Tim Finnegan sat at the end of the bar, muching jack-nuts and counting a pile of crumpled cred notes, the month's earnings.
A half-full pintglass sat in a ring of ale on the bartop near his compdeck.
Johnny polished glassware as Declan MacTavish locked the back door and Tess flicked off the 'open' sign and made to close the front doors for the evening.
Next to the ledgers and cash was a timeschedule of the refit of The Wake. Another week or so...
"Finn!" Tess' voice was sharp, and very worried. "Dekker!" she shouted.
She was backing away from the front door, arms straight out to her sides.
A shining katana blade followed her in through the dark opening, point dancing near her throat.
It's master still unseen in the gangway.
Finnegan's barstool slid quickly back with a creak of wood on wood.
The mug Johnny had been wiping hit the deck with a crack.
Dekker's bunched muscles creaked like wet rope being twisted.
'Dropkick' Murphy dozed drunkenly in a booth with a snore and a grunt.
A tall Kusari followed the curving length of steel slowly into the Stagger Inn.
His black hair tied in a traditional topknot, his steel grey suit still buttoned, he looked a perfect Hogosha Killer.
Finn had seen his like before. His hands bunched whitely. His shotgun rested on the bar just out of easy reach.
He eyed it. "Lie, Finnegan-sama. Your gaijin wench dies headless if that gun moves." the Kusari virtually hissed.
He flicked a look to Dekker, approaching slowly like a landslide. "Sorry, great one." He bowed his head slighly in respect. "Not today will we dance. Save your strength, I mean no har--"
His words were strangled by Murphy's belt looping around his neck and jerking tight, leather creaking as Murphy pulled with all his might, curled into a ball, and rolled the Hogosha assassin over his back like a sack of potatoes.
The katana whistled in an arc, slicing cleanly through the tight belt as the Hogosha cartwheeled over the top.
Twisting, topknot scribing a crescent in the air behind him, he landed cleanly on his feet, knees bending deeply.
One hand splayed out before him for balance, his katana hand behind him, the blade dancing above him like a scorpion's stinger.
He crouched there for a moment, letting the severed belt fall from his neck.
Then sprung towards the drunken Murphy who sloppily staggered to his feet.
Singing, the katana made a silvery arc towards Murphy's midsection-
-Then whiplike, the katana changed direction to counter the falling meat cleaver swung by it's master, Sean Argylle, Head Chef of the Drunken Junker.
The two blades met with a sharp clang as Murphy gratefully skittered backwards on the floor, his feet losing traction.
Argylle grinned with glee as he produced yet anoth another cleaver in his left hand, worked himself underneath the crossed blades, pivoted, and sparks flying, engaged the Kusari in earnest.
The three blades met again and again. sometimes with a clang, sometimes glancing off of one another.
Sean Argylle began to lose ground, and his eyes widened as he realized he was outclassed.
Suddenly, the tip of the katana caught in Argyle's sleeve. With a twist and thrust he was caught and the katana slid toward his unprotected ribs, through the sleeve-
[color=#CC9933]*Clack-Clack*
Both barrels of Finnegan's shotgun shoved in his ear, the Hogosha froze mid-thrust, his head tilted to the side by the shove Finn gave his weapon, for emphasis.
The assassin, fingers, now loose on the hilt, slowly slid his sword free of Sean's shirt.
Tim Finnegan's calloused fist swung cleanly around, punishing and ruinating the Hogosha's face.
Again.
And again.
As the Kusar's eyes rolled glazedly back, the stock of Finn's shotgun whirled in an arc and executed a perfect cricket swing into the side of his head. [color=#CC9933]*CRACK*
Tess dumped a pitcher of Invergordon Black over his head.
As the Hogosha came to, sputtering blood and ale, and realizing he'd been trussed up and tied akimbo over a table, he pleaded. "Lie, Sumimasen....Lie" His swollen left eye barely open, he sought out the hazy figure of Tim Finnegan, "Please. Captain-sama, I came to speak to you, not fight you."
Tim rubbed his sore knuckles and bent over to look into the face of their assailant. "Ye'd best ge' bleedin' on with it lad. Yer time be shorter n' ye think."
He hovered above the bound Hogosha, a look of bemusement on his normally grim face. "I've dealt with yer kind afore. Kill it afore it breeds, I been taught."
"Lie, please. I bring a message from the Oyabun, Jiyo Tanaka, of the Hogosha of Kyushu. He knows that you did time in Fuchu Prison with his nephew Hirohito, and protected him. Hear his words, I implore you, Finnegan-sama."
Blood ran from a split in his lip, down his cheek and wet his hair, sticking it to the table. "Cap'n," Dekker's deep baratone rang as he indicated the sheathed katana on the bar. "Th' bee's lost his stinger. I b'lieve I can handle him now."
Finn rubbed his beard. "Right. Untie him. Pour the lad a pint, Tess, aye?" He nodded to the darkness of the corner booth.
"Murph?"
"Got 'im dead ta rights, Cap'm."
The gleam of blue neon shining off the long barrel of Murphy's Mauser and Grey needle pistol bespoke death from that corner.
A bloody rag sat on the bartop next to a bloody and swollen Hogosha. His suit unbottoned and tie loosened, he sipped at the unfamiliar black ale with a look of barely concealed disgust. "...so Oyabun Tanaka-sama sent me to tell you that we are not unaware of the whispering winds from Gallia. The way of Ido is under threat from more than just the honorless Kempetai who slaughter civilians. Now is a time to choose what to do with this wind - to stand immobile as the lotus tree, or to bend as the willow. And he knows that you ponder this same question, and have felt these same whispers ruffle your hair."
He looked pointedly at Finnegan and sipped again. "I cannot discuss this further in this company." His eyes flashed about the room at his captors. "The Oyabun's words are for you alone, Finnegan-sama."
The Hogosha straightened in his chair. "You are therefore formally invited to a tea on Tsushima Depot, to meet with the Boryokudan, and to be made ready to meet with his Supreme Exaltedness, Oyabun Jiyo Tanaka."
Tess gasped. "You can't be serious?!" she exclaimed. "A Junker in that den of snakes? Finn, you can't."
The Hogosha held up his hand. "Lie, O'Malley-san. There's the catch." Here he looked at Finnegan. "For obvious reasons, there is no way you can come as a Junker. and you must come alone. A Hogosha Raba has been placed in stasis, hidden in the Taus, for your entry to Kusar. I can shuttle you to it in my own ship, If you'll allow. From there you will be smuggled in with the frieght."
Finn finished another shot of whiskey, turning the glass upside down next to a veritable armada of other emptys.
He smiled at the battered messenger. "Cap'n." Murphy droned. "Tess' right. Ye cannae do this." "Finn..." Tess implored. "You can't trust this sot. Tell 'im to bugger off."
Finn motioned for another round.
And thought.
And pondered.
Then decided.
The Hogosha walked unsteadily toward a nondescript Dromedary parked in Hangar Bay Three, a pace ahead of Tim Finnegan, who was wearing a mechanic's flight suit in place of his kilts.
They boarded as Tess watched from the back office security console, angry and fretful at once.
Her brow creased in worry, the master keys to the Pub, kept always in Finnegan's sporran, dangled from her finger.