Chasing prey

Let it stay in Las Vegas

Disclaimer: Any references to historical events, real people, or real locations are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of my imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

If ya'll enjoy reading this book, please don't forget to comment and vote. I'm not a professional writer, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes in the text. Feel free to give me constructive criticism (But please don't be too harsh guys ಥ‿ಥ... i'm new). Soooo, yea, i'll shut up now. Enjoy~

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Chasing prey

獲物を追いかける

Emono o oikakeru

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You've never seen him in person. He is elusive, like a hunted stag, gone silent in the mist. Even so, you hear his name uttered in quiet corners. It's a secret, whispered In alleyways and across tables. 'Nicholas Okumura', they say. The phantom handler. The face of a person so shrouded in mystery runs parallel to that of ghost-like figures in your dreams. It's the kind of face you've seen in passing, but can't quite place. 'Nicholas Okumura', they say.

The mention of his name often haunts little heavens. This is his story. The story the world will one day forget because it always does.

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Friday the 13th, November 2020, moon; waxing crescent. In the tar pit of Las Vegas, Nevada. The swell of music and chorus of voices go static. Streams of muted golden tangential light bisect each other and the domed ceiling. These cobwebs are intricate. Grand chandeliers. The velveteen ripple-like carpets swallow you alive. This is Caesar's palace, at exactly 10:45 pm.

Squint. You will see a man in black. He swirls a glass of something strong idly. His shoes are polished leather, and his hair is a shade of dusty grey. He bites his tongue, then sighs. 'рад видеть тебя снова брат.' It's nice to see you again, brother. 'That couldn't have possibly sounded more sarcastic.' was the reply he received. 'Nicholas, papa is disappointed.' The Russian, Leonid, says.

This 26-year-old Japanese boy he was addressing, Nicholas Okumura, draws back. His eyes narrow, and their crows' feet become noticeable. 'Well, I'm sorry. Is that enough, will you asshats leave me alone now?' The man scoffs. He empties the glass of what seemed to be a brand of century-old Bourbon with one gulp than shoves it roughly against the table. 'Where is the 30 million?'

Nick is unfazed. Unworried. His lips tug into an insincere half-smile, then he says, 'I wanted out.' He threads dangerously on thin ice. 'This is not the time for you're cryptic bullshit. I don't believe the video. Where is the money?' Nick lets his eyes wander, then inches closer. There's a burning in his irises, an edge. 'Gone. It was penance for all the shit you caused me.' Leonid grinds his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists. 'All the shit we caused you? You were pathetic before papa-' 'Yes, I know.' His expression darkens.

'What happened to you, Nick? You were the favorite son.' 'У меня нет отца' I have no father Nick states icily. There's something dead inside him. 'It doesn't matter now, does it? Leave me alone. I'm not here for Constantine.' As Nick shifts out of his chair, the cuffs of his sleeve are gripped; tightly. 'You really think I'm gonna let you go?' A clicking sound appears in earshot. Faint. The boy cranes his head around then presses his cheek against his former brothers', signaling a direction ahead, with his eyes. 'You see that man over there?'

From the corner of Leonid's eye, a young American guest is playing Blackjack. His dealer, dark-skinned, bearing a scowl on his features, has rage-filled eyes. The boy latches his hand onto something firmly, under his jacket. 'That guys an old buddy of mine. He has a Taurus Judge revolver pointed at your balls.' 'Fuck.'