Business as Usual, II
by Laura Bryannan

The president of Takeda Delivery climbed the seven flights of stairs to the loft space of the ex factory that housed his company. There was a freight elevator, which was great for the kids and their bikes, but it was one of his many self-imposed disciplines that he always took the stairs. And today, the repetitive movement helped still his mind and burn off the adreneline kicked up by his interaction with the businessman.

Opening the door, he was greeted by the typical chorus. “Sensei!” “Jin-sama!” “Hey Boss!” The small army of young people working for him had other, more lucrative, ways of earning a living. In this part of Okinawa, the gangs lured most—drugs and crime always seemed to pay better than honest work. But there were some who sought his type of internship instead. It pleased him to offer it, and the community supported him because he did.

At age ten, you could try. If you did your job well, you got more work, more responsibility, and rose from intern/gofer to messenger status. And if you continued to prove yourself, you could learn other jobs in the company—running the website, creating advertising, answering the phones and scheduling runners, keeping the books and paying the bills. These kinds of skills were taught if you showed the interest and the aptitude. Many rose to the occasion. The president expected excellence from his employees and received it most of the time.

His office was sectioned off from the rest of the space by a few makeshift partitions. As he entered, his VP raised his head and smiled expectently. While the president was the only named officer in his corporation, his second had been with him from the beginning. Terminally competent and a skilled multi-tasker, he was the chief reason Takeda Delivery ran like well-oiled machine. The president nodded and prepared for the onslaught.

“So, how'd it go?” his VP asked.

“We didn't get the account.”

“What?!? Impossible. You land every account you set out to get. What happened?”

“I changed my mind and didn't pitch the deal.”

“What?!? Jin, we're talking Okinawa Development here. What do you mean you changed your mind?” The boss wasn't looking himself, so he was genuinely concerned.

“It's very simple. I no longer want the account. Please drop the matter.”

“But that's crazy. I don't get it.”

The president of Takeda Delivery sighed inwardly. His second was his best friend and a worthy comrade-at-arms, but he was young, idealistic and like a dog with a new bone in terms of his tenacity. He knew he was going to have to leave the room to end the seige, and started toward the door.

“Jin, we need that account. What the hell happened?”

He turned back, his eyes weary. “I asked you to drop it, Yuki. Please honor my request.”

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The businessman picked up the phone and punched in the number on Messenger Boy's business card. He knew he should have his secretary do it—make it look more official and all—but he found the norms of corporate behavior as constricting as the tie he put on every morning. He wanted to make the call himself and feel the situation out.

“Takeda Delivery,” a young voice sing-songed.

“Takeda Jin, please.”

“Uh, he's not here. Wait a sec....YUKI-SAAAAMAAAA!” The businessman cringed as his eardrum was assulted. He heard footsteps running near, and then a deeper voice.

“Nari-kun, no yelling...the hold button, remember?” Some shuffling and then finally, “Um, sorry about that. Can I help you?”

“Takeda-san, please.”

“He's not here right now, but I'm the head of operations, Hojo Yukimaru. What can I do for you?”

The businessman thought for a moment, then took a chance. “I'm Ryu Mugen from Okinawa Development. Your boss left today before we could set up a time to meet. Do you keep his schedule? I'd like to finalize a contract tonight.” He held his breath.

“Okinawa Development? Oh yeah, we'd definitely be interested in that.” Hojo-san sounded certain. “Tonight sounds good. When and where? He'll show.”

“Does he eat seafood?” the businessman asked.

“Yes he does.”

“I'll see him at Helios then, at eight. Ryu Mugen's table.” Helios was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. Hopefully the guy owned a suit. If he didn't it would be interesting to see what he showed up in.

“That's great. Thanks so much!” enthused Hojo-san. He heard some commotion in the background, and then Messenger Boy's voice. A hand obviously came around the mouthpiece of the phone, but the businessman could hear well enough.

“It's Okinawa Development! You're meeting with them tonight.”

“No I am not. Cancel it.

“But Jin, we could really use this account.”

“Cancel it, Yuki...now!”

“Nope.”

There was some shuffling, and the president of Takeda Delivery got on the line. “Hello?”

The businessman hit OFF, and laughed out loud. Being a successful gambling man, he placed a bet with himself. Of course, he won.

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Takeda Jin followed the maitre d' to Ryu-san's table uncertain whether his heart was pounding out of excitement or anger. He hated how the man upset him. And he wasn't sure if he was ever going to forgive Yuki for arranging the meeting and refusing to cancel it. As he walked up to the table, the offensive man gave him a frank appraisal and nodded in appreciation as they shook hands.

“Brooks Brothers,” Ryu-san observed. “Wasn't sure if you owned a suit.”

And yet you set the meeting up here anyway, shithead, Takeda-san thought. “I dislike Italian design,” he responded, giving his companion's Armani a withering glance.

Ryu-san refused to rise to the bait. “Well, I'm Mugen. Can I call you Jin?”

“No.”

Ryu-san rolled his eyes, but pressed on. Passing a business card across the table, he continued, “This is our Operations Manager, Takahashi-san. She's expecting to hear from you. She'll give you the low-down and then pass you along to Purchasing. And now that that's handled, what do you want to drink?” He waved the server over to their table.

“Guinness please,” Ryu-san told her.

“Glenlivet, neat.” said Takeda-san.

Ryu-san's eyebrows raised. “How'd you get a taste for scotch?”

“The same way you got a taste for Guinness, I imagine. And, it's not scotch. Whiskey.”

“Scottish whiskey,” Ryu-san insisted.

This time Takeda-san rolled his eyes, and then they glared at each other for a while.

Dinner conversation, if you could call it that, continued in a similar vein. Had anyone been listening, they would have heard achievements in verbal sparring and oneupsmanship unparalleled in the history of human interaction.

Unfortunately, at a crucial moment Takeda-san became distracted. A flash of steel gleamed in Ryu-san's tongue as he made a particularly strident point, and a certain part of Takeda-san's body lept at the sight. He promptly forgot what he was about to say and inwardly cursed.

“How can you eat with that thing in your tongue?” he spat, changing the subject to cover himself.

Ryu-san looked thoughtful for a moment, then grinned impishly. “I'm told I eat better beacause of it.”

Takeda-san felt his body flush with heat and cursed himself again. Why did this...creature have such an effect on him? He hated feeling so out of control.

By the time they finished dessert he was certain he had never loathed anyone as much as he loathed Ryu-san, while simultaneously indulging fantasies of the guy screaming as he pounded his ass into oblivion.

“Why did you insist upon this meeting?”

“My skills are in options trading,” Ryu-san told him. “Knowing when a commodity is gonna rise or fall. And I predict you're...gonna rise.” He ran his tongue across his upper teeth and Takeda-san did rise, in his pants and out of his chair.

"Thank you for the account," he said, walking away from the table with Ryu-san's laughter ringing in his ears. If he could make it to his car before the guy settled the bill, maybe he could escape.

to be continued