THE MISSION

Hiroku Takematsu is the Yakuza mob boss for all of Northern California. Two nights ago, he sent his son Noriko to pick up a package at the Alameda shipping yards. Early this morning, Noriko's Nissan GTR was spotted floating in a cove by some fishermen in San Francisco Bay. Inside was Noriko, dead by a single gunshot to the forehead, the handcuff chain to the briefcase he should have been carrying still attached to his wrist...minus the case.

Twenty minutes ago, the bedroom phone of Reiko Takematsu (Noriko's sister and Hiroku's daughter) rings nearly off the hook. Laying beside her, his head pounding from last night's sake shot-marathon is Detective Dick Trojan. He barely stirs other than to hunker under his pillow while his girlfriend reluctantly answers the phone. Between the pillow and the foreign tongue, the conversation is unintelligible, only recognizing the gravity of exchange while Reiko stops talking and begins sobbing uncontrollably.

"My...That....was my father. He says my brother was found dead this morning. You need to find out who did this." says Reiko.

Her brother was a scumbag. Probably deserved what he got. But still... Dick glances over (a little guiltily) at the badge lying on the nightstand, then sits up to comfort Reiko.

"Don't worry, baby," Dick says. "San Fran's finest is on it. Best thing I can do is go in and get ahead of this, okay? You gonna be all right?"

Goddammit, her fuckin' dad knows where I live. Maybe check the real estate section on my way in... for a North Dakota newspaper. On the other hand, maybe dear old Hiroku can owe me one after this. Gonna need somebody I can trust on this one, for what that's worth.

"Magnuson, get a load of this." quips Edison, the crime scene investigator. The man's namesake was a blessing and curse. Everyone thought he had to be smart with a moniker like that, the truth is Carl graduated at nearly the bottom of his class as UC Santa Barbara.

Oyvind finished his ubiquitous styrofoam cup of coffee, walking over to the wreckage of Nissan being hoisted out the murky Bay waters.

"Damn shame...bout the car, I mean. Those Skylines are worth more than both us schlubs make in a year." adds Edison, the body of Yakuza lieutenant Noriko Takematsu still seatbelted behind the driver's seat.

Tires crunch on gravel from the road above and the muffled sounds of Warrant abruptly cut off, a small mercy to everyone.

"Did I miss anything?" calls Trojan. He awkwardly clambers over the railing from where his Camaro's parked, cardboard coffee carrier precariously perched in hand, and picks his way down the slope to join the scene. "Sorry I'm late, 7-11 wasn't open yet." He hands Magnusson a coffee cup, offers one to Edison from the tray, then takes one himself.

"Eidson never brings coffee - thanks man." Magnuson tosses a drenched wallet to his partner. "Noriko Takematsu. 23. So far, there's no evidence to say he didn't drive off the pier himself, but I'd bet we'll find something wicked." He sips his coffee and stares out into the foggy morning bay, before turning back to Trojan.

"Oh, and he's Hiroku Takematsu's son."

"Gentlemen, we'll be taking over from here." remarks a crater-faced man in late forties, the cut of his suit and lack of humor suggesting he's with the Feds.

"I'm Agent Johnson, this is Special Agent Johnson....no relation." adds the G-man, nodding over to a black man of similar dress who is taking particular interest with the late Takematsu and his car.

***CONFLICT***

Pick a skill for your fighting. You also have 10 dice in your Team Dice Pool to use. I'm sure I'll be missing something but you have to start somewhere.

*DIG*

"You feds are out of your element here. Sure, you can go chasing the top prize for your boss, but we know a bit more about these idiots than your neatly organized dossiers can tell you."

Magnuson pulls a soaked napkin from the corpse's jacket pocket with a pair of tweezers. "Know what this is?" The blank stare returned by the two agents in sunglasses answers the question. "Its from a local restaurant, Toraya. The place has a back room where the local toughs like to gamble - but of course, that's not in your files, is it?" Magnuson looks over to Trojan, who proudly displays his characteristic smirk. "Why don't you tough guys take a week off and see the sights? The World Series is about to kick off - I'm sure you you could strong-arm a few tickets. We'll take care of this."

*ALSO DIG*

"You could tell us what you're really here for, though," Trojan adds. "Mullets might be on their way out, but handcuffs with snipped-off chains weren't ever in style. You don't care about some Yak pipsqueak - what was he carrying?"

"By the way," Hammer notes as he moves around the car to get to the glove compartment, "You are standing on evidence, Mr. Johnson."

The Feds overrunning authority seems to wilt with the early morning sun, Agent Johnson's broad shoulders sinking as San Francisco's Finest call bullshit on their jurisdiction. That said, Trojan's unkept and (quite frankly) off-putting odor of a night of boozing and Asian delight does not give any weight to his argument.

Special Agent Johnson extricates himself from the waterlogged Nissan, walking over to back his partner's fleeting play.

"Sure, take a minute, get your stories straight!" Trojan catcalls at them, the stench of his "special coffee creamer" a little too strong on his breath. "Hell, maybe you killed Noriko and drove down here to confess! Maybe you two are suspects? Whaddya say, Magnusson? Think these dicks are even real feds?"

Somewhere behind the hangover, Dick's brain starts shouting stop fucking talking stop it right now. Nobody said Noriko was murdered yet!

"Real feds?" Hammer closes the passenger door on the car and turns to consider the two men. Johnson #1 absentmindedly kicks at a rock and keeps checking the building across the street behind him, and Johnson #2 can't seem to decide if he wants his hands in his coat pockets or not. They hardly seem to have a clue what they are doing. Their clothes are not the typical professional attire most governmental agents prefer to wear, and neither seems to have come anywhere near a razor for a few days.

The car they drove out in sits idly nearby. "Is the budget tight these days Dick? I don't think I've seen federal agents drive a seven year old Toyota Supra before. I haven't seen any identification yet either - perhaps their fakes are too shoddy to pass of as real except to the local businessmen they shake down for cash." The large detective squares up and gives the two embattled 'agents' a sneer. "Just tell us who you are working for before my partner starts breaking noses and scattering chicklets about. It happens to be his traditional hangover cure."

"Jesus, you guys are seriously out of your element." quips Edison toward the Feds, snapping off his examiner gloves as the Johnson and Johnson are beginning to doubt their own credentials.

The elder Johnson gives his colleague the nod to move on, lighting up a cigarette as he walks toward his government issue Crown Vic. He opens the driver's side door and pauses to a long drag before speaking.

"Don't think this is the end of our conversation..." pointing his Marlboro at Trojan and Hammer.

"We'll be in touch." glares the other agent, as both Feds get into the car.

"Touch this" Manguson replies, grabbing his crotch, "Your mom did."

Dick gives the feds his best shit-eating grin as they scamper off, unable to exercise their legally-appointed authority on even the lowliest of bystanders.

"Not too many answers from them," he says to Magnusson, "but we've got more of a direction now. Those 'feds', whoever they were, weren't here for Takematsu. He's dead, why would they want to get tied up in that investigation? They want what he had cuffed to his wrist." Trojan takes another long drag from his spiked coffee and continues. "Now, we don't know what was in the case either, and Noriko there ain't gonna tell us, but that's okay. His dad's in tight with the yakuza, and I figure a yakuza dad who doesn't keep tabs on his son's activities is a yakuza who's gonna be missing some fingers... or worse. Hell, maybe Noriko was going against his father and Old Man Takematsu had him killed... but that's pretty thin right now."

"Either way, I think we're looking at an outside hitter," he postulates. "Someone working against the yakuza, or Takematsu hiring outside help to... I dunno, give him an excuse to seek retribution in an advantageous direction. I don't think he'd off his son like this if he was gonna make a point - he'd just string him up at home so his minions can get properly motivated."

Admiral Duck Sauce wrote:

Dick gives the feds his best shit-eating grin as they scamper off, unable to exercise their legally-appointed authority on even the lowliest of bystanders.

"Not too many answers from them," he says to Magnusson, "but we've got more of a direction now. Those 'feds', whoever they were, weren't here for Takematsu. He's dead, why would they want to get tied up in that investigation? They want what he had cuffed to his wrist." Trojan takes another long drag from his spiked coffee and continues. "Now, we don't know what was in the case either, and Noriko there ain't gonna tell us, but that's okay. His dad's in tight with the yakuza, and I figure a yakuza dad who doesn't keep tabs on his son's activities is a yakuza who's gonna be missing some fingers... or worse. Hell, maybe Noriko was going against his father and Old Man Takematsu had him killed... but that's pretty thin right now."

"Either way, I think we're looking at an outside hitter," he postulates. "Someone working against the yakuza, or Takematsu hiring outside help to... I dunno, give him an excuse to seek retribution in an advantageous direction. I don't think he'd off his son like this if he was gonna make a point - he'd just string him up at home so his minions can get properly motivated."

Hammer's a horrible card player, as his OCD nature leads to a number of tells. This time, he pops a breath-mint and moves it around his mouth as he thinks. "Or, whomever did this might want us to think its a yakuza fuckup, or something like that. Hell, for all we know, it could be something random, and the killers stumbled upon a lucky score attached to his wrist."

Trojan and Hammer give the Feds the send-off they deserve, mostly through judicious use of middle fingers and the like. The crime scene's just about wrapped up when Edison approaches them,

"Precinct just radioed....The Captain wants you two bozos in his office, ASAP."

---

Behind the frosted glass door stenciled with A. Merkowski - CAPTAIN

The two detectives sit waiting in the cramped, paperwork-ridden office of their boss Abraham "Abe" Merkowski. The desk sergeant said he'd be right back, which was at least 20 minutes ago. On the Captain's desk is a overflowing ashtray of stamped-out butts with one still-burning cigarette that is nearly down to its filter.

Another five minutes pass with the Captain finally entering the room.

"Gentlemen, and I use that term loosely...guess where I've been for the past fucking hour...and don't say the shitter. My prostate is doing fine."

Before either can get in a glib come-back, Abe intervenes.

"I was meeting with the Deputy Chief of Police and the goddamn Mayor. Turns out your dead floater...Taco-watso is highly regarded by His Honor. Well, I should say his dad heavily contributed to the Mayor's last election. And what's this shit about the Feds coming down and shoving their noses in our shit?"

"I was hoping you could tell us, captain," Dick replies. "Normally the FBI gives us some time to do some work on a case before they hijack it from us and take the credit. They got here awfully fast for some ricer, rich dad or no."

Abe stamps out the nearly burned-out cigarette, tossing on top of the pire of dead butts, lighting another with his vintage Zippo.

"All signs point toward a mob war. Some deal gone bad and the kid took a bullet to the head for his troubles. We do know the Feds were working a RICO case involving the possible business deal involving of the Yaks and the NorCal Aryan Brotherhood. I know, strange bedfellows, but I guess the Japs and Nazis did work together in the past. I'm still trying to find out who those Feds were who crashed your party this morning. Agents Johnson & Johnson sound a lot like Fake & Faker."

Now, the Mayor was assured by the Old Man that his son was just returning from his nightly cash pickups....dry cleaning businesses, sushi bars...that sort of thing; with Noriko just a player in his business ventures, but you don't have to be in a cow pasture to smell bullshit like that. That's a lot of cash for a kid to be driving around the city alone. He had to have some sort of muscle in the car with him. If so, where the fuck did that guy run off to? Did the Brotherhood know about the pickups? Hell, Takamatsu's Muscle could be our killer. Fact is, you don't just kill the son of the most powerful Nip in the city on a whim and not expect retaliation...which is no doubt coming."

Dieter wrote:

Abe stamps out the nearly burned-out cigarette, tossing on top of the pire of dead butts, lighting another with his vintage Zippo.

"All signs point toward a mob war. Some deal gone bad and the kid took a bullet to the head for his troubles. We do know the Feds were working a RICO case involving the possible business deal involving of the Yaks and the NorCal Aryan Brotherhood. I know, strange bedfellows, but I guess the Japs and Nazis did work together in the past. I'm still trying to find out who those Feds were who crashed your party this morning. Agents Johnson & Johnson sound a lot like Fake & Faker."

Now, the Mayor was assured by the Old Man that his son was just returning from his nightly cash pickups....dry cleaning businesses, sushi bars...that sort of thing; with Noriko just a player in his business ventures, but you don't have to be in a cow pasture to smell bullshit like that. That's a lot of cash for a kid to be driving around the city alone. He had to have some sort of muscle in the car with him. If so, where the fuck did that guy run off to? Did the Brotherhood know about the pickups? Hell, Takamatsu's Muscle could be our killer. Fact is, you don't just kill the son of the most powerful Nip in the city on a whim and not expect retaliation...which is no doubt coming."

Hammer takes a sip from his coffee mug and swirls the liquid around in his mouth staring absently at the window for a moment, then interjects. "If there was muscle, there's be some evidence he was there. Blood, muddy boot-prints, a broken window or damaged door to indicate he struggled to get free of a sinking car. If he fled when the shit got bad, he'd probably leave something behind. There's nothing though, which leads me to think that this guy might have been on the inside. Probably someone Noriko (or his father) trusted, but bought by a rival. Hell, maybe this was all his play to begin with. What do we know about who Noriko or Kiroku might have pissed off?