Non-Stop Till Tokyo

by KJ Charles

  His thumb brushed over the sole of my foot. I stifled a whimper.

  “You okay?”

  “Mmm.”

  “You need to stay off this more. Should heal up…didn’t look infected.”

  Both of his hands were cupping my foot now, both thumbs pressing down the adhesive of the dressing, stroking over the sole so gently, and the blood was pounding through my skin. “Great.” The hitch in my voice couldn’t have been more obvious.

  Chanko looked up, and I felt his fingers tighten on my ankle as he met my eyes. His hands stilled for a second, and his hooded eyes darkened. Then he very lightly, very deliberately brushed his other hand up the back of my bare calf, and I breathed in hard.

  “Last night,” he said.

  “What?”

  His fingers slipped under the rolled-up end of my trouser leg, stroking the back of my knee, the sensation making me tremble.

  “Figured you were thinking that was a bad idea.”

  “Mmm.”

  His other hand was sliding over the top of my foot, teasing my toes.

  “Figured you wanted me to back off. That right?”

  “Well,” I said, my pitch slightly too high. “Um. It’s been a lot to think about.”

  He slipped a finger between my big and second toe, spreading them deliberately apart, finger sliding between with shocking explicitness, and I found I was grasping at his sleeve.

  “Hey. That’s what you want, I can respect it.”

  The hands paused for just a second, and I heard myself moan.

  “Except I don’t think that’s what you want.”

  His hand slid over my ankle, down the back of my heel, over excruciatingly sensitised skin, and I gasped aloud.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “No. Yes. What was the question?”

  “Nope,” he said, almost to himself. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  He brushed one hand past my knee, up my thigh, and down, and up, each movement more possessive, and I know he felt me shaking, but this time he didn’t pull back. Instead he reached out the other hand, tilted my chin up, pushed an unnervingly firm thumb over my lips.

  “Chanko…”

  “Right at this moment, I cannot recall wanting anything so much in my life.”

  “Me either. I’m finding it all a bit confusing right now.”

  “If you need me to back off, babe—”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He ran his thumbnail over the back of my knee again, watching me twist in response. “Because I’m not goddamn superhuman.” He took a deep, controlling breath, slowly moving his hands back down to my foot, and his thumbs resumed the gentle, rhythmic circling even as he said, “This really ain’t the time for this. Not the time or the place.”

  “No, it— Oh, shit, someone’s coming down!”

  “God damn.” He released my foot with more self-control than I had, and sat back on his heels, breathing deliberately shallow. Taka came in. His face was unusually still and very intent, and he seemed not even to notice what must have been glaringly obvious.

  “Can you come on up?” He turned on his heel without waiting for an answer.

  I glanced at Chanko, who was getting up with absolutely none of his usual grace.

  “We’ll talk later,” he said. “Or whatever. Later.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Yoshi was still seated in the study. It was late afternoon now, and his face was lit by the screen’s glow. Taka took the chair next to him without a word. Chanko and I came to stand behind them, glancing at one another.

  “Guys?”

  “We broke the password,” Taka said, voice flat. “Figured an old fart like that couldn’t remember a random string. Ran some word-based attacks. Banzuiin, that’s what he used, name and birth date.” That figured: Banzuiin Chōbei was a proto-yakuza Robin Hood sort of figure. I was pretty impressed. I couldn’t work out why Taka wasn’t impressed with himself.

  “So what’s wrong?”

  “Just read it,” said Yoshi.

  The screen was full of kanji. Chanko muttered, “Someone, give me a break here,” and I leant forward and began to read the text out to him.

  After a few paragraphs, my throat kind of dried up. Yoshi took over, then Taka, and the four of us crowded together in the cluttered room, faces illuminated in the blue-white light, as we read through the documents on the disc, one after another, and the evening closed in around us like a clenched fist.

  Now we knew what it was all about. And the knowledge brought fear into the house.

  We read through the documents saved on the disc, once and again, and as the implications opened up in front of us, Yoshi’s face went greyer and greyer, until he muttered an excuse and fled down to the bathroom. I was torn between the need for long, deep breaths and the irrational urge to inhale as shallowly and quietly as possible, as though they were already in the house, and we were hiding. I knew they were out there, hunting us—hunting me. They would find me. They would hurt me. They would do anything to get the disc back—

  I went down to the kitchen for a glass of water, so that Chanko wouldn’t see how much my hands were shaking, and as I turned on the tap I looked up and saw a face looking back through the dark window, and I screamed like a witch.

  Chanko must have been poised to spring, because he was through the door in a second, while I was still staring dumbly at the broken glass and the water pooled on the floor by the sink.

  “Sorry,” I whispered. “My reflection. Sorry.”

  Chanko’s hands closed on my shoulders, and he tugged me gently towards him. “It’s okay,” he said over his shoulder. “Kerry’s just a bit jumpy. It’s okay. Put that damn knife away, idiot, before you stab Yoshi-san.”

  I let out a breath as Taka’s and Yoshi’s footsteps retreated. “Sorry,” I said again, leaning back against him. “I just feel like…”

  “They’re no closer than they were this morning, babe. They don’t know we’ve got the disc or read it. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Everything’s changed. We didn’t know how far they’d go to get it back before.”

  “Yes, we did. We just didn’t know why. Get a grip, Butterfly, can’t have two of you flaking out on us.”

  “I’m not flaking, and nor is Yoshi. It’s just—I’m fine. I just didn’t expect to end up this far in the shit. We are in it, aren’t we?”

  “Sure are. Come on, babe, we’ve got some thinking to do.”

  That was an understatement.

  “We give it to the police,” Yoshi said. “People who investigate yakuza under the botaihō laws. This is evidence of all sorts of crime—”

  “Which will need a lot of investigating before they can make a case.” Taka’s tone was patient, but his fingernails clicked rapidly on the desk. “They can’t swoop in and arrest the entire Mitsuyoshi-kai leadership on this, off a lot of files from nowhere. They’ll have to look into the whole thing, and they’ll need provenance for this disc if anything from it is to stand up in court. What kind of provenance can we give them?”

  Chanko was nodding. “The cops won’t get the Mitsuyoshi-kai off our backs in the short term, unless we give them Kerry too, and we already decided we don’t like those odds.”

  “No,” Yoshi said. “But maybe I could go to the police on my own, make up a story—”

  “No,” Taka and I said together.

  We were squashed into the study. Taka’s long limbs were folded up like a jackknife on his swivel chair, and he was swinging himself round and back with a dangling foot. Yoshi and I sat on the folded futon, both hugging our knees to our chests in defensive postures. Chanko was squatting on his heels by the slightly open door, back straight, in a position that I knew he was trained for but which would have had my thighs screaming within minutes. He looked very, very calm, in the way that normally boded extremely ill for someone.

  “Get real.” Yoshi sounded shrill. “We can’t do this alone, don’t you see? We don’t stand a chance. Ther
e are hundreds of them, four of us, and they’ll kill to get this disc back—”

  “Yeah, they will,” said Taka. “Why?”

  “What? You know why!”

  “Talk to me.”

  Yoshi gripped his forehead. “Because it’s evidence against them. On one hand, a massive money-laundering operation, drug and prostitution money flowing through from Korea into Japan. That’s a hundred years of jail time. On the other, what the money is for. They’re merging with the bloody Korean mafia, forming a whole new syndicate, undercutting the existing ones—I mean, they’re talking about taking control of the Kabuki-chō cocaine trade! If the big yakuza syndicates find out what the Mitsuyoshi-kai were planning… Of course they’re going to kill to stop this getting out.”

  “Exactly.” Taka was wearing the smile of a fallen angel. “Don’t you see what we have here? Screw the police, have you got any idea what the Mitsuyoshi-kai would do to keep this out of the hands of the other yakuza?”

  “Yes. That’s the problem.”

  “It’s the opportunity. This is a weapon. It’s leverage.” Taka’s eyes were sparkling blue and red in the light of the screensaver. “You want revenge? We can have it. You want to make them pay? We’ll squeeze them dry. We’ve got them by the balls, don’t you see?”

  “I got a really bad feeling about this,” Chanko muttered.

  “I suppose we could send it to the Yamaguchi-gumi,” Yoshi said slowly. “Let them deal with the Mitsuyoshi-kai.”

  “What happens if we send it to someone who decides they want in on the Mitsuyoshi-kai’s scheme?” I asked. “Look, the disc is lethal to the Mitsuyoshi-kai in the long term—once the police or the other gangs have read the documents, and investigated, and worked out how to act. But it’s dangerous to us in the short term, because they need to get it back before we send it to anyone. So—”

  “So why don’t we send copies to everyone?” interrupted Yoshi. “The syndicates, the police, the botaihō anti-corruption people. Get them all moving at once.”

  “That’s boring,” pouted Taka. “And still not fast enough.” He hit a button and picked the rainbow-silver disc out of the CD slot, twisting it to catch the light. “This is a weapon. It’s a knife at the Mitsuyoshi-kai’s throat. We can use it.”

  “No, it’s a grenade, and it’s going to blow us up. We get rid of it.”

  “It’s a grenade all right,” I agreed. “And we use it to blow up the yakuza before it explodes in our hands.” I looked over at Chanko, who was resting his back against the wall, eyes shut. “What do you think?”

  “You guys sort out something to eat,” he said. “I need a word with Taka.”

  Whatever they talked about, it resulted in Taka leaving the house in a hurry. Yoshi and I settled down at the table, trying to work out a strategy. Hand the disc back, give it to the police, find some kind of deal, round and round in circles, and getting nowhere. Chanko moved around quietly, bolting doors and windows, setting the alarm I didn’t even know Taka had.

  “You’re making me nervous.”

  “I’m nervous.” Chanko didn’t sound it. “Might as well take precautions.”

  “I want to do something,” I muttered.

  “No rushing into anything.”

  “What do you think, Chanko-san?” asked Yoshi abruptly, looking up. “Send the disc to someone, send it to the family, bargain with them, what?”

  “Not my decision.”

  “Yes it is. It’s all of our decisions, all four of us.”

  Chanko looked at him for a second, acknowledging the concession, then shook his head. “You two are the ones in danger. You decide what you want. Find the easiest way out of this or hit back at the family, there’s consequences either way. It’s up to you which ones you want. Taka—well, you know how he works, so don’t listen to him. Make your own choices.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I just look after Kerry.”

  “But you must have some ideas on what you think we should do,” Yoshi persisted. “I’d like to know.”

  “Nope,” Chanko told him. “You really wouldn’t.”

  That pretty much killed the conversation, and shortly afterwards Yoshi headed up to bed. It was only about ten, but he looked exhausted. I was tired too, but twitchy.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said to Chanko. “You?”

  “Might wait up for Taka.” He was in his usual position, leaning against the wall and watching the news with the sound off.

  “Oh. Okay. Don’t you need to sleep?”

  “Catch up later.”

  “You look tired. Are you worried about Taka? What’s he doing?”

  “Finding out about the Mitsuyoshi-kai and the situation with the Koreans. See if it’s common knowledge or whatever. We need information before we make any decisions.”

  “Who’s he talking to?”

  “Bunch of people he deals with.”

  “Deals. Yā bā?” I guessed.

  “Yeah. If he comes back with a faceful of speed, I’ll break his goddamned nose.”

  “Why didn’t you go with him?”

  “Someone’s gotta stay with you two.”

  “I’m not arguing with that. Do you think he’ll be okay though?”

  “Sure. He can look after himself. Everyone in Tokyo owes him a favour anyway.”

  “I know. Do you have any idea how long I spent avoiding letting him do me favours?”

  “You’re in hock now.”

  “Tell me about it. I’ll be living in fear. ‘Kerry! Do you mind just interpreting on a three-way deal between me, the Korean mob and the Cosa Nostra? And then maybe pop over to Moscow for me, impersonate the Grand Duchess Anastasia and pick up a Fabergé egg?’”

  “You could always say no.” He knew perfectly well I couldn’t. Or rather, that saying no would forever cut me out of Taka’s in-group, the charmed circle of dodgy visas and illicit information, free meals and discount furs, and help that came, without question or judgement, when you were facing two goons in a back alley somewhere.

  “So if you aren’t worried, why do you need to stay up for him?” I asked.

  “How the hell come you get to ask all the questions you want and I don’t get to ask you a thing?”

  That shut me up. I stared at my hands. “If you’re talking about what we were talking about earlier, it’s not—”

  “Relevant. I heard you the first couple times.” He held up a hand. “Forget I asked. Not my business.”

  I could have told him he was right about that, and God knows I wanted to. This wasn’t a memory I took out and looked at, not ever.

  But he’d told me things I’d never have told anyone, whether they needed to know or not. I owed him my life. I probably owed him some kind of answer.

  “Okay,” I said. “I had a bad experience. I didn’t deal with it that well, and I ended up with a fairly aggressive stalker. I thought getting out of Britain would deal with him, but it didn’t. So I don’t have an email address in my name, and I don’t put my name on anything that has my real address on. It’s just paranoia, okay? I haven’t seen or heard from him in a couple of years.”

  Not since I’d taken my details off any websites that had ever had them, and changed my email so that none of my old friends could pass it on, and changed my numbers, and never, ever gave out my address, and threw away any post to my accommodation address that looked like it might have come from him.

  “What’s his name?”

  “It’s not worth it, Chanko.”

  “Aggressive. What does that mean?”

  “Pictures I didn’t want. Packages with things that weren’t very nice. Calls. He turned up a few times when I was at boarding school, and at university.”

  “You get a restraining order?”

  I laughed without amusement. “Hardly. That would have played into his hands. He blames me for a lot of stuff…it was easier to leave.”

  “Easier to move to Japan than deal with it?”

  “Well, I no
tice you’re not back in the States right now.”

  “True.”

  Silence fell. The TV flickered soundlessly. Chanko wasn’t asking, but he wasn’t moving either. I shifted uncomfortably.

  “I don’t really want to talk about this.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  The TV switched to a late-night game show, the set painted a hideous combination of acid greens and pinks and yellows. A man in a purple suit bounded around, making jokes that were subtitled on the screen in big cartoon kanji.

  I took a deep breath.

  “My parents made a will when I was born, putting my godmother as my guardian if anything happened to them, and never bothered to update it. They died when I was fourteen, car crash in Manila, and I got sent to her eventually. It took a bit of time to find her, and some arranging because her husband didn’t want me to come. I thought it was because she hadn’t seen my parents in years, but it turned out she had cancer, long term. She was as kind as she could be, but her husband and son weren’t. They didn’t want some kid in their house, taking up her attention. And the son, Ian… You don’t just dump an unrelated fifteen-year-old girl in a house with a disturbed seventeen-year-old boy and nobody who cares supervising. Unless you’re my parents, of course.”

  Chanko’s eyes were very dark as he looked at me.

  “He just hit me at first, and then…well, it got worse. I tried to talk to the father and he called me a liar, threatened me. He knew I was telling the truth, I’m sure he did, but he didn’t care. So, there was a lot of money from the insurance, which I wasn’t able to access, but the father was. I told him if he didn’t release the funds for me to go to boarding school for the next two years, I’d go to the police. I meant it, and he wanted me out of the house, so he agreed and I went up to the other end of the country and stayed there, even through the holidays.

  “Kerry wrote to me a lot. Why was I boarding, why wouldn’t I come to see her or phone her. She’d always been as good to me as she could, but I didn’t want anything to do with them. I just ignored her. I knew she was dying, and worried about me, but…really, if you want the truth, I wanted to hurt her. Then I got a horrible letter from Ian, with clippings from porn mags and a couple of Polaroids, and I sent it back to the father with a letter saying that I’d go to the police if I ever got another one, tell them what his shitty son had been up to and how he’d ignored it. Kerry opened it.”