Assassins

CHAPTER TWO

Shinji


The grenade landed almost directly in front of Joe. I tried to pull him back, grasping, tearing at his t-shirt. He stumbled a little before it exploded and then I heard it; his scream.
I took my hands away from my face and found myself thrown back a little from the spot I had previously been in. Joe was crouched on the ground a few centimetres in front of me, clutching at his eyes, low keening sounds of pain coming from him. I crawled over, panic in my chest.
“Joe?” I asked “Daijoubu, Joe?”
He shuddered and I wrapped my arms around him. He was only half a year younger than me but I had always protected him. It was even my fault that he had gotten into the business of killing. He had looked up to me, always, and followed whatever I did. When my boss; Mike, leader of the Red Flags had met him he had seen what I had seen and never admitted; enormous potential as an assassin. Joe was quick, he moved with a feline catlike grace and he could sneak up on people better than anyone I knew. But I had denied this part of him, not wanting him to become mixed up in my world.
Mike had wanted him, had pressured me until I gave in, inviting Joe to be my partner; inviting him to his death.
I pulled him to his feet, there was blood running down his face and he wouldn’t move his hands away from his eyes. Thinking quickly I grabbed the two guns that had fallen as we were hit by the grenade.
Somehow we stumbled down the badly lit stairway of the apartment building and into the street where my banged up old white Ford waited.
I drove like a madman that day, running red lights and skidding around corners. I bypassed the hospital, we couldn’t go there. It would attract too much attention. I thought about going to Mike, he had a doctor on hand all the time. But I didn’t want Mike to see Joe hurt, I didn’t want him to think of Joe as useless, because he would send Joe away.
And so I pulled up outside my apartment block. Joe lived a few streets away from me but I couldn’t take him there. His small whimpers of pain were hurting me too much. It was all my fault. What had Gabriel done to him?
I half dragged him into the elevator, shooing a surprised old lady out as I quickly slammed my fist against the fifth floor button.
I lived in a crappy building, I knew it. It was decaying, wallpaper peeling off everywhere and damp spots on the ceiling. I hadn’t even bothered to decorate my apartment. The most I had done was put a potted plant on the table next to my bed.
It was on this bed that I lay Joe down. The sun outside was shining brightly through the wooden blinds, casting strips of light on his writhing form. There was blood running down his sleeves.
I did what I had to. I knocked him out.
As his body slumped heavily against the headboard I pulled his hands away and almost screamed myself.
Joe’s eyes were blown to shreds, pieces of stone and concrete lodged deep in his eyeballs. I felt a cold rage build up in my chest, how could this have happened. Why Joe? Why not me?
Hatred such as I had never known flared within me and one face swam in front of my eyes; the blond haired, blue eyed assassin that had been perched on the roof across from ours. Gabriel Kynaston, the one whose mission we had been sent to thwart.
Well we had failed; he had killed the Mayor and destroyed Joe. How could he ever be anything now? My brother, what could I do?
Mike wouldn’t want him anymore but where else did he have to go?
Shakily I dialled the local hospital requesting a doctor to be sent. I wouldn’t go there, but they could come to us. All I had to do was flash the red cloth and they would keep their questions to themselves.
The doctor arrived pretty quickly which was a surprise to me. He was old; wrinkled leathery skin and a medicine smell which comforted me a little. His name was Dr Travers, he said, and I needn’t worry, he would do everything he could for my friend.
I had to wait outside the apartment. The hallway was empty, echoes of families past my only company in that hour. The sun turned the yellowing walls golden as it began to set, the smoke from my cigarette lingering in the still air.
I made up my mind as I stood there. I would tell Mike that Joe had died, that was the only thing to do. That way he could have a hero’s death. Mike wouldn’t remember him with disgust. I couldn’t let that happen, Joe wasn’t weak and it hadn’t been his fault.
I would keep him in my apartment; look after him as I had always done. Mike never visited anyway.
Somewhere out in the street a dog barked and the sound of little kids chasing each other reached my ears. I needed a shower, my black shirt was soaked with sweat and my hair was falling out of its purple scarf. But I couldn’t go in yet.
A siren sounded in the distance and I jumped; my hands clammy as I pulled the cigarette from my lips and ground it beneath my foot. The door beside me opened and Dr Travers stepped out, wiping his liver spotted hands on my blue dish towel.
“How is he?” I asked.
Dr Travers replied with a kindly smile. A smile designed to placate me, I wouldn’t see it.
“His eyes will heal…” he began.
A half smile formed on my lips.
“But he will never see again.” He finished. I slammed my hand into the wall beside me, plaster cracked around my knuckles and a sharp lance of pain ran up my arm. I ignored it.
“I have bandaged his eyes, best not to remove the bandages for a while though.”
He smiled again, this time with pity. I was too upset to care, Joe couldn’t see? What would his reaction be when he awoke?
Dr Travers grabbed his medical bag from beside the door and handed me my blue dish towel.
“I am sorry I couldn’t do more,” he said, seeming genuine this time.
I nodded and stepped back into my apartment. The sun had disappeared now, off to light the other side of the world.
I walked into the bedroom, it was dark but I could just make out the shape of Joe lying on my bed. He shifted a little, his hands grasping the sheets. I hoped he wasn’t having a nightmare. He deserved to dream before he woke up. His waking up was my nightmare.
I flipped the switch on the shade-less table lamp that sat on the floor near the potted plant. Bright artificial light filled that corner of the room and I looked carefully at Joe’s face.
“Gomen’, Joe. I couldn’t protect you this time.”
That night I slept on the floor, not bothering with covers, it was never cold anyway. I usually ended up kicking them to the bottom of the bed. I had taken a shower, washed my hair with some strawberry smelling shampoo I had snitched from a hotel on a job a while back.
Joe had been on that job too, he had chastised me for stealing. But we’re killers, already outside the normal law, so what does it matter if we steal or not.
I thought of my mother back in Japan. I remembered her cooking; tempura, domburimono, sushi. Japanese food was hard to come by in this city. Basically you had a couple of burger joints run by greasy faced women with bleached blonde hair, Chinese takeaways where the telephone operators didn’t understand what you were saying and a couple of French creperies and pizza parlours. Joe was a fan of the French places; he liked flirting with the waitresses, trying to pick up a little French.
Me? I stuck with the burgers and occasionally fish balls from the street vendors. They were common foods, and I often felt common. I was a killer; the lowest of the low. I didn’t deserve nice food; I didn’t deserve my mother’s cooking.
I hadn’t been home for ten years; she would be an old lady by now. Grey haired and far too interested in talking about the weather. What life had she wanted for me, I wondered. Should I have been a lawyer, or a doctor?
My younger brother Tatsuya was a doctor. I had received a letter from him five years ago, telling me how he was and begging me to come home. The paper smelt of home and I cried. But in the morning I crumpled it up and threw it away. It was too late for all that.
The morning came quickly and with the confused cries of my best friend. He swung his slender hands out, reaching through his darkness for something.
“Shinji?” he asked, panic evident in the way his lips were drawn tight in a frown.
I watched him for a moment, my bare skin warm as the sun hit my back through the window.
“Shinji?” he flailed about, none of his usual grace evident as he grasped desperately at thin air.
Finally I could bear it no more.
“I’m here Joe.” I said; my voice breaking slightly as I said his name.
His head turned slightly in my direction, his sharp jaw line strained. I wanted to reach out for him but guilt stopped me.
“I can’t see…” he stated flatly. “My eyes…”
“I know,” I said.
I couldn’t bear it anymore; I walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, closing the door halfway behind me. My hands shook a little as I poured a glass of orange juice from the fridge. It was nearly empty and probably past it’s sell-by date. But I deserved to get food poisoning, I wished for it.
Behind me I heard Joe call out.
“Shinji, Shinji?”
His voice was pleading. ‘Come back!’ he cried out.
Then there was silence for a moment. I took a big gulp of my orange juice, some of it ending up on my chin as my fingers slipped a little.
Then I heard him.
“Shit!” he said, almost disbelievingly at first.
“FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! MY EYES! FUCK!”
I closed my own eyes, wishing I could block out sound as well.
I heard a loud thump, and then something was kicked. More angry curses rang out in the stale air of the apartment. Above me I heard the neighbours moving about, banging on the floor with a broom handle.
“FUCK YOU!” Joe shouted.
I smiled painfully and drank the rest of my juice. Fumbling about in my pyjama bottoms I pulled out a crumpled cigarette and lit it with the lighter I had left on the counter the day before.
“SHINJI?” he called out again, I heard another thump and then a small whimper.
Reluctantly I walked back to the bedroom, half fighting my feet not to move.
Joe was lying on the floor near the bed; he had tripped over the wastepaper bin. He was resting his head in his hands, the bandage still wrapped tightly around his eyes. I was glad he hadn’t taken it off. I didn’t think I could bear to see them just yet.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, unsure of whether or not he heard me. I don’t suppose it mattered anyway. Nothing I could say would bring his sight back.
It was a struggle that morning. I helped him back into bed and spoon fed him cereal from a dirty bowl I couldn’t be bothered to wash. It wasn’t like he could see it anyway.
Then I told him my plans.
“I’m going to tell Mike you’re dead.” I said. He tried to interrupt me many times but I ignored him, marching steadfastly on.
“You can live here with me; I’ll clear out your apartment tomorrow. I’ll take care of you.”
“You’ll hide me you mean,” he answered back, turning his face away from the direction of my voice. I couldn’t see his expression but I didn’t want to.
“I will protect you; I said I would always protect you.”
He made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat and ran a hand through his slightly damp hair. The heat in the apartment was stifling.
“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Protect me.”
I went out to see Mike that afternoon and left Joe in the apartment, next to the radio which was playing some comedy programme.
Tinny laughter sounded over the airwaves and I looked once more at Joe before I left. He wasn’t laughing and neither was I.