Enter the Gaijin Part 1 By: Zan Shutani Houkiku High noon. And half the town was going for lunch. Zan reached a brown-gloved hand into his jeans' pocket, emerged with a small amount of coins and handed it over to the fruit vendor of a young boy. "Here you go, kid. Better get back to your folks. It's gonna be a scorcher out here." The boy named Jozen smiled up at him, placed the orange into Zan's free hand but did nothing to take the money. "Mom and dad told me to let you have this free of charge, Mr. Gaijin Swordsman. For helping us." The Samurai Gunman laughed, recalling an incident a week past. "Hey, those punks were taking without paying, and even threatened you and your parents with violence. I did what I had to. That's nothing to give a guy for free. Besides, if I don't pay, I'll be just as bad as them." "Please sir. My parents insist on doing you a favor. Take it as a gift." The American sighed, realizing it would be the height of rudeness to refuse. "Alright, fine. Thank your parents for me, 'kay?" He gave the boy a farewell pat on the head and both went off in opposite directions into the crowd of Tokyo's streets. Zan fingered the orange and started peeling it, a small amount of it's juice running down his fingers. He adjusted the small brown haversack's strap containing his few possessions over his shoulder. Not that he had a lot of it. A bundle of rope with a grappling hook, a sleeping bag, some loose change, and a number of spare bullets. Very much the average adventurer's equipment. "At least by Western frontier standards." As he pushed and pulled his way through the crowd seeking protection from the noontime heat, he extracted a blossom from the peeled spherical orange and bit into it, relishing it's flavor. "Funny how something bought off the streets can satisfy more than one from a shop." His brown eyes scanned the buildings on either side of him for his destination. It would probably be crowded at this time of the day over at Akira's bar, but Zan was eternally assured of a place. In addition to a handful of people he himself had helped out in the past three weeks, Sazuki Sensei had done a few of the people in town a good turn and they all owed him for it. "Otherwise I'd have a much harder time getting around." The Gaijin Sowrdsman attempted to concentrate on where he was going, but found it impossible. Anger at the past morning's events, especially the interference of the spear-wielding boy burned within him. With a weapons contract secured between a bunch of Tokugawa fanatics and the mysterious foreign gunrunners, many more people would lose their lives in the carnage sure to follow. "If that kid hadn't stopped me, there would be that much less American arms in the hands of these scum and that much less people who'll die as a result of it." He sighed as he walked and ate, one of his father's old sayings running through his mind. "There are only two reasons you fire a gun: to defend yourself and to defend others." Zan glanced down at his own holstered gun. Carrying the Johnny No More and using it for justice' sake was the only way he could keep alive the memory of his father, a man who always stood up for what was right and used his abilities to make life better for decent people. "The strong must always protect the weak, never oppress them." Hunting down the gunrunners and foiling their operations for the past three weeks had coincided with a separate hunt for a shadowy killer, who had been murdering a number of people for about a month and of which a large reward was being posted. There had been eyewitness accounts of the killer, but none of which were reliable. Some of Zan's contacts had shown him the dead bodies and seeing the slash marks for himself let Zan know that whoever had done these crimes was an expert swordsman. Zan's eyes flew to the sheathed katana on his left hip. There it was, the Demonslayer. Many years back, he could never picture himself carrying, much less using such a weapon. But the road to revenge had not given him much choice, knowing that the only way to beat his new enemies was to get up to their level. Remebering his failure all those years ago against the Jackal Ninja Clan had made him want to give up gunfighting, back when he was starting his training here. He might have become a full swordsman had Sazuki Sensei not stressed, "Perhaps if you would learn the Eastern ways but integrate your own American ways of fighting, you would become a force to be reckoned with." Which did happen. Now here he was, twelve years later. No longer the boy Johnny Markinson, but the hero named Zan. "The man who's Johnny No More has got Demons to slay." Zan paused at the entrance to the bar, placing both hands on the door. He had been in this haven of the town's dregs a number of times in the past. Each time, he always found it a miracle that he had made it out unscathed. "And on all those times, my nationality got me into trouble." He smirked to himself, recalling how the bar's janitorial staff had had field days on the occasions that 'parties' broke out with him as the favor. Between his skill at blade and bullets, though, they barely stood a chance on all those times. Once he secured the Demonslayer and Johnny No More for the event of having to fast-draw either weapon, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Much like preparing to walk into a saloon of outlaws back home. "No saloon in the West can match this place. Were dad still alive and we'd been asked to raid a place like this, he might've began his battle plan with " 'After we have thrown the dynamite, fired a couple of cannons, and sprayed enough gatling gun fire...' " The scent of opium laced tobacco and the local liquor pervaded about the room. Several ruffians from petty thugs to Hitokiri wannabes were sitting around, either alone and silent with dreamy expressions produced by opium smoking, or in groups laughing boisterously and gulping down bottle after bottle of sake. Zan felt the hard stares of some of the bar's denizens but the moment his hands flew to his sides and casually stroked his weapons, he knew they recognized him and that he would not have any trouble. Those were the people who had seen their comrades fall to Zan's cold steel and hot lead in the past. "And they don't wanna be next in line." Unhindered, he reached the already crowded bar and shouted to be heard by its' tender. "Hey Akira! It's Zan! Over here!" A short middle-aged man came running, grumbling as he did. "What'll you have?", he said. Zan could read irritation in the bartender's sunken eyes. Zan, after all, was one of the highest causes of trouble in the establishment. "I'll have some water." The bartender's right eyebrow came up. "Are you lost or something? I can whip you up anything you ask for with a dozen ingredients." The Samurai Gunman gave him a little grin. "Yeah, but if you don't mind, I'd like the one you can't whip up." Akira walked away, muttering to himself. "Maybe I better drop that debt to Sazuki. This barbarian could bleed me dry." Sometime later he returned, with a cool glass brimming full of the pure liquid. "Thanks", said Zan, depositing a few coins on the bar. "So," he continued, punctuating it with a sip. "How's business?" Akira growled. "At the rate you thrash all those who want a piece of you, it's no wonder that some of them are scared enough not to come back here at all." Zan chuckled, lowered his glass a bit. "Well, they wanted a beef with me, so I let 'em have it. Scaring the pants off them sort of keeps them in line." The bartender grudgingly nodded assent. "No kidding. You've got almost every punk in this town frightened enough to consider challenging Hitokiri Battousai a better option than fighting you." The American scoffed at the sound of the legendary name. "Aw, come on. THAT myth about a guy with a sakabatou? I'll believe that when I see it. Anyway, got my usual table ready" This time, it was Akira's turn to smile, if a little triumphant. "Nope, sorry Zan. Some lady beat you to it. Pretty one too." Zan glanced towards the rear of the bar, his eyes resting on his usual table. A girl was seated there though she was wearing a gray cloak and was far enough for Zan not to be able to identify her. "Who the heck is she? There's a guy here who wants to rest his boots and you let her have MY place?!" "Yeah. She told me you're a friend of hers and that she was taking your place in your name." Akira shrugged. "Since I'm a busy man who's got very hotheaded customers, I decided not to argue. Didn't get a good look at her but she sounded awful familiar." The bartender moved off and Zan sighed, once more hoisting his haversack over his shoulder. He walked from the bar and made his way over to the girl. "She has a lot of explaining to do." When at last he reached his occupied place, he cleared his throat and looked down at her. "Now what's the meaning of using my name to take my table? You know who you're dealing with? I AM ZAN: THE GAIJIN SWORDSMAN!!!" If his words had any effect on the girl, it wasn't apparent. After a while she did look up. Zan stared into her purple-eyed and black-haired face. About the moment he recognized her, she smiled and said, "You're late, Zan." The American slapped a brown-gloved hand to his forehead. "Oh great. Hatsune, what're you doing here?" "Watching out for you, it seems.", said she. Sitting across her lap was what appeared to be a hiking stick, but Zan had had enough training to know it concealed a cane sword. "I saw how you beat those troublemakers a few nights back. The girl's still in a state of shock, but let me tell you, she couldn't stop repeating your name." "Nice of you to point that out, Hatsune. But I sincerely doubt you're here to tell me that." His master's granddaughter blinked her purple eyes in amusement. "Oh come on. The arrogant foreigner in you can't resist praise for being a hero. Nicely done." Zan felt his chest swell out with pride. He was saved from having to make any windy remarks upon hearing Hatsune's next words. "But you're right, Zan. That's not why I'm here now." Zan felt some disappointment ripple off him. "Er...you're not?" She leaned forward. "I have some info that I think you ought to know." That got into Zan. He was always welcome to any information concerning his quest. "Y'do? Let's hear it." She took a sip of the sake before her. When she downed it, she whispered, "I know who leads those foreign arms dealers you're up against." Zan shook his head in disbelief. It seemed like his underestimation of women would always be enough to surprise him. "He's a supposedly legitimate businessman from America, name's Jason Rand. He owns a chain of shops in the port cities, but his reach extends as far as Tokyo. I hear he fled from America for some reason many years back." "Jason Rand...". After a while did Zan nod, recalling the man's name from a distant past. "Jason Rand was a corrupt rancher in Texas, a supporter of the Ku-Klux-Klan. That's a secret organization of whites in America who don't like the new freedom given to blacks at the end of the Civil War. A number of lawmen had gone to his ranch to formally arrest him. He killed them and fled America when he learned that my dad, one of the most tenacious lawmen of his days, was on his tail. If you were an outlaw and my dad was working hard to land you behind bars, you'd almost always end up there. Rand knew he'd be safe if he left America." Hatsune took another sip, took up the thread. "And for the past decade or so, he's been here in Japan, running several businesses without the Meiji government even knowing who he is nor your own American government knowing WHERE he is." "Okay, so Rand is behind all this and has been selling American weaponry to the wrong kind of people. There've been attacks on foreign embassies by Tokugawa loyalists recently." Zan grimaced. "That I know. And weapons recovered from them in the aftermath of clashes with the police are definitely not local. From the moment I got a good look at their guns, I knew some other player, a non-Japanese one, had a hand in this. One with foreign connections." Hatsune nodded. "Though the weapons barely hint to the identity of their supplier, it firmly focuses blame as far as my grandfather's sources in the organization are concerned.", said Hatsune. "Are these sources reliable?", Zan inquired. "Every bit as sure as you're Johnny Markinson." "Don't ever call me that.", said the American. In no way would he accept being called anything that hinted to the man he was before. She winked impishly. "Okay...ZAN." "Have you got anything else to share with me?" She finished her glass and leaned back, relaxing. "Matter of fact, yes. You've heard of the murders?" "If I didn't, I wouldn't be here trying to raise money for my trip back home." Hatsune smiled. "You know of course that the people who have been killed in the past few days are all shopowners. I did a little detective work and found out that all these victims used to be owned by Rand's company and that all of these shopowners backed out on the deal for unknown reasons. A few days after that, they would be found dead, the killer apparently one who could wield a sword very well. The government's issued a reward for the capture or kill of this assassin. Are you noticing anything?" Zan rested a hand on his chin, mulling it over. "I think I see your point. My guess is that Rand, or some of his agents, approached these owners with an offer of high pay if they would accept ownership by a foreign company. But when Rand started using their shops as a front for his illegal gunrunnning activities, they objected and withdrew." He fell silent for a second or two. "Are you saying that this assassin is connected somehow to the dealers I'm after?" Hatsune said nothing, merely grinned and the Gaijin Swordsman knew he was right. "Isn't it too much of a coincidence that those people who have been slain by this killer are all those who've withdrawn from Rand's wing? The police can't seem to see that." she finally said. "I see", Zan answered. Clearly, Rand didn't want anyone going to the police to expose his activities. At last, Zan spoke. "Would you have the locations of those places of the murders?" In response, Hatsune withdrew a small map of one of Tokyo's sections. Zan glanced at the map and recognized it as one of Tokyo's much friendlier parts. He followed Hatsune's finger as she traced a zigzag pattern across the map. Her finger swept it, touching four black dots representing the shops that the murdered used to own. It finally stopped at a red dot, representing a possible target. "If my guess is right", said Hatsune. "Here is where their next hit, or at least soon to be their next hit is." The Samurai Gunman saw nothing. "Er...where? I don't see anything." The girl smiled at him. "Not that you should, Zan. It's a really small shop. Owner's a certain Shutani Houkiku. She deals in selling a number of things, sake included. Since the pattern matches and her store's profile seems to be that which Rand would target for his schemes, I guess she's next in line." Zan's eyes narrowed to brown slits. "Would you happen to know if she's already accepted the offer?" Hatsune shooked her head. "Nope. If she hasn't been visited yet, you'd better warn her. If she has and she accepted their offer, you can try to talk her out of it and try to protect her. If she has and she refused..." She drew in a breath, nodded at Zan. "Well, you'd better make sure you're not too late." Zan nodded, stood up, his feet tingling from a 'lack of sleep'. "I'm off. Be careful and don't worry about me." Hatsune waved as he left. "Take care of yourself. I'll do what I can in the meantime. You may be the hero who thinks he can do anything alone, but I'll always have an eye on you." Zan stepped out of the bar and into the outside heat. The sun had lowered a little, and he knew it had to be early afternoon. When he had cleared enough of the crowd, he broke into a full sprint towards that part of town. "If they harm a single hair on her head, I'll...!" * * * Meanwhile, the said Shutani Houkiku sat behind the counter that was also her shopfront, chin in linked hands, idly dozing off. Occasional yelps and callous swearing drifted in from the clinic across the street, proclaiming the prescence of a certain Sagura Sanosuke. Megumi must be tending to his hand. Although, even without that pretext, the man spends an awful lot of time there for one who dislikes medical attention. It was hot. She could be enjoying something nice and cool over at Kamiya Dojo, instead of here. A certain red-head ronin would be only too happy to see to that. Houkiku sighed. "Why the sigh?" A man ducked out from the back, chewing on a rice stalk. Leisurely he approached the shopkeeper and started to rub her shoulders. "Mmm... nothing..." She lifted a hand on his and leaned back into his gentle administrations, on the verge of purring. He smiled down at his lover. "Nothing? Not even to do with a certain redhead ronin... or wandering story-teller?" There had been a bit of trouble when both men appeared on the scene, but since clearing it up, Harada Sanosuke had taken to teasing his beloved woman about her friend and blood-brother. "Whatever..." she turned her head a little to nuzzle his hand, then caught both his hands and twisted around to look at him in mock severity. "What is it? You never give me shoulder- rubs unless you want something." He chuckled. "Don't I?" Houkiku cast a look onto the scorching street and back to him. "No, you don't. And it's too hot, so you can't be getting amorous." Harada grinned. "Ah, Kiku-chan, you know me so well." And dropped a soft peck on her brow. "Saitou's passing by the area on some official business..." "And you want to parry with him." She finished for him with a helpless sigh, letting go of his hands. "Go, go. Just remember to come back." That made him happy. "Hai." The reply was made in the tones of a little boy running out to play to his mother as the man started out the door. "In one piece, mind you." She carried on in calm tones after him. "It's too hot to go out and pick up after you." His laughter was all that remained. She settled back to her previous seat, basking in the day, eyes half-closed, cat-like. A shadow soon fell across the counter, blotting out the light. She didn't even look up. "Why, hello. What've you got from Mr. Rand now?" That sillhouette's owner was a man with long shoulder-length dark hair and blue eyes, clad in a flowing gray kimono and a cloak. From the first time he had come by her shop days ago offering her a deal that could not be refused by people of weaker will, something in the man's features was very familiar, reminding her of someone she had met. At the current moment though, Kiku could not attach a name to the visitor's face. What interested Kiku was the fact that whereas days before this man had come to her alone, this time he had brought about eleven other men behind him, none of them resembling savory characters. In addition to a motley array of clothing ranging from either kimono to the more modern, the men had cloaks or overcoats that complemented their outfits. And something in the way these men carried themselves let her know that these were not the average half-baked bodyguard for some second-rate crime boss. These men had the uncanny aura of having been through combat in the past...and living long enough to survive and learn from it. Clearly, Rand was trying to get a point across to her. Their leader, of course, had that same aura about himself. The man who was Eiji's brother folded his arms and smiled down at her, though that smile carried with it a hint of menace. "Nothing, Miss Shutani, save for the fact that I am here once again to renew the offer I made some days ago. You do recall that, do you not?" Hers was a wry smile. She was almost regretting convincing Eiji not to filthy his hands with the man's blood. Credit to Hime-san's cosmetics lessons and thanks to the mountain gods that he did not recognise her for the strange woman whom he hired for a short while a little time back. "I have a good mind for business, or so I've been told." She remained seated, giving him a polite tone and carriage, but the eyes meeting his were fearlessly bold and challenging, even a little mocking. The man looked about the shop idlely, not contriving to take much notice. The woman was defiant and headstrong, which she could afford while her friends are around. The man with a ponytail and spiked fringe was positively ferocious with a sword: and much better at the spear. The beggar of a munchuria sect across the sea was a demon with his stick and claws. Both he had only seen pitted against his subjects at one rare opportunity, and he had watched, unnoticed, from the sides and knew that they had held back in that fight. Neither were around now and he had a full squad. He smirked. Her folly was her own. He matched the woman's gaze with his. "Our boss doesn't seem to think you do. You're walking out an a deal that would benefit you no end. Frankly, Mr. Rand was...shall we say... distressed at your refusal. Might I point out, Miss Shutani, it would do very well for you if you reconsidered. Just think, Mr. Rand will pay you five times more than what you ever earn in a day. You won't have to pay us any percentage whatsoever from your earnings. And all that generosity for allowing us to use your shop to store his merchandise." He raised a finger and wagged it forward. Majority of the men in his company came up beside him, the rest staying a little to the rear. Some of them were already reaching into their cloaks or coats, perhaps fingering a weapon and daring her to make a move. Those who came up beside the leader looked down at her in an unsettling manner. Kiku could see that more than half these men were staring at her, as if she was some sort of new item on a restaurant's dinner table. One of them was actually licking his lips. His hand swept out and took in the shop around them. "And anyway, from the looks of things, you could use some money, as I see no customers around here. In addition: what have you got to lose?" His hand came down, and he let his smile wane. "So once more, Miss Shutani. Accept the deal with a simple 'yes' and prepare yourself for a fortune." He gestured to the shop around him. He motioned to the men beside or behind him. "Otherwise you wouldn't want to give these gentlemen the chance to release their...darker natures." "Whatever." She took on a politely dismissing demeanor. She was not a common entreprenuer. The benefits he offered was of no piority to her.. and the price, she knew, was more than she was willing to pay. It annoyed the spokesman, but the threats did not scare her. Darker natures.. oh how well she knew them! She did, after all, grew up in the thick of it all. Ah~, of those in the street that day, she was sure she knew it best of all. What hadn't she seen of man that was appalling? They can no more scare her then disgust the praying mantis with the idea that the female consumed the male for procreation. She recognised the look in their eyes. The lust, the savage desire to ravage. Rape? She was no innocent. She knew all about it: and the number of ways in which it may be performed, too. The gravity the men had assumed of such intentions was amusing to her. She thought they had checked up fully on her when they decided to take over her niche. If that was so then they must have forgotten that she was once a whore in the acclaimed Yoshiwara, the pleasure palace. These men, though set on doing something with her, seemed to be holding themselves back. They were either that disciplined or that obedient to their leader. If obedient, they were probably so out of fear or respect. Somehow, Kiku assumed the former. They'd probably wind up with severely reduced pay, or dead, should they do something unwise to her without prior permission. Eiji's brother clasped his hands at the small of his back, amused at the shopowner's riposte. "Feisty woman. But that won't save her." He could imagine that his men could already feel getting a taste of her. And while she was attractive enough to inspire lust, in his own case, he could already visualize her blood on his blade. He didn't have to do everything by himself, though. "Well, then. I'd say our business is concluded. You did not agree to my proposition, so we will leave here, never to return..." A snap of his fingers, and the eleven with him at last drew various weapons, like bloodthirsty wolves unleashed from their den. He smiled once more. "...once there is no longer be a 'you' to return to." Five of them drew katanas and tantos in both hands, the samurai's standard armaments. They also assumed different stances. These men were most likely ronin, judging their weapons. Come the end of the Tokugawa days, quite a few ex-samurai had turned to the underworld, finding themselves out of a job and a lord to serve. That assumption sort of fit the aura of professionality about themselves. One man drew a nunchaku, another a sickle. Not much threat there, but they did have quite a lot of mobility. Kiku was not very surprised when the last four drew guns. Jason Rand had always been her prime suspect as to the supplier of foreign arms that had been falling into the wrong hands in the past weeks. And now the fact that they had just drawn such weaponry confirmed that suspicion all the more. One drew two revolvers in each hand, two others wielded sawed-off double- barreled shotguns, and the last man, a rifle. Eiji's brother gestured carelessly in her direction. "I gave you room for reconsideration. Your fault you squandered it." These men were well armed, and they were closing in. Under the counter, the lady's hand brushed the wrappings of a beloved possesion and settled instead, over the handle of a common bokken. No, this was not the time nor place for the Heaven-Flight Sword. She made no move from her seat. Armed men, men competant with their swords, but holes in their skills. It was evident to her trained eye. These probably survived only for their insignificance. She thought a tad sarcastically to herself. Truly, the impending infliction of damage to the woodwork was the more pressing matter on her mind. It was hard to find a decent carpenter these days. Their leader drew his own sword, but rather than assuming a dueling stance with it , he leaned on it and withdrew a rice ball from his kimono, commenced munching on it. "Dispose of her. Perforate her if you have to. Taking her little shop will be that much easier with her gone." So that was their plan. Kill her and leave her shop open to a takeover by Rand's company. The first man came forward, and slashed vertically down towards her head. These men were clearly not amateurs. The inexperienced would have struck recklessly with both swords, leaving him open to a counterattack should both swords miss. This man though was holding back the wakizashi, possibly for a parry. Either that or he was just reserving it for a follow-up. She made a mental note not to underestimate too much. Almost at the same time, her ears registered the cock of revolvers. The man who was armed with two of them raised both guns and triggered a couple of shots. She half-turned and leaned quickly to a side as the bullets whizzed past and embeded themselves in a plank. She winced inwardly. Maybe it would be a better idea to get out of the store. "I say," She raised a calm eyebrow. "Your boss won't quite approve of having to pull repairs on this place." They sniggered, and the closest staggered back a step when she unexpectedly flipped over the counter, bokken in hand. Houkiku adjusted her grip and circled till her back was to the main street. It was an easier position to defend. Her scalp prickled in the heat and she prayed that Megumi and her patients would have enough sense to NOT come out when they hear the commotion. * * * [End Part 1]