Antebellum Arisaka

 Bobby got out of bed, creaking like the beat-to-hell machine he was, and dumped pills in his mouth like candy. He washed the pills down with a cream-colored bottle of coffee, then he chewed on a bowl of oats. The news came on, covering a horrible crash. It looked like the same one he drove past the other night. He thought he spotted his Toyota in the footage, but he wasn't sure. The remote clicked in his hands as he turned the television off.

He looked at the directions Sakuya gave him. He punched her friend’s address into his map and realized she was halfway to Florida. Damn, he thought, no wonder she paid extra. He'd not gone that way in a good while, but he wasn't gonna take any chances. The south side of Atlanta wasn’t kind, especially not in recent years. He figured it’d be prudent to take a spare magazine of ammunition just in case.

His bowl of oats made a loud clink in the sink against the rest of his dishes once he was done. The sun had yet to rise, so he went about the rest of his morning routine in darkness. By now, Sakuya was probably wiring the money through her connections. She'd never failed him before. He got dressed and buckled a thick belt underneath his jacket. Then he slipped his tools inside the waistband, his Smith and Wesson, a spare magazine and a thick spike of a knife. He took a few other items with him, till his pockets were heavy with credit chits, wallets, cigarette cases, lighters, and all sorts of doodads that he didn't know what to do with.

He double-checked his directions, pursed his lips, then reached in his gun safe. He snagged a carbine from the front, a bundle of magazines, and he ran a quick check of all the electronics on it. He hated how the sleek lines of the gun were ruined by the two boxes on top- one for the optic and display, the other for a bundle of lights and lasers. He raised it to his shoulder, looked through the glass to see a chevron, and loaded a magazine. "25" flashed in the display. He cocked the gun, threw the safety on, and tossed it in his passenger seat under a spare coat.

Now he was ready to hit the south side.

Click. The engine on his Toyota pickup truck roared to life. The old straight-six had been transplanted in a long time ago, and it came alive just as good today as it did then. The man double-checked the invoice, then he opened his garage door and got in his truck.

"What a delivery. A katana. A real genuine samurai sword.” He settled the parcel in the back with a little more padding to keep it from rattling so much. This must’ve been some ancient custom he didn’t know about. At least he got paid a fortune for something so simple. Of all the things Sakuya asked him to do, this struck him as the least likely to get him arrested. "Old thing must be worth a pretty penny."

Bobby hummed along to another song. By now the highway ought to have been clear. He swung onto an on-ramp and got into the early morning traffic. The cars moved a little faster, a mix of sedans both new and old. A police skimmer sat on a dock by the entrance of the highway, ready to spring into action. Bobby muscled into his lane and hurried through the city.

He swung around the outskirts of the Perimeter, a long section of circular highway that marked the inner city and the outer city.. Neon advertisements hung from a thousand billboards between low-income neighborhoods, office buildings, and public parks. He swung south with a cigarette in his mouth.

There were other places as big as his city, but none quite so... Sprawled out, or wooded. Despite the season there were green leaves still clinging onto the branches of trees. In the more run down parts of town, kudzu vines and graffiti colored buildings in equal amounts. He sped along through those dead streets, keeping an eye on the people there: unfortunate enough to be in the slums.

An hour through there and he came upon another highway, heading downhill. He took the ramp, and exited on Macon- one of the old cities consumed by urban sprawl. Past that there were other municipalities. He knew it as the “Historic District,”where thousands of buildings from before the First American Civil War still stood. Old wooden houses intermingled with modern high-rises.

"Turn left," his GPS commanded, and he did. It took him on an offshoot, going around the city. He passed through a rest area and cut down a winding road. Driveways opened up to either side of him, mailboxes displaying their owners’ wealth. A mix of wrought iron and brick ornamentation denoted the housing numbers there. Bobby cut the GPS off and counted up the numbers.

"1061,1063-" he soon came up on the last house at the end of the street. "-1065. Must be the place."

With that, he drove to the gate and buzzed the security. It was an old system, just a boxy camera, a microphone and a keypad spliced into an Antebellum gate. He recalled the code and hit the microphone, leaning out of the window of his truck to speak clearly. "Special delivery for-” he checked the note again “-Miss Arisaka, large parcel. Sent by order of Sakuya Watanabe."

"Come in." A woman spoke. The wrought iron gate swung open smoothly, something he didn't expect.

He shrugged and drove on through. Each side of the driveway was flanked by statues of foxes in various poses. Most of them were centered around little stone spheres. He didn't pay them much mind, up until he passed under an angled off red arch. It reminded him of Sakuya's office entrance. Kind of tacky, he thought. Must've been some "rich Japanese thing," for showing off wealth.

The man drove onto a wide circular driveway. He parked his truck beside a hedge and secured it. He went tucking his gun into his waistband and pulling the encased sword out. He struggled pulling it from the cab, until it came loose.

He huffed and shook his head as he walked up the tiled path to the entrance of the house. It looked quintessentially southern gentry: he half-expected someone like Mark Twain or Scarlet O'Hare to step out and lecture him on something. All it needed was a hot summer breeze and a horse drawn carriage and it'd be like Gone With The Wind. He chuckled at the thought as he climbed the stairs.

Nobody greeted him as he stood at the entrance. The old wooden house had a new electronic lock installed. He buzzed it again. "Ma'am, special delivery. I'll need you to-"

"-Sign off on it?" The door ahead of him swung open. He looked down and saw a head full of frazzled red hair on top of a modest coat and a scarf. A cute little button nose framed on a heart shaped face looked up at him. She looked barely a day over twenty five, yet she had pursed lips and tired eyes. A little too young to be his client's cohort, a family member, maybe? "From Auntie? Oh, please come in. It's cold out there. My mother will be down shortly."

"Thank you." He picked up the case and brought it inside. The young lady stepped aside. The interior of the home had plain decorations: a vase here, a landscape here. It looked plain. He spotted incense burning on a mantle, it gave the air a cinnamon twist. Little baubles and trinkets adorned shelves, but few photos. Of the ones he could see, they were of foreign lands. "Are you uh, Miss Arisaka?"

"Sorry, I’m her daughter." She bowed her head. “I must be going now, sorry."

She sounded familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd heard it from. She left too quickly for him to ask. He heard a skimmer whirring to a start and looked through the window. There, he saw an older model take off from its dock. It left him to wait in silence while the woman of the house prepared to meet him.

"You're here early." He heard an older woman say, from upstairs. He watched silently as the matron of the house descended. She looked much the same as the younger lady he saw walk out, just carrying herself in a more dignified manner. As she closed in, he noted she had crow's feet around her eyes and thin, worn lips. She bowed politely, Buck returned it with a nod. Etiquette, etiquette, etiquette, always had to mind that with the Japanese clients. She locked her green eyes on him as she spoke. "You must be the delivery man Sakuya was telling me about"

"Yes ma’am." Bobby pursed his lips and presented the case. “Miss Watanabe asked for a face to face delivery to ensure you received this package at your earliest convenience."

"Of course. You can set that down over here." She led him to a living room. The outside may have screamed plantation house, but the inside had mid-century modern aesthetics. Smooth lines on the furniture, shiny hardwood floors and bright, warm lights. It struck him as terribly out of place. Incongruous, even. The open layout let him see into a living room, a parlor and the kitchen all at once. "I'm sure she did. That old girl never changes. Would you like some tea, young man?"

"No, sorry." He pulled his phone from his pocket, snapping a stylus out of it. After a few clicks he opened up a delivery invoice. "I'll just need you to sign here, Miss-"

"Mizumi Arisaka." She took his phone from him and put down her electronic signature. She handed it back. "Sakuya told me about you. You're quite the character."

He blinked. "I don't think of myself as one. I'm just a deliveryman for, Miss."

Mizumi smirked and returned his phone. He stuck the stylus back in. "Oh Sakuya, she’s hiring Americans now? You must be good at your job."

The man wasn't here for idle conversation. There were a few other preparations he had to make for other jobs. Certain deadlines needed to be met. Staying here too long would push those back a little too far for his liking. "I’m glad my reputation precedes me."

"Indeed." She crossed her arms. On the other wall there was a Fox news broadcast. He looked over her head: it was drone footage of the Autocab crash from last night. It looked like a rerun. Mizumi followed his gaze and sighed when she saw the news. "It’s terrible, you’d think those automatic cars would make things safer."

"You would think, woudn’t ya?" A stony-faced talking head came onto the broadcast. He couldn't make out what he was saying from this far away. A list of names, D’Angelo, Carver, Ivanov, then it faded away to pictures of faces and graves. "I wouldn't trust my life with one of those things. I drive myself everywhere."

"I don’t trust those things either. Kei, my daughter, she lost one of her associates to an autocab accident." Mizumi spat the words out. "It's a shame what it is, she was working on an important project with him. The funeral is later today, up in Atlanta."

He took a deep breath. "My condolences, ma'am."

“I’m not the one that needs to hear it.” Mizumi sighed, then began her inspection of the case. Bobby stood there as she poured over the vocal lock. He couldn’t have been more of a fly on the wall if he tried. It reminded him of a sommelier or jeweler peering over a fine piece of work.

Eventually she stopped, satisfied with her inspection. She spoke in her mother tongue. The vocal lock clicked open, then swung out. The woman laughed. Bobby figured it as some inside joke between the two women. He nodded as she undid the latches and exposed the sword again. He'd seen it before, but it still caught his eye in the bright light.

The woman stood quietly for a few moments. It left Bobby to stand there while the sound of a heater blowing air through vents filled the room. At last, Mizumi broke the silence by drawing the sword out. It looked much too large for her hands, yet she maneuvered it elegantly. She had probably been trained, Bobby thought, if she could handle it that well. "It's so nice to see it again."

"I'm sure you're happy to have it."

"It used to be my husband's." Mizumi spoke under her breath, drawing the katana from its sheath to inspect the blade. He saw the flowering inscription on it again, just as beautiful this time as the last. She spoke a word in her mother tongue that Bobby couldn’t understand. "You know what they called this weapon? The ‘Stone-Cutter.’ Goodness, it’s as beautiful as the day I entrusted it to Sakuya."

"It must have an interesting history." Bobby eyed the sword again. The chips on the blade spoke to its usage. He thought up a price tag: it ended in five zeroes. More than he made in a month. “I take it your husband enjoyed these kinds of things. What do you call that kind of sword, that one, it’s a katana, right?”

Mizumi laughed. "You’re close! It’s a tachi, it’s a different kind of sword. He was quite the swordsman, yes. You could say he was an enthusiast of sorts."

"Well, that’s very interesting, ma’am." The thought of some Japanese man- maybe an office worker, or some corporate executive, having a sword. Using it as anything other than office decoration, the thought brought him a little mirth. He imagined salarymen trying to cut each other down. He couldn’t help himself but chuckle. "If that's all, ma'am, I have to get going.” He withdrew a business card he kept in his pocket, the simple logo of a blackbird shining on it. “But you can contact me, here, if you need something delivered. I'm sure Miss Watanabe let you know about things I can help out with. Parcel deliveries, things like that, the moving of information.”

"Oh, a blackbird?" That seemed to spark something in her eyes that Bobby couldn't quite place. Recognition, perhaps. She took his card, examined it, and then placed it on the table. “That's funny."

"Well, what’s funny about it?"

“It’s a certain resemblance. You just reminded me of someone.”

“What, ya think I look like Johnny Cash?” He quirked an eyebrow. “I get that a lot.”

Mizumi set aside the sword, then she reached into a small antique desk. From it she pulled a thin plastic credit chit. Bobby looked to it with a raised eyebrow. It looked brand new, straight from a bank. He spied the artistic swooping lines of the Japanese language on its surface. "You're based in Atlanta, yes? Could you look into something for me when you go back up? I have a donation I'd like to give, but I'd rather it be made in someone else's name."

Bobby hummed. "Oh, that can be arranged, for a small fee."

"Good. I have a little bit of money that needs to go to the Sun Lee Foundation, for the victims of those car crashes. They have a class-action suit going forward against some of these cab programmers, and-" Mizumi turned her head "-they need a few more funds."

"Oh, I see, I see. Well, I'll see what I can do for you. I just need a few more details..."