Mizukawa left the car by the roadside. He wouldn’t be coming back for it. The club his informant directed him to was on the southern outskirts of Kinshicho, on the top floor of an eight-story, multi-tenant building, which actually suited the style of the adjacent neighborhood, Sumiyoshi, much better.
Before going in, Mizukawa looked around for any signs of danger but found none. Everything felt just like any other midweek night. There was no particular tension in the air, nor the foreboding heaviness hinting at the cops or yakuza lying in ambush.
“…The hell?”
Everything seemed normal. Too normal. Ijyuuin knew Mizukawa was coming to kill him. He should’ve surrounded himself with as many members of his gang as he could for safety…
Mizukawa called his informant.
“Yeah, he’s still inside,” the informant confirmed. “Just drinking with a woman next to him.”
“Okay, sounds like you’re in the club, too. Just one question.”
“Sure.”
“You sold me out, didn’t you?”
“………Ijyuuin’s here. I’m not lying, dude. Watch your back, yeah?”
The call ended. That weird pause was a dead giveaway that he wasn’t talking freely. That and his insistence that he was telling the truth. The man was clearly being threatened, used to lure Mizukawa into the club. He managed to get that across despite being watched. For that, Mizukawa was thankful.
“Let’s do this.”
Mizukawa got the AK out of the travel bag, which he discarded on the street. There was still some loose ammo inside, but he reckoned that the seven magazines inside the shoulder bag—two hundred and ten rounds in total—would be enough.
He took a magazine out of the shoulder bag, inserted it into the AK, then racked the charging handle, loading the first round into the chamber.
“This is for you, brother.”
The elevator could have easily been a trap, so he opted for the emergency staircase instead. He was wary of getting attacked from above, but there didn’t seem to be anyone waiting to ambush him. He was making his way up at a steady pace.
Mizukawa knew he was being lured in. He could feel it with every cell of his body. But he didn’t have a plan B, and he doubted he could come up with a smarter plan anyway. He lacked the brains, so his only option was to accept the risk and charge right into the trap with his gun at the ready. He’d made up his mind, and that was that.
At the top floor, he turned the doorknob with his left hand, holding the AK in the right. The door wasn’t locked. He let it swing open. The interior was quite dark. Tranquil music played, and the air smelled of some expensive fragrance.
Mizukawa stepped inside. He kept walking farther in, ready to shoot at any moment, the stock of the AK braced against his shoulder, looking from the rear to the front sight with his right eye while taking in his surroundings with his left.
He was silent, stealthy. None of the yelling like in old yakuza movies—that just wasn’t his style. He never felt the urge to roar to try and intimidate the enemy. He left his ego out of it.
“It’s too calm…”
A trap, definitely. He couldn’t hear any noise besides the music. No sign of staff or customers so far—that wasn’t normal. But it wasn’t all that bad either, as far as Mizukawa was concerned. He’d memorized Ijyuuin’s face, but it wouldn’t be easy to pick him out from a crowd. He’d be running the risk of his target noticing him first. To prevent that, he originally planned on opening fire as soon as he spotted anyone who might be Ijyuuin, killing everyone, but it seemed there’d be no need for that, which was a plus. Lots of things could be said about Mizukawa, but he wasn’t a bloodthirsty psycho.
The club occupied the entire top floor of the building, but even so, it wasn’t that big. There were a few seating areas with sofas and counter seats at the bar, which was illuminated with blue lights. Mizukawa finally spotted someone at the table farthest away from him.
“You’re a naughty boy, Mr. Ijyuuin!” said a hostess to a man sitting next to her on the sofa.
There he was, dressed in a suit: Ijyuuin. He was wearing sunglasses, but it was unmistakably him.
“Oh, who’s that? Is he one of your friends, Mr. Ijyuuin… Whuh?!”
Mizukawa didn’t waste time. He’d found his target, so he pulled the trigger. The rifle spit out ten 7.62 rounds in seconds.
That should’ve made mincemeat of Ijyuuin…but not only did the bullets miss, hitting to the side of him, but they also landed high as the gun jerked up with each shot. Mizukawa tried to prevent that by holding the gun more firmly, but it didn’t work.
He’d forgotten about the misaligned sights and aimed too accurately, fully focused on his target. And he’d also forgotten the instructor’s explanation that with the AK-47, you had to aim slightly below your target when firing fully automatic. That model, and others based on it, tended to jump up from the recoil due to the design of the stock.
The hostess clutched Ijyuuin by the front of his shirt and yanked him around like a ragdoll… She pulled him down onto the floor, and while she was getting back to her feet, Ijyuuin curled up, shaking and whimpering in fear.
“Don’t just open up without a word! Aren’t you a yakuza?! Where’s your war cry?!”
It wasn’t Ijyuuin shouting, but the woman.
Whatever. Mizukawa didn’t care. This time, he was sure he wouldn’t miss his target. But the moment he took aim, he sensed a sharp glare from his side. He turned his attention to the bar. A waiter dressed in black had appeared behind the counter… No, it wasn’t a waiter, but a young, black-haired girl dressed like one. She was pointing a handgun at him.
“Shit!”
Mizukawa lunged sideways onto the floor to dodge. The girl fired. The bullet grazed his arm. When he landed on the floor, he opened up again, aiming not at the girl but at the top of the counter where she was standing. Only five bullets came out. He’d used too much ammo trying to kill Ijyuuin.
The girl behind the bar was armed, and although she was so young, he could tell she was an assassin. A trained assassin, from the look of it. She meant business.
Which meant Mizukawa had to keep moving, or he was as good as dead. That applied to any close-range gunfight where cover was lacking, especially when outnumbered. Stay in one place too long, and he’d get surrounded and end up a goner.
Mizukawa took out a fresh magazine from the shoulder bag as he rolled behind a sofa. He used the new magazine to knock out the empty one and rocked it into place. Then he pulled the charging handle back to load a fresh round into the chamber.