A Night in the Life of a Crazy Yakuza

“A Night in the Life of a Crazy Yakuza”

Kenji sighed in a listless way as he slowly sliced a long strip of skin from the informant’s face, starting right under his left eye and following the hard edge of his skull down to his chin. It was a clean peel despite all the blood. Even. For once Kenji wasn’t impressed with his skill. Under his hands the man quivered but didn’t scream.

Momentarily confused by the silence Kenji opened the man’s mouth and checked to see if he’d cut out his tongue already. That would have been stupid.

Nope. Still there, if slightly worse for the wear. Shock then.

A low hum and Kenji was jerking away, his growing boredom descending on him viciously. This little torture job had stopped being fun when the ugly informant had started squealing. Names. Numbers. Deities. Think of it and the man was willing to talk about it.

Unfortunately Kenji had forgotten what his questions were supposed to be. He’d continued to cut answers out of the man in the hopes of hearing something that jogged his memory but no luck.

He should have written it down. He had kept track of some of the more entertaining spills from the man’s bleeding, running lips but he hated to give that to the boss.

Made him look so damn unprofessional. Which he definitely wasn’t. He was a consummate businessman. Nice suit and everything.

Kenji wiped his best blade on the man’s liberated coat and eyed him thoughtfully.

Ugly fucker couldn’t have gotten any uglier but his missing right ear and portion of nose sure didn’t help. Kenji had planned to take the other ear—for symmetry’s sake—but had lost interest halfway through.

The alternating lines of flesh and blood along weren’t bad though, except for the fact that the man’s whole face was starting to run. Disgusting.

Drip. Drip. All the way down to his severed digits. Now that was traditional. How unlike him.

Kenji heaved another sigh, this one dramatic and regretful.

“Your boss would be very disappointed in you. You have no stamina.” Kenji wriggled a butterfly knife at the man in disapproval. He turned and walked to the door, flinging the knife backwards before showing his hands in his pockets.

Instead of hearing the satisfying squishy noise of a blade entering flesh, he heard a hollow metal clank. He scowled.

What a shitty day.

* * *

“This is a lot of information.” Ryosuke glanced at the scribbled, blood-splattered notes in disbelief.

“I like to be thorough.” Kenji shrugged, his face blank.

“How’d you keep from getting blood on you?”

Kenji stared impassively at the runt, clinging to the boss’s ass as usual, until he scurried away. Then he smiled and yelled after him, “I’m that good!”

“Take the rest of the night off. I’ll get someone else to dump the body.” To his credit, Ryosuke only looked vaguely unsettled.

“I wouldn’t have done it anyway. That’s grunt work. Make him do it.” Kenji nodded to Yuichiro, who’d been silent thus far.

“Fuck you.” The clever retort. God, he hated the unimaginative bastard.

Kenji giggled and licked his lips. “You wish.”

Ryosuke coughed pointedly, casting a worried glance in the seething Yuichiro’s direction.

“Go home, Kenji. Get some sleep.”

“Sure.” Kenji pried his eyes away from the asshole and grinned. “Sleep’s always nice.”

* * *

The apartment was pitch-dark when he got home, just like when he’d left. He suspected that Kazuhito was still under the influence of the powerful painkiller he’d given him. It was likely too strong—he’d never been very good at figuring out appropriate dosages—but he liked Kazuhito sort of wobbly and tired. Was cute. Unlike the gunshot wound in his side. Any lower and it would have been particularly fatal.

Kenji would not have been pleased.

He fixed a large, simple dinner and devoured it in minutes before cleaning up from a hard night’s work. He was good but blood always got somewhere. It was inevitable.

A wide yawn framed his face as he entered the bedroom and he found that he actually did want to go to sleep. It’d been a rough week and today hadn’t been as enjoyable as he’d hoped.

He’d been off his game.

“How’s work?” Kazuhito mumbled into his pillow.

Kenji smiled and jumped onto the bed. “So you are awake!”

“No,” Kazuhito argued and fell stubbornly silent.

“Ah, it was dull. Fucker fell apart under an hour.” Kenji trailed his fingers down the hard length of his partner’s spine, the plain black shirt soft to his touch. He paused just above where he knew the edge of the dressing for the exit wound was.

“You should have been there. It’s more fun that way,” he murmured thoughtfully.

“Next time.” If Kazuhito was being sarcastic, his level tone hid it well.

Kenji beamed at the promise. He considered the hard knob of vertebrae under his fingers and had a brilliant idea.

Cut the next guy open in the back and remove his vertebrae one at a time. Starting at the bottom of course. Kenji would need lots of time, probably a saw, and likely some serious drugs—to keep the man alive—but it would be so wonderfully artistic.

He leaned over, biting close to Kazuhito’s ear. “You help me come up with the best ideas.”

“Mmmm-hmmm. G’to sleep. Please.”

Kenji did bite, gently, and then flopped onto his back, still beaming.

All of a sudden he couldn’t wait to go to work tomorrow!

He was asleep before he could slide his knife under his pillow.