Who Killed Zion Simmons?

Part III

(all of this appears for APW viewers in Japanese with subtitles)

Masuda Teijin enters a familiar door on the 22nd floor of an apartment. It's not a penthouse suite, but the features have strokes of luxury like newer appliances, in house-laundry and an open concept kitchen with a common era for at least a dozen guests. However, all those familiar features have a worn air about them now. Months of disrepair and infrequent cleaning render a space before him unlike the place his once called home. When he sees his mother and sister on a family couch watching a comedy program. His mother, Aya, has an outdated newspaper in her grasp. Nobuko, his distressed kid sister, merely stares vacuous into a comedy program has idols modestly eating super-hot foods. Aya gives a faint laugh when they both notice Teijin perched in the doorway with an impatient air about him.

Aya: Why don't you join us, Tei-chan?

Teijin: What's this bullshit?

Aya: Hey! You keep that mouth on the streets!

Teijin shrugs before plopping next to his younger sister. That distracted look on her face bring him to give her a nudge. She crumples in on herself.

Aya: Leave her alone.

Teijin: Jus’ nudging, ka-san.

Aya: Not doing her shows… please, just watch with us.

Teijin slumps into the back cushion with his hands behind his head. The variety show then has a surprise visit from a Yokozuna where a massive floral kimono. Now they do a makeup tutorial on his smooth cheeks, contouring to make him look—somehow by the gods—a bit sexy. While Teijin feels contempt for the program, a rare giggle comes from Nobuko. A sense of joy he thought impossible earlier.

Teijin: What’s on next, ka-san?

Aya: I’m not sure….

nb: Gundam.

Teijin: Sweet, which one?

TV: Next up on our Golden Time lineup... Kidou Senshi Gandamu!

Teijin: Heh, you know how much Uncle Jubei liked that show. Ka-san, did you you two watch it all the time as kids?

His mother’s eyes nearly pop out of her skull. Nobuko, meanwhile, has retreated into a little ball of her former self. All this leaves Teijin clueless as to why the name has rendered any more shame than usual. He tries to ask them, but both his mother and kid sister retire to their rooms—Nobuko almost entirely on her mother’s power. He wondered how mentioning Jubei’s name could do that someone. It shut her down like a flipped light switch. It didn’t seem possible; still, it left him in the wrong once again. Until the universe felt it best to compound onto his misery in the form of an unwanted rap at their family door. Its hurried pace, as well as the impromptu timing of it, instills dread in Teijin.

Shoda: Don’t leave me out here, Aya…. That’s not how you treat a family friend.

Teijin: The fuck do you want, Shoda?

Shoda: Ah, now I see. Well that’s all right. Please, Teijin, I have good news.

Teijin: What kind of news?

Shoda: The kind that will exonerate every one of us. So, can I come in now?

Teijin: Can’t you just leave it in our mail drop like your goons used to?

Shoda: I’ve also got takoyaki from Sora-san’s booth.

Teijin muttered “fuck” to himself before opening the door. He then stops Shoda at the doorway.

Teijin: Where’s the good shit?

Shoda: I wouldn’t lie about octopus… I’m not that kind of monster, Tejin.

They assemble a station for later consumption by the women of the household while selecting a few for themselves. A talk transpires, leading both men to gather on the apartment balcony. Shoda packs his usual smokes while Teijin vapes off his kit. They spend some time intermittently eating and taking hits of their chosen poisons until Shoda retries a small envelop from inside his suit liner.

Shoda: Still want to see it, Tei-chan?

Teijin: If it exonerates us… why don’t you give it to the police?

Shoda: Because I felt your mother needed to know her only son would not be headed to yakuza’s sentence. Or would prefer to torment her further with your recent forays into professional wrestling?

Teijin: Can I see it then? Or is this another fucking power move by you greasy little shits?

Shoda lets out a guttural chuckle straight from his gut. Teijin remains unimpressed. He then hands over the letter without much more to say—no worries, threats or conditions. It feels cold and dangerous. Still, Teijin pries to letter open with what appears to be independent facts from an outside investigator.

Teijin: How did you get your hands on this?

Shoda: How did I? Shoda Enterprises hired her to sniff out what those American police unsurprisingly missed in their haphazard sweep of a murder scene. You’d think that a high-profile case like Zion Simmons would garner more interest from them… but it received the same treatment and utter incompetence.

Teijin reads over these independent findings with a scratch of his shaggy beard. Only then does begin to realize there are clear signs: DNA, surveillance and motives from a primary suspect not mention before that date. Shoda’s grin implores him to read to the end, where one name comes into a glaring light.

Teijin: Who the FUCK is Cassidy Kaine?