The Emperor (Part I)

After exiting the freeway, the road narrowed, flanked by chain-link fences and stacked containers. The water appeared in flashes between buildings, dark, cold, and frothing with ice that barely churned at the crowns of lapping waves.

A concrete structure rose at the far end of the lot, five stories tall with few windows. Floodlights and security camera belted the lower levels, fixed on the surrounding fenced-in lot. As the truck rolled closer, lettering came into view along the side of the building, crisp and official.

ANDO FAMILY IMPORTS.

Gabe’s eyes narrowed at it as the building grew closer. It was a name that sounded friendly, and approachable on a grocery store shelf, but the installation was anything but.

“You call this ‘lying low’?” he asked.

Tatsu flipped down his sun visor and thumbed a remote. The gate slid open without a sound. A man-shaped shadow in a mirrored security booth waved at him.

“It’s controlled,” he said. “That’s better.”

Unmarked trucks were parked in orderly rows beyond the fence. People moved between them in utilitarian gray jumpsuits, heads down, purposeful. Tatsu pulled in and cut the engine.

The moment he opened the door, the nearest workers stopped what they were doing. They bowed, deep and in synchronization.

“Boss Ando,” they said.

Gabe stretched out his legs, but stayed frozen in the passenger seat.

Tatsu lifted a hand in acknowledgment like this happened every day. Then, he glanced back at Gabe.

“You coming,” he said, not a question. Gabe heard his voice through the glass of the rolled-up window, even and unfaltering.

The men in jumpsuits were still bowed in a perfect right angle at the waist, unflinching, waiting for Tatsuki to move on. It gave him goosebumps, when he came to realize that maybe Tatsuki was a bigger deal than he thought; and that they were all held up because of him. 

Gabe swallowed and climbed out of the truck.

He followed Tatsuki through the rolled-up garage door of the loading bay and into the warehouse.

The air smelled like cold metal and packing foam. Somewhere in the distance he heard machinery; the piercing whine of a drill mashed with the dull roar of a forklift. Overhead rails shrieked as hooks carrying vacuum-packed rib halves screamed past, enormous leg segments swinging toward the loading bay. Workers darted through the chaos with handcarts stacked high with crates, stamped with foreign logos from the far east. Some, Gabe could read, others, he couldn’t.

The sound was relentless with scraping metal, heavy machinery, shouted orders, and it made his head throb along with the stress. Gabriel tried to control his expression, trailing after Tatsuki until they reached a stairwell set off from the main floor.

The noise dulled slightly as they climbed. Concrete steps echoed underfoot. Tatsuki took the stairs two at a time.

“You should be safe here,” Tatsu said without turning around, “Let’s take care of some formalities first.”

Gabriel let out a deep breath at the word ‘formalities’. Sure, when he first received Tatsu’s business card, the name gave him pause; the only ‘family’ he looked like he belonged to was the mob. But since arriving at what he referred to as ‘headquarters’, the thought was becoming much more likely. He wondered if he’d leave here less one pinky, before the afternoon was up.

The pair reached the top landing on the fifth floor, leaving Gabriel winded, but Tatsuki barely broke a sweat as he held the door open for him.

“Step into my office.” He smirked.

Unsure what to say, and his pulse still pounding in his ears, he let the taller man lead him, following in his footsteps. The door at the top of the landing led to a small reception desk, attended by a young, pretty brunette. There was a security camera mounted behind the desk, facing the stairwell entrance.

“Mister Ando,” the brunette greeted him with a seated bow, to which he smiled in reply. He was fond of her.

“Morning Cassie,” he grumbled, loosening the red scarf around his neck. “Any important messages?”

“No sir,” she replied chipperly. “The others are already here, in their offices.”

“Good,” he replied bluntly, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He withdrew a bill and set it on her desk. “We’ll need some privacy,” he gestured towards Gabriel over his shoulder with a nudge of his head, “Onboarding… sensitive stuff. Hold incoming calls, and take yourself out to lunch.”

She bowed at the offering and formally thanked him, annunciating clearly.

The door behind reception led to a sterile hallway of offices. Tatsuki’s steps were softened by the cheap Berber carpet, and he continued on his path with familiarity to the third door on his right, which was open. He rapped his knuckles on the door frame, dipping his head in. Gabriel paused, unable to see the person inside.

“Morning boss,” came a female voice.

He gave a friendly smile, and pointed at someone with a jerk of his head. “Hey Mag, I got an onboarding. So if you hear any loud sounds.”

There came a rippling, pleasant chuckle, accompanied by the creak of a computer chair. “Got it. If I need you: don’t.”

“Smart girl,” Tatsuki winked, slapped the doorway with his hand, and turned away. Gabriel trailed behind him, eyes shifting to peek into the office as he passed, and then regretted it.

A woman with silver hair looked up from her desk, eyes cool and assessing. Her expression curdled the moment she saw him. Gabriel tore his eyes away and hurried to catch up with Tatsu.

Finally, they reached a large room at the end of the hall: what must have been Tatsu’s office. He closed the door behind Gabe as he entered.

The office was spare: desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet, nothing decorative except a single framed certificate on the wall, written half in English, half in Japanese. A single darkened, narrow window overlooked the warehouse front lot, and the seaport beyond it.

Tatsuki crossed the room first, already unbuttoning his long black coat. He tossed his scarf over the back of his chair and shrugged out of his jacket.

“Sit,” he said, not looking back.

Gabe hesitated, then took the office armchair opposite him at the desk. The synthetic leather upholstery crackled under his weight as he sat.

Tatsuki rolled open a desk drawer, pulled out a corked bottle of shochu, and set it on the wooden desktop between them. It was a heavy-bottomed, frosted glass bottle; the crinkled paper label bore a sweeping, ink-style calligraphy logo; it looked craft, and expensive. He retrieved two short glasses out of the drawer, and uncorked the bottle with a pop.

“I don’t drink,” Gabriel started.

“You serious?”

Tatsuki studied him for a second, then gave a slow, heavy blink.

“You’ll survive,” he said mildly.

He poured into both glasses, and slid one across the desk. Gabe stared at it for a beat, then picked it up and took a cautious sip. The alcohol burned, then bloomed warm and dizzy behind his eyes.

Tatsuki watched him over the rim of his glass.

Face to face, without the shroud of winter clothing, Gabe could finally get a clear look at Tatsu. He had a slender oval face, faintly bronzed skin, and a narrow, elegant nose. His long, straight black hair had a few threads of silver at his widow’s peak, and behind his ears; and some small braided sections played vibrant crimson peekaboo between the tresses.

Besides his startlingly pale blue eyes though, nothing seemed odd, unnatural, or “other” about him, which left Gabriel spinning his wheels. If Tatsu was an other like him, he was giving no tells. Gabriel eyed the heavy tattooing running from his knuckles and hands, to his wrists under the cuffs of his shirt, wondering if they were packed in with glamour magic.

“First things first,” he said, sinking into his plush computer chair, “Your phone.”

Gabriel squinted. “I don’t have—”

Tatsuki raised an eyebrow, staring him down.

Gabe exhaled through his nose and dug the prepaid phone out of his pocket, setting it down with a smack. Tatsuki picked it up, turned it over once, then produced a pair of tweezers from a cup on his desk. He popped the SIM tray, plucked the card free, and set it aside.

Then, without warning, he smashed the phone against the corner of the desk.

The crack of plastic made Gabe flinch. Tatsuki struck it again, methodical, until the screen spiderwebbed and the casing split. He swept the pieces into a small waste basket, opened a lower drawer, and dropped the remains inside. The drawer locked with a clean, metallic click.

“Good,” he said. “That helps.”

Gabe swallowed. “You didn’t have to—”

“I did.” Tatsuki folded his hands on the desk. “Now. ID.”

Slowly, Gabe pulled out his wallet, and flipped it open with a flick of his wrist. His photo peered out from a cracked vinyl window. He slid it out of the tight pocket, and it fought him as the plastic backing stuck to synthetic pleather. Finally, it released, peeling back from the vinyl with a sticky sound, and slid the card across.

Tatsuki held it up to the light, tilting it, studying the holographic laminate. It was fake, but it was good. His eyes flicked from the photo to Gabe’s face, then back again.

He hummed. It was certainly Gabriel, with his angry, hungry stare, and an orange-tinted amateur bleach job. His hair was a chin-length scruffy mess, his long bangs pushed to one side to show his face clearly. He had just one piercing then, the silver labret under his lip, he noted. Tatsuki’s gaze flicked up to the man sitting across from him. Surely, it was the same punk ass kid, but with more metal in his face and a glamour-bearing tattoo on his neck now.

“Gabriel Grey,” he read aloud, clicking his tongue. “Nineteen. Explains a lot.”

Gabe bristled. “Explains what?”

Tatsuki shrugged, then set the card down. “A lot.”

He leaned back in his chair, assessing him openly now, neither hostile nor kind; like inventory.

“What’s your real name?” he asked.

Gabe hesitated.

Tatsuki waited. “I know it’s not fucking ‘Gabriel Grey’. Come on.”

“Hiromu,” Gabriel answered, deflating in his chair as he crossed his arms. Tatsuki blinked, expectantly. “Hiromu Nishihara.”

Tatsuki nodded once, and as if filing it away. “Call you Hiromu or Gabriel?”

“Gabriel.”

“If you insist.” Tatsuki turned to his computer and woke the screen. His fingers moved fast over the keyboard. “I like ‘Hiromu’ better. Could call you ‘Hiro’.”

They shared a glance for a beat, which confirmed Gabriel was not on board for that. Tatsuki almost laughed, but kept tight control over his expression.

Tatsuki flicked the scroll wheel on his mouse dramatically, letting the hiss linger.

“You’re lucky. Most of your trouble’s juvenile. Easier to bury.”

Gabe’s head snapped up. “Bury?”

Tatsuki glanced at him. “Relax. I said easier, not free.”

The silence stretched, and filled with the hum of the industrial building. Gabriel’s ears picked up the rattling of the ventilation system, kicking on with the heat. Below that, the dull vibrations of machinery were barely audible.

The Tatsuki looked back at him. “Last question. It’s important: Is anyone actively looking for you?”

The knot in Gabriel’s stomach tightened. “No. Not anymore.”

Tatsuki studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded, once.

“Alright,” he said. Tatsuki leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “Then here’s how this works.”