NEVER SAY DIE: Mark Cole Takes On the Yakuza in His Most Thrilling Adventure Yet!

by J. T. Brannan

  ‘Oh?’ Mitsuya asked with yet more amusement. ‘What about you? Is there something about you I should know?’

  ‘Well, who is the true Hank Jowett?’ Cole asked, still playing the game as he tried to figure a way out of there. ‘Is it the son of Rita and Paul Jowett, their little boy who can do no wrong? Or is it the husband of Clara Jowett, the woman who knows about all my other women but chooses to ignore it? Or the father of a little boy who thinks I’m a superhero? Or the slick lawyer my clients see in the prison, or the judge sees in the courtroom? We aren’t just two different people,’ Cole concluded, his plan – such as it was – now worked out. ‘We’re a whole lot more than that.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Mitsuya said, ‘and of course quite true. But can Hank Jowett also be Richard Baxter?’

  Cole knew Mitsuya was watching him for the reaction, expecting ‘Richard Baxter’ to be shocked, frightened, amazed. And so he gave the man what he wanted, conveying a look of terror that he quickly wiped away. ‘I . . .’ he stammered, ‘I don’t know what you mean! I’ve never even heard of Richard Baxter.’

  Cole was aware that the yakuza soldier who sat with them had removed a handgun from his pocket and was aiming it at him underneath the table; he also knew that the other men had moved in slightly, and that customers had been carefully and politely ushered out of the immediate vicinity. The dancing girls had disappeared, and the room was suddenly a lot quieter than it had been. The atmosphere was thick with the threat of violence.

  Mitsuya nodded his head. ‘I am sure you are right, of course.’ His eyebrows arched high then, as if he’d just thought of something. ‘I have just realized, you have not seen the rest of the club. What a terrible host, please forgive me.’ He rose from his chair, inviting Cole to do the same. ‘Perhaps we can start downstairs?’

  So that was it, thought Cole – get them downstairs and string them up, go to work on them and find out what they know.

  Cole understood that the time to escape was as early in the cycle as possible – the longer you took to make a decision, the further you got from the point of abduction, the more power the person had over you and the less likely it was that you’d ever escape.

  And so – before the yakuza guard also stood and cleared the gun from underneath the table, while Mitsuya thought ‘Richard Baxter’ would still be terrified – Cole burst into action.

  His right hand snaked out and grabbed the champagne bottle; his left hand hit the ice bucket as he pulled the bottle clear, knocking it across the table to hit Mitsuya in the chest as he smashed the bottle across the side of the armed guard’s head.

  The guard was out for the count and Mitsuya was momentarily stunned, both by the shock of the freezing water and also by the speed of Cole’s movements. Asada, meanwhile, simply looked on in dumb stupefaction, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

  Taking advantage of the confusion, and Mitsuya’s current state of shock, Cole leaped round the table toward him, arm encircling the man’s neck while his other hand grabbed the guard’s pistol from where it had fallen, unused, to the table.

  As the men around the room erupted into action, handguns being pulled by the hardened, dark-suited criminals who surrounded them, Cole had already jammed the barrel of his own into Mitsuya’s ribs.

  ‘Michiko,’ he said, ‘get over here now!’

  Michiko ran to his side as he edged out of the booth, showing everyone the gun to Mitsuya’s ribs as he moved.

  ‘Tell them not to make a move, or their boss is dead,’ Cole told her, and she immediately let out a burst of rapid-fire Japanese.

  The yakuza men stood staring, guns still up and aimed, unsure what to do.

  Mitsuya, struggling to breathe from Cole’s hold over his throat, tried to shout out orders of his own; but Cole clamped his forearm even tighter and choked off the words completely.

  ‘Tell them to put their guns down,’ Cole said as he moved further out, retreating back through the club the way they had come in. ‘Do it now!’

  Michiko reacted, doing as she was told, barking the commands out toward the yakuza foot soldiers; but still the men remained frozen, unwilling to let their boss down.

  Growing weary, Cole fired a shot at the ground, narrowly missing Mitsuya’s foot. The man let out a gasp, and the guards reacted this time, hands open and placing their weapons down on the ground as Cole continued to back away.

  ‘You . . . son of a . . . bitch,’ Mitsuya managed through his constricted windpipe, ‘you’re a . . . fucking . . . dead man . . .’

  But Cole ignored him, on another dance floor now, starting to get near the front door; with Mitsuya hostage, he hoped he’d be able to leave the club and take one of the cars outside. He could figure out what to do then when they were well away from here.

  But then Mitsuya let out a cry of strangled Japanese, a man behind the bar pulled a lever, Michiko screamed, and the dance floor opened up suddenly beneath them, Cole’s stomach flying up into his mouth as all three of them dropped through into the empty space below.

  The hot water hit Cole hard as he splashed down into the pool, the screams of men and women all around him.

  He didn’t know how far they had fallen, or how long it had taken – the whole thing had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that Cole’s senses had been momentarily overcome.

  He flailed helplessly at the water for several painful, frightful seconds before his control returned, along with his full mental faculties; and as he assessed his situation, he discovered he was already reaching out for Michiko, grabbing her and towing her to the side of the pool.

  But he no longer had hold of Mitsuya; and as he scanned the subterranean grotto, he couldn’t even see him. The room was full of frenetic motion, naked men and women screaming, swimming to the sides of the pool and running for the exits.

  What the hell had happened with the floor? Was it a booby trap, or just one more party gimmick to sell to business executives and movie stars too experienced and jaded for more mundane pleasures?

  Cole saw Mitsuya then, climbing out on the far side of the pool; and in that instant, he raised his handgun and almost fired. But then two screaming girls ran in front of the gang boss, and Cole lost the shot as Mitsuya escaped the room under the cover of other people.

  Cole and Michiko were at the side of the pool themselves now, and Cole responded to Michiko’s tugging at his sleeve, turning to see a tattooed bather racing toward him along the side of the pool, a long knife in one hand. The tattoos covered the man’s whole body, and Cole knew he was yakuza; he raised the gun and shot instinctively, blasting the man back into the water in a bloody shower.

  Cole’s attention was caught by sounds coming from above them, and Cole pulled Michiko out onto the side as the yakuza guards from the first floor started to drop into the pool, having jumped into the hole after them.

  The men recovered quickly and came up shooting, Cole turning to return fire; but there were too many of them, and Cole only hit two before he was forced to race after the other guests who were still trying desperately to escape.

  Naked bodies, painted blood red by the yakuza’s bullets, began to fall around them, and screams and chaos filled Cole’s ears, his mind, as they struggled to push past into the space beyond.

  Mitsuya had exited on the other side, but Cole no longer cared about the man; he could be dealt with later, if they got out of this alive.

  Cole raced with Michiko and half a dozen soaking wet strangers into a changing room, towel attendants staring in mute amazement at what was happening around them.

  Cole span, went to one knee and aimed at the doorway to the pool, shooting dead the first two yakuza goons who came through, the bullets punching them back onto the poolside.

  Cole hoped that it would discourage the rest, took hold of his daughter’s wrist, and led her from the changing area out into a wide lobby.

  He saw two suited men racing down some stairs, and immediately raised his pistol and shot them, leading Michiko quickly
over in their direction. He was all but out of bullets, and cast his own pistol away as he picked up two more from the dead men.

  At the same time, he turned back to the changing room exit and fired a few rounds to pin down the men inside.

  ‘Otosan!’ he heard Michiko cry out, but before he could turn, he felt a huge pair of arms encircling his body from behind, wrapped completely around his own arms and pinning them painfully to his sides, the handguns dropping to the floor.

  He realized that the sumo wrestlers from the front door must have come down the same stairs as the two men Cole had just shot, their speed incredible for their size.

  Out of the corner of his eye Cole could see the other rikishi manhandling Michiko, who fought like a wild banshee, legs kicking and fingers clawing.

  But Cole had problems of his own, and felt the air escaping his body as the huge man increased the pressure of the bear hug, threatening to crush ribs and internal organs.

  Cole’s head fired back once, twice; he felt cartilage give way and knew he must have broken the wrestler’s nose, perhaps dislodged some teeth. But still the pressure increased, making it hard for Cole to breathe, to see.

  Cole kicked back with his heels into the big man’s shin bones, but it was like kicking the trunk of an oak tree, registering nothing.

  His vision was blurring, but he saw the yakuza men edging cautiously out of the changing room, guns raised. Happy to see Cole in the position he was in, they relaxed immediately and aimed their weapons at him, pressure increasing on their triggers.

  Cole jerked his head back one more time, snapping back into the rikishi’s face with an audible crack before dropping his body weight back down in the opposite direction, the seesaw action unbalancing the huge man just long enough for Cole’s wet shoes to get purchase on the floor. He used the opportunity to turn quickly, presenting the wrestler’s huge back to the yakuza as they opened fire, their rounds peppering the rikishi’s heavy flesh, ripping it apart as the man’s immense girth acted as a shield for Cole, now released to the floor.

  For a few moments the wrestler remained standing, a look of perplexed agitation on his wide face before understanding that he was dead; and in those short moments, Cole bent at the waist to retrieve the fallen guns, noted the position of the second sumo wrestler pulling Michiko up the stairs by her hair, and let out a single shot which went straight through the back of the man’s head, brains blown straight out of his face over the staircase wall beyond.

  And then Cole’s shield fell, Cole dropping with him as he turned to face the men by the changing room. Cole lay low behind the man’s huge stomach, pistols resting on the dead body and rapidly firing off rounds toward the yakuza gunmen.

  Seconds later there was a pause in the return gunfire and Cole risked a look ahead, saw that two men were down and the rest had retreated back to the changing room.

  Seeing his chance, he looked around for Michiko, saw that she too was hiding behind a dead wrestler, and raced toward her, hoping to get up the stairs toward the front door.

  But as they started to run, they heard footsteps coming down, watched as suited legs ran toward them, realized that not all of the gunmen had made the drop into the swimming pool; some had circled around to cut them off in case they escaped.

  Cole turned immediately and jumped back down the stairs, dropping one of the guns and pulling Michiko after him. They raced through the lobby and kicked open a door at the far end just as one group of gunmen got to the bottom of the stairs and the other emerged once more from the changing room.

  Cole heard the sound of bullets impacting the frame behind them as the door swung closed, but ignored it as they pushed on further into the club, wondering what horrors they could possibly come across next.

  The door to the bondage parlors must have been soundproofed, for the people within seemed to have been oblivious to the carnage and mayhem going on outside; that, or they were just too engrossed in their games to pay any attention to the gunfire and the screaming.

  Cole’s eyes went wide at the sight; in the middle of the cold concrete cell, three naked men hung upside down, faces masked in leather. And around the room, four women dressed as Disney characters used pink, tasseled whips on their bare buttocks.

  It was a journey to the most wonderful place on earth gone very wrong, but the sight itself didn’t disturb Cole so much as the absence of other visible doors. It meant if they stayed here, they would be trapped.

  The women started to scream at them, and the hanging, naked men shouted at them angrily – presumably upset at having their fantasies disrupted – but Cole ignored them, instead going back to the door, pistol raised, adrenaline flooding his system; they were going to have to go back out there, and Cole knew that surprise would be their best defense.

  Without wasting any more time, Cole knelt in front of the door, indicating for Michiko to do the same; and then in the next instant, he ripped open the door, firing straight into the stomach of the yakuza gunman who was stood there.

  The man’s colleagues returned fire but their shots went high, and Cole pulled the body of the man he’d shot through the lobby with him, firing around him at the other guards, keeping the yakuza pinned down as he and Michiko moved quickly down the wall with their mobile human shield.

  As they reached the next door, Michiko grabbed the handle and pulled, Cole dropping the dead body as they both fell into the room beyond, glad to still be alive.

  They rolled through and shut the door firmly behind them, hoping that they’d have more options here than in the parlor before.

  They’d stumbled into the gambling rooms, Cole could see instantly, and it was clear that this area, too, must be soundproofed. There was good reason, too – people concentrating on cards wouldn’t want to be disturbed by the curious peccadillos of the parlors beyond. But as a result, the room was still full of people playing games, nobody in the slightest bit aware of what had been going on outside.

  But at the sight of Cole and Michiko, both soaking wet and a gun in Cole’s right hand, the smartly dressed patrons surrounding the central roulette wheel and the scattered card tables started to panic, jumping up and shouting, running for the exits, chips and cash scattered to the four winds; and while some fled, others took their chance and went after the money and the colored chips, scrambling frantically around on the floor.

  One of the men working the tables took a risk and went for a concealed gun, but Cole saw him immediately and shot him in the chest, racing over and taking the hidden gun; his was almost out of ammunition.

  The other men working in the room sensibly put their hands above their heads, where Cole could see them, and he continued through the room toward another door.

  There were three to choose from, one straight ahead and another on either side, and Cole picked the most direct line and ploughed on ahead, knowing that the gunmen from the lobby wouldn’t be far behind them.

  He was proved right even as he reached the rear exit, the door on the opposite side crashing open, armed yakuza spilling into the room and opening fire; they hit several customers, hands filled with chips or banknotes, and their treasures flew into the air along with their blood.

  Cole didn’t wish it on them, but it provided good cover as they raced through the door, slamming it shut behind them.

  They were in another gambling room, this one seemingly dedicated to high-stakes poker; but unlike the previous parlor, the clientele here were already reacting, pre-warned by the others who had raced through moments before.

  Cole turned to follow them, but Michiko grabbed his arm, shaking her head. ‘The rooms just go round in a circle, they’ll take you back to the lobby. There,’ she said with a quick nod of her head toward a door on the other side, ‘through there.’

  Cole didn’t waste any time arguing, he just increased his stride and kicked his way through the door, entering an empty room with a viewing gallery of a large earthen pit beyond. Cole looked through the glass and saw that the arena was surrounded
by empty seats. A closer examination revealed blood stains soaked through the very ground, and Cole knew that this was where the animal fights took place.

  Michiko took Cole’s hand and pushed on through the empty room, through another door into what seemed to be a storage room for food, leashes, whips and spiked muzzles.

  ‘The animals are through there,’ Michiko said, pointing to a steel door next to a large shelving unit crammed full of biscuit and tinned food. ‘Mitsuya brought me down here once to watch the dog fights.’ There was disgust and hatred in her voice, and Cole couldn’t blame her for one second. ‘Beyond the kennels, they have an outdoor exercise yard, we might be able to get back up onto street level that way.’

  Cole nodded his head; it was definitely better than nothing. ‘Just tell me one thing,’ he asked seriously. ‘Are the dogs locked up?’

  Akamoto Shinzo looked at the steel door, gun ready in his hands but his feet unwilling to go further; and yet he knew that was where the man and woman had fled, and he knew he had to follow them. If he didn’t, Mitsuya would demand a finger, or perhaps even worse.

  But he knew the dogs were in that room, and he had seen them go to work on each other and sometimes – if the price was right – even on a person; a vagrant from the streets perhaps, but a person nevertheless. They were ruthless, merciless, savage beasts. Akamoto wasn’t fooled by the stores of food in this room; he knew the dogs were half-starved before a fight to make them go harder.

  There was a variety of breeds and some cross-breeds and even mongrels, but the most popular animals were the famed Japanese Tosa dogs – up to a hundred and eighty pounds of bone-crushing mastiff savagery.

  Akimoto still didn’t move.

  ‘Come on, move your ass,’ his colleague said next to him, ‘they’re locked up, you cowardly bastard!’

  The man moved straight past Akimoto, then four more yakuza gunmen, all eager to get their revenge for what the couple had done. Nine of their brothers were down, maybe dead; the two wrestlers as well, and one brave man at the gambling tables. Twelve in all, the damage done by only one man; the embarrassment would be acute if word ever got out.