TheLycanthropeClub
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The Lycanthrope Club - An American Werewolf in Japan, Chapter IX
🕑 Added 2019-02-03 20:44:31 +0000 UTCHajime absently tapped the smoldering tip of his cigarette on the ashtray. A few errant cinders bounced and briefly flared on its grimy ceramic surface. He then raised the cigarette to his thin lips and took a long drag. All the while his gaze remained fixed on the pair of monitors sitting on the desk before him. Their dull grey glow was the only thing illuminating the cramped and windowless office. Tiny, faint reflections of the screens could be seen Hajime's sunken, bloodshot eyes.
Feeling stiff after sitting for so long, Hajime shifted his body in the chair and grimaced. He glanced down at his right arm, or more precisely, the cast encasing it. In an odd way the injury had, Hajime reflected, helped him with his search. The dull ache was a constant reminder of his past failure. It kept him on task; if only as a distraction from the pain.
Hajime cursed under his breath and looked back up at the monitors. He clicked the mouse. Various black and white images on the screen froze. He rewound the videos a few seconds, clicked the play icon and continuing watching.
Thirty-eight minutes later (the timestamps displayed on the videos made Hajime all too aware of the passage of time) there was a knock on the door behind him. Hajime grunted, clicked the mouse and then glanced back at the door.
"Who is it?" he called.
"Hisao," came a muffled reply. "I have your ramen."
Hajime sighed. While he didn't want to stop going through the footage he was getting hungry. And with only one functioning arm he could eat or work, but not both. He ground the cigarette out in the ashtray.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened and a young looking man with slick black hair wearing dark shades and a worn navy green bomber jacket slipped inside. He was carrying a thin plastic bag with something vaguely rectangular in it in his left hand and a messenger bag over his right shoulder.
"I had to go the store a few streets down," said the young man as he proffered the plastic bag. "The one at the corner was out of pork."
"As long as it's still hot," said Hajime, accepting the bag with his good hand. He pushed the ashtray to the side to make room and set the bag on the desk. He peeled back the plastic revealing a brightly colored bowl with a plastic lid. Hajime carefully popped the lid open. Steam erupted from the bowl.
"Y'know, there's a microwave just outside the office and a faucet in the bathroom," said Hisao as Hajime lifted a pair of chopsticks. "The cup stuff is actually pretty good."
"The broth tastes horrible," grunted Hajime. "It's more chemical than soup."
"Okay, okay, sorry boss," said Hisao, grinning in a manner Hajime found rather irksome. The youth grabbed a metal stool sitting in a corner of the office, pushed it next to the desk and took a seat next to Hajime, who shot him a sour look.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" said Hajime.
"Uh, no, not really."
"Then what are you doing?" said Hajime slowly, lowering his chopsticks.
"Wow, you're really going through all that video footage?" said Hisao suddenly, staring up at the screens.
Hajime sighed. "Yes! Now go."
"Well, couldn't you use some help?"
Hajime had to restrain himself from throwing the hot ramen at the young man's face. The long and tedious task coupled with the constant pain had left him in a foul mood, to say the least. Worse, he actually could use some help, but not from Hisao. Not him. Hisoa's unbridled if somewhat naive enthusiasm for the syndicate's work was appreciated by some of the gang but most just found him bewildering and exasperating, Hajime among them. While he didn't exactly hate the young man, Hajime feared he'd bash the cocky little bastard's face if forced to spend more than fifteen minutes alone with him. And explaining that to Hisao's father would be awkward, particularly since the man had saved his life on more than one occasion.
"This is very, very dull work," said Hajime, trying a new tactic. "I've been in here for almost two days straight. Leave it to me."
"I guess that explains the smell," joked Hisao.
Hajime did not smile.
"Er, look, no offense, boss, but you're going about this all wrong."
"This is the Inuyama station," said Hajime, pointing at the screens. He silently vowed to slap Hisao if he said or did one more thing that annoyed him. "The security footage from this rail station and several nearby ones for the last week. If she used the train she will show up here at some point. She's a foreigner so she will stand out. Once we know which line she took we'll know where to look." He paused. "Much of our work is like this, Hisao-kun. It's dull and unexciting - like any other job."
"Well...yeah," said Hisao, sounding slightly bemused. "Er, it's just...remember how I said I might be able to do something to make the search go faster?"
Hajime did vaguely recall the youth chiming in during the meeting. He nodded in acknowledgment.
"Well, I had to search the deep web but I found what I was looking for." Hisao placed his messenger bag on the floor, unzipped one of its side pouches and dug out a USB thumb drive. "Tada," he said.
"What is that?" said Hajime, unimpressed.
"Huh? Oh, facial recognition software," explained Hisao. "It's supposed to be an older version of the software British intelligence uses. I tested it at home and yeah, it works great!"
"Facial recognition?"
"Yeah! We just scan the picture of that American's face and the computer does the rest."
Hajime stared at him.
"It will work?"
"Yeah! Uh, well, I'm pretty sure," Hisao glanced at the computer tower behind Hajime. "Your PC looks, uh, outdated, so it may take longer than my rig, but...it'll still be a manner of hours rather than days and you won't have to..." He hesitated. "Tell you what. You eat your ramen and I'll set up the program. We let it run and see what we get. Nothing to lose, right?"
"Unless that drive has some kind of virus on it," said Hajime suspiciously. "Or that program of yours crashes my computer."
"It's safe. Totally safe," reassured Hisao. "Besides, I backed up the video files. Dad made me do it."
Much to Hajime's dismay he couldn't think of a reason to say no. He almost did anyways, but exhaustion had finally taken hold. He slumped in his chair and nodded.
"Fine," he murmured, gesturing at his computer. "Go ahead."
Hajime scooted back a meter or so. Hisao grinned and dragged the stool up to the desk. He inserted the thumb drive into the PC tower, cracked his fingers dramatically and started clicking away, opening folders and files. Hajime sat on the far end of his desk, awkwardly slurping away at his ramen with his one good hand. Minutes passed.
"This computer is really slow," said Hisao suddenly, leaning back, arms folded.
Hajime paused, noodles dangling from his mouth. He glared at the youth. He had just been starting to enjoy the quiet.
"It should still run the program," continued Hisao, still staring at the screen. "Probably. It looks like it'll take about ten minutes for this thing to load." He swiveled on the stool to face Hajime. "So...how's the ramen?"
Hajime swallowed. "It's pork ramen," he said.
"Um, okay. How's your arm?"
"It still hurts."
"Don't you have any medication? Painkillers?"
"They make me drowsy." Hajime was too tired to snap at Hisao at this point, though in his mind he had already leapt out of the chair and was throttling the life out of him. Perhaps Hisao's father would forgive him just this once...
"That's true, that's true," said Hisao, nodding. "You were really doing this all on your own?"
"Mr. Shen wants results before his return from Tokyo. And I don't know when he'll be back. Everyone else is on foot searching for her. Or in the hospital," he added bitterly. "This is important."
"Mister...Shen?"
"His preferred form of address," said Hajime, realizing Hisao had never heard it. "I don't know his real name. I don't want to know it."
"He...isn't Yakuza, isn't he? He isn't even Japanese."
"Yes, you know this."
"It just seems like a lot of work for-"
"We've allied with him," interrupted Hajime, wincing inwardly at this. "We've agreed to work with him. And we honor our agreements."
There was a pause. Hajime glanced up at Hisao from his ramen. The youth looked uncharacteristically pensive. Hajime raised an eyebrow.
"So...what happened out there?" said Hisao.
"Out where?"
"In the forest. To you and the rest of the kyodai?"
Hajime was silent. Then, he continued eating his ramen.
"Boss?"
Hajime picked up a small chunk of pork with his chopsticks. He chewed and swallowed the rubbery piece of meat. He then slurped up a pair of noodles.
"You alright, boss? What's wrong?"
Hajime sighed and placed the bowl of ramen on the desk. He sat back in his chair, wincing slightly as his right elbow bumped up against the armrest.
"You didn't hear anything from the others?" asked Hajime quietly once he had settled.
"Uh, not really," said Hisao, scratching his head. "I mean, I heard Ginjiro was going to quit the syndicate to become a monk or something because of what happened. I haven't seen him for a while. Did he really do it?"
"He's...moved on to a higher place, yes."
"Wow," said Hisao, chuckling. "I would have never marked Ginjiro for the spiritual type. Remember when he groped that waitress over at that club a few months back? I still can't believe he got away with that."
Hajime frowned. He stared down at the floor for a time.
"So anyways, what happened?" probed Hisao. "Nobody got killed but nobody got away without an injury. And no-one will talk about what happened."
"That's because I ordered them not to," said Hajime.
"Ah, oh, okay," said Hisao, some unease creeping into his voice for the first time since he entered the office. "Er, why?"
Suddenly, Hisao didn't care. He had to tell someone. Even someone like Hisao. Especially someone like Hisao, come to think of it; few would be inclined to believe him if he started talking. He needed to recount what had happened if only for his own sanity.
"We were ambushed," said Hajime. "It wasn't the American. We don't know who they were. There were only three of them."
"Only three?"
Hajime hesitated. Suddenly, he grinned humorously. Hisao leaned back in surprise.
"Do you believe in ghosts, Hisao-kun?" he asked.
"What?" said Hisao, nonplussed. "Ghosts? Like, evil spirits?"
"Why not," said Hajime, still smiling, now almost maniacally. "And yokai. Tsukumogami, yuki-onna, kuchisake-onna...oh, aliens and witches while we're at it. The supernatural."
"Er..." Hisao was, for once, at a loss for words. "Not really," he said finally. "I mean, I guess it's possible. Especially aliens. I once read thi-"
"If you had asked me the same question a month ago I would have said no," interrupted Hajime. His smile was gone. "But now..."
There was silence. Hajime found himself craving a cigarette. He glanced at the butt in the ashtray and wondered if there was any tobacco left in it.
"I...I still don't get it, boss," said Hisao, confused. "Are you saying you...you got attacked by something supernatural? You said there were three of them."
"Yes," said Hajime. "But I'm not entirely sure what 'they' were. We shot them again and again and they just kept moving. They cut through us like we were nothing. We were nothing to them."
There was silence.
"What...who were they?" whispered Hisao.
Hajime took a deep breath and exhaled. He reached for the cigarette pack in his jacket and then remembered he had smoked his last.
"Wolves," said Hajime at last. He shook his head as though not quite believing it himself. "Giant wolves. They talked and walked on two legs."
Hisao stared at him for a time. Then, the youth broke into a playful grin.
"Come on, boss," he said. "Quit messing with me."
Hajime's deadpan expression did not waiver.
"Boss?" said Hisao, his smile becoming waxen.
Hajime cleared his throat and scooted closer.
"Is this program ready yet?" asked Hajime, gesturing at the screen.
"Oh? Ah, looks like it is," said Hisao, surprised. He turned back to Hajime's PC and clicked a few icons on the screen. "I, uh, I guess we can get started."
"So...how does this work?"
"Uh...hang on," said Hisao, opening a few new windows. "I...have a few images of the American. I'll plug it into the program and it'll scan through all the frames of the video for a match. Easy."
"And how long will this take?" said Hisao, trying in vain to follow what Hisao was doing on the screen.
"On this computer?" said Hisao, not bothering to hide his disdain. "Hours, probably. Maybe the rest of the day."
Hajime felt a little knot form in his stomach. Though one of Hisao's very few positive traits was his technological prowess Hajime didn't want to trust him with a task this important. It was his responsibility as the wakagashira to carry out the will of the boss. If word got around he had let the little stripling waste a whole day with nothing to show for it could hurt his already tenuous position in the organization. Or worse, anger his boss, who had very little reason to be happy with him right now anyhow.
"Just have to link the video files..." murmured Hisao, dragging and dropping icons. "And...there."
"What?"
"It's running, boss," said Hisao. He gestured at a window on the main screen. A long loading bar had appeared below a mass of text and images from the surveillance footage; the bar was less than one percent full. "All we have to do now is wait and hope."
Hajime opened his mouth to protest but simply gave up. He was tired, still hungry, needed a smoke, a nap, maybe a woman.
"It cannot be helped," he muttered under his breath.
"Huh?" said Hisao, looking back.
"I'm going out," said Hajime, rising from his chair. He stood there for a minute holding onto his chair's backrest, head spinning. He'd been sitting there longer than he realized; his legs felt like jelly.
"You okay, boss?"
"I'm fine," snapped Hajime, regaining his composure by sheer force of will. He straightened his jacket. "I'm going to get some more smokes and food. I'm out of one and already sick of the other. And no, you can stay here," he added, preempting Hisao's offer to fetch the items for him. "Text me if and when that thing finishes."
Hisao shrugged. "If you say so, boss. It's going to be a while so I might as well come with you. Maybe we can go to a bar and you can tell me what went down in the woods."
"I already told you," said Hajime quietly.
"What really went down in the woods," said Hisao doubtfully. "Come on, wolves?"
"They were wolves," said Hajime, gazing blankly into the darkness. "They walked on two legs and talked. And our guns did nothing to them."
He opened the door and left.
Hisao sat there for a time. Then, he shrugged, rose and sat in Hajime's chair. He glanced back at the screen and, once he was satisfied all was in order, pulled out his phone and started tapping away at it. Minutes passed. Then, a small window opened on the screen. It read 'Match Found." Engrossed as he was with his phone, Hisao did not notice.
* * *
The house was situated in western Tokyo, or the Tama area, in one of the many towns clustered around the metropolitan center. It was an older, decidedly stately house, one that might fetch a fortune were it put on the market. It sat on a shallow, grassy hill surrounded by ancient yet well-manicured trees. It was vaguely rectangular with two stories. Its roof had traditional glazed curved clay shingles while its walls were constructed from tightly packed dark wooden planks; there were narrow glass windows interspaced along the first and second stories that looked like they had been added well after the building had been erected. A worn, winding stone path led up to the entrance from the road while a weathered wooden address post stood at the edge of the property. The shadows were almost preternaturally deep around the grounds - probably because it was the late afternoon and the house was situated on the eastern side of the hill. Still, darkness seemed to cling here like cobwebs.
Junko sniffed the air. There were numerous unfamiliar, difficult to describe smells coming from the house. She bit her lower lip and then turned back to Masae and Taro, who were unloading their luggage from the taxi.
"This is the place?" she asked uneasily, nodding forward.
"This is my grandma's place, yeah," said Masae unenthusiastically.
"Huh," said Junko, not sure what to add. "It's uh, nice."
"It's old and worn down," said Masae, closing the trunk. Ahead of her, Taro thanked the driver.
Junko was mildly shocked by this blunt remark. "That's not..." she turned back to the house "It actually looks pretty well-maintained."
"It's maintained, yeah," said Masae, walking up the slope towards Junko. "My grandma has a team come over every couple of years before winter and renovate. That's when she comes and visits us. This is really grandpa's house, she says, and she's just looking after it." Masae walked past Junko and continued moving towards the front door. Junko hurried after her. "His grave is a little bit up the hill," she added quietly. "Anyways, the problem is that she only lets them do surface fixes. This place really needs to be renovated from the ground up. Course, then it wouldn't really be grandpa's house anymore."
Taro had caught up to the two girls.
"And this is where he taught you kendo?" he asked, staring up at the home.
"Here or his dojo," said Masae, shrugging. "He didn't even call it kendo - called it kenjutsu. I think he would have made me practice with a real blade if my parents hadn't asked him not to."
"And he was okay with teaching you?" said Taro. "He sounds, uh, very traditional, and some old masters sometimes didn't teach girls. Or, er, so I've heard," he added quickly.
"Not sure he would have taught me if I had a brother," said Masae. "But he never said anything."
The trio stood at the front entrance. Masae knocked on the door. Seconds passed. Then, Junko's ears perked up. Someone was coming. They sounded very...small. There was a metallic click followed startlingly loud squeak. The door slowly swung inwards. A short, wispy-haired elderly woman wearing faded burgundy robe appeared. She was smiling, almost beatifically.
Masae stiffened slightly and bowed low.
"Greetings, grandmother," she said, adapting a formal intonation. "Thank you for letting me stay with you."
Both Junko and Taro stared at Masae for a moment in surprise, but then promptly turned to Masae's grandmother and bowed as well.
"Thank you for letting us stay here," they said unison.
Masae grandmother bowed slightly.
"It's so nice to see you again," she said. "And here are your friends. What are your names again, dearies?"
"Hayashi Junko," said Junko, managing a brief smile.
"Fujimori Taro," said Taro.
"Wonderful to meet all of you. Please, please, come inside," she said, beckoning them.
The three high schoolers stepped through the front door.
It was dark inside. Masae's grandmother seemed to mostly rely upon natural light from the windows rather than any artificial ones. It didn't bother Junko much, however; though nowhere good as it was when she was a werewolf her night vision had improved considerably since her transformation. The interior decor was quite traditional - with sliding paper doors and partitions, rice straw tatami floors and a square central hearth set in the floor. Junko did spy a modern phone plugged into a charger on a beautifully lacquered table as well as a few pieces of modern ornamentation - mostly porcelain figures and photographs - but otherwise it felt as though she had journeyed back in time.
"I put some beds out for your friends down here next to the kitchen," said Masae's grandmother as they walked. "You can store your things in the cabinet there. I hope you don't mind."
"Uh, not at all," said Junko.
"You'll be staying upstairs with me, Masae-chan," she continued. "I have the room ready for you."
"Thank you, grandmother," said Masae.
"Are you hungry? Thirsty? I have some tea brewing over in the kitchen and some snacks."
"...That sounds wonderful, grandmother," said Masae. Junko could tell she was trying hard to sound polite and happy. It was a little disconcerting.
"I'll go fetch them, then" said Masae's grandmother.
With that she shuffled off.
Masae suddenly whirled around and glared at Junko and Taro.
"Not. One. Word about this," she said menacingly.
"Wha-what?" said Junko, half-amused, half-frightened.
"Exactly," said Masae. She cleared her throat. "Er, so, we can head out tomorrow around 16:30. I've already told grandmother that you're visiting friends in the city and I have to escort you. With any luck she won't mention this to my parents," she added anxiously. "Everyone remember their train passes?"
"Yep," said Junko. "Hopefully it won't be too crowded."
"Uh, have you ever been to Tokyo?" said Masae. "The city proper, I mean."
"A long time ago," said Junko brightly. "I think I was three."
"Wow, er, well, we'll have more than enough time to get there," said Masae, rolling her eyes. "Until then, let's just lie low and try to get some rest. We have no idea what we're going to run into tomorrow."
"Masae-chan!" called her grandmother from the kitchen. "I could use a hand in here."
Masae scowled more or less automatically but then her frown curled into a tight little smile.
"Coming grandmother," she said, setting down her suitcase before hurrying off.
Junko sniggered softly. "Wow," she whispered.
* * *
The kitchen proved to be surprisingly modern, if not actually state-of-the-art. Masae noted the large electric rice cooker next to the old microwave on the counter. Her grandmother was standing in front of a white electric stovetop next to a small metallic refrigerator.
"Could you get the tea leaves, deary?" she asked, looking over her shoulder. "They're in the cabinet right over there. They're the special ones in the blue tin. I save them for special occasions but it's hard for me to reach them."
Masae shrugged, opened up the cabinet and, after a quick scan, found the tin. She brought it over to her grandmother.
"Thank you," she said, nodding. "How was the ride up here?"
"Very pleasant," said Masae.
Her grandmother popped the tin open. A powerful, earthy aroma wafted up from the container - not unpleasant, but it made Masae a little dizzy. She wrinkled her nose and took a short step back.
"How go your studies?" asked her grandmother, reaching for a spoon.
"Well enough," said Masae, stifling a yawn. "The university exam is coming soon but I feel confident."
"Wonderful." There was a pause. The kitchen was silent save for the intermittent clink of metal and china. "So, perhaps you can tell me why you've come here," said her grandmother.
Masae froze.
"Wha-" she said.
Her grandmother turned and smiled.
"I do so enjoy your company," she said. "Just as I'm sure you enjoy my company. But we only see one another when I visit your mother over the winter, which isn't too often. This is the first time in a very long while you've come to visit me and the first time you've come without your parents."
"I, uh, it's..." Masae mentally sorted through possible excuses. She just missed her? Didn't seem sufficient or believable. Wanted to visit grandfather's grave? Technically true but too much of a stretch. Her parents pressured her to go? Might work, but her grandmother might scold them for haranguing her into coming, which would lead to a very awkward conversation.
"We wanted to visit some friends in Tokyo and thought we could stay here," she blurted.
Her grandmother stared at her. Her smile did not waiver.
"I see," she said finally. She turned back to the tea set and scooped some leaves from the tin. "So you thought you'd visit your grandmother while you were in the area. Very considerate."
Masae hesitated.
"Well, yes," she said slowly. "I mean, I suppose we could have made a day trip out of it. But you were close by so, well, I thought it would be...nice to stay here. With you."
Masae felt a bit horrible after saying it even though what she said was more or less true.
"Very considerate," repeated her grandmother as she slowly poured the tea leaves into the clay pot. She turned around and regarded Masae. Her smile was gone. That isn't to say she looked displeased or angry. Just...thoughtful.
"You're different, Masae-chan," she said quietly.
"Different?" said Masae.
"You've changed."
"I have?" said Masae, suddenly panicking.
"You're much calmer now," she said. "Not exactly at peace, but...satisfied."
"Oh...uh, thank you, grandmother," she said with a mixture of relief and confusion.
"It's like when you were younger," continued her grandmother "When your grandfather was still alive and teaching you kenjutsu." She paused. "That's why he accepted you as his student, you know. Your parents didn't see it, but he saw the fire in you even when you were a child. You were, perhaps, born in the wrong era. The training was a necessary outlet. Or so said your grandfather; I feared it might fan the flames rather than quell them. You still practice kenjutsu, don't you?"
"I'm...captain of the kendo club at school," said Masae.
"Oh yes, yes, I forgot," said her grandmother, smiling. "I am getting forgetful. I'm glad you've started practicing again. Are your friends also in this club of yours?"
"Uh, Ta-... Fujimori-san is."
"I can't wait to get to know him," she said happily. "And the girl, er, what was her name again?"
"Hayashi Junko."
"Good, good," said her grandmother. "Thank you for your help. I can handle things from here."
Masae stood there for a few seconds, and then walked out of the kitchen in a daze.
