Combustion: A Jian Lee Short

Midori Warehouse
Tokyo, Japan
2012

“Jesus fucking Christ. You might as well be an arsonist or something.”

The man smiled grimly as the warehouse was doused, his hands tucked nicely into the pockets of his pants. “When I was told to destroy, I wasn’t exactly instructed how to do so.”

“So you decided to use the most destructive means–”

“Be thankful it wasn’t a bomb I used.”

“Oh yes, a bomb.” His companion snorted. “What, you have contacts for that too?”

Jian Lee shrugged. “I have eyes and ears.” He pulled open his bottle and took a quick swig, his companion eyeing the drink enviously. “Want a sip?”

“I’m trying to remain sober, fuckface.”

“Right, right. Calm your horses.” Jian watched as the men continued spreading alcohol, his hand twitching in his pocket as he rolled around a discreetly-hidden object. “I was simply tasked to do this, see. And be paid quite a generous amount. At least I won’t overtime at Keiji anymore,” he went on, and the man rolled his eyes.

“The bar down the road?”

“Mhm. I love the place to bits. But having to shove out drunken college students gets old fast.” He took yet another sip, “And this is more exciting.”

“So you like breaking the law,” the other deadpanned.

“It’s not breaking if you aren’t caught, my friend.” 

As the other left to help out those who were spreading alcohol all over the premises, Jian merely smiled to himself – a cryptic smile – and set down the bottle, taking out a silver lighter which gleamed under the moonlight.

It was simple, really. 

Charm a number of associates on different weeks and times of the day, take hold of the information, and then leave. Given the last piece of information needed, Jian would form a plan and the rest would happen a bit more than a month or so later – just so the people he had tricked with his charisma would merely have blurry, fragmented pieces of him in their memory. 

But of course, he wasn’t stupid. Not at all.

He dispersed various people involved with the task to ask other people. Jian would only play around with a few important figures; the rest would take care of all the minor details. 

It was on that night wherein the plan was to be executed.

Midori Warehouse, home to hidden, smuggled drugs which would be trafficked all around Tokyo and out. All he was tasked to do was to eliminate such materials.

It was a fairly secluded place, he was surprised to find out. He had backup plans in mind – dumping them into the ocean, burying them deep underground, bombing the goddamn place – and he had all the contacts for those kinds of matters. Just as he had said earlier, he had eyes and ears all over the place.

The group of people – company – who organized the business were out. Needless to say, they had left a number of people to watch over the warehouse. 

Jian didn’t like getting his hands bloodied. 

An hour after they had arrived, they were pulling bodies and boxes into the centermost area. Jian merely watched with cold eyes as they did, fiddling with his phone and texting updates now and then. He was smartly dressed. The man donned a black suit and white tie, looking as if he were going to a formal party. 

“Are they ready yet?” he asked. The man nearest him shook his head. 

“Give them about five more minutes, sir. They’re still scanning the area for hidden boxes, hidden plastics or amounts of the stuff. Those who are leaving are being checked. We don’t want anyone smuggling the shit out, see.”

“Please do. Anyone who does will be burned with the lot,” Jian replied cheerfully. The man, who had previously been stoic-faced, now pulled a nervous laugh.

“I’ll see to it, sir.”

“No pressure,” he added. Smiling to himself, he exited the building, after having been checked by security stationed at the very entrance.

Minutes later, all of them were out. Luckily for all of them, no one was caught sneaking out drugs – whether it be a single bag or a small trace of it. Jian stepped forward.

“The bodies?”

“Inside, sir. With the boxes of the damn thing.”

“Excellent, excellent.”

Jian took out a cigarette and lit it, taking a slow drag. Tucking the lighter back into his pocket, he took out a box of matches.

He lit one, and threw it into the soaked place.

A dance of orange lit up before his eyes. As his men started to evacuate the area, Jian merely stood there and watched, humming lightly to himself and taking out his phone once more.

“Hi, Kenichi. Jian here.” Jian paused before chuckling, and taking another drag.

“Did you do it?”

“Lighting up like a fucking fireplace on a cold, winter night. I’ll meet you for the payment tomorrow, I assume?”

“With a ten percent bonus. How’d you do it?”

Jian stepped back, admiring the burning mess in front of him.

“Through the beautiful reaction of alcohol and an open flame.”