Two of the gangsters from the warehouse walked a few steps behind, spread out to make themselves more difficult targets. Both wore dark Ray-Ban sunglasses, despite the overcast sky. Watanabe slouched along behind the trio, limping along in the rear as he nursed a bandaged hand.
“I told your man you could bring two bodyguards,” Quinn said as the yakuza boss drew closer.
“Surely you do not count Watanabe-kun?” Tanaka scoffed. “If he is a burden I will order him to kill himself immediately.”
Watanabe stopped in his tracks, eyes terror-stricken.
“That won’t be necessary,” Quinn said.
Tanaka stopped, but the two guards kept walking toward Quinn, closing the distance fast.
Quinn shot a glance at Ayako, shaking his head. It was important to keep the upper hand, but he didn’t want to kill anyone until he had some answers.
“Seriously,” he said. “These are the best two you have?” One of the men was the hulking bruiser he’d already met when Sato’s head rolled across his shoe. The other was a taller man with dark, seventies-style sideburns and a thick, black mustache. Quinn guessed he probably had some Russian in his ancestry.
“They need to search you,” Tanaka said. “For my safety.”
Quinn raised his hands as if to comply, then kicked the big bruiser in the crotch. The two men were close, and Quinn was able to pivot slightly and slam the arch of his foot against Sideburns’s knee, driving him into a screaming heap on the ground. Quinn crouched to avoid a flailing roundhouse from the bruiser, snatching the sheathed short sword from the case.
Quinn brought the tip of the lacquer scabbard straight up, letting it slam against the bruiser’s chin, driving his gaping mouth shut with a satisfying crack of tooth and jaw.
The man’s eyes rolled back in his skull, showing their whites.
Sideburns reached under his suit for a pistol, but Quinn ripped the scabbard from the sword and stepped in, letting the razor-sharp point hover just above the knot of the man’s tie.
Quinn glanced up at Tanaka. “How about if I just tell you what weapons I have?”
Tanaka flicked his hands toward his defeated men, motioning them back behind him. A bemused look crossed his long face.
“Do you know why I came to see you,” the gangster said, looking Quinn up and down.
“Because I have your shipment of yao tou?”
Tanaka flicked his hand again, dismissing the notion. “Though I will appreciate the safe return of my property, there is plenty more where that came from. I did not follow you here for that. I came because you are the most interesting thing that has happened to me in twenty years. You Americans say the pen is mightier than the sword. We Japanese say bunbu ichi — pen and sword in accord. When I began this life it was filled with acts of courage and violence. Now, my world has become that of a common businessman.” Tanaka leaned in as if to confide a secret. “Too much pen and not nearly enough sword for me — until now.”
“I’m glad I could help you out.”
“Oh, make no mistake”—Tanaka wagged his finger back and forth—“we are not friends. Much of what will make my life interesting will be deciding how I am to kill you without losing too many more men. I do not, of course, count Watanabe as any loss.”
The yakuza underling hung his head in shame.
“Too bad for your men,” Quinn said, smiling sweetly.
“Your Japanese is excellent,” Tanaka said.
Quinn glared at the man, losing patience. “How about we get this over with? You tell me what I need to know and I tell you where to find your drugs.”
“Very well.” Tanaka opened both hands in front of him, book-like, ready to talk.
“I am looking for the woman who shot my wife.”
Tanaka scoffed. “A high-minded endeavor for a husband who keeps company with this whore…”
Quinn let the comment slide off. He had more important things to do than bandy words with an organized crime boss.
“I believe her name is Ran,” Quinn said.
Tanaka’s eyes flashed momentarily, then settled again, a dark pool disturbed by a stone. He knew her.
“Long hair,” Quinn added. “Attractive, but very dangerous. Probably tattooed—”
“I know that girl!” Watanabe nodded vigorously. “She punched me in the throat.”
“Somehow”—Tanaka shook his head in disgust as he glared at his quivering thug—“I find such a thing easy to believe.” He turned to Quinn. “I was informed you are looking for Oda.”
“I believe this woman works for him,” Quinn said. “I find one, I find the other.”
“Perhaps.” Tanaka sniffed, quickly, lips pursed and pointed on his long face, like a bald rat. “But perhaps it is not so easy. Do you know anything about this man?”
“Not enough, I’m afraid,” Quinn said. He was looking for information, so he might as well be honest.
“He leads an organization he calls Kuroi Kiri.” Tanaka raised a bushy eyebrow. “Do you know the term?”
“Black Mist,” Quinn said. “Dark deeds…”
“Precisely,” Tanaka said. “Extremely dark deeds. He is like something out of an old samurai movie. The men and women who work for him are ronin, hired blades who sell their services to the highest bidder. Few people know exactly where Oda lays his head. Otherwise, he would not have kept it on his shoulders for so long.”
“But you know?”
Tanaka shook his head. “I would tell you if I did. A short time ago, he murdered one of my men during some business dealings. At that time he had taken the position on the governing board of Yanagi Chemical here in Fukuoka—”
“What?” Watanabe’s mouth hung open. “That is the man you are looking for? I could have told you this and saved us much trouble.”
Tanaka shot a withering stare toward the interruption. “I have a suspicion that trouble would find you no matter what.” He half turned, looking directly at Quinn and conspicuously ignoring the whimpering stooge. “I must tell you, Oda is like lightning — rarely in the same place twice, and surely not for very long. But perhaps Yanagi Chemical would be a good place to begin.”
Quinn nodded slowly. “And how do I know you have not set up a trap for me at Yanagi?”
“I suppose you do not.” Tanaka clasped his hands in front of him. “But, I have no great love for Oda. As you can imagine, my organization might often find itself at odds with such a man. I would consider it a great favor indeed if you would kill him for me. If not, then he will kill you for me.”
CHAPTER 52
Oda shoved the trembling girl aside at the interruption of the ringing telephone. Barely thirteen, she was a new addition to his stable. She was attractive in her own way — sturdy shoulders and strong cheekbones — but looks had deceived him. He remembered when females didn’t melt to mush at a little physical pain. There was a time when girls like this were tough, able to withstand a bit of correction and stand up to the rigors of the life he demanded. Such a young and vibrant woman would have been putty in his hands, moldable into whatever he wanted her to be. Now, it seemed, the entire gender were no more than chalk, crumbling to dust at the slightest cuff or kick. This one had wept like a baby at the mere sight of his tattoo.
“Get out!” he growled before picking up the phone. Naked, the whelp whimpered pathetically as she opened the sliding paper door and limped out, dragging her robes with her.