Authors: Danny Dufour
The old man, who had turned his back for a second, realized suddenly that he was talking to himself. When he turned back to look at the hooded man, the mysterious visitor had disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived. Only the police sirens were heard through the night.
Meanwhile, Shinsaku arrived at his apartment. He flicked the light switch deliberately and dropped his sack near the door, looking at nothing but the katana in his hands. He went to the sink to watch it and remove all traces of blood that remained on the blade. He demanded of himself whether he'd made the right decision, killing them so quickly. Ultimately, he'd had a few seconds to control the situation in which one of the two had been armed. A hesitation on his part and the guy who was armed could have fired on Shinsaku and the clerk right after. That wasn't even counting the other guy who was probably also armed. No, he had done what needed to be done, and the old man was still alive, that was most important. He took a burning shower that filled the apartment with steam. He pored himself a glass of sake before kneeling naked in his apartment with pieces of moxa herb and acupuncture needles. He planted a needle in each piece and lit them with a lighter. They began to smoke, like incense. He planted the needles on his chest and shoulders, creating a smoking circle around him from which moxa vapors swirled around his head. He concentrated on his breathing and relaxed. He entered a deep and silent meditative state in the depth of the L.A. night.
CHAPTER 24
August 2012, Chinatown, Montreal, Canada.
“Ten dollars to know your future!” said an old Chinese man to the pedestrians that moved through the maze of the
Quartier chinois
.
The man was seated on an old wooden chair planted on the sidewalk. He shook sticks in a vase to attract tourist attention, making a noise like a feisty rattlesnake. He had a little shelter in case of weather, under which he'd installed another chair and a table for those who wanted to know their fortune. The man's skin was wrinkled and dry, like a mummy in a sarcophagus. The man was accompanied by a German shepherd sleeping at his feet. The old man wasn't far from homelessness and had put out a basket for alms. Toward him walked a very brisk woman out of nowhere to challenge a parking agent.
“I'm over a meter from the thing!” said Ming Mei irately to the parking agent, who had issued a ticket for having parked her bike too close to the fire hydrant.
“Listen, madame, the law clearly indicates that a motor vehicle must be at least five meters from a hydrant.”
“Five meters! Find me a single person that parked themselves over five meters in this city. It's ridiculous!”
“That's not the question. I calculated that you're about a meter from the hydrant in question.”
“Exactly. I'm not
in front
of it, I'm a meter away, like always!” said Ming Mei, more and more furious with the young parking agent.
“If you don't agree with the ticket, you have thirty days to pay or contest it!” he said, visibly unmoved by Ming Mei's rhetoric.
“Great, I'll see you in court. I'm not paying these bullshit hidden taxes,” she said, completely furious.
“Just doing my job, mademoiselle.”
“Great! Do you work. I have no problem with that. I have a problem with your utter lack of judgment,” she retorted dryly.
The agent kept his mouth shut, got back into his car and went on his way, leaving her on the sidewalk, staring at the offending ticket.
“Dumbass,” she muttered, looking glumly at her well-parked motorcycle.
“Would you like to know your future, mademoiselle?” asked a feeble voice behind her. Ming Mei turned around to look and regarded the man and his dog.
“No thanks. I know my future. Paying false fines!”
The old man smiled, but didn't speak. She calmed down and looked at the impoverished man a bit more attentively. Suddenly, she wondered how long he'd been here. Days, months, years? She didn't know. Most of the people that walked by him didn't see him, like he was part of the decor. She took pity on him pulled out a green twenty-dollar bill.
“Here, take it. I don't want to know my future, but here's a twenty so you can eat... you and your friend,” she said, looking at the dog and slipping the bill into his hand.
“Thank you, madame,” he said as he tightened his hand.
And when he looked at her with milky white eyes, she realized he was blind.
“Don't mention it. Good luck, eh?”
The fortune teller held out a crumpled piece of paper with a smile.
“What's this?”
The man didn't answer; he just smiled, and continued to shake his rattler. She unfolded the paper and mouthed the word
Shiai
meaning tournament in Japanese. It was an advertising leaflet for a future martial arts tournament.
“It's not really my style, old man, but thanks anyway!” she said calmly, but suddenly overcome with a strange sensation in looking at those white orbs.
She jammed her white helmet on her head - it was the same color as her crash suit. She mounted her Benelli and lowered the visor. The roar of the motor echoed through the alley as she disappeared into the cramped city streets.
CHAPTER 25
August 2012, Manhattan, New York, USA.
“What... go on, Namara! We can't pass this up!” said Guerra enthusiastically.
“I don't understand why this is so important for you. It's a tournament! A fucking tournament... it's stupid, period!” said Namara, sitting on a Central Park bench beside James, watching the pedestrians and runners pass through the park. The day was hot, sunny and Danny took the time to relax and watch the trees and plants that dotted the park.
“Ok... to begin with, it's a hundred thousand dollars that I'm quite sure you can win easily, and it's a brilliant opportunity to get fit.”
“To get fit!? What are you talking about!? You don't seem to get it... have you seen the rules?”
“No. ”
“The reason is simple... everything's allowed, except dislocation techniques and deathblows... you nutbag!”
“So... what's your point!? ”
“What's my point!? What do you think my point is!? You could be seriously hurt and some people definitely will be. It's inevitable. We have money here, I don't see the interest in going to Tokyo for it. I don't have anything to prove... I've already done this shit because I had no choice!”
“Yeah, voilà... you've won fights worse than these. I'm betting you could win the money easily so why deprive yourself—”
“I'm not going to see you killed on my watch, you pathetic imbecile,” said Namara, sipping his coffee calmly.
“Who cares what you think anyway. I'm going to try my best and I'm going to fend. I'm going to eat fist, that's certain, but I'm also going to visit Japan and see those cheeky little Japanese fetish strippers. I couldn't ask for anything better,” he said with a smile.
Danny just looked at James and shook his head without saying anything like he'd renounced his right to talk sense.
“It's that important to you?”
“What... the tournament or the strippers? ”
“The tournament!! ” retorted Namara, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah! I won't miss it and furthermore, you're going to take these tossers for a ride. You can't miss it either.”
“Listen... I won't be part of your stupid plans again! ”
While the two talked animatedly on the bench, an obese woman drinking from a plastic cup passed in front of them. She took her last gulp and threw the glass on the ground, continuing on her way.
“Scuse me, ma'am, there's a trash can right there. Would you be so kind as to toss your cup there?” Guerra asked.
“Screw off, asshole, mind your own business,” the fatty retorted while flipping him off.
Guerra turned red with rage at the remark and Namara fought a smile, intensely amused.
“
I beg your pardon
?” Guerra spat.
“I said, screw, off, ass, hole,” she intoned.
“Screw off yourself, you minging cow!” hurled Guerra.
Namara was twisting with laughter on the bench, very much enjoying the show.
“It's because of people like you that the planet's about to self-destruct!” shouted Guerra.
“I'm going to shove my cup up your ass if I catch you!”
“You wouldn't even be able to catch a cold with an arse the size of Africa!”
Namara was crying with mirth now. The more Namara laughed, the more enraged Guerra got. The two insulted each other for several minutes before stopping. The fat woman waddled away, still shouting insults over her shoulder.
“I didn't know you were so... environmental!” sniggered Namara.
“No, but it's true that... there's limits! There was a trash can literally a sodding meter away!” he grunted, himself throwing the fat lady's cup into the trash. He sat back on the bench.
“So!? We're going to the
Shiai!
?” he insisted with a smile.
Danny sighed and watched the passers-by.
“I'll be damned... ok, I'm in!!” he muttered, sipping his coffee.
“I'm finally going to visit Tokyo!”
“Yeah, you are.”
Two pretty young women jogged through the park, passing in front of them. One of them glanced at Namara with a smile.
“Hey!” she said, short of breath.
“Hey,” said Namara, returning the smile.
“I can't believe it. It was obvious she wanted you and you
didn't
go after her?” Guerra cried, hands in his hair, visibly disturbed.
“Nope,” he responded serenely, taking another sip.
“It's not possible, I can't make myself believe it! Since I've been here, I've got a constant crick in my neck from looking at the passing pretty girls. They're everywhere!”
“If you don't concentrate, it's not going to be just your neck that hurts after the tournament.”
“Oh, what a grouch you are. Ok, ok, I get it, you're right! But you can't stop me from going to see the Japanese strippers shows!”
“When they see you, they'll be so afraid that their eyes will unslant. And, you've gotten fat, you're belly's going down to your knees,” said Namara with an impish grin.
“You bastard! I have not gotten fat! You're jealous!” he muttered with a smile around his eyes.
They began to laugh when a pair of Asian women jogged past them and they continued to watch the passers-by, enjoying the afternoon sun.
CHAPTER 26
Shibuya, Tokyo, Japan.
Shiai
had been a freak show since the very first day. There was an overwhelming number of competitors, all from different parts of the world, sporting any colour your please. It was like an automobile show, except in place of salesmen, there were champions, and instead of cars, they were hawking their diverse and incomparable techniques. Some came alone, some came representing a particular school. Some came to generate buzz about a style they created, some came to prove the superiority of their chosen style over everything else.
The atmosphere of competition and arrogance was strongest, of course, at the start. Combatants were constantly glancing around, trying to mount the most superior attitude they could muster. Little by little the tournament rolled to the finish, competitors were eliminated one by one, and fires went out in the bellies of those who had hoped to take the whole thing. Up in the stands, spectators mingled and curiosity intensified. The fifth and last day dawned. The tournament chair announced the five finalists one by one. The bleachers were no doubt packed beyond capacity. The feverish atmosphere mounted as officials and medical personnel prepared for what would no doubt be the most vicious of fights.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come to present our finalists who today will challenge for the title of Grand Champion,” said the chair into a microphone that magnified his voice throughout the stadium.
“The first: James Guerra, boxing and jiu jitsu!”
Applause.
“Danny Namara, Wing Chun and Pak Mei!”
More applause.
“Ming Mei Li, Tai Chi! ... Sensei Shinsaku Ushiyama, Kendo and Aikido! And last, but not least: Kamilia Stone, Muay Thai!”
He paused respectfully to allow the applause to die out.
“Our first combat: Kamilia Stone versus James Guerra. Please take position behind your respective lines.”
James advanced to one end of the ring and toed a black line on the ground. He checked his white kimono to make sure it was secure and began to size up his opponent: a tiny brunette bird with a long ponytail. She wore black pants and a black Mao-collared shirt, detailed with red, and sleeveless, the better to display her colorful arms. He was thrown by her beauty and her frail-looking physique.
I'd rather ask her out than fight her... this is going to be short.
He didn't want to hit her, but he would have to win... After all, she'd put herself in this situation.
A direct punch well sent should calm her down.
The opponents put themselves on guard and the referee gave the signal.
“
Hajime
!”
Guerra advanced rapidly toward Kamilia, who scrutinized him with her dark, piercing eyes, all while constantly moving. He sent a direct punch to her face, which she blocked with her forearm, and she jerked her elbow into his humerus, giving Guerra such pain that he had to retreat. The shock was what he needed to clear his head and he tried this time to take Kamilia down. Quickly, he lowered his stance and tried to grab her legs to tip her backwards. Like lightning, she reacted the moment she felt his hands on her legs. She knew exactly what he was trying to do and she retorted with a knee-smash directly to his face. A little blood spurt from his mouth sprinkled the floor. He fell forward, unconscious and out of combat. The referee stepped in to stop the fight.