Jinchuu - [R1] [Cut] Ace Of Spades

Description: Motorhead (1980). Seeking answers after his stunt in Metro City, Soma finds the one individual who always seems to know more than she should. Elle is given the location of the Suiryuu. What Soma gets in exchange, however, is of questionable value. New facts emerge, and more paths open up, leading to more confusion than certainty for at least one of the parties involved.



The promoters of Jinchuu call her bourgeoise, but Elle is anything but. Her style of living is decidedly spartan. For her, it's not the having, it's the getting. In the short few months of ripping Blackjack from the gutter to the top of their game, Elle's worked tirelessly. Individual hardships, personality conflicts, a war, and a battle with a madman, Elle's efforts have only redoubled after accepting responsibility for the people that she commands.

Right now, the organization is running on cruise control. With many of her operatives out, or in one case, missing in action, she's had to work overtime. The advent of Jinchuu was a welcome respite, although it's quickly becoming an officer's dream and an elisted man's nightmare.

She sits in her corner office on the 21st floor of one of the many generic builldings. The office space is large, and has regular staff, although some of the people working here have a curious number of tattoos and scars. It's like she went through the remenants of Mad Gear and trained them to be office workers.

Maybe she did.

Waist deep in planning and plotting, Elle's desk is covered in hand scrawled notes. How best to use her limited resources on such a complex thing, her mind races to pick Jinchuu apart. While to most, the indomitable ninja fortress of mystery is just that, Elle works tirelessly away at the base with a pickaxe. It's not that she seeks to make it fall.

She just wants to know what's going on. Elle tries to be one step ahead of everyone else, and it's a place that takes more hard work and dedication than most would want to invest. Back teeth crush down into another Tootsie Roll pop, the wrappers having covered the wastebasket. Between that and the extra-caffinated soda, Elle's managed to stay wake for two days straight, between making the arrangement she needs.

Yamazaki's finished his mission. All that's left is finding the boat. And by whatever means she has available, Elle will get on that boat.

It's difficult to tell if Soma's 'extraction' from Metro City -- carried off with as much gravitas as any actual paramilitary rescue operation -- had the intended effect or not. After all, if the ICPO had perfect tabs on the Ryouhara ninja then this entire affair of Jinchuu involvement wouldn't exactly be required, would it? But to the world at large, Soma Travedi appears to have dropped off the proverbial map after diving off the top of the Metro City Memorial Hospital earlier in the week. Some of the pop culture bloggers wonder if it's a stunt for his next book, perhaps; others wonder if it's a promotional stunt for Jinchuu itself.

In truth, Soma has no intentions of keeping the disappearing act even close to permanent. He just needed the breathing room and latitude to travel from Metro to Japan... and to brief himself on the intel that's been gathered while he was in recovery. It's mostly recon photos and eyewitness accounts from some of the other fights, as well as the opening ceremonies. There's confirmation of Soma's fear that the Ryouhara clan is involved, for example... the invitations fit their MO, and his discussion with Kaiwei and the footage from the opening ceremonies only proved it.

But he doesn't know everything. In fact he doesn't know nearly enough... and if he's going to pull this off, some help is certainly required. But from whom? And then Elle appeared in a corner of a shot at the opening ceremonies, trying to keep a low profile...

Flash forward to this evening. Soma isn't hiding his face, but he *is* dressed differently from normal; wearing a pair of faded jeans and a plaid button down open over a dark red shirt, with a black woolen cap holding his distinctive hair out of sight. Under his arm is a large manilla folder, sealed... slightly bigger than portrait size, the kind used for carrying x-ray charts in hospitals. Finding the business registry was pure, stupid luck, but when opportunity presents itself you have to seize it.

The elevator deposits him on the 21st floor, and in short order Soma is entering the lobby door, peering around it with a feigned expression of confusion, wondering if he's got the right place. "Hello?"

Evening at the 'Office'... it doesn't have a name other than that... is an interesting time. When you're working with a bunch of ex cons who have been rehabilitated with Elle's brand of harsh punishment and reward systems, odd behavior develops. Jailhouse behavior applied to a workplace is often seen, and while she disallows fighting in the office, the bar a few blocks away has seen an upswing in business as well as violence. It's gotten to the point where it's the roughest salariman bar in the town. Leave it to Elle to push a new paradigm.

But Elle succeeds where prisons fail because she's learned to shift focus. Destructive impulses are replaced by the same kind of drive sh has, albeit to a lesser extent, and discipline is exacted with deadly seriousness. People have seen the strange characters that wander in an out of the place, and the office is frequently haunted by Marise late at night, prompting most people to get their work done well and early.

So when a fire-engine red haired woman that looks like she shouldn't be in an office at all meets Soma's arrival, along with a few people that look like they should be wearing chains and wifebeaters instead of ties and coats, some confusion is to be expected.

"Welcome to the Suite. Can I help you?" The woman asks. The placard on her desk says 'Marie', but the ace of spades tattooed on her left cheek and the distinct signs of a recovering meth addict suggests she should be called something like 'Roxie' or 'Trixie'. Her suit is cheap, but it's what she can afford, and at least she's not on the streets anymore. She has an honest to goodness desk with pictures of her baby on it. She gives Soma a perfect white smile. Elle spent good money getting her teeth fixed after the meth took it's toll.

To his credit, Soma barely raises an eyebrow. You don't get to do undercover work unless you've honed controlling your reactions to things -- especially surprise -- to a razor-fine edge. Still, it may be that in his surprise he swings his reaction too far in the *other* direction, giving Marie/Roxie/Trixie a nice white smile of his own. The Suite, huh... well, it's an office suite. A part of him -- the part that remembers Elle fights with a large metal guitar -- was almost expecting it to be called Coyote Ugly.

"I don't have an appointment, but I'm here to hopefully see Ms. Belmounte," he starts, keeping his distance from the desk. His policeman's instincts are screaming at him that there is something *wrong* in this scenario, that none of these individuals in any way belong here doing what they're doing. It's like riding through 'It's A Small World' and having it all be sung by robotic Elijah Wood clones dressed as Frodo. But he's got a job to do... and if they're here doing some sort of business-related crime, well... there's specialists far better suited who'll catch it eventually.

Besides, he has bigger fish to fry.

"I understand she's probably busy, I won't take up much of her time. But I had something come into my possession recently I thought she might be interested in." He waves the manilla folder, clearly suggesting that it's the item in question.

The smile falters a little. It would seem that she's ill prepared to deal with a variable she doesn't know about. Marie frowns for a second, letting the train of thought work slowly. "I'm... sorry. But you don't have an appointment, you said?" She clicks at the computer at her desk as the two wandering thugs pull up behind the desk. This isn't the first time they would have had to eject people. There was that Mormon missionary last week, and then there was that paper salesman.

"Um, do you like, have a name or something?" The woman asks. It's not that she's trying to make this hard, but when you deal with Elle, you had better have all the information.

Calling her otherwise can be a complete ordeal. The mercenary has no real problems exacting punishment on people, monetarily or physically. And when it's her finagling that's keeping you one half step away from a prison sentence for arson, burglary, posession, and child endangerment, you try to get everything right the first time.

The resistance isn't unexpected. But part of Soma knows that the sword cuts both ways. Yes, Elle most likely employs people who are more than willing to kick someone out of their office when need be... but if this is a legitimate business she probably does work with people that she would occasionally rather have her staff forget, too. One does not leap from petty thief to business owner without having... well, it's likely that Elle keeps contacts that might not want to show their faces.

The best Soma can do is keep up the smile and try not to look threatening... and let's face it, he looks more like a Seattle bike courier than a secret agent in his current getup. "I do, but... you can understand why I might not want to give it, right? But you can tell her... hmm. How would she recognize me." He pauses, then puts a hand to the edge of his plaid overshirt. "Tell her I hope she's enjoying the jacket I gave her. I'm just another proletarian, you know... fighting along every day. Hoping for some recompense." If she's listening, which he's almost certain she is, perhaps that will work.

He's not averse to giving his real name if need be. He's still under his cover identity, after all... but if he doesn't NEED to give it to a nameless ex-con file clerk, so much the better.

"Um." Big words. She presses the call button and picks up the phone. Whether or not Elle is actually listening, Marie stumbles through the difficult ones with an almost painful inability, which clearly makes her uncomfortable. The look in her eye says that she wishes that she could just toss them man out on his face down twenty one flights of stairs.

But that was before. This is now. Now, she can't do that kind of thing. Not if she wants to make sure her baby is taken care of.

Forcing the smile back onto her face with difficulty, she speaks. "Elle will see you now." With that, the bruisers move into action. One leads, the other follows, keeping Soma in the middle as they move him to the destination. The office is clean, and filled with the bustling sounds of your usual paper mill. Only the faces seem odd.

The accountant pool is filled with people looking like they've been forcibly banned from cocaine, still jerking and twicthing from the withdraws of even short term use. The customer service staff look like so many hookers, pimps, and drug dealers forced to wear suits that they look slightly uncomfortable wearing.

As surreal as it seems, however, they seem to take to the tasks with gusto. Past the strange appearances, there's a sense of hope in these people. Like this time it'll work. The weight of having to constantly watch their backs is gone, now that someone is doing it for them. And that someone looks up as Soma approaches her desk.

"Tyrone, 'Freight'," Elle says as they escort Soma into her office. "Take this down to Chris."

Tyrone's heavily scarred face frowns for a moment. "Chris 'The Shiv' in processin', or Chris Taylor?"

"Taylor. It's the invoice from the escort job you and Luis did for that guy that was tired of paying protection down by the docks."

"A'ight."

And with that, they leave Soma there in front of Elle, still furiously scribbling on a pad. "Sit," she says, gesturing to a chair. "If you're here to do business, you know how I like to do things. If you want to shoot the breeze, that's fine. Just make it quick, because I'm on a deadline here." The voice is as always cool, dry, and raspy.

It's... almost heartening to Soma, somewhat. Part of him doesn't really hold any malice for the types of petty criminals that are currently lining Elle's desks like a Manpower staff gone horribly awry. To the ICPO agent's mentality, he always has and always will be a servant of justice, not the law... the two frequently but not always align. He wishes petty crime isn't necessary, of course, but the man DID grow up in India. He's not a fool.

Case in point: he doesn't argue with his bouncer-like escort, he simply trundles after them and sits down in the chair, waiting for them both to leave and for their business to be mostly concluded. Then he takes off the knit hat and stuffs it in his lap, under the manilla folder he's still carrying. "Sorry for being circuitous with your secretary, but I've got enough problems without her possibly recognizing me," he says, careful to keep his tone... well, amateurish. As if it really matters if some random secretary saw him. The whole world probably will in a few days.

"But in point of fact, I *am* here on business. I have a proposal... I guess you'd call it an exchange." He reaches into his pocket and produces the small white card with his instructions from the Ryouhara on it -- the words "Defend Yourself", in both English and Devanagari characters for Hindi, if Elle recognizes the latter. "I'm sure you recognize this, and that's what this entire affair is going to be about. But I don't know how interested you are in..." He pauses, trying to remember the exact wording, and he closes his eyes as he rattles it off somewhat mechanically, "the legendary recompense of the fighting proletariat. Let me know either way... so I can either tell you what I have, or get out of your hair."

The mercenary takes the card, and looks it over. Like her own employees, Elle is dressed in a maroon jacket and skirt, with a black blouse. Her usual riot of hair is tied back, making her fit in with her office surroundings better. "Jinchuu? If you got information for me, I'll pay for it," she says, reaching to her computer to tap on something.

"The usual going rate on the information is only a few thousand in local circles. You might make more money selling it elsewhere. Unless you want me to broker a deal." Brown eyes shift to meet Soma's, and she turns off her monitor.

"But enough blab. What do you have?"

"I'm not particularly interested in money," Soma says airily, picking up the card and stowing it back in his pocket. As expected, Elle didn't really answer the question... it's just sort of natural, in negotiation, to try to get the other individual to give up everything while you pay approximately nothing at all. His annoyance at the situation is deep down somewhere, in his bones, but he's suppressing it because something tells him this woman has something he... well, not precisely needs, but can use. And what he's about to offer her isn't so much a clincher as an opportunity. It may simply be coming at the right time.

Pulling at the string clasp of the manilla folder, he opens the top flap and folds it back, then reaches inside and pulls out what appears to be, from the back, a large glossy photo. And indeed, when Soma turns it around, that's what it is. The picture is mostly blue, with tiny and barely decipherable white printing in the lower left-hand corner... but further inspection reveals it to be a satellite map of some ocean area... coastal, by the lighter blue of the water.

And a single dark shape somewhere in the middle, a bit like an arrowhead.

"I'm guessing since you're here in Southtown, and not already on board, that you might be interested in knowing where the Suiryuu is."

"It'd save me some time," she replies. And it would. Elle could get on the horn and call NESTS, or the Shadaloo factionals still battling out in the middle of nowhere, or even her SouthSynd contacts if she /really/ had to. But having the info dropped in her lap makes that one less set of phonecalls to make.

She makes no motion to take the pictures, instead looking at them from where she sits, and then looks back up to Soma. "So rather than dance around the matter all evening like this usually works, what say you tell me exactly what you want for the information and start from there?"

Hands are folded in front of her, and she stares, her dead, lifeless expression leveled at Soma without a hint of any further interest. Sometimes being a complete emotional burnout has it's benefits. Cheif amongst them, a flawless poker face.

The photo makes a strange sound as it slides back into the manilla folder, and Soma clasps it back up again. He sets it on Elle's desk rather than keep it in his lap, mostly because he's slightly arrogantly assured that she's going to respond to what he suggests. "Like I said, I don't want money. I have two suggestions. One is... I guess you'd call it a secondary exchange. I don't like this tournament, and I have... the hunch that there's more to it than the public sees. And before you roll your eyes at me for saying so, I do have *some* information about the organizers. I'm suggesting a trade of what we know so far. That's the first."

Leaning forward somewhat, the ICPO agent locks eyes with Elle. He's very difficult to intimidate; after all, the worst she can do is kill him and if she wanted to do that, she'd have done it already. He's treading dangerous ground, though... his cover is, of course, inches away from being blown. But there's something in his very *marrow* that's aching about Jinchuu... and if he needs to break cover with Elle to find out, then so be it. "But my actual request for 'payment', I suppose you'd call it... is a promise of non-interference." He sits back up, folding his hands in his lap. "We're going to see each other on the Suiryuu, I can tell. All I ask is that whatever happens, stay out of my way. I've got... my own reasons for investigating Jinchuu. Of course, that doesn't close the door on further exchanges of information, if you're interested. But ninjas are enough trouble without having to worry about others breathing down you neck, aren't they?" There's a beat, before he adds, "You can expect the same from me, of course. You go about your business, I go about mine. If they intersect, well... I'm willing to turn a blind eye if you are."

She shakes her head. "Alright. First, let me be up front with you. You're bargaining from a weaker point than you think you are. Just trust me when I tell you that," Elle says, placing a hand on the photographs. "I have more people on that boat than you think I do. Let's just leave it at that."

"But, here's what I /will/ do. I'll have my people leave you alone as much as they can possibly manage. But I can't promise much if your interests and mine cross. I'm not going to make deals I can't keep," she says with a shrug. "And I'm pretty much known for running over things that are between me and my target. So I can tell you up front how I'm going to work this angle, or flat out lie, and watch you get hurt."

"I chose the former," Elle states. "I didn't get where I am today by making deals that restrict my movement. If you want me to back off, of if you want me to help you further, you need to cough up the funds."

She raises the envelope with the photo. "This guarantees neutrality and my ear if you need a hand. Does that sound fair to you?"

If Elle wants to think Soma is some lone freak with a chip on his shoulder about ninja, he's more than willing to let her entertain the notion a little longer. Something about the woman just makes the ICPO agent want to carve her face off with a rusty knife, a thought that actually surprises him, as his fantasies about people he dislikes so rarely involve such graphic imagery. But it also occurs to him that her way of doing things is entirely calculated to garner that response. And so the waltz continues.

What he can't figure out is why he is suddenly burdened with fleeting images of Riko Koganei, after hearing Elle's speech. He puts it down to nerves.

"I'm not in the habit of paying protection money, and I don't think now is a good time to start. But neutrality is acceptable as far as I'm concerned." And in truth, the undercover agent's demeanor lightens a bit after that. The thought of being too engaged in any relationship with this woman has him on edge, and Soma has always ascribed to the 'neither a lender nor a debtor be' philosophy regardless, insofar as that's possible in his line of work.

But he's not done here. "I'm still interested in an exchange of information about the tournament, though, before I go. I'll even risk throwing down all my supposedly weak cards by going first, if it'll make you feel better."

Elle is what she is. It doesn't matter if it's an Interpol agent or Vega himself. her attitudes never change. She gets what she wants, and there's nobody that can keep her down for long. Considering her recent win against a seemingly insurmountable tyrant, her goals, whatever they may be, seem that much closer to her fingertips. As for what Soma is? Elle's not too concerned. The endless layers of deception plus nigh unbreakable ties with half of the criminal underworld, and friendly relations with the rest places her in a position uniquely her own.

If Tran was here, he'd probably be laughing.

But whatever her motives, thoughts, or beleifs are, it boils down to how they're applied. Elle would be lying if she said she wasn't at least slightly interested in what Soma has to say. So she shrugs. "If you think that there's something I need to know, let me know. But you already know that what I end up giving you in return is going to be only just enough to cover my debts."

Which is why money is so important. Money can heal all wounds, fix problems, and cover what's owed. Dollars and cents never lie. People do.

Before he starts talking, Soma reaches down and picks up the black knit cap, fixing it on and very carefully tucking the recognizable silver tips of his dark black hair under it. If nothing else, it's a sign that once he's said what he wants, and Elle responds, he's out the door. Almost all of what he's going to say might be things she knows already, cut with a healthy does of his own speculations and ideas about what's going down.

"We can start with what you probably already know. The Ryouhara ninja clan is obviously behind the tournament, with Seishirou Ryouhara and his sidekick Riko Koganei as the spearheads. That pair has a bit of a reputation for... well, perceived randomness. I have it on good authority that Koganei was involved in some of the last movements of the insurrection in Thailand, for example. Completely gratis, too... atypical. But this is all what you probably already know."

He pauses. Now he gets to sell speculation... but it's not 100% speculation. Part of it is backed up by Seishirou's criminal dossier; another part by observations of the Jinchuu participants so far and intelligence analysis. "Of course they're offering some sort of tangible reward, but that's irrelevant. The winner's true prize, as far as I can tell, is to be either a new member or a guinea pig for the Ryouhara." There's a pause as he doublechecks, internally anyway, that all his theories are still consistent. "Ryouhara said it himself, after all... where are the fighting luminaries in this tournament? Nowhere to be found. People too experienced to be of use. Then there's the fancy subtitle they used... the 'fighting proletariat'. I haven't pinned down what the exact result will be yet... I don't have the information."

He turns his face toward Elle again, and decides to give her the prompt. "The missing piece of information is *why*. It's an awful lot of trouble to identify someone with particular gifts or potential. The keystone is what the Ryouhara stand to gain from the end result... that's the cornerstone."

Elle knows more about the Thailand maneuvers than any person her level has any right to know. In the annals of Shadaloo, Elle is but a footnote. At the same level, Shadaloo is now gone, and Elle still remains. But it's not her place to speak ill of Shadaloo. After all, Vega is partly to blame for her meteoric rise in the underworld. Very few people have regular audiences with the dictator and walk away with their free will.

But that's old news.

She neither confirms or denies Soma's information immediately. It's unclear on if the offered information was new to her or not. Her face betrays absolutely nothing. Not even a twitch. However, Elle's always with resources, and with those resources comes an ace in the hole. Having her own personal ninja on retainer helps immensely with this sort of thing.

She pauses, nodding once, and places the folder on her desk away.

"Nikolai Tippin is a member of the Russian Mob. Not 'the russian mob', like a dumb gangster. I mean /The Russian Mob/. I used to have a friend at the Warhouses that ran Klashes and AKs for them. A few months ago, their funds dried up. I stopped getting work orders from the Warehouse, and Ryuohara's name started to crop up."

"The old bear himself flew his ass in from Russia to be in this tournament. If you tell me why before I figure it out myself, I'll tell you more about what I know."

That IS news. Of course, the ICPO agent's face doesn't twitch either. And he WAS an intelligence analyst before he started this fighter-undercover-novelist gig. It doesn't take him a long time to piece together some of the puzzle, at least. "Captain Tire Iron? He worked over that poor girl from Taiyo High pretty well... and the Russian underworld has always favored using random blunt objects. Of course, I suppose a tire iron is more imaginative than your average Yakuza thug's thumb-slicing tanto."

Soma pauses to let that sink in, then shrugs. "There's a few possibilities. For starters, Koganei is an expert hacker... and massive superliners equipped with state of the art counterintelligence technology don't come cheap. If Tippin's coffers suddenly went dry, there's certainly a possibility that the Ryouhara cleaned him out in order to fund this little soiree. I don't think that *alone* would draw him out, but it would certainly be a good start. And if you're going to embezzle god knows how much money from someone to start this little venture, why not do it from the Russian Mob? It certainly keeps world governments off your backside. That little trick the Suiryuu does with the mist, when it gets too close to some territorial waters... they're being very careful about what government noses they tweak."

The mecenary nods once. And that's just a fraction of the information that she knows. She doesn't say it, but one can conclude that with that much detail on her side, there's far more to this story than meets the eye. Hence, her copious scrawl of nearly incomprehensible notes.

"I don't care about the whys and wherefores of mentally retarded Japanese children," she says dourly. "Like I said. You tell me the real reason Tippin has come out of hiding to face down the Ryuohara on their own terms on a boat in the middle of nowhere, where they could just slit his throat and toss him in the water like a sack of garbage, and I'll get you more information."

"i don't need guesses and extrapolation. I have enough people that have issued more theories than what you just gave me, with harder evidence. I want it on copy, exactly what he thinks he's doing there. I don't care if it's because his poor grandmother is dying and it was her last wish to see him perform rhinoplasty on a 15 year old ninja on roller skates with a stick and a dream," Elle expounds. "You want what I know? You get me that info."

He's had enough. Even given his usually iron will, the urge to step across the table and put a dagger in Elle's face is too great for Soma to handle at this point. Besides, the conversation has devolved to trench warfare, at any rate. Standing up, he brushes off the edge of his coat and straightens his hat. "You never considered that it might just be because they asked him to?" With a shrug, the agent waves a hand dismissively. "If I come across something more solid on that front, I'll keep you in mind. See you."

He doesn't wait for a response, he just turns to go. However, when he gets to the doorway the ICPO agent suddenly stops, a mental image coming to mind... something someone said to him, not that long ago either. He half-turns to Elle. "Actually, before I go, I have one quick question. Nothing to do with Jinchuu... just idle curiosity. Take it how you want." He pauses for a second, then asks: "If I were to ask you what side you're on... the side you're consistently on, you'd say 'my own', right?"

"I'm a mercenary," Elle says. "I'm on the side that benefits me the most."

Elle's used to dealing with her partners and subordinates. People that are long on talent, but short on how to use them. Elle's the one in charge. The de facto commander of Blackjack, people look to her to decide. To lead. In exchange, they suffer her poor personality for the protection she affords them.

The result? A loyalty on a very strong level. But it's apparent just from the people she surrounds herself with that her forte is with lost souls: people who otherwise would have been adrift. Anyone that thinks they have a handle on things is bound to become quickly annoyed with Elle's heavy handed, straightforward approach to problem solving.

For the rest of them? Her 'already done' attitude is considered a necessary part of the job. But whatever the opinions on her, very few of her business associates could say that she doesn't know what she's doing. Soma's getting up means that it's time for other business, and people don't even wait for him to leave the office to approach Elle with orders to fill, questions on jobs, and bills to pay. Just another day in Elle's life filled with intrigue, mystery, and refilling the snack machine in the break lounge.

"I see."

The ICPO agent doesn't bother to suggest that her answer is effectively the same as his question -- that Elle's side is, well... Elle's side -- since he doubts it would get him anywhere. But it does confirm the nagging hint of something that's been pulling at his intuition ever since the conversation started.

A conversation rather startlingly like, in its own way, his negotiating with Riko Koganei for the whereabouts of Sonthi Boonyaratglin.

He doesn't turn around to respond. After all, she appears to be a busy woman and he himself has plenty of things to do. Getting intel on Tippin, for starters. He's not convinced the Russian mobster is a lynchpin here... but knowing more about his involvement might certainly crack *his* interest in Seishirou's angle. "Good luck. Be seeing you."

With that, he's through the lobby and out the door.

Log created on 22:20:30 08/26/2007 by Elle, and last modified on 01:31:17 08/28/2007.