Wednesday, January 21, 2004
An excerpt from "The Beast Without" © 2004 Glenn Walker
from chapter nineteen, "Fossilectomy"
He was in the conference room on the thirteenth floor, the one that didn’t exist, of the Dragon’s Fang. The Tokeihama family’s casino in post-war Hong Kong. His family’s casino. His home. This was a long time ago. It was a good time. It was a bad time. He was Jushiro Tokeihama then. Cl4de wouldn’t exist yet for years.
He had just walked in. The room was barely lit with dim flouresents. The digital clock on the wall said it was nearly noon. The windows were huge glass panels that should have brightened the room in nearly any other city on Earth but the sun rarely shone in Hong Kong these days. The skyline was breathtaking but the sky was the color of sludge.
Double bangs behind him signaled an aggressive entrance. When his brother Taro burst past him growling and pitched his red leather duster into one of the twelve chairs rounding a marble table, Jushiro knew exactly when he was. This was the day he left home.
Taro clenched and unclenched his fists and glared at him from across the room. "Sato may die because of you!" He spat blood onto the thick white carpet. "I hate you!" Taro was larger and heavier than Jushiro, and smelled of blood, sweat and burnt flesh. There was festering wound from his right shoulder to his elbow. His bald head was adorned with orange tiger stripes tattooed on the left side and his eyebrows shaved into dotted lines. When he was mad Jushiro felt that motif made his brother look comical. Taro was a big clown to him. He didn’t laugh though, he merely ignored him and took a seat at the table and folded his hands in front of him.
Taro seethed for a moment and looked ready to pounce when the conference room’s double doors opened again and an older, frailer man entered. Jushiro nodded to his father, Sugai. Deep in his mind Jushiro knew this was his own face if only he lived so long. And he hated this face for more reasons than he could even understand.
"Father." Taro and Sugai bowed to each other, but the brother soon lost that second of restraint. He pointed at Jushiro, "He is the Devil! All that has happened he has brought upon us!"
Sugai, who had not yet looked at Jushiro, waved a hand at the younger man. "He will be punished and he will learn."
"But Sato -"
The hand again. "What must be done will be done." He bowed and Taro reciprocated and left through the double doors, glaring at Jushiro as he went.
Jushiro stared at his father. He hadn’t gone out on the mission and was dressed for bed in a pure white satin kimono that matched the shag rug. There was a psychedelic red design on the heart and back. Sugai’s hair was wet and streaked with white. Although he was in his sixties his face was lined not by age but by stress. Jushiro was killing his father, he knew, but he didn’t care.
from chapter nineteen, "Fossilectomy"
He was in the conference room on the thirteenth floor, the one that didn’t exist, of the Dragon’s Fang. The Tokeihama family’s casino in post-war Hong Kong. His family’s casino. His home. This was a long time ago. It was a good time. It was a bad time. He was Jushiro Tokeihama then. Cl4de wouldn’t exist yet for years.
He had just walked in. The room was barely lit with dim flouresents. The digital clock on the wall said it was nearly noon. The windows were huge glass panels that should have brightened the room in nearly any other city on Earth but the sun rarely shone in Hong Kong these days. The skyline was breathtaking but the sky was the color of sludge.
Double bangs behind him signaled an aggressive entrance. When his brother Taro burst past him growling and pitched his red leather duster into one of the twelve chairs rounding a marble table, Jushiro knew exactly when he was. This was the day he left home.
Taro clenched and unclenched his fists and glared at him from across the room. "Sato may die because of you!" He spat blood onto the thick white carpet. "I hate you!" Taro was larger and heavier than Jushiro, and smelled of blood, sweat and burnt flesh. There was festering wound from his right shoulder to his elbow. His bald head was adorned with orange tiger stripes tattooed on the left side and his eyebrows shaved into dotted lines. When he was mad Jushiro felt that motif made his brother look comical. Taro was a big clown to him. He didn’t laugh though, he merely ignored him and took a seat at the table and folded his hands in front of him.
Taro seethed for a moment and looked ready to pounce when the conference room’s double doors opened again and an older, frailer man entered. Jushiro nodded to his father, Sugai. Deep in his mind Jushiro knew this was his own face if only he lived so long. And he hated this face for more reasons than he could even understand.
"Father." Taro and Sugai bowed to each other, but the brother soon lost that second of restraint. He pointed at Jushiro, "He is the Devil! All that has happened he has brought upon us!"
Sugai, who had not yet looked at Jushiro, waved a hand at the younger man. "He will be punished and he will learn."
"But Sato -"
The hand again. "What must be done will be done." He bowed and Taro reciprocated and left through the double doors, glaring at Jushiro as he went.
Jushiro stared at his father. He hadn’t gone out on the mission and was dressed for bed in a pure white satin kimono that matched the shag rug. There was a psychedelic red design on the heart and back. Sugai’s hair was wet and streaked with white. Although he was in his sixties his face was lined not by age but by stress. Jushiro was killing his father, he knew, but he didn’t care.
