Kick It Up: Gangs of New York

[x-sanfuaiyaa.livejournal.com]

On his way to visit a professor, Shiro saves a classmate from a mugging. Thanks to Nute for socking.


Shiro really needed to transfer for a closer school. Flying into New York City as far as he could without raising the terrorist alert to red and then taking the subway down the rest of the way was quickly becoming a pain in the butt. Plus, the subway was gross and he was tired of little kids dancing for money. He almost preferred the Tokyo subway system. At least there, everyone is packed in so tightly that no one has any room to solicit cash.

Stepping out of the East 23rd St. and Park Ave. South station, he readjusted his bookbag and headed down Park to get to the cartooning studio at 21st. With all the excitement in May, he'd forgotten to pick up some assignments that he wanted back. So consumed in his own glooming, he almost didn't hear the muffled cries and familiar sounds of fists coming into contact with soft parts as he passed an alley.

When he backed up to see what he'd missed, he sighed and stomped into the alleyway. "Stop it," he said curtly, dropping his bag and sizing up the two tall and well-dressed Asian men who were taking out their aggression on another, shorter, scruffily dressed Asian. They were too far north for them to be Chinatown gang members, but not too far away from the Korean gangs of the Lower East Side. Shiro sighed again. Asian organized crime was quickly becoming his number one least favorite thing ever.

The two thugs turned around at the sound of his voice, leaving their victim writhing on the ground and gasping for breath. One of them muttered something that Shiro couldn't understand to the other (Korean, he'd correctly guessed), and they stalked up to him. One of them poked Shiro hard in the chest and grinned menacingly. "None of your business, kid," he said. "Now go along and play."

Shiro just smiled. Grabbing the offender's wrist, he twisted it. Hard. "But this looks like such a fun game."

The second thug reached into his waistband, producing a length of metal pipe. "Game we gonna play called Bounce the Jap's Head on the Pavement, yo," he taunted, spinning the pipe in his hand before lunging at Shiro.

However, his previous victim took that moment to reach out, tripping the pipe-wielding thug and knocking him off-balance directly in front of Shiro.

"You know, I have played that game before but it's more fun with Chinese - I mean Korean people." Shiro spun to avoid the falling thug. If they were anything like him, then the "accidental" confusion of ethnicity would have them seeing red. "Say 'uncle,'" he taunted to the thug he was still holding, easily avoiding the wild punches he threw with his free hand.

The mugger swore in Korean, swinging at Shiro ineffectively, then dropped to a knee as Shiro twisted his wrist further. "Jap basta-AH!" Another twist brought him down to both knees, the leverage almost excruciating. "All right, all right!" he shouted, "Uncle, you win, let us go, all right?"

And he did, but not without leaving a mark. The finger-shaped burns would heal in a few days, but the reminder should keep them confined to their own hunting grounds for much longer. "I may not be so kind next time," he spat as the two scrambled to their feet and ran away.

Shiro turned to the victim and offered him a hand. "Are you o . . . Satou?"

The smaller Japanese boy looked up at Shiro, wiping his nose. "Y...Yashida? Hey, Shiro, man. I was just trying to get back to my apartment, and I took a shortcut through here... those guys just came after me. Man, I owe you one."

"Yoshida," Shiro corrected automatically. "Were they after something? They seemed rather . . . intent, ne?" Though they'd only taken a couple classes together, Shiro didn't think Yoshi looked like the target of a random mugging. He's a college student, after all, and an art student at that, certainly not a high-roller. On the other hand, if he could afford to live in the City, then Shiro supposed that he was better off than he looked.

"Yoshida, right." Yoshi Satou stood, adjusting his glasses and brushing off his coat. "You're in my Storytelling class, yeah? And... I think we had Drawing together last semester with Krikowski? Wow. Lucky that you were headed this way. For me, I mean."

The smaller student picked up his bag and shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "New York, huh? Comes with the territory."

"I was headed to pick up that sports media collage we did last term." A wonderful piece of bull that was. Shiro still wondered how he'd gotten an A on the project. "Do you, anou, need an escort back to your apartment or something? You do not look very mobile . . ."

"No, no, I'll be fine," Yoshi said, rubbing the back of his head self-consciously. "I'm just a little shook up, that's all. Nothing that sleeping through a Philosophy lecture won't cure." He gave a small chuckle, adjusting his glasses again. "Listen, you want to grab a bite to eat later this week, after classes or something? For you, you know, saving my ass and all."

"Sounds like a fair deal," Shiro replied, the hint of a grin on his lips. "You can get my e-mail address from the student directory, ne?" Boy seemed awfully calm about what just happened. Maybe he was too nervous to wig out. Shiro could certainly understand that. "Ja ne. No more shortcuts."

With a wave, Yoshi wandered out onto the main street, looking over his shoulder at Shiro. "Don't have to tell me twice," he laughed. "I'll email you. Better hurry, Prof's office hours close in fifteen minutes!"

Shiro nodded and checked his watch. "Shit." Promptly forgetting about Yoshi's troubles, he put on the gas and launched (figuratively) down the street to get to the studio. An angry, melodramatic art teacher is so much more terrifying than a mugger, he'd learned.