“No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied…Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us…” – The Narrator, HG Wells’ War of the WorldsTable of Contents
By the Rivers of Babylon (this post)
Jordan's Stormy Banks Part II
Dashed Upon the Rocks Part II
The Walls of Jericho
Thy Rod and Thy Staff
Jawbone of an Ass
The Spirit of Man Part II
Chapter One: By the Rivers of Babylon
I’ve been called insane for most of my life. Frankly, I don’t want to see the man who’s sane after doing the shit I’ve done and seen the things I’ve seen. Like that one summer, back when Hisato was around three, and Hisao and I were working in my office one afternoon…
Well, working might be a bit generous. Whether it was the heat wave or an upswing in the economy, I hadn’t had a case in several weeks, so we took advantage of the fact to catch up on some paperwork while I let the news blare on in the background on an old battery powered radio.
Hisao’s described that office more times than I can count, and while he may not have liked the mustard yellow paint scheme, I think it offered a nice contrast to the battered wooden bookshelves and drab green file cabinets crammed along the walls. My dark wooden desk – a family heirloom that can be traced back to the Meiji Period- prominently sat in the middle of the main room, which was at the end of a short hallway that led to the main building, and a small bathroom.
While I sat behind the desk plugging away at my computer, Hisao handled the printed copies, since he obviously was better suited to something you couldn’t enlarge with a keystroke. The air conditioner droned on in the background, fighting desperately to keep the room comfortable, and only barely succeeding. Its cacophony made listening to the radio a chore, but Hisao wanted to hear the news, since it contained a bit he was interested in.
“…following the final review of evidence,” the radio newswoman was stating, “the United Nations Anti-Trust Council found in favor of Sarif Industries, ruling that Otori Group’s plans to build an augment facility in Hawaii-”
“Took ‘em long enough,” Hisao grumbled, “David filed that suit three years ago.”
“-was in violation of the International Anti-Trust Treaty of 2020, currently signed by seventy-three nations, and under consideration in another forty. When asked about the ruling, David Sarif, CEO and founder of Sarif Industries, stated ‘too many people have sacrificed too much to place the world in the hands of a few mega corporations –I’ve seen firsthand how badly that can go wrong, and I wouldn’t wish the results or the pain rebuilding is on anyone. Except maybe Cleveland.’”
“Still not sure it was worth getting shot at so much,” Hisao remarked.
“Occupational hazard,” I declared.
Hisao sighed, “Your idea of occupational hazards needs tweaking. Or you need to update your business plan.”
I shrugged, “These days I spend more time writing than working on cases, anyway.”
“Probably safer that way,” Hisao mused, “if less exciting.”
The radio, which had moved on to the weather –hot, humid, and clear- suddenly blared their breaking news tone, which made my spleen twinge in anticipation.
“A possible gang hideout was brutally assaulted sometime this morning, with several deaths suspected. Details at this time are sketchy, but unconfirmed reports state that at least half a dozen gang members were brutally murdered, their bodies flayed and hung upside-down from the ceiling of their hideout-”
My spleen twinged worse, and I glanced at Hisao, who had shifted to fully face the radio as it continued, “Reports of survivors are also unconfirmed, and at this time the police have not released an official statement. One is expected later in the day, as is possibly more details…”
I tuned out the radio and faced Hisao, “That sounded familiar.”
Hisao nodded, “How’s your spleen?”
I grunted and shifted in my seat to ease the pressure on my left side, “Not good, so either Hisato has colic again…”
“Or something is rotten in Denmark,” Hisao quipped. He stood up and reached for his pocket, “and considering the heat wave, my guess is a Hunter.”
I raised an eyebrow, “Let’s not jump to conclusions. It could just be a gang war, or even a Templar or Illuminati grunt who came out of the woodwork to try and get things rolling again.”
“Fair enough, but I’m not taking any chances,” Hisao stated, “I’m going to talk to Jigoro, you find where that hideout is and sniff around.”
I nodded and started working on my laptop, scouring the internet for information, “When did you become the paranoid one?”
“Somewhere between when I used a chainsword to duel an alien,” he replied, tapping the bracelet of human teeth he tended to wear in the summer –a grizzly trophy from said encounter, “and my youngest daughter having an attention deficit disorder with a penchant for wandering, so better to nip this as fast as we can.”
Seeing Hisao tap the bracelet reminded me of some of the information on the aliens we had perused a few years ago, so I asked, “Even if it is one of them, isn’t Jigoro protected because of you? He has a bracelet, too, after all.”
Hisao shrugged, “Maybe, but he didn’t kill one himself, either. It depends on how ‘honorable’,” Hisao rolled his eyes and made the air quotes, “this particular alien is feeling. We still know next to nothing about them, and I seriously doubt what Fargo shared with us was everything they had. So forgive me for presuming that this one might eventually go looking for Jigoro.”
I sighed and nodded, conceding the point while still trying to find an address. Hisao, meanwhile, did whatever it was he was doing, which turned out to be calling his wife, because when he spoke again it sounded like he was on the phone.
“Hey, Hana? How would you like to take the Harley out to Mr. Hakamichi’s? I need to run something by them that’s work related, and since Hideaki or Shizune should be there… Great, thanks. I’ll be by in a bit –I gotta drop Kenji off for work first. I’ll make sure he calls Miya. Love you, too, and tell Akio I’ll play chess with him when we get back. Yes, even if we get back late; it is summer break. Thanks, see you soon. Bye.”
“Found it,” I declared, “You want me to grab the drawer?”
“Yup,” he said as he shoved his phone into his pocket, “no sense going in unprepared.”
I smirked, “That sounds familiar. You want the Tesla?”
“I’ll take a Tesla, two grenades, the 1911, and the Anaconda,” Hisao rattled off.
I nodded and hefted myself up to pull out the locked desk drawer where I kept the pistols; I kept most of the grenades and rifles in one of the cabinets, under “D” for Dakka. Yes, I used the English alphabet for filing; it made more sense that way.
“You don’t want a Nambu?” I asked.
“I really don’t see that peashooter being much use against a Hunter, but may as well,” Hisao said.
“It’s a good pistol,” I countered as I unlocked the drawer, “I’ll just stick with the Tesla and a couple grenades for now.”
“Good idea,” Hisao declared, “Especially if the cops get nosy… I’ve been hanging out with you for too long.”
I chuckled, “You love it and you know it.”
Hisao shrugged and reached into the drawer for his chosen weapons, taking the aged, black Colt pistol, one of the two black and brass Tesla pistol contraptions, two brass/glass grenades filled with coursing purple energy, one of the shining silver revolvers, and the old, trusty, compact, black type 94 Nambu pistol that I didn’t have stuffed into my jacket –since I tended to wear it when I worked, I considered it part of my work attire more often than not. I debated whether or not to take off the pistol I was wearing, but decided to risk it; it had never been found before, so I wasn’t too worried if it was noticed. Worse came to worse, that’s what the Tesla was for. Once Hisao had grabbed the holsters for the weapons and some grenades, I followed suit for the Tesla, also taking two Tesla grenades just to be safe.
“You think hollow-points would be any good against a Hunter?” I asked, perusing my ammunition collection in the drawer.
“Probably not,” Hisao replied, “although Tungsten might, and I’m sure Matthew’s explosive rounds at point blank would do nicely, especially if you could blow his head off.”
I smirked and nodded, “Blown off head tends to be fatal.”
While I locked the drawer and placed it back in the cabinet, Hisao made sure the weapons were loaded and safe before texting Shizune to let her know he and Hanako were on their way, and just why they were on their way. Once he finished that, we headed to the coat rack to grab our old, worn brown suit jackets and matching fedoras. Despite the heat, it
was important to look the part of the private investigator. Plus we had to conceal all the holsters and bulges, and I had carefully chosen these suits over a decade ago to do that.
“Wrong hat,” I warned Hisao.
Hisao paused and sighed, “Right, Kyoto, top hook. Non-Kyoto, bottom hook. Thanks for that.”
I grinned as I donned my own hat, glancing up at Hisao as I did so, “No problem, man; Hanako would have a heart attack if she saw that bullet hole.”
Hisao glanced at me from under the fedora and grumbled, “Just count yourself lucky the limp wasn’t permanent.”
I rolled my eyes and gestured to the door, “You ready?”
Hisao nodded, “Yeah, let’s go, and hope to the Golden Throne that we’re overreacting.”
I couldn’t help snorting and remarking, “As if we’re ever that lucky.”
+++
Next Chapter
WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE!
Here, at last, is what many of you hoped Episode Seven of H&K: MD would be. Although you probably weren’t expecting Kenji as a POV character (that comes free with a year’s subscription to Crazy Town. Offer void in Florida.)
Now strap in, strap on, and buckle up for the next epic adventure in the crazy lives of Kenji Setou and Hisao Nakai (and sometimes Akira Hashimoto.)
I would also like to take this moment to thank my semi-regular editor and self publishing partner Helbereth, who has been instrumental in my efforts to attempt to amass an army of Orangu Men to conquer northern Canada as part of my dream to become a bear hunter and revitalize the fur industry to allow us to compete with Russia. Also for editing; he’s really good at that.
And yes, this fic takes place around two years after the birthday update. I don’t plan to move the timeline too much, but this meant this mystery occurred three or four years after Mystery Seven (I really need to ask ProfAllister to cajigure my timeline for me, cuz I suck at it), which seemed like a decent interlude.
Anyway, what time is it? Adventure Time! Updating weekly in preparation for a Halloween Finale, so stay tuned!
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