The Courier

by Gordon J Campbell

  The closest assailant to Gregg pulled out a Spyderco Matriarch blade from his pant pocket and flicked it open. The weapon’s four-inch steel blade’s hooked edge reflected the streetlight as the punk extended it. Gregg stepped back and pulled off his leather belt. He whipped it as the punk lunged with the knife designed to rip flesh. It missed the knife hand but surprised the thug, causing a split second of hesitation. This allowed Gregg an opening to step in close. He whipped the belt a second time, and it slapped and wrapped around the assailant’s knife hand.

  Gregg pivoted, taking the weapon and the attacker’s arm over the river fence. He dropped all his weight onto the knife hand and heard the loud snap of tendons and the crackle of bones. His opponent screamed and dropped the sharp blade down the riverbank.

  The thug swung at Gregg with his left arm, catching him in the shoulder, and Gregg countered by kneeing the punk between the legs. He followed by once again using the brutish head-butt technique to devastate the younger man’s nose. Gregg grabbed the punk’s crotch and secured the twenty-year-old’s neck with the fingers extending from his casted arm—and lifted. He executed his first clean and jerk since university.

  Gregg ignored the punk as he struggled and twisted while screaming profanities and launched him into the rushing water. The vulgarities terminated when the Meguro River carried the mugger away into the foam and rapids. The river flush with the torrential rain bounced the young hoodlum against the far-side wall before enveloping him and carrying him out of sight.

  David was forced to deal with the third thug, who pushed his wounded cohort into the car and then rushed forward with a weapon in hand. The young criminal held long buckskin straps attached to a fourteen-inch leather-covered steel slapper and smiled before launching it at David’s head. Instinct, reinforced by years of practice as an ice hockey goaltender, saved his skull. He lowered his head and stepped backward, avoiding direct contact, but the heavy-metal weapon glanced off the side of his face above the right eye.

  It cut deep and left a three-inch bloody gash. David fought without distraction and positioned himself for a spinning elbow strike. He pivoted, maintaining his low center of balance, completing his rotation by landing his elbow joint on the side of his antagonist’s face. The blow disconnected the punk’s cheek bone from his jaw and threw him against the river fence. His head bounced off the metal and he fell limp to the wet ground, unconscious.

  Gregg finished his encounter and turned away from the river to find David staring down the muzzle of a handgun held by the injured yakuza. He’d crawled back out of the car and now leaned over the hood of the vehicle to take aim at David. Time seemed to slow for Gregg while he witnessed the gun’s retort, flames and smoke discharging from the small weapon, and watched his friend hold his stomach while looking around in disbelief as he fell to the ground.

  Gregg charged the gunman, who was older and scarred, and he was surprised when the mobster fired once more. The bullet didn’t connect or stop Gregg, and the gangster dropped the weapon and crawled on all fours to the vehicle. Gregg slammed into the driver’s door as it closed and pounded on the roof. He stepped back and kicked the window, but the glass held in place. The yakuza’s car engine screamed, and Gregg stepped back and away from its tires.

  The car wheels screeched as the sedan backed up fifty meters and turned down a side street to disappear from sight. Gregg ran to his friend and dropped to his knees beside him, taking in the horror of his friend’s condition. Blood streamed over his face and reddened the lower part of David’s shirt. Gregg put his hand on the wound in attempt to stop the bleeding.

  “Am I going to die here?” asked David.

  As if in answer, a black Lincoln Navigator arrived and skidded to a stop, and the vehicle’s doors popped open. Two men wearing dark rain jackets, sunglasses, and baseball hats stepped out of the SUV. One of the men inspected the scene. “You folks reenacting the battle of Iwo Jima?” he asked. Gregg recognized Jeff Ward’s voice.

  “David’s been shot,” said Gregg.

  Ward’s partner was a mountain of a man even larger than David. “Help me get your friend into the car,” he said. Gregg was caught by indecision and stood motionless in the downpour. “Do you want your friend to die? Get moving,” ordered Ward.

  The two men picked up David and eased him across the back seat of the SUV. Once all were safely in the car, David observed that the driver’s shoulders spanned the width of most of the front window, forcing Ward to lean against his door. The driver put the car in drive and pushed the gas pedal to the floor as Ward slammed his door. Gregg felt himself forced back into his seat from the acceleration.

  “There’s a medical kit under your seat. Get the largest dressing out and cover David’s wound. Put pressure on it. Use lots of force to reduce the bleeding. We’ll get to some medical help soon,” said Ward.

  Gregg pulled the medical kit from under the seat and found a large-area wound dressing. He ripped open David’s shirt and applied the dressing to the small hole in his friend’s stomach. Gregg applied pressure as ordered but backed it off when David screamed. “I’m sorry. Hang in there,” said Gregg.

  “It hurts like a mother,” shouted David.

  “We’ll get you to a doctor quickly,” said Ward.

  “How’d you find us?” asked Gregg. He was panting and the adrenaline in his bloodstream caused him to shake.

  “You leave a trail. Now settle down and listen. Do you need medical attention?” asked Ward.

  “I’m fine,” replied Gregg.

  “Check your left hand,” ordered Ward.

  Gregg brought his hand to the light, displaying a gash running above his knuckles from thumb to pinky. They drove several blocks from the Meguro River taking evasive maneuvers. The driver opted for one-way streets and made two sudden U-turns. The fugitives traveled down back roads for twenty minutes before the driver entered the Shuto Expressway at the Yoga Interchange. They stayed on the toll highway for thirty minutes before exiting at the Yokohama-Machida Interchange. They continued onto National Route 16 and pulled off to a side street near the city of Sagamihara. The SUV traveled another five hundred meters and came to a stop in a dark parking lot behind a medical clinic.

  Gregg couldn’t read the Japanese kanji for jui, but the pictures of pets on the clinic’s windows made the nature of the operation obvious.

  “We’re going to a veterinarian?” asked Gregg.

  “Affirmative, but don’t worry. She studied medicine at Keio University for five years before switching to veterinarian studies,” said Ward.

  “Why the move?” asked David.

  “She couldn’t stand the sight of blood,” replied Ward.

  The group remained silent as lights came on and the back door opened. A short but attractive Japanese woman greeted them with a bow. Without a word, she escorted the men as they assisted David from the SUV. The veterinarian was petite, shapely, and had beautiful large brown eyes.

  “This guy was shot in the stomach,” explained Ward.

  The veterinarian accepted the explanation without comment. She moved into her operation room and the men followed. The vet pointed at David. “Please lie him down on the operation room table and I’ll examine him,” she said.

  After less than a minute, the vet looked at Ward. “I’m going to need some assistance. Are you ready to scrub?” she asked.

  “I’ve already arranged for two operation room nurses to assist. They’ll be here in less than half hour. In the meantime, we’ll do anything to assist,” he said.

  “I’ll give him something for the pain and start prepping him for surgery,” she said.

  She looked over the three men standing around her operation room and glanced at the trail of blood splashed from the clinic door to the operation room. She nodded to Ward’s tall partner. “Please take your friend to the sink and wash his wounded hand and cover it with a dressing. You can all mop up my clinic after you’ve finished with the first aid. Why do you guys always leave a mess be
hind you?” she asked.

  Chapter 29

  Tokyo

  His iPhone vibrated, and Shimano looked at the caller identification displaying an unregistered number. “Good evening,” he said.

  “We initiated action on the little favor your suppliers requested, and you’re in deep shit,” said Sato.

  Shimano reacted like a heavyweight fighter taking a solid punch to his solar plexus. His neck muscles tightened, sweat dripped down his back, and he felt his chest constrict. Shimano listened to the mobster breathe on the other end of the line, and his hand started to tremble.

  “Do you have any idea about the trouble your request caused the family? Don’t answer. I will speak slowly to be sure you understand. We have a younger brother requiring treatment from an orthopedic surgeon. An apprentice is in intensive care following neurosurgery. A second employee was drowned in the Meguro River, and one requires plastic surgery to repair his face. What were you thinking when you asked us to do this favor for you?”

  Shimano lost control of his right hand and it spasmed, requiring a white-knuckle grip to hold the phone. “I’m sorry, this is terrible news. Would you mind explaining what happened?” he asked.

  Sato laughed. “It’s simple. We had two chances and sent six tough soldiers to shake up your American lowlife, and he kicked our asses. My men had weapons, and he was unarmed, but things got complicated. You asked us for a simple favor but didn’t mention we’d be facing trained mercenaries,” said Sato.

  Shimano heard Sato take a deep, angry drag on a cigarette. “He had assistance and these guys were decisive, violent, and as effective as any of my elite soldiers. Westwood and a friend got reinforced when we had them on the ropes,” said Sato.

  “What friend? I am confused. They were rescued?” asked Shimano.

  “The brethren at the Inuzawa-kai believe you set us up. Did your supplier pay you to organize a little confrontation between professional soldiers and my men?” asked Sato. Shimano heard him suck on his cigarette and winced.

  “This is unfortunate,” replied Shimano.

  “You are right, my old friend. It’s unfortunate for me, my men, for you, and your damn supplier. Think about it. A big SUV came flying in to rescue your loser American. This can’t be a coincidence. What the fuck are you doing?” asked Sato.

  “I came to you with one hell of an opportunity, and unfortunately the deal has some strings attached. You received all the data available to me. Do you want me to tell the supplier to cancel the project and embellish on the fact that you don’t have the capability or guts to see it through to completion?” asked Shimano.

  “Shut up and listen, you little shit. Do you think your supplier is going to protect you once the product arrives in the United States? The only thing keeping you alive is the possibility of continued business and excessive fucking profits for everyone involved,” said Sato.

  Sweat ran down Shimano’s face. “The rewards from this operation will far exceed the risk. Our supplier asked to have one man removed, and your organization failed to complete the assignment. Should I be questioning your capabilities?” asked Shimano.

  Sato sucked air through his teeth and replied, “The family isn’t comfortable with this kind of exposure. We lost face. You know payment and retribution will be received one way or another,” he said.

  “You’ve got my paintings and the opportunity to earn billions,” said Shimano.

  “Start selling some more of your paintings,” said Sato and ended the call.

  Shimano was soaked with cold sweat. He removed his custom-made oxford dress shirt and tossed it on the ground. The embroidered name on its sleeve caught his eyes and it inspired him to kick the shirt away from him. He grabbed the first thing in his clothing drawer. It was a gift from his girlfriend, and he donned the quarter-zip pullover.

  Shimano sat on his sofa and pulled out his cell phone and punched in an automatic dial number.

  “Hello,” said the young voice.

  “It’s Shimano.”

  “Is it done?” asked the supplier.

  “It’s blown up in our faces. What the hell did you ask me to do?” asked Shimano.

  “Excuse me?” said the supplier.

  “My associate feels you sent us after a hard target and now questions the reliability of our intelligence data. We’ve got the infrastructure in place to clear your shipment and redirect it as planned. I’d like my partner to have confidence in the operation. We’re committed to a long-term relationship with you and your colleagues,” said Shimano.

  “Did your yakuza friend take out Gregg Westwood?” asked the supplier.

  “His men were not prepared to deal with a man with Westwood’s skills or backup. It seems he has angels watching and protecting him,” said Shimano.

  “Thank you for the interesting feedback. We’ll assist your partner in assembling the pieces to disrupt our American friends. Leave it to us,” said the controller.

  ***

  Zushi Marina

  Sato’s private and unlisted cell phone chimed, indicating the arrival of an SMS text. The rare occurrence piqued his curiosity and he left his comfortable seat at the sofa beside his girlfriend to open up the message. It revealed a photo of an attractive Japanese woman and a teenager who was obviously her daughter. The message accompanying the photos stated the name and address of Miki and Kou Westwood and the added description of “two soft targets.”

  Chapter 30

  Kawasaki, near Noborito Station

  Miki woke up to the sun shining through her eastern-facing window. The room was comfortable with an air conditioner humming above the king-sized bed. She pushed aside the covers and made her way down the stairs to be greeted by their enthusiastic tabby cat, Oliver, who spent the night locked away from the family’s third-floor bedrooms. His loud and insistent cat banter, best described as gut-wrenching vocals, didn’t stop until she picked him up.

  His morning welcoming ritual was followed by several minutes of grooming with a plastic brush. Miki placed the big cat down on the floor and walked into the kitchen. She washed her hands and started pulling out eggs and bacon to make breakfast. “Kou chan, get up and have breakfast. We’ll go down to Kawasaki Station and watch a movie in the cool new theater.”

  Her daughter disconnected from the internet and walked downstairs. Kou received her own vocal serenade from Oliver before reaching the bottom of the staircase. She picked up the thirteen-pound local celebrity and stroked his gray-and-black-patterned fur. “Good morning, Oliver,” she said and hugged the cat. “Where’s Papa today?”

  “Bangkok, Thailand. It’s a short business trip,” said Miki.

  “Oh, he didn’t tell me he was going on another trip,” Kou said. She took a seat at the kitchen table. “Maybe we could watch a musical?”

  “Nice idea. I think Mary Poppins Returns is playing on the large IMAX screen near Kawasaki Station,” said Miki.

  “Let’s do it,” she said and left the table to walk to the large bay window at the end of the living room. The teenager looked over the suburban Kawasaki neighborhood and the hills in the distant south with foliage now a bright green from recent rains. “It’s going to be a beautiful day,” she said. The sky was blue with bits of clouds, and a few young children were playing in a tiny park squeezed between condominium projects, next to the street leading to the JR train station. A group of middle school baseball players made their way down the main road. They were forced to step around a short man standing in the middle of the street leaning on a cane. The old man’s right leg was bound in a black leg brace from ankle to thigh.

  Kou thought nothing of it and returned to the breakfast table. Most of Miki’s culinary effort was packed in Ziploc bags and refrigerated before they readied themselves for a trip downtown. They left home and walked toward the train station carrying summer sweaters to throw over black V-neck T-shirts at the air-conditioned movie theater.

  ***

  Lazona Kawasaki Plaza, IMAX Theater

 
Kou left while the theater was still dark and the credits rolled down the screen. The large Diet Coke consumed during the movie now inspired her to hurry ahead of her mother who followed her to the washroom a few minutes later after gathering sweaters and all their shopping bags. Miki arrived at the restroom and couldn’t locate Kou when she checked under each stall, hoping to recognize her daughter’s feet and sandals.

  Miki called out her daughter’s name and received no response. She left the women’s restroom and followed the hallway leading from the IMAX theaters to the main lobby. It was active with people entering, departing, and lining up four deep at the food and beverage counters. She looked over the people walking away with popcorn and trays of yakisoba noodles but had no success locating Kou.

  As frustration morphed into panic, Miki ran past crowds streaming in and out of theaters to check each corridor, and she crossed the lobby to an alternative washroom situated near the exit to the theater. The stalls in the ladies’ room were occupied, with some women waiting in front of them. Two ladies stopped washing their hands at the sink to turn and study Miki with curiosity as she called for her daughter. She left the washroom and took a few steps before feeling a hand on her shoulder.

  Miki turned to see a handsome young Japanese man in his mid-twenties dressed sharply in navy slacks and a white Ralph Lauren summer shirt. “Are you looking for your daughter?” he asked.

  “She’s around here somewhere. We just finished watching a movie together and she wouldn’t leave without me,” said Miki.

  The man handed Kou’s black V-neck T-shirt to Miki and she grabbed it with both hands. Miki held Kou’s shirt tight enough for her knuckles to turn white. “Who are you and where is my daughter?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “Calm down and don’t raise your voice or make a scene. Your daughter will be fine,” he said. His voice was soft but menacing and Miki pulled her hand back when he tried to touch her. Miki stepped back from the man and crossed her arms in front of her while holding Kou’s shirt and their sweaters like a shield.