Even as the gunfire outside decreased, another sound intensified.
“Ota-san, I believe I hear sirens. They’re here for you.”
Ota shook his head. “They’re here for Hideo. He misled Naoko and Shiori. He acted on his own in going down to the Kokugikan for you. If it weren’t for me, he might have cut you to pieces. I distracted him for a moment, which gave you the opportunity to determine whether the law of gravity applies to him the same as it does to the rest of us.”
“And you’ll go free.”
“I don’t see why not,” Ota said. “I’ve done nothing illegal.”
“And what about the handgun?”
Ota tried to shrug and winced. “That’s not mine. Perhaps one of the young men in the warehouse left it here.”
Tatsuyama heard a commotion in the industrial yard and shop below. Footsteps rumbled up the metal stairs outside the office.
“Perhaps we’ll have dinner again sometime, Tatsuyama.”
Tatsuyama’s fingers found the tate-gyoji’s tanto and closed on it. “Probably not, Ota-san.”
The door swung open, and four Tokyo Metro Police officers rushed in, assault weapons at the ready. Tatsuyama shoved the tanto to where they could see it clearly on the carpet and nodded calmly.
Turning once again to his wounded enemy, he raised an eyebrow and said, “Watch your step, Ota-san…gravity and everything.”
The light switch didn’t work in the room where Shiori was locked up. When the gunfire had erupted, she had felt her way to a back corner and hunkered down on the floor. She had been at the same time terrified and filled with anticipation.
During the most heated moments of the shootout, her imagination had gotten the best of her. She had envisioned stray bullets punching through the tin wall and slamming into her body. Each of those moments had left her trembling. Sounds of breaking glass and screaming had added to the fright.
All the while she knew there would’ve been no shooting at all unless Ota’s enemies had arrived. It had to be the police—and Tatsuyama—not some rival clan.
Then the shots had died down. She could hear the stampeding of feet here and there, sometimes followed by a shout of surrender, once or twice followed by the final report of a weapon.
At last resonating footfalls approached the rooms where she and Naoko were being held. How many people? Four? Six? She saw the sweep of flashlights through the space below the door.
“Shiori! Naoko! It’s the police,” she heard. “We’re here to get you out.”
She couldn’t help it. Tears began to flow. She sobbed. And she could hear Naoko weeping too.
A clatter and the complaint of a crowbar ripping the hasp off the door signaled their freedom. Uniformed officers with helmets and rifles made a quick visual search of the small room. A woman police officer arrived at her side immediately afterward.
Through tears and a runny nose, Shiori asked, “How’d you know we were back here?”
A weary-looking male officer met the gaze of the policewoman beside Shiori. “One of Ota’s men admitted he’d locked you in.”
“Which guy? Did you get his name?”
“I shouldn’t say. Could affect legal proceedings.”
She looked away.
“But since he was one of those who refused to give himself up, he ended up getting shot,” the officer said. “Now that he’s dead, I don’t suppose it matters if you accidently overheard his name…Kato Fumio.”
Even though it wasn’t cold, Shiori shivered. He may come back in my nightmares, but he’ll never again put his hands on me.
The policewoman touched her arm. “Was that the one? Did he hurt you?”
Shiori wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “The shooting started just in time.”
49
Tatsuyama yearned to reschedule the grilling Tokyo Metro Police were subjecting him to. He watched from the top of the warehouse office stairs when female officers ushered Shiori and Naoko into police cars to be driven to Kasumigaseki, where the rest of their questioning would take place. Both girls waved to him before getting in and leaving. Not one of the police officers gave the green light for so much as a few seconds of reunion between the three now that the ordeal was over.
The interviewing officer had to repeat his last question. Distracted, Tatsuyama hadn’t heard it.
Later, Kobayashi drove Tatsuyama down to headquarters. They made a side trip to the clinic for more stitches. A couple more hours of questioning followed.
“Don’t forget to follow up on that video from Shibuya 109,” Tatsuyama said. “I know Shiori said it went missing, but if her boss could be persuaded to recall what he did with it, that piece of evidence could go a long way in clearing me.”
“Oh, we’ll lean on Shiori’s former boss all right,” Kobayashi assured him. “He’ll talk. By the way, do you think Shiori wants his job? I’m sure it’ll be vacant by noon today.”
Tatsuyama chuckled. “I’m looking forward to finding out what Shiori wants. I could be wrong, but my sense is, she’s had enough of store security.”
He thought back to his all-night chat with Shiori on the eighth floor above Hole in the Wall. She said she loved taiko drumming. And then there was something else. What was it? She said she’d tell him if they ever became good friends. I’d like to think we’ve become more than that.
Kobayashi drew Tatsuyama out of his musings. “I suppose this is all we need from you for now. We’ll definitely meet again—several times, I’m sure—before this goes to court.”
At last, Tatsuyama was free to go. He stood and bowed to Kobayashi. “Doumo arigatou gozaimashita, Kobayashi-san. I don’t know what I would have done without you, my friend. Maybe we can get together for a beer sometime and talk about”—he shrugged—“baseball, jazz…anything that doesn’t have to do with life-or-death situations or the yakuza.”
Kobayashi returned the bow. “That’d be my pleasure.” He crossed the room. With one hand on the door, he looked back and said, “Tatsuyama, they call you guys the last of the samurai. If that applies to anybody, it applies to you. In the best sense.” He nodded, stepped out, and pulled the door closed behind him.
Tatsuyama stared out the office window a few minutes, noting the first hints of pink and blue heralding early morning. Big decisions lay ahead. Career decisions. But they’d have to wait. The next few weeks would be devoted to people he cared deeply for.
“Starting now,” he said aloud.
Tatsuyama reached the first floor just as police staff and officers were beginning to arrive in substantial numbers for the new shift. Taking a few steps away from the elevators, he scanned the lobby for Shiori and Naoko. Officers upstairs had told him that they had finished interviewing both of them, and that the women had left a short while earlier.
He spotted Naoko near the doors. As soon as their eyes met, she started walking toward him. After one more glance around the lobby, he concluded Shiori wasn’t waiting for him there. Under the circumstances, that came as a relief.
Naoko and he stopped only inches apart.
Searching his face, she said, “At the end of the Kaki-Shinju concert, I was afraid I’d never get this chance.”
He had wanted a moment with her too, but before responding he waited for her to elaborate.
She took his hand. “I’m truly, truly sorry,” she said. “For everything. From pretending to be something I wasn’t to taking you to the concert…I hope you can forgive me.”
Cradling her face in both hands, he said, “I already have. So please, forgive yourself too, Naoko. Really. Don’t carry this around.”
She nodded and wiped at her eyes. “I have to go. Before others can regroup to stop me.”
“I hope you’re talking about going far away from danger.”
She nodded.
“Be safe, Naoko. Find a way to contact me. Let me know where you land, OK?”
“Hai. OK.”
From his heart came the urge to embrace her. He did.
> “Just so you know,” he said, “I don’t regret January to May.” Then pulling himself away, he smiled. “Ja mata.” [See you later.]
“Hai, ja mata.”
50
Tatsuyama stepped out of the police headquarters building and into the brilliant sunlight of a fresh late-spring morning wondering where Shiori would have gone. He decided to wander around the block, just in case she was looking for him outside a different exit.
As he strolled alongside the broad, tree-lined boulevard of Sakurada Dori, he heard a female voice behind him ask, “Where are you going?”
He turned, and there she was, only a dozen steps away. With a broad grin, he ambled back to the petite beauty. Her shoulder was bandaged. He would ask about that, but for several long moments he just wanted to gaze at her face. There was that warm smile that had captivated him from the start—so perfectly completed when her dark eyes smiled as well.
A soft breeze blew a strand of her hair across her face. He tenderly tucked it back behind her ear. Before he could take his hand away, she held it tightly to her cheek.
“Where are you going?” she asked again.
“I left my phone in Kyoto,” he said. “I think I need to go there to get a new one. Do you want to come along?”
Shiori smiled even brighter and answered, “Hai! Maybe you can recommend a good Italian restaurant once we get there.”
“Sure…but only if you can recommend a good karaoke box—one that serves great pizza and beer. Did you know that I’ve never tried karaoke?”
She giggled. “So I’ve heard. And did you know that until this week I was never a big fan of sumo? All of a sudden, though, I’m really interested.”
She took hold of his arm, and the pair strolled away together toward the train station, chatting and laughing softly.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing and publishing Sumotori: A 21st Century Samurai Thriller has been such a blast. I am thankful beyond words to the One who gave me the mind, the imagination, and the opportunity to accomplish this extremely gratifying task. I am also grateful to Him for a life enriched by visiting beautiful Japan and for the pleasure of getting to know a number of Japan’s delightful people.
My wife, Carolyn, has been my number one cheerleader, not only during the writing of this particular story but also through her encouragements to take the plunge into the world of writing and publishing. I am endlessly grateful to her.
My daughter, Emily, has been a fountain of information and affirmation, especially relating to Japanese culture and language. Doumo arigatou gozaimashita, Emi-chan.
I would also like to thank Jonathan Milligan and Bob Lotich of Kindle Your Passion, two of the most encouraging and motivating brothers I’ve ever met. BYPU and KYP rock!
Many thanks to author and commentator Eric Metaxas who convinced me that writers of fiction can play a significant role in fulfilling a higher calling.
Thank you, Marg McAlister, for your priceless mentoring and for encouraging me so greatly along the way. You’re a gem.
Thanks to the team at CreateSpace for doing such a fine job, from cover design to layout to editing. It’s been a pleasure to work with you.
And finally, to you, the reader, a warm thank-you for picking up the book. I hope you enjoy the story.
GP Hutchinson
January 2014
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
GP Hutchinson is a former secondary school teacher who is now devoted to the craft of writing. He is a graduate of Louisiana State University and Dallas Theological Seminary, and has also lived and studied abroad in Costa Rica and Spain.
The author has always had a deep fascination with Japan, which led him to take part in a three-month immersion internship in Japanese culture. He has also guest taught in the Ishikawa Prefecture public school system and chaperoned a group of American high school students on a trip from Osaka to Kyoto to Hiroshima.
The knowledge and experience he gained from studying and visiting the country inspired him to write the novel Sumotori, an international adventure that is set in Japan and features a protagonist who ranks highly in the country’s national sport of sumo wrestling.
GP Hutchinson is pleased to get e-mail from readers. Feel free to drop him a line at [email protected].
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