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“I told you, wherever you go, I go!” Martin Kinzo yelled at Saso, as Saso laid in his lap, bleeding out of his chest through a gunshot wound made by a 9mm Gloc. Saso gulped air threw his open mouth and gaping chest wound. Multiple bullets screamed like firecrackers during Chinese New Year, ripping and shattering the boxes and freight crates that Martin and Saso were using as a defense shield. The men on the other side, behind black Lexus CLK’s and Lincoln Continentals, fired bullets of single and fully automatic Mac-ten’s and AK-47’s, were not happy with Martin, mainly because of Saso. Martin let fly Gloc-powered bullets and .45 caliber hollow tipped replies to the threats and questions being hurled at them in the same manner by the Yakuza.

Questions like, “Where the fuck’s our money Saso!”, and, “You’re a fuckin’ dead man Saso!”, and, "Kinzo won’t be there to protect your fuckin’ sorry ass for long Saso! We’ll get him and you. Two for one ya son-of-a-bitch!” Bullets always said more than words could ever punctuate. The roar of a rocket launcher being fired, and the rocket impacting against the industrial sized propane tank, deafened the Yakuza that shot it. The air was burning Martin Kinzo’s throat as he took quick, nervous breaths, firing round after round in the Yakuza’s direction. He took out two yakuza next to one of the CLK’s, and blew out the driver’s side window on the second Lincoln. Martin would turn back every-so-often to check on Saso who he leaned up against the metal support beams guarding their backs. “Saso, you all right? Hold on, I’ll get us out of this, you’ll see. We’ll get out of here, both of us. You can’t leave. Our Kizuna keeps you here. Remember----“ He spared one hand, armed with the .45 to shake Saso, whose skin color was turning a lighter shade of white with each time Martin looked. “remember that. Where you go, I go, and I ain’t dying here today, so you ain’t either. Saso….”

Saso had a tired smile on his face, and his small brown eyes had a faraway look in them. His lips moved as he whispered to Martin. Martin moved closer to hear Saso, “Y-yeah, Kinzo, I r-remember. Where y-you go, I-I go, S-see you there……” Saso’s head dropped to his left shoulder, resting on his yellow and black checkered short-sleeved shirt. Martin let loose another rally of bullets that screamed his response to the Yakuza’s threats of death-made-real by that propane explosion. He turned himself around, Gloc in one hand, .45 in the other, sitting on his knees. He dropped them both to the ground and grabbed Saso by the shoulders, shaking him, trying to wake him, “Saso! Wake up, it ain’t over yet! So c’mon……..” Saso did not move, and Martin was too far out from the protection of the crates. One of the Yakuza noticed………Martin felt a piercing, hot and quick. The middle of his chest…it was hard to breath….his back went numb……breath exhaled heavily and floated from his lips……..his last words were something only he and Saso would hear, only he and Saso would know……..”R-remember, o-our Kizuna. O-our bond, W-where you g-go, I g-go. R-remember t-the day we said….that….”

 

Next to his best friend, Martin Kinzo, fell silent.

 

 

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