The younger boy punched at the older boy’s sides in vain, his weak strikes barely even noticed by the crazed teen. The men from the car stood just inside Jamie’s field of vision, laughing and throwing words of encouragement to his attacker. The young boy could not breathe. Flashes of light formed in his field of vision as his attacker began to slowly fade from view.
“Release the boy, NOW!!!” demanded a strong voice. As the sound of his own heartbeat echoed in his head and muffled anything outside, Jamie could not make out where the voice had originated.
Suddenly, the boy released him. Jamie reached up to rub his throat with both of his hands, coughing and gasping for breath. As his vision cleared, he could see why the boy had let him go. Standing at Jamie’s right, a long, wooden staff in his right hand, was Mr. Funakoshi.
The older boy, now in a sitting position, was scurrying backward as fast as his hands and feet would take him. The two men started warily toward the Japanese man, each pulling a knife from his belt. Mr. Funakoshi spun the staff a few times between both hands. This seemed to make the two men even less sure of themselves.
“I do not know what has prompted this attack,” he looked down at Jamie, who wiped his hand across his upper lip, eyeing the Japanese man in wonder, then looked back at the men, “but I will give you the option of leaving now without further confrontation.”
One of the men lashed out with his knife, but Funakoshi had already moved to the side and slammed the shaft of the staff into the man’s gut. As he doubled over, the Japanese man finished the fight with a well-placed strike to the back of the head.
Jamie focused upon Tanemura, as the old man assumed a defensive stance in preparation for an attack by the other man. Each step that the drug dealer took toward the older man seemed to echo through Jamie’s head. In contrast, no sound seemed to be coming from Mr. Funakoshi at all.
The younger man lunged at the older. Tanemura’s staff slammed into his opponent’s hand, knocking the blade into the air. As it came back down, he swatted it and sent it flying across the yard to embed itself into a tree.
Tanemura dropped the staff to the ground. It came to rest in front of Jamie.
Jamie’s eyes turned from the fight to look at the other boy. He had grabbed the knife from the unconscious man and was circling around the two combatants, trying to get behind the older man. Jamie looked around frantically. Reaching out with his right hand, he grasped the staff and climbed to his feet.
The boy had succeeded in getting behind Funakoshi, who gave no inclination that he knew that the boy was there. The boy held the knife under-handed, moving slowly toward the old man.
“HEY, JERK!” yelled Jamie. The boy turned to look at him as he swung the staff like a baseball bat, striking him across the face with it. The boy’s head jerked to the side with the blow and he fell to the ground, unconscious. Then, the staff dropped from numb fingers and Jamie sunk back to the ground.
Tanemura continued defending himself against the final assailant. The old man blocked a clumsy punch to his face. Grabbing the man’s wrist, Tanemura kicked him in the gut, then turned and flipped him to the ground. A final, open-handed strike the back of the man’s head knocked him cold.
Jamie sighed with relief. Looking down at his hand, he noticed that there was a smear of red across it. He reached up and once again wiped it across his upper lip, then looked again. His nose was oozing blood. He must have busted it when the older boy slammed him to the ground.
The young boy looked back up at Mr. Funakoshi, who was fishing through the trunk of his car for something. He produced a long, black rope with a three-pronged hook at the end of it. Walking among the two men and the boy, he bound each one, hands and feet, connecting them to each other. He then searched each of them. Finally, he took the hooked end of the rope and tossed it toward one of the higher branches of the only tree in his front yard. The hook caught itself on the branch, anchoring the three thugs in place.
“That should hold them while I call the sheriff,” commented the old man as he turned to look at Jamie with a smile. The smile faded as he focused on Jamie’s face. “Your nose is bleeding. Come with me.”
Jamie climbed unsteadily to his feet, his legs feeling like rubber. He moved slowly up the steps to the door and followed Tanemura inside. The living room drew its only light from the picture window in the front of the house. Mr. Funakoshi kicked off his shoes before he stepped off of the small tile entryway onto the carpet. Jamie did the same.
The man gently lifted Jamie’s chin with his right hand and examined the boy’s nose. “It doesn’t appear to be very bad. Be seated while I get you a washcloth.” He turned and headed down the hallway to the bathroom.
Jamie obediently walked across the room and sat on the couch, taking his glasses off and cleaning them on this shirt. After he put them back on, he examined the room. This was the first time that Jamie had been inside the house. Tanemura, a retired toymaker, would often entertain the neighborhood children with games and refreshments. But he always did this in his front yard.
The carpet was a light brown color. It looked brand new, which may have been Tanemura’s reason for taking off his shoes. A large, console television stood in front of the picture window. On it was a strange-looking, potted tree. The branches grew out at odd angles. Jamie guessed it it must be Japanese.
To his left, Jamie saw a rack on the wall that held two swords. One was a mirror image of the other, albeit smaller. Their handles were braided in black chord and the black sheathes slightly reflected the sunlight that streamed in the window.
To Jamie’s right, his eyes settled on something that seemed out of place. It was a wooden cross. He did not take his eyes off of it when Tanemura walked back into the living room.
“I see that you found my cross,” said the older man.
Jamie looked up at him and nodded.
“And you wonder why an old, Japanese man would have a cross in his living room?”
Jamie shrugged.
Mr. Funakoshi handed the washcloth to the boy as he replied, “I became a Christian when I came to America over thirty years ago. Now, Jesus is my Savior.”
Jamie wiped the blood from his upper lip, then used the cloth to pinch his nostrils closed and tilted his head back.
“No, tilt your head forward,” instructed Tanemura. “The bleeding will stop faster and you will not swallow more of your own blood.”
Jamie did as he was told as Tanemura headed into the kitchen. He turned his head to watch as the old man grabbed the phone from its perch on the wall and dialed a number. The man waited for someone to answer on the other end. “Hello, Buster? May I speak with your father?”
That was to be expected. Buster’s father was the police chief.
“Yes, Sheriff Goodman?” Mr. Funakoshi continued. “This is Tanemura Funakoshi. Some men attacked Jamie Raleigh in my front yard a few moments ago. I detained them and tied them up outside. Could you please come and collect them?” He waited as the sheriff said something. “Yes, assure Buster that Jamie is well. I was able to stop them before they did too much harm. I will see you when you arrive.”
He hung up the receiver, then picked it back up and called out to Jamie, “What is your phone number?”
“Doo, four, sigs-doo, wad, four, seved,” responded Jamie, his voice muffled with his nostrils pinched closed.
“Two, four, six-two, one, four, seven?”
Jamie nodded.
Tanemura dialed the number. “Mrs. Raleigh? This is Tanemura Funakoshi. I have your son in my house. There was a . . . situation and it would be good for you to come to my house.” He waited for her reaction. “Yes, he is well. No, it was nothing that he did wrong.” She said something. “We will await your arrival. If the men who are tied up in my front yard are conscious when you arrive, please do not approach them. I secured them as best I could but, if they get loose, they may still be dangerous.” She said s
omething else. “Yes, they were the ones who did something wrong.” He hung up the phone.
Tanemura walked back into the living room and knelt before Jamie. “Let me see your nose.”
Jamie removed the cloth and the old man examined him. “The bleeding seems to have stopped.”
Jamie just stared at him.
“You are not very talkative, are you?”
The boy shrugged. “Only when I got somthin’ important t’say.”
Tanemura smiled. “Well, how about this? Perhaps you could tell me why those men were allowing that boy to attack you?”
“I saw’em sell him drugs,” responded Jamie.
Tanemura’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
“They gave him a bag with a white powder in it. When they saw that I saw it, they chased me.”
The doorbell rang. As Buster’s house was on the same street as Tanemura’s, it had not taken the sheriff long to get there. Tanemura walked over to the door and opened it. Through the screen door, Jamie could see Mr. Goodman and a deputy handcuffing the men.
Buster stood on the porch.
Tanemura opened the screen door for Buster to enter. The youth did so as Tanemura called out, “You might wish to check the boy. Jamie said that they attacked him for seeing them sell the boy some kind of drug.”
Buster ran up to Jamie. “Are you okay?”
Jamie nodded. “He saved me.”
Tanemura nodded. “You did help a little. You dispatched the boy.”
Buster’s eyes widened in awe. “Wow! How’d you do that?”
“Hit’im upside the head with a bo staff,” replied Jamie, swinging his arms for emphasis.
“How did you know that word?” asked Tanemura.
“Sho Kasugi,” responded the youth.
“Who?”
“Sho Kasugi. He’s in a bunch of movies about ninjas.”
Mr. Funakoshi regarded Jamie thoughtfully. He looked across the room at the two swords. Then he focused on Jamie again. “Jamie, how would you like for me to teach you to defend yourself, as I did today?”
“Mom said we don’t have the money for me to take lessons,” was the boy’s response.
“I would need your mother’s permission, of course,” returned Tanemura. “But I wouldn’t charge you for the lessons. If your mother agrees, would you like to train with me?”
Jamie smiled. “Would you teach me karate?”
Tanemura chuckled. “Well, not exactly . . ..”
Chapter Three
November 16, 1991
Friday, 4:47 PM
Jamie awoke with a start. He had dozed off while thinking of that day, so long ago. He had, indeed, trained under Tanemura Funakoshi. His sensei had trained him to be a ninja. He had worked hard, surpassing many of the other students of the various families in the clan. As he had put only his school work before his constant training, he had finished in just under five years.
It helped that his best friends from Jameston had followed his interest in the martial arts. While most of their peers were spending their time playing baseball during the summer, Jamie and his friends were sparring with each other.
Jamie looked down at Chico, sleeping contentedly on his lap. Linus lay on the right arm of the chair, his eyes barely open. He glanced at the metal footlocker at the foot of his bed. Once containing the ninja-to that Deck Pendragon had crafted for him, he had taken the sword and most of his other weapons to his sensei’s house in Aurthur when Max had discovered his ninja suit in his closet. Convincing his younger friend that it was just a collectable had been easy, but the young ninja had not wanted to tempt fate again. Now, it only contained his practice sword, called a bokken, and his other practice weapons.
Jamie looked at the alarm clock at the head of his bed. He hadn’t slept long.
The phone rang. Linus’s ears perked up. Jamie leaned forward and grabbed the corded phone from the top of his television, ignoring Chico’s whining protests, then answered it.
“Hello?”
The familiar voice on the other end had a slight accent. “Jamie? It is Yoshi.”
He did not know why she announced herself. It’s not like he had any other Japanese girls who called him regularly. “Hey.”
“Have they arrived yet?”
“Not yet,” replied Jamie with a yawn. “They should be here any time, though.”
“I hope that Buster does not bring BJ.”
Jamie shook his head. “Can you actually see Mrs. Goodman letting Buster go somewhere without dragging his brother with him?”
“Surely she must realize that a seventeen-year-old boy is too old to be taking his eight year-old brother with him everywhere. After all, what is she going to do when he goes to college next year?”
Jamie chuckled. “I hear that Evangel College has a daycare . . ..”
“Not funny, Jamie Raleigh.”
“Okay,” he responded. “She’ll have no excuse then but to take responsibility for her own kid.”
He could hear her sigh. “Are we still going to go to the skating rink?”
Jamie cleared his throat. “If we have to.”
“You know how much we all enjoy skating, particularly Dave.”
“I know,” said Jamie. “But I really tank at it.”
“But we all know that you are capable of at least pretending to have a good time,” she laughed. “And I will stay near you to help you if you fall.”
He smiled. “Thanks. I can walk a tightrope, but I’m a clutz on skates. Go figure.”
“That, coupled with your fear of heights, makes you an interesting ninja, to be sure.” She laughed again, then said, “Call me when you are all leaving to pick me up.”
“Will do,” he replied. “Bye, sis.”
He heard the click on the other end.
After hanging up the phone, Jamie sat Chico gently on the floor. Then he stood and stretched. He called Yoshi “sis,” as they were members of the same family within their clan. They had trained together, when she was taking it seriously, when they were younger. First, Jamie’s sensei, who was Yoshi’s great-uncle, would meet with her parents and the three of them would observe Jamie and Yoshi practice together. Then, after the death of Yoshi’s parents, Tanemura had continued her training alone. By then, Jamie had completed his test of membership into the clan and spent as much time as possible helping in her training. It had been part of the reason Tanemura and Yoshi had followed Jamie West when his parents had moved their family to Sera. It had been highly important that Yoshi finish her training. She was the next in line to be the jonin, or leader, of their clan when Tanemura passed away.
A car horn blared from the front yard. Jamie rushed out of his bedroom and into the living room, looking out the window in the door to see his uncle, Donnie Isaac, climbing from the passenger’s seat of a late model SUV. Jamie’s cousin, Dave, climbed from the driver’s seat.
Jamie opened the door and called out, “Your dad’s actually letting you drive? He must be braver than I thought!”
Dave, who stood a good six inches taller than Jamie--but was six months younger--hollered back, “Nyuk, nyuk. Just call me when you get yer license.” Dave reached back and absently checked the respectable ponytail into which he had tied his shoulder-length, brown hair.
Jamie smiled and folded his arms across his chest. “Fair enough.”
Donnie walked around the SUV and, before climbing into the driver’s seat, called out to Jamie, “I’m going to stay at that motel in Aurthur. Tell your mom I’ll be by tomorrow.”
“You’re not going to stay here?” asked Jamie.
At that moment, a red, mid-eighties model minivan with a silver driver’s side front door pulled into the driveway on the far side of Donnie’s SUV. “I don’t think there’s going to be room,” Jamie’s uncle responded.
The silver door opened and Jamie’s friend and nunchaku student stepped out. A year older than the young ninja, B
uster stood just under an inch taller. His short, dark hair was disheveled by the wind that had been blowing in through his open window.
Jamie could hear an all too familiar voice yelling from within the van, “Get me outta here! I’m gonna barf!”
Buster slid open the side door and a short, pudgy child leapt out. The child bent at the waist and rested his hands on his knees, over-emphasizing the heaves.
“Are you okay, B.J.?” asked Buster in concern.
“He’s fine,” called out another voice from within the van . . . one that Jamie recognized as his cousin, Pete. “He’s just suffering from ‘lack of attention-itis.’”
“He really could be sick,” commented Buster as he gently placed his hand on his brother’s back.
“Yeah,” called Jamie’s other cousin, Zack, who was climbing out of the back passenger’s door of Donnie’s SUV, “we’ll believe that when we believe you’re a Satanist.” He shook his head at his own sarcasm. This one, who was a year younger than Jamie, had fixed his short hair into a spike to match his favorite cartoon character, a rude child from a prime-time comedy series who was on the front of Zack’s shirt.
Buster looked at Zack disapprovingly. As if to emphasize the irony of Zack’s statement, Buster’s silver cross fell into view from within his shirt, dangling from a thin chain around his neck.
Pete climbed from the van, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. “Of course,” he said, running his fingers through his short, dishwater blonde hair, “with you drivin’, it’s a wonder we’re not both hurling.”
Buster cracked a crooked smile. “I didn’t hear you complaining during the trip.”
“Well, you still drive better than I could.”
B.J. stood. “Okay, I’m better.”
Dave rolled his eyes and grumbled, “This is gonna be a fun weekend.”
Donnie started the vehicle. “You kids have fun. And watch the fighting, son.”
Dave regarded his father in amusement. “Lemme get this straight. You want me t’have fun, but not fight?”
Donnie shook his head, then backed out of the driveway and drove back up the road.
Jamie stepped aside to allow his friends and cousins to enter. As B.J. stepped in, he noticed the damage to the front door. “What happened?”
Invasion of the Ninja Page 3