Undisclosed Location, Somewhere in Osaka, 08 Jan 20XX
Somewhere, the cherry of a cigarette briefly flared in dingy darkness before being ashed, dropped and squashed under a leather boot. Unsteady feet tramp across a cheap linoleum floor, following a path beaten many times by many folks long before. The room these feet are in is empty, dark, save for a single bare lightbulb and a single steel folding chair, handcuffed to which is a single unfortunate man. The boots tramp across the corona of the bare bulb's light, a pale track of blood left behind as the body attached to the legs is carried slowly into the light. Skeletal is the best word to describe its build, dead its complexion, enraged its stance. It turns, pointed, scuffed boots now locked towards the figure stretched limp in the chair, occasionally moaning or whimpering or making sounds of protest. A hand shoots from the darkness; too-large knuckles on a too-large hand attached to a too-skinny arm. It catches the chair-bound figure square in the nose, followed shortly after by a hooked cross, then another jab to the face.
A voice issued from the darkness somewhere. "You gonna fuckin' talk or what?" The voice was replied to not with defiance but with more strained groaning. Another punch to the head. "Well?" Nothing. The body stepped fully into the light now, its corpse-like pallor fully exposed. Blonde hair was spiked wildly in defiance of the heavens, except for a long, raised ridge of scar tissue along the top left side of his head. Aviator shades were low on the bridge of his nose, revealing bloodshot eyes and thick bags beneath. Jaundiced skin about the neck was graced with faded and scarred tattoos of the Kyubei-kai, over which was a white silk shirt, stained with blood. His black pants and boots were likewise stained, his fists bruised and red. His mouth was screwed down in a grimace of rage, a fresh, unlit cigarette dangling from the right corner of his mouth. Despite this, he sounded almost jovial as he lowered one emaciated hand below the victim's jawline and lifted his head to look him in the eyes.
"Strong, silent type, eh? Well, lemme let you in on a little secret, sugartits," the man grunted, releasing the head and letting it loll off to one side. "I'mma tell you right now, I only get called in when there's a problem needs to be dealt with in a significantly magnificent fashion. And you Wild Dogs, well -" he shrugged - "'s pretty easy to see that Terajima an' Kyubei-kai ain't the fuckin' problem here." He turned around. "So whilst my bosses are working on that problem, I've gotta work on it, too. And if I can get rid of a few loose ends 'long the way, well then, fuck, I ain't gonna complain - makes me look fuckin' great to ground control." He chuckled. Then he turned, unleashed a spinning backfist on the man painful enough to knock teeth loose.
"So, I'mma ask you one more time, real nice like." He took control of the head by the chin again. One hand went to his middle-back, gripping something stuffed into the waist of his suit pants. "You know where Sawada Noboyuki is. I'm after him. You're gonna fuckin' tell me where that rat bastard is hiding, and then I'm going to kill you." He laughed once, softly, raised a match to his cigarette, lit it, took a few puffs, blew the smoke in the man's face. There was coughing. Good. "Trust me, might seem unfair to you, hondai, but I'm doin' you a tender mercy compared to what your bosses woulda done had I let you go. So talk. And make your words count, I ain't giving you too many." Before the last part of that sentence, he had drawn a Mauser from the waist of his pants and cradled it beneath the gangster's chin, pulling back the hammer for effect. It was a semi-automatic, but the man just liked the sound the hammer made. Clik-clik. Ready to go.
"Somewhere in this town, man, I really don't know exactly..." The voice trailed off for a second. The man with the gun squinted, stood up, took aim. The man in the chair looked up one time, eyes gleaming with tears despite being nearly swollen shut. "Who the hell are you?"
The man scowled even further. "Hojo Kaito." he said simply. "And I'm the motherfuckin' dog-catcher."
The pistol spoke once, then all was still.
{~}
Hojo stepped across the threshold of a warehouse several blocks from the procession and hotfooted it over to where the parade would be. Terajima-gumi would be there, and as much as he hated the old man and his pet Queller-bitch, Kaito was always a fan of a parade. Along the way, he stowed his Mauser back in his waistband and threw his black blazer on again. He continued frowning. Sawada could be anywhere in Osaka and yes, Kaito had grown up in the city, but there were many places to hide; many, many more than one man could know.
"Fuck me sideways, I've got my work cut out for me." Kaito sighed, fusing with the throng on the sidewalk, waiting for the procession, watching silently, one bloodshot pair of eyes amongst many.