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A hearty laugh that rumbled underneath the chatter. Local young girls swooning over the counter staring down as the flash of steel. An overdramatic lean of wide eyes as the main girl hoisted the sushi and swallowed it whole. Beasts passed as the giant chef behind the counter smiled. A nod, a smile and a cheer between the group. As the rest took their seats, the chef gave them a salute flick with two of his fingers. Behind him, the elder man cocked an eyebrow up and the pair exchange a small hand gesture in victory.
This pack of wild girls would lean on the stand week in and week out, gushing over whatever fanciful sushi that the bigger man would do. Yet there was one time when the girl who clang over them had taken a step back. Silence feel as their eyes and shoulders relayed messages of you should start first came up. Their order was in front of them, and the beats were passed before then, not even a second after her tongue touched it, the one fatal exclamation happened!
“OH MAH GOD! Is it true?! That..that is just catfish ?!”
“Ewww, cheap European fish?!”
“Ohhh waaaahhhh! CATFISH?!”
The chain reaction down the stand of all the girl’s heads turning and chattering at once erupted into more turned heads and listening. Denis’s knife smacked in the board and a small white slap of fish was sprayed open. The twang of the handle managed to paralyse the girl’s chatter at the front, but of the business men at the back who had heard the shrills. Stabbing a chop stick into the slab of fish, he’d shoved pass Simon with a declaration:
“Amberjack. It’s strong, doesn’t fall apart like Catfish. Take it from someone who can fish for something other than rumours.”
The girls stared at it for a moment before picking up their phones and tapped away in little whispers in their circles. Chatters of teeth, chatters of chopsticks, chatters of the nails. This of brazen scoffing offended the girls and Simon attempts to piece the tapping of technology fell on death ears. A Regular would give him a comment of approval but for that entire shift on the stand this one message kept repeating over and over again. At the back, the old guard of commuters who hairlines collectively reflected the lights all chattered in unison. One particularly old man had tossed his sticks to the high heaven proclaiming.
“What has come to this world when the kids can’t even taste good sushi?!”
The old man’s cries did nothing s day after day the little stand drained out of it’s younger customers, and the little glowing lights that would swarm Simon eased up. The rows inside Russia Sushi itself washed away like the receding tide, leaving only the receding hairlines to keep any sort of life going. Simon himself saw this as a mistake, first, some silly girl who didn’t understand being swayed by someone on the internet, but Simon’s take was harsher. That was the thing, the brutality that they had witnessed before was not just physical, this was a cold fish war by someone who wanted something taken apart at the restaurant’s legs. Someone who could not infiltrate through the front doors when they could be accounted for. No, all of this was caused by a spider who had woven a web of lies, in those girl’s phones. Someone who couldn’t perform on the streets, someone who knew the exact techniques to use. Denis’s outspoken murmurs over the days was as piped up as Simon had ever seen him in Japan. Every thrown knife into the wash sink was struck, not merely dumped. Denis on the stand outside could feel the emptiness of the girls gazes when his flyer was dumped moments later. One newer pair of tourists turned away by a kid with a phone screeching that horrible word.
“Catfish!”
Now their first point of call was obvious - DOLLARS. With no face became no accountability. Nobody could tell which restureter sitting there tapping away against their own. Yet there was no mention, one thread that was swiftly buried under piles of useless gossip and actual goings-on. The frustration at Simon’s attempts, thinking this would be two clicks and a found fish were growing impatient. Of course he was smart enough to start throwing threats around like Denis could throw a knife. Nope. He’d taken the phone and chucked across the counter, Simon’s hand slapped down to stop it rolling into the grease pot. The pair of sushi artists became warriors in their standoff. Not a single one drew swords, in fact either one made no noise. They were talking of course, but with twitches of their eyebrows, the flex of a muscle. They had their own reasons not raise their voice at each other. This was one that Simon couldn’t just sink away into his strength and DOLLARS connections, nor was this a prob;lem that needed Simon’s mekely spying and patience. Both had failed.
Now initial questioning didn’t go far, of course it couldn’t. Simon took notice to warn Denis that if he were too yell wildly the entire street would declare them guilty. Foreigner panic and ll that because He’d trip up a couple words. No, this would gave a war thought with something a little different. Something that caused Simonn to lose the facade of a performer in the streets and shroud himself in the most plain grey suit possible. Briefcase filled with leftover wraps, eyes slightly baggy from restless commuter days. The soviet spy wound down his own street, looking at every restaurant that offered fish or sushi. He’d sit, moan about his work, speak in broken japanese and scrawl on a tablecloth his notes. These napkins at the end of the night would be sprayed across one of the dining room tables at Denis’s mercy. They’d debate, the likely chances, their own relationship, their connection - if any with dollars. Every time a place would be declared innocent, Denis would slice them off their shoddily printed out map.
It was on these stakeouts in a sushi shop where the same girls that would harass the stand with their tapping phones that Simon did not enter his entire target and waited back a little. Ticking on his phone, he called Denis back home and asked him to track DOLLARS, just to see if anything appeared about downtown. Keeping the phone to his ear, he talked with a low quiet tone and blended into with rows on commuters going for after work or school dinner, following the girls about. Stopping to bump into someone and pretend to ask directions, quietly allowing more distance between the girls. There was one word they kept repeating and it wasn’t DOLLARS. Through Simon’s phone he could hear the smashing of typing form Denis’s side. Another site, another food aggregator, something that ran through a foreign site that the younger girls were using. There just then an advert, sushi place. Two blocks down to the left. Denis ceased his trailing of the girls on this lead.
. Something new in the block more known for its flowers and gifts than food, a fresh piece of meat for the tough streets, The advert was clear, clean good fish, Clear remarks to what they had done to other competitors. Just because people were anonymous on sites didn’t not mean their alliances were well hidden. Simon had suggested a slower route, contacting those who run the underpinnings of the city but Denis raised a better point. Obviously a certain man who had nothing but capitalistic predatory nature would go squealing if called upon. Sure either of them could mail order a man to launch a vending machine through the window as a statement but this sort of behaviour caused enough of a pain. For Simon, this was to prove to not only himself but the entire highstreet the power of pacifism and cool minds over aggression. But for Denis too that the old methods they had trained in to be trained and honed alongside each other. This brutal teaching of a lesson would be handled Russia-Sushi-Style!
By the time that the place was discovered, There was little left of cool Russian air on Simon’s brow and the grip of the door as he opened it left deep finger marks of sweat. In with the rest of the evening commuters he took a back seat and filled in a ticket and quickly and as quietly as possible. Trying to not alert some of the younger girls screeching at the table who he’d heard their shrills enough from. The foot came over, the menu was copied, notes were taken. Simon sat back at Russia Sushi cutting with one half and texting with the other. Photos? Match. The clock in the background? Match. This was it. This little greenthorn distributed the urban piece of sushi vendors.
After finishing the meal, the phone was flipped down and chop sticks were spun in his hand. Plate of half eaten sushi spoiled across the plate. Whirled with vengeance to the counter, Simon broke his best Japanese out to exclaim
“Excuse me?! I didn’t ask for Catfish in my sushi?! Can I talk to someone?!”
A couple bangs on thee desk to shatter a chopstick and the girls who chattering ceased and turned into jumping shrills. Coldness sprayed over as some of the younger men dropped their sushi from their sticks. One of the girls dropped their phone and shouted a butchered version of Simon’s name to the squealing girls who all watched. The little waitress lady shouted back and curled up. A pang of guilt fell through Simon’s spine but that hardened within seconds. Shouting to go away the head chef pried his head around the corner but his mouth ceased as he locked eyes with Simon.
Vault over the counter, a rush through spraying utensils over the kitchen. A side chef confused as their boss flung out the door, Simon ditched his suit jacket and cases he gave pursuit, punching through the door that was shut on him out the back. The scrawning looking man flung trash bags in his way as he ran, struggling over a fence into an alleyway. He’d managed to gain distance enough on Simon that when he rolled around to hide down another alley, his speed came to a halt.
Knife thrown via it’s tip had struck the wall barely an inch away from the runaway chef’s face. Turning and spinning on his heel, the big hand of Simon slapped on the wall and even though the recoil hurt his hand more than the chef, it made him peel back. Cowering away and backing against the wall Simon’s other hand. Enclosed, trapped the perpetrator of rumours had swiveled away now the darkness had been removed from him Enclosed in Simon’s shadow, the big giant smiled.
“It’s not nice to start rumours. Do you mind if we have a small chat?”
The man was fetal positioning underneath Simon’s arm and even tried to make a dash for it before being gripped by the collar and hung up, Denis caught up and the two looked at the caught rat. Boths Smiled and laughed, politely asking again. The guy calmed down and even thought he had to be carried over the shoulder of Simon back to Russia Sushi, there was laughter between the two Russians. Sometimes talking in their own language every time the managed made a squirm or protest.
In their comfort in their own restaurant, they sat down with the man as Simon discarded his hideous suit clothes for better fitting sushi attire. They sat sat in a triangle on the table and Denis passed him over a knife and sushi. Asking him to simply showed how he cut. The man obliged. Denis moved behind him and even though his hand was trembling, Denis guided his hand for a much smoother, softer cut through the fish. This act repeated until he cut down straight and true. Tossing an old useless uniform on the table. A deal was set. Tuna cuts, No Catfish.
A cheer from the crowd once again broke the busy evening streets up. Students and bored teachers swooning over the counter staring down i9nto the kitchen. Watching the flashes of steel and fingers dancing through the rice. Waiting group at the stand sitting there elegantly as Denis took the next tray and swang it down. The group of schools kid there, getting their free piece of sushi stolen by a teacher lifted it. Lights of the city bounced off the rice as beats passed. Biting down and swallowing hard the kids all looked around and Denis flicked and eyebrow. Behind him the new chef waved and smiled at the girls as Simontold the girls he couldn’t have the chief’s number, A finger wag and a nod with a little had them all lining up with their ticked tickets for him to collect. As hearty laugh while Simon chipped away and the girls once again took photos again. Simple hand signs between the three. An apprentice, better than a competitor.