised you idiot! I'm not having to pay for another set just because you can't be bothered to stack them properly!” Logan waited while the man left the driver again, the youngish man just sneered at the back of his manager and began to move toward the rear of the van when Logan stepped out of cover and grabbed him.
Applying pressure just under his ear and the man was out for the count, blood flow would return in a few moments but for now he wanted to have a good look at the younger mans arms. Rolling the sleeves up he saw the twin carp playing on his skin, the other arm was much more interesting, hidden under the wave of a rolling sea Logan could just make out the remains of a barbed wire wristlet. Done in blue and smudged, not a patch on the work he had on his skin now, but it meant that the people in the house had bigger connections than he originally believed. Dragging the young man upright again and throwing him into the drivers seat, taking the keys and locking him inside. He'd done his time according to the patterns he was wearing and he wanted to make good his life, hopefully after tonight he'd be able to.
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The children had gone to bed, some overtired as usual but mainly happy, business had been discussed while the dinner had been served. Family matters were decided upon and the clan's arm was seen to be widening it's grip both on mainland china and in Singapore. The women left as they usually did to play mah-jong and plan the next round of marriages and affairs, that left him and his brother with the heads of the smaller clans. He listened to his brothers plans, nodded in the right places as he should, knowing that because it came from his brothers lips they'd accept it better than from his own. The small wooden clock on the wall had struck two before the business was concluded, they left with the small gifts he'd given them at the temple, as honour dictated. Even though some of the gifts would be back in the storeroom before the night was out, a little damaged but refundable. Now as the world slept he could finally relax with his brother, the dreamer, the one who'd gotten them into this world in the first place. And as such he owed him a debt he could never repay but he didn't enjoy the mayhem that came with such a life. At times like these he'd order the sake warm and they'd go out into the garden to talk, as they once had before the world had thrown them into it's many armed splendour.
Lifting the phone next to him he ordered his brothers favourite Koshu, warmed and gently spiced with ginger. The weather was still a little cold for them both and he doubted his brother had been eating well enough again. Taking his brothers arm he led him outdoors into the garden, along the winding path to the seat under the cherry he'd planted here himself. When they were finally outside under the stars he heard his brothers voice whisper to him, “Are we being watched anymore Masaru?” He shook his head and tried to keep his eyes clear from tears this time, every time he tried and each time he failed. Hotaru began to release the hold he held on his body, his mind the only thing that kept him upright in the daylight hours. Carefully shuffling to the seat Hotaru, let his brother aid him, finally rested and seated he let the strain show on his face. “We have to tell them soon Masaru, I can't keep this up for much longer. The shaking is getting to hard to keep still, when I had little Chou in my arms I could feel the tremors, so could she. I made a joke of it as always but she knows and she will work it out soon enough and as soon as her mother knows...”
Masaru nodded and patted his brothers hand, his eldest daughter, the one who'd grown up knowing the slums like her father had. Hoshiko wasn't stupid and if she thought her father was ill...well he just knew she'd move the world to make him better, even if she couldn't.
He was about to speak to his brother when he noticed the servant coming with the warmed wine. “Hotaru, the wine is here,” as he turned to look at his brother he was back to the strong wire framed man he'd always been. The servant placed the wine on the small table by the side of the bench, placing each cup with care before the warmed bottle. The way he moved each cup so the design was facing each man to drink it made him wish he'd brought his gun with him out here, because this man wasn't a servant of his. Calmly he took the cup in his hands and turned it to the servant, who poured the warm honey coloured wine into it's porcelain shell. He did the same for his brother, bowing low before he raised himself to their eye line. “How many did you kill to get here?”
Logan knew they'd spotted him the moment he moved the cups properly, habit had asserted itself and he'd been caught by his own etiquette. There was no point in hiding anymore, he fired his claws slowly in the cool air under the cherry tree, finally answering him when they were locked out and ready for work. “None. Your family are still alive, I have no wish to harm the innocent.”
Masaru straightened, then this was no attack from a rival clan, even Hotaru flinched at the words from the strangers mouth. Logan didn't see them replying or trying to convince him of their innocence, they had done things worse than the death of one innocent. But it was that death that had brought him to them now.
It was Hotaru who spoke first, his body relaxing into it's shudders, the wine being spilled over his fingers as his voice whispered the name into the cold air. “Yuriko.”
“Who? What are you talking about? Hotaru? Who is Yuriko?” Hotaru looked at his brother, aching to act, to shield him from the vengeance personified in this demon from their past. Masaru made to get up but Hotaru grabbed his arm with steel claws of his own.
“NO!” Masaru looked at his brother and saw the pain in his eyes, something he'd forgotten so many years ago. “The bomb, remember? The one I said we should plant, the idea that came to me all those years ago? How to start the fear and how to keep it alive?” Masaru nodded, his voice finally able to join his brothers without anger.
“But that was years ago, no one was really hurt, we didn't do any damage at all, the whole thing was just to gather news headlines, to be noticed, to gain more recruits for that mad bitch and her boyfriend....” Then as if the years had melted away Masaru remembered the name, it rolled out of his mouth and laid on the gravel between them all. The truth finally realised, “Yuriko. I remember her, she had such lovely eyes.”
Hotaru used his brothers arm to help him stand up, he drank the wine left in his cup and dropped it to the gravel. It broke into several pieces and he took a step toward Logan, “I give myself to you, I take the burden of the guilt, for it was my words that inflamed their hearts, that drove them down that road of death. I accept my guilt for it and ask you spare my brother.” Logan didn't speak to him, the look he gave Hotaru was as sheer as ice and just as welcoming. Hotaru nodded in his understanding, pulling on his brother's sleeve as he fell back to the seat. Masaru was still lost in memory as Logan approached the pair, looming over them with his bulk. Masaru finally realising that his time had run out, that the past had finally called the debt he owed to it. He raised a hand to Logan who paused for a second, “Please, let them know why, I don't want more deaths to follow ours.”
Then it was silent, all apart for a slow trickle that had nothing to do with the water feature, the ground below the cherry was beginning to grow red. Their combined blood flows would feed the tree and this year when it bloomed it would be remembered for many many years to come. The kanji carved into the bark, still fresh and the red sap marking it forever, 'Past regrets follow the unprepared man into death.' The family had their ashes brought back to the tree, scattered beneath the flowering branches where their grandchildren played as the blossoms fell into outstretched fingers.
Logan left quietly, the pair had used the death of his intended as a springboard, in reality they had little to do with the bomb, Hotaru had had the idea but he hadn't made it and he hadn't planted it. No that was the final pair he was going to see, and for them death was no easy option.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Logan visits a couple of men who should have known better...
Chapter End Notes:
I know I promised gore but the last pair are next and I'm having to think about how nasty I want to be, or should let Logan be? What do you think?