A Kappa, a Book and Gouki God Damn Kageyama

The book, or more specifically, the diary, was about the size of a standard paperback. It was thin, made with fine, expensive looking paper, and bound between two leather covers. Words written in Japanese adorned the cover, and thanks to his exorcist abilities Harry could read them clearly. The Life of Reiji Kageyama. The name pulled Harry into a dark place he hadn’t been to in years. Japan. The yakuza. Gouki God damn Kageyama and his psychotic grandfather, Reiji. He could practically smell the blood and gun smoke on the book, even though he knew it had most likely never been sullied by  baser human contact.

Wallman looked between Harry and the book multiple times, as if waiting for one of them to provide an answer as to why a kappa possessed thug had terrorized a bank looking for it, and why said thug blew his brains out with an implanted bomb to keep them from questioning him.

Harry leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head, realizing Wallman’s office was suddenly too hot. He sighed, knowing his life was about to get complicated. The name on the cover of the book mocked him, bringing him back eight years to some of the most blood soaked parts of one of the best times of his life.

“Yakuza,” Harry said.

“Obviously,” Wallman said. The human thug had a bomb in his head, and the imprisoned kappa Harry had interrogated kept mentioning the sake drinking toughs in their fancy suits pretending like they were gentlemen and not monsters. Of course this wasn’t done by normal criminals.

“This guy is long dead, Wallman,” Harry said, tapping on Reiji’s name a bit too forcefully, as if wanting to strike the man one last time. “His grandson, Gouki…unfortunately, he’s alive.”

Wallman couldn’t repress the smirk on his face. The hidden history between the two men was so obvious he could practically touch it. “So, friend of yours?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Harry’s short laugh punched through the air a bit too dramatically. It felt like laughing during a funeral. “Yeah, kinda,” he said.

Suddenly he was back eight years, in a sweltering warehouse near the water. Dead bodies of gang members littered the floor, and four or five shinigami possessed yakuza members constantly added more to those numbers. Their pale white skin seemed to leak darkness as they moved in their expensive clothes which made them feel like respectable men instead of cruel monsters, and when they got closer to their targets they began whispering about the joys of death in voices which sounded like dead leaves crunching under gravedigger’s feet.

But the shinigami hadn’t been his major concern. Right then he had been more worried about the gun pressed tightly to his forehead, the arm in the tailored suit crushing his windpipe, and Reo before him staring his potential killer directly in the eyes.

It was the day he had met Reo.

It was the day he had met Gouki God damn Kageyama.

It was the day he learned how different Japan was from New York.

“The man’s a monster,” Harry said, dragging his mind back from the past. “And I don’t mean a demon.” He let the moment hang there. Wallman shifted in his chair nervously. When Harry was quiet he had learned to be nervous.

“So why the armed robbery, Harry?” Wallman asked, leaning forward, trying to will the air between them to be less stagnant. Harry sighed, picking up the book and flipping it open, holding it at arm’s length, treating it like a bomb more than a book.

“Dunno,” Harry said. He leafed through the journal, the Japanese in it written precisely and cleanly, the lines those of a thorough and precise man. The language, however, was utter nonsense. CHAPTER FOURTEENTH OF MOON LOGIC AS CRANES FLY OVER MOUNTAINS OF BLOOD EGGS. MASSIVE HOPES OF MOTHERS CRYING NUCLEAR TEARS AND SCREAMS TRAVEL IN TIME TO FAR OFF MONSTERS. He threw the book back down, urging the headache behind his eyes back. “Friggin’ gibberish,” he muttered. Harry stood then, plans moving through his brain as he paced about Wallman’s office. It made no sense. Why would Gouki God damn Kageyama send a tough all the way to New York for a book? Why did Reiji write it in seeming gibberish? Why hide it in New York under a fake name in a non-descript bank? None of it made sense. He spun the globe in the corner which Wallman thought made him look smart. He stopped it when his finger found Japan.

He remembered the day he met Reo again. Leaning against a warehouse, exhausted from the fight, Gouki God damn Kageyama having escaped. Harry told Reo he had recently arrived and was wandering aimlessly, finding demons and exorcising them when he stumbled upon the yakuza massacre. Reo had given him his best Reo stare and told him to stay with him. So he could watch him, the uptight ex-salaryman had said.

He could smell the bullshit from his new friend then.

Harry Vickers smiled.

Screw it.

Some men fantasized about being heroes for justice. Some fantasized about being hard boiled detectives. Harry knew where he could be both. The place where he learned how to start being human again. The place where his closest friends said a room was always open for him.

He went over to the desk and snatched the book up, shoving it into his waistband. The plan was already in motion in his mind, or rather, the hasty series of thoughts he knew he wanted to do were there. Harry was a man of action, not so much planning. It was why he left New York on a whim eight years previous to go globe trotting on the U.N.’s dime. And it was why he knew exactly what he needed to do knowing Gouki God damn Kageyama had crawled back into his life.

“Harry…” Wallman said, tentative, scarcely believing the man was walking towards the door with valuable police evidence tucked into his pants. Harry did not slow down one bit. In fact, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, casually scrolling through contacts, his grin widening as each moment passed. “Harry!” Wallman shouted more forcefully. Several officers stopped to look, then quickly looked away. Exorcist business was none of their business. Let Wallman deal with the U.N. headache.

“Can’t talk. Don’t worry, though. I’ll figure out what this is about. I’ve gotta call an old friend!” Harry said, waving to Wallman as he hit the door to the street. The older detective simply watched as his friend left the station, not knowing whether he should be more pissed about all the paperwork Harry dumped onto his lap or scared for whoever this Gouki guy was. Harry only smiled like a maniac when he had a purpose. In his line of work, it usually meant a lot of asses being kicked.

Harry breathed in the New York air deep into his lungs. It was home. He was gonna miss this place. But he had a mystery to solve, a fight to get back into which he hadn’t even realized he was missing from, and a bunch of packing to do. But first, he had to make a phone call. He smiled as it clicked, hearing the sleep deprived sigh over the line. It was night there. Harry didn’t care.

“Hey! Reo!” Harry said, his grin now a full blown smile.