Post by kamigawa on Mar 20, 2017 0:53:11 GMT
Honolulu, Hawaii is known for being a destination for tourists from all over the world. In particular, though? It’s a haven for Japanese tourists. The flight’s not THAT long, and Honolulu in particular has far more Japanese signs and businesses than one might expect at first blush.
One of those Japanese tourists is poolside at one of Honolulu’s many resorts. Stretched out in a chaise lounge, he wears a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts - and at 6’5” and over 280 pounds, he doesn’t look like he’s much for the pool.
He sips at a pina colada, seemingly content to just soak up the atmosphere as tourists from all over the world swim and frolic around him. Dark sunglasses conceal his face, and he very much looks like he wants to be alone.
Of course, he’s not going to be alone for very much longer.
“My apologies, Kamigawa-san,” an old-looking hotel employee says, offering a bow to the man in the chaise. “We have a received a note for you, and it is insistent that you read it.”
The sunglasses-wearing man extends a hand and nods in the other man’s direction. “Thank you,” he says, in a world-weary voice. “Even in paradise, work beckons.”
As Kamigawa reads the note, though, one eyebrow arches beyond his sunglasses. The note is brief, but more than enough to get him to reach into his shorts pocket and unearth his cell phone. He punches a number that he knows by heart, and jams the phone to his ear.
“This is Ryuji Kamigawa,” he says, identifying himself immediately. “You are one of the few people who I would speak with while on vacation, Mr. Almasy.”
The voice on the other end of the line chuckles. “Apologies, Ryuji, but I wanted to discuss a few things with you, and I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Mr. Almasy” was Seymour Almasy, legendary (in some circles) professional wrestler, and the man who had trained Kamigawa. Ryuji considered the slightly older Almasy a mentor.
“Let’s make this brief then,” Ryuji replied. “I have a dinner reservation at five, and then gameplanning for my Phoenix Wrestling debut. I’ve got Phillip Kennedy in a dark match. Don’t know what’s happened to him since he got to PW, but I’d rather his career renaissance not be at my expense.”
“Fair enough,” came the answer. “We’ll start with that, then. I’ve heard you’ve returned to wrestling. Why?”
Kamigawa snorted. “Because I don’t have much else to do, and downtime is my enemy. I start thinking about what happened to Dekedan and it makes me want to go back to my past life.”
Ryuji shook his head. Club Dekedan had been entrusted to him by the former owner before he died, and months later, the institution of Osaka’s “Highway of Decadence” had been burned to the ground, a victim of suspected arson.
Kamigawa had lost more than he cared to think about in that fire, but of everything he’d lost, his self-respect seemed even less likely to return than his dead lover.
“I can understand that,” Seymour said. “You always do seem happier when you’re pounding faces in. PW’s a good place. Was in their Iron King once back when I had a painted face, called myself Orphan, and talked in a monotone.”
“With all due respect, why do you care if I’m wrestling or not, Seymour?”
“If you’re full time again, I’ve got a favor I’d like to ask you. It can wait until you’re back in Japan, but it’s important. No obligation, but I’d like you to at least hear me out. I think it might be up your alley.”
Ryuji shrugged. “Why not? I’ll hear you out, teach. I’ll be back in Japan after this show. Once I got booked to debut in Hawaii I figured I’d make a week’s vacation out of it.”
“That’s fine. We can schedule some time together after you’ve taken care of Phillip. Second order of business is probably more relevant to your interests, anyway.”
“Give it to me, then,” Ryuji said. “What’s going on?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Almasy replied.
“I don’t want to get your hopes up, Ryuji, but there’s been a lot of buzz on the Highway since you left.” Ryuji almost snorted again - Almasy was one of a very small number of foreigners ever allowed in Club Dekedan, and Kamigawa’s word had been enough to get him similar treatment at two other hostess clubs on the Highway of Decadence.
“There’s rumors the cops are close to breaking the Dekedan case wide open.”
Kamigawa coughed, and his heart began to beat faster. The pina colada, still in his free hand, was finally put down on the ground next to his chaise.
“They figured out who burned my fucking club to the ground, Seymour?”
Ryuji could almost hear the shrug on the other end of the phone. “That’s the rumor. I can’t tell you who did it, but I heard a cop talking while I was at Elegance the other night. It’s amazing what you can find out when everyone’s had a few drinks in them and is in the company of beautiful women.”
“That’s the God’s honest truth,” Kamigawa replied. “Old man Kakihara always said the same thing. But...fuck. Thank you for telling me. I’ll make sure I’m ready for the shit storm that’s coming up.”
“Exactly,” Seymour said. “You’re the former owner. You’ll have news outlets wanting a comment from you the second they go live with the story. You remember how it was in the aftermath, yes?”
“How on Earth could I forget?”
Kamigawa closed his eyes beneath his sunglasses. He could still remember the press conference, the apologies that he offered to all those who had died under his watch. His promise to cooperate fully with the police.
The fact that he’d broken down and cried on the dais, in front of everyone assembled - and all of the photographs that had been snapped of a six foot five, then-three-hundred pound man-mountain freely weeping.
“Just thinking about it makes me angry,” Ryuji groaned. “Gonna take it out on Philly Bear. He’s gonna wish he was anywhere but Honolulu.”
“That’s the spirit,” an amused Seymour said. “I won’t keep you from your dinner reservation, though. Good night, Kamigawa-san.”
The other end of the line went silent as Kamigawa put the phone back in his pocket. He stooped to pick up his pina colada, and rose from the chaise, walking off in the direction of the main hotel.
It was time for something harder than a pina colada, a large steak, and getting ready to make his return to a profession tailor made for a man who had spent most of his life rolling drunks out of bars and hostess clubs.
One of those Japanese tourists is poolside at one of Honolulu’s many resorts. Stretched out in a chaise lounge, he wears a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts - and at 6’5” and over 280 pounds, he doesn’t look like he’s much for the pool.
He sips at a pina colada, seemingly content to just soak up the atmosphere as tourists from all over the world swim and frolic around him. Dark sunglasses conceal his face, and he very much looks like he wants to be alone.
Of course, he’s not going to be alone for very much longer.
“My apologies, Kamigawa-san,” an old-looking hotel employee says, offering a bow to the man in the chaise. “We have a received a note for you, and it is insistent that you read it.”
The sunglasses-wearing man extends a hand and nods in the other man’s direction. “Thank you,” he says, in a world-weary voice. “Even in paradise, work beckons.”
As Kamigawa reads the note, though, one eyebrow arches beyond his sunglasses. The note is brief, but more than enough to get him to reach into his shorts pocket and unearth his cell phone. He punches a number that he knows by heart, and jams the phone to his ear.
“This is Ryuji Kamigawa,” he says, identifying himself immediately. “You are one of the few people who I would speak with while on vacation, Mr. Almasy.”
The voice on the other end of the line chuckles. “Apologies, Ryuji, but I wanted to discuss a few things with you, and I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Mr. Almasy” was Seymour Almasy, legendary (in some circles) professional wrestler, and the man who had trained Kamigawa. Ryuji considered the slightly older Almasy a mentor.
“Let’s make this brief then,” Ryuji replied. “I have a dinner reservation at five, and then gameplanning for my Phoenix Wrestling debut. I’ve got Phillip Kennedy in a dark match. Don’t know what’s happened to him since he got to PW, but I’d rather his career renaissance not be at my expense.”
“Fair enough,” came the answer. “We’ll start with that, then. I’ve heard you’ve returned to wrestling. Why?”
Kamigawa snorted. “Because I don’t have much else to do, and downtime is my enemy. I start thinking about what happened to Dekedan and it makes me want to go back to my past life.”
Ryuji shook his head. Club Dekedan had been entrusted to him by the former owner before he died, and months later, the institution of Osaka’s “Highway of Decadence” had been burned to the ground, a victim of suspected arson.
Kamigawa had lost more than he cared to think about in that fire, but of everything he’d lost, his self-respect seemed even less likely to return than his dead lover.
“I can understand that,” Seymour said. “You always do seem happier when you’re pounding faces in. PW’s a good place. Was in their Iron King once back when I had a painted face, called myself Orphan, and talked in a monotone.”
“With all due respect, why do you care if I’m wrestling or not, Seymour?”
“If you’re full time again, I’ve got a favor I’d like to ask you. It can wait until you’re back in Japan, but it’s important. No obligation, but I’d like you to at least hear me out. I think it might be up your alley.”
Ryuji shrugged. “Why not? I’ll hear you out, teach. I’ll be back in Japan after this show. Once I got booked to debut in Hawaii I figured I’d make a week’s vacation out of it.”
“That’s fine. We can schedule some time together after you’ve taken care of Phillip. Second order of business is probably more relevant to your interests, anyway.”
“Give it to me, then,” Ryuji said. “What’s going on?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Almasy replied.
“I don’t want to get your hopes up, Ryuji, but there’s been a lot of buzz on the Highway since you left.” Ryuji almost snorted again - Almasy was one of a very small number of foreigners ever allowed in Club Dekedan, and Kamigawa’s word had been enough to get him similar treatment at two other hostess clubs on the Highway of Decadence.
“There’s rumors the cops are close to breaking the Dekedan case wide open.”
Kamigawa coughed, and his heart began to beat faster. The pina colada, still in his free hand, was finally put down on the ground next to his chaise.
“They figured out who burned my fucking club to the ground, Seymour?”
Ryuji could almost hear the shrug on the other end of the phone. “That’s the rumor. I can’t tell you who did it, but I heard a cop talking while I was at Elegance the other night. It’s amazing what you can find out when everyone’s had a few drinks in them and is in the company of beautiful women.”
“That’s the God’s honest truth,” Kamigawa replied. “Old man Kakihara always said the same thing. But...fuck. Thank you for telling me. I’ll make sure I’m ready for the shit storm that’s coming up.”
“Exactly,” Seymour said. “You’re the former owner. You’ll have news outlets wanting a comment from you the second they go live with the story. You remember how it was in the aftermath, yes?”
“How on Earth could I forget?”
Kamigawa closed his eyes beneath his sunglasses. He could still remember the press conference, the apologies that he offered to all those who had died under his watch. His promise to cooperate fully with the police.
The fact that he’d broken down and cried on the dais, in front of everyone assembled - and all of the photographs that had been snapped of a six foot five, then-three-hundred pound man-mountain freely weeping.
“Just thinking about it makes me angry,” Ryuji groaned. “Gonna take it out on Philly Bear. He’s gonna wish he was anywhere but Honolulu.”
“That’s the spirit,” an amused Seymour said. “I won’t keep you from your dinner reservation, though. Good night, Kamigawa-san.”
The other end of the line went silent as Kamigawa put the phone back in his pocket. He stooped to pick up his pina colada, and rose from the chaise, walking off in the direction of the main hotel.
It was time for something harder than a pina colada, a large steak, and getting ready to make his return to a profession tailor made for a man who had spent most of his life rolling drunks out of bars and hostess clubs.