by Ty Patterson
They tumbled.
His left leg was extending even as they were falling. Coming down on the floor to give him leverage. He rose upright and body-slammed a fourth heavy. Flung him in a judo heave behind him.
The fifth man attacked. Zeb parried.
No time to waste.
He dummied a move to the inside of his jacket, as if reaching for his gun. The attacker’s eyes widened and he hesitated. Zeb jabbed his neck and then he was away, through the glass doors, fleeing.
A swift glance behind him.
Four men in pursuit.
He reached the alley, right in the path of a cyclist.
Grabbed him by his shoulders, shoved him off his ride, and threw the lightweight bicycle at his followers.
He ran down the alley, into the main street. Pursuers still behind him. About ten feet away.
Traffic in the cross street. Two-lane street. Coming his way on his right, going the other way, on the opposite side.
Ten feet became eight as the kendoka closed in on him. More men spilled out of the dojo and came towards him.
Zeb waited, panting harshly, one eye on the kendoka, one eye on a tourist bus, approaching.
Four feet. Close enough to see the whites of his pursuers’ eyes. No weapons in their hands. Anger on their faces.
Three feet. Their hands reaching out. Fingers so close that some of them brushed his jacket.
He moved.
He ran right in front of the bus, which was a couple of feet away.
Two long bounds to cross its face. It felt like an eternity. A snatched glance at the driver. Panic in his eyes as he tried to apply the brakes. Too late, too slow to react.
And then Zeb was safe, the bus rushing past, so close that he felt its metal-and-plastic body whisper against him.
He ran blindly through a narrow opening, to the other side of the street, as horns blared and voices rose in outrage. He put his head down, pushed through a crowd that had formed and walked away swiftly towards a shopping arcade.
A quick glance behind. No sign of any followers.
He headed to a restaurant, went deep inside to the restrooms. He locked the door behind him and leaned against it, letting adrenaline wash over him. He lay still for several minutes before he went to the sink and washed his sweat away.
He turned his jacket inside out, a different shade now. No other disguise on him.
He opened the restroom door carefully. No one waiting for him.
He went out the front of the restaurant and peered at the street from its darkened glass. No kendoka were visible.
He went out to the street and backtracked, going back to the dojo.
I want the sensei. I want some answers from him.
He ghosted inside the alley, using parked vehicles as cover, stopping every now and then to watch his behind.
There were several vehicles in front of the dojo, and men were milling in front of it. Hands moved in angry gestures and voices were raised, but he was too far away to hear. He was crouching behind a Mazda, its wheel well as cover, using his phone’s camera to show him the front of the dojo.
It was eight p.m. The angry discussions continued for a while until the sensei came out and urged his kendoka to stay quiet. He guided them inside and relative calm returned to the alley.
There will be some unhappy people in that dojo. And in whichever yakuza gang they belong to.
At half past eight, men started trickling out, in twos and threes. He didn’t bother to identify his attackers. It was too dark and the phone’s camera didn’t have enough resolution.
Fifteen minutes later, the lights in the dojo started going out, and at nine p.m., the building went dark.
The sensei locked the gates behind him and walked swiftly, without looking left or right. He was in his street clothes, trousers and a white shirt, a backpack in one hand.
Get him before he reaches the street.
Zeb waited till the sensei was hidden behind a van and crossed the street at a run, slowing as he reached the other side. Bending to watch from behind a car.
The sensei’s side of the alley was empty. No sensei. No person on it.
The sensei came from around the car, a bokken in his hand, attacking furiously.
The first blow got Zeb on his left shoulder and numbed it. The second burst the car’s headlamp as Zeb rolled away defensively.
The sensei came on, not letting up, his arms moving like the vanes of a windmill.
Zeb could only fall back, his shoulder burning, defending as best as he could. He jammed against a wall and the sensei moved in for the kill.
Headlights turned inside the alley and lit the two men, blinding them, and a voice called out querulously. ‘Who is that?’
The sensei fled. He slashed at Zeb, one last wicked blow, and then he took off. Zeb lost a few seconds in evading the blow, and by the time he recovered, the sensei was a distant blob.
‘Just a drunk,’ Zeb replied.
‘Are you sure? That didn’t look like a drunk.’
‘Yes. He’s gone now.’
The voice grumbled some more and then faded as the car drove out and away.
Zeb collapsed against the wall and felt his shoulder gingerly.
It looked like the fleshy part of his shoulder had taken most of the blow. It throbbed as he touched it lightly and probed. Nope. No broken collarbone. No dislocation.
He sent a silent thanks to the man in the car who had arrived right in time.
He got to his feet and trudged back to the mouth of the alley.
Got attacked by a dojo full of yakuza. Got beat up by their sensei. Didn’t get a single answer.
He smiled ruefully at himself. I could have used my gun on the sensei, but it wouldn’t have felt right. They could have taken me out at the bath too. With guns. Or here, in the dojo. I’ll fight them their way. Finish them their way too.
He wiped his face with a paper towel and lengthened his stride. It would be back to that restaurant to see if he could grab dinner and then to his hotel. Catch up with any progress Meghan had—
‘You live dangerously, gaijin.’
He threw himself to his right side, his Glock coming out as he fell on his back, his eyes following its sight, its barrel pointing at the shadowy figure.
The man moved slowly, his hands raised. Reflected light from the roof of a car fell on his face.
Oyahashi! What’s he doing here?
‘I come in peace, gaijin,’ Oyahashi said, amused. ‘I could have killed you in the bath, don’t you think?’
Zeb holstered his gun and rose slowly, his eyes searching for threats.
‘I am alone, gaijin.’
‘How did you find me?’
‘It wasn’t hard, gaijin. I was watching the dojo all day. I knew you would turn up here, sooner or later.’
Why didn’t the beast alert me?
‘Whose dojo is that? Which gang’s?’
‘I can’t tell you that, gaijin.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘I have become like you, gaijin,’ Oyahashi answered after a long silence. ‘My gang has disowned me. They would have killed me, but my kumicho intervened and spared me my life.’
‘Because you didn’t kill me at the bath?’
‘Hai.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
Oyahashi sucked in a deep breath. ‘We are a dying breed, gaijin. Times have changed. Society has changed. There are some people who want to keep us going, however. They will do anything.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. All I know is something big will happen in five days.’
‘You don’t know or you aren’t telling?’
‘Only my kumicho knows. And those of the other gangs.’
‘These other people—they are the other yakuza gangs?’
‘One gang has taken the lead. The others are providing support where they can.’
‘Why don’t you tell me which gang?’ Zeb asked in frustration. ‘I can end
this quickly.’
He felt Oyahashi shake his head in the darkness. ‘I have told too much already. The yakuza are still my family, even if they have cast me out. I will not betray them anymore.’
‘I can capture you and squeeze it out of you.’
Oyahashi’s teeth flashed. ‘You can try. I just might end up killing you.’
‘This event that will happen, is it connected to the yakuza’s businesses in women?’ he guessed.
‘You are on the right track, gaijin.’
‘Have you heard of WAS? They are—’
‘We all have heard of them.’
‘Is all this connected to them?’
‘You are on the right track, gaijin,’ Oyahashi repeated.
At last, one solid lead.
‘Somebody will get killed?’
‘Hai. All I know is if that person gets killed, it will change relationships between our countries.’
‘And this gang will still go ahead?’
‘Our way of life is more important.’
‘Give me something more.’
A train rumbled in the distance. Chattering came from the mouth of the alley. Zeb felt Oyahashi tense and knew he would leave soon.
‘Your honor to yourself is more important,’ he reminded his visitor.
‘There’s a son who never was. A son doesn’t exist. I won’t tell you anymore.’ The yakuza bowed and turned to leave. ‘We won’t meet again, gaijin.’
‘Why not?’
‘They will kill me. Soon.’
Chapter 36
Zeb stood still in the darkness long after the yakuza had left. Thoughts were whirling in his mind.
That was a random suggestion on my part, about the trafficking in women. He confirmed it readily. A WAS reporter working on an exposé? How is it that the twins didn’t find out about it?
Another thought. What was that about the son? He’s dead? Then why didn’t he say so? Why was he so cryptic?
He sent several messages to Meghan and made a mental note to call her when he returned to his hotel.
Hotel. His steps slowed. The yakuza were expecting me. They had my poster in the dojo. Have they circulated leaflets to every hotel? How did they know I would come to Kobe?
The last question was easiest to answer. They probably blanketed Tokyo and Kobe with my photographs. Alerted every yakuza dojo and bath to be on the lookout for me. So where do I sleep?
He wasn’t worried about his backpack or its contents. He had stashed it in a rented locker in Sannomiya station. The backpack in his room, a new one, contained nothing other than some spare underclothing.
He went to a store near Motomachi station and bought more undergarments and toiletries. He eyed the wall behind the clerk as he paid in cash. There were several photographs pinned to a board behind the counter. None of them were his.
He walked back to Sannomiya, using antisurveillance tactics to shake off any followers. He scoped out a few stores and hotels on his way, and in at least three of them, he spotted his photograph. The clerks didn’t notice him, and even if they had, he wasn’t sure if they would have recognized him.
The yakuza-circulated posters weren’t very good likenesses. And on top of that, these stores and hotels get a lot of traffic. Highly unlikely that the counter clerks will remember someone.
That line of thought didn’t solve his problem, however. He still needed a bed for a night, a room from which he could make secure calls.
He circled the Sannomiya station’s neighborhood, eyeing the various billboards, shaking his head at the many vendors and street women who approached him.
One woman, her hair dyed red, was persistent, and she gave him the idea. He negotiated a rate with her, knowing that haggling was expected, and grabbed her elbow. She whispered sweet nothings in his ear as he escorted her to a love hotel that he had spotted.
It was wedged between a chain of restaurants and an office building. Its neon sign was garishly lit and Zeb hoped it wasn’t yakuza-owned.
The love hotel boasted no male photographs on its board. Instead, it had hundreds of pictures of female escorts. Zeb’s escort pointed to one photograph and shrieked in delight when she recognized herself.
Zeb paid for eight hours, and the woman’s eyes turned wide. ‘Eight hours?’
‘Hai.’ Zeb managed a smile, aware that the clerk was watching them with bored eyes.
The escort wore a sultry look and came close to him. ‘I am sure we can find a way to spend those eight hours.’
He led her to the elevator, giggling, and went to the first floor. He checked out the hallway. Narrow. Dimly lit. Doors on either side. He went to the furthest one, opened it, and ushered the woman in.
He dropped his smile as soon as the door shut and pulled out several notes from his pocket. He bowed to her and thrust them into her hand. ‘I want to be alone. That’s your rate for the eight hours.’
She looked down at the wad in her hand and then at him. ‘You don’t want me?’
‘There are things happening in my life. I just want to be alone.’
‘I can make you forget your problems.’ she licked her lips suggestively. ‘I am very good.’
‘Chinatsu-san,’ he said, remembering her name, ‘I’m sure you are very good. But please understand, I don’t need any company.’
‘Not even mine?’ she pouted. ‘No customer of mine has been dissatisfied.’
‘Not even yours,’ he said firmly and opened the door for her.
‘How come a gaijin speaks my language so well?’
He extracted more bills and thrust them into her hand. ‘This is for you to forget the gaijin.’
She looked at him searchingly, then seemed to see something in his eyes and left without another word.
He shut the door and leaned against it, his eyes closed. Thank the Lord the twins weren’t around to witness that. I would never live it down.
‘You’re in a love hotel?’ Beth had a hard time controlling her smirk when Zeb got the twins on a video call. He hadn’t told them, but he didn’t need to. Each of them had GPS trackers in their clothing and shoes. They worked out where I am from my GPS signal.
‘Don’t tell us you’re with an escort, Zeb.’ Meghan waggled her eyebrows.
He took a beat too long to reply, and she squealed, ‘Oh my God, you are!’
He sighed and broke it down for them, allowing them to have their moment of fun at his expense.
‘What’s this about a son who doesn’t exist?’ Meghan asked him when they had quieted.
‘Beats me. It could mean he’s dead. However, none of the yakuza bosses had a son who died.’
‘We’ll put Werner on it.’
‘Oyahashi said something would go down in five days.’
They sobered up fast. Broker and the rest of his people crowded in behind the twins. ‘He didn’t say what?’
‘Nope. There is a link to women trafficking. Check out WAS. All newspapers and TV channels as well. Oyahashi confirmed this was something to do with WAS, but let’s not take chances. Check out anyone who’s in the business of investigative reporting.’
‘WAS.’ Meghan flicked her hair back in irritation. ‘You should know something about them. It’s not just the TKWC that funded them. Shira, Theresa, and Holly have put in their own money.’
‘Holly is—’
‘Very well protected. Levin’s men are with her day and night. Bear and Chloe mount a watch every other day.’
‘There’s something else you need to know about WAS,’ Beth pitched in.
* * *
Dana Kantor, the CEO of WAS, had turned out to be a hard nut to crack. Zeb was floored when the sisters admitted they had made no headway with Kantor. The twins were able to convince, cajole, or browbeat just about anyone and extract intel. It looked like they had met their match in Kantor.
Zeb tried his luck with the WAS head.
‘Yes, Mr. Carter, I think I know who you are,’ Kantor cut him off when he introduced himself. She had
a Midwestern twang to her voice, cool, no warmth in her reply. ‘Your coworker called me. Petersen. You are some secretive outfit, looking into the deaths of those women.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And you want to know if we’re investigating the yakuza. For their role in human trafficking in Asia.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Why wouldn’t we be?’
‘You are, ma’am?’ he asked, surprised. This was easier than he had thought.
‘I’m not acknowledging or denying anything. It’s called a rhetorical question, Mr. Carter. Do you know that word?’ Sarcasm flowed thickly down the line. ‘WAS focuses on women’s upliftment. The yakuza’s illegal activities are of interest to us.’
‘So—’
‘However,’ she said, riding roughshod over him, ‘I will not confirm if I have a reporter working on the yakuza.’
‘Ma’am, we have strong suspicions that Shira Levin and Theresa Leclair were killed by the yakuza. The evidence trail suggests that there’s a link to WAS.’
‘I know all that,’ she cut him off again. ‘Your coworker pointed that out in great detail. I lost my reporter in Mexico. She was killed in broad daylight and her assassins are still to be caught.
‘I will not jeopardize any other reporter of mine!’
He heard papers rustling at her end, the ring of a glass on a table, and a glug as she swallowed water. ‘Mr. Carter,’ she continued more calmly, ‘if there’s a WAS investigation, no one, absolutely no one, is going to know of it until the report comes out.’
‘Will that report come out in five days, ma’am?’
‘You have a problem with your hearing, Mr. Carter?’
‘Ma’am, you don’t realize the danger your reporter is in.’
‘I do. And that’s why I won’t reveal anything.’
‘Ma’am, I’m on your side. We’re here to help. Perhaps I should get the National Security Advisor to call you.’
‘Don’t you dare throw names at me, Mr. Carter. I don’t care if the president calls me. Or the pope. Let me ask you a question. Can you guarantee the safety of my reporter?’
‘Ma’am, no one can guarantee that. However—’
‘You have answered my question, Mr. Carter. I don’t need to hear anything more.’
