A short dagger, not unlike Quinn’s blade, Gentle Hand, rested on a small maple stand to the yakuza boss’s right. It was mere inches from Quinn’s face.
“Trade…” Quinn mumbled. He eyed the dagger with his teeth pressed against the desk. His words were slurred, but he could tell from the half grin on Sato’s face that he’d gotten the point across.
“What did you say?” The yakuza lieutenant smirked at the fact that his prisoner would even speak, let alone try to bargain with him. He flicked his fingers at the two captors, motioning for them to ease up enough so that Quinn could be understood.
“You are correct, Sato-san.” Quinn moved his aching jaw back and forth. He bent in a modified half bow once he was allowed to stand, still wincing from the blows to his back. “We have come to retrieve Miyu-chan. She is not what you believe her to be.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” Sato smirked. “I believe her to be pure and unsullied by other men — nothing like her filthy tramp of an auntie.”
Quinn let out a long, panting sigh. “Then I suppose she is exactly what you believe her to be,” he said. “But that does not change the fact that I have come to get her back.”
Rough hands still held on tight to his arms. He’d been right about Pig Face; the man held his left arm like a vise. It threatened to cut off all circulation from the elbows down. Watanabe put on a good show but was without a doubt the weak link of Sato’s lackeys.
Quinn shot a quick glance at Ayako. She fluttered long lashes and gave him an almost imperceptible nod. He hoped it meant she had control of her own situation and was just waiting for his move.
“Shall we take him to the boat?” Watanabe offered. Quinn could feel a trembling surge of emotion run through the man’s hands each time he spoke directly to his boss.
“There is always time to resort to more violent measures,” Sato said. He peered at Quinn. “I find myself interested to hear exactly what you believe you have to trade.”
“This is a matter of honor.” Quinn stood up straighter. “You will return the girl unharmed — and I will cut off a little finger.”
CHAPTER 45
Sato leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. On his left hand, he wore a gold ring with a milky white stone. It looked like a human tooth — likely that of some past enemy, Quinn thought. The yakuza underboss looked him up and down.
“Your Japanese is excellent,” he said. “Are you European?”
“I am serious,” Quinn said, earning another jab to the kidney. He swayed on his feet, waiting for the sickening waves to pass.
“The boss asked you a question,” Pig Face said, hitting him again for good measure.
Quinn sagged on his ankles, forcing the two men to work harder to hold him up in front of Sato. He was certain another punch like that would knock him out — and probably send him to the hospital.
“I… I… am not European,” he panted. “Forgive me… I knew it was a breach of etiquette to barge into your place, but please understand, Miyu-chan is the niece of my friend. I mean what I say. I will give you a little finger to atone.”
“That would be a very interesting thing to witness,” Sato mused. “You are aware that in my world, one has to make the finger fly himself.”
“I understand.” Quinn let his head hang down in humility.
“I must admit that we would all enjoy such entertainment.” Sato slid the maple stand along with the dagger across the desk. He nodded at Watanabe.
The yakuza soldier released his grip on Quinn and stepped tentatively away. Then, as if he’d done this many times before, he took a white handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket and placed it flat on the corner of the desk. He drew a pistol from his waistband, then slid the dagger so it lay against the edge of the cloth.
Quinn waited for the reassuring pressure of the gun’s muzzle against his neck as Watanabe stepped behind him. The closer the weapon was to the target, the easier it was for that target to move out of the line of fire. And, more important, if Watanabe was close enough to touch Quinn, he was close enough for Quinn to touch him back. It was a rookie mistake — and it would cost the man dearly.
Quinn placed his right hand flat on the cloth, fingers spread. He took a deep breath, settling his thoughts — and then slowly picked up the blade with his left. Pig Face followed his movement, continuing to hold his upper arm like he might fly away if released.
“I have seen this done before,” Sato said. “Take it from me, you cannot simply saw off a finger. The bone, though small, gets in the way. It must be more of a… chop.” He turned to Pig Face. “Did not Tanda-kun use a chisel?”
Quinn made his move while Pig Face was busy answering his boss.
Turning his head just enough to get out of the line of fire, he let Watanabe’s first round fly past. Quinn lowered his center, stepping back so Watanabe’s gun hand extended well over his shoulder before grabbing the wrist and bringing it down in an arm bar, using his own collarbone as a fulcrum. Trapping Watanabe’s pistol in his right hand, Quinn brought the dagger in his left hand backward, arcing the flashing blade across the tender flesh of Pig Face’s throat. Tendons at Watanabe’s elbow crunched. His finger convulsed on the trigger, firing a round into the wall just inches over Sato’s head. Pig Face’s grip fell away and he sagged to his knees, unable to believe the man he’d just pounded had killed him so quickly.
Quinn wrenched Watanabe’s wrist sideways. The pistol clattered to the floor and the man’s fingers splayed open. In the same breath, Quinn reached up and hacked off the screaming soldier’s extended little finger, letting it thud neatly to the white cloth. Blood arced from the wound, spraying the desk and Sato’s face along with it.
Still unsure of what was going on behind him, Quinn stepped under Watanabe’s outstretched arm, reversing his wrist and flipping the squalling man over on his head, all the while retaining his grip on the trapped, and now mutilated, hand.
Quinn ducked to grab the pistol before Sato could retrieve a weapon from his desk. A broad smile crossed his lips as he leveled the gun at the yakuza boss. “I never said the offer was for my finger.”
With both Sato and Ayako now in view, he was able to see that she had stabbed her captor in the side of his neck with a small blade she’d produced from her bra. The screaming man lay on the floor clutching himself and writhing in a rapidly growing pool of his own blood.
Miyu flung herself toward the safety of Ayako.
“Which one took you?” Ayako asked, brushing a lock of hair out of Miyu’s face.
The girl shot a frightened glance at Watanabe, nodding at him.
“You?” Ayako stared wide-eyed at the bleeding yakuza soldier. He leaned against the wall, leg’s splayed, clutching his mutilated hand. Without another word, she stepped over and kicked him twice in the groin before he could roll into a tight ball. Head hanging toward the floor in pain and shame, he alternated between whimpers and dry heaves.
Sato set his jaw and clapped his hands in mock applause. “Well played,” he said. “But surely a man of your skill did not just come for the girl.”
“Perceptive,” Quinn said, speaking low Japanese as if he was speaking to a dog, or worse yet, as Sato might speak to a woman. “It is easy to see why you are in charge.” Considering the man’s past history with Emiko’s mother, Quinn wondered what Emiko would do to him now, if she were there.
Ayako removed the thin leather belts from two of the dead yakuza and tied Sato’s hands to the arms of his heavy desk chair.
The gangster looked on with detached interest. He must have assumed that if they were going to kill him, they would have done so already. In truth, Quinn hadn’t made up his mind.