Linnear 01 - The Ninja (66 page)

Tall frosty drinks sat on the tables in front of them, untouched, as if for either of them to take the first sip would be to admit defeat.

‘How long will you stay?’ That was not what Justine had meant to say. She had wanted to say, ‘I’m glad’ because she found that she was. No one wanted a lush for a sister. It was as if her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth when she wanted to say something nice to Gelda. I really can’t give her anything at all, she thought in wonder. Not even the tiniest thing. She felt a wave of shame wash over her like her mother’s long hands, slippery with soap, bathing her.

When she was older, she would wait until everyone had left the house. She would take a bath and emerge, moist and warm, one great snowy towel around her thin body and another smaller one wound about her long hair like a turban. And, as if she were in some far-off Byzantine city - that must have been from her constant reading - she would flop down on this very couch, her back against the foamy cushions, her legs up and dangling over the back. Thus positioned, she would turn her head, watch the slow wheel of the day as it streamed in through the skylight and by its shape and its position in the room could divine the precise time of day without ever looking upward or out of the window or at the great clock on the mantelpiece behind her. But nevertheless its heavy sonorous ticking caused her to dream of the sunlight as drops of honey, seeping in through the panes of the skylight, onto her outthrust tongue.

In just this way she amused herself while Gelda was off with her friends.

With a start, she realized that she had missed Gelda’s answer. That was all right; she hadn’t meant to ask the question anyway and now had no interest in the response.

‘You can stay here as long as you want,’ Gelda said.

‘Oh, that’s all right. I have to be going, anyway.’ But she made no move to get up and Gelda chose not to pursue the matter further.

‘You’ll excuse me, then.’ Gelda rose and went through one of the narrow gaps between the couches. ‘I’ll be around.’ She put her hand on the back of the couch. ‘You always loved this room best, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Justine said, somewhat surprised.

‘I always imagined you would have slept out here if Mother would have allowed it.”

‘Yes. That would have been nice.’

“Well.” Gelda’s fingers plucked at the fabric. She looked down at her hands, then towards “die place where Justine lay half sprawled on the cushions.

‘You’ll say goodbye before you leave, won’t you?’

‘Sure.’

Then she was alone in the house - the servants were gone for the weekend - as she had been when she was a child, and her gaze quite naturally fell to the portion of the morning which the skylight let in, reflecting on what it might be like to be a great lady in some time past when there were no cars or phones or even electricity - she always adored candle-light and oil lamps to her meant taking to the sea for years at a time, hunting down the whales, imperilled and exhilarated at the same time. It was something she, as a woman, would never know. Down to the sea in ships and back again with enough oil for all the lamps in Nantucket. I should, she thought, have been born a Starbuck.

And that was how Saigo found her, alone and dazzled, lost within her imagination. She never knew that she had passed into unconsciousness or that anything was done to her while she was out. She might have been sleeping. But she was not.

He worked over her for fifteen minutes, one ear alert for the minutest sound that might herald an interruption. He could not afford that now. He hoped that it would not occur because it would necessitate dragging her away from here and this he did not want to do. She was relaxed here; it was a place she trusted. That made what he had to do that much easier.

During this time, Justine’s eyes were open and it could even be said that she saw, in a manner of speaking. But what she saw was only his face, transfigured, like a geological fault line after an earthquake. There was only a little familiarity among the change. It had become a face that was more than human.

It became the ground she walked upon, the food she ate, the water she gulped thirstily down, the air she breathed. It became her world and, finally, her entire universe.

Thus she listened as it spoke to her, this thing - being -which engulfed her, far larger than the diamond that shone above her head. What he did to her was to hypnosis what the atom bomb was to bow and arrow. Here the will of the individual did not loom like an unbreachable wall, stopping them from doing that which they could not do had ‘they been conscious. Now all was possible, for this was different. He was ninja. This was the Kuji-kiri and, beyond that, the Kobudera, that which even his Kan-a\u no, ninjutsu sense: feared.

It was magic.

He waited patiently until Nicholas set aside the sheets of rice paper, stained now with tears. It was the end of the long steamy afternoon; the city was slowly cooling as the bloated sun slipped behind the backs of the high steel and glass buildings. But that was outside. In here the West could not intrude. Here the eternalness of the East defied time, shrouding them both. Somewhere, a runic chanting like the call of the cicadas when day is done.

‘Kansatsu felt it most prudent to await this time to tell you, Nicholas. Had you been told sooner, you would, no doubt, have sought Saigo out and you were not ready then. He would have destroyed you as easily as he could have done that night in Kumamoto.’

‘And now?’ His voice was clotted with emotion.

‘He may destroy you yet. I am afraid, Nicholas, that he has gone beyond even the Kuji-kiri teachings. He sought out sensei who, because of the nature of their teachings, would never be allowed into a ryu, not even the Kan-aka na ninjutsen. These

were mystics steeped in the ancient lore of that portion of China - the central steppes of Mongolia - of which there is little known even today. There is magic in him now, Nicholas, and it has taken him over completely.’

‘Well, there is a kind of magic inherent in many of our own ninjutsu teachings.’

‘There are imagined magic - that is, illusion - and real magic. The two should not be confused.’

Nicholas knew better than to argue this kind of thing with Fukashigi and he was silent all through the simple meal the sensei had prepared. Afterwards,, in the darkness of the night, Fukashigi began the ritual that would last until morning.

‘Here’ - his fingertips touching the opened box lid - ‘is the Kokoro.’ This was a word that, like almost all Japanese words, had many meanings: heart, spirit, courage, resolve, affection, inner meaning, and more. It could, in sum, be said to be the heart of the matter. ‘It, too, is real magic. Your mother knew this and, although she suspected your father did not, she knew that you would. It was meant for you.’ His young eyes were watchful, full of life and - something more. ‘Nine is the key number, Nicholas. There are nine emeralds here. One to break each arm of the Kuji-kiri - nine-hands cutting.’

Saigo awoke in the hour before dawn and left his futon. There was much to do this last day and the hours seemed to run ahead of him despite his precise organization. He had slept soundly and dreamlessly for the first time in more than a week.

He was on the streets early. He went deep into the East Village, to an enormous army-navy-camping store where he purchased a dark-coloured heavyweight duffel bag with a triple-weight polythene lining. He tested the duffel bag’s sling straps for strength.

Walking crosstown to the IND subway - he was most careful at this stage to take only public transport - he emerged at Forty-seventh Street and walked the block over to Broadway. There he entered a theatrical supply house.

His third stop was at Brooks Brothers, where he purchased a lightweight tan business suit off the rack. The jacket was perfect but he left the trousers with a tailor to be shortened. On

his way out, he bought a muted plaid pork-pie hat which looked absurd on him in the light of day but which, he knew, would be perfect at night.

His last stop was in Chinatown, where he picked up a bamboo cane. Then, dropping off his parcels - which included the trousers - he went out again, prowling in search of someone who looked just like him. This was something he had scouted on first arriving in New York. Height, weight, the physical semblance of his physique were all he was concerned with. The face itself would not matter. Not after he got through with it.

Croaker called in twice at half-hour intervals and it was a good thing he did. Either they had misplaced the message the first time or it had not yet come in.

He got it on the second call in.

‘Matty called. Didn’t leave his -‘

“That’s okay. I got it.’

In the traffic he began to look for a phone and when he found one, pulled over to the kerb. He dug a dime out of his pocket and dialled. No police lines on this call.

‘Not here,’ Matty the Mouth said in a very bad Italian accent.

‘It’s Croaker.’

‘Oh. Hi.’

*Cut the small talk. You got it?’

‘Yeah but it’s worth a lotta -‘

‘Matty, we’ve already settled on a price.’

‘Yeah, well, you see, Lieutenant, what we have here is a fluctuating market.’

‘What are you trying to pull?”

‘The price is out of date.’

‘Look-‘

‘The situation’s changed since we last spoke, is all. Nothing to get your bowels in an uproar about, I still got the goods.’

‘I got a notion to haul your ass downtown. How’d you feel about that?’

Matty clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ‘Me, Lieutenant? Well, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t mind, ‘cause I would. But I really gotta say that you’d mind even more ‘cause then you’d get zip outa me and you know there ain’t anywhere

else to go on this one.’

Croaker felt a tightening in his stomach. His heart was racing. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked carefully.

‘This must be real important to you.’

‘Spill.’

‘The issue,’ he said, ‘was cold when we first talked about it.’

‘And now -‘

‘Now it’s as hot as Lucifer’s hind tit. Lotsa nosing around on the street. Someone else’s looking for this dame, too. As a hot item, she’s on the top of everyone’s list. All of a sudden, like, y’know?’

‘But you’ve got it all. Name, number and address?’

‘Lieutenant, when I tell you I got something, it’s not on its way in from the Coast. The information’s in house.’

‘So give it.’

‘After we’ve agreed,’ Matty said, ‘on the new price.’

‘Okay, shoot.”

‘Triple.’

‘Triple! Are you out of your -‘

‘Lieutenant,’ Matty said reasonably, ‘we’re talking about my life here. If anyone got wind -‘

‘Anyone like who? Who’s been asking around about this broad?’

‘Don’t know directly.’

Croaker sighed. ‘Maybe you could find out, Matty, there’s a good boy.’

‘Maybe I could at that. What about the price? Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’

‘Okay, here’s the diamond load.’ The name Croaker got was Alex Logan. He also got a phone number and an address in Key West, Florida.

‘About the other thing,’ Croaker said. ‘You better get it to me real soon ‘cause I’m likely to head south at any time, get me?’

‘That urgent, huh?’

‘I can’t remember the last time I had a vacation.’

‘Will do. You know, Lieutenant, you’re really okay. No hard feelings, huh? Business is business, you know?’

‘Yeah. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I have a feeling I’m gonna need it.’

‘Tell me something.’ There was an edge to his voice now as if he had just woken up. ‘How big is this thing?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘Huh! I’m involved, ain’t I? Sure. Right up to my armpits. I just wanta know whether I’m standing in a pile of dogshit or -‘

‘I really can’t say yet. The jury’s still out. But it just could be.’

‘Maybe I oughtta fade, then.’

‘Strictly up to you. Might not be such a bad idea.’

‘Preciate it, Lieutenant.’

‘I don’t want my wells drying up. Like a Texan that way.”

Matty the Mouth laughed, a dry rasp like a metal file going over an unstripped log. ‘Uh yeah! What I am today I owe to you.’

‘Just keep it up, Matty. Just keep it up.’

Back in the car, he headed towards the office. Finnigan, the fat mick, would not be at all happy to see him this morning.

Well, to hell with him. Croaker braked savagely, jammed the heel of his hand against the horn rim, stood on the gas. He only hoped that when he returned from Key West with Alix Logan in tow, the bastard would have a stroke.

If he could get her to talk. Fear was a most effective weapon wielded by a knowing hand. Unless he was severely mistaken, his little outburst in Tomkin’s face had had its desired effect. A dead issue had become abruptly hot. Now there would be a direct link between Alix Logan and Raphael Tomkin. For a moment he debated bringing Vegas in on this. It would, after all, be helpful to have someone here to round up whoever it was who was nosing around, while he was down in Key West. But he dismissed it almost at once. It wasn’t fair to drop such a heavy bag of shit in Vegas’s lap. No, he’d just have to look after both ends himself. Timing. He’d need timing.

And a good deal of luck.

‘I saw Justine off yesterday,’ Nicholas said. ‘I asked her to go back out to West Bay Bridge until this is all over.’

Croaker slammed the door to his car, came around to the front where Nicholas was standing. ‘Good idea. I asked Gelda to stay with a friend of hers or something. I just wanted her out

of the apartment for a while.’

Above them the tower on Park Avenue rose, half-skeletal, half-fleshed, so that it looked like an artist’s cross section.

‘He up there?’ Croaker asked, indicating the building.

‘He should be. I cleared all of this with him first.’ They began to walk across the wooden planks over the unfinished sidewalk. ‘He’s got guts,-you’ve got to give him that.’

‘Huh. I don’t have to give him nothing. If he’s agreed to it, five’ll getcha ten he’s got some angle figured.’

‘Sure. Like getting Saigo off his back. Do you think he wants to be hounded?”