She was barely finished making Ryan's funeral arrangements when she got word of  Uncle Hachiro muscling in and trying to take over the business.He couldn't even wait until he was buried.

Logan was furious at the security failure as well as Ryan evading Benny and Itchy and no one even bothering to tell him about it,but he had promised to track down the killer and "take care of it".She had to tell him she didn't want that:blood begat more blood,and the cycle seemed unending.She wanted it to stop,she just wasn't sure how she could do it.

But she knew where to start.

When Logan came into the living room,where she sat curled up on the end of the sofa,he gave her the saddest look.She knew he blamed himself for not watching Ryan more closely,but it wasn't his fault.If anything,it was Ryan's fault-he knew the risks of sneaking out alone,and he didn't care.He thought he could get away with it.

Logan came over and knelt in front of her,taking her hands in his.She was sure she looked a sight-no make up,eyes red from crying,all stuffed up and snotty-but he'd probably seen her worse."Riko,"he began,but she didn't let him finish.He didn't need to express his sympathy or be sorry anymore.Now was the time to suck it up and get down to business.

"Logan,I'm going to need you now more than ever,"she said,blinking back tears.She was damn tired of crying."I'm taking control of the family business-a fight in itself-and I'm going to be making some decisions that won't be very popular in some parts of the family."

He squeezed her hands in a comforting manner,his green eyes bright with understanding."You're going to shut the black market segment down."

She nodded,strands of her long,dark hair falling across her face.But she didn't want to let go of his hands to brush them away."I don't think some of them are going to react very well-"

"They wanna get to you,they have to get through me first,"Logan insisted,and she recognized the insanely stubborn look in his eyes and in the set of his jaw.If she said she was going to hell he'd probably lead the way,and that's one of the things she loved about him.

She slipped her hands free of his,but only so she could take his face in her hands and kiss him on the forehead."Oh,my love,you're the only thing left in this family I care about anymore."

He put his strong,rock hard arms around her and held her tight,nestling his head against her neck."You're the only thing I've ever cared about,"he said,and she wasn't sure if she should be flattered or slightly unnerved that he sounded so sincere.

**

Tokyo-Six Months Later

Even among all the customers sitting at the small,dark wood tables and standing at the oak paneled 'bar',it was easy to note the bodyguards in spite of their attempts at 'casual' clothing:they were too bulky to be businessmen stopping in on their lunch break.But Hachiro traveled with his own bodyguard,not one of Logan's minions,as he didn't need word getting back to that asshole.

It was almost impossible to schedule a secret meeting with Dayu Takabe (he had no hope of meeting with Izumo);it had been a month in the making,and they both had to agree to very public,neutral territory to short circuit any attempt at assassination attempts and ambushes.Of course,that was a long shot,but so far so good.

Per their agreement Dayu sat at a table near the bar,far from the door and the windows and prying ears,but not so hidden he wouldn't be visible to the entire restaurant.It was a safety precaution for them both.

He had a bodyguard at a table within reach,pretending to eat noodles,while another sat at the bar.Hachiro's bodyguard was sitting at a table just off to the right,drinking tea (thanks to a secret transmitter,he was able to give him the 'all clear' signal).

Hachiro wove his way through the crowded restaurant and took the only free seat at Dayu's table.Dayu was a severe looking young man,his angular face well scrubbed but still riddled with acne scars that gave his skin the appearance of pumice,his sleek,oiled black hair cut and swept back in a short,Western manner.He wore a black sharkskin suit that was probably designer,but Hachiro didn't know one designer from another.

"Mr. Yashida,"Takabe said coolly,his hazel eyes holding a hint of disdain.

"Mr. Takabe,"Hachiro said in reply,not quite stifling his own distaste.

"I hope this is not some lame attempt at concessions,"Takabe said,obviously assuming the preliminaries were out of the way."I thought you people were getting out of the black market anyways."

"We are,"he admitted grudgingly,through clenched teeth."But I think we have a similar problem."

Takabe lifted an eyebrow,looking so arrogant it was hard to suppress the urge to smack him."And that would be..?"

"The samurai."

"Ah.Worn out his welcome since he married your niece,hmm?"

Hachiro ignored that.His niece had always been an uppity bitch anyways;Kyoshi should have never sent her to college in the States."I'm here to propose a deal.I will help you eliminate the gaijin in exchange for a cease fire."Logan was the only thing standing in his way:if he was gone,he'd have no trouble deposing Mariko.

"What would keep us to the cease fire agreement if the samurai is gone?"Takabe pointed out.

"I have a new security chief waiting in the wings.Former Mossad,knows his stuff,and takes orders from me alone.He is only for protection-I have no desire to continue this silly war,and I doubt you do too."

"But is he a mutant?"

Hachiro glared at him,wondering what kind of joke that was supposed to be."Huh?Are you accusing Logan of being a mutant?"

"Don't play dumb,Mr. Yashida,it doesn't suit you,"Takabe said,settling back in his chair with a smug smile on his face.But after a moment,he raised a slender eyebrow at him."Are you saying you actually didn't know?"

Hachiro wondered if this was what it felt like to be shot.He didn't think he could move,or even breathe;he felt so cold it was like he had just been entombed in ice.

"You're lying,"he finally managed to hiss.But didn't it make sense?That ugly fucker just didn't die;he never even seemed to get hurt,and how often had he been caught in the middle of a hail of bullets?

"Actually,on the last attempt on him,we had an expert taking pictures,"Takabe admitted."We were hoping to find a weakness we could exploit.He seems remarkably impervious to weapons,but that was no surprise-we already had that figured out."

"Your pictures prove he's a mutant?"Hachiro felt remarkably numb,like this was a dream and not actually happening,but somewhere deep inside he could feel the kindling spark of rage.He dismissed most of Logan's behavior as typical of an obnoxious American,but what if he was a freak?A fucking gene joke...married into the family.Oh god no.

"They prove he's highly abnormal.He takes a knife in the throat,but the best it does is drop him to one knee.He yanks it out and throws it at another man-a bullseye by the way,hits a nerve cluster in the right deltoid muscle and the man can't use his right arm anymore-a rather amazing feat in and of itself,although perhaps not for a samurai.But here's the thing:viewing the photos in sequence,you can clearly see the knife wound in his throat close up.It's actually kind of creepy.He doesn't lose much blood either,which seems odd for a throat wound."

"I want to see these photographs."

"Absolutely.I'll have them sent to you.I had no idea he didn't tell you what a dirty freak he was-I thought that was why you hired him."

The numbness was giving way to a sort of lividness that made him not only start to feel again,but made him feel positively homicidal."We had no idea,"he rasped,struggling to stay in control.It could still be a dirty Takabe lie,he couldn't completely believe it...(yet,not yet...)

"And little Mariko didn't even tell you?"Takabe asked smugly.

That hit him like a slap across the face."What?"

"Well,she has to know.He's her husband,for Christ's sake.I mean,even if he faked the blood test to get married so no one picked up on the X factor in his blood,how could she not know?I mean,come on.How many things have you been able to hide from your wife?"

Suddenly Hachiro wasn't able to hear much at all,as his ears seemed to fill with a buzzing white noise,and anger seemed to fog his mind completely.

Logan was a mutant,and Mariko knew it.She had deliberately brought gene trash into the family,and now expected to run it,with her mutant freak of a husband keeping everyone else at bay.Conniving,perverted fucking bitch.She was determined to bring the Yashidas down in every way possible.

But now Hachiro knew what he had to do.He had to bring them down first.

Both of them.

Los Angeles-Present Day

Logan looked like he could use a bit of that right about now.Actually,Bob rather wished he'd get a whole hell of a lot of tail (no pun intended) and very soon,because maybe it would soften the blow somewhat...

No,that was a complete lie.There was no softening a blow like this.Bob could remember how it felt to watch his first wife die (from disease as opposed to assassination),and there was nothing to assuage that,nothing to make it feel better.Time had softened it,of course;time was erosion,constantly lapping at the shores of memories and emotions, crumbling away the edges and smoothing things down until they felt more palatable,easier to bear,but it never actually went away.

Except for Logan,of course.The wholesale loss of his memory was probably a blessing here,but there was no getting around how unfair it was to steal someone's memory from them,even if that memory was overflowing with almost unbearable pain.

Bob had taken enough memories himself to know how wrong it was.

Besides,Logan probably had some very happy memories with his wife.To put up with such a grumpy gus,she much have loved him,and to abandon some of natural (?) isolationist tendencies he must have loved her.

He must have been positively crazy about her to do what he did on Bloody Friday.

He knew if he thought along those lines Logan would probably pick up on his grim expression and start asking questions he still wasn't sure how to answer yet,so he popped in a tape and started singing again.Oh sure,it annoyed the hell out of Logan,but it kept him from asking questions,and if he had to he was prepared to sing the entire libretto of  Aida,and he positively hated opera.But if kept Logan quiet for now he was all for it.

Bob knew he could push him;he could tell him he had his answers,without specifically remembering what they were,and he was satisfied with them,but enough people (mutants,demons) had fucked with his head,and he deserved better than that from a purported friend.Besides,answers that kicked the life out of you was better than no answers at all.

One of those small L.A. miracles had occurred while they were off in Malibu:the traffic got worse.The only time traffic was actually decent in the L.A. basin was between three and five in the morning,Sunday through Thursday, and even that was scattershot at best.Bob was pretty sure many cars didn't even have drivers,but were simply empty cars sent out by an evil,pissed off sorcerer or sorceress who decided to curse L.A. for its monstrous hubris by releasing a horde of ghost autos for all eternity.Many people thought he was joking about that,but no,he was quite serious. Some people had a really vicious sense of humor.

"Where the hell are we going?"Logan asked.He probably was asking Helga,but there was a gap between songs,and Bob was happy to answer that question.

"Resida,"he said,and then added,"We are all going to Resida someday,to die."

"Do you need medication?"Logan asked,giving him the evil eye in the rearview mirror (speaking of vicious senses of humor).How the hell did he arch his eyebrow like that?Bob wished he could do that.

"It's a line from a Soul Coughing song,"he explained.He drove all the demons in the Way Station crazy with that CD,but hey,it was great boho shit-they didn't make music like that anymore.

"Whoopty fucking do,"Logan said,with his usual enthusiasm (none)."So what's in Resida,other than our inevitable deaths?"

Logan really needed to bring out his sense of humor more.It was black as pitch,but he had great comic timing.

Somehow Bob figured Logan wouldn't take that as much of a compliment,although it was."A place called Judd's Guns and Firing Range.Old Judd is a militia freak who runs weapons-mostly government surplus-on the side.I don't know of anyone else who would move napalm,at least in the Southern California area."

"Other than us,"Helga pointed out.Her tail kept snaking into his lap,and he had to keep removing it,which was difficult when traffic was actually moving.Luckily,that wasn't often.She had finally (at least for now) stopped trying to make him crash the car,and settled for her tail curling around his thigh.

"Well,yes."

"Do I even wanna know how you know this?"Logan asked.

"I know everything,"he replied.Okay,an exaggeration,but if he didn't know it he could always find out.

Logan grunted in agreement and sat back in his seat to wait for them to arrive,exercising a rare bit of patience.

Finally,the fast lane cleared up a bit,and they were able to start moving at a reasonable speed towards the city.
Some areas of Resida were nice,but they were headed for the less respectable side,the side that sort of resembled a distaff Oakland.A surprising amount of dirtbags lived quite well,but Judd was not among them.It wasn't that he didn't have the money-weapons was an extremely lucrative market that was always booming-but Judd was borderline mentally ill:the sort of man who didn't put his money in the bank more than he buried it in the backyard sealed in old coffee cans,and what money he did spend went into bulk military MRE's and bottled water to hoard in his bomb shelter for the inevitable uprising of the potato people.

Honestly,he shouldn't have been anywhere a single gun,nonetheless a whole stockpile,but Judd's own mental instability made him a bad salesman,and Bob found him ludicrously easy to keep an eye on,unlike the more savvy and vicious weapons dealers who usually tried to set up shop around here.It was the case of the crazy devil you knew being better than the fucking psycho one you didn't.

"Bloody smiling,vandalizing,my wet dream is drying up,"Bob sang along with Mr. Bungle as he pulled into the parking lot of Judd's.There were maybe half a dozen cars here (okay,trucks and SUVs,with a lone Dodge Dart near the front),many sporting NRA bumper stickers and American flags and an occasional ski (and gun) rack and child carrier seat,the latter of which he found really disturbing."Hey hon,gonna take the kids out and teach 'em how to kill this weekend."But he knew there were some fruit loops who actually thought of it as a 'right of passage' or something, people who had most likely never actually witnessed death or violence themselves.He wondered how they'd feel if he, Hel,and Logan-people who had arguably seen and experienced way too much violence in their lives-started to lecture them on it.He had no idea how they'd feel,but he knew how they'd react:shoot them.

Sometimes people were just too predictable.

As soon as they got out of the car,Logan cocked his head and got a funny look on his face."Hear them shooting?"Bob asked.The 'shooting range' of the title was underground,which seemed like a funny choice in the earthquake capital, but it kept neighboring businesses from complaining and circumvented lawsuits based on stray bullets plugging the occasional car and pedestrian.

He couldn't hear it up here-no one theoretically could-but it was obvious that was what Logan heard.Bob didn't know how he managed to stand cities or normal society at all;everything was so bloody loud,and he must have had better hearing than a vampire,which was really saying something.He must have had some way of filtering it out so it didn't constantly bust his eardrums.

"They got fully automatic handguns down there,"Logan noted,with a shrug."What a shock,huh?"

"And you can tell the type of weapons too,"Bob said,shaking his head in awe."You missed your calling as a safe cracker."

"Why crack a safe?I can just cut 'em open."

"He's got you there,"Helga said,donning her sunglasses.

Bob had to give her that.He smoothed down the wrinkles still in his white t-shirt and pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket,putting them on as Logan led the way across the heat fissured pavement towards the store,which still resembled on the outside the old service station it used to be.

A cowbell hung inside the door let the clerk know they had entered,but Bob knew the rustic ornament was as much atmosphere as ruse:there were high tech security scanners hidden in a rack of 'Soldier of Fortune','Guns'n'Ammo' and similar magazines on one side of the door,and what appeared to be a stuffed grizzly bear standing on its hind legs in an 'attack' pose on the other side (the poor bear-its fur looked moth eaten,and it stank of some sort of delousing solution).The second they set foot in the door they were scanned for weapons of any sort.Bob wondered how Logan came out.Since it was a metal detector,it was probably screaming its little head off,or simply had some type of mechanical breakdown.

The place reeked of cordite,oil,and tobacco-a seemingly ubiquitous combination-and not quite sprawling,chaotic aisles made up of gun racks and shelves holding their peripherals (sights,tripods,bullets,covers,etc.) and legally sellable military surplus,such as canteens and survival kits.This was the legit business portion,though.

Behind the large glass counter,where expensive 'collector's' weapons were on display on a tawny velveteen background,was the clerk,a young,barely legal pimply faced boy with a ruddy complexion,and Bob knew it was Judd's nephew Caleb from Arkansas.

Caleb's eyes bulged out of their sockets when he saw Helga,a combination of desire and fear typical to humans seeing her for the first time,but when his pale blue eyes scudded over to Bob,his skin became the color of oatmeal,which made the spots on his face that much more violently red.Obviously he was on his Uncle's shit list,the one taped out of customer view on the clerk's side of the counter.Bob caught him with his mind before he could make any move to alert his Uncle.

"Hello Caleb,"he said,taking off his sunglasses.He didn't need to,but the light was pretty dim in here."Get on the special line and tell your Uncle that someone's here for some special customizing."Judd's name for it."Tell him it's anyone that will make him jump like a 'roo."

Caleb didn't acknowledge him at all,he simply picked up the phone and complied.It was now possible for them all to hear the gunshots far below,although they sounded more like loud,repetitive thuds than small explosions,probably due to the soundproofing material.

"I take it you're going to handle Judd,"Logan said quietly.He sounded disappointed.

"He's penny ante,Logan;you'd find him a major disappointment.You could kick his ass with your hands tied behind your back."

"I can kick a lot of people's asses with my hands tied behind my back,"he replied matter of factly.Coming from anyone else it would sound arrogant,and it was skirting the edge of smugness,but having seen him fight several times now Bob actually didn't doubt that.Logan knew his stuff.He just didn't know how he knew it.

"You can go ahead,"Caleb said,putting the handset of the phone down.He no longer knew Helga and Logan were in the room.

Bob led the way to the back,where a sagging khaki green curtain hid a locked metal door that unlocked with an audible clank as soon as they were within its sensor perimeter.It was a manual door,though,so Bob had to push it open,although it swung aside easily enough.

The interior was revealed to be a dark,austere antechamber,where a stark wooden table and three chairs surrounded all but one side of the rectangle.In one of those chair was the eponymous Judd,a middle aged man with a paunch and thinning straw colored hair,his skin an almost incandescent fishbelly white from having been underground and out of the sun for so very long.Seeing Bob,he jumped to his feet,and exclaimed,indecorously,"Ah fuck!Not you again!"

Bob smirked,rather expecting that reaction,but Bob motioned for him to sit back down.He looked like he was going to fight him on it,but Judd wasn't so nuts that he didn't know Bob pretty much got what he wanted when he wanted it.He thought about going for his gun (Judd always had a gun handy),but Bob just shook his head.Even if he could go for it,it wouldn't do him any good:Helga was the only one of the three not impervious to bullets,yet still he'd have to get off an extremely lucky shot to take her down with a single one.

With obvious reluctance,Judd collapsed back into his chair,and it groaned so savagely Bob thought it might collapse too.It held for now,though."I'm sick an' tired of you thinkin' you can just barge in here and push me around-"

"I don't think I can,mate,"Bob interrupted,although he did his best to remain polite."I know I can."

Judd scowled at him,although it didn't make him look intimidating.It simply made him look constipated."What the fuck do you and your freaky friends want?"

"You recently sold a large quantity of napalm.To whom?"

Judd scoffed."I ain't-"

"Yes you are,"Bob said.Funny how people actually thought they could fight him,as if Bob's power was somehow voluntary.

Since Judd was neither the smartest or most stable man in the world,it didn't take a lot of pushing to get him to comply."To some Japanese guys,"Judd said,not at all helpfully.

"Did they say who they worked for?"

"I'm not sure."

"A man named Takabe?"

"I think that name came up."

"Where did they take the napalm?"

"I didn't ask."

"No,you didn't,but you know,don't you?"This was where Judd's natural paranoia could only work for them.He made it his business to know where some of the more volatile stuff ended up,if only to satisfy his own morbid curiosity.If his customers knew it,they wouldn't like it at all.

"Santa Monica.An illegal gambling club named Robin Hood's."

"I've heard of that place,"Helga said."There's been rumors it's mob run,but no one's sure which mob."

"Are there that many?"Logan wondered.

"Oh sure.You got your classic mafia,your Yakuza,your Triad,your Russian mob and several dozen others,including many different types of demon mobs."Bob explained."You kind of  need a scorecard to keep track of everyone."

"I bet."

"Thanks for your help,Judd.Next time I drop by,I expect you to be more polite,and maybe you can taper off on the illegal weapons trade,huh?"Bob suggested,although to be fair it was actually an order.As he slipped his sunglasses back on,he added,"We were never here."

They left Judd simply sitting at his table,looking dumbstruck and slightly confused,and Caleb was no better,but hey,they'd get over it.

Back in the car,Bob used his cell phone to call city hall and get the ownership records on Robin Hood's as Logan, finally too damn hot,slipped off his leather jacket in the back seat."What I want to know is when we finally get to kick some ass,"he complained,also shucking off his plaid overshirt.There were several holes like cigarette burns in the front of his black t-shirt,although the skin visible through the tears looked perfectly fine.But he wouldn't be Logan if that wasn't the case.

"Soon,tiger,"Helga assured him."We just have to get the right trail.The bad guys generally don't like getting caught."

"I've noticed."

Usually,when dealing with City Hall,there were several layers of bureaucracy to overcome before you could hope to get anything accomplished,but he was not your typical guy,therefore what would usually take about a week took him a few minutes.But what he heard on the phone made his stomach suddenly seize up,clenching like a fist.Either it was a sick joke,or there was something more twisted going on here,and that was almost hard to believe.

Why was he surprised?Nothing with Logan was ever easy.It was like his super duper immune system rejected the simple.

"Huh,"Bob said,flipping his phone shut and slipping it into the front pocket of his jeans.

Helga knew what that syllable meant."It's that bad?"

"What is it?"Logan chimed in from the back seat."Who owns the club?"

Bob glanced out the window at Judd's shop,so he didn't accidentally encounter Logan's eyes in the rear view mirror.
"Someone by the name of  Razan Yashida."

***

Tokyo-1981