Ninja, p.55
Ninja, page 55
“I know all about that. I’ve been too much in control all my life. That’s hard to take. Calluses don’t only grow on hands.”
“What do you mean?” But already he suspected that he knew.
“I feel like my head’s been full of novocaine for years.” He paused for a moment, his head cocked at an angle as if listening to a far-off sound, and Tomkin felt his guts turn to water. Was he coming already? Dear God but he wanted to make a break for the bathroom!
“Your daughter’s a very special person.”
“Who, Justine?” Tomkin snorted, feeling better now that he was on safe ground again. “Sure, if you call loony special. I don’t.”
“You really are a fool, aren’t you?” There was a small silence as they glared across the darkened room at each other. Nicholas wondered if Croaker had overheard all of this and was chuckling to himself.
“It’s all a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” Tomkin said, backing off somewhat. It would not do to have Linnear angry with him now. “I mean, I’ve been through a lot with her. You only know her a short time. But, listen”—he tapped a forefinger on the desk top—“I told you where she was, didn’t I? I helped you find her. I want you two to make it, I’ve told you that and I mean it. You’re good for her. Your strength can keep her from going back—”
“You don’t know her at all,” Nicholas said. “She’s got more strength than a lot of men I know.” He let that hang in the air. Had it been a glove thrown down at Tomkin’s feet? If so, Tomkin chose to ignore it as such.
“Perhaps there has been some change. I haven’t seen her for some time, I’ll grant you that. I suppose I still think of her as the baby of the family. Gelda, my oldest, always seemed so much more capable of taking care of herself, even when they were both much younger. She was always so much more social than Justine.” Oh yes, social. He had to laugh at that. Women fucking women. My God, where had she picked that up? “I am afraid we aren’t exactly a closely knit family.” How in hell could we be? “There is little sense of family loyalty between my daughters. I regret that most bitterly but it’s to be expected, I suppose. When there is not enough time”—Nicholas could sense the shrug in the dark of the office—“the children inevitably turn away from their parents, find others who can satisfy their needs.” The finger stopped tapping, hung suspended for a time in the air. “I imagine you could say that both my daughters are arrested adolescents in a sense. Ah well.”
No one had uttered a word in some time. The silence seemed absolute, totally antithetical to what one comes to expect in any big city. The outside did not exist for any of them. Here they were sealed into a violent world of their own manufacture where the laws of the world did not apply. Now dark and bloody gods stalked these angustate corridors as they did the warren chambers of the Great Pyramid of Cheops. Years falling away like crimson leaves whirled in an autumn storm.
Coming, thought Nicholas. At last he’s coming.
He was born into the element earth. Dai-en-kyō-chi, as the Aki i ninjutsu had taught him: “Great-round-mirror-wisdom.” This was his strength and he began the Shū-ji, the seed-word mantra that would bring him to the final state of preparedness, the death-and-night-and-blood that was ninjutsu combat.
And in the instant following the tiny sound of Saigō’s leap onto the top floor, he heard that most unique sound in all the world as he drew his katana from its sheath.
Croaker, you bastard, Nicholas thought, you had better stay out of this. You have been warned. This is between Saigō and me and God help anyone who gels in the way.
Movement on the floor. No one heard but Nicholas. Haragei. He could feel the adept’s approach. Like an itchy finger in the night, his senses felt the approach. He wore only a lightweight black silk shirt and cotton pants. He gripped the katana with both hands, standing in the attitude of Happo Biraki, “Open on all eight sides,” a technique developed by Miyamoto Mushashi more than three centuries before. There was no possible kenjutsu opening for attack. This had been proved long before he had been born.
Energy flowed through him like current from a generator. The night beat on like a separate heart, with a will of its own, following a destiny no one could yet know.
He saw everything now as segments of a whole, parts fitting into the topography of the floor. The furniture: height, length, depth; fixtures, hangings; the world shrunken into a series of severely confined spaces within which would now take place the dance of death begun so many years ago.
A shadow shifted and Nicholas knew that Saigō was in the narrow hall. He leaped across the room, his katana held high above his head, a scream beginning in the recesses of his chest.
His nostrils flared and in midair he tumbled head over heels away from the hallway opening. He had caught the smell of it even before he had heard the soft click as it rolled along the floor.
The bathroom door was open and he used that. There was very little light but the percussion, abetted by the confined space, was awesome. He sensed Tomkin leaping to his feet, turning around.
Saigō was already in the room, moving at full velocity, using the noise of the blast for cover. He headed straight for Tomkin.
“Get away from me!” Tomkin cried, raising his hands defensively. He could be dead ten different ways, he realized, before he could draw and fire his gun. “He’s over there!” He pointed frantically to where Nicholas was standing.
Saigō said nothing but his eyes blazed with a kind of cold fury that sent a tremor of terror through Tomkin’s thighs. For the first time in his life he contemplated the coming of death as a real and substantial force. I am already dead, he thought, seeing an element in Saigō’s face which, perhaps, had no place on this world. It might have been, had he believed in such a thing, Lucifer himself come to snatch him. He saw the terrible glint of light off the steel claws, extending from the left hand which was raised, beginning its thrust forward toward his chest where a fire burned already.
Then, in less time than, it seemed to him, the blink of an eye, the ninja was knocked sideways, across the floor toward the windows.
Nicholas, his right shoulder lowered, ran lightly after the spinning body, his katana held before him in a two-handed grip.
Saigō tumbled head over heels, came up on his feet fating Nicholas. He withdrew his own katana with his left hand, made a flicking movement with his right.
Nicholas ducked and leaped at the same time. Something no more than the size of a pea arced high into the air. It bounced once on the floor directly in front of the desk. But Saigō had been slightly off balance when he had tossed it and, on the rebound, the thing hit the overhang of the desk top and, instead of landing behind it, bounced back in front of it.
As it was, the mini-blast blew Nicholas’ katana from his grasp as it tore away most of the front of the desk, ripping up the carpeting.
Immediately Saigō hurled himself toward Nicholas, who was still scrambling away from the concussion of the explosion.
In the periphery of his vision, Nicholas saw Saigō coming. He was vulnerable and he knew it. No textbook defense was possible from his position, not against someone as skilled as Saigō. His decision was made in a split second. He propelled his body obliquely upward, using his palms, arms and shoulders for power, and, twisting, his soles caught Saigō’s fingers as they curled around the hilt of his katana. The angle added to the natural force of the blow and the weapon spun out of his grip and away.
Saigō landed with the claw first and Nicholas countered with sword-strikes to the liver and spleen, missing but deflecting the attack at the same time.
It was the heart-kite Saigō immediately strove for. Besides the fact that it was lethal, it had the added advantage of forcing a break in a stalemate, a situation that would benefit Nicholas more because of the time factor. Every added second that Saigō took here made the get-out that much more difficult.
Saigō ignored the serpent-strike to his clavicle, biting back on the pain and concentrating on what he had to do. He was on top, part of him stunned by the mode of Nicholas’ hand-to-hand defense. It was, in part, ninjutsu but a kind he had never before encountered. Could it be Aka i ninjutsu? he thought wildly. That would be in character. By the Amida! It was ninja against ninja.
He worked out of the four-hands-lock Nicholas had pressed on him and was ready now. For the heart-kite. In less time than it took to think about it, Nicholas would be dead, training or no training.
He jerked away and down as the whine of a bullet passed through the air where his head had been moments ago. Amida! There was another one up here. He cursed himself mightily for becoming so involved with his new knowledge of Nicholas. It was this that had kept him from discerning the third man. Now where was he?
But Nicholas had thrown him the tettsui-tō and had already tied him up sufficiently for him to divert his full attention here.
With a frantic effort, he fought Nicholas off and bounded to where he had left his katana. Nicholas was after him in a flash, extending his body fully, wrapping his fingers around Saigō’s powerful ankles. They crashed together into the drawing board. Saigō picked up his katana. Another bullet ricocheted off the corner of the board, spewing splinters into his face, and he rolled away, cursing.
Nicholas went for the sword arm, careful for all the many shaken he knew might pop into his face at any time. He went immediately into the air-sea change to throw Saigō off balance, for he had heard, as he knew his opponent had, the soft hum of the elevator working and when it arrived, he knew, Croaker’s men might take no chances this time but flood the floor with tear gas the moment the doors opened.
Saigō knew that he was at the extreme end of his time limit. A new factor had been added that he had not counted on. Nicholas needed nothing more than a stalemate while he, on the other hand—
He attacked high with a rapid series of strikes aimed for Nicholas’ esophagus but he was balked and he began to sweat hard. His mind raced but kept coming back to the same point. If both were out of the question, he would have to be content with one and plan for the other later. There was no question of choice.
He let a pair of blows in and doubled over, feigning more pain than he felt. His right hand, in cover, darted within his belt, palming another tiny sphere. This time he must make no error in judgment in his throw.
He turned his head fractionally to get a fix on Tomkin’s position and that was when Nicholas knew. He threw himself from his opponent at the same time Saigō launched the sphere, diving across the desk top, slamming into the immobile Tomkin just as he heard the tiny popping sound behind him. As he pushed Tomkin out of the way, he kicked the massive high-backed chair backward. At about the same instant, he caught the sound of a shot and what sounded like a high crack of thunder. He hit the floor just as the explosion came.
It was a hot burst of green-white-yellow behind which came the concussion, the almost physical wave of sound and, just afterward, the soft pattering of the wrecked furniture like sleet on a frost-filled day.
Nicholas turned over on his back, sat up.
“What—?”
He put his hand on Tomkin’s head, keeping it down. “Shut up,” he growled thickly.
He saw Croaker’s head peering out from behind the top of the long sofa.
“Jesus Christ!” He stood up. “Is Tomkin okay?”
“Unharmed,” Nicholas said, thinking about how close it had been. Bitterly, he regretted letting Saigō get away. After so many years he wanted only death for death. But the decision had been inconclusive. In one sense, he knew he had been lucky. He had seen the shock in Saigō’s eyes as he had learned that Nicholas was ninja. Well, that was some compensation but it only made the next confrontation that much more dangerous. Tonight he had been unprepared….
“Christ!” Croaker said again and Nicholas followed his incredulous gaze. “I wasn’t sure that I had seen it just before the blast but now—”
Where the third window panel had been there were now merely shards of glass. Glass littered the carpet as the night wind had brought some of it back inside.
“Nuts,” Croaker said, slipping his .38 back into its holster. “The guy must’ve been nuts—or suicidal.” He turned as the metal door burst open and he waved the men off. “Downstairs,” he said to a tousel-haired sergeant. “See what’s left of the bastard for the M.E. to scrape off the sidewalk.”
Nicholas had gone to the broken window and was peering out. Croaker came up beside him.
“Can’t see anything from this vantage point,” he said, “but the god-damned red-and-whites from the cars.” He meant the revolving lights.
Tomkin was up behind them, brushing off his suit. It was ruined, whitened from the blasts, as if it had been abruptly aged.
Croaker left the room without looking at him.
“Nick.” For the first time in his life he seemed to have trouble talking, and his legs felt rubbery. “Is he gone?”
Nicholas continued to stare out and down. He could see movement now and lights coming on. They had found the body.
“You saved my life.” Tomkin cleared his throat. “I want to thank you.” Maybe Nicholas had not heard the exchange he had had with that madman. He had been mad himself to trust him. He knew with a grinding certainty that tore at his guts that, without Nicholas’ intervention, he would be dead now. He was in Nicholas’ debt and this worried him. He felt anger forcing its way upward and, for the briefest of instants, he detested himself in precisely the same way he had detested himself as he had arisen, sticky and panting, from the supine body of his daughter so many years ago, in a summer filled with heat and the pounding of the surf. On Gin Lane.
On the street, Nicholas saw that they had already put the corpse into a body bag. He stopped them before they could load it into the ambulance. It was only one of a long line. The associate M.E., a light-haired woman with a pink complexion, glanced at Croaker, who nodded.
“Not much left after a fall like that,” Croaker said with a curious lack of emotion.
He was right. There was not much left of Saigō’s head, his face pulped. One shoulder seemed crushed and the neck at an odd angle.
“Legs’re like jelly,” Croaker said as if he relished the thought. “Not a bone in them now over an inch in length. That right, Doc?”
The associate M.E. nodded wearily. “Take it away,” she said. “It’s been tagged. I’ve got more work here.” She turned away and Nicholas could see the parade of stretchers being brought out from the bowels of the building.
Croaker’s face was white and drawn as his eyes ticked over the casualties.
“Four dead, Nick.” His voice was a rasp. “That we know about for sure. There are two others missing and a couple more are down recovering from gas inhalation. Jesus, your friend Saigō kills like other people eat.” He rubbed his fingers over his face. “I’m glad it’s all over. Glad as hell.”
“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Nicholas said.
“Don’t say ‘I told you so.’”
“I wasn’t thinking of that at all. I was thinking he’s gone now. I can get on with my life. I just want to see Justine.”
“What would make him jump?”
“He was a warrior. To die in battle was what he lived for.”
“I don’t understand that kind of philosophy.”
Nicholas shrugged pragmatically. “It doesn’t matter.” He looked around. “Did you find his katana? I’d like to have it.”
“His what?”
“The sword.”
“Oh, that. No. But I don’t think they’ve found all of him yet either. It’s here, somewhere. We’ll find it.”
“I guess it’s not very important, either.”
Croaker’s gaze swept over Nicholas’ shoulder. “Your boss is looking for you, I think.”
Nicholas swiveled and grinned back at his friend. “Ex-boss, you mean.”
Tomkin, his suit streaked with gray and black, stood at the open door to his limo. Tom stood at his side, obediently holding the door. The motor seemed to be running. Sirens wailed in ululation for the dead and the night, where they stood at least, seemed very bright.
“Listen,” Croaker said, taking his arm and leading him a few paces away along the avenue. “Before you go. I want to tell you I got that call I’ve been waiting for. The other woman in Angela Didion’s apartment the night she was murdered. I know where she is.”
Nicholas looked at him, then at Tomkin waiting silently beside the limo. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“I can’t. I’ve gotta nail him on this. You should be able to understand. It’s a matter of honor. If I don’t do it, nobody’s gonna be able to.”
“But are you sure of what you’ve got?”
Croaker stuck a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. His eyes were dark pools. His face seemed more lined tonight than it had two days ago, but perhaps it was only the harsh light. He told Nicholas about his conversation with Matty the Mouth. “You thought I was just shooting off my big mouth with Tomkin, didn’t you? Matty didn’t know who else was nosing around about this broad but I’ll bet it’s Frank who’s doing it. You seen him lately? No? Why don’t you ask your ex-boss, then, where Frank is, okay?”
“You won’t know anything until you talk to the woman, right?”
“Right. That’s why I’m taking off for Key West right away. But as far as the department is concerned, it’s just a long-overdue vacation.”
“I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for.”
The last ambulance started up, its siren screaming. For an instant they were bathed in the intense crimson glow from its revolving light. Then it had turned a corner and was gone. The night darkened as if from a swiftly advancing storm.
“That’s an odd thing to say,” Croaker said, “coming from you.”
“Nick! Are you coming?” Tomkin’s voice floated across to them as unreal as a dream.
“In a minute,” Nicholas called without looking over. To Croaker he said, “You going to see Gelda before you leave?”
