White Tiger

“That’s not at all wise. You could be injured, or even killed yourself.”

“You would shoot me? To get to your target, would you shoot me?” she whispered.

“No. But one of his men might, and that would be a bad thing.”

Chisako sighed. “I’m so wet now,” she murmured.

Manning put his head in his free hand and sighed. “Chen Gui would be very upset with me if you were to be hurt. That can’t happen.”

“Then don’t shoot me,” Chisako said coyly. “The man who opens the car door for him is armed. The one behind us will be armed. Mister Yang is always between them. One tall and thin, the other short and fat. The fat man wants to fuck me, but he’s disgusting and has bad teeth. Do you have good teeth? White teeth?”

“I’ll want you to send me a text message when you’re leaving the club. And you’ll have to get down as quickly as you can,” Manning advised her, knowing in his mind that she wouldn’t. “I’ll need a clear shot at him, but he won’t be the first. The others go first, then him.”

“If he tries to run, I’ll hold onto him.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

“If you get some of his blood on me, I’ll come. Right there. I won’t wear any panties, and I’ll spread my legs for you so you can see. My manko is lovely, you’ll see for yourself, it’s like a small peach-”

“Noguchi Chisako! Do as I tell you!” Manning snapped in Japanese. “Do as I tell you, and Chen Gui will reward you with anything you desire. Anything. Do you understand me?”

“Hai, wakarimasu,” the girl on the other end of the phone responded. “Will he give you to me, if I ask? Will he reward me that way?”

“Remember what I told you, and do nothing out of the ordinary this evening. If you wish to remain the recipient of Chen Gui’s favoritism, this is a non-negotiable requirement.” Manning disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the coffee table. He stretched out on the leather couch and regarded the winking lights of Minato-ku outside. He couldn’t believe the conversation he had just had with a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl, of all people.

“My God, Japan is one fucked up place,” he told himself.

Despite the fact that it was a Friday night and the Lychee Karaoke Club was both a new and a happening place, it was situated on the corner of Kaigaken-mae street, which meant Manning could prowl the area without much trouble from the countless bar hostesses and streetwalkers who preyed on gaijin like himself. He found the door that Chisako had told him about, and saw the short alleyway it led into was only tepidly lit. While it would afford him some anonymity, it would also reduce his ability to carry out the act as quickly as he had hoped. He decided it was a fair tradeoff; he’d rather get it over with and risk having to take the time for a few more shots as opposed to standing out in bright light with a gun. Even though he was fast, there was a wealth of pedestrian and vehicular traffic in the area.

There was a Starbucks three doors down. Manning went inside and ordered a tall latte, and then sat in one of two available chairs. He sipped the latte and waited.

At just a few minutes before midnight, his phone trilled. Manning read the display; in hiragana was the message:

coming out now make me wet

Manning pocketed the phone and hurried outside. He entered the alley just as the first man, the fat one Chisako had told him about, stepped out. Loud, raucous music followed him, echoing in the alleyway. Their eyes met, and Manning was overtaken by a sinking feeling.

It was the Fujianese he’d taken out in the men’s room earlier in the day.

He heard Chen Gui’s voice in his head: “Why didn’t you kill him?”

Because my dream of becoming a wealthy fortune teller is officially on the rocks, he thought as the Fujianese facing him drew short. Recognition flashed across his face.

Manning went on automatic. He whipped the suppressed Ruger KMKIII pistol from its shoulder holster. Thumbed off the safety and fired two rounds-clack-clack! — into the man’s face. He collapsed into the arms of the man behind him, who hadn’t seen Manning yet. It wasn’t the mark, Yang; even though Chisako had said he would be between the first and third man, they hadn’t synchronized their formation yet. Manning fired another two shots, and charged toward the door as the two bodies collapsed.

Manning stepped into the doorway and came face-to-face with Chisako, her eyes wide and bright, her face flushing with unmistakable ardor at what she had just witnessed. Behind her, the older Fujianese, Yang, backpedaled right into his third and last remaining bodyguard.

Manning fired right over Chisako’s head. She squealed in delight as the.22 clicked and spat its small gout of fire from the end of the suppressor. Yang took both rounds in the right eye, and he crumpled against the man behind him. Manning glimpsed a stainless steel-plated Browning Pro-9 as the guard frantically tried to shrug off his boss’s body, now concerned only for his own safety. It was too late for him. Manning advanced and snapped off another two rounds. One bullet caught the man in the left eye, while second plowed through the bridge of his nose.

There was more movement behind the last man, and Manning caught a glimpse of bright, shiny blond hair. One of the club’s hostesses stared at Manning through the pale light of the hallway. Light that was too bright for him to trust his identity was known only to the dead.

“Gomen nasai,” he said, his voice barely audible above the karaoke music. The hostess started to scream, but had barely drawn enough air into her lungs when Manning’s last two rounds penetrated her skull and broke apart, turning her brain into something more akin to lifeless oatmeal than a sophisticated bundle of nerves, neurons, chemicals, and pathways that together served as the human brain.

“Oh yes,” Chisako murmured from behind him. “Oh, so unexpected, so beautiful! ”

Manning turned and headed for the door behind her. “Get out of here,” he hissed.

Chisako grabbed his hand and shoved it between her legs. He momentarily felt the wet heat of her sex, his fingertips grazing her swollen vaginal lips, the palm of his hand brushing the silkiness of her shaven mound.

“I’m so wet, look what you’ve done to me!” she gasped. “Take me with you-take me with you and fuck me!”

“Get the hell out of here!” Manning snatched his hand out from between her thighs and shoved her against the wall. “Go on!”

Chisako only smiled slavishly, head lolling, eyes on the corpse of her Fujianese benefactor, blood pooling on the rubber matting on the floor, leaking from the wounds in his head. Her right hand darted between her thighs, raising her plaid skirt; she cried out as she immediately broke out in a shuddering climax.

Manning fled, replacing his gun in its holster. So far, his actions had attracted no interest; no one even turned toward the alleyway. Keeping his head down, Manning stepped out into the pedestrian traffic. After a block, he hailed a taxi and gave him the address of a small coffee shop on a narrow street a mile away. From there, he would walk a circuitous route to the parking garage in Shibuya where he had left the Friendee.

Chen Gui had his revenge, and his territory returned to him.

Jerome Manning would soon have two hundred thousand dollars to play with.

But it would be years until he forgot the hostess. If ever.

“Moshi-moshi.” Ryoko’s voice was smoky and subdued, even though Manning knew she hadn’t gotten out of bed until at least three o’clock that afternoon. She hadn’t even been awake for ten hours.

“Ryoko-chan. Are you alone?”

“Hai. I didn’t go out tonight. Where are you?”

“Downstairs.”

“A few moments, please.”

The line went dead. Manning flipped his phone closed and plugged it into the charger in the Friendee’s console. He sat in the idling van and listened to Kaori Natori’s KaoRhythmixx program on 76.1 FM. Overhead, the