Killer of Killers (23 page)

* * * *

The taxi in which Trent sat had been driving
for less than a minute when the clean-cut black man turned to him.
“My name is Charles Morgan,” he said. “Have you heard of me?”

“Yeah, you played basketball. So what?”
Trent’s opinion of professional athletes was only slightly better
than what he thought of movie stars.

“So I thought you might be interested in
hearing what I’ve got to say. Mr. Soriah is not the villain you
think he is.”

“What makes you think I’m interested in
hearing that?”

“Well, your attitude in the meeting was
indicative.”

“If you think I don’t like him, you’re right,
I don’t,” Trent said. “And I don’t like you, either, but so what?
None of you need me to like you.”

“That’s true,” Charles concurred. “But we do
need you to stop killing our people so indiscriminately.”

“So why don’t you just kill
me
?” Trent
figured it must have been an option they considered. He tensed his
muscles, half expecting an attempt right then.

Charles smiled. “Because Mr. Soriah and I
have decided we need you.”

“You need me?” Trent rolled his eyes. “That’s
funny.”

“Why do you think it’s funny?”

“Because you and Soriah are big names. You
have a lot of money. People bow down to you. Me? I’m a nobody.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Who’s a nobody?”
he asked. “Certainly not you. And certainly not in Japan. No, Mr.
Smith. Or should I call you—”

“Mr. Smith is what you’ll call me, if it’s
all right with you.” Trent wondered just how many people had looked
up his background. “And I
am
a nobody in Japan.”

“Not to the many people who follow the
underground fights,” Charles asserted. “You made some money of your
own doing that, didn’t you? It explains why you don’t need to work
for anyone. But I think it’s more pertinent that you don’t
want
to work for anyone.”

“You think?”

“I believe I know. Shall I prove it to
you?”

“Be my guest.”

“I have it figured this way. You learned from
the best martial artist in the world—Shoji Wada. He taught you
everything he knew. You were good. In fact, you were
real
good.
You
became the best, and Shoji trusted you. Even with
his only granddaughter.”

Trent glared at the man. “What does that have
to do with anything?”

“It wasn’t enough for you, that’s what. If it
was, you would have been content to inherit his academy in Tokyo.
He
is
retiring soon. And when he does, you would be the
first non-Japanese owner of the Tokyo Dojo. Think about it. That
would be quite an accomplishment.” He stopped for a moment, as if
to allow time for the concept to soak in.

It did. Trent regurgitated the memories of
his torrid romance with Shoji’s granddaughter. Believing they would
marry, Shoji offered to bequeath his academy to them as a wedding
gift. It was no small gift. The Wada family had owned the Tokyo
Dojo for two hundred years. Shoji himself rebuilt the distinguished
school after it was reduced to ashes along with most of the city
during World War II.

In the new Japan, Shoji’s two sons strayed
from their birthright, making their fortunes in business. His
granddaughter, Yoshiko, yearning for tradition, bonded with
Shoji—the Wada patriarch—but fell in love with Trent.

“It wasn’t enough for you,” Charles said
again. “You weren’t satisfied. Being a teacher left you empty
inside. You were a man of action, and you were compelled to act.
You joined the underground circuit and reigned supreme for ten
years. But Shoji found out, and to be dishonored in his eyes was
more than you could bear.”

“I experienced no dishonor,” Trent
responded.

Charles crumpled his brow. “In Shoji’s mind,
you abused your skill fighting for sport, isn’t that right?”

“No, it’s more like I misapplied my talent,”
Trent countered. “I abused nothing in Japan.” Scowling, he added,
“And be clear about this. I suffered no dishonor. Not in Japan, and
not
anywhere
.”

“Shoji didn’t approve,” Charles maintained.
“And that’s the bottom line.”

“So you’ve got it all figured out,” Trent
conceded. “You’re a clever man. But again, so what?”

“So you were beholden to Shoji, and that’s
what you can’t get over. You surrendered your relationship with his
granddaughter, along with the honor of being his heir, and decided
to never again be indebted to anyone. You left Tokyo and came to
America to make it all good. You found a reason to kill over here.
It pays nothing, and you seek no fame. The justice you dispense is
righteous. It works for you.”

“The only reason it works for me,” Trent
snarled, “is because here I am beholden to no one. I plan on
keeping it that way. Get it?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith, we get it. However, we have
no such compunctions. We won’t mind being beholden unto
you
.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We actually
want
you to keep
killing.” Charles smiled again. “It’s just that it would be so much
better if you would work
with
us, like Abraham suggested at
the Skyway.”

“First things first,” Trent insisted. “The
word ‘indiscriminately’ doesn’t come close to describing my
agenda.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have said
‘indiscriminately’. We’d prefer it, though, if you had a less
ambiguous schedule.”

“Mr. Morgan, I can see that you’re trying to
be friendly, and thanks for that, but with all respect, what the
hell
are you talking about?”

Charles’ face sobered. “Abraham has decided
that many of his Eternals must not be allowed to remain so. We
can’t just cut them off, because they would go public. The
controversy would cause too much commotion and discombobulate the
entire program. So, yes, we want you to keep on killing, but not
just anyone. The senator, for instance...”

“The senator needed killing most of all,”
Trent contended. “He was supposed to be a leader, representing the
people. But instead, he was a butcher. And what he represented was
an ever-growing clique of scum who murdered with impunity.”

“Of course,” Charles said. He produced a
folded piece of paper from within his coat. “Mr. Smith, we would be
very beholden to you if you simply put these names at the top of
your list, and that’s all we’re asking.”

Trent took the list and permitted a glance.
It did contain the names of several people he planned on bringing
to justice. “What makes these guys worse than the others?”

“These are the loose cannons,” Charles
explained. “When we brought them in, they seemed to be great
additions to Mr. Soriah’s fellowship. But as Eternals, they have
demonstrated a complete disregard for his principles.”

Trent tugged the hair on his chin. “Why don’t
you just send your Specials to take care of them?”

“Two reasons,” Charles began. “First, our
Specials are not trained killers. They leave holes.”

“Holes?”

“Bullet holes...knife holes... You, on the
other hand, have the talent to kill without a mark. Like you did
with Stiles and Flint. And Nick Martin. Even Topu’s death was
explained as a natural brain hemorrhage.”

“And second?”

“And second, our Specials are well-known
within our select community. You, my friend, are an outsider. Our
Eternals don’t know you from Adam.”

“Forget it,” Trent said. “I don’t kill for
Soriah’s pet peeves. I’m a killer of killers, only. And that won’t
ever change.”

“Then let me be explicit, Mr. Smith. Every
person on this list, not only is a killer, but is a
repeat
killer. Some are responsible for as many as three or four separate
incidents. And, like Stiles and Robinson, multiple murders each
time.”

Trent’s blood boiled. “That means any one of
these murderers runs the risk of killing again at any time.”

“Despite our best efforts to prevent further
tragedies, they seem to find a way to keep happening.”

Trent felt like hitting something, so he
pummeled his left palm with his right fist. “I’ll tell you how to
prevent them from happening. Trash the damn serum is all ya gotta
do.”

“That’s not an option. For now, anyway, it’s
the repeat offenders who have proven to be the greatest risk, and
no one feels worse about it than Mr. Soriah, believe me.”

Trent shook his head. “I don’t know what to
believe.” He perused the list again. “There are names here I don’t
even recognize.”

Charles nodded. “Mr. Soriah managed to keep
the media out of most cases involving Eternity. What you’ve seen in
the papers or on TV in Japan, it’s only the tip of the iceberg, I’m
sorry to say.”

The revelation hit Trent hard. Corruption in
American courts was already a widespread scandal. To learn now that
it was even worse numbed his mind.

With a grin, Charles continued. “And don’t
forget, you’ll need a guardian angel to keep the Feds at bay.”

“Guardian angel?”

“Who do you think has been keeping the law
off your back until now? Your blond detective? Think again. It can
be like that the whole time.”

Trent didn’t answer. He remained silent even
as the taxi dropped him off on a side street. He stretched his back
and still held the list in his hand.

Charles poked his head out of the window.
“You never answered me.”

“How many times do I have to say it? I don’t
work for anyone, and—”

“I know,” Charles cut in. “It’s the way you
like it. You have my number. Call me when you have something to
say, and I’ll listen.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Charles retracted his head and the taxi drove
off.

Trent turned in the opposite direction, but
before taking a step he looked again at the list. He resisted an
urge to toss it into the closest trashcan and instead stuffed it in
the back of his jeans.

As he did, a dozen youngsters clad in white
keikogis
rushed from an adjacent martial arts studio and
into its neighboring soda shop. They looked winded and worn, and
most had towels draped around their necks. The musty smell of
sweaty bodies befouled Trent’s nostrils and evoked in his mind a
fateful day from his past.

It was a warm afternoon at the Tokyo Dojo,
and the workout, more strenuous than usual, had also just finished.
A group of men pressed towels onto their faces. Water bottles lined
the wall but subtracted one by one as the men quit the mat. Trent
was talking to Jiro when he noticed a lone figure remained in the
quad. His white
keikogi
signified him as an academy
pupil.

“
Kazuki, what’s up?”
Trent had asked
as he and Jiro ambled toward him. Their all-black
keikogis
distinguished them from the trainees, as did the stark red Japanese
characters that crawled up the ends of their jet black belts.

Kazuki bowed when Trent and Jiro neared. He
was their student, yet his silver-striped hair suggested he was
older than most at the dojo.
“I am honored to have learned from
the best,”
he said.
“And now, as you know, Shihan has seen
fit to allow my promotion next week.”

“
Yes, congratulations are in order,”
Jiro replied.
“You deserve to be promoted.”

“
No, Master Jiro, a pat on the back is not
my reason to talk.”
His face looked serious.
“Soon, I must
take my leave. It’s what I have told you before, and I must say
again. Both of you should join me in a greater cause. The free
world needs men like the two of you.”

Trent put his hand up.
“Wait a minute,
Kazuki, what are you saying? You still want us to be a part of your
secret service thing?”

“
It’s not secret, Master Tora, it’s a
well-known agency, after all.”

“
No way,”
Trent said.
“We belong
here with Shoji. You know that.”
He turned to Jiro.
“Right,
Jiro?”

Jiro remained silent. He dropped his gaze to
the mat.

Trent furrowed his brow.
“Jiro,
right?”

The corners of Kazuki’s mouth curled upward.
“The academy has my number, Jiro. Call me tonight and we’ll
talk.”
With that, he departed, and Trent couldn’t shake the
feeling that he had been used.

Jiro said,
“I know you don’t like this
idea, but we have both felt the same way. You have said it,
remember?”

Trent rolled his eyes.
“When I said I’d
like to see how I would fare in the real world, I meant that I
wanted to test my skill in live competition. I never said anything
about being a spy. Come on, Jiro, that’s the movies you’re thinking
about.”

“
No, Tora, it’s real life, don’t you see?
We’ll have an opportunity to prove just how good we really are. I’m
surprised you don’t take these people seriously.”

“
I take them seriously when they pay us to
train them,”
Trent replied. He observed the next troupe of
students file into the quad and begin their warm-ups.
“Look at
them, Jiro. Black belts all, and most of them way older than us,
yet we are their masters. We are the Judan. That proves how good we
are.”

Jiro turned in a huff.
“How many times
have you told me that you don’t even know how long you would stay
here?”

Trent smiled.
“I say that every year,
Jiro, and what, it’s been more than twenty now. For both of
us.”

Jiro shook his head.
“This is our chance
to really count for something, to make a difference in the world.
You said that’s what you wanted. If you didn’t really mean
it...”

“
Hold on, Jiro. It’s just that you can’t
trust these guys. Who knows what they really do out there. We mean
nothing to them. At least we know we can trust Shoji. We owe him
everything we know, everything we’ve learned.”