"Will you catch a disease from it?" the Adjudicator mocked.
The Bowery King's confident smirk vanished instantly. He glared at her, his voice dropping an octave. "I wouldn't recommend eating it."
He looked her up and down, his eyes cold. "What brings you to my doorstep?"
The Adjudicator tilted her head with an air of supreme arrogance. "I wish to see the place where things didn't happen."
The King frowned. "The place where what didn't happen?"
"The place where you didn't kill John Wick," she said, punctuating every word.
The Bowery King lowered his gaze, his voice low and dangerous. "I've always been under the impression that executing a contract was a matter of discretion. I have no quarrel with John Wick."
At his explanation, the Adjudicator handed her umbrella to Earl, who was standing nearby. "And yet, knowing full well that John intended to move against the Table, you gave him a Kimber 1911 with seven rounds, didn't you?"
She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a handgun, holding it up for the King to see. "To be precise, this Kimber 1911."
After showing him the weapon Wick had used to carve his path, she tucked it back into her bag. She stepped directly into the King's personal space. "You gave John Wick seven rounds."
"The Table gives you seven days."
The Bowery King tilted his head. "Seven days for what?"
"To put your affairs in order. To find a new home for your birds," she said flatly. "In seven days, you will abdicate your throne."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, the Bowery King couldn't contain it anymore. He burst into a fit of laughter.
"Ah... Ha... Ha... Ha!"
His laughter grew louder, echoing across the rooftop. He tossed his umbrella onto the floor and leaned in close.
"My dear, do you even know what the Bowery is? Do you know what happens if I so much as wave my hand?" He made a vivid, sweeping gesture. "No. No one replaces me. No one sits on this throne."
"Because I am the throne, baby. I am the Bowery!"
He glared at the Adjudicator, his eyes burning with defiance. "I am the things you choose not to see when you walk down the street at night. The Bowery is mine, and mine alone!"
The Adjudicator remained unmoved. "Do not make the mistake of thinking you exist outside the Rules. No one is exempt. You have seven days."
With that final warning, she turned and left the rooftop. She had another stop to make.
Meanwhile, John Wick had arrived at the Hell's Kitchen docks, guided by Iruka.
Iruka was speaking with a mobster, eventually handing over the unique kunai Hayate had given John. The man examined the token, nodded, and ducked into a nearby office.
Inside the penthouse of Fisk Tower, Bullseye walked into the office of Wilson Fisk. "Kingpin, someone arrived with Shiranui Hayate's token. They want to use our smuggling routes to get a man to Casablanca."
At the mention of Hayate, Fisk's mind immediately went back to the man who used nothing but cold steel to butcher the top three gangs in Hell's Kitchen—all while remaining completely untouched. Fisk had picked up the pieces of those fallen empires, but his greatest regret was failing to recruit Shiranui Hayate.
Fisk glanced at Bullseye, thinking: Without Hayate, Bullseye is a decent enough substitute.
"Do we know who we're transporting?" Fisk asked.
Bullseye hesitated. "According to the men at the docks... it's John Wick."
Fisk murmured the name. "John Wick. Another legend."
"Since they brought Hayate's token, make the arrangements. And make sure that kunai is delivered to me personally once the deal is done. This is a significant favor."
Bullseye hesitated. "Fourteen million dollars... plus the enmity of the High Table. Is it worth it?"
Fisk laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "I am the King of Hell's Kitchen. I have never sworn fealty to the High Table; their rules don't reach my streets. As for the bounty? It's a poisoned chalice. Taking it would mean making an enemy of Shiranui Hayate. It isn't worth the price."
"Understood." Bullseye bowed and left the room.
As he watched his subordinate go, Fisk turned to the window, looking toward the Continental. "The Continental... the High Table... Shiranui Hayate. It seems the underworld of New York is about to be remade."
Back at the docks, the mobster emerged from the office. "It's approved. Have him follow me."
Iruka nodded. "Thank you."
He turned to John Wick. "Follow him. He will get you to your destination. Once you reach Casablanca, John, proceed with your plan. As for the rest of us, we will enter through official channels. We'll likely beat you there. When you stand before the Elder, we will be there too."
"Take care, John."
Iruka patted John's shoulder and returned to the car, heading back to the Shiranui Agency. John took a deep breath and followed the man into the shadows of the docks.
Shiranui Agency.
Hayate was reading the latest news when his phone rang. The caller ID showed Wilson Fisk. He answered immediately.
"Good afternoon, Shiranui."
Hayate smiled. "Good afternoon, Fisk."
"I hear you're moving against the High Table. I wonder... does the Shiranui Agency require a little assistance from Hell's Kitchen?"
Hayate didn't skip a beat. "It's a minor matter, Fisk. My business with the Table will be concluded very shortly."
Fisk didn't seem bothered by the rejection. "If the situation changes, you know where to find me. I'm prepared to back you."
"Thank you." Hayate hung up.
He looked at the device in his hand and whispered, "The old man just doesn't give up, does he?"
Ever since Fisk had witnessed a fraction of Hayate's true power, he had been trying to pull him into his fold with extreme "goodwill." Though Hayate had no intention of joining him, the two maintained a professional relationship. Occasionally, when a target proved too difficult for Bullseye, Fisk would place an order at the Shiranui Agency.
And Hayate was always happy to provide results.