The Dragon Comes To America, Chapter 2: Ghosts

In shock, I dropped the box, and as it bounced off my hardwood flooring, the hand inside landed with a sickening splat. The hand was easily identifiable due to the tattoo running down the back of the hand and along the index finger. “貸し出し用の銃”, or in English, “gun for hire”. As I look at the dead hand laying on my floor, my mind flashes back to the night I met the owner of that hand. The same night that had played in my head earlier in the evening when speaking with Kristen. The night that changed the course of not only my life, but my family’s as well.

My response was hot headed as per usual.

I pulled the sword away from my father and turned back to the owner of the Katana. I lifted the blade up, and as I swung it down, my father pulled me backward. The blade struck the ground in front of the Yakuza hitman, as my father slipped on the wet ground and we both fail. I looked at him in both shock and anger.

My words are cut short as my father shoves me backward. At first I think he is attacking me, but as I see the blade of the katana narrowly pass by my face, I know he was saving me. The “gun for hire” suffered the same fate as my father and I, and slipped in the mud. He did not fall, only stumbled, but it was all I needed to take his knee out with a well-placed kick.

As he fell to his knee, I was to my feet, with my hands grabbing the handle of the sword. There was a struggle for the blade. It was short and brutal, but the details of the skirmish escape my mind. I remember my elbow finding his ribs, and shoving him to the side with my shoulder as I captured the katana.

When he regained his footing and saw I had the katana, he yielded. I was ready to deliver the final blow and end him when my father’s voice cut through the adrenaline fueled ringing in my ears.

As his word echo through my mind, and I see the mix of love and concern in his eyes, I lower the sword. I nod my head at him before moving closer to my father. It is only a matter of a few steps when he shouts again, “SHINJIRO LOOK OUT!”

I turn quickly to see the Yakuza member charging at me with a knife he had pulled from his boot. Out of pure instinct to self preservation, I blocked his knife thrust with the sword, and the blade of the katana sliced right through his wrist.

His blood-curdling scream pierced through the stormy night sky. My father was quick to his side with his belt off. My father quickly tourniquets the wrist. I stared in disbelief at my father. At the time, I couldn’t believe he had such compassion for this man. As I would learn, it was his love and compassion for his family, not for that man.

Weeks later, after a highly successful tour of the East coast that saw me winning three different matches, including exposing Easton Alexander as a fake dragon, and now I’m back in San Francisco. I had decided it would not only be best to not contact Kristen. As much as it pained me to “ghost” her, I couldn’t take the chance of putting her in harms way.

Now, I sit with my personal security and home security at a heightened level. I have only been back a few days, but am already preparing to head back out. Such is the life of a professional wrestler, another reason to not enter Kristen’s life. Then, on cue, as if she knew I was thinking about her, my phone chimed with a message from her.

“Just gonna 👻me?”

I take a deep breath and begin to type my response.

“Kristen, I apologize for not contacting you when I got back into town, but have some family. *back spacing*. But have some personal issues, *more back spacing, the entire message this time.*. “It isn’t you, it is m…”, even I know that is cliche here in America. I toss my phone down, unable to give an adequately worded response. I deeply exhale, as if trying to blow all the frustrations from my body.

Another chime of a text.

One last chime.

“🖕🖕🖕”

Again, I toss my phone down and deeply exhale. I need to get some fresh air and to clear my mind; I need to take a walk. It wasn’t long before I had pulled on my Converse All-Stars, pulled on my Cowboy Bebop shirt, and threw in my Skull Candy heads, and headed out the door. Yes, I had on shorts. They were on before I decided on the walk, just an FYI.

As I walked, the fresh air filled my lungs, and the lyrics of Mobb Deep filled my ears. My thoughts turned from my present troubles to my troubles that lay ahead with my upcoming matches. As I turn a corner, I notice the black Nissan Altima that has been following me since I left my apartment turns the corner as well. I slightly pick up my pace, and notice as I do the Altima does as well. To ensure I am not suffering from total paranoia, I take another corner, but they confirm my suspicions as the Altima turns as well.

I take off at a full sprint and I hear the Altima’s engine rev up and the tires squeal as it speeds after me. I cut down a side street and think that I have lost them, so I slow my sprint to a jog to conserve energy. It isn’t long, though, until the Altima peals around the corner and barrels down the street I’m on. I take off in a sprint again and this time turn down an alleyway. The car follows down the narrow alley, its side mirrors knocked off as it pursues me.

I see a fence blocking the alley and leap up and onto it as I reach it. I begin climbing as the car stops and three people in all black jump out and begin chasing after me. The first up the fence grabs me and I kick him off, sending him falling onto his other two followers. I drop over the fence and take off running again, heading for a more populated area of the city.

At full speed, I run around a corner and right into someone. I feel their body fall and feel a burning on the flesh of my chest. I look down at my chest to see coffee all over my shirt. I instinctively began brushing off the coffee, even though the liquid was already soaked through the cotton. I was so distracted that I didn't even check who I had collided with. I’m too busy looking back over my shoulder to see if I’ve lost my pursuers.

“SHINJIRO!?!”

The voice is angry, shocked, and familiar. I turn my head back to see Kristen sitting on the ground in front of me, a crushed coffee cup in her hand.

I stop talking and bend down to help her up, but she shoves my hands away.

I grab her and pull her into the bodega we stand in front of, spinning us both against a drink cooler. I look through the window of the store and watch the Altima drive by with the heads inside on a swivel. She shoves me away from her, and I step back, holding my hands up.