Post by spiral on May 16, 2019 16:27:32 GMT -5
TABLE OF CONTENTS
THESPIRALEFFECT.NET POSTS
ARE PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE.
ARE PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE.
PLAYBILL
SYNOPSIS
Spiral’s search for Tibor Petrov appears to be a dead end until a mysterious invitation arrives after his return from Tunisia.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
MADS MIKKELSEN as
SPIRAL (THE NARRATOR)
STEPHANIE CORNELIUSSEN as
MADDI (THE ENTITY)
RINKO KIKUCHI as
YAPONCHIK
HENRY GOLDING as
KAITO
HIROYUKI SANADA as
SHŌGUN FUKUYAMA
SPIRAL (THE NARRATOR)
STEPHANIE CORNELIUSSEN as
MADDI (THE ENTITY)
RINKO KIKUCHI as
YAPONCHIK
HENRY GOLDING as
KAITO
HIROYUKI SANADA as
SHŌGUN FUKUYAMA
6
托鉢笠
TAKUHATSUGASA
TAKUHATSUGASA
You must understand that
there is more than one path
to the top of the mountain.
there is more than one path
to the top of the mountain.
— Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings
IT’S MAY 8TH AND I’M watching the second hand of my Patek Philippe timepiece tick around the dial. I hear Maddi say in my ear tick-tock, tick-tock but she’s not here with me in the back of the Lincoln Continental nor in the front with the driver who, as if on queue, meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. I say to him, “How much further? It’s quarter till nine.” He smiles a normal smile and says, “Ten minutes, sir.” He’s an older man, white, American, with a subtle New Orleans accent he’s tried desperately to shed to please out of town businessmen.
It’s April 1st and my Dark Self is the last thing Patrick LeRoux sees before he sinks into the Gulf of Mexico. The next morning I’m at his building downtown for a scheduled meeting. The secretary lets me wait in his office. I find his burner phone floating around in one of his desk drawers. His kid’s birthdate unlocks it. The contact information for his Russian handlers is saved on the phone, as are their text and email communiqués. A quick read through confirms everything LeRoux said. When I leave, the secretary apologizes for LeRoux’s lateness and offers to reschedule. I decline.
It’s April 20th and I’m in Angola for Blitz 13 having an espresso at an outdoor café and reading the The Times-Picayune on an iPad. Coverage of LeRoux’s disappearance continues to receive coverage. Rewards are offered. A tip line created. Meanwhile I haven’t received a single reply from the Russians. I’ve sent them several texts and emails pretending to be LeRoux in increasingly dire straits. As the waiter brings me my check I am typing a message claiming to be on the run because Spiral discovered my betrayal and I need help getting out of the country. I never receive a reply. They must know I am me and LeRoux is dead along with my lead to Tibor Petrov. This is the final message I send. After paying the bill I head back to the hotel. On the way I toss the phone into a garbage bin.
It’s May 7th and I’ve arrived home from Tunisia. Armand the doorman greets me in the lobby and says, “Mr. Gram, I have a letter for you. I’ll bring it up with your luggage.” I allow him to call me by my fake fake name because I need to fit in. I thank him and board an elevator for the fifth floor. Five minutes later I’m in my kitchen pouring a glass of wine when the doorbell rings. Armand enters with my bags on a luggage cart. “Here’s the letter, sir,” he says, handing me a white envelope, then begins to unload my belongings, setting them carefully to the side. I turn it over and see three kanji written vertically in thick black ink—住吉会. I tear the envelope seal. Inside is a 5x7 white card. On the front is a watercolor of lotus blossoms beneath a red sun and the same kanji running down the side. I flip the card over and, printed in english in small, sans-serif font is the following message: 513 TCHOUPITOULAS STREET. TOMORROW NIGHT. NINE O’CLOCK.
It’s May 8th and I check the time again. It’s 8:55 P.M. The driver takes the car another two blocks then turns right onto Tchoupitoulas and immediately pulls into an open space at the curb. He exits the vehicle hurries around to the passenger side. I get out and tell him to wait in the car. Building 513 is an old industrial building, recently remodeled into an upscale Japanese restaurant. SAKAZUKI GOTO is written in blue neon across the top of the facade made of steel sheeting. Cut into the metal is a large archway filled with panes of dimly lit glass and a bamboo door which opens for me as I approach. A young Japanese woman, petite and neatly dressed in a floral-printed kimono with a white sash, holds the door with head bowed.
I move past her into the restaurant and quickly look around. The construction reminds me of the restaurants of Tokyo with very little American influence. The light fixtures are modern with a flare of classic and the kitchen is on my left behind the sushi bar. The woman takes the umbrella and closes is it before depositing it in the stand by the door. I lower my head to her and say, “Thank you.”
She bows her head in kind and says, “Kochira e dōzo…This way, please.” I follow her through the empty restaurant to the back and down a long corridor which turns right and continues to a dead end. Along the right side of the hall are multiple shōji—doors made of squares of translucent washi paper framed with bamboo. We walk past the first three before stopping at the forth. She slides the shōji open and moves aside to allow my entrance. I hear Maddi say, “Here goes nothin’.”
I walk into a psychedelic room saturated with a cold blue light emitted from dozens of tiny LED bulbs stretching down from the tall, exposed ceiling on pencil-thin rods. Paintings of traditional Japanese iconography decorate the walls. The artist is a master of the Ukiyo-e, likely from the Kanō school. I hear the shōji slide shut behind me. I look back only for a moment before turning my attention to the head of this bizarre room where my host awaits me.
He’s a man, that’s to be certain, but his face from the nose up is hidden beneath a takuhatsugasa, a type of conical hat made from straw worn by monks. He’s wearing a black kimono decorated with white fringes along the collar and sleeves, in which his hands are tucked. He sits lotus style on a decorative rug, perched atop a three foot dais.
He is flanked by two others. To his right, a woman sits on the steps leading up the dias, leaning back and relaxed with one leg stretched out and the other bent slightly for her right hand to dangle over. Her double rider leather jacket and chopped hair darting asymmetrically over her face like a raven’s wing gives her a punk rock look that clashes with all this Japanese regalia. A katana is slung over her back, the handle rising over her shoulder, and I can make out the handle of a pistol jutting out from the inside of her jacket. Her almond-shaped eyes watch me with a soulless gaze of someone whose spirit was ripped away long ago. She isn’t just some woman—her stare feels like an attack. She is a predator and I am certain we have met before though I cannot place where.
Standing on the stairs opposite her is a thirty-something man, tall and lean, wearing a sharp tailored suit, all black, with hair slicked back and a smooth complexion. If the woman is the muscle then this one is the emissary. He descends from the dais to the floor and takes three steps forward then stops. His posture is straight but fluid and he almost glides across the floor.
The man in the takuhatsugasa speaks first with a deep, poetic voice, uttering a line of Japanese which I cannot under, but then filtered through his emissary’s mouth. “Welcome, Spiral,” the man in the suit translates in perfect English without a trace of accent. “Thank you for accepting my invite. I am Shōgun Fukuyama. These are my associates Kaito and Yaponchik.”
Kaito, the emissary, dips his head when he says his own name as he continues to translate. Yaponchik doesn’t make a move an inch. Her eyes remain surgically locked on me, following my every move. Yaponchik—I know that name. It means Little Japanese in Russian. We met before, long ago, back when I fought in the Circuit. She was Tibor Petrov’s half-Japanese, half-Siberian bodyguard.
I take a beat to take in this bizarre situation I find myself in then say to Fukuyama, “Okay, well, here I am.” I take a step forward then stop because I see Yaponchik go on alert, her hand moving inside her jacket for the gun, even though there are still more than twenty paces between me and Fukuyama.
“You must excuse Yaponchik,” Fukuyama says through Kaito. “Though I do not doubt you are here for a peaceful discussion she is not so easily convinced. Please, come forward so that we may talk without raised voices.”
As I approach I watch the woman slowly pull her hand from inside her jacket and places it empty on her knee. My eyes move back to the monkish Fukuyama and I say, “With respect, why am I here? What is it you want from me?”
Kaito translates, “Your help and in return I offer mine. I’ve been watching you for some time now. You, like the onmyōji, are a man of two sides. A positive and a negative, eternally bound to one another. On one side is a professional wrestler for a respected wrestling company operated by people who want nothing but to see you fail and fade away into obscurity. On the other side is a monster, a murderer, and a criminal obsessed with the hunt for one man: Tibor Petrov.”
I keep my emotions contained and hide the confusion and anger as to how he knows so much. Though I cannot see his eyes hiding beneath the takuhatsugasa I feel them on me, studying me, waiting to see any weakness in my cool, calm exterior. Maddi surfaces from the void and leans out from behind my shoulder. She says, “Isn’t this something. And you were worried there were going to be ninja hitmen.”
“I never said ninjas,” I tell her then turn my attention back to Fukuyama. “You are well informed but you have me at a disadvantage. What could you possibly offer me to curry my favor?”
“Anata ga karu otoko—” Fukuyama starts to say. Kaito renders his words into English. “The man you hunt. Tibor Petrov. We can provide you with his exact location after our agreement is fulfilled.”
Maddi cackles and claps her hands rapidly while bouncing on her toes. “Ohh I like this one.” I give her an annoyed glance then move forward until I’m within arm’s reach of the dais. Yaponchik rises to her feet and reaches back to grip the handle of her sword. She’s ready to draw the Japanese steel from its sheath until—
“Yaponchik!” Fukuyama bellows. “Ken o hikanaide kudasai!”
Kaito does not translate but the effect is obvious. Yaponchik lets the katana sink back into its sheath as she turns and bows her head to her master. “Sen no shazai, Shōgun.” As she sits back down like a scolded dog I say to Fukuyama, “I’m supposed to believe you know where Tibor Petrov is. Why? Because of her? No one has seen him in years.”
Yaponchik looks at me from under her brow, full of anger but does not dare speak. Fukuyama answers in Japanese. Kaito bows his head slightly and says, “One month ago Petrov approached the Sumiyoshi-kai in Tokyo with a suitcase containing one hundred thousand US dollars. When the boss of the clan, a man named Kawaguchi, asked what he wished to purchase, his answer was quick and to the point. Kill Spiral.”
I give a half-smile and say, “And here I am. Not dead. Tell me, why would the Yakuza not take his money and end my life? While I consider myself a man of many talents, I doubt I could get far with an entire syndicate after me.”
“The Sumiyoshi-kai are businessmen,” Fukuyama says through Kaito. “It is this reputation as a businessman which likely lead Petrov to approach us. What he did not know is that I am the Sosai of the Sumiyoshi-kai, the Boss of Bosses, and I own a stake in Valor Pro Wrestling. One hundred thousand is a significant sum but nothing compared to the return on investment I expect from Valor and that, Supairaru-san, is why you are not dead and we are having this conversation.”
I look at Maddi. She gives me a shrug and says, “Could be worse. We could be dead. Or even worse—back in the loony bin.” My eyes sweep back to Boss Fukuyama and I ask, “What’s the price?”
Fukuyama’s mouthpiece says, “For Petrov? For your life? The price is surprisingly small. We need someone on the inside in Valor to ensure our interests are served. Vanessa Byrne may have salvaged the latest disaster by securing the new broadcast contracts but we cannot forgive the fact that she was the leading voice in the decisions which nearly destroyed the company.”
“And what interests do you need served?”
“Despite her failings Vanessa Byrne is well-liked among the other investors. Their hands must be forced to push her aside and the only way to do that is to poison the company. You will be the Anisaki. A parasite whose goal is simply to infect, devour, and destroy Valor from within until the calls for Ms Byrne’s head cannot be ignored and a stronger, more effective manager can be appointed. Be chaos, Supairaru-san. Be madness. Be the beginning of the end and the end of the beginning.”
I feel my brow crease as I say, “Let me get this straight. You want me to make sure Byrne’s best-laid plans go awry and see to it that everything the producers hope to happen doesn’t, and in return you’ll just hand over Tibor Petrov?”
Fukuyama states emphatically, “Hai.”
“Oh darlin,” I say with a sneering grin spreading across my razor-blade lips. “There ain’t no one better at sowing chaos. You have yourself a deal. Make sure Petrov is well fed and unspoiled because when I have my hands around his neck I want his last breath to last an eternity.”
THESPIRALEFFECT.NET
Posted on May 16, 2019
Tick-tock, tick-tock goes the doomsday clock, counting down till the pendulum stops. Can you hear the ticking, Caroline? Every second brings you closer to me. Your time in Valor will be over before it can begin all because you were unlucky enough to draw my name. I’m unsure whether The Company actually thinks you can beat me or if they just don’t care for you. It doesn’t matter to me which is true. The bill for their hubris has come due and you’re left holding the check.
Oh Caroline, dear Caroline. I am the villain, here to rid the world of false heroes, and though no one has ever considered you anything close to heroic you will meet a hero’s end. The eyes of the world will watch you transcend through pain and the world will remember how things used to be, the terror of knowing I was out there. You, Caroline, are simply the vessel containing the red I need to paint the canvas. I will not stop until the ring is saturated with your offering and the spatter-covered children in the front row are crying tears just to wash your blood from their eyes.
To Vanessa, darling Caroline will serve as an example of what happens when you try to contain me. I will not suffer your law or your order. Signing that contract and giving me a platform was the biggest mistake of your dwindling life. I have done horrible things, carried out atrocities in every organization that has employed me, and committed countless acts of ultraviolence. What did you think would happen? I am smoke and ruin. I am blood and bone and the teeth in the night. Mine is chaos, destruction, and pain. When The Company burns to ash I’ll be holding the gasoline can.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, kiddo. The end comes for us all. Some sooner than others. The question you should be asking yourself is when I disassemble Caroline and leave her in a heap in the middle of the ring, do you really think I’ll be done?
Till Sunday,
Spiral
Posted on May 16, 2019
Tick-tock, tick-tock goes the doomsday clock, counting down till the pendulum stops. Can you hear the ticking, Caroline? Every second brings you closer to me. Your time in Valor will be over before it can begin all because you were unlucky enough to draw my name. I’m unsure whether The Company actually thinks you can beat me or if they just don’t care for you. It doesn’t matter to me which is true. The bill for their hubris has come due and you’re left holding the check.
Oh Caroline, dear Caroline. I am the villain, here to rid the world of false heroes, and though no one has ever considered you anything close to heroic you will meet a hero’s end. The eyes of the world will watch you transcend through pain and the world will remember how things used to be, the terror of knowing I was out there. You, Caroline, are simply the vessel containing the red I need to paint the canvas. I will not stop until the ring is saturated with your offering and the spatter-covered children in the front row are crying tears just to wash your blood from their eyes.
To Vanessa, darling Caroline will serve as an example of what happens when you try to contain me. I will not suffer your law or your order. Signing that contract and giving me a platform was the biggest mistake of your dwindling life. I have done horrible things, carried out atrocities in every organization that has employed me, and committed countless acts of ultraviolence. What did you think would happen? I am smoke and ruin. I am blood and bone and the teeth in the night. Mine is chaos, destruction, and pain. When The Company burns to ash I’ll be holding the gasoline can.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, kiddo. The end comes for us all. Some sooner than others. The question you should be asking yourself is when I disassemble Caroline and leave her in a heap in the middle of the ring, do you really think I’ll be done?
Till Sunday,
Spiral