Man with No Name: A Nanashi Novella by Laird Barron Read Free Book Online

down the window and twisted in his seat to look backward along the highway. “Where the hell are those clowns? How could they get lost? Idiots! Now is the time to stick together!”
    “Not lost. Just gone.” Nanashi rubbed his eyes.
    “Dumbass. You should’ve said something.”
    “Oh, no,” Haru said. “Those crazy bastards. I always knew something like this was bound to happen. The cowards have run away. Scurried into the night like rats.”
    Nanashi didn’t think that was the case--the twins were stupid and stupidly fearless. Neither would think to flee the coming apocalypse until they were trapped in a cellar and being flayed alive by Dragon enforcers. He kept his peace, however.
    “But wait.” Koma slumped into his seat. “Those idiots don’t run from a fight. Is it possible we’ve been betrayed? Did the Dragon get to them? We pay them like shit, that’s for sure.”
    Haru snatched the flask and shook his head between gulps. “No way. The Dragon only wants them for fish bait. Even those two retards wouldn’t be that dumb.”
    This was true. Once upon a time the twins had crossed the rival gang in such a spectacular fashion that there could be no rapprochement under any conceivable circumstance. The twins had gained their celebrated status as dreaded Heron enforcers after the legendary feat of storming a fortified stronghold and executing eight soldiers of the Dragon Syndicate who’d assembled to plot an attack on the Heron Clan. It was a slaughter of such magnitude (the soldiers were renowned assassins and all around tough guys) and conducted with such ruthlessness and audacity that the criminal underworld buzzed for months afterward. Uncle Nobukazu, the twins’ patron, basked quite smugly in the afterglow. He was said to have visited the duo in their private hospital room (as they’d suffered serious injuries during their heroics), waiting upon them hand and foot with sweets, cigarettes, and liquor.
    Yes, the Terrible Two managed to murder eight foes at a single go, however, the feat wasn’t quite as heroic as the storytellers later made it out to be. For one thing, the rival gangsters had gathered in a shabby motel, not a fortress sanctum. For another, the Dragons hadn’t assembled to assault the Herons, they’d been summoned by the syndicate elders to await orders for escorting a shipment of designer clothing they’d extorted a small corporation into selling them on the cheap. Nothing exotic or particularly important about the job, which was why all of the men involved were either foot soldiers or hard cases long past their prime. The Terrible Two got wind of the caper from a little creep on the periphery of the Dragon Syndicate, a shiner of shoes and fetcher of sake who’d taken a kick in the ribs from one of his betters and decided to get revenge. The creep happened to share a needle in a den with two likely friends and thus history was written.
    As it happened, the twins had recently come into possession of ancient surplus military hardware including an AK-47 and a real live functioning flamethrower circa WWII. Neither of the goons had the foggiest clue regarding the care and operation of a pack of crayons much less a lethal antipersonnel device. Be that as it may, after gleaning the basic mechanics from a how-to internet video, the Terrible Two packed the flamethrower and some guns into a sports car Mizo jacked from behind a seedy tavern and away they went, both of them fidgeting from the coke they’d snorted that afternoon.
    They spent half the evening locating the flophouse motel where their quarry lurked, then circled the joint a dozen times in an effort to scope the opposition. Jiki took a turn at the wheel and rear-ended another car and received a warning from the police. Lucky for him there was a major traffic accident across town and the distracted cops didn’t run the plates on the stolen car or happen to glance in the backseat where deadly weapons were stacked in plain