Killer of Killers (13 page)

“You must be an unusually trusting person,”
Trent remarked, “to be sleeping in a strange man’s hotel room.”

Samantha smiled. “You’re not so strange. And
I’m not so trusting.”

She folded back the covers and revealed a
voluptuous figure clad only in a beige camisole. Although the
skimpy silk hardly concealed her womanhood, it was the revolver
that snared Trent’s attention. “What are you going to do with
that?” he asked.

Samantha’s eyes diverted to the gun in her
hand, and then she sat up against the headboard. “A girl can’t be
too careful,” she quipped.

Trent crossed his arms. “How is it you found
me here?”

“I’m a detective,” she reminded him.
“Remember?”

Looking at her right now, it wasn’t so easy
to remember, but Trent knew better than to say that.

She added, “I tracked you down using the
old-fashioned police method.”

“Which is...”

“The computer...”

“What else did you find out?”

“I found out you were a master sensei at
Tokyo’s Academy of
Budo
Ju Jitsu. They called you
Tora
. That means
Tiger
, right?”

Trent lowered his gaze to the floor. The name
meant more to him than anyone could ever understand, and this was
the first time he heard it outside of Japan. He replied, near
inaudibly, “I’m just Trent, now.”

“You were well-respected in Japan.”

“Just why are you so curious about me?”

“Because I needed to make sure you don’t work
for Abraham Soriah. Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, he’s a billionaire whacko who thinks he
owns the world. But you could have just asked me.”

“I asked you on the airplane, and you dodged
every question like a boxer in a prizefight. Or should I say like a
master of judo?”

“Ju Jitsu,” Trent specified.

“You were the best in Japan, from what I
heard. Or certainly the best at Tokyo’s Shoji Dojo.”

Trent scrunched his eyes. “Did you
talk
to Shoji?”

Samantha grinned. “Don’t worry, your secret
is safe with me.”

Trent noted her meaning. “Thanks for that.”
What he didn’t need at this point was his past catching up to his
present, or his present staining his past. He walked to the
curtains, pushed them aside, and opened the doors to the balcony.
Stepping out, Trent felt a cool breeze flow over his face, and he
recalled a midnight visit to the terrace of his Tokyo residence. He
looked into the starry sky and was pleased to see a full moon
peeking through drifting clouds to join him in the memory.

It was a warm Japanese evening, and then, as
now, a full moon smiled upon him. He smiled back, and why shouldn’t
he? Those were happy days for Trent. He was young, in his physical
prime, and engaged to be married. Eastern winds brushed his bare
chest and rattled the glass doors behind him.

“
Tora,”
a bodiless voice called from
nowhere.

Trent looked left and right, cranked his head
up, and then looked down. No one was revealed, so he didn’t answer.
He about-faced, and there stood the black-clad figure of his best
friend, as if conjured from the breeze.

Trent spoke perfect Japanese.
“Jiro. Is it
really you?”

“
Need you ask? Have I changed so
much?”

“
Why are you here? Why now after all this
time?”

A feminine voice called from within the
building,
“Tora, are you saying something?”

“
Just getting some air. I’ll be right
in.”

With flawless stealth, Jiro shut the doors
and moved beside the glass to remain unseen from the inside.
“Thank you for not telling Yoshiko I am here. Tell no one. I beg
of you.”

“
What is it, Jiro? What’s wrong?”

“
You were right. I had to tell you. You
were right, and I am sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“
For what? You don’t need
forgiving.”

“
I do, Tora.”

Jiro’s shrouded form doubled over. He put his
hand over his chest. It was wet, and Trent realized it was blood.
“Jiro, what happened?”
He reached out to help him up.

“
No, don’t touch me.
And don’t try
to find me.”

“
Why? You’re hurt. What happened?”

“
I am here for one reason...to tell you.
Listen. You were right. They can’t be trusted. No one... No one can
be trusted.”
Jiro struggled upright.

Trent furrowed his brow.
“What do you mean
don’t try to find you? You’re here now. Let me help you. Shoji and
Yoshiko... They—”

“
No. They must never know you saw me.”
Jiro’s voice strengthened.
“After this night, I will disappear,
and no one will find me.”

“
Why?”

Jiro sprang up and crouched on the railing
with the poise of a cat.
“Just promise me you won’t ever work
for them. Promise me, Tora. Promise me you won’t work for anyone.
Ever. Promise me.”

“
Tora?”
The woman’s voice was close.
“Who’s there?”

Trent turned to face the double doors as they
swung wide, exposing the supple form of Yoshiko Wada garbed in a
bathrobe. He gestured to the empty balcony.
“As you can see,
Yoshiko...just my friends, the wind and the moon.”

As he re-entered his apartment that night, so
Trent returned to his hotel room and filled his eyes with the
sultry image of Samantha Jones. He was becoming more intrigued with
this policewoman. Or
was
she a policewoman? She certainly
demonstrated efficiency and discretion, which were admirable
qualities. She also exhibited integrity and honor, which he valued
even more.

Samantha asked, “Are you all right?”

Trent looked her in the eye. “Are you a cop
or not?”

“Yes, I’m a cop. Nine years.”

“Then if you know what I’ve been doing, why
aren’t you arresting me?” He reconsidered the question.
“Or...
are
you arresting me?”

“If I was arresting you, half the New York
P.D. would be here.”

Believing it was true, Trent allowed himself
to examine the armed goddess that lay before him. Looking at her
was like looking at a modern day Helen of Troy. He studied her
perfect body in the scanty underwear and decided it wasn’t Helen,
but Aphrodite herself in his bed. “So you know I don’t work for
Abraham Soriah, but that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

Samantha placed the revolver inside her
purse. “Please, sit down and I’ll tell you.” She patted the sheets
next to her lap.

Trent returned to the bedside and sat down.
After kicking off his shoes, he brought one foot up but kept the
other on the floor.

“I’m here to recruit you,” Samantha said,
leaning forward to take hold of his hand. “Have you ever heard of
Karl Manoukian?”

“Yes, another billionaire whacko.”

“He’s not that bad. Let me tell you about
him. It’s very important.”

“Why? What do you have to do with Karl
Manoukian?”

“He’s a friend who helped my brother when he
was in trouble. In return, Josh and I were enlisting Benjamin
Stiles for an assignment. That is, until
you
happened to
show up.”

“Why a scumbag like Stiles?”

“We needed a killer.”

Trent already knew the line from Soriah, but
he thought it best not to reveal his encounter with the elderly
tycoon. “So who needs killing? No, let me guess. It’s Abraham
Soriah.”

“More than anyone,” Samantha replied. Her
visage sobered as did her tone. “Abraham Soriah was responsible for
the trouble Josh was in. He’s also responsible for the murderers
being freed throughout the country the last few years. You know,
the ones with whom you’ve taken issue. Benjamin Stiles and Jeremiah
Flint, for instance.”

“And you figure I’m the killer for the job,
now.”

“Yes.” Samantha’s smile returned, but it
wasn’t her usual one. It was more of a half-smile, since only one
side of her mouth curled upward. “I know you’re an expert killer. I
would even say you have a lot more killing to do. Am I wrong?” Her
smile became whole again.

“I want you to understand something,” Trent
said. “I may be a killer, but I’m a killer of
killers
.
Only.”

“I know that. I’ve known it ever since I met
you on the airplane.”

Samantha’s grip on Trent’s hand tightened as
she spoke. Trent wondered if she even realized it. “Just how much
did you see that night?” he asked.

“I saw you both go into that restroom, but
only you came out. I looked inside. Benjamin was dead.”

“And you made sure to take the same flight I
was on.”

“I was lucky to get booked, but as it turned
out, I was even luckier to get a seat next to you.”

Trent formed a half-smile of his own. “I
don’t suppose your luck takes the shape of a badge.”

“You could say it helps,” Samantha
confessed.

“So you don’t live in Oakland.”

“No, I live in Marin. Sorry about that.”

Trent remained silent for several moments.
“The police have nothing to do with any of this,” he finally said.
“You were taking Benjamin Stiles to see Manoukian, so he could hire
him to kill Soriah.”

“Yes, but when you killed Benjamin, we
thought you worked for Soriah. We had to be sure. We had to find
out who you really were.”

Trent pondered the words as the puzzle took
shape. “Your only connection with Manoukian is through your
brother?”

“Not entirely. I knew Karl socially, but I
didn’t know about his association with Abraham Soriah until after I
asked for his help. Regardless, Josh and I are indebted to
him.”

“So the job meant for Stiles is still
open.”

“He wants to hire you. Would you like that?
He pays a lot.”

“Ha!” Trent was finding this whole thing
amusing now.

“What’s so funny?”

Trent was thinking about his employment
opportunities with both megalomaniacs. He looked back at Samantha
and decided to put her on the defensive. “You never told me why you
had to meet Stiles at LAX before he flew to San Francisco. I’m
still wondering about that.” He lowered his brow. “Please don’t
tell me a man they called
‘Steely’
needed a gorgeous blond
to hold his hand or whisper soothing words of encouragement. I want
to know why he didn’t fly directly there. Are you willing to tell
me yet?”

Samantha turned toward a place not specific
in the room. “I can’t tell you,” she said. “There’s so much more
you need to know first.”

“Then what are some of these things I need to
know first?”

“Have you ever heard of a drug called
Eternity?”

It was the first time Trent heard it referred
to as that, but it made sense as he considered the test subjects
called Eternals, the symbol they wore, and the drug’s alleged
ability. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Flint’s
medallion. “Yeah, I found this,” he answered. “I was told that
whoever wears it is undergoing some kind of medical treatment. I
figure the treatment is daily injections of this drug you call
Eternity.”

Samantha crumpled her brow. “What else do you
know about it?”

“Just that it has some kind of fantastic
healing capability. I figure it’s a steroid, and people like Stiles
and Flint used it to keep themselves bulked up. Right now, however,
I’m thinking there might be more to it than bodybuilding and Band
Aids.” Trent tired of her questions. “What do
you
know about
it?”

“What I know is what my brother told me.
Soriah Enterprises approached him when his career was near its end.
They told him this new steroid of theirs couldn’t be detected, and
he would be the player he used to be in his prime. They approached
a lot of players like my brother.”

“Stiles, too?” Trent already knew but asked
anyway.

“Yes, and it worked. Josh joined him in New
York his last two years in the league, but after that they both had
to retire as part of the deal.”

“Retire? Why?”

“Because as part of the deal they agreed to
receive unlimited treatments, and Soriah didn’t want anyone
noticing high profile players like Josh and Benjamin were no longer
vulnerable to injuries.”

“Hold on. Isn’t that the whole point? To heal
injuries?”

“At first, that’s what they hoped to
achieve—a miracle drug that rapidly healed injuries—but they
stumbled onto something else.”

“You mean something that truly puts the word
miracle
in the term
miracle drug
.” Trent still
couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Apparently, the latest version they
developed heals everything, even chromosomes and DNA. I don’t know
all the scientific details, but it seems the effects are almost
instantaneous.”

“Well, it didn’t keep Stiles and Flint
alive,” Trent noted. “If the effects are instantaneous, then why
are these people still dying?”

“I said
almost
instantaneous. If
someone receives a fatal injury, like crushed arteries and
tracheas, for instance...” She paused, as if to highlight her
example. “...or if someone gets shot or stabbed, they can still die
outright or even bleed to death.”

Trent could tell she was on the level, so he
decided to ask his most pressing question. “Does it really stop
people from aging?”

“That’s what they claim.”

“Does it have to be daily injections?”

“Yes. They can’t make it work with pills. Not
yet, anyway.”

The conversation was moving too fast. Trent
couldn’t shake his cynicism and needed time to think it through. He
knew there was a catch. “What about the murders committed by people
using this stuff?”

Samantha tensed her mouth and then responded,
“You’ve heard of steroids affecting people who are prone to violent
behavior—roid rage—but the side effects of
Eternity
have
something to do with pheromones.”