Chapter 12 - A 'Friendly' Brawl Between Nagoya and Osaka.

Nik slipped out of his quiet apartment, mask already on, and casually walked down the stairs to an awaiting car. Musashi and Ryuji both leaned up against the expensive, luxury car.
 
“Sleep well? The girls told me you were insatiable on set. You’re getting your groove back,” Musashi joked, pointing to the passenger seat.
 
“He fucked half-a-dozen girls in a single helping. He should be full enough for a while,” Ryuji commented.
 
“I only do what you tell me to do, Ryuji. Six or one makes no difference to me,” Nik snapped back.
 
“So this is what it is like to have bickering brothers. Save your energy for the brawl tonight. I want us to put in a good showing. We need to show the city slickers we’re not a bunch of dumb hicks,” Musashi told them, getting into the driver’s seat.
 
Nik and Ryuji got in the car and Musashi immediately drove the trio towards the hot spot.
 
“So how does this all work? You told me a little about it before but I still don’t get it fully,” Nik asked.
 
“Bragging rights, gaijin, this is all about bragging rights. This car you’re sitting in, we won a few brawls ago,” Ryuji informed him.
 
“Really? How’d you win it?”
 
“We won the game,” Musashi answered. “Start taking notes, Nik, but the rules are simple. We’re driving to a hot spot, a designated area of the city we bring a car. There are 6 hot spots, 3 for us and 3 for the out of towners. The rules are simple, whichever organization manages to hijack the rival’s 3 cars first, and brings them to a neutral location within a time limit, wins. No blades, blunts or guns, only fists like real men.”
 
“So how do we find the hot spots?”
 
“All the sides know the spots. Once the clock strikes 2am, the games begin. Less civilians in the way so the cops look the other way. Besides, secretly they want us to beat the shit out of each other.”
 
“It is different than the brawl you told me about before.”
 
“Yeah, that got cancelled. Shit happens, so we’re doing another car chase earlier than intended. All you have to do is stop anyone from stealing this car of mine. I know the head of one of those Osaka clans wants his car back.”
 
“One of our men managed to snag this beauty. Win or lose the overall, the cars are kept by the clan who snags them,” Ryuji interrupted.
 
“Most clans the boss takes the car outright but I find it helps morale, and incentivises my boys for an inspired showing if there is a reward at the end of the rainbow,” Musashi added.
 
“What did that guy get?” Nik asked.
 
“Money or whores, Ryuji, I forget?”
 
“Whores, he was the guy who tanked a debut.”
 
“Oh, right, yeah, he wanted to get his rocks off so we put him in his own film. He agreed. On camera, off camera, he did not care as long as he got with a girl. I don’t think he was very lucky in that department.”
 
“How did he do?” Nik inquired.
 
“I bust your balls all the time, gaijin, but I’m more than happy to have you star for us any day of the week compared to him. Blew his load five seconds into the scene. The next day did not go any better. Suffice it to say, that video never got published.”
 
“You’re going to protect my baby here, aren’t you, Nik?” Musashi chuckled.
 
The car sped through the city’s near-empty streets. Stars brightened the dark sky, and a full moon shone down on the earth below, creating lots of natural illumination to light up the spectacle.
 
“I’ll do my best,” Nik hesitantly replied. “Barbaydas showed me a few new moves but I’m still not a fighter.”
 
“Have faith. Where is the knight in shining armor that saved my sister at the expense of his own life?”
 
“Maybe if your car was a girl, kyodai,” Ryuji laughed.
 
“I’m not allowed to fight, and Ryuji is a cripple. Who else can I trust to protect a simple car?” Musashi joked. “I know, you need more inspiration. Save it and you own it. Ryuji has been bitching all this time about playing chaperone to you. Now you can come and go to work without the handholding.”
 
“It is a nice car,” Nik stammered out.
 
Shocked, he looked around the detailed interior of the car. It cost more than his apartment. The leather seating alone felt better than the floor mat he called a bed.
 
“How could I afford the insurance? Not to sound ungrateful but you don’t pay me,” Nik questioned Musashi.
 
“Sure I do, we’ve got a back account setup with your name on it.”
 
“Here, gaijin,” Ryuji interrupted, tossing a bank book and card on Nik’s lap. “I’ll take my licks later. I wanted to make sure you were blooded.”
 
“Mystery solved. No wonder your apartment felt void and empty, you must have been living off those paltry ESL savings. Get a good meal after tonight. Take out one of the girls from the studio. What’s her name is totally smitten with you.”
 
“Madonna,” Ryuji added.
 
“That is actually her name?” Musashi asked, muddled and looking at Ryuji in the rear view mirror.
 
The number two simply nodded.
 
“Not the most creative name but take her out, buy her some jewellery and I guarantee she’ll love you long time tonight. You’re going to need a nurse after the beating.”
 
Talk of a beating snapped Nik back to the reality of the current situation. The last time he fought, seriously fought, was when he saved Kaze’s life in the club’s alleyway. He did not know how he’d match up against seasoned yakuza in a spirited engagement. No delusion masked Nik’s view of his training with Barbaydas. The grizzled mercenary took it easy, no doubt because of Nik’s golden boy status as Musashi’s friend.
 
“So no blades, blunts or guns. What is stopping someone from just breaking open another’s skull with their fist?” Nik asked.
 
“Gentlemen’s agreement. If they cannot get back on their feet, they are out. Once they get up, open season. So stay down if you cannot handle the heat,” Ryuji educated Nik.
 
“Like I told you before, this is just for bragging rights. If some fucking idiot showed up with a knife and sliced people up, it’d be an invitation to war and the clan’s honor would be mud. What was it, 2005?”
 
“2002.”
 
“Right, Ryuji, 2002, some loon decided he wanted to pipe someone’s face during a brawl. What began as a simple, friendly competition between two cities with no conflicting business interests, turned into a two-month bloody war. It only ended when the leader of the offending clan managed to find his chicken shit runaway and serve the man’s head up on a golden platter, a literal golden platter.”
 
“5 million dollars.”
 
“That is a lot of gold, and a lot of wasted time, effort and money over someone breaking the rules. Don’t think the guy had a clean death either.”
 
“The point is, gaijin, its bare knuckles like in the movies. Watch your back, look out for your teammates, and you’ll come out of it with a better understanding of street fighting.”
 
“Enough of this bloodsport talk. We’ve got a couple hours before the meet and I’m getting thirsty. I want to hear about this seven-way that’ll be a best seller, and do not skimp on the details,” Musashi laughed, turning the car into one of his clubs.
 
X
 
Nik leaned up against the smooth exterior of the luxury car. In five minutes the hot spot would begin. Inside, he felt fear and trepidation, trying to keep an outward calm. The mask he wore hid any outward side of cowardice but he feared it would still show through.
 
“The boss told us we’d get a huge bonus if we keep those Osaka fuckers from laying a hand on his car,” one of the young yakuza spoke out.
 
His youthful bravado happily displayed itself, as the young man looked no older than twenty, regardless of those age defying Asian genes.
 
“Osaka to the west and Tokyo to the east, the capital should be here. We are the center of the entire country,” an older yakuza commented. “We never get any recognition because of them.”
 
“Hey, new guy, what is your story anyways? You the boss’ new cocksucker?” a third yakuza asked.
 
“Shut up, do you know what’ll happen if Yamato-sama hears you speak like that?” the older yakuza interrupted.
 
“What? He going to rat us out to the boss? I doubt he will unless he actually smokes his pole.”
 
“Ignore him, Denzel-san, he is a petulant child who does not yet know his place. I’m Daisuke, I’ve served the clan for almost two decades,” the older yakuza introduced himself.
 
“How do you know his name? I never heard him introduce himself,” the petulant yakuza continued.
 
“Unlike you, I’ve learned to shut-up and listen when my superiors are speaking during meetings. If you showed up to the meeting a few weeks ago, you’d have known about Denzel-san.”
 
Musashi gave Nik a fake English name before he got out of the hospital. He wanted to hide him as much as possible before the cat eventually got out of the bag. Every day that went by under the illusion meant another day that Ueno would not know the truth of the situation. Musashi held no delusions that Nik could stay hidden forever. They did not try to hide Nik’s race during filming so they hoped the fake name would make others think Musashi hired some gaijin from overseas.
 
“If you’re interested in pole smoking, I’m sure you can use your connections to find some whore on the street. I hear the pros like the change of pace being the ones getting sucked,” Nik shot back at the young yakuza.
 
Immediately, the man went red and stomped off in a huff. He did not expect the masked, new guy to put up a verbal fight.
 
“Young yakuza today have no respect built into their DNA. It needs to be beaten into them like taming a wild dog,” Daisuke commented. “He’ll learn or he’ll end up chalk on the street.”
 
“Two decades is a long time, Daisuke. What got you to join up with the Yamatos?”
 
“The economy went to shit when I got out of college. The bubble burst and no legitimate company had room for rookies fresh out of school. I needed the money to support my folks, and the rest is history.”
 
“No offence, but being a street level yakuza for two decades, I don’t see any missing fingers.”
 
“Hah,” Daisuke laughed. “My bills get paid and I do not get a target on my head for assassinations. No one cares about someone my age unless they are high up in the organization. I run an establishment for Yamato-sama. It keeps me safe and happy. I just have to come to these events to show the flag and I am left alone as long as the books are in the green.”
 
Nik crossed his arms over his imposing chest as he kept leaning against the car.
 
“So when do these Osaka guys show up?”
 
“Who knows,” Daisuke replied. “One time no one showed up. One of the other hot spots held strong and needed all the backup it could get. We were just sitting here looking pretty.”
 
“Only once? What was the quickest?”
 
Daisuke pointed to the approaching train of cars.
 
“Now.”
 
Musashi’s car rested in the center of a park. While it was one of the biggest parks in the city, and active during the sunlight hours, under the bright moonlight only ghosts and the devil raised up. Nik had a couple dozen men at this location, all various sizes, ages, and athletic abilities. Musashi dropped him off personally before walking off with Ryuji. No words needed to be said to those smart enough to understand the situation. Daisuke and the experienced yakuza knew who commanded the hot spot.
 
The appearance of both the head and deputy head of the clan put a special shine on Nik. Much like in the military, police, or other rank-based organizations, not just anyone can walk around with the top brass. To show up with the top two and be seen casually shooting the breeze before a slap on the shoulder meant a golden boy had been created.
 
The cars stopped, forming half a ring surrounding the Yamato clan associates. One by one, doors opened up and various gangsters hopped out. Much like Nik’s team, the Osaka yakuza were a mixture of young and old, thin and fat, tall and short, a hodgepodge of humanity.
 
“There is the car. This’ll be easy,” one fat thug commented.
 
“Who is the fuck wearing the mask. They hire some wannabe lucha wrestler?” another asked, pointing at Nik.
 
“Who cares? Beat them up and grab the car,” Fatty replied.
 
The more experienced Yamato members began to form a defensive perimeter around the car, waiting for instructions and for the first Osaka goon to jump at them.
 
“Any words of advice, Daisuke?” Nik asked.
 
“Just hold fast, Denzel. You’re the biggest guy here. Protect the doors. I’ll take charge of the front.”
 
Daisuke spoke confidently, and stood there confidently. Despite his older age, pushing past forty, Nik noticed an extra level of pep in the man’s voice. Daisuke tapped a few boys on the shoulders and walked forward, acting as the center point of the formation.
 
“Hey, Osaka fucks, go back to Kansai and jump in the river,” Daisuke insulted them. “We’ve whipped you the last two fights. Go take a swing at the losers over in Kyushu and level up before challenging the top city.”
 
“Get a load of the geezer here, guys, he thinks this backward city is the best in the country?” Fatty shouted to his crew.
 
The man stood around six feet but was fat, otaku fat. If not for his fancy suit, he would easily be mistaken for one on the streets of Akihabara.
 
“This isn’t the 1570s. You haven’t been relevant for four hundred years. You’re a bunch of fools to think you’re anything more than jumped up peasants,” Fatty continued.
 
“Cute comment,” Nik replied without thinking.
 
“Huh, you say something weirdo?” Slim asked, Fatty’s thin sidekick.
 
The skinny guy looked like he ate only a bowl of rice a day, and a soft wind could blow him over. He wore a track suit, contrasting fashion styles with Fatty.
 
“I said cute comment, but if you know your history, who were the real fools?”
 
“That a Sapporo accent I hear? Are you Aichi fucks so desperate you need to import snowmen from other backwater wastelands?” Slim taunted.
 
“Enough yakking, I’m getting hungry and want my victory meal. It’ll taste good eating it in a clan leader’s private ride,” Fatty stated, snapping his fingers.
 
Nik and the Yamato clan were outnumbered. He did not know the grand battle plan that Musashi cooked up, or if the Osaka clans wanted to target this car specifically. All he could do was survive and hope his team had the skills to beat up superior numbers.
 
The Osaka gangsters gave out a primal yell, psyching themselves up before rushing forward against the defensive position. Nik and a few guys stood back directly next to the car, acting as the final line of defence. Daisuke led the rest of the men, forming a half-circle in front of the car.
 
Bodies crashed into one another, as if it were a cavalry charge running into a wall of pikemen. Fists, kicks, arms, all swung out to beat on flesh and bone in the grand melee. Nik watched on, soaking in as much knowledge of the battle as he could, as well as trying not to piss his pants in fear and trepidation. Any other time he fought, rage evaporated all fear. When Anri was harassed by the punk in the park, rage turned him into a monster. When the low-level gangster talked crap about her at the dojo, rage again melted all fears and doubts. Here, in this prize fight, the rage valve remained sealed.
 
Daisuke looked at home on the front lines, dishing and tanking damage like a natural. For every punch to the face, he delivered twice the pain in return. All the men stood their ground against the superior numbers, but even to Nik’s untrained eye, it appeared the Yamato forces had the experience and talent advantage. The men filled in the gaps seamlessly. When one soldier hit the dirt, another pivoted to fill the opening and keep the line stable.
 
Nik did not need to give any orders, not that he believed anyone would listen to him. Even though he had Musashi’s grace, the men knew the real power lay with Daisuke. When a hole opened up too wide, one of the reserves stationed with Nik rushed forward and filled it. The men on the ground scrambled and crawled back to car for a breather before filling in another gap or bolstering the flanks. They tried to keep the formation as tight as possible to not allow giant holes in the line.
 
Some of the men had martial arts experience, using judo, taekwondo, karate, among other styles to fight off the enemy. Others, however, were as fresh as lettuce, cracking and crumpling from the simplest of strikes as if they were looking for an excuse to tap out quickly. Nik looked at one man who took a glancing blow and fell like a sack of bricks. The fist only struck shoulder muscle, making it clear the guy wanted out. Not every man had the foundation to be a fighter.
 
Each blow Daisuke took, he returned double. Taking a kick to the gut knocked the wind out of his stomach, but falling to his knees allowed a change of vantage point. His knuckles dug deep into the attacker’s gut too. This time, the attacker fell onto the ground clutching his stomach in extreme pain, and hacking up blood onto the dirt.
 
They were all fighting in a giant field in the middle of the park. The wind blew slightly as the stars and moon shone brightly above. A few lamps helped illuminate the battleground.
 
“These Osaka cunts are weak. Keep up the pressure, guys!” Daisuke yelled out, rallying the troops.
 
“You look like you shit your pants,” one bleeding yakuza said to Nik, breathing heavily, hunched over. “First fight?”
 
“Yeah…” Nik admitted.
 
“Unlucky, pal. Thanks for deflecting all the blame if we lose. No way Yamato-sama will chop fingers off his golden boy,” the yakuza continued to joke. “Do not worry, pal, we’re holding strong. That fat fuck can’t lead an otaku jerk-off session at a hentai convention. His men will tire out soon and we can go get hammered at Daisuke’s club.”
 
Just as the random Yamato solider finished his sentence, a fresh hole broke open in the front line. The ‘fat fuck’ had speared through like a raging bull.
 
“Hey, masked man, how about you and me put on a show, or are those muscles for show. You’re not one of those ‘macho’ gym rats, lathering up another man’s muscles in exchange for your own rub down, are you?”
 
The Yamato soldier ran forward, launching himself to land a flying double axe-handle smash on Fatty. The large enemy caught him in a bear hug, however, squeezing the life out of the petulant soldier. The man’s body collapsed on the ground in a heap, alive but gasping for air from crushed ribs.
 
“You and me, Lucha.”
 
Nik squared up, trying to remember instinctively what Barbaydas had taught him. He stayed light on the tips of his toes, knees bent, as if in a Jet Li movie. Nik lifted heavy in the gym all the time but the amount of weight this guy carried looked like it would push his physical capabilities.
 
“No witty comeback, Lucha? You’re no fun. You Aichi fucks are always no fun to crush. At least beg for mercy, something.”
 
Nik ignored him, not taking the bait. He hoped silence would bait out an irrational, sloppy attack and give any opening for first blood. The bluff worked, hearing Fatty huff and puff as he charged up, ready to strike. Even though Nik knew an attack was coming, the speed took him by surprise. A stiff shoulder rammed Nik into the back door of the car, putting a gaijin sized dent into it. Fatty stood above Nik, gloating at the easy victory.
 
“Wow, you are pathetic, Lucha. One shoulder block and you’re out like a light. Get up, I’ll give you a free shot. I’m in a generous mood. Your crew is easy pickings,” Fatty continued gloating.
 
Nik struggled to his feet, sucking in air as he tried to replace all the oxygen that emptied deflated lungs. He glanced behind Fatty, seeing only a few Yamato soldiers fighting on bravely. Experience and grit helped stem the tide but numbers were winning the war.
 
“Come on, right here, one freebie before I smash your skull into the door and leave a fresh imprint to show off to the boss.”
 
Fatty tapped his chin. Nik took the invitation and slugged him on the spot. Fatty dodged and countered, hitting Nik with an uppercut, sending him flying back into the car. Quickly following up, kicks flew towards Nik, striking the sides as he tried to dodge and block the blows. One kick missed and added another dent to the doorframe. Backing up with a laugh, Fatty snorted at the sight of the big man poorly defending himself.
 
“Right here, the same spot you missed, I’ll get your slut girlfriend to lick me later when she learns I put the boots to her sissy boyfriend,” the Osaka gangster taunted.
 
Immediately Nik’s eyes glazed over in anger. The comment instantly triggered the demon inside him. All the memories flooded his mind’s eye, provoking him, taunting him, testing him.
 
SMASH!
 
With a sudden strike he turned and punched through the car window, slicing up his hand. Blood poured from it as he clenched it in front of his enemy. The veins along his fist pulsated, flooding skin with fresh crimson. The dress shirt Nik wore stained red, ruined from the angry blow.
 
“What, you going to go Super Saiyan? Newsflash, you stupid otaku, Goku is fake,” Fatty started laughing.
 
Nik’s muscular chest heaved up and down slowly, sucking in increasing amounts of air as the rage flowed through his veins. His fist turned white under the masking crimson, as he clenched the fist tighter. Finger nails began digging into the skin, piercing flesh. Pain did not register during the rage haze.
 
“Hey Slim, get over here and keep the ‘Saiyan’ company. Daisuke won’t bore me. Oh boys, leave Daisuke for me now,” Fatty ordered, turning his back to Nik. “My boys leave anything fo…OR!”
 
CRASH!
 
The fighting suddenly stopped. No one spoke. Every combatant looked on at the stunning scene in front of their eyes. Fatty weighed close to four hundred pounds of fat. The only muscle he mustered on his frame came about from the body trying to survive lugging around all that weight. Nik had pounced the moment Fatty turned his back, giving him one magical opening. He grasped Fatty by the waist and yelled out in anger, using every ounce of lower body power to German suplex the gigantic man. No technique, all brute strength lifted the girth into the air and slammed it over his head.
 
Fatty lay out on the ground, completely unconscious from the head trauma. Nik crouched down, winded from the exertion. Slim ran at him, coming to the aid of his superior. The thinner gang leader met a powerful clothesline. He flew through the air with a spin, flatlining on the ground face first.
 
Both Osaka leaders were down and out in two moves. Nik turned the tide, giving the Yamato guys renewed vigor and a morale boost to keep fighting. Conversely, the various Osaka members began to shake, not understanding what they just saw. A demon had arisen to smite their leaders. The more experienced yakuza stood their ground, shaken, but continued brawling. The rookies and cowards buckled and ran to their cars, afraid to be the next to eat dirt in the most brutal fashion they had ever seen. 
 
The numbers evened up, and the morale boost gave extra resolve to those on the verge of tapping out. Nik could see it but the rage haze did not allow the approving nod from Daisuke to register. A couple more bold Osaka goons broke through the line to take a swing at Nik. Tanking a punch, Nik followed through by grabbing the man’s face with his hand and then swept a leg. As the man fell flat on the ground, Nik spun around kicking the other man on the thigh. Once dropped to a knee, a follow-up punch finished the job. Four ‘kills’ penned themselves on his first battle log.
 
He stayed next to the car, hopped up on adrenaline. His eyes darted from side to side, ready to pounce on anyone dumb enough to break through the line again. None did, however, as the Osaka goons wavered and broke. A few began dragging away and helped carry their buddies back to the cars. This signalled others to do the same, and one by one the numbers dwindled until those still fighting put up their hands in surrender and backed off as well.
 
Daisuke pointed to a couple of the retreating goons.
 
“Come get your bosses and get out of here. That is one win for us tonight!” he shouted in celebration.
 
Those still standing gave out a shout in unison. The men were bloodied, bruised, cut, and their clothing ripped. Anyone arrogant enough to come wearing a suit regretted it as no one came out of this clean or damage free.
 
Walking up to Nik, Daisuke took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his face.
 
“I think I earned my pay for the month. Not bad for your first rumble, although the rage-out took me by surprise,” Daisuke commented. “For a moment I thought you were a New Japan star, throwing that clothesline.”
 
“Instinct, my arms moved on their own,” Nik replied, feeling the adrenaline escape his system. “Is it over?”
 
“Most likely, depending on how the other fights are going. Maybe these guys will come back for a second round, maybe not. We held the line.”
 
Nik sat down against the car, looking on as the Osaka cars began driving away one by one. He felt tired, ready to pass out from adrenalin leaving his body and blood loss. He only now registered his bleeding fist. While opening his mouth to ask Daisuke a question, he tore a sleeve off to create a make-shift bandage.
 
“What kind of establishment do you run, Daisuke?”
 
“They have me run a club, swanky joint for those of refined tastes. I’m too old to be hanging around the host crowd, and too ugly. Come by sometime and I’ll treat you. I do not think we’d have been able to take down Fatty once he broke through.”
 
“Musashi skipped the intricate details but where is everyone else?” Nik asked.
 
“There are five other hot spots around the city. A lot of the clans are involved. If Yamato-sama chose to not oversee his own car that aggressively, it must mean somewhere else is higher priority or one of the other clans is pulling rank. He cannot fight but he could still direct and coordinate.”
 
Nik nodded, watching Fatty and Slim get into the last car. Fatty still clutched his head, woozy, as he fell into the back seat.
 
“You need a ride back to your bar when this is all done?”
 
“I don’t think Yamato-sama would be happy if someone drove his car. We can wait here until he comes and picks it up,” Daisuke replied.
 
“It is my car now, got it as a reward.”
 
Daisuke took a seat next to Nik, shaking his head.
 
“Rumors are true, you really are the golden boy. What did you do to get Yamato-sama to treat you so good?”
 
“Long story, one I do not want to talk about,” Nik winced, tying the bandage.
 
The white cloth immediately turned red, soaking up all the liquid it could handle.
 
“I get it, everyone has their secrets. Take some strangerly advice from someone who has been in the life as long as me. Don’t flaunt it. Some of these guys can only hope to run a bar or brothel. Most will be stuck pimping and collecting on the streets. The brighter you shine, the easier the target for the knife. Loyalty is cheaper than thirty pieces of silver.”
 
“Musashi has your loyalty?”
 
“I’m too old to turncoat, and like I told you, I have no interest in shining bright. I slit your throat and an inferno illuminates my life, not the sun.”
 
“I’ll come back for the car.”
 
Daisuke laughed at the comment, and the pair looked on and waited to see if Osaka would send anymore soldiers their way.
 
X
 
Musashi and Ryuji arrived sometime later to pick up Nik and the car. They stood there, looking at the huge dents in the side of the expensive vehicle. Musashi could only shake his head in disbelief and amazement at how much damage it endured during the fight.
 
“I hope you know how to drive better than this…”
 
“At least Osaka won’t care about getting the car back,” Ryuji added.