Asian Pulp

by Asian Pulp (retail) (epub)

  “Seems I may get a chance to ask that question sooner than I was reckoning on.”

  “Is everything a joke to you?” She pushed away breaking his grip and rolled clear, coming to a rest crouched up on the balls of her feet, scanning over the broken car toward the new threat.

  “No Ma’am,” he shook his head. “Right now I’m deadly serious.” His hand went to the Colt revolver at his side. He drew the weapon, spun the chamber to make sure it was full, and took a bead over the Model-T. “Shame about that car, though.”

  The hiss of the steam and the creaking and groaning of the tortured metal quickly subsided into silence. The engine of the bigger car rumbled on, but it was the only sound. No gunshots, no shouted voices. Just silence. Silence and tension.

  The Ranger fired off a shot at the larger car. It hit the edge of the roofline just above the windshield. A crack propagated down the windshield, but still no response from the occupants. Where were they? He assumed it was ‘they’ as in multiple attackers, but there had to be a driver at least.

  Suddenly the girl sprang, leaping on to the wrecked Model-T, using its bent hood as a spring board to launch herself even higher into the air. The Ranger watched as she tucked herself forward and spun through the sky heading for the larger car. As she spun, her hands reached down to the wrappings around the bottom half of her legs and feet. Suddenly she was grasping a pair of long thin blades, one in each hand, as she landed, almost without a sound, on the hood of the sedan and shouted a word. He didn’t understand it, but it was definitely a challenge.

  When the assailants responded, it wasn’t from inside the car, but from the bushes on either side of the road. Five of them, all dressed like the girl in loose black wrappings. With one noticeable difference. Each of the attackers’ outfits was missing a right sleeve. Their arms, although heavily tattooed, were bare, and in each hand they held a sword.

  The Ranger had been in a lot of fights, but he had never seen anything like this. It appeared to last only seconds, a frantic ballet of violence and beauty. At times the combatants seemed almost to walk on air as they whirled and danced around each other, the setting sun reflecting off blades. The movement was so quick that he was unable to take aim at any individual figure, and didn’t want to fire into the melee in fear of hitting the girl.

  He almost wished he could slow time down and watch the fight in slow motion to fully appreciate the moves and counter moves, the sheer power and the artistry of it. But that was unrealistic.

  The reality was that all he saw was the five killers rush the lone girl, and that following a blur of a cloud of black clothing, she now stood on the hood of the car with the bodies of the attackers stretched out on the ground around the vehicle. In her hand one of her small blades had been replaced by one of the attacker’s swords.

  The Ranger picked himself up and rushed around the wreck of the Model-T to the site of the fight. On the way he checked the driver of the V8 Sedan. A Japanese man was slumped forward in the seat, a line of blood on his face coming from where his forehead had made contact with the large steering wheel in the impact.

  By the time he reached the girl she had jumped from the hood of the car and was bending over the body of one of the attackers.

  The Ranger walked up alongside her and watched her place a folded paper flower on the dead man’s chest. “Why do you do that?” He asked.

  “Respect,” she answered.

  He shook his head.” I’ll never understand.”

  “You don’t have to understand.”

  “Who were these guys?”

  She used the sword to point at the uncovered tattooed arm of one of her fallen opponents.

  “Yakuza.”

  “Japanese gangsters?”

  “In a sense, yes.”

  “Do you know who sent them?”

  She lifted the sword and held it horizontally with the blade across the palm of one hand. She stretched her arms out as if offering the sword to the Ranger in supplication.

  “The mark of the red dragon on that sword is the crest of the man that I am seeking.” She bowed. “My name is Karin Konishi and I seek vengeance on the man who dishonored my father. You, David Farnell of the Texas Rangers will help me.”

  * * *

  “Vengeance without honor is not a path to be taken lightly.” Sakai-san leant across the tavern table and pointed her father’s sword at Karin’s chest. “You must decide why you seek this vengeance.”

  “For the same reasons you do,” she answered, expressing surprise that he had even asked the question.

  “You assume too much.” The sensei shook his head. “We can both wish for the same outcome, yet have very different reasons for wishing it so.”

  “You also wish my father’s honor restored?” she asked, with a hint of doubt in her voice.

  “Of course I do, my Lotus Ronin,” he lowered the sword onto the table, “but we have different methods. I am not the one about to embark on a voyage to the other side of the world.”

  “I wish you would join me.”

  “My place and task lies here. You do not need me. You will not be alone.”

  “But they cannot guide me the way that you do.”

  Sakai-san reached his hand into the folds of his jacket, and pulled out a folded sealed piece of parchment. Karin gasped as she recognized her father’s sigil on the document. “Your father prepared the way.” He handed the document over to her. “He had allies, men who can help you more than I.” Still holding on to the edge of the document, he turned it over in Karin’s hand.

  She stared at the unfamiliar marking on the back. “Whose sigil is this?” she asked, pointing at the inked stylized design of a five pointed star.

  * * *

  “Why do you think I will help you?” Farnell asked.

  “You wear the sigil of honor.” Karin pointed at his badge. “You are a Ranger. My father left me a message that I should seek the assistance of the Rangers.”

  “I don’t know your father.” Farnell shook his head. “Although I imagine he is a formidable man.”

  “You do not need to know him. All you need to know is honor and justice. That you have already shown me.” She bowed her head in a few moments of silent supplication. “Yes, he was an impressive man. A man of power, influence, and tradition.”

  “So why do you seek vengeance? You said he was dishonored.”

  “The man I seek is treacherous. He was a partner of my father’s and he betrayed him.”

  “You think this is the same guy who employed those yakuza guys to try and kill you?”

  “I am sure of it.” Karin once more offered the sword.” Will you take the sword and join me?”

  “Keep your sword,” the Ranger patted the holster at his side. “I have these. Now let’s get going if we are to catch up with this guy.”

  The Ranger walked over to the crashed V8 Sedan, and pulled the driver’s body out from behind the wheel. He reached in and pressed the starter with his foot. The large engine churned over a few times and then the ignition caught and it sprang into life. He dropped into the driver’s seat. “Come on young lady.”

  * * *

  “Stop the car!” Karin shouted out. The Ranger hit the brakes and brought the heavy car to a fast halt. “We’ve gone too far.”

  “I can’t help it,” The Ranger grinned. “The brakes are shot after that crash and this thing don’t stop so good no more. What did you see?”

  “Back there. A name on a building. I did not think he would be so bold, and so obvious.”

  The Ranger crunched the car into reverse gear and started backwards down the street.

  “There.” Karin pointed out of the window to a nondescript warehouse building on the corner of the street. The majority of the frontage, and the warehouse and office doors were accessible from the side street, but painted on the end gable was the red dragon design over which were the words Konishi-Orusawa Oriental Imports.

  * * *

  The man who walked up to
the door of the warehouse the following morning looked like any other businessman. He wore a pinstriped suit and a bowler hat. Under his arm he carried a leather portfolio of the type used to transport legal documents. At the door to the warehouse he was stopped by two large Japanese men. “What you want?” asked one as if struggling to remember and pronounce each word of an unfamiliar language.

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Konishi’s representative regarding a contract pertaining to the import of certain jade artifacts.” said the man, raising his portfolio as if in explanation.

  The doorman’s expression didn’t change, he hadn’t understood a word. Well maybe one word, for his eyes opened wider at the use of the name, Konishi. “Inside,” he said and pushed open the door with his foot.

  The businessman was confronted with a narrow dimly lit wooden staircase that led up to offices above the warehouse space. On the climb up he had to ease his way past another couple of men lounging on the stairs with no apparent purpose.

  The glass in the office door repeated the sign on the building’s gable reinforcing that he was in the right place. He pushed it open and stepped into a small reception area with a large side window that looked down onto the warehouse floor below. There didn’t seem to be too many crates for a flourishing import business, but there was certainly an abundance of workers to move those few crates from place to place. Workers with tattoos running the length of their right arms.

  “May I be of assistance?” asked the girl behind the desk in a drawling Texas accent.

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Konishi,” the businessman said, once more flourishing the portfolio.

  “I’m afraid…” The receptionist stopped as the connecting door to the main office opened and a large Japanese men walked through.

  “I apologize, my assistant was about to say that Konishi-san is unavailable, I am Orusawa, his partner.” The large man bowed his head in greeting. “How may I be of service? Mr…”

  The businessman just shook his head. “I’m sorry my business was strictly with Mr. Konishi. He did not authorize me to deal with any partner. In fact he never mentioned a partner.”

  “I’m afraid that Mr. Konishi is now permanently located in Japan. He will not be returning to the United States.” The large man loomed over the businessman.

  “In that case,” the businessman waved the portfolio in front of his face, almost as if hoping it would act like a shield, “this contract is null and void. Good day, sir.” With that he turned on his heel and headed back down the stairs.

  Orusawa followed him to the top of the stairs, and watched him leave. After the businessman had closed the street door behind him, Orusawa pointed at one of the men loitering in the stairwell “Follow him.” He turned back into the reception area and spoke to the girl behind the desk. “Get Jake, I have a job for him.”

  * * *

  “Boy am I glad to be out of this get up,” Farnell threw the bowler hat onto the bed of the hotel room, and started to shrug off the pinstripe suit jacket. “Good job it never got to the point of him wanting to see the so-called contracts either.” He gestured in the direction of the leather portfolio that had found its way on to the bed just before the hat. “Ain’t nothin’ in there but this mornin’s edition.”

  “What did you find out?” the girl asked.

  “Just as you suggested, the place is crawlin’ with those yakuza fellas. And I saw your father’s sword. Just as you described it. Glanced past him and there it was just sittin’ on his desk like his prized possession. By the way you never told me he’d be so big.”

  “He is sumo.”

  “One of those big wresslers? I seen pictures, but never one in real life. Looks like he could kill a man with his bare hands.”

  “He can.”

  “Oh yeah, and he said that your father was ‘permanently located in Japan.’ whatever that meant.”

  “He spoke the truth. My father is buried there. He killed him.”

  * * *

  The pain was intense as the blade cut into the muscle on the back of Sakai’s leg. He dropped to the floor. The large man stepped from behind the loyal retainer and stood over him, blade in hand.

  “Finish it,” Sakai said. It wasn’t fear, or a plea for mercy, just a simple request.

  “No.” Orusawa dropped his blade.” You can live with the knowledge that I was the one who crippled you.”

  “You are a traitor and a disgrace to the clan,” Sakai spat.

  “Your pathetic family isn’t my clan.”

  “The master was your patron. He supported your training, and gave you an honored life in the ring as a sumo. Even made you his business partner.”

  “I have no partner, and no clan but my own.”

  “And the yakuza who corrupted you.”

  Orusawa laughed. “You are so naïve, little man. I made my own path, the yakuza was a tool to enable me to make my fortune the way I wanted.”

  “By using the good name of Konishi to smuggle drugs!”

  “I used what I needed to use.”

  “The shame killed our master.”

  “I didn’t kill him.” Orusawa smiled. “He was the one who plunged the wakizashi into his own guts. This ancient code of so-called honor that you follow was what killed him.”

  Sakai felt himself getting faint from the loss of blood. “I will find a way to deal with you, sumo,” he gasped and then slipped into unconsciousness. Orusawa kicked the body on the floor in front of him. It had been a disappointing confrontation, and he no longer cared if his opponent lived or died.

  * * *

  “We can’t deal with him on our own, he must have about 100 men in there with him.”

  “We are not on our own. My father had friends, associates, who will help. If I have my dates correct they should be waiting for us tomorrow, in one of your local taverns.”

  “So you just expect us to sit around here for a day and do nothin’?”

  “I will meditate, you can do whatever you need to do to prepare for battle.”

  “Battle? Hell, little lady, I ain’t goin’ into no battle. At least not yet, and not alone. I got friends too.” Farnell picked up his badge with its five pointed star.

  He was surprised she let him go without a word, but the Ranger had plans of his own. He still wasn’t sure what he was getting himself drawn in to here. First stop would be to check in, and to see if any of the ‘friends’ he mentioned were actually available to help him out.

  * * *

  “Well, look who’s decided to show up?” The call echoed around the Dallas office of The Texas Rangers. “Thought the turkey vultures would have had you by now, seein’ as y’all prefer the desert scrub land to actual civilization.”

  Farnell let the good natured insults slide by. “Who’s in town?” he asked the man sat with his feet up on the desk.

  “There’s about five of us here. Why you askin’?”

  “Something maybe going down soon in the warehouse district, and I’m gonna need backup.”

  “Anyone we know involved?”

  “Nope. This is new to me. Involves a bunch of Japanese gangsters.”

  “Japs!” The man waved his hand in dismissive gesture. “Let ’em sort it out between themselves. Ain’t nuthin’ to do with us.”

  Farnell reached out and pushed the man’s boots off the desk. He then perched on the corner where the boots had rested and leant forward. “Justice has everythin’ to do with us, and y’all know that.”

  “Justice is all fine, but we got enough problems on our hands with our own criminals.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like the crazy couple of love birds robbin’ banks all over the state. And now we got some other idiot shootin’ up a bar downtown.”

  “Let the local cops handle it.”

  “Shooter’s got hostages. Say’s he’ll only negotiate with a Ranger. In fact he asked for you by name, but we didn’t even know you was in town.”

  “Who’s there?”

&n
bsp; “O’Bannon.”

  “That ain’t gonna end well. Where do I need to be?”

  * * *

  Farnell was uncomfortable that the bar in question turned out to be in the same block as the hotel where he’d been holed up with the Japanese girl. It was too much of a coincidence for his liking.

  “I don’t like this, O’Bannon.”

  “What’s to like?” His Irish born colleague shrugged in response. “But tis what it tis.” O’Bannon’s brogue had been softened by over twenty years in Texas, but he still came up with odd phrases that baffled his fellow Rangers. O’Bannon was slightly portly in build and soft faced, topped with a shock of ginger hair. Because of his soft, almost comical appearance the criminals he chased tended to underestimate him. A bad mistake, for O’Bannon was a killer with a badge. A violent man who rarely brought in his quarry alive. His methods may have sailed close to the lines of what was strictly legal, but he got results, so he was tolerated. Farnell more than tolerated him. He considered O’Bannon something of a friend, a man he could trust.

  “So what we got here, Mick?” Farnell asked.

  “Just your average nutter with a Tommy Gun shooting up a bar. Says he’ll only talk to you though.”

  “Do we have a name?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did he say why he wanted me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not a lot to go on then?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re full of information this morning, Mick.”

  “I like to be helpful.” The Irishman grinned.

  A shower of machine gun bullets poured from the bar, slammed into the Ford delivery van that they were stood behind, shaking it on its suspension, and stopping the repartee. The two men dropped to their knees and pulled their revolvers.

  “I don’t think these pea shooters will do much good against that.” O’Bannon nodded his head in the direction of the bar on the other side of the van as it continued to rock under the sustained barrage.