The man continued to chuckle, exhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Is that so, Mr. Yashida? Do you think we’re idiots?”

“Well, you did only cuff me to a chair, and there’s only a couple of guards outside, so maybe.”

He seemed very amused by him, although his chuckle started turning into a cough. It was a wet, ugly hack that would soon track the deterioration of his lungs into big bloody clots of dead tissue. He almost wondered if he should tell him. “Cocky, aren’t we?”

“I gotta reason to be.” He shifted on the chair as if uncomfortable, but he was subtlety testing it, trying to determine if he could break it with his weight. It felt like it; it seemed like the left rear leg was already a little loose.

“Oh yes, Bloody Friday. You know, almost no one in the Triad believed you existed. Or, if you did, that you acted alone. Did you?”

“I always act alone.”

“Of course. Assassins generally do.”

“I am not -” he began angrily, then stopped. It would probably be better if they did think of him as an assassin, even though it made his skin crawl to think of himself that way. “No one hired me to take out the Yashidas and the Takabes.”

“They hardly needed to, did they? Still, the Yashidas accepted you into their family. You’d think there’d have been a bond -”

“Mariko accepted me,” he snapped. “Not them. And they murdered her. They got what they deserved.” The thought of it made him flush with anger, even though he couldn’t remember the betrayal itself, or anything around it. All he had were some pieces of Mariko, slivers of broken memories, and the feeling that there was a wound there that could never be healed. That, and it confirmed that he could easily become the animal Stryker had accused him of being; there was something dark and ugly in him, something that could take over with frightening ease. And while he hated what he had done, and knew it was always wrong to become a mass murderer, a small part of him didn’t regret it. He had some deep seated belief that she was the only woman who had ever loved him, who could love him, and that when she dies, she took the best part of him with her. He knew he died too, he just wasn’t sure how, and it pained him to dwell on it too long.

He could see the man nodding, the orange dot of light bobbing up and down. “Betrayal is an ugly thing. I don’t understand why they would do such a thing and not kill you first. No offense, but that’s sheer idiocy on their part.”

“They tried.”

“Did they? Well, if there were more alive than just the one, you’d think they’d try harder next time.”

“If you do the job for them, will there be a next time for them?”

He leaned forward, tapping ash into a brass ashtray, and said, “We could kill you, Mr. Yashida. We have little doubt of that, although, on the other hand, we know we couldn’t do it without suffering quite a few casualties. We know what happened in Hong Kong, and unlike the Yakuza, we learn from our mistakes.”

He wasn’t sure they had earned the right to be cocky, but he let that go. “So you’re not planning to kill me?”

“No, of course not. We have a proposition for you, Mr. Yashida. Work with us, and you can have Sanjiro Yashida, and all the Yakuza you want, frankly. Just stay out of our way.”

Logan snickered, not at all surprised. “Betrayal is an ugly thing.”

Triad man chuckled again. “We have no loyalty to them, and they have none to us. In fact, we’re sure they’re thinking of ways to sabotage us.”

“So you beat them to the punch?”

“I prefer to think of it as throwing a curve ball.”

“What is this proposition?”

“In exchange for your freedom - and our looking the other way - we’ll give you all you need to know about Yashida’s schedule, bodyguards, and compound. He has more security than your President, you know - he’s that frightened of you.”

“He’s not my President; I’m Canadian. And I’m supposed to believe this isn’t a trap, is that it?”

“We have you now. Why would we let you go to just take you again? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, it does - if you want to look good and trustworthy to them, help take me down in front of them.”

He nodded, exhaling a cloud of smoke that reeked of decay. “Okay, that’s a point in your favor. But they’d never believe we didn’t set it up; the Yakuza are an oddly paranoid bunch.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

He chuckled again, and leaned back in his chair, making it creak. “I like you gaijin. You could really have a spot in this organization.”

There was no way he could know he had picked the absolutely wrong word. “I’m not for hire.”

“A complete and utter shame. Still, I think we can work something out. We will never come after you for what you did in Hong Kong; you will fall off Triad radar like you never existed. As long as you kill no more of us, we will never look twice at you.”

“You’re not offering me anything I can’t acquire on my own. Disappearing is one of my talents.”

“I gathered. But don’t you see what a valuable thing it would be to have the Triad as a friend, not an enemy? We’re wider spread than you may think.”

What really bothered him - besides the insulting nature of trying to bargain with him - was the sudden idea that this could indeed be handy. The Organization seemed undying and formidable, filled with a seemingly endless supply of cannon fodder … but that description fit the Triad as well. Part of him was tempted to turn the rabid dogs on each other, see who would win if anyone did. You’d think the Triad would be at an immediate disadvantage, because the Org was some kind of multi-national mutant obsessed black ops group, but the Triad was very much like a terrorist organization: loosely connected cells with no single headquarters to take out; sleepers who could be activated at a moment’s notice; a buttload of cash at hand, and more weapons than an average Marine unit. They would also have the advantage of surprise, as the Organization would never expect them to attack them, nor would they take it seriously. Until, of course, the Triad took out one of their units, which c! ould happen. He didn’t think much of these organized crime thugs, but they were brutal and efficient, and they could adapt if they had to.

Still, this was a deal with the devil. You couldn’t trust them; if there was no honor among thieves, there was even less among mobsters. “I’ve had bad experiences trusting crime families.”

“Of course. But we are not Yakuza. They pretend that they understand honor, but they take it or leave it as they desire. We know honor, and it isn’t anything you can trifle with. I’m willing to sign something in blood if that would convince you.”

Holy shit. Although that too could be easily ignored by the Triad, it was still quite an offer. “What’s your name?”

“Wing. I am not without power or prestige.”

“I guessed.” And he had; perhaps he was someone’s right hand man, but not as a lackey, as a second-in-command. He was too elegant, too well spoken to be just a highly placed thug. “Aren’t you at all curious about what I said?”

“That the Yakuza plans to kill us all?”

“Not the Yakuza. In fact, they’re a target as well. Your third dragon.”

He “Hmmed“, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Ah yes, Farik’s group. They did appeal to our greed; it was the only thing that could pull us together. So you say they’re planning to kill us all?”

“And take over both groups, yes. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I have contacts who know the truth. Farik isn’t to be trusted.” He wondered who Farik was, beyond the leader of the demon gang. Maybe Lorne would know, or could find out.

Wing exhaled noisily, making it a sigh. “I know. They promised us too much for too little - that itself is suspicious. And all these deaths being attributed to this new drug of theirs is worrying. They claim its not the drug itself but the users combining it with other things, but that seems to be stretching credulity.”

“The deaths bother you? You’re pimping drugs to kids, smuggling weapons, extorting small businesses, bleeding gamblers dry, executing stool pigeons. No offense, but you’re hardly the kind to flinch.”

There was such a long pause he knew he had offended him in some fundamental way. But when he did speak, there was no trace of it in his voice. “Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but I don’t like having the deaths of children on my hands. Adults make their choices, they know what they’re doing, whether they admit it to themselves or not. Children … they’re impulsive, they’re reckless, they often act without a single clue to what they’re doing. Maybe the others have no problem with it, but it bothers me. There isn’t enough money to mollify the guilt of killing the innocent.”

There was something about his gravitas, the way he said it, the timbre of his voice, that suddenly made Logan think that Wing had lost a child, and that’s precisely why it stuck in his craw. He could coldly murder someone who hadn’t paid their extortion money, but when it came to anyone under twenty, he wouldn’t pull the trigger. An odd dichotomy to be sure, and not one that made him at all sympathetic, but it did mean he might be trustworthy here. He wondered if he could alter his plan of attack just a little bit. “You do realize that if Farik’s group is attacked successfully, the truce will shatter, and the Yakuza will probably declare open war on you.”

“Of course. But we can handle them. How long have we been at war with each other? So the war continues - so what? It’s better than this uneasy, duplicitous truce. It’s a time bomb that’s ticking, and we all know it.”

A pragmatist. Rare among the crime bosses. “Do you have a group of people you can trust implicitly, who will follow your orders even if they countermand the dictates of the higher Triad orders?”

He paused again, taking a drag, but this time it seemed he was carefully considering his question. “Of course. The new breed has little concept of honor, and you need trustworthy soldiers to watch your back so they can’t stick their knives in it.”

He shifted in the chair again, but this time it was only because his butt was getting numb. “What say we cut a deal, Mr. Wing? But different than the one you proposed.”

“Different how?”

“Fuck Yashida, I don’t care about him if I can get a bigger fish. What I want to do is hit Farik’s group, tear them apart, erase them from the face of the Earth. And that means making anodyne history. Could you live with that?”

He mulled it over, cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth. “Easier than I could live with more children’s blood on my hands. There are other drugs, and other ways to make money. Do you have a plan?”

“I do, but I’d like to get out of these cuffs first.”

“Would you like the key, or would you rather break out of them on your own?”

He smirked at him. “You knew I could get out of this?”

“Mr. Yashida, you, unarmed, charged an illegally modified Army helicopter - and walked away. Somehow I doubted that handcuffs and a few trusted men would slow you down much.” Wing reached into a drawer and retrieved a set of keys, then got up with a slightly painful grunt. “So what plan do you have?”

“First, tell me why you cuffed me when you knew it wouldn’t matter.”

He was a slender man, almost painfully so, cancer already starting to eat away at him from the inside out. But his suit was tailored and probably very expensive, and he moved with some grace, trying not to betray the fact that he was in pain. “I was rather curious. To hear the Yakuza talk about you, you’re a psychopathic beast barely capable of speech. It was in my best interest to determine your nature before attempting to make a deal with you.”

“And what did you determine?”

He gave him an oddly bemused look before walking behind the chair and taking off his cuffs. “That you’re a rational man, capable of sharp tactical thinking, and that the Yakuza have every right to shit themselves at the thought of you coming after them.”

Logan chuckled as he rubbed his wrists; the cuffs had been a little tight. Wing dropped the keys in his palm, and said, “I’m sorry, but bending down is something of a challenge for me nowadays.”

“I understand.” As he unlocked the cuff around his ankle, he asked, “How long do you have?”

“My god, is it that obvious?”

“To me, yeah.”

He hobbled back over to the desk and didn’t so much sit back down in his chair as collapse with a relieved sigh. “About a year. If I must be completely selfish, I realized I didn’t want my legacy to be anodyne, or this disastrous truce with the Yakuza. It will fall apart, and I’d hate too be too sick and medicated to enjoy an invigorating ‘I told you so’.”

Logan smirked, wanting to tell him that the lamias would guarantee the “truce” would hold, because they’d infect every higher ranking member or kill them, but then again, it wouldn’t be a proper truce at all - the Three Dragons would be all demon, and perfectly unstoppable. He thought he might have to convince a Human that they had to stop the demon insurgency in its tracks, but he had forgotten how the rivalry of the Yakuza and triad could really work in his favor if he found an old guard - like Wing - who wouldn’t trust the Dragons either, no matter how much money they poured in their coffers. He was no less a criminal, but he was a criminal who could be a huge asset to his plan. “If I agree to work with you, I want something in return,” Logan told him. It wasn’t a question.

He nodded, the orange point of light floating up as he took another drag. “Not Yashida?”

Logan tossed the keys back on his desk, but didn’t bother to get up from the chair. “Without the extra men to protect him, he’ll be easy to get once the Dragons have shattered. No, I want something slightly more intangible.”

“Now I’m curious.”

“A favor. I want you to owe me one, that I can call in at any time, no questions asked.”

“Just the one?” He replied, sounding amused. “You are after something, Mr. Yashida.”

“Do I have your word?”

“About that?” He waved the cigarette in the air, tracing lines in the smoke plumes. “Of course. If that’s what you want, it’s easy enough to give. But I’d suggest you call in your chit within a year’s time.”

“Understood.” He got up, still rubbing his wrists to hide the fact that the chafe marks were rapidly disappearing, and considered how to make his new plan work. Come to think of it, having the Triad - or at least part of it - play along made things a lot easier. “Here’s the plan. Demand that Farik meet you to discuss a new monetary agreement - now - or you’ll pull the Triad out of the Dragons.”

“Why?”

“What you just said - the death of children. Say your conscience will bother you much less with the right amount of cash.”

Wing chuckled anew. “They expect a greedy amoral bastard to say just that.”

“Exactly. Tell ‘em what they expect, and they don’t question it.”

“Very true.”

“And insist he do so right away, meet you in “neutral” territory you designate, and emphasize that you don’t want the Yakuza to know.”

He hissed a breath through his teeth. “I trust Farik’s group almost as much as I trust Yashida’s bastards. There’s no guarantee they won’t betray us.”

“Actually, I’m counting on it.”

There was a pause as he exhaled another cloud of smoke. “Damn I like you. Are you sure you’re not looking for steady employment?”

“Positive, but thanks. Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

Wing slid a small notepad and a pen over to the front of the desk, and Logan retrieved it, quickly scribbling the address of the place that Argenis had secured for him. He slid it back over to Wing, and said, “Insist that it be an “informal” meeting to keep the profile low, which means you’ll have to start the meeting with only a handful of trusted men inside. The rest must show up after the meeting has begun, because I assume they’ll check out the area beforehand to make sure it’s not a trap. Can you handle that?”

He scratched his head, and a few stray, brittle hairs fell from his scalp, which had just started showing a receding hairline. A year was probably a generous estimate. “If they intend to betray us and take us out of the picture, it could get violent very quickly.”

“I know. But I’ll be watching you until the rest of your men show. I’m an expert sniper.”

“Of that I have little doubt. But how do you know they won’t find you when they’re checking out the grounds?”

“Because they won’t. If I can’t avoid them, I deserve to be killed.”

He nodded, as if Logan had just confirmed something he already knew. “You’re a craftsman.”

“Huh?”

“Most assassins - Hollywood portrayals aside - are simply thugs with an attention to detail. But the best are akin to artisans or martial artists, not psychopaths who want to make an easy dollar. Yet it seems that honor is a very hollow word nowadays; everyone throws it around like it means something, but it’s just another commodity to them, something negotiable, something that can be bought and sold. But you understand it, don’t you?”

He felt nonplussed, uncomfortable with this whole topic, and didn’t know what he wanted him to say. “I’m not so sure.”

Wing realized he had touched a nerve, but he proved himself to be an old fashioned gentleman - in spite of being a gangster - by changing the topic. “Well, at least I am. Any more conditions?”

“I need to vet your people before we do this.”

“Vet? Do you mean inspect the troops?” He sounded like he was on the verge of laughing.

“Not precisely; they don’t have to even see me. It’s just that the Dragons have a … unique way of infiltrating other groups, and I know them when I see them.” Well, smelled them, but he could hardly say that. “I just want to make sure none of your loyal operatives have been compromised and will sell us out … prematurely.”

“And how will you know if they are?”

He gave him a half grin, hoping he’d accept it as his “cocky” nature and not press too much. “Trade secret.”

“You do live to intrigue me. Or infuriate me. I could never quite tell them apart.”

“I bet your marriages were fun.”

He grunted humorously. “Oh yes, all three of them.” He set his cigarette in the ashtray, and asked, “Are you expecting me to make the call now?”

“Up to you. But the sooner we finish this, the safer we’re all be.”

“Ah, there’s the rub. I know you hate the Yakuza as much as I do, or I wouldn’t have even proposed a deal. But I doubt you have much love for any of us, so why do you care if we’re “safe” or not?”

“I don’t. What I care about is everyone who will be effected after the Dragons complete their takeover.”

“They’re that much worse than us?”

“Believe it or not, yes.”

He laughed, which soon petered out before it became a cough. “You’re too honest to survive in the Triad. It’s a pity.”

He shrugged, not sure he should point out he’d rather be dead than in the Triad or the Yakuza. He was making a deal with the devil, and he knew he’d probably regret it. But he decided to be sorry later, assuming that he survived the night.

14

Logan knew he was discovering many disturbing things about himself tonight, but he couldn’t think about that right now.

The place that Argenis had described as “that place off Crestmore” was an abandoned movie studio, or at least part of one, and not one that had ever been big enough or successful enough to garner the attention of those who protected such “antiquities”. As a result, it looked like someone had air dropped an airport hanger in the middle of an oddly rural looking patch of run down suburb between downtown L.A. proper and Chinatown. The windows had been long ago broken out and boarded up, so he made sure to bust out parts of the boards so he could have a view inside.

Wing had done good - very good. Because he honestly didn’t want to keep killing children with anodyne (or at least he thought that was doing it), he was totally convincing in his adamant refusal to go any further with this. And as a result, it made his demand for more money believable. Farik, who sounded gravel voiced and stereotypical demonic over the phone, agreed to meet at four in the morning at the Crestmore address. He was so agreeable, Logan just knew he was planning to kill Wing.

The hand picked, loyal guard that Wing had selected for this “operation” were clean - or at last not infected by lamia or any other type of demon he could smell - and he instructed them very carefully. He’d be going in with Alcoholic Boy and Cologne Boy, along with another bodyguard he had mentally dubbed “No Neck”, for obvious reasons. The rest would appear exactly eight minutes after Wing and the others had arrived, if all went according to plan.

There wasn’t much in the way of coverage surrounding the sight, but he found some cover in a small stand of trees, and found a good place to hide the M96 rifle that Wing actually supplied him with. The most frightening thing is, as soon as he felt the rifle in his hands, he knew not only was it a good one, but he knew how to use it. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was an expert sniper.

The demons came to check out the sight, and soon left, never seeing him. He wondered if the protective amulet that he got from Argenis had helped at all, or if it was coincidence. He honestly couldn’t tell if they were casting spells or just speaking in their own language.

He knew he wasn’t going to wipe them out, even if everything went according to plan. He’d talked to a surprisingly drunk Lorne via phone, and discovered that the lamias basically had a “queen”, and as long as she was alive or in this dimension, they’d have a way in. But he had no idea how you would determine who was the queen over any plain old lamia, so Logan was on his own there.

Which presented a new problem. He would have to capture one alive, even if the Triad didn’t like it. He simply had to hope they weren’t all wiped out by the Triad when they hit - but maybe that’s where the Yakuza diversion would come in handy.

Or maybe not. Jesus, what a fucking high stakes gamble this was. It was going to be a bloodbath, even if all went as well as he had hoped. He really did need to have his head examined. Again.

Okay, maybe not. That never worked out well for him, did it?