Crows of Morrigan: An Irish Yakuza Novel
0
Crows of Morrigan
Prologue
People always think that when you die you see the grim reaper. Well, I can’t say nothing for the folks who died of old age or illness. But for those who died fighting, I know this: our reaper is a goddess. Her hair is long and black as crow feathers; her dress dark as raven wings. She is the most beautiful woman you will ever lay eyes on. When you see her, you will know. She is the Queen of War. She rules over life and death. She takes life in order to give it. It is she who heads this symphony of blood, smoke and carnage we call war. It is then, as your life trickles away like a river losing to a draught, you know: You are her servant. A crow fighting for her love.
She is the Goddess Morrigan of the Tuatha Dé Danann. You belong to her now.
War Journal of Shane O’Herrow
March, 1957
Streets of Dublin, Ireland
Winter, 1956
Shane O’Herrow really liked the American M1-Garand. He liked the sound an empty cartridge made as it was automatically ejected from the top of the rife. He enjoyed how it felt. How it bruised his shoulder after every round. He loved smell of gunpowder and the taste of the smoke. After getting it two years ago, he had loved it. Twelve Years Old and he was already a seasoned soldier.
The dirty streets of Dublin were always a warzone. An urban battlefield unfit for life. The green flags of the Irish Republican Army flowed through the smoke and blood. The Celtic words “Óglaigh na hÉireann” were painted on the walls of several buildings. It was a taunt to the British. The term was just another name for the IRA, but it was enough to show who the owners were fighting for. It was in this urban warzone that four children became soldiers in order to survive.
“I tell ya, boys. Them Brits ain’t nuttin.”, said Bridgid Malone. The Eleven year old red head was named after the Goddess of Poems and nobility. She knew of neither. In her hands was a scoped Russian Mosin-Nagant rife.
“Den why are we gettin’ our asses kicked fer forty years?”, Allyn McFinnigan grunted. The Irish-African boy was big for a Twelve year old. An AK-47 strapped to his shoulder.
“I dunno. I think we be doin’ a bang up job.”, Jerrel O’Harris smiled. The black Thirteen year old hardly ever frowned. The Colt M11911 in his right hand was the last firearm in his arsenal. His own AK got lost sometime last week. He survived without it.
Shane let out a laugh. “Well we survived this far on our own. What’s sayin’ we can’t survive longer?”
Throughout their conversation the sounds of battle roared around them. The four sat behind a brick building as Her Majesty’s Armed Forces fired at them. They were trapped. The only way to live through it was to either surrender or kill them all, and there was no way they would be prisoners to the British. The only option was death. They would defeat their enemy or die trying.
Shane aimed his M1 around the corner and emptied it into the alley, returning to the safety of the wall. He was unsure if he actually hit anything, firing blind like that. But he was sure that by pure dumb luck he would hit someone eventually. From the sound of it he got at least five men out of the four clips he emptied that hour. As he reloaded, his companions took turns firing at the Brits.
It happened in an instant. There was a flash of agony in Shane’s chest and he fell onto the cobblestone. Everything became a blur. Colors melded together and became twisted. That was when she showed up.
Her hair was long and black as her gown. Her beauty was magnificent that words could not describe it. Her ruby lips curled in a grin.
“Not dead yet” She whispered sweetly. “Work there is to be done yet, my dear baby crow.”
Shane’s world went black.
Prologue
People always think that when you die you see the grim reaper. Well, I can’t say nothing for the folks who died of old age or illness. But for those who died fighting, I know this: our reaper is a goddess. Her hair is long and black as crow feathers; her dress dark as raven wings. She is the most beautiful woman you will ever lay eyes on. When you see her, you will know. She is the Queen of War. She rules over life and death. She takes life in order to give it. It is she who heads this symphony of blood, smoke and carnage we call war. It is then, as your life trickles away like a river losing to a draught, you know: You are her servant. A crow fighting for her love.
She is the Goddess Morrigan of the Tuatha Dé Danann. You belong to her now.
War Journal of Shane O’Herrow
March, 1957
Streets of Dublin, Ireland
Winter, 1956
Shane O’Herrow really liked the American M1-Garand. He liked the sound an empty cartridge made as it was automatically ejected from the top of the rife. He enjoyed how it felt. How it bruised his shoulder after every round. He loved smell of gunpowder and the taste of the smoke. After getting it two years ago, he had loved it. Twelve Years Old and he was already a seasoned soldier.
The dirty streets of Dublin were always a warzone. An urban battlefield unfit for life. The green flags of the Irish Republican Army flowed through the smoke and blood. The Celtic words “Óglaigh na hÉireann” were painted on the walls of several buildings. It was a taunt to the British. The term was just another name for the IRA, but it was enough to show who the owners were fighting for. It was in this urban warzone that four children became soldiers in order to survive.
“I tell ya, boys. Them Brits ain’t nuttin.”, said Bridgid Malone. The Eleven year old red head was named after the Goddess of Poems and nobility. She knew of neither. In her hands was a scoped Russian Mosin-Nagant rife.
“Den why are we gettin’ our asses kicked fer forty years?”, Allyn McFinnigan grunted. The Irish-African boy was big for a Twelve year old. An AK-47 strapped to his shoulder.
“I dunno. I think we be doin’ a bang up job.”, Jerrel O’Harris smiled. The black Thirteen year old hardly ever frowned. The Colt M11911 in his right hand was the last firearm in his arsenal. His own AK got lost sometime last week. He survived without it.
Shane let out a laugh. “Well we survived this far on our own. What’s sayin’ we can’t survive longer?”
Throughout their conversation the sounds of battle roared around them. The four sat behind a brick building as Her Majesty’s Armed Forces fired at them. They were trapped. The only way to live through it was to either surrender or kill them all, and there was no way they would be prisoners to the British. The only option was death. They would defeat their enemy or die trying.
Shane aimed his M1 around the corner and emptied it into the alley, returning to the safety of the wall. He was unsure if he actually hit anything, firing blind like that. But he was sure that by pure dumb luck he would hit someone eventually. From the sound of it he got at least five men out of the four clips he emptied that hour. As he reloaded, his companions took turns firing at the Brits.
It happened in an instant. There was a flash of agony in Shane’s chest and he fell onto the cobblestone. Everything became a blur. Colors melded together and became twisted. That was when she showed up.
Her hair was long and black as her gown. Her beauty was magnificent that words could not describe it. Her ruby lips curled in a grin.
“Not dead yet” She whispered sweetly. “Work there is to be done yet, my dear baby crow.”
Shane’s world went black.
0
CROWS Of MORRIGAN
Chapter 1: July 16th, 1969
Tokyo’s Shinjuku Ward was in a constant motion. In the final months before the new decade of 1970 this part of the metropolis had grown into one of the most popular and active wards in the Kanto Region on the mid-west edge of Japan. The streets were filled with tourists and Japanese shoppers going about their nightly business. On the top floor of a non-descript high rise, a meeting is taking place.
Shane O’Herrow sat in a couch across from a small group of Japanese men in suits and a beautiful woman in a floral white yukata. Shane wore a brown-green suit that matched his eyes and complimented his reddish-brown hair, which he kept longer on top so he could comb it back. He kept his face clean shaven. His smile was warm and genuine as he took a drag from his cigarillo.
His Japanese interpreter, Rokuro Tanaka sat to his left and two black men in matching black suits stood behind him. Allyn McFinnigan to his left was a giant. His massive muscles matched his tall stature and his head was kept bald, save for the short beard. Jerrel O’Harris, to his right was the opposite. He was smaller and angular compared to the titan next to him. His smile was as big as Shane’s. His black hair was short and curly. He had a handsome face with a bit of stubble.
“Ryouga-san, you understand where I am coming from, correct?” Shane said, hiding his Irish accent.
Tanaka spoke to Inomori Ryouga in their native language and Ryouga replied.
“You want to keep your bar in Ikebukoro. You want us; the Inomori-kai who are a part of the Inagaka-Kai the largest Yakuza in the Kanto area, to form an alliance with you Irish and…what did you call yourselves?”
“The Crows of Morrigan. The Morrigan is the Goddess of war and death, you see. We are her soldiers. Her Crows. And I come to you with that simple and humble request, Ryouga-san. I have come to your great country from my home in Dublin to see that our two organizations have an alliance. Being that many other syndicates; The Soviet Hotel Lenin; The Chinese Shanghai Triad; the Sicilian Corlena Familia and not to mention the Mafia Families in America and the Cartel. In my honest opinion, We are the most trustworthy was worthy allies you could hope for.”
When Tanaka finished translating, the Japanese woman barked out a sharp laugh. Her voice was smooth and beautiful, yet had plenty of strength behind it.
“Are you kidding? Your nothing but a bunch of Minks playing at being Yakuza!”
“Yumi”, Ryouga snapped at his daughter, “Show some dignity!”
Shane raised his hand, “Ryouga-san, please. She only speaks her mind; I cannot fault her for that. I all truth, she is about right. We are soldiers of the former Irish Republican Army who joined the local Mob. Since then we have been gangsters. Merely soldiers playing mafia games. But if you think about it, it is THAT very reason why we are the most valuable allies you could ask for. Our experience in urban combat is what makes us the most feared outfit in the Irish Mob.”
Ryouga chuckled, “You speak well for one so young! Why you are turning the stereotypes on their heads! Indeed you are right. I too am an ex-soldier and it has been proven true that Military men make the best Yakuza bosses”
“Yes” Shane agreed, “I suppose it is odd to see a Regional Boss who is only 27 years old.”
“Hm. Indeed. Well I must say you’re selling yourself well. But why ask now, in this informal meeting? Why not make the alliance official right away?”
“And what if you refused? In such a formal setting with the other Honbucho and the Kumicho with you, I would look like a fool! I would either be exiled from Tokyo, or killed!”
Ryouga nodded in understanding, “Wagata. You wished to make sure I would agree beforehand. You know how to plan ahead. Very well, I agree to the alliance you have set forth. I just want to know one thing: What are your feelings on Drugs?”
Shane raised an eyebrow as Tanaka finished translating. “Drugs? Well Marijuana I have no problems with, harmless that it is. The others, though I will never deal in. We deal with Woman over 18, Guns and Casinos. That is all”
Ryouga let out a laugh and clapped his hands together, “Excellent! Mr. O’Herrow, I believe we will get along well!”
Shane laughed as well and stood up. He bowed low in a Japanese style, Ryouga did the same. When they rose from their bows, the two men shook hands. With the meeting at an end, Shane and his two guards left the building.
-----
The nerve of that man! To come into her town and ask her father, the head of Inomori Clan, to form a partnership with them! Inomori Yumi paced across the room, moving quicker and more graceful than she should be in her wooden geta sandals. To top it all off, he was the same age as her and he was a Boss! Twenty Seven and already a Honbucho!
“Yumi-chan, settle down!” He father said in an amused tone. “And sit down; there is something I need you to take care of”
Yumi froze in mid pace. She knew exactly what her father meant. “Who is it?”
“A man by the name of Masatomi Batou. Batou gunned down one of our Lieutenants last night. On the damn street like a dog….He hangs around the Red Light District every-night. I want you and your red scabbard to deal with it.”
Yumi nodded slowly. “It will be done, father.”
-------
Kabukicho was the largest Red Light District in Tokyo and located in East Shinjuku and three stations away from Ikebukoro. Masatomi Batou loved it there. All the women his money could buy. He usually stayed all night and into the dawn hours. Batou was not a good looking man by any stretch of the imagination. Paying for a woman is the only was he could get one. Batou had a hell of a temper too. Just last night some bastard tried to start a fight with him. The guy earned himself a body full of 9mm for it.
Batou stumbled into a random alley after a visit to his favorite brothel. It was his third time, but his lust has yet to be satisfied. By the luck of the Kami he stumbled into just the right alleyway.
There she stood, a beauty in a yukata of white. She was like one of those snow demons, the Yuki-onni. She held in her right hand a bokken, a Japanese wooden sword. It was pure crimson. Batou smiled perversely.
“Ohho! And what is your name?”
The woman was silent for a moment before answering, “Hitokiri Yuki”
†˜Manslayer Yumi’? Damn they are giving geisha weird names these days.
†˜Really now? Well Yuki-chan. Hows about you †˜slay’ me!” ,He cackled
“I plan on it” Yumi hissed.
In a flash she drew the blade hidden in the bokken and cut through Batou’s torso. The man died before hitting the ground. Yumi’s katana was already back in the sheath by the time he fell against the wall.
“Well well! If it isn’t Inomori-san from earlier. Fancy t’ meet you here!” Said a happy voice from the street. Yumi recognized the voice very well, though there was a thick Irish accent now. Shane and the three men with him stood just outside the alleyway facing her. He had a big grin on his face. Yumi answered the grin with a deadly glare.
“You….”
Chapter 1: July 16th, 1969
Tokyo’s Shinjuku Ward was in a constant motion. In the final months before the new decade of 1970 this part of the metropolis had grown into one of the most popular and active wards in the Kanto Region on the mid-west edge of Japan. The streets were filled with tourists and Japanese shoppers going about their nightly business. On the top floor of a non-descript high rise, a meeting is taking place.
Shane O’Herrow sat in a couch across from a small group of Japanese men in suits and a beautiful woman in a floral white yukata. Shane wore a brown-green suit that matched his eyes and complimented his reddish-brown hair, which he kept longer on top so he could comb it back. He kept his face clean shaven. His smile was warm and genuine as he took a drag from his cigarillo.
His Japanese interpreter, Rokuro Tanaka sat to his left and two black men in matching black suits stood behind him. Allyn McFinnigan to his left was a giant. His massive muscles matched his tall stature and his head was kept bald, save for the short beard. Jerrel O’Harris, to his right was the opposite. He was smaller and angular compared to the titan next to him. His smile was as big as Shane’s. His black hair was short and curly. He had a handsome face with a bit of stubble.
“Ryouga-san, you understand where I am coming from, correct?” Shane said, hiding his Irish accent.
Tanaka spoke to Inomori Ryouga in their native language and Ryouga replied.
“You want to keep your bar in Ikebukoro. You want us; the Inomori-kai who are a part of the Inagaka-Kai the largest Yakuza in the Kanto area, to form an alliance with you Irish and…what did you call yourselves?”
“The Crows of Morrigan. The Morrigan is the Goddess of war and death, you see. We are her soldiers. Her Crows. And I come to you with that simple and humble request, Ryouga-san. I have come to your great country from my home in Dublin to see that our two organizations have an alliance. Being that many other syndicates; The Soviet Hotel Lenin; The Chinese Shanghai Triad; the Sicilian Corlena Familia and not to mention the Mafia Families in America and the Cartel. In my honest opinion, We are the most trustworthy was worthy allies you could hope for.”
When Tanaka finished translating, the Japanese woman barked out a sharp laugh. Her voice was smooth and beautiful, yet had plenty of strength behind it.
“Are you kidding? Your nothing but a bunch of Minks playing at being Yakuza!”
“Yumi”, Ryouga snapped at his daughter, “Show some dignity!”
Shane raised his hand, “Ryouga-san, please. She only speaks her mind; I cannot fault her for that. I all truth, she is about right. We are soldiers of the former Irish Republican Army who joined the local Mob. Since then we have been gangsters. Merely soldiers playing mafia games. But if you think about it, it is THAT very reason why we are the most valuable allies you could ask for. Our experience in urban combat is what makes us the most feared outfit in the Irish Mob.”
Ryouga chuckled, “You speak well for one so young! Why you are turning the stereotypes on their heads! Indeed you are right. I too am an ex-soldier and it has been proven true that Military men make the best Yakuza bosses”
“Yes” Shane agreed, “I suppose it is odd to see a Regional Boss who is only 27 years old.”
“Hm. Indeed. Well I must say you’re selling yourself well. But why ask now, in this informal meeting? Why not make the alliance official right away?”
“And what if you refused? In such a formal setting with the other Honbucho and the Kumicho with you, I would look like a fool! I would either be exiled from Tokyo, or killed!”
Ryouga nodded in understanding, “Wagata. You wished to make sure I would agree beforehand. You know how to plan ahead. Very well, I agree to the alliance you have set forth. I just want to know one thing: What are your feelings on Drugs?”
Shane raised an eyebrow as Tanaka finished translating. “Drugs? Well Marijuana I have no problems with, harmless that it is. The others, though I will never deal in. We deal with Woman over 18, Guns and Casinos. That is all”
Ryouga let out a laugh and clapped his hands together, “Excellent! Mr. O’Herrow, I believe we will get along well!”
Shane laughed as well and stood up. He bowed low in a Japanese style, Ryouga did the same. When they rose from their bows, the two men shook hands. With the meeting at an end, Shane and his two guards left the building.
-----
The nerve of that man! To come into her town and ask her father, the head of Inomori Clan, to form a partnership with them! Inomori Yumi paced across the room, moving quicker and more graceful than she should be in her wooden geta sandals. To top it all off, he was the same age as her and he was a Boss! Twenty Seven and already a Honbucho!
“Yumi-chan, settle down!” He father said in an amused tone. “And sit down; there is something I need you to take care of”
Yumi froze in mid pace. She knew exactly what her father meant. “Who is it?”
“A man by the name of Masatomi Batou. Batou gunned down one of our Lieutenants last night. On the damn street like a dog….He hangs around the Red Light District every-night. I want you and your red scabbard to deal with it.”
Yumi nodded slowly. “It will be done, father.”
-------
Kabukicho was the largest Red Light District in Tokyo and located in East Shinjuku and three stations away from Ikebukoro. Masatomi Batou loved it there. All the women his money could buy. He usually stayed all night and into the dawn hours. Batou was not a good looking man by any stretch of the imagination. Paying for a woman is the only was he could get one. Batou had a hell of a temper too. Just last night some bastard tried to start a fight with him. The guy earned himself a body full of 9mm for it.
Batou stumbled into a random alley after a visit to his favorite brothel. It was his third time, but his lust has yet to be satisfied. By the luck of the Kami he stumbled into just the right alleyway.
There she stood, a beauty in a yukata of white. She was like one of those snow demons, the Yuki-onni. She held in her right hand a bokken, a Japanese wooden sword. It was pure crimson. Batou smiled perversely.
“Ohho! And what is your name?”
The woman was silent for a moment before answering, “Hitokiri Yuki”
†˜Manslayer Yumi’? Damn they are giving geisha weird names these days.
†˜Really now? Well Yuki-chan. Hows about you †˜slay’ me!” ,He cackled
“I plan on it” Yumi hissed.
In a flash she drew the blade hidden in the bokken and cut through Batou’s torso. The man died before hitting the ground. Yumi’s katana was already back in the sheath by the time he fell against the wall.
“Well well! If it isn’t Inomori-san from earlier. Fancy t’ meet you here!” Said a happy voice from the street. Yumi recognized the voice very well, though there was a thick Irish accent now. Shane and the three men with him stood just outside the alleyway facing her. He had a big grin on his face. Yumi answered the grin with a deadly glare.
“You….”