Part 1: An Offer

Antony: It's totally worth it, boss! Seriously, trust me, I've checked it out—it's a done deal!
J: Lucky us, pal. I splurged on my bike in L.A., and now we've got a big deal waitin' for us!
J: When we seal this thing, we're gonna live it up, call the crew, and hit up the best spots in town!
J: Well, check us out. Ain't we just like something outta the movies?
J: A coupla good pals, on a dark rooftop, facing down some bald mooks in black suits. Badass hustlers making deals in the dark!
J: Which one does the big man want? We've got a whole stockpile of blades.
The young swordsmith has no lack for masterpieces, but has rarely found a buyer capable of appreciating them.
After all, no matter how keen or balanced the blade, a bullet will always be faster and easier.
Antony: Blades, yeah, blades. The boss wants our swords. He's already collected a bunch of fancy Chinese and Japanese ones.
Antony: You're famous, man—it's your skills that got the big man interested in this deal in the first place!
Antony: Here we are. According to their instructions, they'll pay a deposit after the deal's made, then we deliver ...
J: I get it, buddy. But first, we need to make a flashy entrance. Can't have the bossman thinkin' we're small time.
J: Evening, gentlemen!
J: Haight Street J came out to meet you in person! And this here's my pal, Antony!
Antony: Brought the head honcho to meet you, bossman.
???: It appears seeing really is believing.
J: Hold up, you didn't say you were bringing me to the Tung Ch'ing! What's the deal, Antony?
Antony: Relax, boss, their money's good! Greenbacks—neat, crisp, lovely stacks of Benjamins!
???: Indeed, as your associate Antony has stated, we always conduct our business in unmarked American bills.
Hung San: Pleased to meet you, Mr. Brown. My name is Hung San, head of San Francisco's Tung Ch'ing Chamber of Commerce. I'm looking forward to working with you.
Joe, Joe Brown, but in his circle, no one calls him that.
On these streets, he's "J."
The buyer reaches out his right hand, cracking a smile that holds neither warmth nor sentiment.
J: Hey, yeah, pleasure to meet you too. But please, just call me "J." That's what I go by around here.
J takes the man's hand. There is a power and firmness in his calloused fingers, just as tough and weathered as his own.
Hung San: As you wish. Let us cut to the chase, Mr. J. I've invited you here to talk business.
Hung San: The Tung Ch'ing Chamber of Commerce has been expanding its operations on Haight Street, and your name, I understand, is well-known in that district.
J: Looks like you've already got the 411! It's true, everyone who's worth knowing on Haight Street knows J.
J: But hold on a minute. Weren't you here looking to buy a sword?
Hung San: A sword? Yes, that is precisely why I am here, but the sword I seek ...
Hung San: Is you, Mr. J.
Hung San: Yiqi facai, Mr. J.
J: Antony, you gonna explain to me what an "itchy fat eye" is, or?
Antony: It's like, we're all gettin' paid, and we're talkin' fat stacks!
Hung San: Indeed, that is the basic sense of it. Now, Antony, if you would excuse us, we have business to discuss.
Antony nods, turning to leave, but J's words halt him midway.
J: You kicking out my guy but keeping yours around? Doesn't seem fair, does it, pal?
Hung San: Oh, hah. No, of course, no problem.
Hung San: Michael, John, take the men to the stairwell and keep Mr. Antony company. Leave two here. That should be enough to keep Mr. J and I secure while we converse.
The boss signals, and his bodyguards follow Antony back into the dark stairwell, closing the heavy metal door from which they had made their entrance.
Hung San: We are seeking to provide the people of Haight Street a new service providing superior entertainment, which once established, will allow us to all share in our city's economic boom together.
A lie right out of the gate—not looking good. A guy like that only flashes cash, so he can pick your pocket.
Hung San: But it seems the locals harbor some unfortunate misgivings about the chamber.
J: Cut to the chase. How much are you offering?
It appears the blacksmith has some misgivings of his own.
Hung San laughs, clapping his hands together, as a briefcase is set down and slid over to J's feet.
Hung San: This a token of goodwill, Mr. J. You and your friends are known for your generosity, so I assume this money will be put to good use.
"Neat, crisp, lovely stacks of Benjamins" ...
More than enough to buy off a typical greedy gangster, but nothing close to shaking a soul tempered in fire.
J: You've got it all wrong, man.
J: I mean, what kind of figures you throwin' at the locals?
Hung San: The chamber has made generous offers to each resident, unfortunately, the people in your community have proved more obstinate than anticipated.
Hung San: I admire you Americans. Both those born here and from faraway. In them, I see a commendable spirit of pragmatism, if a troublesome ... stubbornness.
Hung San: Having only just taken over our dealings on Haight Street, I am still not yet familiar with the local customs. It seems there has been some miscommunication and unnecessary conflict.
Hung San: But it is here, Mr. J, that I believe you would be most valuable. You and your organization could prove far more capable at "persuading" the locals.
Hung San: I hope that you might convince them to accept the chamber's offer and transfer their shops and land.
J: ...
J: So, let me ask again, what are you offering them? And is it more or less than what you're laying on me?
Hung San: This is a matter of business. You must understand we seek to minimize our expenses. Still, it seems the locals are ignorant of the opportunity we are offering them.
Hung San: Mr. J, the chamber must succeed in this business. Do you understand what I'm saying? To be frank—
Hung San: If they accept the chamber's offer, all will be well. If not, we will have to proceed by necessity with more forceful measures.
J: Oh, I hear ya.
J: So, you're low-balling them for their stores, and you want me to help you muscle them into it?
J glances down at the enticing green paper bricks in the case, then kicks it back.
I'm not your guy.
Banknotes flutter up from the open case, scattering over the floor.
J: You think I'm just another blade-for-hire?
J: That I'd turn on the streets that raised me? Have my people roll over and take your offer?
J: You think I'm gonna wag my tail like a good little lapdog, then turn around to bite my friends?
J: All for a few stacks of paper?
J: Buddy, you don't know me.
J turns to leave, making his way to the door where Anthony is waiting. But the two bodyguards move to step in his way. Only stopped by their leader's raised hand.
Hung San: Let us remain civil. Mr. J, our dealings to today may have ended bitterly. But as I already told you, this was merely a gesture of friendship.
The man springs forward to grasp J, his words dripping with a merchant's flattery and cunning, but his grip reveals his anger and his strength.
Hung San: How could I possibly think of buying you? I have always admired men like you. Perhaps you don't understand our customs. This was a means of showing our sincerity in future dealings. A small gift for making your acquaintance.
J: I'm all for making more friends, pal, but think I'll pass on someone like you.
J: Antony, we're outta here.
His old friend doesn't move. He waits, blocking the stairwell, shoulder to shoulder with the other guards.
Hung San: So, you choose to turn down my hospitality and refuse our gesture of goodwill?
Hung San: It seems that if Mr. J does not want the friendship of the chamber. He must experience a lesson in what it is to stand against us. Come, Michael, John ... Antony.
Antony. He yells the name as though calling his own loyal dog.
J: Antony, you?
Antony: Sorry, boss, I know which way the wind is blowing. The Tung Ch'ing were just too generous with the dough.
J: Why you dirty, low-down. I shoulda known you weren't worth a damn, you slimy little rat!
J draws his weapon. The Bowie knife's cold edge as sharp and threatening as a wolf's fang under the moonlight.
J: Alright, so you fellas wanna dance, do ya?
Hung San: You would do well to think before you make a foolish decision.
Hung San: It's not too late. The Chamber is known for its benevolence. This is but a small misunderstanding. Lay down your weapon, and we can still shake hands on this amicably.
Hung San: There are only two ways down from here. I'll allow you a moment to reconsider my proposal—will you take the job and leave as our friend, or will you refuse and find yourself taking a ... shall we say "faster" way down? Hmm?
J surveys his surroundings, weapon raised, taking small, slow steps back as he scans for some other means of escape.
Henchman: Boss, don't waste your breath on this guy! We'll knock this punk out, tie him up, then work him over for a few days. He'll come around!
Hung San: ...
Hung San: Do it. Make sure you don't bruise our "guest" too badly. We may still have use for him.
Henchman: On it!
Antony: Boss, maybe I can lean on the shops on the block a bit more, give it a few days, and maybe they'll ...
Hung San: I'll handle these matters from here. You've done well, Antony.
The two of them depart first, leaving their solitary guest on the rooftop to the hospitality of the remaining enforcers.
J: Hey, big guy, yeah you, you're up first chrome dome.
J's taunts come from behind the pointed edge of his knife. He's warming up, hopping in place, beckoning his opponent from his open left hand.
The bald henchman steps forward and moves to seize J's knife hand, but J catches him off-guard, dipping low before swinging the blade upwards.
The light whistle of steel slices through the air, followed by droplets of blood spattering across the cold, hard concrete.
Henchman: ...!
Henchman: Damn! Don't let this guy move!
Step by step, the bodyguards push J to the edge of the rooftop.
J: Yo! Who's up next? My blade's thirsty—she's lookin' to guzzle down a whole lot more blood tonight!
He raises his knife forward, stepping back until his heels hit the lip of the roof, nothing behind him now but the San Francisco skyline.
There's nowhere left to go.
J makes a quick scan of the gap behind him. The wind howls through the narrow alley, separating this building from the next.
There is another way down—the cat's way—layer by layer, from ledge to railing, down to the ground. Only J isn't exactly a cat.
J: You're not from around here, are you fellas? I'm guessing Antony hasn't told you much about our shortcuts.
J: Thing is, they ain't for big gorillas like you, they're for ...
J turns and leaps toward the lower railing of the next building.
J: ... jumping!
He's midway through the air, waiting for the rush of falling, but his trip down ends short, as he swings head over heel, carried by momentum head first into the wall.
J: Hey!
J's body dangles upside down, his ankles seized by a surprisingly quick gorilla of the Tung Ch'ing.
The unexpected collision leaves him bloodied, flailing ineffectively against the bodyguard's solid grasp.
J: Get off me!
He thrashes hard, attempting to put his captor off balance.
J: Looks like it's your time to shine, baby!
J reaches for the long sword strapped to his back; in a fluid motion, he swings the blade up, drawing a long red line across the enforcer's body.
The grip is broken, and he falls headlong into gravity's embrace.
J: Ahhhhh!!!
He swings his blade out horizontally as it digs into the opposing walls of the narrow alley.
It scrapes hard, letting out a shower of sparks, as the ground rushes up to meet him.
J: Damn, where am I?
J: That fall ... God, my leg ... Urghhh!
???: J?
???: Get in here!