Free with You

Chapter 12: Fleeting Encounter

Vito POV

Weapons? Check.

Phone? Check.

Bulletproof vest? Check.

My eyes search around this cheap motel room for the one thing I need…

Where in the hell is my lucky jacket? I flip over my comforter. I kick the bath towels around…I start panicking.

Ah - there it is!

Hanging off the sofa chair. It was the one thing I made sure to bring with me from my prison cell in El Hongo. I’ll need as much luck on my side to survive this job.

Today, we depart for Japan, and to say I’m nervous would be an understatement.

I put on my jacket and grab my backpack, as I head out of the motel. When I’m walking out, I notice the other men Puppet hired are leaving as well. I silently trot over to catch up to the group, nodding to the one man who seems to acknowledge me with a glare in return.

I think his name is Tamalon, from what I remember Puppet calling him before. His name has got to be based on how he looks. The man is HUGE. Looks kind of like Jason Momoa on extra steroids, except he’s got a pair of cauliflower ears making him practically deaf. He doesn’t talk much, like his fraternal twin brother, Flaco, the shorter and much skinnier version of him.

Flaco sticks to his side at all times and just minds his own business avoiding interaction with the others. Flaco’s actually mute, and uses sign to talk only with his brother. At first, I was wondering why Puppet would take Flaco, since the guy is basically a toothpick. But, when I saw Flaco pull out a M-107, I knew he was likely hired as the sharpshooter of our group.

The other two men apparently go by the names, Remora and Chupa. These two men are about the same height and build as me.

Except that Remora is especially ugly, having a crooked nose, rotten black and gold teeth, sunken cheeks, and black ink all over his head and face. He pretty much screams schizo, drug addict, pirate… with muscle. Every time I find myself looking at him, he spits his chew and snarls like he hates my guts.

Yeah… I ain’t f*****g with him.

Chupa, on the other hand, isn’t bad looking. In fact, I would even go so far as to say, he’s a handsome motherfucker. Looks a bit like Pedro Pascal, with the tuffs of brown hair and a trimmed mustache, except Chupa is a lot more ripped and is inked from his fingers up to his neck. I’ve caught him staring at me a few times, but he never says a thing. Not sure what he’s in for, but it can’t be good.

Puppet had let me know all four men are cold blooded murderers, but they were only put away for breaking laws while on U.S. soil. In other words, in his eyes, we did nothing wrong. Puppet did offer us all a choice of either torture in prison or dying a quick death on the job. All of us chose the latter.

Now, here we are.

The five of us have now made it onto the vessel platform. Puppet is nowhere to be seen, but he texted us to find our crew quarters at the deck house and get settled in.

We walk toward the accommodation and take the elevator to deck level C. When the door opens, the four men in front of me walk ahead, until they find an empty room to call theirs. I was left with the room at the very end of the hall.

I open the janky door to my room to find a small bed to the left side, with a closet and desk to the right. There’s a head size oblong window that looks out to the containers on the ship. The colors of this room remind me of a high school cafeteria. It’s depressing in here.

“Another f*****g cell…” I say to myself with a sigh. I drop my things on the bed, take off my jacket, and decide to head out. I need “fresh” air.

Once I make it back to the vessel’s main deck, I walk aimlessly, finding myself exploring the outdoor space on the ship. It’s pretty hot, but it beats being cooped up in a small locked room.

As I’m walking toward the Bow of the ship, I notice a group of asian men wearing reflective vests and helmets coming onboard from the bridge ramp. This must be the Yakuza.

Hold on—where is their leader?

The woman?

I glaze my eyes over each person, trying to find her, as I walk slowly around the group…but of course, she’s nowhere to be found... The group of men head toward the deck house, probably to find their rooms.

Strange.

Shouldn’t they be guarding their queen bee?

Maybe she’s not here yet…

Fuck my life. So much for getting acquainted with my target ahead of time. I’m sort of dreading the idea of having to keep an evil milf busy for 17 days, but I guess it’s not too different from what I used to do in my scamming days.

As I near the forward part of the ship, I see a small lonesome person at the very tip, hands on the railing, looking out to the sea. I slowly make my way closer, doing my best not to get noticed.

Now that I am within feet of this person, I can see that the stranger is a woman with her black hair tucked into the helmet. I can’t see her face, but she’s wearing a reflective vest over her oversized white T-shirt, which is neatly tucked into her beige cargo pants. She’s also got on a pair of sand colored tactical boots.

Is she a soldier?

What’s she doing here?

I find myself checking her out a bit too long, and as if she can sense it, she gives me a quick side glance causing time to slow down at that moment.

I was finally able to see her face. Even if it was just for a second. She’s got to be the Yakuza leader, Nomura.

Contrary to what I was expecting, she’s stunning… beautiful…I even almost choked when my eyes connected with her big brown orbs glistening in the sun. She’s definitely not a milf, in fact, she looks to be in her late 20s. Her flawless cheeks, pouty lips, and doll like nose reflecting a light hue of pink.

But something didn’t look right…

Is she… is she crying?

I feel like my feet are moving on their own towards her, but before I can say anything, she suddenly turns around and starts speed walking in the opposite direction away from me.

“What was that all about?” I find myself saying with my hand on the rail. Damn. If that’s the woman I’m supposed to keep busy for the next couple weeks, I ain’t complaining.

Not at all.

“I could watch her all day… with pleasure,” I say, feeling a smile creeping up on my face.

Wh- the f**k am I saying?!

For God’s sake, I sound like a stalker.

I look down and notice the weird outline of my straining d**k making a tent on my shorts.

Fuck.

I really hope she didn’t notice that… Wouldn’t be a great first impression. Speaking of that, I guess our first encounter has been botched with…whatever all that was.

Now the big question, how do I get her attention? How do I get her to smile?

Time to get to work.