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.
“The winner: Kamilia Stone!” he cried.
The crowd applauded loudly and Kamilia saluted her unconscious opponent, who was being busied over by medics and was in the process of being transported out of the ring. Namara had been watching attentively and shook his head at seeing Guerra's bulky form being hauled around by the medics. The women will have been right about James. He had been thrown by her beauty at the beginning, Namara could see it, and this is where it got him. He decided it was, at least, a good lesson for his rakish friend.
“Our next competitors: Kamilia Stone versus Ming Mei Li. Please take position behind your respective lines.”
Kamilia again took position and watched the light step of her opponent as she arrived. Ming Mei was wearing a white version of her own outfit. The silk fluttered in the air with her long black hair. They saluted.
“Hajime!”
Kamilia advanced rapidly and aggressively, determined to win this fight as quickly as the first. She sent a round kick to her side, but Ming Mei deflected it with barely a glance and slammed her shoulder into Kamilia's chest. The fa-jing impact was devastating - it swept Kamilia off her feet, and she landed a distance away on her back. The impact was audible and Kamilia was too disoriented to get up.
The referee stepped in front of Ming Mei.
“Point to Ming Mei!” he cried. “Are you able to continue?” he asked.
Kamilia nodded and clambered to her feet.
“Hajime!”
Kamilia reset herself and kicked at Ming Mei's inner thigh, which was blocked. Without hesitating, she used her momentum to punch at Ming Mei's face, which Ming Mei swept aside with two arms before hopping forward to mount her own attack. With only a few inches of distance between them, she threw her elbow upwards, striking Kamilia under the chin, sending her reeling with confusion. She brought her arm down hard like a hammer on Kamilia’s deltoid, directly between the neck and shoulder. The pain, like several tons of weight, brought her to her knees. Ming Mei arched her back and delivered her final hit: two open palms, toward Kamilia’s chest, flinging her backwards several feet, where she came to rest on the ground, only half-conscious. The referee caught Ming Mei and, seeing that Kamilia was completely done, cried:
“Ming Mei, Winner!”
The crowd roared. Ming Mei saluted Kamilia and floated out of the ring.
* * *
Somewhere in the crowd, Maki was observing everything. From the beginning, he'd been on the lookout for new recruits. He'd observed every fighter attentively, from their technique to their attitude. He knew exactly what he was looking for: warriors who would become assassins, the most merciless. As a ninja, Maki had been designated by the brotherhood to recruit potential warriors who deserved the secret, ancestral knowledge. He had an eye for spotting warriors who had a sufficiently black soul and the necessary affinity for violence. He'd spotted his elusive targets from the beginning; a glance was enough. He'd watched to make sure he was right, and was very pleased with himself when his five choices rose to the finals. There was no doubt of Maki’s near-psychic recruiting instinct.
That they had impressed the crowd was an understatement, but Maki saw everything from a different angle. Their violence and talents put together with the most secret knowledge of the ninja way would make them human wrecking balls, capable of enormous damage. They matched exactly what the fraternity had ordered. Maki was a cold, black-eyed Japanese man with no knowledge of pity. The only thing he respected was his ninja family to which he belonged, and for which he was ready to die. He had no sense of morality or emotion. He could kill without batting an eye, which he’d done, many times. He had reflected constantly in these last days and the fighter who had impressed him the most was Danny Namara.
Maki had taken pains to decide, but from the beginning he was clearly different from everyone else. There was something about him he couldn't describe. He wasn't the most skilled or agile fighter in this tournament, but his mind-set was the one of a predator. He was bringing his adversary on his territory like a dragon leading the prey to its cavern to be burned alive. Maki knew that he had won the fight before even starting. Yes, there was something about him... something. The salute Namara used at the end of his fights perplexed him a little. The general salute consisted of a left hand encircling a right fist, yin and yang, peace and war, equilibrium. Namara reversed it: his right hand was on top of his left fist, a symbol of Pak Mei. Maki knew that Pak Mei was an obscure and secret style, the Chinese equivalent of Japan’s ninjutsu. He knew little about Pak Mei, apart from its legendary reputation. He’d thought the style extinct for years. He was surprised to see its aggressiveness and efficiency first hand.
To have studied this much debated art, Namara would have no doubt had good reason to have had access to it. Because of this, he was Maki’s first choice from the outset. He’d watched all of Namara’s fights with fascination and in Maki’s opinion, he would take the whole thing. Satisfied with his instinct, he adjusted his tie and concentrated on the following fights that would surely provide nothing but validation to his pride.
CHAPTER 27
“Hajime!”
Ming Mei advanced toward Shinsaku to strike at his face, but he tracked her arm movement and trapped it solidly. He jerked her in a half-circle, throwing her onto the ground with a cry. He let go of her arm just before the bone broke and kicked her face. The referee stopped Shinsaku and he returned to his line, his hakkama fluttering behind him.
“Can you continue?”
“Yes, yes,” she cried angrily, licking blood from her lip.
“Hajime!”
Shinsaku advanced to finish her off with a hit to the chest, but she blocked his hit early and got her revenge with a punch to his crotch. In the same motion, she caught his chin and smashed her knee right between his legs. It was too much; Shinsaku lost consciousness. She swept his legs out from under him and he went down, hard. The referee ran in before Ming Mei could further punish his unconscious body.
“The winner, Ming Mei!”
Namara looked his future competitor over. He’d seen her fight. She was terrifyingly efficient and ferociously mild. She glued herself to her opponents and had them do her bidding. He wouldn’t be taken so easily. He began to unwind himself, waiting for the presenter to announce the final combat. In his black silk Mao-collared shirt and pants, he stayed calm and unruffled, saving his energy for the fight.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment has come for the final combat. The title of champion will be disputed by Danny Namara and Ming Mei Li. Take your positions!”
Danny advanced calmly to his line and rolled up his sleeves.
“Salute your opponent!”
They did, and prepared for the most ferocious fight yet.
“Hajime!”
Namara knew that Ming Mei’s instinct was nearly supernatural. He threw her a direct hit and she blocked it, like he’d expected. He followed through, as though he would continue the motion, and then explosively reversed his motion – that, she hadn’t predicted. She lost control of Namara’s arm. He twisted and punched upward under her chin, the force of his exhale rendering the impact devastating. Her head whipped back and she blacked out. Her feet flew out from under her and she landed direct
ly on her back. It had been a few seconds. Namara saluted her limp form as the referee gestured wildly toward him.
“The winner and grand champion: Danny Namara!”
The crowd roared. The presenter offered him his $100,000 cheque. The officials snapped photos with the champion and the tournament ended.
* * *
“And what exactly do you plan to do with that purse?” asked Guerra, who was smoking a cigarillo next the window of their hotel room. Below, the Shibuya district and its thousands of neon lights claimed victory over the night.
“I don’t know. Save it for a rainy day, probably,” said Namara around a mouthful of noodles, reclining in an armchair.
“Yeah, I’d do the same. We don’t know anything in our line of work… Putting something off to the side, always a good thing,” he said, puffing on his cigar and watching Tokyo from the twenty-eighth floor.
Guerra had ended up with a black eye and a messed up nose. By some miracle, it wasn’t broken. After he’d come around following the fight, he’d remembered bit-by-bit what had happened. His nose bled for a while and his face was pretty bashed up.
“How’s your face?” Namara asked.
“It’s fine. A bit sensitive, but I’ve seen worse!”
“She’s pretty, eh?” said Namara bitingly between mouthfuls.
“Damn straight. But that bitch got lucky,” he muttered, watching the wind-blown rain slap against the windowpane, smashing into tiny droplets.
“Don’t be such a loser. You were slaughtered out there but you held on!”
“I already told you that I would go out.”
“Yeah,” said Namara.
“What did you think of the others?”
“They’re all solid fighters in their disciplines.”
“Yeah, the tai chi was impressive. I always thought tai chi was relaxation for old people.”
“And clearly, you were wrong. The Japanese guy was good as well, but the hits he took were his own fault. I wonder if he’ll be able to have kids – jeez, his nuts must be the size of beach balls by now.”
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