“The first thing you need to do is change out of that damned suit. You too, Chen Song—both of you have to dress more, ah, casually.”
“I have other clothes with me,” Chen Gui said crossly. “What about the men in the street? And the one in the lobby?”
“There’s only one way out of here, and that’s down the driveway. We could make a break for it and try to get to one of the Azabu Juban stations, but frankly, I’d rather not be tied to public transportation.”
“Agreed. You have a car?”
“I do.”
“Good.” Chen Gui was placated for a moment, then suddenly remembered his original questions. “But the men—”
“The men on the street are less important to me than the one in the lobby. He’s the trip wire. The elevators come out right in front of him, and there’s no way for him to miss you.”
“So what to do about him? Can’t you just kill them? Isn’t that what we pay you for?” Chen Gui was becoming agitated again.
Manning looked at the smaller man. His face was still composed into a placid mask, but there was steel in his voice when he spoke.
“I kill when I have no other options,” he said. “And the reason I picked this place as a safe house is because they can’t move on us. The Russian embassy is right up the street, and so is a police station. There are cameras everywhere, and people of all races mix here. But the things that make this place reasonably safe also prevent me from doing what you ask. Understand?”
Chen Gui fell back against the sofa and seemed to deflate. “So what do you want to do? Just wait?”
“I have a plan. We’ll wait for about an hour or so, then we’ll make our move. In the meantime, let’s get you something to wear that’s a little less...loud.”
###
The hour passed with lethargy. Chen Gui groused about the outfit Manning insisted upon—a pair of khaki slacks and a dark polo shirt, over which he would wear Chen Song’s jacket. Chen Song had no issue changing into a similar outfit. Then Manning took their bags—they had one suitcase each, as he had told them—down to the lobby. The Fujianese man was still there, thumbing through a magazine, his cell phone in his lap. He did not look up as Manning toted the bags past him and to the bellhop, where he arranged for a Japan Airlines pickup. The bags, at the very least, would be ready for the 7:05pm flight to Shanghai.
Manning then returned to the room and briefed the two Chinese on his plan. They listened attentively and quietly, and if they disagreed with the plan, they kept it to themselves. They had very little choice in the matter. All because they had crossed the rival Fujianese gang by undercutting the prices of illegally-transported merchandise, which in turn was sold on the market by their yakuza partners. Japan was still in the grips of a decade-long recession, and with quality consumer goods available at a markedly reduced price, the Japanese crime bosses enjoyed a wonderful revenue stream. But Chen Gui’s connections were better than his Fujianese counterpart’s, and he had been able to import more goods at lower prices. Logically, the competition had been enraged at being shut out, and the resulting three-day killing spree had gutted Chen Gui’s operation. Thirty-seven Chinese had been quietly murdered, and the Japanese police were just beginning to discover the bodies.
Chen Gui and his nephew had waited too long to return to China, and the noose had almost closed around them. And that was where Manning had come in, catching a flight from San Francisco to Tokyo two days ago.
He hoped he would be able to make it back alive.
“Any questions?” Manning asked after he was finished.
“Let’s get this over with,” Chen Gui said moodily. “I want to get out of this place.”
###
Chen Gui did as instructed. He walked out in plain view of the Fujianese in the lobby and strolled directly to the lobby restroom. The Fujianese paused only a make a quick telephone call, then followed the portly Shanghainese with quick, sure-footed steps. His face was a blank mask as he concentrated on nothing more than the next few minutes that lay ahead of him.
He did not notice the tall Westerner standing in the elevator bay fiddling with his phone, nor did he notice Manning enter the restroom behind him.
Chen Gui was standing before a urinal. The Fujianese walked into the restroom and reached inside his jacket, his pace quickening as he closed on the Shanghainese crime boss. Chen Gui did not turn to look behind him, merely faced the wall.
The Fujianese pulled his weapon—a suppressed Ruger .22 pistol—from its holster.
He never made it. Manning was upon him in an instant, as fast and powerful as a hurricane. He slammed the Fujianese into the next urinal and expertly punched him in the side of the neck, delivering a brachial stun strike. The Fujianese gasped raggedly; his pistol fell to the floor, clattering on the tile. Manning lashed out with both hands and caught the smaller man beneath his armpits, then threw him into one of the toilet stalls. He closed the stall door behind him, then tossed the man’s gun into the wastebasket.
“Let’s go, Chen Gui.”
“Is it over?”
“Yes, let’s go now.”
“A moment,” Chen Gui said.
“What the hell for?”
“Ni yan xia le! Mei kanjian wo zai fangbian ma?” Chen Gui fairly shouted. Your eyes are blind! Can’t you see I’m pissing?
###
Chen Song met them in the lobby as he had been instructed. Manning mostly ignored him as he scanned the lobby for any more Fujianese he might have missed. He did take note that Chen Song’s haughty expression had fled in favor of a more suppressed appearance that fit the situation. After all, it took a strong man to maintain arrogance when he was only a few steps away from being dead.
They were apparently unobserved by anyone more malicious than the staff, which politely bowed to Manning and his charges as they headed for the door. Manning spared them only a curt nod—bad manners in Japan, but he had no time to waste. His car, a very sedate three-year-old Honda Legend, was in the nearby parking garage. Manning rushed the two Shanghainese into the vehicle, and within seconds, they were off.
“Going smooth,” Chen Gui commented, sitting in the left front passenger seat. “You can drive on the left side of the road?”
“If I can’t, we won’t be exactly inconspicuous. I want both of you to get down. Now.”
“Get down?” Chen Song echoed from the back seat.
“Yes—get down!”
Both men did as he instructed immediately. As they pulled past the hotel, Manning saw the group of Fujianese jogging toward the entrance. One of them glanced at his car as he drove past with more interest than he would have liked. A glance in the rearview mirror explained it; the man had seen Chen Song peeking above the doorsill.
“Smooth move, Ex-Lax,” Manning said sourly. “He just made us!”
“Ex-Lax?” asked Chen Gui.
“Never mind.” Manning gunned the Honda’s six-cylinder engine, abandoning all hope of making a clean getaway as he wrenched the car into a sharp left-hand turn down Azabudai. He checked his rearview mirror again, and caught a quick glimpse of the Fujianese running to their car. They ran right through the hotel’s well-maintained garden, trampling all matter of flora. Clearly, subtlety was not one of their hallmarks.
Fight’s on, he thought idly.
“We’re going to hit the highway,” he told his passengers. “Hopefully these guys will be too cheap to want to follow us through the tolls.”
“If only they were Shanghainese!” Chen Gui wailed. “Fujianese spend money like madmen!”
“I’ll remember that,” Manning responded dryly as the car accelerated past the Tokyo American Club. He took his first available right, then his first left, then left again, proceeding on for three blocks before turning left once more against a traffic signal. Horns blared and hazard lights flashed; Manning ignored the commotion. Within moments, he was guiding the car onto the Shuto Expressway. He checked his rearview mirror for the Fujianese; he remembered their car to be an older silve
r Toyota Grand Saloon. The problem was, the car was fairly ubiquitous in Japan, like its brother the Camry was in the US. It was a rental agency favorite, and it was relatively affordable, so he was nonplussed to see there were at least three silver Grand Saloons in the lanes behind him.
“Where are we going?” Chen Gui finally asked.
“Narita.”
“You killed that man back there. In the hotel. Why?”
“I don’t know why you’d care, but I didn’t kill him,” Manning responded evenly. “On the other hand, I don’t get paid if you die.” He kept his eyes on the road, checking both the rearview mirror and side view mirrors regularly. He kept the speed up over 100 kilometers an hour, which was only slightly faster than the rest of the Tokyo traffic. Finally, he found a large gravel truck he could use as cover. He switched lanes quickly (from right to left in Japan, something he had struggled to get used to) and sidled up on the other side of the truck.
Chen Gui seemed shocked by the revelation. “Why didn’t you kill him?”
“I charge extra for killing.”
“Two more questions,” Chen Gui said after a time.
“What?”
“Can we get up now, and what is ‘Ex-Lax’?”
###
The trip to Narita International Airport was quiet. Chen Gui was content to stare out the windshield, gazing at the passing scenery as Manning switched off the Shuto and onto Route 1. They hurtled past Tokyo’s fabled shopping mecca, Ginza, and past Chiba. In the distance, the Saitama River could be seen, lazily flowing into Tokyo Harbor, miles to the south.
For his part, Manning drove at a fast clip, keeping a sharp eye out for his would-be pursuers. He instructed Chen Song to keep watch out the rear window; he’d seen the car too, so he might yet prove useful.
“Aren’t you driving a little fast?” Chen Gui said at last. “The Japanese highway police are very vigilant, after all!”
“I’d rather take my chances with the police than with our Fujianese pals,” Manning replied smoothly as he switched lanes. He tucked his car in on the far side of an ambling tanker truck and reduced his speed.
“So why are you slowing, then?” Chen Gui asked.
“Just putting some bait in the trap,” Manning said. “If they’re after us, they’ll be rolling up pretty quickly. Chen Song! See anything?”
“No,” Chen Song said.
“Don’t just look behind us. Look around. Look under the tanker’s trailer. You see anyone pacing us from the other side?”
Chen Song was silent for a moment, and Manning could see him craning his neck, looking this way and that.
“Nothing,” he said after a time.
“So we lost them.” Chen Gui sighed in relief.
“Looks like,” Manning said. “Chen Song, keep your eyes sharp.” With that, he accelerated away from the truck.
###
The Higashi Kanto Expressway eventually led them to the Shin Kuko Expressway, and then Narita International itself. Manning merged onto the Shin Kuko Expressway interchange. Traffic was thick at the tollgate; Manning weaved his way in and out of the flow, almost brushing against a filled airport limousine bus in the process. He aimed the Legend’s grille in the general direction of the Terminal 2 car park, the only multistory parking facility at Narita.
“Even in traffic, you drive like mad!” Chen Gui groused. “You make my driver in China look like a considerate man!”
“Time’s a little short, I’m afraid,” Manning replied. “And the quicker we get out of here, the better.” The fact of the matter was that the slow traffic made Manning feel extremely vulnerable. The Fujianese had guns, items that were quite difficult to obtain in Japan. That they had evidently been willing to shoot Chen Gui in the hotel restroom meant that their grudge against him was something they weren’t about to give up easily, and that also meant Manning himself would be a primary target. In many ways, being a gaijin was a benefit in Japan. However, the quickest way for the Fujianese to get a tally on Chen Gui would be to sight Manning himself, and if he was seen caught in slow-moving traffic, there was no easy way to defend himself...or his charge.
In the back seat, Chen Song suddenly stirred.
“I see them!” he announced.
“Aiyah—!” Chen Gui began.
“Bie shuo le!” Manning snapped—Be quiet! He looked in the rearview mirror, but a commuter van had just merged in behind them. “Chen Song, where are they?”
“Two cars behind us,” Chen Song replied, a little breathlessly. “They definitely saw us—both men in the front of the car locked eyes with me!”
“What will we do?” Chen Gui fairly shrieked. “You can’t let them catch up to us!”
“I’m not about to. Please relax.” Manning checked the rearview mirror again, but saw nothing other than the commuter van still tailing his car. He thought he glimpsed a silver-colored car through the left side view mirror, but couldn’t be sure.
“Chen Song, is the car silver?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, the same as before!” Chen Song snapped. Manning heard the unmistakable sound of metal sliding across leather. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that Chen Song had drawn his Beretta from its holster and was gripping it in his right hand.
“Ba ni de qiang fàng hui qu!” Manning shouted, making both Chen Song and Chen Gui jump. Put your gun back! was the closest Manning could come to saying Put your fucking gun away! in Mandarin, and cursed the common trait shared by both Mandarin and Japanese: neither language was direct enough to suit an American.
The situation apparently wasn’t desperate enough for Chen Song to feel any particular urgency.
“I don’t take orders from a hired man!” he snarled.
“Do as he says!” Chen Gui said, turning his head this way and that nervously. “We don’t have time to argue, and I don’t want to wind up in a Japanese jail! Keep an eye on the Fujianese, you fool!”
“But what if they pull up next to us?” Chen Song asked reasonably.
“We bail out of the car,” Manning replied. “It’s that simple. Then we get lost in the confusion.”
“And if we get separated?” Chen Gui wanted to know.
“Get on the rail system. Anywhere out of Narita, then phone me when you can. I’ll come and collect you as soon as I’m able. Hao ma?”
Chen Gui merely sighed and tried to lean back in his seat and collect himself. He had started to sweat profusely.
Slowly, inexorably, the car drew nearer to the Terminal 2 parking garage. Manning jockeyed his car in and out of lanes, trying to give the following Fujianese the impression that he was headed for the departure level. Horns blared, and some drivers even shouted epithets. The noise volume grew when the following Fujianese emulated Manning, though far less artfully. Manning caught glimpses of the silver Camry in his car’s mirrors; the Fujianese were causing quite a stir, and Manning hoped that the airport police would take notice.
At last, they approached the car park ramp. Manning timed it just right, scooting past an airport shuttle bus and charging for one of the entry lanes. It would buy them a few moments, unless the Fujianese had an accident trying to follow. Manning pulled up to the gate and took a ticket; the gate lifted, and he accelerated into the parking garage, much to the consternation of the parking attendants. One of them waved Manning up to the second floor, which was his intention anyway.
“Chen Song, keep an eye out for our friends,” he ordered, accelerating up the ramp. “They’re not going to have much of a choice but to follow us.”
On the second level, more parking attendants waved Manning toward the third level. Manning ignored them and charged into the parking area, even though multilingual signs proclaimed it to be full. The parking attendants shouted and one of them trotted after Manning’s Legend for a few moments before decided it wasn’t worth it.
“Where are we going?” Chen Gui shouted. “There’s no room here!”
“Keep calm,” Manning insisted.
Chen G
ui elected to do otherwise. “There, stop there!” he shouted, pointing at the elevators that would invariably lead to the departure area. They were clearly visible, painted in whites and blues, with a mural of a cartoon seal cavorting on the doors. Manning jerked the steering wheel to the left, tires screeching as he pulled the Legend down the lane. Each space was filled.
“Where are you going?” Chen Gui screamed.
“Do as my uncle says, you fool!” Chen Song added angrily. “Are you an incompetent?”
Manning jammed on the brakes, and the tires squealed again as the Legend came to an abrupt halt. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a key ring. He held it over his shoulder to Chen Song.
“Make yourself useful and get to that black Friendee.” Manning pointed to the late-model Mazda van, one of Japan’s more ubiquitous transports, the equivalent of a soccer mom ride in the United States. “Back it out so I can park this car in that space. Be quick about it.”
When Chen Song hesitated, Manning turned and threw the keys at him. “Hurry! Kuài dian, you idiot!”
Chen Song swallowed loudly and took the keys. “But I can’t drive,” he said finally, an admission that cost him much face, given the circumstances.
Manning didn’t know whether he should slap the younger man or just shoot him and his uncle and get out of the entire situation.
“It’s an automatic,” he told Chen Song. “Just start it, put your foot on the brake, slide the shifter in the center to reverse, and back out. That’s all you have to do.”
Chen Song grunted and threw open the door. He ran to the black, square-shaped Friendee and tried to open the driver’s door. He dropped the car keys while fumbling with the lock, then finally opened the driver’s door. Manning put the Legend in reverse and backed up quickly, giving Chen Song a little extra room. He watched as Chen Song groped about the cabin awkwardly, then finally got the Mazda started. Seconds rolled by.
This kid’s slower than a fucking glacier in February.
“Shall I get out?” Chen Gui asked nervously. His hand was already on the door handle.
“Sit tight.” Manning ran a hand through his dark brown hair. His scalp was moist with sweat and the muscles in his shoulders and back were tense.
White Tiger Page 2
