Death of a Jaded Samurai (35 page)

"Gilda, what were you thinking?" Thayer asked. "Were you trying to get somebody killed?"

"Somebody call an ambulance and get Yoshida into the backseat of a car before I shoot him." Fabio directed traffic, trying to keep everyone away from Mick until someone grabbed Yoshida to snap on handcuffs.

Razi knelt next to Mick and rolled him onto his back. Beside his knee, the feathers on the blow dart fluttered from the breeze blowing in the back door, the tip embedded in the mat.

Gilda's jaw dropped and tears leaked from her eyes. "You missed?"

Yoshida cursed for the first time she'd ever heard when an officer pulled him to his feet. "No thanks to you."

"Is Gilda okay?" Mick asked.

"I thought you were dead." Gilda fought to rein in her tears. Mick was alive.

His gaze met hers as he struggled to his feet with Razi's help. "Me too, babe."

Fabio picked Gilda up and gave her a hug. "Lady, you're amazing. Did you see the way she flew out of the changing room, knocked him off balance, and saved your sorry neck. Didn't you see her in action?"

"No, I kind of had my eyes closed," Mick said. "I was a little worried about dying."

When Gilda blinked back tears and stumbled toward Mick, he caught her in a bear hug that nearly knocked them both to the floor. She pressed her head to his bare, sweaty chest in relief. He held her tight and didn't seem about to let her go.

"Miss Wright." Razi flashed a smile. "While I wish you were not here, I am glad to see you are okay."

She willed her hands to stop shaking. "Why weren't you here earlier?"

"Actually, he and I were here all night," Mick said. "Razi's the genius who set up the sensors in the vent and wired the doors. No one could get into this place without us knowing."

Gilda clenched her jaw. "Why couldn't you have done that a month ago and saved us some stress and trouble?"

"Forgive me, Miss Wright." Razi bowed. "I told you Sensei Mick knew all my secrets. I was a secret agent with the Israeli government until I was exiled. I am an expert at surveillance and infiltrating spy networks."

"Which is why you walked right into Jade's Levy's house," she said. "She thought you were her friend."

He smiled. "In truth, I have been her friend for many years. She gave me the information we needed to catch Yoshida. She is afraid of him and recorded every conversation they have had since Walter's death. He is one crazy dude."

Dude?
She never thought she'd hear Razi, of all people, use that term.

"The good news is, we got Yoshida's full confession on tape." Thayer handed Fabio his phone. "There's no way he's getting away with anything."

As the police presence subsided, Gilda's heart rate gradually slowed until she sighed.

"Are you okay, Sherlock?" Mick sat next to her near the shrine and reached for his
gi
jacket while managing to keep one arm around her.

"Yeah,
I'll be fine." Gilda blinked furiously. "I was really afraid I'd lost you."

"Aww, you do care." He leaned over to kiss her. "Did you think about what I said earlier?"

"About spending some time alone together?" she asked. "I'm in."

Thayer snorted. "Oh, please. Save it. Everyone knows Mick Williams will never settle down for any woman. He'll dump you as soon as the next princess in distress comes along."

"Maybe," she said, "but that's a chance I'm ready to take."

Razi rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "Thank goodness. It is about time."

Gilda met Mick's gaze and smiled. "Time."

"The last kanji actually was mine all along. Guess you just won twenty bucks, Razi."

Gilda's jaw dropped.

Do

Empty hand way

Dojo

Training hall

Karate-Gi

Karate uniform

Goju

Hard/Soft

Goju-ryu

Hard/Soft style

Hajime

Begin

Hie

Yes

Karate

Empty hand

Karate-do

Empty hand way

Karate Ka

Karate student

Kata

Forms

Kiai

Meeting of the spirits

Kime

Focus

Kumite

Sparring

Mawatte

Turn

Mukso

Meditate

Naotte

Return to a formal (upright) position

Obi

Belt

Osu (Os)

I understand

Rei

Bow

Ryu

School or Style

Seiza

Kneel

Sempai

Senior

Sensei

Teacher

Shihan

Master instructor

Taikyoku

Universal

Tate

Upward, stand up

Yame

Stop

Yoi

Ready

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Diane Bator is an avid hiker, yoga enthusiast, Reiki Master, wannabe runner, and martial artist, who loves to make a mess in the kitchen and putter in the garden. Moving across the country with three boys and a cat, then joining a writing group, was the catalyst for coming out of the creative closet and writing her first murder mystery series. Hard at work on her second series, she lives in Southern Ontario, Canada with her husband, three teenagers, and a cat who thinks he's a Husky.

To learn more about Diane Bator, visit her online at:
http://penspaintsandpaper.com

* * * * *

Yin-Yang Mysteries
:

Death of a Jaded Samurai

Murder of a Fallen Fighter (coming in 2015!)

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this Yin-Yang Mystery, check out this sneak peek of another humorous mystery from
Gemma Halliday Publishing
:

MOTION FOR MURDER

by

KELLY REY

CHAPTER ONE

I knew right away that it wasn't going to be a typical day at the law firm of Parker, Dennis, and Heath. For one thing, there was only one client waiting in the reception area when I got to work, a huge man in a ketchup-stained T-shirt with a pelt like a squirrel and work boots that spoke to days spent hiking in landfills.

For another thing, that client was holding a gun.

I saw only three ways to handle the situation. Three became two when I saw I had a dead cell phone. My next option was to approach him calmly, discuss his issues coolly, and dispatch him to the nearest police station quickly. Or make a hard left, flee to the kitchen, and hide behind the refrigerator until braver souls took charge. That's why I was hugging the SubZero when Missy Clark came in the back door. Missy had been a secretary with the firm for a lot of years, and she'd seen a lot of things. But a colleague cowering beside a major appliance wasn't one of them, and it stopped her in her tracks.

"Hey, Jamie." Her right eyebrow lifted. "What're you doing?"

"Ssh." I cocked my head toward the reception area and put my finger to my lips in the universal gesture for
Be quiet—can't you tell there's a kook with a gun out there?

Missy tiptoed over to squat beside me. "What's going on?"

I pointed. "There's a gun out there with a house attached to it."

She took a peek. "Adam Tiddle." She sighed. "He's harmless. He's mad because we didn't take his case. He thought it'd make him a millionaire. He's been showing up ever since Dougie turned him down." She shook her head. "I told him it was going to bite him in the briefs."

"I don't think biting is what this guy has in mind," I said. "Unless chewing and swallowing are involved. I'm not going out there until he's gone."

Missy shrugged. "He's not as bad as he looks. He was in a car accident."

"I've seen him," I said. "No car accident did that."

"His neighbor was changing a flat, and Adam was holding up the car," Missy said.

I nodded. "And the jack broke?"

Missy looked puzzled. "What jack?"

Oh.

"That's the problem. There's no negligence there except for his own. He just doesn't get it." She pushed herself up. "I should call Dougie and warn him."

Dougie was Douglas J. Heath, Esquire, commonly known in secretarial circles as Dougie Digits for the creative and offensive use of his eleven fingers. Thank goodness the eleventh was only an extra pinky finger. I shuddered to think of the damage he could do with another thumb. Dougie had a penchant for spandex and a predilection for ogling secretaries in sundresses. He was the approximate weight of a garden gnome, with a perpetual swagger, and arms that formed two hairy parentheses to his torso. Dougie had once sued a Chinese restaurant for causing a stress disorder because its fortune cookie had predicted grim tidings, and that pretty much tells you all you need to know about Dougie.

Before Missy could pick up the phone, the gnome himself burst through the back door, all pink and flushed with the effort of hustling the six feet from his Mercedes. Everything left Dougie pink and flushed. He broke a sweat lifting his bottle of vitamin pills. Dougie wore the most expensive shoes, the most beautifully tailored suits, and the priciest haircuts, and he still looked like the sleaziest personal injury lawyer in town. He was holding a DVD in one hand that was either a memorialization of his weekend escapades or a copy of his latest commercial. I've seen his commercials. I wasn't sure which would be worse.

His eyes narrowed when he saw me and widened when he saw Missy. All men reacted like that to Missy. Probably because she was five-nine, and five of it was legs. "I don't see any computers in the kitchen, ladies. And it's too early for lunch, Winters."

A flush of embarrassment started at my belly button and washed upward. "You're probably wondering why I'm hiding next to the refrigerator," I said, but Dougie wasn't paying attention. He was too busy looking at Missy. "That top does amazing things for your cans, Clark."

Missy didn't even flinch. She gave me a sidelong look that might or might not have included a wink, tore a paper towel off the roll, and handed it to him. "Here. Clean yourself up. You've got someone waiting."

Dougie brightened and blotted. "A new client?"

"Hold on, you probably shouldn't—" I said.

Missy ignored me. "Yep. Sounds like a live one, too."

"Hot damn, and it's only Monday." Dougie swiped the towel across the back of his neck and dropped it on the counter beside his video. "Teeth?" He peeled back his lips for Missy's inspection.

"Teeth," she agreed.

His lips snapped shut. He adjusted his tie, straightened his lapels, ran a hand through his hair, and patted Missy on the backside. "Make me a protein shake, will you, doll? I'll be right back."

"If you're lucky," Missy muttered, yanking open the refrigerator.

I just sat there, feeling like I should be doing something, as long as that something wasn't following Dougie into Adam Tiddle's orbit. So I measured a half cup of Dougie's protein powder into the blender for Missy while ogling the bare-chested model on the label—he was probably a louse, too. A stench rose from the blender, and I clamped the lid on to stifle it. Judging by the odor, Dougie's daily protein shakes tasted like Adam Tiddle's boots.

Missy had gotten as far as slicing a banana when we heard a shout and the clatter of Bruno Maglis in the hallway, and then Dougie was back, panting, sweat running down his artificially bronze cheeks. His eyes were a little wild. "You could've told me Tiddle had a gun," he said to Missy. "I can't believe you didn't tell me Tiddle had a gun. He could've killed me out there! Do you really hate me that much?"

She probably did, but Missy didn't confirm or deny. She dropped the banana pieces into the blender and hit a button, serene as the Virgin Mary, and watched Dougie's protein shake slop around for a few seconds.

He turned to me, hands propped on his hips. "Did you know Tiddle had a gun?"

"I didn't know it was Tiddle," I said, which wasn't quite the same thing.

"Christ." He shook his head, snatching the glass Missy offered him. "You broads are too friggin' much. Good thing he forgot to load it."

That explained the yelling. Probably Adam Tiddle, out of frustration. As slippery as Dougie Digits was, you didn't get too many shots at him. So to speak.

Dougie drank half the shake in one motion, let out a ripping belch, and left his upper lip unwiped. Between the protein shake and the makeup, his face looked like a color wheel. "I threw the dumb country fuck out," he groused. "Next time he sets foot in here, call the cops." He fixed me with the death stare. "That means you, too, if you can stop humping the refrigerator long enough."