Aces Abroad wc-4

by George R. R. Martin

  Fortunato stopped to lean against one of the graceful f-shaped streetlights. Here it is, he thought, in all its glory. There was no more worldly a place on the planet, no place more obsessed with money, gadgets, drinking, and sex. And a few hours away were wooden temples in pine forests where men sat on their heels and tried to turn their minds into rivers or dust or starlight.

  Make up your mind, he told himself. You have to make up your mind.

  "Gaijin-san! You like girl? Pretty girl?"

  Fortunato turned around. It was a tout for a Pinku Saron, a unique Japanese institution where the customer paid by the hour for a bottomless saki cup and a topless jo-san. She would sit passively in his lap while he fondled her breasts and drank himself into a state where he was prepared to go home to his w*. It was, Fortunato decided, an omen.

  He paid three thousand yen for half an hour and walked into a darkened hallway. A soft hand took his and led him downstairs into a completely dark room filled with tables and other couples. Fortunato heard business being discussed all around him. His hostess led him to one end of the room and sat him with his legs pinned under a low table, his back supported by a legless wooden chair. Then she gracefully moved into his lap. He heard her kimono rustle as she opened it to free her breasts.

  The woman was tiny and smelled of face powder, sandalwood soap, and, faintly, of sweat. Fortunato reached up with both hands and touched her face, his fingers tracing the lines of her jaw. She paid no attention. "Saki?" she asked.

  "No," Fortunato said. "I-ie, domo. " His fingers followed the muscles of her neck down to her shoulders, out to the edges of her kimono, then down. His fingertips brushed lightly over her small, delicate breasts, the tiny nipples hardening at his touch. The woman giggled nervously, raising one hand to cover her mouth. Fortunato laid his head between her breasts and inhaled the aroma of her skin. It was the smell of the world. It was time either to turn away or surrender, and he had backed himself into a corner, left himself without the strength to resist.

  He gently pulled her face down and kissed her. Her lips were tight, nervous. She giggled again. In Japan they called kissing suppun, the exotic practice. Only teenagers and foreigners did it. Fortunato kissed her again, feeling himself stiffening, and the electricity went through him and into the woman. She stopped giggling and began to tremble. Fortunato was shaking too. He could feel the serpent, Kundalini, begin to wake up. It moved around in his groin and began to uncoil through his spine. Slowly, as if she didn't understand what she was doing or why, the woman touched him with her little hands, putting them behind his neck. Her tongue touched him lightly on his lips and chin and eyelids. Fortunato untied her kimono and opened it up. He lifted her easily by the waist and sat her on the edge of the table, putting her legs over his shoulders, bending to open her up with his tongue. She tasted spicy, exotic, and in seconds she had come alive under him, hot and wet, her hips moving involuntarily.

  She pushed his head away and leaned forward, working at his trousers. Fortunato kissed her shoulders and neck. She moaned softly. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the hot, crowded room, no one else in the world. It was happening, Fortunato thought. Already he could see a little in the darkness, see her plain, square face, the lines beginning to show under her eyes, seeing how her looks had consigned her to the darkness of the Pinku Saron, wanting her even more for the desire he could see hidden inside her. He lowered her onto him. She gasped as he went into her, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  Yes, he thought. Yes, yes, yes. The world. I surrender. The power rose inside him like molten lava.

  It was a little after ten when he walked into the Berni Inn. The waitress, the one who'd told him her name was Megan, was just coming out of the kitchen. She stopped dead when she saw Fortunato. The waitress behind her nearly ran into her with a tray of meat pies.

  She stared at his forehead. Fortunato didn't have to see himself to know that his forehead had swollen again, bulging with the power of his rasa. He walked across the room to her. "Go away," she said. "I don't want to talk to you."

  "The club," Fortunato said "The one with the sign of the duck. You know where it is."

  "No. I never-"

  "Tell me where it is," he ordered.

  All expression left her face. "Across Roppongi. Right at the police box, down two blocks, then left half a block. The bar in front is called Takahashi's."

  "And the place in back? What's it called?"

  "It hasn't got a name. It's a yak hangout. It's not the Yamaguchi-gumi, none of the big gangs. Just this one little clan."

  "Then why are you so afraid of them?"

  "They've got a ninja, a shadow-fighter. He's one of those what-you-call-thems. An ace." She looked at Fortunato's forehead. "Like you, then, isn't he? They say he's killed hundreds. Nobody's ever seen him. He could be in this room right now. If not now, then he will be later. He'll kill me for having told you this."

  "You don't understand," Fortunato said. "They want to see me. I've got just the thing they want."

  It was the way Hiram had described it. The hallway was raw gray plaster and the door at the end of it was padded in turquoise Naugahyde with big brass nailheads. Inside, one of the hostesses came up to take Fortunato's jacket. "No," he said in Japanese. "I want to see the oyabun. It's important." She was still a little stunned just by the way he looked. His rudeness was more than she could deal with. "W-w-wakarimasen," she stammered.

  "Yes, you do. You understand me perfectly well. Go tell your boss I have, to speak to him. Now."

  He waited next to the doorway. The room was long and narrow, with a low ceiling and mirrored tiles on the. left-hand wall, above a row of booths. There was a bar along the other wall, with chrome stools like an American soda fountain. Most of the men were Koreans, in cheap polyester suits and wide ties. The edges of tattoos showed around their collars and cuffs. Whenever they looked at him, Fortunato stared back and they turned away.

  It was eleven o'clock. Even with the power moving through him, Fortunato was a little nervous. He was a foreigner, out of his depth, in the middle of the enemy's stronghold. I'm not here for trouble, he reminded himself. I'm here to pay Hiram's debt and get out.

  And then, he thought, everything will be okay. It was not even midnight Wednesday, and Hiram's business was nearly settled. Friday the 747 would be off for Korea and then the Soviet Union, taking Hiram and Peregrine with it. And then he would be on his own, able to think about what came next. Or maybe he should get on the plane himself, go back to New York. Peregrine said they had no future together, but maybe that wasn't true.

  He loved Tokyo, but Tokyo would never love him back. It would see to all his needs, give him enormous license in exchange for even the smallest attempt at politeness, dazzle him with its beauty, exhaust him with its exquisite sexual pleasures. But he would always be a gaijin, a foreigner, never have a family in a country where family was more important than anything.

  The hostess crouched by the last booth, talking to a Japanese with long permed hair and a silk suit. The little finger of his left hand was missing. The yakuza used to cut their fingers off to atone for mistakes. The younger kids, Fortunato had heard, didn't hold much with the idea. Fortunato took a breath and walked up to the table.

  The oyabun sat next to the wall. Fortunato figured him to be about forty. There were two jo-san next to him, and another across from him between a pair of heavyset bodyguards. "Leave us," Fortunato ordered the hostess. She walked away in the middle of her protest. The first bodyguard got up to throw Fortunato out. "You too," Fortunato said, making eye contact with each of them and each of the girls.

  The oyabun watched it all with a quiet smile. Fortunato bowed to him from the waist. The oyabun ducked his head and said, "My name is Kanagaki. Will you sit down?"

  Fortunato sat across from him. "The gaijin Hiram Worchester has sent me here to pay his debt." Fortunato took out his checkbook. "The amount, I believe, is two million yen."


  "Ah," Kanagaki said. "Another 'ace.' You have provided us with much amusement. Especially the little red-haired fellow"

  "Tachyon? What does he have to do with this?"

  "With this?" He pointed to Fortunato's checkbook. "Nothing. But many jo-san have tried to bring him pleasure these past few days. It seems he is having trouble performing as a man."

  Tachyon? Fortunato thought. Can't get it up? He wanted to laugh. It certainly explained the little maids, rotten mood at the hotel. "This has nothing to do with aces," Fortunato said. "This is business."

  "Ah. Business. Very well. We shall settle this in a businesslike way." He looked at his watch and smiled. "Yes, the amount is two million yen. In a few minutes it will become four million. A pity. I doubt you will have time to bring the gaijin Worchester-san here before midnight."

  Fortunato shook his head. "There is no need for Worchester-san to be here in person."

  "But there is. We feel there is some honor at stake here."

  Fortunato held the man's eyes. " I am asking you to do the needful." He made the traditional phrase an order. " I will give you the money. The debt will be canceled."

  Kanagaki's will was very strong. He almost managed to say the words that were trying to get out of his throat. Instead he said in a strangled voice, "I will honor your face."

  Fortunato wrote the check and handed it to Kanagaki. "You understand me. The debt is canceled."

  "Yes," Kanagaki said. "The debt is canceled."

  "You have a man working for you. An assassin. I think he calls himself Zero Man."

  "Mori Riishi." He gave the name in Japanese fashion, family name first.

  "No harm will come to Worchester-san. He is not to be harmed. This Zero Man, Mori, will stay away from him." Kanagaki was silent.

  "What is it?" Fortunato asked him. "What is it you're not saying?"

  "It's too late. Mori has already left. The gaijin Worchester dies at midnight."

  "Christ," Fortunato said.

  "Mori comes to Tokyo with a great reputation, but we have no proof. He was very concerned to make a good impression."

  Fortunato realized he hadn't checked with Peregrine. "What hotel? What hotel is Worchester-san staying in?" Kanagaki spread his hands. "Who knows?"

  Fortunato started to get up. While he'd been talking to Kanagaki, the bodyguards had come back with reinforcements. They surrounded the table. Fortunato couldn't be bothered with them. He formed a wedge of power around himself and sprinted for the door, pushing them aside as he ran.

  Outside, the Roppongi was still crowded. Over at Shinjuku station the late-night drinkers would be trying to push their way onto the last trains of the night. On the Ginza they would be lining up at the cab stands. It was ten minutes to midnight. There wasn't time.

  He let his astral body spring loose and rocket through the night toward the Imperial Hotel. The neon and mirrored glass and chrome blurred as he picked up speed. He didn't slow until he was through the wall of the hotel and hovering in Peregrine's room. He let himself become visible, a glowing, golden-rose image of his physical body.

  Peregrine, he thought.

  She rolled over in bed, opened her eyes. Fortunato saw, with a small, distant sort of pang, that she was not alone. I need to know where Hiram is.

  "Fortunato?" she whispered, then saw him. "Oh my God."

  Hurry. The name of the hotel.

  "Wait a minute. I wrote it down." She walked naked over to the phone. Fortunato's astral body was free of lust and hunger, but still the sight of her moved him. "The Ginza Dai-Ichi. Room eight oh one. He says it's a big H-shaped building by the Shimbashi station-"

  I know where it is. Meet me there as fast as you can. Bring help.

  He couldn't wait for her answer. He snapped back to his physical body and lifted it into the air.

  He hated the spectacle of it. Being in Japan had made him even more self-conscious than he ever had been in New York. But there was no choice. He levitated straight up into the sky, high enough that he couldn't make out the faces turned up to stare at him, and arced toward the Dai-Ichi Hotel.

  He got to the door of Hiram's room at twelve midnight. The door was locked, but Fortunato wrenched the bolts back with his mind, splintering the wood around them.

  Hiram sat up in bed. "Wha-" Fortunato stopped time.

  It was like a train grinding to a halt. The countless tiny sounds of the hotel slowed to a bass growl, then hung in the silence between beats. Fortunato's own breathing had stopped.

  There was nobody in the room but Hiram. It hurt Fortunato to make his head turn; to Hiram it would have seemed like he was moving in a blur of speed. The sliding doors to the bathroom were open. Fortunato couldn't see anyone in there either.

  Then he remembered how the Astronomer had been able to hide from him, to make Fortunato not see him. He let time begin to trickle past him again. He brought up his hands, fighting the heavy, clinging air, and framed the room, making an empty square bordered by his thumbs and index fingers. Here was the closet, the doors open. Here was a stretch of bamboo-patterned wall with nothing in it. Here was the foot of the bed, and the edge of a samurai sword moving slowly toward Hiram's head.

  Fortunato threw himself forward. His body seemed to take forever to rise into the air and float toward Hiram. He opened his arms and knocked Hiram to the floor, feeling something hard scrape the bottoms of his shoes. He rolled onto his back and saw the sheets and mattress slowly splitting in two.

  The sword, he thought. Once he convinced himself it was there, he could see it. Now the arm, he thought, and slowly the entire man took shape in front of him, a young Japanese in a white dress shirt and gray wool pants and bare feet.

  He let time start again before the strain wore him out completely. He heard footsteps in the hall. He was afraid to look away, afraid he might loose the killer again. "Drop the sword," Fortunato said.

  "You can see me," the man said in English. He turned to look toward the door.

  "Put it down," Fortunato said, making it an order now, but it was too late. He no longer had eye contact and the man resisted him.

  Without thinking, Fortunato looked at the doorway. It was Tachyon, in red silk pajamas, Mistral behind him. Tachyon was charging into the room, and Fortunato knew the little alien was about to die.

  He looked back for Mori. Mori was gone. Fortunato went cold with panic. The sword, he thought. Find the sword. He looked where the sword would have to be if it were slicing toward Tachyon and slowed time again.

  There. The blade, curved and impossibly sharp, the steel dazzling as sunlight. Come to me, Fortunato thought. He pulled at the blade with his mind.

  He only meant to take it from Mori's hands. He misjudged his own power. The blade spun completely around, missing Tachyon by inches. It whirled around ten or fifteen times and finally buried itself in the wall behind the bed.

  Somewhere in there it had sliced off the top of Mori's head.

  Fortunato shielded them with his power until they were on the street. It was the same trick Zero Man had used. No one saw them. They left Mori's corpse in the room, his blood soaking into the carpet.

  A taxi pulled up and Peregrine got out. The man who'd been in bed with her got out behind her. He was a bit shorter than Fortunato, with blond hair and a mustache. He stood next to Peregrine and she reached out and took his hand. "Is everything okay?" she said.

  "Yeah," Hiram said. "It's okay."

  "Does this mean you're back on the tour?"

  Hiram looked around at the others. "Yeah. I guess I am."

  "That's good," Peregrine said, suddenly noticing how serious everyone was. "We were all worried about you." Hiram nodded.

  Tachyon moved next to Fortunato. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Not only for saving my life. You probably saved the tour as well. Another violent incident-after Haiti and Guatemala and Syria-well, it would have undone everything we were trying to accomplish."

  "Sure," Fortunato said. "We probably shouldn't hang
around here too long. No point in taking chances."

  "No," Tachyon said. "I guess not."

  "Uh, Fortunato," Peregrine said. "Josh McCoy." Fortunato shook his hand and nodded. McCoy smiled and gave his hand back to Peregrine. "I've heard a lot about you."

  "There's blood on your shirt," Peregrine said. "What happened?"

  "It's nothing," Fortunato said. "It's all over now"

  "So much blood," Peregrine said. "Like with the Astronomer. There's so much violence in you. It's scary sometimes." Fortunato didn't say anything.

  "So," McCoy said. "What happens now?"

  "I guess," Fortunato said, "me and G. C. Jayewardene will go see a man about a monastery"

  "You kidding?" McCoy said.

  "No," Peregrine said. "I don't think he is." She looked at Fortunato for a long time, and then she said, "Take care of yourself, will you?"

  "Sure," Fortunato said. "What else?"

  "There it is," Fortunato said. The monastery straggled across the entire hillside, and beyond it were stone gardens and terraced fields. Fortunato wiped the snow from a rock next to the path and sat down. His head was clear and his stomach quiet. Maybe it was just the clean mountain air. Maybe it was something more.

  "It's very beautiful," Jayewardene said, crouching on his heels.

  Spring wouldn't get to Hokkaido for another month and a half. The sky was clear, though. Clear enough to see, for instance, a 747 from miles and miles away. But the 747s didn't fly over Hokkaido. Especially not the ones headed for Korea, almost a thousand miles to the southwest.

  "What happened Wednesday night?" Jayewardene asked after a few minutes. "There was all kind of commotion, and when it was over Hiram was back. Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Not much to tell," Fortunato said. "People fighting over money. A boy died. He'd never actually killed anybody, as it turned out. He was very young, very afraid. He just wanted to do a good job, to live up to the reputation he'd invented for himself." Fortunato shrugged. "It's the way of the world. That kind of thing is always going to happen in a place like Tokyo." He stood up, brushing at the seat of his pants. "Ready?"