Street Dreams

Chapter 1 - Just a Little Higher

       A shock of water, iced for consumption, was flung toward Ren.  He wasn't sure whether it was the cubes or the liquid that demanded his attention more. The chill brought the world crashing into his senses. Vivid colors were flashing all around the club, painting the walls, tables, and bodies surrounding him, varying hues to the beat of music. The repeated thud of heavy bass reverberated through his chair, shaking his bones. Had he fallen asleep? He noted how heavy his eyelids were as he stretched to adjust his muscles. A lingering yawn told him if he hadn't actually been asleep, he was certainly close to it before the rude awakening. The source of the offensive liquid sat across from him, making his jaw tighten: a fashionably dressed young woman in her early twenties. Her shirt was loose, the color obscured by the multi-colored strobes; it was Baccio Couture, or so she told one of the others. Her pants, practically painted on, were Dolce and Gabanna, and her small clutch handbag had a golden Prada logo gleaming in pride.  There was a pretentious sense of entitlement screaming from her eyes. The urge to strike her itched in his fingers as he pulled out a handkerchief and dried off his face. She was pretty enough, even with the full, glossed, lips pouted out, and eyes narrowed, her face masterfully made up with Sephora make-up.  He had seen the tell-tale compacts, earlier. The glossy black hair bleached a honey brown was something he was all too familiar with, particularly when joined with the pale skin that Asian women aimed for. When she spoke, it hit his ear softly enough, but the tone of it, the weight, high and whiny, reminded him of so many of his compatriots' companions. "Re~en!"

        Ren spent a brief moment considering why he had allowed his brothers to introduce him to this girl.  He hadn't bothered to remember her name, she was too much like other women he'd been introduced to.  Maybe the women in their circles were just walking clichés? Branded Asians with princess-complexes. He leaned over and spoke to the brother sitting next to him, Hiroki.  His white suit stuck out among the others' somber black.  He always aimed to be different, though Ren was grateful that his friend saved him the horror of wearing name brand clothes that advertised themselves as such. He had at least that much class. Ren could smell the remnants of bleach on his hair, the sacrifice for style when he wanted frosted tips.  He asked in Japanese, just quietly enough that Yuriko, the girl sitting across from him, wouldn't hear, "Why did I let you talk me into this?"

        Hiroki responded with a grin, and made a sound between mock embarrassment and teasing. His cellphone suddenly demanded his attention. Ren rose, causing a stir of protests among the group. The vibrations announcing a call could be felt in his pocket, and he found the sensation to be incomparably welcome. He walked through a small press of dancing bodies, and artificial fog in the club as he tried to find the door. Cutting through the air, his presence causing wisps to curl and move, he remembered the days when smoke would cause a haze, acrid and thick. This artifact never held quite the same appeal. Once outside, the dull thud of the bass made the walls shiver.  Not far away was the Strip, a couple blocks alone, a car passed with a drunk woman sticking out of a moonroof screaming ecstatically that she was in Vegas. 

        He took a moment to light a cigarette before returning the call missed in the club. Taking a slow drag and leaning his head back to release the smoke while he listened to the traditional ringback tone, the tension from within slipping away with it. The voice that answered was gruff, the Japanese guttural as it was spoken. His attention was drawn back to the phone, he was surprised that the man, himself, answered. "Ren, are you doing anything important, right now?"

        When Sutoshi Kanagawa asked that question, nothing the questioned was doing was important enough.  It was a lesson learned early.  Ren's breath was painted in the sky as he released the smoke, only for it to dissipate.  He tried the vapor cigarettes, but he felt like a pussy smoking them.  "Just smoking.  Need a job done, boss?"