The beggar squeaked. When Tora released him, he rubbed his scrawny neck, where the scratches started bleeding, and grumbled, “Don’t threaten me. I know you, even in those old rags. You’re the one used to hanker after that blind slut. What happened? Lost your job?”
Tora glared. “Watch your mouth when you speak of the dead, turd. As for my clothes, I’m undercover. I’m working with the police on her murder.” It was stretching the truth a bit, but that couldn’t hurt with scum like this.
To Tora’s surprise the man’s face turned pasty white and his eyes boggled. “Here, I know nothing about that,” he stammered, jumping up.
Tora grabbed him by the arm and flung him back on his seat. “Not so fast!” He eyed him with disgust, then reminded himself that beggars shied away from police matters because all too often they made convenient scapegoats. The beggar gulped, ran a grimy hand through the greasy strands of hair that hung to his shoulders, and hitched up his ragged shirt, revealing that he had not bothered to wear a loincloth. He looked like a living piece of garbage. Worse, he stank like garbage, and fear had intensified the aroma.
Tora moved downwind and kept his eyes on the creature’s face, but found this equally nauseating. The shifty eyes squinted everywhere but at Tora, and the thick lips were cracked and had traces of dried white spittle in the corners. “Relax,” Tora said, “you’re not in trouble. I just want to ask some questions.”
The beggar croaked, “You sure don’t look like police.”
“I told you, I’m in disguise. Tell me what you know about Tomoe’s regular customers. Especially those engaged in illegal activities.”
“Engaged in illegal activities?” mocked the beggar, who was getting his nerve back. “And what might those be? I’m just an ignorant bastard, you know.”
“Don’t jerk me around. You know what I mean: gambling, robbery, burglary, selling children into prostitution, and cheating old people.”
Tora had heard that criminals looked at their work as a kind of trade and formed guilds or families that were run by a boss, or father figure, and staffed with members who were ranked as officers, soldiers, and apprentices. He figured that Tomoe had tangled with a gang boss.
The beggar’s expression turned shifty. His eyes moved constantly-like black flies crawling on a moldy dumpling-from Tora, to other restaurant patrons, to the passing crowd in the market, then back to Tora again. “I wouldn’t know, but if you’re looking for her killer, you’d better check the toms she took home with her. She put out to anybody who paid enough. That back door of hers might as well have been a curtain. I figure one of them felt cheated and cut her up a bit. They say there was a lot of blood.” The beggar licked his lips and grinned. “Maybe he even liked doing it.”
Tora narrowed his eyes, but there was nothing to be gained by hitting the beggar now. Better let him talk.
The waiter came and slapped food and drink down on the bench between them. “Ten coppers. You pay now.”
Tora suppressed a grimace. That left him with only three coppers, and he had a long day ahead of him. He paid, then snatched the wine flask from the beggar’s greedy fingers. One of them was missing the tip. “Talk first!” he snapped.
The beggar stuck out his tongue and reached for the soup bowl.
“I said, ‘Talk first!’ Tora shouted and pounded the flimsy bench. Some of the soup splashed out.
“Now see what you’ve done,” complained the beggar. “Oh, all right. She used to sing to a guy owns a training school on the other side of town. They say that’s not all he does. He comes here with his friends: a big, mean-looking guy and a young kid. I don’t know their names.”
“Is his name Kata?”
Surprise flashed in the beggar’s eyes, but he said, “How should I know? He didn’t introduce himself to me.”
Tora reached for the soup.
“All right. It may have been.”
Tora relaxed. He was pretty sure now that the beggar knew Kata. He pushed wine and soup toward the man and thought about the interesting implications. Not only was he looking forward to getting his hands on that sly fellow Kata, but there was also the Haseo look-alike. And that one had been seen near the watchtower, not far from where Tomoe worked. He hoped they would not recognize him in his rags but planned to apply a handful of dirt to his face before paying his visit. Impatient now to be gone, Tora watched with ill-concealed irritation as the beggar slurped his soup and drank his wine. The sight turned his stomach. Getting up, he told the filthy creature, “Stay out of trouble or else!” and walked away.
Kata’s training school was in session again, but the crowd outside seemed much smaller than last time. They hardly gave Tora a second glance; he was one of them, a shabby, dirty fellow without a job and nothing better to do on a fine day than to watch some fighting. Tora squatted next to a scruffy youngster and scanned the training hall.
Kata was demonstrating a sword technique to three older students. It looked like an aggressive move against two or more armed fighters that involved a quick and fatal outcome. Kata was certainly not training for contests, and Tora appreciated the usefulness of his technique. Having been a soldier, he did not like to play games with a sword.
Stick fighting was another matter, and Tora was remarkably skilled at that. A long bamboo pole could kill if handled a certain way, but it was primarily a weapon of defense. The idea was to disarm the other guy or perhaps incapacitate him by breaking an arm or a leg. In a case like that, a man could afford to toy a bit with an opponent. He saw that Kata’s stick fighters were rank beginners, and an idea began to form in his mind.
An elbow poked his side. “You new here?” asked his neighbor.
Tora eyed the skinny kid. He was maybe twelve, stringy, and wild looking. He probably had no family and lived on the streets on what he could steal from food stalls and shops, or from people’s houses if they were careless enough to leave them unattended. There were thousands of hungry, homeless boys like this in the streets of the capital and they were always a nuisance.
“None of your business, brat,” he growled and turned his attention back to the lesson. Kata being a gang boss certainly made sense. As a training master, he could conduct his business practically under the noses of the authorities. Haseo’s double was absent, but he surely had some link to the organization. Tora smiled with grim satisfaction.
“Bet I could tell you what you want to know,” squeaked the youngster beside him.
His voice was changing and made Tora jump a little and wonder if he had underestimated his age. He turned to look him over more carefully. The boy cocked his head and touched his nose in the manner of someone who has information for sale.
“What could you know? You’re barely weaned from your ma’s tits,” Tora said.
“Hah!” The scruffy youngster stuck out his bony chest and announced proudly, “I work for him,” jerking his head in the direction of the training school. “That’s how I know. Bet you came looking for a job.”
Tora gaped in mock surprise. “How d’you know that?”
The boy grinned. “You’re the type. You like fighting and you look like a soldier out of work. They always come and pretend they’re just watching. Then, pretty soon, they offer to work for food.”
Tora glanced at the students again. The ones in front were practicing the “whirlwind” defense, which involved turning rapidly in a circle while slashing about with the sword. They were coming dangerously close to wounding each other with their wooden swords, wheeling about the training hall like demented tops. He snorted. But the boy might be useful. Tora asked, “D’you think he’d take me on?”