Chapter Text
"Youda-chan, please, do me this favor."
The man swallowed loudly. Dressed as impeccable as ever, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up to his elbows, Youda was staring at Majima as if he had gone nuts.
"Majima-san..." A whine. He took a clumsy step back and loosened up the tie that was starting to suffocate him.
"Just this one," Majima insisted. "Have I ever given ya a reason to doubt me? C'mon, I ain't no welcher. I give my word, I'll do anythin' to return it back to ya. I'll repay all my debts, one by one."
"But..." The owner of the Cabaret Club Sunshine gestured toward him, scanning his dirty clothes with a troubled expression. "What...?"
"Can't explain now," Majima cut him off. "I'm in a hurry. And in real deep shit. If ya do this fer me, you'll save my life." He hoped it was enough to convince him. It was very close to the literal truth anyway.
Youda swallowed again, louder than before. Passing a nervous hand through his combed hair, he gripped the black locks with so much strength that Majima thought he was going to tear them all out. Including a hair transplant to his debts wasn't what he was aiming for, so he sighed in relief when the man released them a moment later, defeat written all over his face.
It had been enough. With a deep, displeased sigh, Youda pulled a key out of his waistcoat pocket. He was looking at it as if it was the last and most precious item he had to say goodbye to before walking toward the gallows.
Majima couldn't lie, guilt was a cold blanket encasing his already heavy chest. The possibility that guilt turned into remorse, however, was nothing compared to what would wait for his conscience if he let this chance slip.
He accepted the key, thanking the devastated man with a rare and honest bow.
Before leaving, Majima let his gaze roam one last time toward the lively hall, careful to remain hidden behind the wall and the pillars. Yuki-chan was seated on one of the strawberry benches, next to a guy dressed in casual clothes and gulping down a glass of champagne. She was smiling—she always did lately during or even outside of work, more so than usual, and Majima found himself fighting invisible pincers squashing his larynx.
Take care, girls.
He turned in haste, without bothering to repeat the much-needed reassurances to Youda, and disappeared through the door leading to a small room the club used as a storage.
Makoto was where he had left her: settled on a stool with her hands clenched hard between her thighs, gaze unfocused, lost in the nothingness that became her reality. She was white as a sheet, which was a cruelly ironic way to describe her considering that her entire body was covered from head to toe in a layer of soot left from the detonated bomb.
"We got a car," he announced.
She didn't even turn when he got close, clasped her wrist, and hauled her to her feet.
"Let's get the fuck outta here."
She let him drag her like a puppet, shuffling her feet on the floor as they proceeded between unused furniture, stocks of supplies and extra crockery, all covered up with cloths to protect them from the dust. Good thing Youda-chan was a neat guy so he didn't have to fear for Makoto to get hurt.
He pushed her out a secondary exit, the coldness of December prickling his skin as they stepped into a dark, oddly quiet street. The only lamppost a few feet away was flickering toward his death but was enough for Majima to spot the parked car that he knew for sure was Youda's. A new, grey Nissan Silvia S12 coupé.
It was a damn good car. No wonder Youda was so upset at the idea of handing it over.
He carefully helped Makoto to accommodate on the passenger's seat before slipping behind the wheel. His heart shrank upon seeing the expression—or the lack, thereof—on her face. The only thing he could do now was take her far away from Sotenbori, and it was imperative to do it as fast as possible. Turning the engine on and without losing any more time, Majima pushed the vehicle on track.
It had been a while since the last time he had driven. It was curious how some things were simply impossible to forget, no matter how many years went by. People often talked about riding bikes in relation to the 'implicit memory' or how that crap was called. Driving a car seemed to work in a similar way, although the feeling it was giving him was completely new, and not only because he was discovering little by little that driving with only one eye could be a deep pain in the ass. He suddenly felt free again, the gilded cage around him bending at every push of his feet on the gas pedal, at every unfamiliar street, every shop or local that he never even knew existed before then. If he wasn't aware that freedom was an unachievable dream in his situation, he could almost claim to finally know what it felt like to conquer it.
Despite his growing nervousness on top of his odd excitement, Majima tried to keep a moderate speed through the trafficked city in an attempt to maintain a low profile. Rather than rush things up, he preferred to indulge in a cigarette and vent out his anxiety with a few curses directed at the traffic lights that conveniently turned red right before it was their turn to traverse. He regularly glanced toward the sidewalks to see if there were suspicious men, too, only to surprise himself criticizing mentally the gaudy dresses of the women and the snotty attitude of the men who were all wrapped up in the mawkish illusion of wealth that place seemed to trap everyone with.
Man if he couldn't wait to put it all behind.
His heart pounded hard while Makoto's stillness resembled the one of a corpse.
"We're leavin' Osaka." He spoke to shake her off her trance, with the dim hope that idle talks were enough to soothe her a little. "Hang tight just a bit more."
He bet that besides all the grief she was experiencing, she was scared, too. Scared, because there was no one with her she could consider family anymore, only her former hitman who as far as she knew might as well have been bringing her into a faraway wood with the sole purpose of plunging the tanto's blade through her neck. Majima wished it wasn't what she expected, yet he couldn't help but feel that the thought had crossed her mind at last once.
Makoto didn't answer, but her mouth moved as if she wanted to. Majima forced himself to look forward, for his sanity as well.
The congestion and the commotion disappeared, leaving them in the foreign silence of the Osakan suburbs. A bit more, as he said, and the stark gray of the houses, together with the few lonely people walking alone or with their dogs, disappeared to make room for a long, open road surrounded by trees.
Majima increased significantly the speed of the car (well, not as much as he wanted to, but he still had to consider his blind side) and at the same time Makoto finally showed signs of life. At first, it was a low unintelligible murmur that she emitted, which quickly grew into short whines and finally into sobs.
He let her cry. What else could he do? What could he say? There was nothing to say in those kind of situations. She had to take everything out and mourn Lee as much as she needed to, or it was going to concretize the possibility of it turning into another trauma, piling on top of the many others, a never-ending chain a person was bound to carry around all their life. He knew how that shit worked. And this girl's chain was already heavy enough for an entire lifetime.
Except that an overwhelming ache started to spread across Majima's chest as her whimpers increased, and he hated feeling powerless.
"I'll keep ya safe," he said, hands gripping the wheel tightly. "I will. You'll see. I find a way, no need to cry so much. Everythin's gonna be alright."
It didn't calm her but she shifted, head tilted to the side to listen closely.
"I promise."
I'll keep ya safe. Be that the last thing I do.
What else remained for him anyway?
Makoto pushed her head down, face pressed into the sleeve of her red trench coat that now looked twice her size.
Majima let her cry, although he could barely stand it.
Several minutes later, when Osaka was already a faraway memory and clouds danced in the sky, enveloping the bright half-moon peeking out from above, Makoto's weak voice reached him, slurring the last words he expected to hear.
"Majima-san, r-right?"
It weirded him out how the sound of his name sent a warm, tingling sensation to the pit of his stomach. He realized that until then she had never called him by name, simply because she had never learned his name. The first and only time she had asked, he had been too busy pitying himself to introduce properly. Now, how did she find out about it? Had it been Lee or... Majima suddenly remembered Youda-chan shouting his name in worry the moment he had set foot in the Sunshine from a door he never used and looking like total hell.
He cleared his voice. "Yeah?"
"W-where... Where are we?"
"No clue," he admitted as the headlights of the car gradually revealed segments of the empty highway. "Far away from Sotenbori, ain't that what matters? On the road to... To somewhere."
Makoto seemed to shrink and dammit, she looked already small enough. Sinking inside the red coat, her neck disappeared as she slouched forward, hands curling on her knees.
"Hey, ya cold?" It wasn't the answer, Majima very well knew it wasn't the answer. Only a stupid attempt to distract her. Tinkering with the buttons of the dashboard, he somehow managed to turn the heater on. "Here. Better?"
She gave a noise of affirmation and thanked him, no less.
"So..." Makoto continued, uncertain. "What are we going to do?"
"Makoto," he started, surprising her with the sound of her name for the first time as much as she did with his previously. Perhaps it was a dumb question since she had lived alone with Lee in Sotenbori for six months; nevertheless, it was worth a try. "Makoto, d'ya have family somewhere? Friends?"
A long moment of silence followed. Majima changed gear to decelerate as the road was getting darker and darker.
"I had a brother..." It was painful to hear her talk, so feeble was the sound of her voice. "I searched for him for a long time... Never been able to find him. I'm not sure he's... Alive anymore..."
Well, now. That was fucked. The whole situation was fucked. He certainly was fucked, too. He didn't even know what he was thinking when he asked Youda the car. No, before that, when Lee had suggested to flee and he had decided to join the party as a last resort after Sagawa discovered the truth. He had told himself that it made sense because the only other option was biting the dust—fast if he was lucky, which he usually wasn't. And yet he had always been ready to face death. It should have been ready to face it even more now that he had thrown his ticket to get back into the Tojo clan in the river. The only desire he had, the only thing he had sweated damn hard for three years straight. Blew up in an instant, just like Lee's life. And glimpsing at the girl beside him, he wasn't able to feel neither guilt nor shame.
In all honesty, his first plan was to leave Makoto in a safe place and return to Sotenbori to show Sagawa a middle finger one last time. The other one was to leave Makoto in a safe place and go hiding alone. Because his presence as an ex-yakuza would only be detrimental to her already desperate situation. He wondered if, unlike in his case, it'd make a difference for the girl to just disappear instead. Then again, how could he be sure of anything? He had no idea of why Makoto was so valuable for the yakuza to begin with and that was the main problem.
As she grew quiet again, his heart twisted wondering what kind of life she had before the whole nightmare with the Korean mafia. "Lee said he knew a few places ya coulda go hidin'. Did he tell ya something 'bout them?" he tried.
Playing tensely with the wire of the torn coat, she shook her head.
He sighed. Suddenly longing for a cigarette, Majima dropped his gaze and his only eye widened.
"Aah—shit."
Alarmed by his abrupt cussing, Makoto squirmed in her seat. "What is it?"
"Gotta stop at a gas station," he explained, a sad smile at the realization that he had scared her.
Being forced to stop at the first place they were going to find on the street because he had forgotten to check the fuel gauge annoyed the hell out of him, although maybe it was for the best since his eye was starting to feel tired. "Well," he sighed once more time. "Let's seize the opportunity to figure out where we are, eh? I need to take a leak, too."
They both entered the women's toilet as he led Makoto to the stall. He was lucky it was late evening and not a single soul could see him. Majima wasn't in the mood to argue with outraged ladies for his transgression, let alone being labeled a pervert by the particular belligerent types and finding himself running away from them with the same vigor he was running away from the Osakan yakuza. (He wished he wasn't talking from experience either.)
Leaving Makoto to her necessities, he took care of his own and washed his soot-blackened face on a cracked porcelain sink. The public bathroom they ended up in was a disgusting shithole, to put it lightly: the whole room was dirty and crumbling, from the floor with pieces of toilet paper scattered messily all over it to the scraped walls covered in graffiti. One of the stall's doors was falling off the hinge, and there were a few discarded syringes in a corner. The lonely light bulb somehow hanging from the ceiling was sufficient for him to notice the cartoonish representation of a dick just behind the mirror.
On second thought, perhaps there weren't even ladies frequenting that place.
"Alright in there?" he asked, turning off the squealing faucet and glancing behind his shoulders.
The answer from the closed stall came in a low mewl he almost missed.
Majima lit a cigarette, eyeing the last two in the package with a deep frown. Whether or not they were enough for him to get through the night, he had to manage. Taking long drags, he released a smoky, relieved breath when the door of the stall creaked and Makoto slipped outside.
She reached blindly for the sink with careful steps and slowly began to wash away the dry trails the tears had left behind, like a set of bright scars on her sooty cheeks. She was doing it gladly and meticulously, which was mainly why he didn't have the heart to keep quiet when he noticed she unintentionally left a few spots of her face unclean. He moistened a paper towel and gently wiped the last traces of the blast, disregarding how hard she jerked when he barely grazed her chin with his fingers to keep her head up.
She didn't protest, though. She even muttered a 'thank you' at the end of it.
"Ready then?"
"Yes."
She offered him her arm willingly and for some reason, the gesture summoned a lump in his throat.
He didn't have the time to take it, though. A weird noise interrupted the silence and Majima spun around with the agility of a cat. He wasn't sure whether to call it wise or stupid to be so wound up in the middle of nowhere, but if he had fur, it'd have been all standing up at that point.
The tension passed almost immediately when he identified the origin of the sound: at the bathroom entrance, there was a young girl dressed in a tight sequin dress, bent down in the attempt to remove both her heels.
"Hi," she greeted emotionless, waving tiredly in their direction. In doing so she almost tripped over and had to hold onto the nearby wall to not fall face down on the filthy floor.
Majima's blinked and returned the greeting. Makoto's head rolled in confusion.
The girl straightened, one of her heels slipping from her hand and landing on a loose tile with a clunk. She was clearly dizzy, struggling to stand on her own two feet, and flushed despite the winter weather and the light cardigan she was wearing over the dress.
"Uh..." Majima scratched the back of his head. "Ya fine, lady? You look wasted. Had enough to drink?"
She nodded, then denied, gaze darting around the room. "Head's spinning."
"Yeah? Then lay down fer a while." Majima grasped Makoto's wrist, reminding himself that time was precious for both of them and that he was still in the women's bathroom. "There are benches outside. Find a sheltered corner and stay safe. Call yer parents."
Pushing her back against the wall that had already saved her once, the girl raised a weak arm to halt them on their way out. "Wait," she said with a deep Korean accent Majima hadn't noticed the first time she had spoken. "Wait. I need... I need money. Do ya have a few bills to hand me, mister?"
"Huh?"
"I need money!" she repeated, sounding frustrated at his slowness for a flickering moment. "I really, really have to..." she faltered, muzzy.
Bloodshot eyes framed by big eye bags sealed with Majima's. Slightly malicious and crafty behind the veil of tiredness, like the ones of some mischievous hostesses about to ask their manager a favor. As far as he remembered, they had never brought the girls anywhere when specifically directed at him, with little exceptions.
"Are ya serious?" he grunted, miffed by the sudden request. Granted, the girl was stoned, though that didn't change anything since he was aware that handing money to people, especially intoxicated ones, was never the solution. And with how much they had with them anyway, it was foolish, too. "We're short of cash, lady, and the only thing ya need is to go home and hit the sack."
"C'mon, that's a lie. Can't believe you're broke, I've never seen anyone wander around here wearing a tuxedo," she drawled arrogantly, without taking notice that his tuxedo was downright dirty and his overall appearance made him look like someone who just came out from a hole in the ground.
Pressing a palm to her forehead, the girl slid down the wall, butt bouncing against the stained tiles under her bare feet. "Are you as heartless as you look, mister? I need money, can't call my parents without 'em."
As she shifted, and the artificial light of the single lamp somehow hanging from the ceiling shifted on her figure, a layer of sweat became visible on the naked skin the dress didn't cover. Not only that—yellowed and purple bruises of different sizes filling part of her chest and neck like chicken pox, as well as patches of ruined, bloody skin that probably had been scratched too hard, were revealed.
It gave him pause.
"Hey hey, who're ya calling heartless? If you don't believe me, that's yer problem," he dismissed. There was something else that was bothering him now. Something that in the back of his mind was also telling him that maybe the woman wasn't alone.
None of their fucking business. They had enough enemies on their tails as it was.
As he took another step the girl pushed herself forward and awkwardly grabbed his pants to stop him. It was so unexpected that in an effort to avoid her attack, Majima stepped over Makoto, who ended up squashed between his back and the solid shape of a sink. A pained gasp was blown out of her lungs and in a rush of panic, Majima took her hand and squeezed it in silent apology.
The girl didn't even seem to notice. "Please," she begged, the aggressive attitude completely gone, leaving just a miserable, desperate kid at his feet.
Majima blinked, once, twice. Then, less angry than he wanted to sound, he growled at her, snatching his leg away. "Hun, ya deaf? At the moment we don't even have a pot to piss in. Go ask someone else!"
"What... What is happening? Majima-san, is she...?"
Both Majima and the girl turned toward Makoto, who was now standing right beside the man, massaging the aching side that collided with the sink. Majima remained silent, more as a confirmation of whatever Makoto was going to ask than a lack of words, aware from her frown that she was slowly figuring out what was going on by herself. The girl observed, scanning Makoto from head to toe, jarred by the absence of eye contact.
"Please, help," she recovered, now lacing on Makoto's pants instead.
Nails dug into Majima's palm as a surge of fear filled Makoto at the unwanted touch. She clinged on him convulsively with the little strength left in her after the horrible day and Majima bent down to shake the girl's paws off with as much delicacy as he could muster.
"I u-understand... That you need help. I understand what you... I really do." Makoto tried once she calmed down. "We can help, right? Majima-san?"
Despite creases appearing in the space between Makoto's eyes, deepening her frown, and the corners of her mouth tilted downward in what resembled an expression of sympathy, Makoto's last sentence was colder than he expected. He took it as a hint, a suggestion that it was better to cut the whole thing short instead of risking that it went downhill. Because she was scared, of course she was scared.
With a sigh, Majima's free hand slid into his pocket, fingers running over the leather of his wallet. If the money were to pay the debt the girl owed to whoever blackmailed her into prostitution or to buy more of the drug that was affecting her, Majima couldn't guess. He was positive, though, that they were going to feed her abusers or her addiction much more than they were going to fill her stomach, or even help her get home.
All the same. If it was yakuza they were dealing with all over again, attracting too much attention meant big troubles.
"Here." Majima pushed three thousand yen into the girl's cold palm, hoping it'd shut her up. "No more, d'ya hear?"
Like a baby who had just been given her precious toy back, the girl clenched the wad of cash against her chest. Majima tugged Makoto's hand in his, gently advising her that they were leaving. Her expression was tense like she was fighting herself over something, which could have been a moral dilemma as well as a cruel truth she had to consider but wished not to. It took several beats of his aching heart for her to move and follow him.
"Liar!"
Majima turned back eye wide as an accusatory finger raised toward him. The girl's face, until now a pale white, changed color.
"You're a liar!" She snapped again unexpectedly, words reverberating in the mostly empty room. "As I thought!"
"You had the money!" The girl's finger shifted, pointing at Makoto. "She knew it, too! And now what? 'No more', you say?"
The transformation was fast and staggering. Majima could swear that something was taking possession of the girl's body. A dangerous aura encompassed her, muscles tensed, features twisted and became feral. Her young, smooth face seemed to shrivel to the point she looked several years older.
Makoto didn't see it; couldn't see it. Inadvertently and out of fear, she took an unsteady step onward, right in the direction where the girl stood. A roar cut the air.
The girl lounged forward like a demon and the next thing Majima saw were her fingers closing around Makoto's throat. Utterly shocked and taken back, he stared at the scene for what he would have considered far too long before registering what was happening and finding the lucidity to react.
Sliding a hand around the fragile waist of the young woman and another clamping down the strangling hand, struggling to open her pincer-like grip, he lifted her up and wrenched her away from Makoto with a single, powerful yank. The money he had given her flew all around them like a bunch of confetti, scattering on the floor together with the pieces of toilet paper.
"Stop!" he yelled through gritted teeth and in response an elbow landed in his stomach, paired with fangs trying to sink into his wrist. "For fuck's sake—Stop!"
Twisting her arms roughly behind her back to halt her mad squirming, Majima pushed and blocked the girl against the graffiti of an extraordinarily artistic and colorful clown, until she didn't have the energy to fight back anymore. She wriggled and moaned at the uncomfortable position, babbling something about feeling pain under her breath, which wasn't enough to make Majima relent.
"Ya psycho," he breathed, towering over her smaller body. "The fuck were ya doing, tryin' to murder her?"
"D-d-don't hurt me." The glare in her eyes softened, shifting from deranged to terrified. Majima released her instantly as if he were burned. Taking several steps back, he reached and held a coughing and gasping Makoto.
Despite her lack of breath from both the assault and the fear, it was Makoto's turn to tug Majima's hand where draught of fresh air reached them.
They were welcomed outside by a bitter wind and a buzz of hazy voices. He had anticipated them and they were indeed there: in the poorly illuminated gas station parking, where the shadows still lingered, four men were gathered in a circle, smoking and laughing like they were sharing the best jokes of their lives. No one had moved a finger if they had heard the uproar in the bathroom, but they picked up immediately on their presence, lowering their snickering or shutting up altogether.
What're ya lookin' at? Majima wanted to bark loud enough for them to catch it, instead he bit his tongue and the look he threw at them was as nonchalant as it was dangerous. Three men shrugged and turned to give them their backs, the other answered his apparently casual attitude with what in the distance and the darkness he imagined as a cocky, challenging expression.
Fighting had always been too tempting for Majima, it summoned a unique kind of adrenaline that had made him feel alive for a long time. Smashing assholes' pimp faces was even more pleasant when the time was right. But that day it wasn't, and he wasn't going to fall into the trap lest he stir up some real troubles or put himself and, most importantly, Makoto in danger. Again.
Makoto's ears prickled at the sound of the resumed giggles, apprehension sneaked its way down her spine and tickled her nape. She kept up with the pace the best she could, even when Majima was steering her like she wasn't blind at all. Her neck burned. She found pleasure in it if only because it helped chase unpleasant thoughts away.
"Was she drugged?" Makoto asked once they sat down in their respective seat. She was glad to be sheltered again because the cold was getting more intense with the rising humidity. She could smell rain in the air.
Initially, Majima had specified that the sooner they left the better. He was worried to be still too close to Osaka, although they had discovered the road was indeed taking them northwest, away from the big city. She had hummed in agreement. The explosion that killed Lee kept replaying in her mind, even if it was just sounds and feelings. The stinking smell of smoke still lingered on her clothes together with a sense of uneasiness that had enveloped her and stuck to her flash like a second skin. She wanted to leave because the gas station wasn't of her liking since the very beginning and she had been proved right.
Regardless of what he said, Majima was waiting, drumming his fingers on the wheel. Losing time. She imagined he wanted to ascertain that he wasn't going to be followed.
"Might've been meth mixed with some other stuff," he muttered. "How's yer neck? Is it starting to bruise?"
Makoto touched the tender flash with tentative fingers. "It's fine." She was sure it was going to bruise, but she had worse. "Did those men... I mean... They're yakuza, aren't they?"
"Probably. They ain't regular-ass dudes, nor are they kids bustin' it up on a weekend. And those kinda drugs, they're often used fer... Y'know..."
"I know."
Very well.
The drum of the fingers on the wheel stopped. Makoto's blood pumped hard in her veins. It was in moments like these that she was almost glad to not be able to see.
Hands suddenly itching to have something to do, she stretched her arm to explore the interior of the car. Not that there was much to discover, it was a car after all, but she tried to remember where all the accessories were—the air conditioner, the air vents, the radio—so she wouldn't bother Majima to do simple things for her all the time. She heard the shuffle of his clothes when her hand wandered as far as touching the steering wheel, probably retreating to leave her space to move.
"About what we're goin' to do," Majima changed topic. "Is there somewhere ya'd like to go? Anywhere... Well, except Osaka an' Tokyo and... Car don't fly or swim, so..."
Makoto pulled back, surprised and a bit touched he asked, even more surprised that he talked about it as it might as well have been a leisure trip. It reminded her a bit of Lee the first weeks she had spent under his wing and all the plans he was coming up with, from new furniture to voyages. At some point, she had determined that he must have missed having a family. Perhaps Majima hadn't had a family either. Perhaps he had lost a brother as well.
"I... I don't think so."
"No? Don't ya got a dream city?"
Years ago, when she still had her sight, there were many places Makoto had wished to visit: historic towns, coastal cities, isles... Japan was full of culture and beauty, most of it completely unknown to her. If she still had her sight, she'd feel torn at the idea of choosing only one name among the long list of places she had dreamed to see, but she was blind now and all the names sounded the same. She was sure the air somewhere still tasted different from Tokyo or Osaka, that people were different, too, and that she could still learn to an extent, yet it wasn't the same. It simply wasn't the same.
She shook her head.
Majima didn't say anything for a long time.
And then,
"Looks safe," he interrupted the silence to turn the key in the ignition. The car awakened with a roar and a second later they were on the street.