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the clattering of shoes, the tinkle of shop bells, the hungry buzz of a hundred different dialects. Hoshi reached up to massage his temple soothingly with the middle and index fingers of his right hand before irritably flicking his cigarette into a nearby drain. Never leave any evidence topside.
He turned a corner and pulled further out of one of the main busy centers and along a relatively quieter street. He hissed through his teeth, sucking on his tongue out of irritating habit and cast his eyes about. He spotted it in no time, just where the map said it would be. A small building with a battered black door. It looked very unimportant, barely a building at all, crammed between two oversized monoliths and half obscured by mounting trash bags. He could smell them from here, and his upper lip curled. Still - he expected no better. This was the right sort of habitat too look for when you knew where to look for it. And Hoshi's associates in Chicago had been more than helpful. He had a job already. This was just a little detour.

Closing in on the door, he saw it. His lips curled into a small, amused smirk. Childish, how very childish. Carved into the wood just above where a handle should have been, was a little image of a dragon - sloppily coloured a deep shade of red. One of the many little burrows of a gang titled the 'Crimson Dragons'. The name was almost as childish as the little crest that inspired it - almost, but not quite. Still - they seemed to know what they were doing.
The windows were boarded over, though from where he stood, his eagle eyes spotted the small gaps in the fibreboard that let the light in. That let those inside take a gander at the world beyond their little sanctuary. There was no letterbox. The hole once there filled in to prevent anything unhealthy being deposited through it. No outter door handle, not glass on the door itself to be shot in - and Hoshi was willing to bet that the boarded windows were reinforced with something a little more hard waring and conspicuous than the outside fibreboard masks. Normally, he would not have approached the house in person. Would have paid a string of people in succession to play the messenger for him - one after the other - so his description became diluted and he was harder to trace. Still, he had been assured this was one of the outcrops of the Crimson Dragons HQ. There would almost certainly be no one there at the moment, at least, not near the front of the house facing the street.
Casually he whisked another card from his pocket and with a little pressure and the right flick of the wrist, manouvered it through the gap between the door and its frame. He heard it pat lightly on the carpet on the other side and nodded silently to himself.
He left briskly.

There were a number of gangs in LA apparently. And it was because of this that issues were breaking out. Conflict in large numbers was good for him. Large numbers of factions meant that resources would be stretched thin. No more than fifty to a gang. And in those ranks, there would be very few professionals. A gent such as himself would be liquid gold to these people. And he intended to earn just as much back in costs.
His first job was more to set up status. Take out some gent by the name of Edwards.
Hoshi had learnt the guys bio before even departing Chicago. 26, male, caucasian with dark hair and a distinctive scar on his right cheek from a drunken bar fight which ended in broken bottles. One of the main runners in the drugs division, mostly involved in cocaine. He was tied directly to two gangs but also had his thumbs in a whole lot of pies. Killing him would make Hoshi the top of a lot of hit lists - but it would also establish him a role in this war. Give him a little publicity.
Anthony Robert Edwards. Switchblade to his chums for pretty evident reasons. As far as Hoshi had been able to find out, he'd been traced to one of three locations - the first being a small complex three blocks down from where he'd just left the Crimson Dragon nest. Switchblade Edwards was probably laundering money for them too, for all Hoshi knew. He could either be benefiting or prohibiting them. He didn't care which. He just cared that Switchblade was a well known face and well known player in the industry.

He reached the complex within ten minutes. It was smaller than the ratios of the map had given it credit for. Undercover pharmacy lab. Privately run. Used for the development of narcotics. This was the most likely of the three predetermined locations. It was of course, guarded. Hoshi could see from his strategic placing in an ally across the street. Masked by shadows, his face now obscured by a beanie cap and a scarf wrapped around his lower face despite the heat of the afternoon - he could freely inspect his options. Security cameras, two by the main door, one on the right corner and a further three dotted at points of entry. It would be best to leave them intact. No doubt there were guys on the inside watching them. His best bet, it seemed, was to wait for Edwards to come out.
Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. Edwards exited the building with a small black holdall. He looked both ways before crossing the street - though Hoshi doubted sincerely that he was watching for oncoming traffic.
Hoshi doubled round the back of the building and paced briskly round the opposite side of the block - he'd marked out his second flight path earlier.
Silver volvo reg 6634. Insured in the name of a Mr Robert Anthony. One of many alias' that Edwards kept, besides Switchblade. It was a small speedy car used for trafficking. Edwards of course owned others, but this one was less conspicuous.
It was parked in a shaded area. Luckily for Hoshi, Edwards too needed to keep out of sight and avoid attention. But it was not secluded enough. Or was it?

Edwards arrived moments after Hoshi had hidden himself behind a dumpster in the mouth of an ally way. As Edwards neared his car door, Hoshi took an educated shot at improvisation. He rolled a stone swiftly across the ally floor to knock over an age old pile of musty glass bottles at the far side of the ally. The resulting crash caused Edwards to freeze. Peering through the slither thin gap between the dumpster and wall, Hoshi watched as Edwards hands instinctively went for his belt. There would be a weapon consealed there. That would need to be disposed of immediately. The next part was entirely up to Edwards, the ball was in his court. He could choose to act upon the impulse of many men in his trade, of he could ******** up Hoshi's whole plan all together. But Hoshi knew men of his breed too well. Made overconfident by their days of mindlessly beating under dogs and paying guys like himself to get rid of opposition. They seemed to forget that they were nothing more than ballsy thugs. He was the predator. As predicted, Edwards revealed a gun at his belt, taking the small firearm out and probing the shadows of the ally with it. Hoshi remained perfectly still, even as Edwards started to venture into the ally way. He remained perfectly still - even when Edwards spotted him.

Hoshi was sat on the floor in the shadows, huddled as if to conserve heat, his body from the neck down obscured by a tatty old sheet he'd found in the dumspter. Aside from the aviators, he appeared homeless. He was hoping Edwards wouldn't be that perceptive however.
"The ******** you doin' down there?"
Edward voice irritated Hoshi straight away. Full of delusions of grandeur. He was happy to be the one given the chance to silence it.
Hoshi didn't answer, just remained curiously still and silent.
"I'm talking to you!" Edwards demanded threateningly.
And then he made his fatal mistake.
He increased proximity. His stance was over confident, leant forwards completely so he could jab the gun in Hoshi's temple, his other arm useless at his side. Hoshi acted quickly and professionally. The sheet was flung off quickly to create a brief diversion as skilled hands rushed forth. Grabbing the gun wrist in both hands he gave a practiced but vicious twist in two alternate directions at once. The result was an auidble snap as the wrist broke. Both legs came out then, his right foot hooking behind Edward's left ankle and pulling it out from under him whilst his left foot kicked had at Edward's right shin - removing his feet from beneath him completely. Momentarily consumed by pain and the disorientation of finding the cold hard concrete coming up to bite him on the a**, Edwards had no time to think of the gun that had clattered from his limp hand when his wrist was snapped. He was barely given time to reorientate himself as Hoshi stood, gun in hand, and off loaded a single bullet squarely between Edward's eyes. The ground behind him was splattered with pink mince and red gore before the body slumped backwards. Hoshi tossed the gun carelessly onto the corpse's chest.
After all, what did he care about leaving the murder weapon behind. He adjusted his gloves slightly. The only prints on it would belong to Edwards himself.
Hoshi left the ally way without a moments hesitation and walked in the complete opposite direction of the drugs lab back into open water. Back into the city center. As he did so he removed his hat and scarf and stowed them back away within the inner pockets of his jacket - then lost himself to the crowd.