White Tiger

and his charges as they headed for the door. Manning spared them only a curt nod-bad manners in Japan, but he had no time to waste. His car, a very sedate three-year-old Honda Legend, was in the nearby parking garage. Manning rushed the two Shanghainese into the vehicle, and within seconds, they were off.

“Going smooth,” Chen Gui commented, sitting in the left front passenger seat. “You can drive on the left side of the road?”

“If I can’t, we won’t be exactly inconspicuous. I want both of you to get down. Now.”

“Get down?” Chen Song echoed from the back seat.

“Yes-get down!”

Both men did as he instructed immediately. As they pulled past the hotel, Manning saw the group of Fujianese jogging toward the entrance. One of them glanced at his car as he drove past with more interest than he would have liked. A glance in the rearview mirror explained it; the man had seen Chen Song peeking above the doorsill.

“Smooth move, Ex-Lax,” Manning said sourly. “He just made us!”

“Ex-Lax?” asked Chen Gui.

“Never mind.” Manning gunned the Honda’s six-cylinder engine, abandoning all hope of making a clean getaway as he wrenched the car into a sharp left-hand turn down Azabudai. He checked his rearview mirror again, and caught a quick glimpse of the Fujianese running to their car. They ran right through the hotel’s well-maintained garden, trampling all matter of flora. Clearly, subtlety was not one of their hallmarks.

Fight’s on, he thought idly.

“We’re going to hit the highway,” he told his passengers. “Hopefully these guys will be too cheap to want to follow us through the tolls.”

“If only they were Shanghainese!” Chen Gui wailed. “Fujianese spend money like madmen!”

“I’ll remember that,” Manning responded dryly as the car accelerated past the Tokyo American Club. He took his first available right, then his first left, then left again, proceeding on for three blocks before turning left once more against a traffic signal. Horns blared and hazard lights flashed; Manning ignored the commotion. Within moments, he was guiding the car onto the Shuto Expressway. He checked his rearview mirror for the Fujianese; he remembered their car to be an older silver Toyota Grand Saloon. The problem was, the car was fairly ubiquitous in Japan, like its brother the Camry was in the US. It was a rental agency favorite, and it was relatively affordable, so he was nonplussed to see there were at least three silver Grand Saloons in the lanes behind him.

“Where are we going?” Chen Gui finally asked.

“Narita.”

“You killed that man back there. In the hotel. Why?”

“I don’t know why you’d care, but I didn’t kill him,” Manning responded evenly. “On the other hand, I don’t get paid if you die.” He kept his eyes on the road, checking both the rearview mirror and side view mirrors regularly. He kept the speed up over 100 kilometers an hour, which was only slightly faster than the rest of the Tokyo traffic. Finally, he found a large gravel truck he could use as cover. He switched lanes quickly (from right to left in Japan, something he had struggled to get used to) and sidled up on the other side of the truck.

Chen Gui seemed shocked by the revelation. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

“I charge extra for killing.”

“Two more questions,” Chen Gui said after a time.

“What?”

“Can we get up now, and what is ‘Ex-Lax’?”

The trip to Narita International Airport was quiet. Chen Gui was content to stare out the windshield, gazing at the passing scenery as Manning switched off the Shuto and onto Route 1. They hurtled past Tokyo’s fabled shopping mecca, Ginza, and past Chiba. In the distance, the Saitama River could be seen, lazily flowing into Tokyo Harbor, miles to the south.

For his part, Manning drove at a fast clip, keeping a sharp eye out for his would-be pursuers. He instructed Chen Song to keep watch out the rear window; he’d seen the car too, so he might yet prove useful.

“Aren’t you driving a little fast?” Chen Gui said at last. “The Japanese highway police are very vigilant, after all!”

“I’d rather take my chances with the police than with our Fujianese pals,” Manning replied smoothly as he switched lanes. He tucked his car in on the far side of an ambling tanker truck and reduced his speed.

“So why are you slowing, then?” Chen Gui asked.

“Just putting some bait in the trap,” Manning said. “If they’re after us, they’ll be rolling up pretty quickly. Chen Song! See anything?”

“No,” Chen Song said.

“Don’t just look behind us. Look around. Look under the tanker’s trailer. You see anyone pacing us from the other side?”

Chen Song was silent for a moment, and Manning could see him craning his neck, looking this way and that.

“Nothing,” he said after a time.

“So we lost them.” Chen Gui sighed in relief.

“Looks like,” Manning said. “Chen Song, keep your eyes sharp.” With that, he accelerated away from the truck.

The Higashi Kanto Expressway eventually led them to the Shin Kuko Expressway, and then Narita International itself. Manning merged onto the Shin Kuko Expressway interchange. Traffic was thick at the tollgate; Manning weaved his way in and out of the flow, almost brushing against a filled airport limousine bus in the process. He aimed the Legend’s grille in the general direction of the Terminal 2 car park, the only multistory parking facility at Narita.

“Even in traffic, you drive like mad!” Chen Gui groused. “You make my driver in China look like a considerate man!”

“Time’s a little short, I’m afraid,” Manning replied. “And the quicker we get out of here, the better.” The fact of the matter was that the slow traffic made Manning feel extremely vulnerable. The Fujianese had guns, items that were quite difficult to obtain in Japan. That they had evidently been willing to shoot Chen Gui in the hotel restroom meant that their grudge against him was something they weren’t about to give up easily, and that also meant Manning himself would be a primary target. In many ways, being a gaijin was a benefit in Japan. However, the quickest way for the Fujianese to get a tally on Chen Gui would be to sight Manning himself, and if he was seen caught in slow-moving traffic, there was no easy way to defend himself…or his charge.

In the back seat, Chen Song suddenly stirred.

“I see them!” he announced.

“Aiyah-!” Chen Gui began.

“Bie shuo le!” Manning snapped-Be quiet! He looked in the rearview mirror, but a commuter van had just merged in behind them. “Chen Song, where are they?”

“Two cars behind us,” Chen Song replied, a little breathlessly. “They definitely saw us-both men in the front of the car locked eyes with me!”

“What will we do?” Chen Gui fairly shrieked. “You can’t let them catch up to us!”

“I’m not about to. Please relax.” Manning checked the rearview mirror again, but saw nothing other than the commuter van still tailing his car. He thought he glimpsed a silver-colored car through the left side view mirror, but couldn’t be sure.

“Chen Song, is the car silver?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, the same as before!” Chen Song snapped. Manning heard the unmistakable sound of metal sliding across leather. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that Chen Song had drawn his Beretta from its holster and was gripping it in his right hand.

“Ba ni de qiang fang hui qu!” Manning shouted, making both Chen Song and Chen Gui jump. Put your gun back! was the closest Manning could come to saying Put your fucking gun away! in Mandarin, and cursed the common trait shared by both Mandarin and Japanese: neither language was direct enough to suit an American.