The good of the wolf isn’t the good of the sheep

I wake up to a ceiling full of stars.

At first, I’m worried. With how slow my senses return, as if I’m thawing from a millennium of cryosleep, I’m led to believe I’m suffering from a chronic form of concussion. But after the world finally comes back into focus, I’m glad to say I have some good news – and some bad news. Because on the one hand it’s cool to stare at the night sky through a rooflight, but terrifying on the other, since my house doesn’t have one of those.

Years of anti-kidnapping training kick into gear right away. I shut my eyes tight, slow and steady my breathing as if I’m still fainted, then do a blind sitrep.

These amateurs haven’t bound my arms and legs, and I’m lying on a… velvet sofa. Odd, but fuck it, we ball. Not weirder than stationing no less than three people in a small, dim room. One’s tapping their foot behind me, by a draughty door that seems like the only viable egress. Another’s far in the back, making some slurping noises are just fat lips nursing an empty bottle.

And the last one is leaning over me, hot breath blasting me right in the face. A disappointed sigh.

“You know people don’t blink when they’re asleep, right?” Hinata says.

Well, shit.

I snap at attention, almost headbutting Hinata as she retreats with a startled yelp. Not wasting the element of surprise, I hurl myself over the backrest and land on my bony ass with a dull thud. The next second, I’m on my feet, but my overly-ambitious escape ends before it even gets to start. The guy from back in the alley coils his arm around my neck, lifting my chin to expose my carotids.

Thin metal streaks through the dark.

“Wait!” I shout. His needle stops against my skin, but doesn’t pierce it yet.

“Why would I?”

“You probably don’t want me to build a tolerance as much as I don’t want an opioid addiction.” I groan, “I’ll be cool.”

“Will you now?”

“Scout’s honour.”

“What?”

I shoot Hinata a pleading glance, desperate for an adaptation, only to find her frowning through me. And it’s only when a malicious chuckle sounds from behind us, and I see her clutching the hem of her skirt, that I realise the gravity of my situation.

Sitting at an old, but well-maintained mahogany desk is an old man built like a teapot, short and stout. Yet despite his age and girth, he looks neither slimy, nor carries himself sloppily. Even in his plain blue samue, there’s a haughty, almost regal air around him, stemming entirely from the prescient glint in his eyes. As blue and piercing as Hinata’s.

“Heh. I see why you wanted me to talk to him,” he tells her, placing a half-full cup on the table. With a quick wave to the big guy, I’m set free, and with another, he beckons me – beckons us closer. Hinata stops before him and I stop right by her side.

She grins uneasily, “So… what do we do with him, dad?”

Her father sizes me up, the joy on his lips turning sardonic, “We kill him, of course.”

Now, here’s the thing. I’ve watched a ton of teen flicks growing up, but I never expected that when I first met a girl’s father, he’d be the shotgun in our wedding. And to make things worse, with Hinata and I nowhere near dating, she can’t use her feelings for me to disarm the very clear and present danger.

So, I’m a little worried. Hell, I’m actually waiting for my lower half to unfreeze so I can properly shit myself, if I haven’t already. But, seeing how I’m not dead just yet, and how Hinata’s squaring her shoulders and straightening her pout – well, hope’s not all gone.

Then she opens her mouth and all that comes out is a loose stutter.

“What?” her dad gently scolds her. “You’re the one who wanted him to shut him up. Can’t see a better way than this.”

“I know, b-but…”

“C’mon now. What did you think I was gonna suggest?”

Hinata gulps. I watch her fidgeting harder than a child waiting for their mum at the grocery store checkout, all the while queuing up right behind her. See, all the training drills in the world won’t prepare you for the moment when your life is hanging by a thread for real. Doubly so when the person who’s got you in that mess is probably the only one who can get you out. Triply so when they have no clue how to do that.

Which kinda sucks because I never thought she of all people could ever be at a loss for words, especially when witty comebacks were as natural to her as squishing kittens. But you know what? Whether her personality is more elastic than a scrunchie or she’s got a case of DID that the DSM should really look into, I’m sure that moxie is buried somewhere deep within her. And I know my vibe can make it come to light. Now if only I knew what that was…

Someone who’d jump after me, she said and that doesn’t help at all. Because I don’t know why I did that – it was an impulse. The desire to prolong our time together coalescing with my father’s bullshit ethic imperatives resulted in me taking a literal leap of faith. And she appreciated it, I guess. Appreciated I was crazy enough to try and save her from her own harebrained decision-making.

Which is exactly what she needs right now.

“Sir?” I ask, barely settling my clattering teeth. “May I speak?”

Hinata’s eyes fly wide, awestruck. Her father’s narrow, intrigued.

“You may,” he replies with a cunning smile.

“Thank you,” I bow, clearing my throat, pushing back the nausea. “I believe, sir, that there might be even better ways to keep me quiet.”

“Better for who? You? Maybe. But the good of the wolf is not the good of the sheep.”

“Still, ponder this. Killing is efficacious, no doubt, but is it effective?”

“Haven’t seen many corpses talking.”

My voice cracks, “Efficient, sir. I meant efficient.”

“Same answer then. One stab in the chest becomes one body bag in the river. Quick and easy. Ain’t that right, Kisaki?” he checks with the goon in the back. Kisaki nods. “There, he gave his seal of approval. Are we done now?”

“No, sir,” I whimper, fully aware of the contrary. Not that it matters much, honestly. He can stare at me like I’m a schizophrenic jester all he wants. I’m still gonna filibuster until my theory about his daughter gets proven right.

“Then?”

Please don’t prove me wrong.

“Erm… what a-about…”

Please tell me I was right to trust you

“What about?”

Please, please, please say something, anything to help me, please –

“What about the cops?” Hinata asks, voice cutting, but not fully calm. I peek at her and our gazes meet in the middle, her dauntless smile enough to stop me from spiralling. While her father’s half-hearted scoff makes me wonder if, somehow, he and I have been waiting for the same thing all along.

“You think they’ll care?” he carefully prods. “Boy looks fresh off the boat. They’ll struggle to even get his name down. Who would even miss him?

“I have a family,” I point out.

“And do they speak Japanese?” Hinata asks, all but elbowing me in the side.

“As well and clear as I do.”

Her father purses his lips, clicks his teeth, snickers. We made a good point and he doesn’t seem annoyed. If anything, he’s pleased to see us bounce ideas off one another, building our mettle together.

“Oh well,” he chimes. “Nothing a bribe or two can’t fix.”

“That’s a risk, though, isn’t it?” Hinata counters. “It only takes on whistleblower –”

“Internal Affairs gets involved –” I add.

“– and we’ll be hunted like witches.”

“I can already see the headlines.”

“And the blog posts.”

“The Twitter hashtags.”

“And the school campaigns!”

“School campaigns…” I shiver. “Turn a blind eye for some money –”

“And hell’ll be waiting for you… honey.”

We barely stifle a snort as her father keeps rapping his fingers against his desk, his eyes gleaming amused as ours gleam with mischief. He liked the show, that much is certain, but he’s expecting more from it. He’s not done testing us.

“Well then,” he hums, “what do you suggest?”

Hinata and I turn to one another with the same goofy smile. We’re both a little embarrassed about how out of hands things got, all because of some silly little doubts. Which feel all the stupider, now when we’re so connected, we can almost read each other’s minds.

“Nothing,” Hinata shrugs. “I think we’ve intimidated all the vigilantics out of him. Ain’t that right?”

“Oh, absolutely. Let’s just say you wouldn’t wanna be wearing my trousers right now.”

“Or shirt.”

“Or shoes.”

“Or hair.”

“Hair?”

“Toupee.”

“Oh? Ooh.”

“Point is, I think we can trust him. Don’t you think so too, dear father?”

He laughs, an honest hearty laugh that Hinata and I both take as a good sign. Reaching under his desk, he retrieves a bottle of sake and yet another ochoko. “Well, you can take him at his word,” he says, filling both cups to the brim, “but I don’t trust anyone who hasn’t signed a contract.”

A deep silence falls between us, broken by the scraping of ceramic against wood, Hinata’s dad slowly sliding a cup towards me.

“Dad, you don’t mean –”

“What’s your name, son?” he asks, not aggressive, but demanding all the same.

“L-Luca… sir.”

He smirks, staring at me with a paternal sense of wonder that I’m ashamed to say had my heart almost pounding for the wrong reasons.

“I like you, Luca,” he continues. “So have a drink. Relax. You get to see tomorrow.”

Hearing that, I should be jumping out of my skin. I should pick up Hinata in a tight hug and spin her round and round as we relish the sweet fruit of our long and heavily-contested victory. But, peeking at her now, she’s just as reticent as I am.

If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. My father’s favourite adage, followed closely by its cousin, Nothing good comes free. Ringing especially poignant when it comes to mafia bosses and their empty promises. Because with someone like this man, someone who’ll play bad cop and devil’s advocate just for a fun Monday night, someone who wanted to talk to me as much as his daughter did – there’s no way this deal has no strings attached to it.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, shrinking into my shoulders.