Reverse: 1999 story · Event stories
The San Francisco Kids
8 scenes, 1,098 lines
1. "An Offer"
129 lines
It's totally worth it, boss! Seriously, trust me, I've checked it out—it's a done deal!
Lucky us, pal. I splurged on my bike in L.A., and now we've got a big deal waitin' for us!
When we seal this thing, we're gonna live it up, call the crew, and hit up the best spots in town!
Well, check us out. Ain't we just like something outta the movies?
A coupla good pals, on a dark rooftop, facing down some bald mooks in black suits. Badass hustlers making deals in the dark!
Which one does the big man want? We've got a whole stockpile of blades.
The young swordsmith has no lack for masterpieces, but has rarely found a buyer capable of appreciating them.
After all, no matter how keen or balanced the blade, a bullet will always be faster and easier.
Blades, yeah, blades. The boss wants our swords. He's already collected a bunch of fancy Chinese and Japanese ones.
You're famous, man—it's your skills that got the big man interested in this deal in the first place!
Here we are. According to their instructions, they'll pay a deposit after the deal's made, then we deliver ...
I get it, buddy. But first, we need to make a flashy entrance. Can't have the bossman thinkin' we're small time.
Evening, gentlemen!
Haight Street J came out to meet you in person! And this here's my pal, Antony!
Brought the head honcho to meet you, bossman.
It appears seeing really is believing.
Hold up, you didn't say you were bringing me to the Tung Ch'ing! What's the deal, Antony?
Relax, boss, their money's good! Greenbacks—neat, crisp, lovely stacks of Benjamins!
Indeed, as your associate Antony has stated, we always conduct our business in unmarked American bills.
Pleased to meet you, Mr. Brown. My name is Hung San, head of San Francisco's Tung Ch'ing Chamber of Commerce. I'm looking forward to working with you.
Joe, Joe Brown, but in his circle, no one calls him that.
On these streets, he's "J."
The buyer reaches out his right hand, cracking a smile that holds neither warmth nor sentiment.
Hey, yeah, pleasure to meet you too. But please, just call me "J." That's what I go by around here.
J takes the man's hand. There is a power and firmness in his calloused fingers, just as tough and weathered as his own.
As you wish. Let us cut to the chase, Mr. J. I've invited you here to talk business.
The Tung Ch'ing Chamber of Commerce has been expanding its operations on Haight Street, and your name, I understand, is well-known in that district.
Looks like you've already got the 411! It's true, everyone who's worth knowing on Haight Street knows J.
But hold on a minute. Weren't you here looking to buy a sword?
A sword? Yes, that is precisely why I am here, but the sword I seek ...
Is you, Mr. J.
Yiqi facai, Mr. J.
Antony, you gonna explain to me what an "itchy fat eye" is, or?
It's like, we're all gettin' paid, and we're talkin' fat stacks!
Indeed, that is the basic sense of it. Now, Antony, if you would excuse us, we have business to discuss.
Antony nods, turning to leave, but J's words halt him midway.
You kicking out my guy but keeping yours around? Doesn't seem fair, does it, pal?
Oh, hah. No, of course, no problem.
Michael, John, take the men to the stairwell and keep Mr. Antony company. Leave two here. That should be enough to keep Mr. J and I secure while we converse.
The boss signals, and his bodyguards follow Antony back into the dark stairwell, closing the heavy metal door from which they had made their entrance.
We are seeking to provide the people of Haight Street a new service providing superior entertainment, which once established, will allow us to all share in our city's economic boom together.
A lie right out of the gate—not looking good. A guy like that only flashes cash, so he can pick your pocket.
But it seems the locals harbor some unfortunate misgivings about the chamber.
Cut to the chase. How much are you offering?
It appears the blacksmith has some misgivings of his own.
Hung San laughs, clapping his hands together, as a briefcase is set down and slid over to J's feet.
This a token of goodwill, Mr. J. You and your friends are known for your generosity, so I assume this money will be put to good use.
"Neat, crisp, lovely stacks of Benjamins" ...
More than enough to buy off a typical greedy gangster, but nothing close to shaking a soul tempered in fire.
The chamber has made generous offers to each resident, unfortunately, the people in your community have proved more obstinate than anticipated.
I admire you Americans. Both those born here and from faraway. In them, I see a commendable spirit of pragmatism, if a troublesome ... stubbornness.
Having only just taken over our dealings on Haight Street, I am still not yet familiar with the local customs. It seems there has been some miscommunication and unnecessary conflict.
But it is here, Mr. J, that I believe you would be most valuable. You and your organization could prove far more capable at "persuading" the locals.
I hope that you might convince them to accept the chamber's offer and transfer their shops and land.
...
So, let me ask again, what are you offering them? And is it more or less than what you're laying on me?
This is a matter of business. You must understand we seek to minimize our expenses. Still, it seems the locals are ignorant of the opportunity we are offering them.
Mr. J, the chamber must succeed in this business. Do you understand what I'm saying? To be frank—
If they accept the chamber's offer, all will be well. If not, we will have to proceed by necessity with more forceful measures.
Oh, I hear ya.
So, you're low-balling them for their stores, and you want me to help you muscle them into it?
J glances down at the enticing green paper bricks in the case, then kicks it back.
I'm not your guy.
Banknotes flutter up from the open case, scattering over the floor.
You think I'm just another blade-for-hire?
That I'd turn on the streets that raised me? Have my people roll over and take your offer?
You think I'm gonna wag my tail like a good little lapdog, then turn around to bite my friends?
All for a few stacks of paper?
Buddy, you don't know me.
J turns to leave, making his way to the door where Anthony is waiting. But the two bodyguards move to step in his way. Only stopped by their leader's raised hand.
Let us remain civil. Mr. J, our dealings to today may have ended bitterly. But as I already told you, this was merely a gesture of friendship.
The man springs forward to grasp J, his words dripping with a merchant's flattery and cunning, but his grip reveals his anger and his strength.
How could I possibly think of buying you? I have always admired men like you. Perhaps you don't understand our customs. This was a means of showing our sincerity in future dealings. A small gift for making your acquaintance.
I'm all for making more friends, pal, but think I'll pass on someone like you.
Antony, we're outta here.
His old friend doesn't move. He waits, blocking the stairwell, shoulder to shoulder with the other guards.
So, you choose to turn down my hospitality and refuse our gesture of goodwill?
It seems that if Mr. J does not want the friendship of the chamber. He must experience a lesson in what it is to stand against us. Come, Michael, John ... Antony.
Antony. He yells the name as though calling his own loyal dog.
Antony, you?
Sorry, boss, I know which way the wind is blowing. The Tung Ch'ing were just too generous with the dough.
Why you dirty, low-down. I shoulda known you weren't worth a damn, you slimy little rat!
J draws his weapon. The Bowie knife's cold edge as sharp and threatening as a wolf's fang under the moonlight.
Alright, so you fellas wanna dance, do ya?
You would do well to think before you make a foolish decision.
It's not too late. The Chamber is known for its benevolence. This is but a small misunderstanding. Lay down your weapon, and we can still shake hands on this amicably.
There are only two ways down from here. I'll allow you a moment to reconsider my proposal—will you take the job and leave as our friend, or will you refuse and find yourself taking a ... shall we say "faster" way down? Hmm?
J surveys his surroundings, weapon raised, taking small, slow steps back as he scans for some other means of escape.
Boss, don't waste your breath on this guy! We'll knock this punk out, tie him up, then work him over for a few days. He'll come around!
...
Do it. Make sure you don't bruise our "guest" too badly. We may still have use for him.
On it!
Boss, maybe I can lean on the shops on the block a bit more, give it a few days, and maybe they'll ...
I'll handle these matters from here. You've done well, Antony.
The two of them depart first, leaving their solitary guest on the rooftop to the hospitality of the remaining enforcers.
Hey, big guy, yeah you, you're up first chrome dome.
J's taunts come from behind the pointed edge of his knife. He's warming up, hopping in place, beckoning his opponent from his open left hand.
The bald henchman steps forward and moves to seize J's knife hand, but J catches him off-guard, dipping low before swinging the blade upwards.
The light whistle of steel slices through the air, followed by droplets of blood spattering across the cold, hard concrete.
...!
Damn! Don't let this guy move!
Step by step, the bodyguards push J to the edge of the rooftop.
Yo! Who's up next? My blade's thirsty—she's lookin' to guzzle down a whole lot more blood tonight!
He raises his knife forward, stepping back until his heels hit the lip of the roof, nothing behind him now but the San Francisco skyline.
There's nowhere left to go.
J makes a quick scan of the gap behind him. The wind howls through the narrow alley, separating this building from the next.
There is another way down—the cat's way—layer by layer, from ledge to railing, down to the ground. Only J isn't exactly a cat.
You're not from around here, are you fellas? I'm guessing Antony hasn't told you much about our shortcuts.
Thing is, they ain't for big gorillas like you, they're for ...
J turns and leaps toward the lower railing of the next building.
... jumping!
He's midway through the air, waiting for the rush of falling, but his trip down ends short, as he swings head over heel, carried by momentum head first into the wall.
Hey!
J's body dangles upside down, his ankles seized by a surprisingly quick gorilla of the Tung Ch'ing.
The unexpected collision leaves him bloodied, flailing ineffectively against the bodyguard's solid grasp.
Get off me!
He thrashes hard, attempting to put his captor off balance.
Looks like it's your time to shine, baby!
J reaches for the long sword strapped to his back; in a fluid motion, he swings the blade up, drawing a long red line across the enforcer's body.
The grip is broken, and he falls headlong into gravity's embrace.
Ahhhhh!!!
He swings his blade out horizontally as it digs into the opposing walls of the narrow alley.
It scrapes hard, letting out a shower of sparks, as the ground rushes up to meet him.
J?
Get in here!
2. A Friend From the East
144 linesNext up, we have a song for you requested by Mr. Liu, owner of the Red Lily Pharmacy on Haight Street—Jasmine.
And here's a little weather report—we've got a bout of extreme weather headed our way; we're talking scorching heatwaves followed up by the one-two punch of a heavy storm front.
And now, a special announcement: the Silver Gate Restaurant on Grant Avenue will be hosting a banquet at 6 PM tomorrow evening in support of ...
Don't move, please. You have a serious leg injury.
Mr. J, why did you fall from that building?
I ... um? Bru ... Bruce ...?
That's right. You remember me? Bruce, yes, Dr. Bruce Liu. I stitched up your arm last month.
Hey, listen—lie still, you're very badly hurt.
Looks like they didn't bother chasing me down here.
They? Down here? I'm not following.
I don't believe anyone is searching for you.
Not quite true, Doc. J, where have you been off gallivanting this time?
Antony said he hooked me up with a deal, and check it—this is what I got for all my trouble.
It is a grim sight; the young man lies out on a medical bed in a state of brooding agony.
Our Antony? Hmm. "Disaster strikes from within." The doctor just taught me this idiom. I don't have to explain what an idiom is to you, do I, J?
AHHHHHH! AHHH!
Mr. J ...
You have some luck, you know, old boy. That bin you angled yourself into was filled with tattered up old clothes and children's toys from the thrift store.
Not only that, you managed to fall right next to the clinic of the most remarkable surgeon on Haight Street.
You flatter me, Mr. Pioneer. I am only a back-alley doctor, living off the trust of the locals here and a steady supply of medicinal alcohol.
The doctor attends to J's leg as he speaks, once again preventing the bloodied gangster from rising to his feet with a stern hand.
What I must do now will be very painful, J. But if you can tough it out, your wounds will heal quickly.
Let me be clear, J. I mean that this is going to be very, very painful.
Not "tough-for-someone-else-but-not-me" painful. Okay, big guy?
Whatever, shove an apple in my mouth then, or a light bulb. Ah no, scratch the light bulb. I remember when Hollick did that, and he was spitting out glass and blood for hours.
Alright, doc. Hit me with it.
He bites down hard on his lip, eyes shut, and breathes deeply.
Okay, just one moment. I'll count to five. Brace yourself.
One, two ... five!
An unexpected and excruciating moment passes as his leg is twisted back into position.
...
And then another twist, and just like that, it's done.
I thought Donowitz was the only guy on our block who couldn't count right.
It's a well-known technique. I've used it myself when I lost a few of my own fingers. I counted two, and then next came five. It's a little less time in the agony of anticipation. Of course, my fingers were made to be reattached.
Bullet-sized beads of sweat mix with the blood dripping from the bite marks on his lower lip. Still, as the moment passes, a smile comes back to J's face.
Hey, that wasn't so ... bad ... after all!
Come, Mr. J. Let's see if you can put some weight on that leg.
Call it traditional Chinese medicine, arcane skill, or whatever suits your fancy. I call it bone-setting, an ancient healing technique practiced for millennia.
Later, I'll concoct some gardenia blood wine for you. If the pain persists, you'll need to dab it on your bruises with some cotton and rub it gently into your skin. Once in the morning and night, each time for a quarter-hour.
The physician cleanses his hands in a nearby basin, dries them with a towel, then crouches by J's side, patting his injured leg.
How long's a quarter-hour again?
Fifteen minutes, nine hundred seconds, or one-fourth of an hour, take your pick.
How is the pain?
Like nothing, feels as good as new.
He cricks his neck, rotates his wrists, and flexes his limbs like nothing happened.
...
Excuse me for a second, it seems we have visitors.
Before the doctor can even turn around to address the voices coming from outside, two men rush into the clinic.
One stout and the other skinny, they squeeze through the tight doorframe and crash to the floor.
J! I heard ya fell from the eighteenth floor! Man, that's some wild stuff!
Eighteenth floor? It was the eighth floor, the eighth! This joint's only got eight floors, rooftop and all!
But that's still high up enough that you ought to be a J pancake, so how come you ain't?
Without the aid of any protective means or arcane skills, a fall from either height would ordinarily be deadly.
Fellas, best not to get hung up on this right now. How'd you two even hear about my "fall"?
Dr. Liu called the restaurant just before you woke up.
Good thing he did, too.
I thought it best to let your friends know, Mr. J.
His friends are here, that much is true, but the momentary levity is broken by the arrival of some very much uninvited guests.
Hello, Dr. Liu! We've come to talk with you about our business proposition.
Hey? Doctor? It's the middle of the day, and the door's not locked. Anybody here?
Darn it, they've come again. Please kindly wait here. I'll speak with them.
Those punks lost or somethin'? Think they can stir up trouble on our block?!
Take it easy, listen to the doc, Becket. Let's chill for a second and scope out the scene.
You heard the boss, Becket!
Ah, welcome, welcome, gentlemen. What can I do for you? Any sprained ankles, injuries? I can treat bruises, fractures, broken bones, colds, and fevers too.
Don't play dumb with me, Liu!
I've got a contract for you. I'm bringing it nice and friendly-like—today. Sign it, and we all walk out of here happy.
You take the cash, my crew packs up your stuff, and you hit the road.
And if you don't ...
Sign here.
The menacing brute pulls out a document from his briefcase, inscribed with words of "generosity," "friendliness," and "sincerity."
I'm sorry, gentlemen. But this offer, it's just too low. You can't ask me to surrender my livelihood for this. It's daylight robbery!
Robbery? Pfft, our boss has a big heart, taking this ratty drugstore off your hands and still tossing you a little cash! Make the smart decision, doc.
J, I smell somethin' fishy goin' on out there.
Before Hollick can finish, J strides out, flinging aside the clinic's yellowed curtain and stepping into the front hall.
Remember, don't start throwing punches, at least not until they do.
His two friends follow closely behind him, the burly Hollick and the nimble Becket flanking J's imposing figure.
Oh, this does not look like it will end well. Best I call on Sheriff Blackhand.
You think you can get away with strong-arming folks around here?
He ain't looking to deal with trash like you.
Watch it, punk.
Trash? Say that again, kid, and I swear you'll be in the trash tomorrow morning, wrapped up in a Persian rug.
Yes, that's right, the Red Lily Clinic. Connect me directly with Sheriff Blackhand, if you would. There's likely to be an incident here that demands his immediate attention.
Dr. Liu ain't signing anything today, pal.
It's three against two, or perhaps only one, as the would-be mobster withdraws meekly behind his muscle.
Hollick and Becket step forward, presenting a solid wall that shields the doctor behind them.
What is it, little man? You don't wanna get those soft hands of yours dirty?
How about you check out these mitts, kid?
The bald strongman seizes Becket by the collar, his fist held back and taut like a slingshot ready to launch.
Becket!
Put your hands down, moron. We don't want to make another mess for the boss to clean up! Let's get out of here!
Becket wriggles free from the brute's grip and snorts up at him, taking time to straighten out his clothes as he falls back behind Hollick.
I think we should all take a step back, gents. The doctor's calendar here says today's not a good day for a brawl.
The mannequin squeezes in between the two sides, raising his hands rigidly as if to create a barrier.
There's never a good day for fighting! Peace is precious, gentlemen.
The tense standoff grows awkward, and the unwelcome pair of thugs slink back toward the door.
This ain't over.
Liu, we tossed you a bone, but we won't be so generous next time. Come on, you big lug. We gotta get out of here.
The unwelcome guests leave their threats hanging as they fall back through the clinic's door.
Well done, gents. It seems you've won, for the moment.
J, did you know those guys?
Yeah, they were there last night. When Antony brought me up to the rooftop here to make a deal with their boss. Or so he said—
But it was a setup!
Their boss handed me a box of cash, wanted me to sell Haight Street out to him, or else I wasn't going to leave that rooftop alive.
Lucky for me, my best girl had my back, and we found our own way down.
The swordsmith pats the colossal weapon behind him with pride.
Your "own way down" being an eight-story drop slowed only by your sword, as I understand.
So then, these men are in the employ of this Hung San. Doctor, might I presume you are far from the only business to have been approached with this "generous offer"?
*sigh*
I'm afraid so. Not just that, they've also been muscling out the migrant workers. Seems they don't want anyone left on Haight Street.
What?!
A little late to the action, the door swings open, and a familiar face walks through confidently.
Alright, I'm here. Now someone want to tell me what sort of "incident" was kicking off here?
J, Hollick, Becket ... Should have known you three would be here.
I made the call, Sheriff. Fortunately, the matter was resolved without bloodshed.
You going to tell me what happened?
Really, Blackhand? You're going to tell me our sheriff's got no idea what's going on in his own backyard?
Zip it, kid. And you're one to talk. From the look of you, I'm guessing these Grant Avenue boys already got the drop on you.
They want to tear down the street so they can build some kind of entertainment complex. They've already pressured a few shops to close.
An entertainment complex. Jeez, and I suppose in their heads, we'll all just sign up to wait tables for their crumbs? Where are the kids going to leave their tags on a monstrosity like that?
You know I'd rather you weren't encouraging the kids to plaster every wall with that crap. It's a pain in my ass to get it cleaned up.
Hey, it's street art, man, street art! We gotta protect the arts, don't we?!
Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I've got bigger things on my plate. And so do you. Listen, I know most folk working around here don't have their papers, and I've got orders from up-top to come down hard on them.
You gonna follow through?
Gonna? Ha, you've been out for a bit, haven't you? We've already wrangled them up by the dozens, and they're gonna stay there until they're deported.
Deportation. A dreadful term, worse than a two-week-old sour cucumber beef roll.
I'll tell you what, though, J, I hate this new crew just as much as you do. They're making a mess of this district, and now I've got city hall squeezing me. So you gonna tell me what you know?
This block's got its own rules, and I know you boys have kept things nice and low-key, but if things change ... Dammit, I don't want to have to play rough here.
For now, I've got to make appearances. So, if you want your street back, you gotta figure out who these new guys are and who's backing their operation.
If I've picked up what the sheriff is saying, J, it sounds like you handle the gang, and he'll restore freedom to our neighborhood friends.
The dummy's got it right. I'm asking you to make my life a little easier, and find out who's backing these guys.
No hard feelings, J. You've got your problems, and I've got mine. Me, you, Becket, Hollick ... we all agree on this—priority one is taking out these gangsters.
The sheriff glances at Hollick and Becket.
I'm in, Sheriff.
It seems to be the best way forward for us.
Whatever you say, J.
Boss, you say jump, I'm jumpin'!
Great. Get it done.
3. The One With an Umbrella
150 linesLast I heard from him, he mentioned he was seeing a cousin from L.A., then poof, gone.
If we're going to get anywhere, first things first, we gotta find this rat and wrench out all the dirt on his new crew.
Let's hit up Old Philip's joint first for the lowdown.
Good luck, boys.
But just to be on the safe side, I'd advise you all to carry something for protection.
So, you think we need to start hittin' the streets strapped? Are we ready for that kind of heat?
Perhaps not. We aren't common criminals, after all. Merely members of a grassroots, non-charitable volunteer group, maintaining order in the neighborhood and providing meals and shelter for the homeless and displaced.
Haha, if Tang Ji gets wind of that, he's sure to throw us out once and for all.
Catch you later, fellas! See ya, doc! And thanks for everythin'!
In San Francisco, information is like the threads of a spider's web, spun across every corner and between each alleyway.
"Street artists," skateboarders, and every variety of buskers and food vendors ... This place is more than just a street. It is a source of livelihood, and a home.
J and his crew would fight to protect this community, and that would begin with finding the trail of one particular rat.
Hello there, boys! Can I interest you in perusing my latest umbrella?
Open it, take shelter beneath its magnificent struts, and not a single raindrop shall touch you.
How often do you think it rains here, Eternity?
Plus, we've already got a whole stash of lost umbrellas back at our joint.
Is that so? But I have many more treasures here! An endless supply of pickled salmon, an inexhaustible sweet berry crisp, a wind-up toy older than your great-grandmother's great-grandmother ...
And a mirror that keeps you looking young forever!
Old things are always kept in the hands of the old—a form of solidarity some might say. Care to take a look?
J? What are you doing hanging out here with the street vendors?
Street vendors? Such an unsightly word.
The lady's words drift past their ears unheard.
That gut of yours is a sight for sore eyes, Old Philip! What, you been hearing on Haight Street recently?
It's even bigger than mine, and that's sayin' somethin'!
The stout, good-natured man pats his stomach, following his leader, smiling and greeting their old neighbor.
But the old man's face is twisted with disappointment.
Nah, don't ask me. I'm closing shop—for good.
Yesterday, no, the day before yesterday, I signed it away to those bastards.
How come this is news to me?
Since when do I gotta keep you in the loop of what I do with my business?
Besides, I have no idea who those guys were! But I didn't have any choice. I called Blackhand, but he said he couldn't do anything about it! I wonder how much goddamn hush money he's pocketing for looking the other way?
I guess he forgot he came up on this street too?
Looks like our sheriff buddy's not too popular around here these days.
Haven't seen a cop get a warm welcome here since I was in diapers.
But come on man, don't rush into something like this—why you in a hurry to go? A contract's just a piece of paper.
Just paper? Ha, yeah, until a lawyer comes knocking with his briefcase. Then it feels like a lot more than just a bit of paper.
Goddamn vultures!
They don't hold back when they're raiding your wallet.
Watch out, J, they'll be coming for you next. They've already snatched up Dominick's and Ferraro's shops on the main strip.
Snatched up, ha. It's straight-up theft! Looks like Dr. Liu's their next mark. Sheesh ...
The old man seems like a shaken bottle about to pop.
Oh, they rolled up, alright, but me and the guys already squared things away for the doc.
Becket props himself on Hollick's wide shoulders, cracking his fists with a wide grin.
Good luck to ya. I'm off to New Orleans, J. An old pal's doing some arcanum biz down on the Mississippi, hawking voodoo dolls, bat crap ... all that snake oil stuff.
Eternity is drawn in by the mention of the locale.
New Orleans! Planning on a restful slumber in Lafayette Cemetery?
Hold up, lady. I've been meaning to ask ... I don't think I've ever seen you on Haight Street before.
Oh? I didn't realize there was any such rule, young man.
Nah, I mean, hustlers gotta hustle, right? I'm just curious.
All I'm doing is trying to find the right buyer for this little thing.
She presents an unremarkable, almost ugly wind-up toy, yet her smile suggests it is something more.
Over there—
Following the old man's gaze, they see a group of cursing tramps being chased off by police.
No loitering! Move along, people, move!
We've been here for months! What's the deal?!
Things change, wanna complain? Take it up with the stick.
The Haight Street patrolman ruthlessly drives off the homeless from their usual hangouts on the street.
They're kicking people out!
What a shame!
Don't let me catch you hanging around here again.
Hey!
Who's that?
Bruno? Did some poor sap spit on your shiny new shoes? You're all fired up today.
Get out of my way, kid. Don't think I've forgotten you covering for those hoodlum kids I collared last time.
Besides, it's not like I want to do this, but I've got orders. These bums have to be out by the end of the day.
So where they supposed to go? Street kids with no home, jobless hobos—cut 'em some slack. This spot's closest to the soup kitchen.
"Where they supposed to go?" Anywhere they want, so long as it ain't here.
You gonna play the hero?
Put that thing down first, Bruno.
I'll get them outta here. I swear these guys won't cause any trouble on your beat.
The patrolman's hard face softens, if only slightly, as if realizing he doesn't have to play the villain today.
That's right. Nobody makes trouble on my beat. I want them out of here.
Blackhand only said you were rounding up the illegals. He didn't say nothin' about clearing out all the street kids.
Couldn't tell you anything about that, J. I'm just following orders.
Why don't we go warm up the stove back at the club? We can whip up some grub for them, get them off the street.
Whatcha say, boss?
Everyone's got a right to a square meal.
Yeah, and how many meals you gonna cover for them? You wanna be a hero, be my guest, but one way or another, they need to be off the street by tomorrow. Else I come knocking, got it?
Got it, you've already given me enough trouble for a lifetime, pal.
J pats the officer's shoulder, then turns to address the fearful tramps.
If anyone's still hungry ...
And if you're after a bed that ain't under the open sky ...
If you're down to hear what your pal, J of Haight Street, has to say ...
Then come on, follow me and my crew!
They hesitate for a moment before the first brave soul steps forward, crossing the street to join J. More and more follow, drawn by J's promise of food and shelter.
Ah, you make a fine shepherd, young man. Staff in hand, accompanied by two sheepdogs, large and small, leading your flock back to the fold.
Sputnik, get the hot sauce. I'm gonna fix up a Chinese-Mexican beef roll for everyone.
They'll be breathing fire in no time!
Are you sure, Mr. J, that-that doesn't sound like it would be a good thing.
Hollick! Hollick, where did you run off to?! You're cookin' the next batch!
Becket! Becket!!! Get those dishes out. We're swamped in the kitchen!
Line up, everyone, line up. Elderly and children up to the front, please. Let's keep this civil. There's enough for everyone. No need to rush.
Things haven't been this lively here in a long time.
Used to be we'd have a lunch rush from all the immigrants nearby, but well that's dried up too.
Yeah, so long as Blackhand has them locked up. Dammit, I wanna know who's putting all this pressure on him, then I wanna kick that dude's face in.
Anyways, can someone call Dr. Liu? We got someone feeling sick here. We're gonna need his help.
Hey, how many tagged along with us today?
Twenty-one new friends followed you back, and three old ones.
Am I an old friend or a new one? I am old, but I'm new here.
Huh? Didn't expect you to tag along.
Oh? Surprised?
Show some respect for your elders, won't you, boys? Do you have any of that sweet sponge cake here?
Eternity, ma'am, I'm afraid we cannot do any custom meals unless you are willing to pay extra off the menu.
Everyone, please line up, no pushing, no stepping on each other—everyone's getting fed.
About that, J, listen, we can't keep feeding all these mouths for nothing. Business ain't been so hot lately.
In front of everyone, Becket, distributing the pasta, whispers his concerns to J.
We can't just keep these folks fed forever, J. Maybe tomorrow we should ...
We can work! We'll handle the heavy stuff, back you up in brawls. We'll even take the fall for one of you, if that's what you need.
Doesn't matter. We still can't turn Tang Ji's into a shelter.
We're taking care of them today, J, but tomorrow they might have to ...
I'll find them a way out.
Let's get everyone's belly full. We'll worry about the rest later.
Tang Ji hooked us up, so we'll hook them up the same.
Alright, you're the head honcho, we'll do whatever you say. Hollick, jump in over here and toss some extra meat on everyone's plates.
You've got one smart companion there.
That's his nature, madam.
Long after the diner's closed sign goes up, the place is still busier than ever.
Any of you heard from Antony?
Antony? What's up with him?
Nothing—Have you seen the loser?
Loser? Yeah, he's turned into a real loser.
The tramp wipes the hot sauce from his lips and pats his belly, contentedly full for the first time in a long time.
West Coast Star.
I popped in for a drink, and saw Antony there with a few chicks. Bottle service, a private room—where did he get that kind of dough?
Ah! I have been there, yes. But I did not see Mr. Antony.
Darling, were you playing the shiny disco ball there?
Ahem, nyet, no, that was not me.
The West Coast Star? Yeah, I know the place.
Hollick, can I get a soda?
Done eating? Then how about you get your ass into the kitchen? This diner ain't no place for sponges, unless they're working the dishes!
Give him a break, Becket.
The golden sunset washes over San Francisco's iconic bridge, shortly before it reaches the diner.
Take care of our new pals, fellas. Don't let us down. Tomorrow at ten, we meet back at my shop.
That's ten sharp. I'll come and yank you right out of that sty you call a bedroom, if I have to.
Got it, boss!
Where are you off to now, J?
Gonna catch up with an old buddy—our "pal" Antony.
And you're going alone?
Just use your head, J. Don't do anything you'll regret.
Before the gentleman's words have left his lips, J has already walked away. And any other words are lost in the roaring of his motorcycle's engine.
Then, the rider vanishes into the twilight of San Francisco like a bolt of lightning.
Thinks he's the action star of his own blockbuster, doesn't he? Very well, go forth, lone hero.
A fine young man. By the way, Ms. Sputnik, what time is it?
Just a little before seven.
Why didn't you let me answer her?
What, it's seven already?! Oh! Is there a TV here?! My show's starting—everyone come closer, turn on the TV and let's dive into the story.
4. Friendly Meeting
133 linesHe's running a fever. Someone help get this man up on the table.
There's medicine in the box, the white one. Mr. Becket, boil some more water, prepare a damp towel!
After receiving the call, the doctor hurries over, attending to the sick tramp in the diner.
Dr. Liu, I'm guessing this fella can't foot the bill for this, and we might not be able to front it for him neither.
There's an old saying where I'm from, Becket.
"Saving a life is greater than building a seven-tiered pagoda." Saving lives is what matters.
A pagoda, is that like a cake or something?
It's a kind of building, gentlemen. Now, if you're wasting time thinking of layer cakes, how about you come over here and help out with dishes instead?
On the other side of the diner, the group is still busily cooking and distributing food.
Hold on, this is less than what you gave the people before me, what's up?
Pardon, Ms. Eternity, but we're forced by necessity to distribute what we have based on each individual's situation.
Frankly, ma'am, there are people here that have gone days without a proper meal, and with you in that fetching blue dress ...
Mr. Pioneer, it would be best for you to speak less and work more.
In the corner, two little girls have rummaged through Eternity's handbag, pulling out an assortment of curious trinkets, sprawling them out on the floor to play with.
Hmm?
Oh! Darlings, didn't your parents teach you not to take other people's things? Be good little dears and return those to me.
Parents?
There's no one around them, and no one speaks up for them.
These kids are either from the orphanage or raised on the streets like us, grabbing whatever grub they can.
Haha, you remember Paulina? J's sis, tight with cash but big-hearted, spitting image of him when she was young.
Miss Paulina found herself a respectable job somewhere beyond this place. I'm so happy for her—happy and proud.
I'm happy for any kid that makes it out of Haight Street.
You've gotta be!
Let's quit all this racket, Hollick. You go on and grab some blankets for these folks.
Eternity shifts the children's hands from the old toys, leading them by their sauce-stained fingers toward the makeshift beds.
If you behave, with no crying or fussing, I'll give you two chocolate candies. How about that, my little lambs?
The little lambs nod.
Eternity's royal blue blanket wraps them into a slumber—warm and sheltered from the elements and hunger.
Alright, gents, time to tidy up. Clear some space, clean the utensil. Then tonight we're hosting a San Francisco story time!
Did you—Did you hear something outside just now? The sound of brakes, maybe?
Perhaps the radio waves disrupted you, Ms. Sputnik. They were adjusting the TV antenna earlier.
This the place, Antony?
He's gotta be here.
The turncoat has brought his new allies straight to his former hangout.
You best not screw this up. The boss is still sore about last time.
You swore on your mama's life, but then you let him get away.
Well, I didn't count on him bailing over a rooftop, but in case you didn't know this diner of his ain't about to sprout legs and run.
I got my GED. Don't play me for a chump! So, what if he ain't here?
Not possible. Bruno tipped me off—said J's back at the diner, playing saint to the homeless.
So believe me or not, but how can you doubt our friendly neighborhood copper?
Anyway, let's kick this off with a bang!
I'll go in with one of the guys, the rest of you stay put. No need to rattle the cage just yet.
Sounds like you're trying to make yourself into the next boss.
The ill-intentioned old friend, with his vicious dog in tow, heads straight into the diner.
Who? Antony?!
Oh, I seem to recall your hulking, ill-tempered friend from before.
Where's J?
At this moment, he is likely rushing down some San Francisco avenue, having just missed his would-be target.
If you're looking for the person in charge here, I can temporarily stand in for our absent acting manager, and discuss matters with you. What do you need?
A talking dummy? What the heck's a dummy doin' in a diner? Hahaha, look, Antony! It freaking talks!
All that aside, sir. Let me be clear, I am J's representative while he's out. So, whatever your issues, please bring them up to me.
Hollick, keep those tongs handy. We got company.
We gotta be good hosts, don't we?
I wouldn't recommend getting handsy, Becket.
You wanna throw down again, lil' buddy?
The bald muscle blocks Antony's path, fists clenched, eyeing the occupants of the diner.
Fear, disgust, contempt, and curiosity.
Let's take this outside, to the corner. We don't want people thinkin' Ol' Tang Ji's in any trouble now.
We're here, and we ain't leaving. Now, where's that coward hiding? Has he gone chicken and fled the coop?
I'm thinking we nickname him "Chicken Head" from now on! Haight Street's Rooster J—sounds good, don't it? Hahaha!
Some laugh awkwardly, while most remain silent.
If you've got a shred of decency, not for J's sake, but for Tang Ji's, you'll step outside with us.
Wild dogs don't fight in their own den. That's the rule of the streets.
Fine. Let's take this outside.
Becket and Hollick, one with a steel pipe, the other gripping long metal tongs, follow the towering enforcer outside with Antony.
Gents, please keep your cool. Let's try to talk this out. No need for fists.
Isn't it always best to avoid a scrap?
The mannequin man pleads as he likes, but he knows his friends' temperaments. Cooler heads will not prevail.
Oh, this is more thrilling than any prime-time soap opera.
Still, children shouldn't see such unwholesome scenes.
So, where's that punk hiding?
Hiding! Haha, the boss is out there right now looking for you, you little rat!
Looking for me? Yeah, right! I'm the one trying to track him down!
What's the deal? You promised that this chicken would be holed up in the diner.
So where's he at?!
By sheer coincidence, it seems they've chosen to time their raids for the very same moment.
If you ask me, we oughta yank a couple of teeth out and get the truth on that jerk straight from their mouths.
What, you going soft?
Can it! Or did you not remember what the boss told us?
"Use your head more than your fists."
"If this can be handled clean, then don't go makin' it ugly."
"We're all businessmen here—businessmen who know the rules."
So let's not make things ugly. Mull over a little "ren qing si gu," you got it?
Hmph.
Antony turns to face his former friends with a sly vulpine smile.
Becket, ol' pal-o-mine, a top-notch mechanic like you oughta have your own shop by now, dontcha think?
We go way back. Remember our time in the joint?
I don't remember nothing.
But I do know you're an ungrateful rat.
Yeah, a rat!
It seems like they aren't buying his false smile.
Antony's honeyed words are met with a thick gob of spit sent straight to his face.
Right, J, he's been good to me, like a real brother. But his sister—with her nose always up in the air like that?
She thinks we're just slum dogs, too filthy to even say hello.
Sure, J's got enough grub for everyone, but with his act, he ain't ever striking it rich.
Striking it rich.
Now he really is just another lap dog from Grant Ave.
Stop dragging this out.
Whatever you and your little circus got going on ain't none of my concern, but we can't head back with nada.
Snatch those two. If J's MIA, we'll nab his little buddies and snap off some parts till he shows up!
The henchman calls out, and a group of almost clone-like thugs in black rush out from the van, seizing the two companions.
Hollick!
Where the hell did all these—!
Hollick and Becket, though outnumbered, still attempt to resist, but in a few swift moves, they are bound up and hoisted into the back of the van, becoming "spoils of war."
Take 'em to the club, into the freezer, oh no, the basement! We'll sort 'em out later!
You look like you've packed on a couple more pounds.
The stray dog eyes his former companions, as his "new friends" busily tie the two captives on either side of an oil drum.
Strap 'em in real tight, especially that twig Becket. He's slippery. Give him an inch and he'll escape.
Don't worry, we'll have someone on the door.
Alright, just keep it clean for the boss. He's got some big shots coming by tomorrow night, so get your A-team on this—we're on tonight.
You're getting ahead of yourself, lil' pup. You're just a mutt the boss took in, and now you think you get to run the show?
A mutt? Pfft! A mutt's way more loyal than this backstabber!
Who told you to speak?
Hold up! Smacking them around ain't helping nobody. Just make sure they get some grub later; the boss might still need 'em.
I'm headed upstairs. The crowd's really rolling in. Watch the place. No drama tonight.
Man, can you shift your fat rear a smidge to the left.
I can't move a thing.
J's been harping on about slimming down, hitting the gym, and you never took the hint?!
That lowlife Antony.
What's the game plan now, bro?
The game plan? We keep our wits sharp, get some shut-eye. Trust J. For now, zip it, and wait for that rat Antony to drop off some grub.
We won't be any good without some chow. J'll get us. He'll make it. Don't stress bro!
J has never failed them before, and as far as Becket's concerned, he never will.
The West Coast Star, a shrine to Bacchus in the heart of San Francisco.
I got this hunch, man, like we might see some action here tonight.
Got your eye on one of the new chicks?
Nah, more like a dude, a young one. Yeah, man, it's always the young guns stirring up trouble.
Hearing this, the burly enforcer raises his eyebrow, casting a strange glance at Antony.
You into that scene? Cool, I mean, this city is all about freedom.
In the neon glow, all tastes find refuge. As the night flows, all manner of whispers and desires mingle here—
Whispers of the second millennium's end, as the soothsayer's murmurings of the "apocalypse of 1999" approach ... for now the people revel!
5. Disco Party
133 linesThe San Francisco knight removes his helmet, surveying a parking lot as packed as a can of sardines.
How come they never pack bags of chips this full? Damn!
Finding a safe spot for his beloved motorcycle amidst rows of luxury cars is no easy feat.
He maneuvers his bike, careful not to scratch his steel steed.
You there! Move your bike! You can't park here! Got it?!
The voice is familiar. J looks in the direction of the shout.
Alright, you find me a spot to park, buddy.
Huh? Who do you think you are? Oh!
Yo, Taff! You're hustling here now? That shirt's slick as anythin'. Where'd you cop that?
J ... ? No freakin' way, J! Hahaha, you're not at the arcade now, pal! Man, are you a sight for sore eyes!
I'll go let Antony know—
There is no trace of awareness in his words.
Oh-no-no-no, don't tip him off. I'm planning on giving him a surprise.
You know, a shoulder tap, a goofy grin, then a mouthful of a meat roll drenched in hot sauce!
Wait, was it last month, or the one before? Weren't you still at Coz's place? What's with the move?
Antony hooked me up. It pays better here, pull in some other guys also came over from the street. We're all on his dime now. How are you guys holding up?
We're as tight as you are with your boy, Antony!
Make sure to drop by. There's always a spot for you at the diner, pal.
Hahaha, alright, head on in—give the bartender my name, and they'll hook you up with the best seat!
Leave the bike with me. I'll find a sweet spot for it!
Thanks! Later, bro! Say hi to your cousin for me, and remember, the door to Tang's Restaurant is always open for the both of ya!
It is a world he knows well, yet never let himself be lost in.
He prefers the hammering of metal over the thumping beat at the center of the dance floor.
Making his way through the crowd isn't much easier than navigating a motorcycle through rush-hour traffic.
Where cars scrape by bumper to bumper, here it is much the same.
Hey, good-looking, wanna dance?
No, pal, sorry, I'm here looking for someone.
Oh, you're taken. Fine, then—If you change your mind, I'll be at the bar.
If you're looking for a dance, hot stuff, I'm here—anytime.
He shakes off the flirtation, searching through the crowd under the pulsating neon lights, before at last catching sight of his target.
Fancy seeing you here.
Rolling up his sleeves, he sidesteps across the dance floor, pushing past dancers, closing in on the traitor ...
An—!
His voice cuts off abruptly.
Seeing the traitor joined by his henchmen, the outnumbered hero makes the smart move.
You hear someone calling me just now?
Can't hear a thing 'sides this music.
Never mind. Everything locked down? Don't let 'em bolt. Keep 'em in check.
We don't screw up, not like you, mutt.
Keep yapping at me like that, and I'll have the boss cut out your goddamn tongue.
Chill with the threats, Antony.
Alright, alright, man, come grab a drink at my table, on the house. We've all earned it today.
The rat turns, walking himself and his goons straight toward J.
As he's about to slip into the dancing crowd, someone tugs at his arm.
Here, come on inside.
Hey! Gabby, don't just drag people into the lounge, at least not where everyone can see! Think about the club's image next time!
The girls' lounge is decorated simply and casually. It is nearly run-down. The dingy somewhat creepy room holds nothing more than a few ratty sofas covered with blankets.
The kind of place where would-be starlets would go once their Hollywood dreams had shriveled on the vine.
You're hiding from him.
Nah, I'm hunting him. Just need to wait for him to ditch his backup.
Ah, worse, you're looking for trouble.
A cloying sweetness spreads in the dim light. Two other girls are wrapped up tight, sleeping in blankets on the sofas, awaiting tonight's performance.
Awaiting a patron willing to lavish fortunes on their show.
What you got in that cup? Tequila?
Could be, dunno. You thirsty? Knock yourself out.
Just a swig. *glug*
Ah! That stench is rough.
Antony's been hanging around here for days. Didn't he tell you?
Nah, he said he was with some relative from LA, then disappeared. Suddenly calls about some business for me to take care of.
I thought I was making some quick cash selling a blade. Turns out the rat had set me up.
Really? Sounds intense.
She responds nonchalantly while powdering her nose.
Well, whatever you are planning, you'll find him by the third pillar to the left of the stage. He always hogs those sofas.
You're a lifesaver, Gabby.
Just returning the favor for when you saved me and my sisters at the docks, J.
J sets down his glass, stepping out the door.
I'm on stage soon, J—clap for me, will ya?
Just as Gabby had directed him, by the third white pillar, Antony was sprawled out over one of the leather sofas, and better than that, he was alone.
Sir, your Margarita.
I didn't order a drink, idiot.
This one came courtesy of an old friend, J from Haight Street, sound familiar?
J?
J takes a seat next to the traitor, casually draping his arm over Antony's scrawny shoulders.
Hey pal, so where did your big buddies go?
J ... J!
Oh s**t! The hell you doing here? Secu—
The word is cut short.
The sensation of sharp metal pressing against his skin turns his shout into a silent gasp.
That's right, Antony! Surprise!
If I don't make it out of this club tonight, I swear you won't either, old friend.
A little pain, just enough, makes any threat more persuasive.
He twists the blades edge up, causing it to dig ever so slightly into his skin, not enough to bleed, but enough that fear wells up in Antony's eyes, and catches his tongue.
Come on now, pal. I thought you'd be thrilled to see me. Is this how you treat a guest?
Welcome, welcome! Absolutely, welcome! Heh-heh ... heh-heh ...
The traitor forces a smile, stiff and fearful.
Every visitor is a guest, and every guest ...
He doesn't seem to have anywhere to go with that phrase, panic drips from every word.
Let's shoot the breeze, pal. Been what—two days, since we saw each other? I bet you've been grinding your teeth.
But here you are, living it up on Grant Avenue. What brought you here?
The answer is clear—music, liquor, the flurry of green bills, and the attractive, youthful figures twisting under dance hall lights.
For all this?
Dough, mansions, and dames ... The big shot life you've been chasin'?
Should've never dragged you back to the diner. How did we end up getting stuck with a lowlife like you.
Lowlife? I'm looking to climb high, J, not like you and your bottom-feeders living hand-to-mouth.
Oh yeah, climbing high ... climbing up on those knives you've put in our backs.
But let's not get into that now. Just tell me, who's causing all the trouble on Haight Street?
Agent R, that's what we call him. He speaks for the big bosses around here.
That jerk's got his fingers in everyone's business in this town, as for Haight Street. All he wants is the complex, but he's happy to get rid of anyone else that he thinks might "dirty up San Francisco."
He delivers a short punch to Antony's ribs for his friends locked up.
But it has nowhere near the satisfaction it deserves. He still has to keep it light—can't make a scene.
J pats his old friend's shoulder, as a boy comes up to the sofa, forcing a break at the moment.
Hey Antony, you're here again tonight!
Huh? When did you get so popular?
He flashes a phony smile to his old friend. The message is clear.
Can't you see I've got a guest? Scram.
The line is delivered under duress, but between the music and revelry, the boy takes no notice. He lets the two "old friends" reminisce.
Fine! Whatever, don't let me cramp your style!
How much did they shell out to Blackhand?
Blackhand? We didn't pay that guy anything.
The girls from the lounge appear on the dance floor's center, spotlights drawing attention to their fiery figures. All eyes follow.
Except for two pairs, now locked together.
I think you ought to give this whole entertainment complex thing a second thought, J. It's kinda cool. It'd let everyone in Haight Street get a taste of the Cali high life.
Everyone except all the people you're muscling out, or did you forget all about them, ya rat?
J, I'm only telling you this because of our history.
The boss here is dealing for some bigwig behind the scenes.
Oh yeah? Tell me something I didn't already know, like maybe where I can find these bastards.
Silver Gate Hotel on Grant Avenue, the big do tomorrow night, heard the councilman's cronies will all be there. We're set to roll out the red carpet, tonight's our casting call, for the girls.
He feels nothing but disgust at the traitor's words.
The contracts and the ledgers are upstairs. I've seen 'em, in the office on the second floor. Just don't rat me out.
With the scoop I've given you, boss ...
Think there still might be a spot for me at the diner?
A spot? Yeah, maybe, but you won't see it without taking a few licks.
He delivers another short punch. This one hard and direct to his ribs.
Ouch!!!
You'll have to wait on the next one, till we meet again.
Just remember, you earned it. Every bit of what's coming to you.
Just 'cause you always needed to snatch a little more. You never knew when to stop, did ya?
He sheathes his blade, stands up, and quietly disappears into the chaotic crowd of dancers.
Security! Security! Security!
The traitor calls out to his slumbering guard dogs, but in the throes of the music and dancing, his shout is like a ripple against a stormy sea.
J slips out unnoticed into the San Francisco night.
6. Me Again
144 linesIt's been half an hour since they were supposed to meet.
Hollick is far from timely, but there's something about it, a feeling. A pit in his stomach.
The little blade is for Becket. Though, here's hoping we can sort all this out without it getting messy.
They still haven't shown, but a ringing phone gives him something of an answer.
Yo, this is J. Who's callin'?
J, it's Pioneer. I've been trying to reach you. After you left last night, Antony came to the diner.
Antony, a terrible name.
I had that punk cornered yesterday, at the West Coast Star.
It was shortly after you left. You only just missed him.
Becket and Hollick went out with Antony and his goon, but they didn't come back. There must have been a scuffle.
The word on the street is they went straight to the West Coast Star.
When?!
I'm not sure of the details, J. Sorry, we couldn't reach you before.
I was there last night. Dammit!
Whatever, whatever, we can't sweat that for now. I'm on my way. Everything good there, all else considering?
Other than being down two sets of hands, everyone else is fine.
I'll swing back soon as I sort out this mess. Catch you later.
The swordsmith dons his coat while dialing another number.
...
Blackhand.
Good news, I've got some intel.
Bad news, I need to bust out some buddies first, and it might get messy.
He glances up at the owl clock on his wall. Time is not on his side.
Three PM, Blackhand, let's pick a spot to meet.
The phone booth on Mouse Avenue, across from the candy shop.
Fine, we'll go over the details face-to-face.
He hangs up and dashes out of the workshop, ready to bust out his unlucky friends.
Hey J! The joint's not open yet!
Yeah, yeah. I know, just need to see Gabby. It's urgent.
A lie, told without a blush or skip of the heart.
Usually it'd be a no go, but for you, just make it quick, okay? I'll pretend I didn't see you.
Very smart, Disco Kid.
Of course, just say I snuck into the place all by myself, while you were hard at work.
By the way, is Antony here?
He never left. He hasn't stepped out since last night; he's probably holed up in the basement. I heard they've got a couple of poor saps locked up down there.
The basement? Excellent. J strides past him without another word.
Hey, buddy. What are you doing here?
Big Tony sent me to check if you guys are slacking off.
That chump's got some nerve. He ain't nuthin' but the boss's lapdog, and he thinks he can check up on us?
How about he comes and checks up on us himself, if he has the nerve.
You wanna tumble with him, go right ahead. But I've got a job to do, so you either step back or we have a problem.
A poorly staged act. J stifling his laughter, spits on the ground, and saunters toward the basement.
You go right ahead, man.
The noise, however, catches the attention of another guard dog. Thankfully, a drunken one.
What-what's that racket?
So what, you're the guard dog here?
Dog? The hell ...
Say that again, bro, I dare ya!
Taking down the drunk requires only a single well-aimed punch to the nose.
Lay off the sauce, dude. Getting tanked in the morning ain't classy.
Seriously, be smart, Becket. Just give the nod, and I swear you can—
Who's that?
I told you; nobody gets in without my say-so, don't you get it?!
He spins to dress down the rule-breaker, only to realize he's not the kind to obey.
J stands at the top of the stairs, staring down at the scene.
J!
J?! Why it's gotta be you again?!
The traitor, about to call for help, is silenced by a timely headbutt from Becket.
Ugh!
Taking advantage of the moment, J leaps down the stairs, grabbing the traitor's collar to hoist him up.
B-big bro! Think of the good times. I've pulled our fat outta the fire before.
Your pocket is loaded with goodies, Antony, and they're all mine now.
He motions to a stack of invitations, all prepared for the banquet. Now to be repurposed.
The belated J tosses the traitor aside and frees his two old friends.
The binding ropes find a new "host" and the traitor receives his just deserts.
You guys see any other way outta here?
J surveys the surroundings, searching for an exit in the cramped underground space.
Behind a pile of discarded tires, he kicks open a rust-covered old door.
Is there another room in the basement?!
Nah, J, this looks like the sewer line.
I guess sewers count as a way out too. Come on, let's go.
What are we gonna do about this guy?
Gag him, tie him down, dump him in the trash. Upside down, trash belongs in a dumpster, fellas.
...
Think I stepped on something.
You better hope it's somethin' still movin'. Probably just a rat.
What if it ain't movin'?
The question goes without answer. It's better left without one.
Pal, we've got a classy banquet to crash soon. Don't kill the mood.
Hahahahaha! Just pretend it's a dead rat, then.
But I'm thinking here, fellas ...
Isn't life like walking through these sewers? You never know what's gonna float by next.
A torn scarf, a wilted rose, maybe an empty beer bottle.
In the pitch darkness of the sewers, it's only by blind luck they find an exit—blind luck and a hustler's intuition.
To the left, boss, left. There should be a ladder going up.
Unless it's been swiped.
Who'd swipe a ladder from the sewers?
He touches a rust-streaked iron frame. The cold metal whimpers. J can hear it, the sound of metal—a whisper only he can hear.
How long you been down here, buddy?
Uh, J, you alright there?
Huh? It's nothing. I'll head up first. Becket, follow me. Hollick, you're last. Keep the ladder steady.
Don't rush now. Let us climb up first.
Reeks like hell here.
Whoa! Someone's crawling outta the sewer, man! Hold up, one, two, three!
Hey, buddy, can you give us a hand?
The loiterer attempts to offer a hand, but the stench blasting out from the manhole soon sends him reeling back. Only a shaky hand is offered from as far a distance as he can manage.
Hey, this is a really good heap, man!
I think we'd almost have been better off down there.
Yeah, whatever if you prefer sleeping with rats, man.
Where are we? Do you know how to get to George's candy shop from here?
Sure thing, man. It's just a left past the alley—they got the best toffee on Haight Street.
Thanks buddy. Why don't you swing by Tang's Restaurant and flash them this?
You'll get a full meal. Just a little way to say thanks.
J attaches a shiny metal badge to their new friend's old shirt.
What's this thing?
It's your golden ticket. You're in with J now.
Becket, let's move.
Don't lose it, and remember, if any of your friends need a meal too, tell them to find J at Tang's Restaurant.
Jesus! Is that reek coming off of you?
Yeah, made a detour through the rat canals on my way here.
Those guys are linked to the Grant Avenue gang, through a guy called "Agent R." He's the one with ties to the real big shots.
They're meeting up tonight at the Silver Gate Hotel.
Silver Gate Hotel ...
The sheriff hesitates at the name, as if mentioning an impenetrable fortress.
Is your intel solid?
Unless Antony's got a death wish.
The sheriff laughs.
Alright, take this. Be careful what you say. It hears everything and remembers it all.
A bug?
Yeah, a wireless piece of arcanum tech issued by the police. Works better than your regular recorders.
So, what's your plan? Don't tell me you're planning to storm in with a blade, then hack your way outta there after grabbing what you need.
A little trust here, Sheriff. Becket and Hollick got their hands on some invites, so they'll find a way to kick up a fuss on the first floor.
He smiles. Nothing better than letting his friends do what they do best—unleash chaos.
I'll find a way to sneak in through the top, lift all the juicy goods. You can show up at the hotel at eight tonight with the usual crowd, journos, cops, the whole nine yards ...
And if you screw up?
J points to his two sidekicks.
They've served their time chowing on prison meals, so the only thing I ask is you get them out of there in one piece. Alright, Blackhand?
A couple of punks making a scene at a big Grant Avenue bash ... It'd be weird not to see cop cars and spotlights tonight.
But let me make your life a little harder, J. The stakes are big tonight. You don't bust them up and pronto. I've got orders to turn over all your people first thing tomorrow.
In other words, J, your friends might get deported, and the rest will be breaking rocks in the Mojave, if they are lucky.
J is silent for a moment. If not for the rotten stench, it might have given him a shred of nobility.
I promised my friends a way out. I'll get it done, Blackhand.
I've given you all the time I can. Don't mess this up, or I'm going to have to do what I've gotta do.
Eight sharp tonight. Earlier's better. I'll pop out once I snag the proof.
We'll meet by the entrance to Kim's Jewelry Store.
Fellas, time to clean up and suit up, we gotta roll.
Grant Avenue's that way, J, you got it backward—
Just slippin' into some fresh threads!
7. Grand Feast
165 linesOh, your employer seems to have real class. Might he be interested in authentic miniature Hormuz pearls?
Crushed into powder, mixed into your bedtime milk, they ensure sweet dreams every night.
She slips into the banquet with her eloquent charm and a dress that fits the occasion, weaving through tonight's guests like a darting blue fish in the ocean.
Only to be jostled by the arrival of an ungainly shark and his remora.
They proceed as planned, the two friends feigning distraction, while the leader sneaks in.
H-Hi, Miss Eternity!
What in the world are you two doing here?
It's a long story, a long, long story. Hollick, Hollick, where are you?!
Hey, watch it, you're spilling your drink.
Hollick is a one-man buffet table, carrying an assortment of good food in his hands, mouth, and even under his arms.
His clothes are already so dotted with food stains. He more resembles a modern art piece than a guest at an elegant dinner.
Mhm, coming, coming!
...
Becket barely stifles a laugh, trying as best as he can to keep his mind on the mission.
Take it easy on the grub, bro. Don't make us the center of attention so soon!
Becket! They've got lobsters! Little hotdogs! Suckling pig! I've never eaten so good!
All freakin' mine!
How unsightly. Who let them in?
We got invites, miss. We're Mr. Antony's plus-ones.
Dude, ease up on the munching!
You can't just cut off a man's mealtime!
I frickin' told ya to stop eating. You got cocktail in your ears? If people see us like this, we'll shame Boss Antony!
Antony's a bum.
What? Bum? Say the boss is a bum one? More time, I dare ya!
If we can't stuff our faces, then what's the point sticking with him, huh?!
I can't get my fill?
Then nobody's gonna!
Hollick's voice booms intentionally, capturing the attention of all the gathered elite of the city.
And that of the security guards ostensibly here to maintain order at the banquet.
Ah! My Leipzig Larks!
The poor little cake topples over along with the innocent table as Hollick inflames the scene.
What in the world?!
Someone's causing trouble in the banquet hall. Send a few guys to check it out, but let's keep this low-key.
Nicely done!
All eyes converge on the chaotic scene unfolding, while an agile figure takes the chance to slip past the guards and ascends up to the second floor.
...
Hey, what's going on down there?
We're going to need a few more hands. Some big dude's stirring up trouble. Can't keep him down.
Bewildered by his sheer confidence, the giant rushes down the stairs to join the scene. Everything's going smoother than expected.
J feigns a calm step as he moves unhurriedly through the rooms, arriving at a lavishly decorated door.
This looks like the place ...
The infiltrator slips in after a single glance backward.
He closes the door and opens a window, his instincts telling him to leave an escape route handy.
Damn! Antony didn't clue me in on what these things are supposed to look like!
Paper, paper, and more paper, filled with incomprehensible writing.
The words swirl in his head.
What is all this stuff?
He recognizes some words on the pages, at least most of them, but when strung into sentences, everything seems to jumble into nonsense.
Guess I just take it all, and let someone with half a brain figure it out.
He's about to stuff his clothes full of every piece of paper he can find when he's interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.
J tries to return the "trash" to its place as neatly as he can, closing the drawer as he plans to bolt for the window.
But then, he remembers the bug. Evidence, yes, evidence, he needs to eavesdrop on something worthwhile before leaving.
The footsteps draw nearer. In his haste, he looks around, finding refuge in a large wooden cabinet.
It's a tight fit. He has to scrunch up just to get the door closed in time.
Close that window.
Who was on this door?
Taff, boss. That brat. I'll make sure to teach him a lesson.
Let it go for now. It seems like nothing's out of place. We can't afford an unnecessary mess.
How are things going with the new complex?
Everything's on track.
Hung San's familiar voice is as smooth as ironed paper. He's confident—cocky, even. Assured that everything is going as planned.
Our employer does not wish his name to appear in any negative news reports, you understand.
J's pocket bug silently records their words, as J struggles to hold himself still in his awkward position.
We must put more pressure on the rest of these mongrel shops.
We plan to do just that.
Once the new complex opens, that side of the business will be under your direction.
Leave two men here. We can't afford any unnecessary risks. The rest of you can go down and eat, but keep a low profile.
You heard him. You, you—you two stay, everyone else out!
Got it, boss.
As most of the guards leave, there is a noticeable shift in the mood of the room.
You've been sloppy lately.
You were instructed to handle things gracefully. Instead, what do I hear? Fighting on the streets, kidnappings?
You're acting like a street gang!
Hearing this, J stifles a laugh from his hiding spot.
He seems to truly believe in the hype of the name, the Tung Ch'ing Chamber of Commerce. But it's a gang, no different than any other.
Say what you will, we've nearly completed our work. The finished contracts are in that cabinet, and we saved our employer more than a little money.
His voice dripped with greed and violence. Those "savings" came wrenched out of people's livelihoods.
Allow me to get them for you.
Footsteps inch closer to the cabinet door. There's no easy way out of this. He's got one chance, and it's coming fast.
Closer, closer ...
He clutches his knife. He can hear the metal's anxious tremor, just like the pounding of his own heart.
Got a present for ya.
...
...!
What's that racket?
A sudden, loud disturbance seems to grab the attention of both men, and the cabinet door remains closed.
No need for concern. We have more than enough security downstairs to handle any situation.
I'll go take a look, boss.
Let's go, bro. Time for a little workout!
As the bodyguards are about to leave, the mysterious agent rubs his forehead, then waves his hand to stop them.
Stay put, if as you say, there are enough men downstairs, I need you here. And leave the cabinet alone, Hung San. I don't have time to read through every scribble. I only need to know it's done.
As you wish. But it is as I said, everything is taken care of.
Sure, sure. But are things being done properly? That is my concern—It already seems we've attracted unnecessary attention.
Following his eyeline, Hung San looks out the window to a gathering mass of logo-covered white vans. Reporters by the dozen.
Reporters? That shouldn't be. We paid to keep their attention elsewhere.
...
I can't stay. Take care of our guests.
J breathes a sigh of relief as Hung San's feet move away from the cabinet.
Go down to the first floor. Make sure things run smoothly.
In a hurried fashion, the men and their bodyguards leave the room. As the lights switch out, J cautiously emerges from his hiding spot.
That all?
The pages are filled with dense legalese and text that far surpass J's comprehension.
It might as well be a phone book to him, just another thing to practice cutting with his knife.
Whatever the hell these things say, they're mine now.
He pockets the documents, tucking them into his clothes, and moves to leave through the door. Only to find himself face-to-face with a returning guard.
Who're you?!
Somebody's here!
Sorry, buddy!
A punch lands squarely on his nose, followed swiftly by a second to the chin.
Taking down one guard might only require two unexpected punches, but dealing with three or five more won't be so simple.
That dude's head's like a rock.
He shakes off the sting in his hands.
His paths left and right are blocked by rushing guards, leaving only one way out.
The room behind him, back to the window—now unfortunately closed.
Later, fellas!
He crashes shoulder-first into the window, tumbling down to the grass below. Thankfully, this time he isn't quite so far up. He dusts himself off, and proudly flips the bird toward the window sill.
But before he makes his clean get-away, a bottle of wine spills down on him from above.
Damn!
The sheriff is waiting by the phone booth, as they agreed.
Blackhand!
J braces against the hood of a car stalled in traffic, leaping over expensive vehicles and leaving a trail of blaring horns in his wake as he arrives.
Seven forty-three. You're quick. I'll give you that, kid.
Doused again, though, at least this time you don't smell as bad.
Some documents, the bug ... Is that it?
The sheriff flips through the documents, a smile spreading across his rugged face.
So what's all this scribble?
Hmm. Beneficiaries.
Stuff that could really ruin someone, but it's best to keep that bullet in the chamber for now.
The sheriff pockets the papers and leans into his radio to notify his superiors.
We've got the evidence on him. Can we move in?
The sheriff waits for a brief reply over the static.
Is that your boss? They trustworthy?
It's always good to have a heavy hitter in your corner.
I owe you one, J.
So, then you'll cut everyone loose? The ones in the slammer and the bums your guys ran off. Give 'em a break.
If and only if we can wrap up tonight's show with a nice little ribbon.
And what about the shops that got snatched up?
Not my jurisdiction, J. They're going to need lawyers, but it's a good chance they'll get them back.
Apologies for interrupting the banquet, everyone.
But as San Francisco's good sheriff, it's my duty to make sure we keep law and order in this fair city.
Ah, Sheriff, perfect timing. I need you to arrest these two hooligans disrupting our banquet.
Not why I'm here, chief. I'm told there's some illegal activity going on, and I'm not talking about rude dinner guests.
Out of the way. We're going in.
Please, Sheriff, many respected figures from the city are attending this event. You might want to consider your re-election campaign.
Let's start with this one.
Me? No, perhaps there's been some misunderstanding.
Unhand me! I am not some common crook!
Not a common one, that's for sure. We'll discuss your charges in detail back at the precinct.
Hold on. Blackhand, I'm warning you! I have many connections in this city! Powerful connections!
And I'm warning you, those connections are going to dry up fast with the evidence I've got on you.
As the red-faced gang leader's wrists are cuffed, he looks back to see a familiar face, with a wide and devilish grin.
Beneath the spotlights now fixed on the hotel, J spies a figure quietly leaving under the escort of bodyguards with black umbrellas, slipping into a car by the side door.
That must be our Agent R.
Agent R? Is that ...?
J ...?
...
You'll regret this.
Yeah, yeah. Enjoy the view from the slammer, oh, and say hi to all my pals. I'm sure they'll be happy to see you.
You guys must have a ton to talk about.
Since you're the one who put them in there.
The dust settles, but the hero is still hungry.
J, where are you off to?
Man, give me a break. I haven't hit the dinner table yet! There's a room full of top-notch grub and booze going to waste!
8. The Guys
100 linesSparks fly. Each hammer strike lands with a whipping crack. J exerts all his strength to tame the restless metals, his muscular frame shedding sweat in the glow of the flames.
Copper and tin, when combined, are temperamental and irritable, always reluctant to cooperate with J. The two metals bicker ceaselessly until they unite in the flames.
Forging bronze, though, is not nearly as difficult as dealing with steel, which manages a temper all on its own.
He must be forceful, seizing the moment, forcing the uncooperative metals to bond in the heat.
Iron is prouder and more stubborn than the others. Taming it requires a touch more nobility and persuasion.
He's drenched in sweat, each hammer strike echoing as the reverberations traverse his spine, his endurance eventually earning the metal's approval.
Aluminum is light and playful, and gold is elegant and silent, never opposing his will.
COOL IT!
The metal resists purposefully, but after a decisive strike of J's hammer, all becomes still.
Each and every metal eventually submits to him, like a wild horse accepting its master. A new sword is about to be born.
Here's hoping you're not as bloodthirsty as some of your predecessors. A good sword should only come out when it's really needed, pal.
J sets aside his tools, downs a jug of cool water, and wipes the sweat from his brow, before picking up a metal badge.
Nice, very nice!
A modest gift, intended for his old friends soon to be freed.
A trinket of his own design that marks the wearer as a friend of J from Haight Street.
J, someone's here for you.
Another sword-buying bigwig?
His last deal didn't exactly go as planned.
The visitor enters the forge ahead of J, the sheriff greeting him with a warm smile.
Good morning, J. Hoo-whee, it is hot as hell in here!
The forge is still blazing hot as he enters.
Arming your boys with some fresh steel?
Haha, no. But if you're in the market for something, just let me know.
I'm going to cut to the chase before my eyebrows singe off. I need you to come down with me to the office, got some papers for you to sign.
So, you putting in an order or not?
You wish. Nah, not buying anything. It's about your immigrant friends.
The time has come for him to keep his promise.
I've worked something out between the Mayor's Office and INS. They'll let your friends stay, but only if they get a sponsor.
It's a formality, really. Just need to make sure we've got someone to blame if they get into trouble. So you'll have to watch out for them.
Count on it. I'll be there for my friends.
Come on, Becket, go get Hollick too. If he's snoozing, give him a kick.
And grab that stack of those badges from the table.
How many left?
It's one stack per head, J.
J can't recall the last time he wrote this much. Would have to have been before he left school. Maybe never.
Polly woulda left a trail of neat, pretty signatures. Not like his ugly scrawls.
J can't help but think of his sister, Paulina. She probably does this much paperwork every day at her fancy "Foundation" job.
All set?
All set. Now, I mean it. Don't let them get into trouble. I pulled all the strings I've got to get this done.
Stay put for a bit.
The sheriff motions for him and his colleagues to depart, leaving the three companions waiting beside the mounds of paperwork.
Wasn't the last time we were here to bail Hollick out?
It was Becket, after he slashed that dude's tires.
I was trying to get you some extra work. You're welcome, buddy.
But all the extra dough I got just went to your bail ...
Wait, how come I was left outta the loop on that little scheme?
Well, it didn't work out, did it? So, I learned my lesson.
Only because you got busted.
Who got busted?
The sheriff strides in, followed only by two uniformed deputies.
Just saying how glad we were that our courageous sheriff busted up those Grant Avenue boys.
Sure, sure. But I can't take the credit on that one. You fellas did the legwork.
Of course, the bigwigs have already lawyered up. Looks like this time we're only going to nail the leftovers.
But you're still going to honor our deal, right?
Yeah, it ain't your fault this city's rotten. Besides, they've been making a fuss since they heard you were here. Last thing I need is a riot.
But I can't exactly just have them go hooting and hollering out of the pen.
I'll get them out one by one when we've got time. We'll drop them off around Tang Ji's.
I'll play the good Samaritan and cover their lunch too.
Just make sure they get these.
The gleaming badges symbolizing J's friendship and his promise of protection.
You looking to be the sheriff of the underground, eh? Haha! Alright, I'll see to it that everyone pops up at your eatery wearing your little badge.
Just remember to whip up something tasty for them. They'll be needing it after a few days of holding pen grub.
Don't you worry about that? I'll hook them up with jobs again and make sure everyone gets a decent meal!
But first, the boys and I are gonna soak up some of that California sunshine.
...
...
Did it conk out?
Weren't you the one who said this clunker was fixed?!
Well, when it came into the shop, it was just the tires that were shot. I sorted that out way back ...
The tires might be the only thing on this wreck that isn't busted.
Another victory for J! A victory for Haight Street and for the diner gang!
Now, let's hit the gas! Get moving!
And if the car stalls, we bail out. This place ain't half bad. Take a look, guys, the bridge's right behind us!
The Golden Gate Bridge looms up high behind them, crossing the bay that's launched a million dreams, and took just as many in.
The trio steps out on the curb, unloading the trunk's contents.
Cameras, tripods, beer, fried chicken, fruit ... After wrapping up a big job, it's only right to have a little fun.
Help me out, J. I ain't too sharp with this stuff.
Stick the timer in the shutter, wind it up, give us ten seconds.
Twist, twist, then press it down, boom! J, we're good!
The novice photographer isn't quite familiar with the device, a far cry from the hefty iron wrenches he's used to handling.
It's showtime, J.
Move it, buddy! Get over here! Pick up the pace!
Ten, nine, eight ...
The shutter captures the exact moment before their hefty friend takes a tumble.
You okay, buddy?
Damn, who's the joker who tossed this banana peel here?!
Yeah! We might be crooks, pals, but litterbugs?!
The culprit feigns ignorance, rubbing off the remaining scent of banana in his pockets.
Becket, show us your hands.
Just had some fried chicken, boss—fried chicken! They're all greasy. You don't wanna see that.
Becket!
Whoa, easy there, Hollick. Careful you don't take another spill!