BIT AND BRIDLE FINALE PT II

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X

He woke to the sound of rain on the patio. He opened his eyes carefully, his body strained to the point of movement being painful. He cast his gaze around the room, seeing out his host. It took a moment, but he found Jesse sitting just beneath the overhang, smoking a very large cigar with his feet up on an ottoman, back turned to his subject. 

Hanzo hesitated before trying to get up, but he tried to none the less. He stifled the groan as his muscles strained and protested, complaining as he attempted to drop to the floor in a submissive,pony-like pose. 

“Heh. Come on now, none a that.” Jesse peered back over his shoulder with a calming smile. “You're gonna be hard on those knees. Come on now...” He patted a chair next to him. “Come on. You had a hard night. I got some pain killers right here and a nice, hot cup of coffee. Stogie if you want one too.”

“I've...never smoked.” Hanzo stood with caution, both due to the strain on his body and the fear that he was doing something he would be punished for later. “What...”

“Don't worry. You're safe here. Now...painkillers. Food. Rest.” Jesse demanded, directing him where to sit. He waited till Hanzo was able to work his way over and half lumber into the chair, his body practically melting into it. He grunted, wincing but pushing himself into the cushions. “There ya go. Now, I got fruit, bacon, oatmeal. Coffee. Go on. Eat up before you take the Percocet.” 

Hanzo reached for the food, piling up a  bowl with oatmeal, honey, butter, sugar and raisins. It had been so long since he'd been allowed to choose his own food. He gulped it down quickly, savoring the warmth it left in his belly against the chill of the rainy weather. 

“Storm season is set in. It'll be like this for a month or two. We won't get too many customers wanting to take rides so...” he pointed down the way. “We'll be opening the barn and letting them do training in there, put the ponies through their paces. We'll let them take the ponies up into the house for private time, enjoy them a bit.” He seemed to be meandering in his thoughts, more like discussing things to himself than really talking to anyone.

“Will...I be returning to the stables then?”

“Well now that really depends on you.” Jesse took a long drag from his cigar, breathing out the oaky and vanilla smoke and watching it curl through the air and quickly disperse in the rain. “What it is you wanna get out of your time here. What it is you want to do with yerself.”

“I can not make any decisions without knowing what options are available to me. Yesterday I was in fetters and a bridle. Now I sit beside you while you speak to me as an equal.”

“And a few days ago you snuck into my house. You coulda killed me. But ya didn't. Coulda tried to escape. Ya didn't.” 

Hanzo clasped his hands together, twirling his thumbs around as he formed his words carefully. “Assuming I could have escaped, which has proven futile before, where would I run to? I am sure by now you've gained some knowledge of who I am...was. The empire my father built was destroyed. To return now would be death. I have not the means nor the connections with which to seek revenge. I have nowhere to run to. And as for killing you...” He gazed up into the wry eyes, a little heat building in his belly. “It would have scratched an itch. But I would have regretted it later. I do not wish you dead, Mr. Marricone.”

Jesse laughed under his breath. “McCree.” He informed the man. “Jesse McCree. Marricone is the inherited name I go by. Sort of an in-joke. It's a long story.”

“I have nowhere to be, McCree.” Hanzo took the mug of coffee and sipped at it, closing his eyes as he inhaled the rich, bitter taste. He'd forgotten how much he loved coffee.

“Heh...well. Don't blame me if ya get bored in an hour or two.” The cowboy took another drag and coughed in the back of his throat. “So...round about oh four hundred years ago, this island belonged to the native peoples. Then in came the Spanish who built a monastery here in an attempt to convert the locals to Catholicism. Didn't go so well. Meaning the the Spaniards did what they usually do to natives who don't wanna start praying to a new god and either enslaved or killed them. Go forwards a bit and you got the Franco-Spanish war, and the Spaniards are using this place as a military outpost, somewhere to resupply or send out Spanish pirates to assault French ships. Well some time into that, the French took over the island and turned it into a French military outpost. The Generals name was Marcion. After the war, they, being the French, decided they wanted to keep the island and declared Marcion governor of the place. Being a cavalry man, he had an abundance of horses from his military days and soon the island became known for breeding superior warhorses. That went on for a few generations, but one of his great great grandsons ended up not being so good with money. Got himself into debt with a pirate captain of some kind.” McCree took a big drink of coffee and looked over. “Stop me if I'm boring you.”

“Not at all. Though I can't help but feel you are trying to avoid answering my question.”

“Heh. Naw. Just answering it in a round about way. So anyhow, in order to keep from getting his throat slit, the guy offers the pirates to use this place as a smugglers cove, stashing goods, trading things, resupplying. Well of course that invites in a criminal element which means the whole island goes to pot pretty quick. But this guys son, Marcion the...tenth or eleventh I think, has a better head for business. He starts getting taking the taxes and instead of spending them on drink and women and gambling, buys up mercenaries and pirates by the hoard until he has enough to take control of the island again. He gives the pirates a choice, work for him or get blown to kingdom come.”

“I take it not everyone took the easy and profitable way.” Hanzo surmised. Like any gang war over turf, nobody could ever let pride go. 

“Of course not. But enough did. Still, too much money was being brought in for him to let the business go legit. Marcion kept trade running through the place as a pirates paradise till his death, and his son after him. But by the next generation, the golden age of piracy was dying, and in the way of things, the island was abandoned to the vines and the animals when the ships stopped puttin to port here. Now...” McCree settled back down. “Fast forward a hundred and fifty years er so and you got all these people talking about legends and pirates. This place becomes kind of a hot spot for part time treasure hunters and archaeologists looking for the next big find. Eventually, somebody found something. Turns out Maricon was stashing a massive hoard of gold in a cave along the southern shore line, but didn't leave it in his will and didn't tell even his own family bout it. So this guy up from Mexico finds it, totally by accident, wasn't even looking. Just dropped by to go diving in the underwater caves around this area. And the news have a fit cause guess what, the guys name is?”

“Marcion.”

Jesse laughed. “Sure enough! And to top it off, his diving partner is also his life partner. So this island gets renamed from Marcion Isle to Marricone Island. Got even more of a thing when he took part of the loot and bought the island with the intention of turning it into a kind of gay high class resort. Too bad he wasn't so good with money. The usual problems, bad investments, building took longer than he thought. He ended up in debt and making deals with the wrong sort of people. Next thing you know the beautiful resort is now a brothel and drug smugglers den. He had a choice. Get with the program or end up face down in the ocean. Guess which one he took.”

“Was he...is he the gentleman I was left to entertain yesterday?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Now I hope you don't mind but I got no business going to deep into his personal business. Maybe if he's of a mind to tell ya, ya might ask him. But I wouldn't go doin it. He don't like bein reminded of it. Especially since you only just managed to impress him.” 

“Just?” Hanzo snorted indignantly. “My ass has been turned inside out and I only just managed to impress him?”

“Don't take it took hard. He was rough on me too.” 

He was silent for a moment, throwing back and forth whether or not he should say anything. “Do you mean...but of course it is none of my business.” He stared down at his cup, the ache of knowledge gnawing in his gut, wanting so badly to be told, to be gifted with some small emotionally contention to Jesse that didn't come from trusting him with a bridle and whip.   
 
Jesse closed his eyes and tilted his hat back. “We called ourselves the Rustlers. But in truth we were jus a bunch of young punks with everything to prove and nobody ta prove it to. We ran up and down the streets, just old enough to be legal and too young for the cheap beer we were drinkin'. Acted like hot shit. Picked fights, knocked over mini-marts, smoked weed and trashed somebodies car once. Everybody blamed our upbringin but the truth a the matter is most a us didn't have parents and those that did would rather not a had any. The long and short of it is we got too big for our britches and ended up crossin a real gang. They came down on us hard. Marty and Kole got a boot to the back o the head while biting the curb. Josie and Jose   went fishing with cement shoes. I never found out what they did to Barbara. But me? I guess I was kinda the ringleader of our little group. The wanted to make an example of me. “Thats how I ended up here.”   
 
“And Mr. Maricon took a liking to you?”

“Just the opposite. I was every bit as ornery as you. Maybe even more. I don't think a day went by where I wasn't stung up to get my ass belted and my body run till I couldn't move. I think he ended up havin ta drag me back into the stables most times. I used ta...heh...I used to get fitted with weighted boots, make it harder to me to run, make my work more difficult. They'd fit the bridle back so far in my mouth I'd almost choke on it. They used ta have this full latex suit, fit you up so you couldn't even move without help, put you down on all fours, kept ya in the dark. They'd play a recording in yer ears, over and over and over for days.” Jesse fidgeted with his hands. “First thing I got rid of when I got in charge a the place. Funny how stuff like that can stick with you. But I guess my stubborn nature started to win him over. Jefe found himself spending more and more time with me. Him and his partner both, working me over till I was sore and sweating and too tired to resist anymore.”

“So how did you end up in charge, the new Mr. Marricone so to speak?”

“Same way most bosses move up to become big bosses. He decided to retire. Turns out running a fancy place for people to come and live out their dirty fantasies is much more profitable than any hotel could ever be. Especially when you don't have to pay your workers. He decided to retire about five or six years back, took me out of the stables and into the bedroom, started showing me how to run the show. Been working this place as the boss for three years.” Jesse opened his hands to Hanzo. “So there you have it. I'll be running this place until I choose someone to take my place.”

“Is that an offer? You tire of this life and I have been picked to replace you?”

“Well not quite. See, Jefe had a partner. Someone who was there to have his back, help him get things done around here and provide him with support. Occurred to me that I ain't got one like that. Somebody I can trust in troubled waters.”

Hanzo blinked back, not sure if he felt flattered by this or not. “You trust me? Why should you? There is no reason to.”

“Save that you had me cornered and you chose to fuck me blind rather than murder me cold. Maybe that seems a bit off, but in this business it's a damn sight better than what most woulda done.” Jesse approached him, reaching down to slide his fingers along Hanzo's beard with a tender touch. “I'm offerin you a way outta the stables, hunny. You got all that spitfire and stubbornness. But you got a cool head, you know how to play things so as to keep yourself outta trouble. You know how to be sly and subtle, something I didn't ever really get the hang of.” Jesse sat down across from him, putting out his cigar in the ashtray, looking up at him as if trying to gauge his reaction to everything. “I need a partner, Hanzo.”

“Why me then? Why not one of your men? They've been with you longer, surely their advice, their strategies are more reliable.”

“Those guys? Nah. They think too much with their dicks. They're happy enough getting ta stick their cocks in the other ponies and getting paid to do it. They're fine wranglers and trainers, but the don't have the self control. Or...iffen you'll excuse me for saying so, the resume for this kind of work.”

Ah. So that was a factor then. “I'll inform you now, the Shimada never trucked in illegal flesh. We owned brothels, but they were all entirely within legal boundaries.”

“And in Japan, legal boundaries can get stretched pretty thin...especially in the sex trade. So if you'll kindly avoid playing the morality card with me, I'd appreciate it greatly.” Jesse chided him with even eyes. He was no fool. Nobody here could play the innocence card. The simple truth of it was they were both men with black spots on their records. Best not to pretend otherwise.   
 
“Is it the connections you want? The Shimada's were decimated. The Yakimada's are sure to have moved in on all of our operations by now. If we had anyone left to us who was loyal, they've either defected or been killed as my father was. I have no allies left.” Hanzo wasn't sure what he was trying to do here. On one hand, this was the opportunity he'd been aching for. There was something about Jesse which drew him to the man. A freedom which existed under his control that had never been offered to him before. He did not like being rented or used by others, but he adored the cowboy's training and attention. It was like water in the desert. He did not want to stop being his pony, but he did not want to be just a pony in the stables. So why was he telling the man everything that devalued him as a partner.
 
“Oh I don't think thats quite true. I ain't been idle while we had you here. I knew there had to be a reason the Yakimadas's sold you so cheaply. They wanted you out of the country and fast. Which meant you had to be a rival. It only took a little digging to find out who you really were. I've had my eye on the Japanese news channels, keeping myself abreast o' the situation.” Jesse touched his hand gently, offering stability for what he was about to say. “You're brother is back in Japan.”

Hanzo squeezed the mug so tightly that it shattered in his hand. “He...!”

“You've got more allies then you think. I've got my own ears to the ground and while they know he's come home, your enemies haven't found him yet. So somebody has to be helping him keep a low profile. Meanwhile, there've been some whispers of people tryin ta find out what happened ta you. Now, I don leave a paper trail. But I reckon you'd like yer brother to see you alive, well, and not wearin a bridle and tail plug the next time you meet face ta face.” 

Hanzo turned red with shame. He had let his family name fall so far! Even when they had been defeated, he had expected death, but not to be humiliated to the point of craving such treatment. “I do not want Genji to see me like that.”

“And thats something I can solve easily. If you want, you can go back to the stables. You can let go of the life you had and be a pony, maybe even a better behaved one now. Or...” he lifted those fingers to his lips and kissed them softly. “You can be my partner. Equal partners. And in exchange, I'll do everything I can with my influences to find your brother and ensure his safety, have him brought here if it'll please you. On my honor, noone'll say a damned thing bout how you came to this island.”

“Did you plan this from the moment you bought me?” Hanzo asked, needing to know.

“When I bought you all I knew was you were mouthy and obstinate, and I liked it. Everything else I found out while we were training ya. I came to my decision bout two weeks ago, wanted to run it by the original Mr. Marricone and see if he thought you'd be a good fit.” Jesse kicked his feet back up. “No rushin the decision. Ain't no need to be hasty about it. You take your time. But I wanna be clear about this, Hanzo. This is the only time I'm gonna ask ya. You go back to the stables, then thats it. Yer Dragon. We got a way a doin things here an it ain't always right, but it works. Can't let the other ponies get ideas. But I promise you, and my word is as good as gold. You pick a partnership with me, I'll do everything in my power to protect you an yer kin.”

“Then I require no time at all.” Hanzo stood, shakily, cringing as he got to his feet, but managing. “It is a deal, Jesse McCree. And as you say. My word is good as gold.” He held out his hand and it was grasped firmly, their eyes locking as they squeezed.
 
“What now? Must I sign a contract or execute someone to prove my loyalty?” Hanzo was surprised when Jesse laughed at him. 

“Settle down there, Dragon!” Jesse snorted, then caught himself. “Err...sorry. Might be a tad ta get used to.”

Hanzo turned pink about the cheeks. “I...would not mind if you called me that...sometimes. When we are alone.”

“I see.” Jesse's expression was tender, intimate. “I'll keep that in mind. But for now, just know this. If yer gonna be loyal, you'll be loyal. If yer bidin yer time, waiting to stab me in the back...well I'm the fool for trusting ya. We'll get you get up in yer own room. I'll help you get settled in.” He gripped Hanzo's wrist, pulling him in closer, drawing his chin up and into a hungry kiss. Their lips met, and the warmth blossomed on Hanzo's tongue, caressing down his throat as the cowboy tugged at his hair. “Don't make me regret this, Hanzy.”

“I shall do my best not to.”
 
~~~
 
Japan was no longer a welcoming place. Through the neon lit streets and rainy hazy, Genji could feel eyes peering at him, seeking him out. His decision to return home had not been hasty, though a fire burned in his gut, telling him to seek revenge for the assassination of his family.   
 
He had wanted to go home, to return to the mansion that belonged to his family for generations, only to be told that it was no longer standing. It had burned to the ground a few weeks after his father and brother's disappearance, a sure sign that the Yakimada's had wanted to purge any evidence that might linger there. His enemies had not been idle since the fall of their rivals, and those who still wished to remain loyal to the only Shimada son left had warned him that they were looking for him.   
 
Genji had promised himself to remember the names of those who had offered him shelter and protection. When he assumed his position as the head of the Shimada clan, he would be sure they were repaid a thousand times over. At first, he had begun searching for any news regarding Hanzo. His brother's body had never been discovered. Genji had held on to the faint hope that perhaps he was being kept somewhere to divulge secrets about their father or their holdings. But as the months past, he began to realize that even if the Yakimada's had gotten hold of him, they would not have kept him this long. Either Hanzo would have escaped, or he would have attempted to escape...and failed.   
 
He had gone to visit the local Shinto temple and pay his respects to them. The Shimada's had always remained in good standing, despite their affiliations, and gave frequently to help local charities and the needy. He knew the kannushi recognized him, but the man said nothing, merely continued with his duties as if Genji were not there.  
 
He had heard through the rumor mill that the Yakimada's were not quite as open handed with their offerings. Their father had always talked to them about tending their territory as if they were tending a garden. A well seeded, well maintained soil would yield a greater crop, allowing for a more bountiful harvest. But if you ignored it, failed to give it the attention as needed, then you should not be surprised if you found your harvest to be meager.   
 
Apparently nobody discussed the finer points of horticulture with the Yakimada's.   
 
He left quickly, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. Genji knew he should be getting back to his safehouse, but the months of cloistering himself were beginning to wane on him. His brother had always refereed to him as irresponsible, reckless. Perhaps there was something to that. With the part of him that knew he had to remain cautious, play things close to the chest, there was the hot-blooded part that invited a fight. He longed to punish someone for this tragedy, to let someone feel the anger growing in his body. He wanted to get drunk, start a fight, punch someone across the bar like he would have only a few short years ago. But that would draw attention that he couldn't afford. He had to be wise...like Hanzo.
 
He remembered his brother's parting words to him, while the car was being brought around to take him to the airport.   
 
“It isn't about you being good enough, Genji. It's about becoming a better you.”

“No. It is about making me into you.” He smarted back angrily, glaring into Hanzo's calm, almost pitying eyes. “Well I'm not you, Hanzo. I won't ever be you! Even if you send me to the same bullshit schools!”

“We're not sending you there to turn you into me, either. This is the best education money can buy, Genji. This is an opportunity to gain a little independence, find out who you are outside of the family. Genji...” Hanzo did not plead with him, but there was a tone in his voice, an askance. Genji was at that age where young adults do not like to be condescended to, and kneeling would have felt like he was mocking his brother somehow. “One day, I am going to need you by my side. I will need you to help me lead this family. I am depending on you, little brother. We all are. I trust you.” His smile was sincere, full of faith and confidence. “I know I can trust you.”

That had hurt. Genji was not a foolish young man. He knew his father had no faith in him to take on the role of second in command. No one in the clan did. It was not as if he showed any interest in it. But when you were born into a family like the Shimada's, getting out was not an option. You found a place within it's ranks and you made that a part of your identity. Hanzo was destined to take over when their father retired. Genji was meant to be his lieutenant. The fact that his elder brother had taken to the role with the same confidence in his ascension as their father had did not help matters in the least. But of everyone, Hanzo had always believed that Genji was more capable than any of them gave him credit for.     
  
It had been Hanzo's idea to send him overseas for prep-school and university. Genji knew he had resented it at the time, seeing it as a method to get the troublesome and disappointing brother out from underfoot. Now that he looked back, Hanzo had been right. Without the pressures of his family hanging over his shoulders, Genji had the chance to exist on his own merits. He made his own friends, found his own activities, lived his own life. Hanzo had given him the chance, the opportunity to become his own person.  
 
~I never thanked him for that.~ His heart started to hurt, thudding in his chest till it sank to his belly with the weight of guilt. So many things he would now never have the opportunity to say. So much he wished...he'd give anything...  
  
Genji realized this was the third time he had seen the same black car circling the block.    
  
He shrugged the parka up around his shoulders, trying to look as though he hadn't seen anything. He tossed around the idea of ducking into a store, but that wouldn't do any good. Most of the stores here were under protection. Yakimada goons would think nothing of grabbing him, taking him into a back room, and doing to him what they'd done to Hanzo.  
  
He didn't duck down an alley way for the same reasons. Genji looked towards one of the ladders hanging overhead and suddenly turned to the right, kicking himself up the wall and grabbing hold of it, swinging himself up onto the rung. Sure enough the car skidded to a stop and a man got out. Genji didn't stop to see who it was. He climbed the ladder quick as possible and got up to the roof, taking off quick as a rabbit.    
  
He'd spent three years on the track team at the prep-school. They'd have a hard time catching up.    
  
Genji didn't head in a straight line. He criss-crossed rooftops as if playing chess, working to loose any pursuers quickly as possible. He couldn't go back to his safe house until he was totally confident he didn't have anyone on his tail. If he could make it out of Yakimada territory, he knew where the entry to the sewers was through the run off bellow the bridge. He wasn't above hiding out in them for a few hours to stay safe.    
  
“HEY!”

~Shit!~ He expected to hear gun shots ring out, but none came. He could hear footsteps falling behind him, closing in, but not fast enough. He took off at a shot, taking a huge jump and risking that his pursuer wouldn't follow. He was right. Being young had it's benefits. The older goons knew better than to try such a big leap and end up breaking something. He crossed the roofs again, climbing down a ladder and switching to the next building before going up the patios and into an open window of the abandoned building. He ducked down quickly, looking around for any homeless people who might give him away. He had some cash on hand. Enough to pay them to keep quiet. Genji snuck around, satisfied that he was alone, and peered out the windows for anyone.

~Damn.~ The black car was coming slowly up the street, clearly looking for him. ~Okay...I can wait a little bit and head back out from another floor. There's an alleyway I can slip through, find my way into the back door of a bar, sneak my way out with some drunk patrons. Maybe grab a cab...”  

“Genji Shimada.”

He had the gun out in front of him before he could blink. He was no good with a gun. He'd only ever used a rifle for the shooting club, but it was better than having nothing to defend himself with. He whirled around to the man standing before him in a garishly white suit with a pink button down shot and a bolero tie swinging side to side. He didn't look like a Yakimada. And his accent was distinctly American. “I don't know who you're looking for, but I'm not him. Move along.” Could he bluff his way out of this?

“Heh. Nah. I know who you are. Got a picture of ya right here.” He drew it out of his wallet, the burn of the cigar lighting up his face to reveal broad, roughly handsome features. He turned the picture around to show it to Genji.

It took him a moment to recognize himself and Hanzo. It was his tenth birthday party, and he'd been obsessed with Transformers, the entire party littered with themed merchandise and banners. It was a candid shot their mother had gotten of his father, chasing him around with a delighted look on his icing smeared face, Genji and Hanzo shrieking with delight as they ran away, hands covered in the evidence.    
  
“How...you...” He pointed the gun at the man's face. “Who are you? Where did you get that picture?”

“Well it's interesting the sorta things you have access to when ya got someones bank vault information. Don't go thinking I went and got it the bad way. The information was given voluntarily.” He held up both hands, showing them to be empty. “Now, he said you might be a bit on the irate side. So I'm gonna reach inta my pocket slowly. I'm jus takin out a cell phone. There ya go.” It was a disposable phone, one that could be destroyed easily. “I'm sorry ta do things this way. He wanted ta be here himself. Ya gotta know that. But we both agreed it weren't safe yet. Now...here. Just hit the first contact.”

Genji did not move the gun away from his face. He hit the contact number and held it up to his ear, listening to the ringing as he tried to keep an eye on the window at the same time. This could easily be a distraction, keeping him trained on one person while more snuck up. He heard the other end pick up and snapped into the call. “Hello? Who is this? Who the fuck are you?” 

There was a sound, as if someone had finally released the breath they'd been holding. “Genji?”

His heart thudded up into his throat, the gun lowering to his side. “...brother?”