The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  “Konbanwa, Jhanyeshwar-jana-sama,” the new arrival said in a low, satiny voice.

  “Konbanwa, Serizawa-san.” Jenner bowed in return.

  They regarded each other somberly for a moment — and the other man burst into rich, rolling laughter. He spoke rapidly, eliciting a smirk on Jenner’s placid face. When he paused for breath, Jenner replied in Japanese, his soft voice barely carrying, and the man laughed even harder.

  One of the guards rolled the gate back to admit the Ulysses group onto the pathway. Jenner’s companion fell into step beside him, and his booming voice accompanied them to the house.

  Up close, House Pandora took Gabriel’s breath away. Sections of the lower levels, unseen from the edges of the island, had been constructed of glass panels, showcasing a series of open rooms inside with gleaming wood floors and ornate bamboo panels. Two smaller buildings flanked the main house, each single-floored and made of the same black wood and red tile.

  Many people had arrived ahead of them and stood in loose groups scattered across the front lawns. Some were obviously guests with no House affiliations, others he recognized as belonging to Dionysus or Pandora. He didn’t see anyone from Prometheus or Orion yet.

  Scanning the crowd, hoping for a familiar face, his attention was drawn to a shadowed alley between the main house and one of the smaller buildings. The third time he looked there, he made out the form of a man standing in the shadows, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

  The figure stepped into the light and glared directly at him. Captain Wolff.

  He suppressed a shudder at the malevolence in Wolff’s eyes. The Orion leader looked impressively frightening. Tall, muscular, with an angular face and square jaw bristling with salt-and-pepper growth, his buzzed jet-black hair sported wide stripes of white along his temples. Dressed in jeans faded to the color of gunmetal and a silver-gray tank top, with a collection of steel dog tags on a chain around his neck and a holstered gun at his side.

  “How interesting.”

  The voice at Gabriel’s ear sent a stab of panic through him before he recognized it as Akuma’s. Tearing his attention from the brutal cop’s stare, he turned and said, “What is?”

  Akuma grinned. “It seems the illustrious Captain Wolff has noticed you.”

  “Er, yeah.” He shrugged. “He’s noticed me, all right. I don’t think he likes me much, especially after that little meeting the other day.”

  Akuma’s brow lifted. “What meeting?”

  “The one where I accused one of Mendez’s fighters of cheating, and the rest of them agreed. Eventually. Sometime after Wolff threatened to shoot Mendez, and before Mendez promised to make me dead.”

  “Aré! You have a knack for finding trouble, my friend. Or perhaps it is that trouble finds you?”

  He didn’t answer. The word friend reverberated in his mind. He’d beaten this man unconscious, if only for a moment—and still he’d called him friend. He wasn’t sure he deserved the sentiment.

  “Gabriel?”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head. He’d almost forgotten he’d shared his name with Akuma … with Shiro. “I’m pretty sure it finds me. Hey, uh, Shiro?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry. About the fight. My being — you know,” he said. “You didn’t have to do what you did, but I wanted to thank you. I never did get to do that.”

  “It was nothing.” Shiro’s gaze hardened. “Though I do not know precisely what is going on, I am aware that … performance was not your wish.”

  “You are?”

  Shiro nodded. “Do not worry, my friend. I will not jeopardize your situation.”

  “Thanks.” I think. At this point, a little jeopardy might be the answer. He still didn’t know how he would get Lillith away from Slade. For now, he intended to win the tournament. He’d worry about the rest later. “Is there somewhere I can hang out until the fights start that isn’t quite so crowded? I’d like to get away from Wolff, at least, and things might not be pretty when Mendez gets here.”

  “Of course. Come with me.”

  He followed Shiro toward the house and turned for one last look at Wolff. The captain stayed where he was, his enraged stare burning the air between them.

  Chapter 30

  At the back of the main house, Shiro stopped in front of a wide, smooth door with no windows and no handle. He knocked and stood back. “Many have gathered on the main floor,” he said. “We will use the back stairs.”

  An elderly Japanese man in a long white coat pushed the door open and peered out. A frown surfaced. “Kuroda-kun, nani o wa?”

  “Konbanwa, Hoshi-san. My friend and I wish to avoid the crowds. May we pass through here?”

  Hoshi’s gaze flicked to Gabriel. He grunted and turned away, leaving the door open. Shiro gestured for him to enter first, and closed the door behind them. “This is our medical facility,” Shiro explained, taking the lead across the large, open room lined with hospital beds in curtained sections. “Hoshi and Endo, our physicians, have worked with the Harada family for many years. They are quite skilled.” Smiling, Shiro called across the room to Hoshi, who had opened a cabinet and stood searching its contents. “Are you prepared for the evening, Hoshi-sama? No doubt you will be quite busy.”

  Hoshi responded with a smattering of clipped words, baka among them.

  “Hey.” Gabriel laughed. “He just called you an idiot.”

  Shiro flashed a bemused smirk. “He did. I am impressed, Gabriel. You speak Japanese?”

  “Not really. I just know that word, from—”

  “Jenner?” Shiro said softly.

  “Yeah. He called me that once.”

  “I see.” Shiro’s features relaxed and grew serious. “And he told you what it meant?”

  “I asked him.”

  A strange look clouded Shiro’s face, at once concerned and intrigued. “How unusual,” he said. They reached the opposite end of the room, and Shiro opened one of the double doors onto a well-lit, silent corridor. “Come. The stairs are just through here. We will … hang up, did you say?”

  He suppressed a laugh. As smooth as Shiro’s English was, he apparently didn’t have much practice with slang. “Hang out,” he said, and managed not to smirk.

  “Yes. We will hang out on the terrace.”

  If Shiro knew he was amused, he didn’t show it. They walked to the end of the hall, ascended three flights of stairs, and emerged in a corridor similar to the second floor of Slade’s hotel — many rooms on either side. The fighters’ living quarters. Shiro led him to a sliding wood panel door and out onto a spacious tile-floored balcony, devoid of furniture or decoration and bordered with a three-foot stacked stone wall.

  Shiro crossed the space, settled on the wall and motioned for him to follow. He approached and looked out across the lit grounds below. A worn path led between bushes to a rock-bordered square of gleaming white sand with swirling, patterned lines raked carefully on the surface. Wrought-iron benches had been placed beneath shade trees alongside the sands. Beyond this, a pond glistened darkly in strategically placed artificial lights, and a stone bridge arched above the surface of the water. More forest covered the land leading to the opposite shore.

  “Harada-sama spares no expense for his gardens,” Shiro said when he noticed where Gabriel’s attention lay. “One may find tranquility there, if one were so inclined.”

  “Sure. They’re nice.” He sat with a sigh. “I guess we don’t have much time, right?”

  “A few hours yet.”

  “Well, that’s something.” He frowned and stared at the floor. “Thanks for bringing me out here, Shiro. You don’t have to stay with me. You probably have better things to do.”

  “On the contrary. I find you far more interesting than most gaijin.”

  “Gaijin?” he echoed.

  Shiro chuckled. “Sumimasen. I did not mean it as an insult, though many Japanese do. The word means … foreigner. Outsider.”

  “Oh. I guess I am that.” Gabriel
shifted aside to view the gardens again. “Sumimasen. Does that mean ‘I’m sorry’?”

  “It does. You are quick to learn, my friend. Are you certain you have not studied?”

  “No. I’ve just been listening. Does it always mean that?”

  “In most cases, though it depends on the circumstances. It can also mean ‘I beg your forgiveness.’”

  “Hmph,” he muttered. “I doubt that’s what he meant.”

  “Jenner has said this to you?”

  He nodded. “And to Harada. But I think he was being sarcastic, there.”

  “That is likely.” A slight frown creased Shiro’s brow. “Gabriel, how did you come to join House Ulysses?”

  “I … can’t. Can’t tell you that. Shit.” For the first time, keeping his secret hurt like hell. He had no lies ready, no story concocted to cover the glaring fact that here was the last place he wanted to be. He suspected Shiro knew that much already.

  “Gomen nasai. I should not have asked.”

  “It’s all right. Long as you don’t mind me not answering.”

  “Perhaps we should discuss something else.” Shiro resumed his relaxed demeanor. Anger lurked beneath the surface, but Gabriel knew it wasn’t directed at him. “I am certain you have many questions. Ask me whatever you would like.”

  What could he ask without betraying himself? Nothing came to mind.

  “Are you not permitted to question?”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  “Very well. I shall tell you what I please, and then you will not have asked.” Shiro smiled. “You see, I have learned to interpret some of Jenner’s behavior — though I do not believe anyone knows him well, other than Ken Serizawa.”

  “Serizawa. He met us at the front gate and went off talking to Jenner.” He shook his head. “Shocked the hell out of me. That Serizawa guy actually seemed happy to see him.”

  “Yes. I am not certain of their history, but they have been acquainted for many years. Longer than I have known … well, anyone here.” Shiro looked distant for a moment. “As for my involvement, Jenner is my sempai,” he said.

  “Your what?”

  “Sempai, superior. A mentor of sorts, though the relationship between sempai and kohai is a bit more complicated. You know he is a psychiatrist, yes?”

  He nodded.

  “I am as well. I work in his office, and he shares his methods and his knowledge with me. In a sense, he is grooming me for the field.”

  “So you’re going to be like him? You actually want to be cold and cruel and calculating?”

  Shiro laughed. “I admire Jenner’s professional work. He is quite skilled, and his methods are very effective. Personally, I do not wish to divest myself of emotion as he has. He finds sentiment a nuisance, and believes emotion clouds judgment and perspective.”

  “I’ve noticed that.”

  “It is difficult not to notice.” Shiro lowered his gaze and released a pent breath. “I will explain one other detail that may help you to understand the situation. Jenner used to belong to House Pandora.”

  Gabriel blinked. “That really shouldn’t surprise me. It does explain a lot, though.”

  “More than you know, I believe.” Shiro regarded him with the same strange expression he’d displayed when he first mentioned Jenner. “He had been something of an advisor to Harada-sama. However, a few years ago, there was a falling out over one of our fighters, and their relationship was strained. When Marcus Slade joined the organization, Harada-sama gave Jenner to him. Soon after that, the fighter involved in the problem … left.”

  “Wait a minute.” His stomach clenched. “What do you mean, ‘gave’? He can’t … I mean, that makes it sound like—” Like Jenner is just as trapped as me.

  “The Japanese do not view business in the same light as Americans. Also, Jenner is gaijin, and not afforded equal respect,” Shiro said quietly. “I do not know the details. I know only that Jenner serves Marcus Slade against his wishes. He will not speak of it with me.”

  Gabriel hadn’t wanted to feel sorry for the bastard. Was this why Jenner had forbidden him to talk to Shiro about him? He didn’t seem the type to welcome sympathy. But maybe he could do something without tipping Jenner off to his knowledge. Struck with a sudden inspiration, he turned to Shiro and grinned.

  “Will you teach me Japanese?”

  Chapter 31

  A cheer went up from the gathered crowd when Lonzo’s opponent, J.C. of House Orion, stumbled and fell off the platform. On the outskirts of the ring of spectators, Gabriel smiled at Lonzo, who flashed an exhausted grin and limped from the arena.

  In order to get through the dozens of fights involved in the tournament, two matches occurred at the same time — one in each of the smaller buildings, which had turned out to be spacious practice rooms. Dojos, Shiro told him they were called. In the vast center room of the main house, two theater-sized screens broadcast the simultaneous bouts to a roomful of guest spectators enjoying the comforts of House Pandora’s assorted delights. Food, drink and women.

  Most of the organization’s members divided themselves between the two dojos, preferring to see the action live. Gabriel had been relieved to learn that the qualifying rounds used ring-outs to determine the winners. The raised platforms for the initial fights had no walls or rope borders. Knockout wins would only become necessary in the final rounds the following night.

  In the meantime, he stood silent and waiting for his first match of the tournament, scheduled to occur in about twenty minutes. He had drawn Juno of Pandora as his opponent, and he looked forward to an even, honest fight. He hoped.

  He waited alone. Shiro would soon be fighting Eddie from Dionysus in the other arena. He had yet to catch a glimpse of Lillith. If she’d been on the boat, he hadn’t seen her there. Maybe she’d come another way. Or maybe Slade had decided to keep him from seeing her, except through his terms. That wouldn’t surprise him. Still, he missed her, and longed to know how she was doing.

  The soft tone of a bell signified five minutes until the next match. Sighing off his bleak mood, he worked his way toward the platform and tugged his shirt off as he walked. He pulled it over his head, stopped short — and almost fell on top of someone who’d stumbled into his path.

  “Hey, watch where you’re — Lilly!”

  “Gabriel. I’m so glad I found you.” Lillith threw her arms around his waist, and he returned the embrace. He pulled back gently and looked down at her, smiling.

  Damn. The fight was about to start, so he didn’t have much time with her. “Are you okay?”

  “I am now.” She dropped her arms and eyed him up and down. “You look good, Gabriel, really good.”

  A short, bitter laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I’m in great shape,” he said. “And it’s all thanks to Marcus Slade’s miracle train-or-die program. Works wonders on the physique.”

  Her face fell. “Oh, Gabe. I’m so sorry…”

  “No. Lilly, don’t cry. It’s okay.” Instantly contrite, he drew her to him. “I’m sorry. It was a joke. A bad joke.”

  She sniffled and gave him a watery smile.

  “That’s better.” With one finger he traced her delicate jaw line, lifted her chin up until her eyes met his. “I’ll be fine.” He pronounced each word deliberately, reassuring her. She nodded, and he hugged her briefly. “I have to go. Wait for me?”

  “Okay.”

  With a final fond look at his sister, he proceeded to the foot of the stairs leading to the platform. His opponent appeared on the opposite side. They mounted the steps together and walked into a blur of light and applause. Juno bent at the waist in greeting, and Gabriel returned the bow. He sent a quick glance toward the space Lillith had just occupied, but couldn’t make out anything in the wings outside the brilliance of the spotlights.

  He forced himself to focus on his opponent, who had dropped into a ready stance and waited for the starting bell to sound. It did seconds later, catching him unprepared. Juno’s opening rush carri
ed him to the edge of the platform and nearly pushed him over.

  Gabriel threw himself onto the mat. He avoided immediate loss, but the move allowed Juno to land the first strike, a foot to the ribs that elicited a sharp gasp from him. He rolled with the blow and gained his feet, ducked the next punch and landed one to Juno’s stomach.

  Achieving ring-out required a different set of skills from the usual hit-until-you-fall-down style most of the fighters employed. He had to unbalance his opponent — if not physically, then mentally. Maybe he could try some of the psychological devastation Jenner had used on him with regularity. But he’d throw in a slight twist.

  When Juno came at him again, he relaxed his stance and let his opponent’s blow hit him. A fist plowed his jaw, drove his head to the side. He remained silent and unmoving for a full five seconds before turning slowly to face Juno. A trickle of warm blood leaked from a split corner of his lip. He lifted his closed hand, deliberately knuckled the blood away — and grinned.

  “Thanks. You wanna do that again, though? I don’t think I got the message.”

  Blowing a frustrated breath, Juno balled up a fist, drew back and let fly. The blow slammed his gut, momentarily robbing him of breath. He regained his wind and cast a scathing look at his opponent.

  “Come on, now.” The grin resurfaced, and he took a step forward. “My grandmother used to hit me harder than that.”

  A look of pure fury flashed across Juno’s face. He roared and swung, and Gabriel caught his arm on the upswing. Sweeping Juno's feet from beneath him, he sent him crashing to the mat, and before his opponent could recover, shoved him hard. Juno tumbled off the platform.

  The resultant roar of approval from the main house lifted over the calls of the crowd in the dojo. Ignoring their appreciation, he descended the stairs and returned to the place he’d left his sister.

  His heart sank when he realized she was gone.