Warrior Spirit

by Alex Archer

  “Seems a little odd that we’re hanging out in this part of town. If we’re trying to avoid the Yakuza, then playing in their neighborhood seems a bit silly,” she said.

  Ken shook his head. “The Onigawa-gumi doesn’t control Iga. We’re as safe as we can possibly be, given the environment.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Across from them, a group of five men stood drinking from a single bottle. One of them finished it and threw it to the ground, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. None of them seemed particularly thrilled that they were suddenly out of booze.

  “Ken…”

  “Relax, Annja. They won’t come near us.”

  “I wish I could be as sure as you seem to be.”

  Darkness had claimed the city as soon as they had walked there from Ueno Castle. By the time they found their way through the labyrinth of alleys and dead ends, the shadows had grown long and the last bits of sunlight had twinkled out.

  One of the drunks yelled at Ken. Annja had no idea what he said, but she imagined it probably went something like, “Hey, what the hell are you doing on our turf?”

  Ken laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “He said he’d let me live if I handed you over.”

  “Lovely.” Annja felt herself getting angry. Plus, her stomach hurt. Neither of which boded well for anyone in her path. She closed her eyes and checked for the sword. It was where it should have been and when she reopened her eyes, she felt a smidgen better.

  Another drunk said something to the other men. They all laughed.

  “Great,” Annja said. “Here we go.”

  The drunk took a single step forward and then fell flat on his face. The rest of his gang bent over laughing at him. They helped him up and together, they staggered down the alley toward the main street.

  “I told you it wouldn’t be a problem,” Ken said. “Drunks in Japan are mostly harmless.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Well, every once in a while someone gets into a bit of a stew. But mostly, they’re just all talk and no action.”

  “Lucky for us.” Annja glanced back at the door. “Are we waiting on someone to come down and open this or what?”

  “Yes.”

  From inside, she heard a sudden clanging of locks and bolts. Ken turned around and grinned. “Ah.”

  The door swung open and a bright flashlight beam cut into the darkness. It flashed from Annja’s face to Ken’s.

  A voice spoke English with a Brooklyn twang. “What do you want?”

  Ken waved the flashlight away. “If you don’t mind, I’m trying to preserve some of my night vision.”

  The beam vanished. “Answer the question or I shoot you both.”

  Ken sighed. “It’s me, Jiro.”

  “Ken-san?”

  “Hai.”

  “Oh, wow. Sorry dude. I thought you were one of those drunks from down the way. They’re always taking pot shots at my door. One of them ruined the rust I’ve been cultivating. You see that shit?”

  Ken nodded. “Could we maybe think about coming in? We’ve still got to find rooms for tonight after we get what we need from you.”

  Jiro backed away from the door and Annja could see him for the first time. He looked all of about twenty years old with short, bristly, jet-black hair sticking out at all angles from his scalp. He was dressed in black jeans and a gray sweatshirt. From inside the building, Annja could make out the steady thumping of a bass line.

  “Took you long enough to open the door,” Ken said. “My companion was getting nervous about your neighbors.”

  Jiro eyed Annja. “Sorry about that. Got the tunes crankin’ upstairs. I’m Jiro.”

  “Annja.”

  Jiro glanced back at Ken and said something in Japanese. Ken frowned. “That’ll be enough.”

  Jiro backed away from the door. “This way, folks.”

  He led them down a short corridor to an old elevator. He pulled back the grate and stepped inside. Annja and Ken managed to fit, as well, but only just.

  Jiro slid the grate shut. “Next stop, the store.”

  The elevator whined as it strained to reach the upper level. At last, Annja made out ambient light spilling out of the rooms upstairs. The elevator ground to a halt and Jiro opened the grate again.

  “Welcome.”

  Annja stepped out and was met with stacks upon stacks of crates and boxes, all with lettering in a variety of languages.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  Ken stood beside her. “You’ve been doing well for yourself, Jiro.”

  “Yeah, business is pretty decent.”

  The music was louder up there. Jiro found the remote and turned it down. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone tonight.”

  Ken shook his head. “Didn’t you tell me once that all of your customers drop by unannounced?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Here we are,” Ken said. “And we need stuff.”

  Annja cleared her throat. “Are you going to answer my question?”

  Ken pointed at Jiro. “His place, he should explain.”

  Jiro bowed. “I’m a bit of a collector. Other people rip stuff off and I take it in and resell it. I’m a distributor of sorts.”

  “You’re a fence,” Annja said. “You traffic in stolen goods.”

  Jiro frowned. “You make it sound so dirty.”

  “It is illegal.”

  Jiro sighed. “Man, just when I thought Ken might have scored himself a really cool babe, you gotta go and pull that holier-than-thou crap. Yeah, it’s stolen, but so what? I’m just taking a small piece of the pie away from the big corporate suckholes who profit endlessly from cheap labor and tax breaks. They’re the bigger thieves.”

  “And Jiro doesn’t actually steal the stuff himself,” Ken said. “He just sells it at a bit of a profit.”

  Annja glanced at him. “You’re defending this?”

  “Sure.”

  “I find that interesting given everything we’ve talked about in relation to good versus evil.”

  Ken smiled. “I told you I used the Yakuza for their connections. I told you I paid them a decent sum of money for their help. And they are as illegal as they come. Why are you so shocked that I would use other illegal channels to achieve my goals?”

  Annja shrugged. “I just thought that you might steer away from this stuff.”

  Jiro leaned against a crate. “It’s a little different here than back Stateside, Annja. Sometimes things are intertwined in such a way that it’s almost impossible to separate them. And I happen to supply lots of people from a pretty broad spectrum.”

  Ken held out his hands. “And we certainly need his help.”

  “We do?” Annja asked.

  “You know of any other stores in Ueno that are going to carry what we need at this time of night?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I. And besides, I always believe in trying to throw a few bucks to my friends if I can manage it.”

  “Just a few?” Jiro asked. “I would have left the door locked if I’d known you weren’t going to make it worth my time.”

  Ken sighed. “We need stuff for hiking and camping in the mountains.”

  “Which mountains?”

  Ken raised an eyebrow. “The ones around here.”

  Jiro held up a hand. “Hey, my man, you never know what people are going to ask for. I had a guy in here last month going to Kathmandu looking for some serious gear to handle the big stuff. How am I supposed to know what your plans are?”

  “All right, just get us outfitted, will you? And try to make it compact. We don’t need the five-star treatment, just the bare necessities.”

  “Well, that’s no fun,” Jiro said. “Wait here.”

  He vanished into the crates and Annja could hear him rummaging through a variety of boxes. “How’s the training going anyway?” Jiro asked Ken.

  “Well. How about yours?”

  Jiro’s head popped u
p. “Finally got my shodan.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “A black belt,” Annja said, “what style?”

  “Judo.”

  “Jiro’s been training for almost twelve years now.”

  Annja lowered her voice. “It’s taken him that long to get his black belt?”

  Ken nodded. “Judo training here in Japan is very austere. They promote very slowly to discourage rank hounds from even signing up. But Jiro is quite accomplished at what he does. I’ve seen him take down men twice his size on the street without batting an eye.”

  A pair of black backpacks landed at their feet. Annja bent and picked one up. The ripstop nylon would repel rain and keep the contents dry. It was large enough to fit a change of clothes and provisions along with some rope. “Seems decent enough,” she said.

  “They’re made in Egypt. Cheap knockoffs, but just as good qualitywise,” Jiro said. “I wouldn’t try to pass them off as L.L. Bean goods, but I don’t think that’s on your agenda anyway. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” Ken said.

  Jiro vanished again and Annja turned to Ken. “You’ve known each other for a long time?”

  “About ten years. Jiro supplies me whenever I go abroad. I met him when he was a pickpocket in Kyoto, eking out a living stealing wallets from tourists. I encouraged him to think a little bigger.”

  “And you got him into stolen goods?”

  Ken smiled. “You have to admit it’s a step up.”

  “I guess.”

  Jiro came around the corner with a box full of canned goods. “You guys like ravioli?”

  Annja took a can and recognized the familiar smiling face of a well-known American brand of canned pasta. “Sure.”

  “You don’t have any noodles?” Ken asked.

  “Sorry pal, fresh out. I’ve got British rations in the back, though, if you want those instead.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Wise move,” Jiro said. “How about sleeping bags?”

  “We’ll need them,” Ken said.

  Annja started loading the backpacks with the canned ravioli. “How long do you think we’ll be out there? These are pretty heavy.”

  “Hopefully no longer than a day or two.” Ken shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand ravioli after that.”

  “It’s for a good cause,” Annja said. “Just imagine how good it’ll taste once we get it warmed up.”

  “Can’t wait,” Ken said.

  Several jackets, sweaters and pants came flying out of the darkness of the crates. Jiro’s voice called out, “I’ve estimated sizes, so don’t yell at me if it’s not a perfect fit for you guys. I’m not running a clothing store. But it should fit pretty well anyway.”

  Annja picked up some of the clothes and held them up. The dark parkas seemed well suited to the cooler climate of the mountains. She passed a pair of cargo pants to Ken, who slid them into a backpack.

  Jiro came back with two sleeping bags. “You’ll love these. Latest generation from Canada. Specifically built to roll up small but balloon up and conserve heat. Plus they’re nice and roomy. I’ve got a pair of hunting knives in here, as well, because knowing Ken, you guys aren’t that far removed from trouble.”

  Annja smiled. “You’ve got a rep.”

  Ken shrugged. “I try to live it down, truly I do.”

  Jiro slapped the sleeping bags down and handed them each a knife. “All right, now the fun stuff really begins.”

  “Fun stuff?” Annja asked.

  Ken sighed. “That’s what Jiro says when it’s time to figure out how much I owe him.”

  21

  Shuko’s naked body glistened with sweat. Nezuma could see every thin cord of wiry muscle wrapping itself around her bones, throbbing beneath her skin like some majestic hidden snake. Her eyes blazed.

  Nezuma waited for her in the neck-deep waters of the ofuro steam bath. The temperature hovered just above one hundred degrees, and in contrast to the night air, the steam wafted about them both as Shuko approached the cedar-lined bath.

  She lifted one leg to step over the edge into the water and Nezuma smiled with appreciation. She saw where his eyes were staring and moved her leg ever so slightly to conceal herself. She knew it drove him crazy.

  Her leg slid into the waters totally without fear. She leaned forward and brought the rest of herself into the water. She stood before Nezuma and said nothing. She never did when they made love.

  Shuko sank into the water up to her neck and dipped her head back into the water. When she came up, her wet hair streaked down her back, framing her face.

  It had taken them years before each was comfortable enough with the other to indulge in the sex they both knew they wanted. Nezuma had taken her to Paris one week close to Christmas and had shown her the Eiffel Tower. They had dined in the finest restaurant in Paris, drunk the finest wine and then gone back to his room, where he undressed her as if he were uncovering the most delicate and delectable treasure. She had exploded in pleasure the moment they connected.

  Now, Nezuma could see her eyes drooping into the limpid state that he loved in all beautiful women. Shuko knew precisely how to use her sexuality to her utmost advantage. He had seen her do it enough times since their first encounter. Shuko could seduce men and women with ease. She usually seduced them in order to kill them or steal their secrets.

  She drew closer to him, her moist lips brushing the surface of the water.

  The ritual varied, but the goal was always the same—see how long they could stand being this close to contact before one of them gave in.

  Shuko eased away from Nezuma with a teasing smile.

  He almost broke into a wide smile, but forced himself to stay utterly impassive. It drove her crazy when he seemed unreachable like that, and it would escalate the tension and the enjoyment of the game.

  “You don’t like me?” she said.

  “You know I do,” he said finally.

  Shuko moved toward him, but he stopped her.

  And instead he brought both of his hands around her neck and squeezed.

  Her eyes popped open, going white with terror.

  She tried to speak, but Nezuma’s grip was total and without any gaps. Air simply would not flow and enable the words to escape the python-like grasp he had on her throat.

  He expected her to fight.

  She did not.

  He leaned close to her face. “It was your idea that we should leave Ueno Castle this afternoon and chase after our prey like a pair of fools.”

  Her head shook just a little bit. The color in her face deepened as she struggled to maintain consciousness.

  “Now, we have lost them.”

  He could feel her pulse throbbing against the dam he’d created with his grip. Blood desperately wanted to get into her head while more wanted to get out of it. Neither would succeed as long as he held her the way he did.

  “You know that I do not tolerate failure,” he said.

  Her eyes implored him. If she could have spoken, she might have pleaded with him for mercy. But Nezuma was not a merciful man.

  Not tonight anyway.

  “We could have stayed longer and possibly found them, but your carelessness and impatience made us look like fools. Worse, we looked like amateurs and lost our strategic ground to a ninja of all things.”

  He leaned closer and kissed her lips. They already felt cooler to the touch.

  Pretty soon, he reasoned, she’d lose consciousness. If he kept the pressure on after that, her brain would starve for oxygen and she would die.

  “Let this be a lesson to you.”

  He increased the pressure on her trachea. Her body started to spasm. Her limbs flailed, thrashing in the water, spilling the contents of the ofuro bath over the side.

  “No one is safe from my wrath. Not even the likes of you—a woman I truly love.”

  He released her.

  Shuko gasped loudly and then immediately retched over the side of the tub, spraying
vomit over the surface of the deck. She collapsed in the water, her hands on her neck, trying desperately to flush her system with oxygen.

  She drank a little bit of the water and then spit that over the side, ridding herself of the last bits of vomit in her mouth.

  “M-master…”

  Shuko’s breathing was shallow and intense.

  “I apologize for my stupidity, master.”

  Nezuma smiled. “I know you do.”

  “It will not happen again.”

  “No,” Nezuma said. “Because if it does, I will not release you from certain death. You will die by my hand.”

  He looked deep into her eyes and bared his teeth.

  “Let’s go to bed now. We have much to do tomorrow.” He gathered his red kimono. “Hopefully, we can find some way to make up for the grave mistakes you made today.”

  22

  “Nice place.”

  Ken looked around the expanse of the ryokan rural inn and nodded. “These places are what I love best about traveling out of the city. You’ll find old-world charm and people who still strive to keep tradition alive in spite of the onslaught of technological advances.”

  Annja grinned. “Sounds like you’ve made that speech before.”

  “Never,” Ken said. “I’ll get us checked in.”

  “I don’t suppose they have a vacancy sign out front?”

  “Not really.”

  Annja stepped over the crushed-gravel walkway, aware that her footsteps made a lot of noise in the dark of night. To her left sat a heavy stone lantern with a candle burning inside that cast some light onto the walkway. But it was far from overpowering, merely a gentle flickering glow that helped her find her way.

  Ken, naturally, walked right across the gravel barely making a sound. Annja frowned. “Show-off,” she muttered.

  He glanced around. “Huh? Oh, sorry.”

  “I don’t suppose you give out free lessons on exactly how you’re doing that without making a lick of noise?”

  He stopped and pointed at his knees. “I keep my knees bent. And my footsteps are much closer together—a short stride.”