Rules of Honour (11 page)

‘I may be blind, but I’m not deaf.’

He heard a second click from behind him. The first had been subtler, but it was the inescapable sound of bodyweight adjusting on a loose floorboard. He was familiar with the sound. When Melissa would sneak in to check on him without wanting to alert him to her presence, she had learned to step over the loose board, but often forgot that her perfume was a dead giveaway. The interloper did not wear expensive cologne, he smelled of sweat and leather.

‘I know you are there,’ Takumi said again. He picked up the cellphone and hit a button. It was not to alert Melissa, quite the opposite. He hit the red button to turn it off. Then he reached for the table his wheelchair stood alongside and placed the phone down in clear view of the man behind him. ‘There,’ he said, ‘you have nothing to fear. Come forward.’

Still he got no reply. Takumi placed his hands on the wheel rims, held one in place, twisted the other. He turned abruptly so that he was facing the intruder.

‘You can hold your breath, but not for ever. I know you are there . . . I can smell you.’

‘Can you smell this?’

Takumi reared away, avoiding the acrid stink so close to his nostrils. He recognised the unmistakable tang of cordite. The intruder had placed the barrel of a gun under his nose, and it was evident that it had been fired recently. Once he’d regained his composure, Takumi smiled. If he were facing death it would be with a brave heart. He reached out, placed a finger against the barrel of the gun and pushed it aside. He squinted up at his would be tormentor. Despite what even Melissa believed Takumi was not totally blind. He still had a sense of colours, and could make out the blurred outlines of larger figures, albeit as though peering through moving fog. Darkness hovered over him, the man leaning close, his face an indistinct paler blob at the top.

‘I’m surprised,’ the man said.

‘That I’m not afraid of you?’

‘No. I’m surprised that you’re the only Jap in the bunch. I kinda expected more of you to be involved.’

‘Why would you?’

‘It was Jap bitches who told the lies that had an innocent man murdered.’

‘You speak like you do not like Japanese people.’

‘I don’t. And I don’t like Americans who consort with them either. What I especially don’t like is Jap murderers. That’s why I don’t like you.’

‘You are misguided.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Peterson wasn’t innocent. Far from it. You are avenging a sex offender . . . a
child
rapist.’

‘So you say,
Jap
. But I’ve heard no proof of that. On the other hand I got all the gory details from Bruce Tennant of what you and those other bastards did. Way I heard it, you were the one who held on to the chain while he was strangled to death.’ The man moved, walking round Takumi, forcing the old man to follow his progress by pushing at the wheels. ‘I was going to pay you back in kind until I got a look at you. Kind of pointless hoping to watch you dancing in the air, isn’t it?’

Takumi snorted.

‘Anyway, I didn’t bring a chain with me . . . just this.’ The gun barrel tapped against the side of Takumi’s jaw. He swiped at the barrel then wished that he hadn’t. He missed and the man laughed at his blind grope. He made himself a promise he wouldn’t react the next time, he wouldn’t give the man the privilege of laughter.

‘You know something?’ The man continued his slow circling of Takumi. This time the old man didn’t turn with him. ‘When first I saw you, saw the suffering you’re going through, I decided to let you live. I think what you have to put up with now is preferable to the quick death I was going to give you. But . . .’ He laughed. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m still going to kill you. Not with my gun, though.’

Takumi heard a clatter alongside him. He tried to make sense of the movements swarming through his fogged gaze. It was futile, but still natural to try to look when he should have relied on his stronger senses. By the time he understood what the man was up to and tried to swat his hands away it was too late. The man had already moved.

‘Hmmm, a diabetic, eh?’

Takumi sighed. He should have moved the damn insulin pen. Before leaving for her movie date, Melissa had prepared his next dose of Humulin-S, setting the insulin level on the dispenser so that all he had to do was jab the needle in and press the plunger.

‘I’ve seen these before. Always wondered what they were. They look just like a pen these days – huh? Not like a syringe at all. Is that to make it more socially acceptable for when you’re injecting in public?’

Takumi didn’t answer. His bushido resolve to meet his death face on wavered for the first time. He hated that his condition had affected him so badly, taking his eyesight, taking his legs, and prior to this had dreaded succumbing to further complications. His doctor had warned him that his likely prognosis was renal failure, followed most probably by a heart attack. When first the killer of his co-conspirators had mentioned the gun, a flare of hope had risen up in him: better a clean death while confronting an enemy than wasting away in agony. Now that he understood what his tormentor planned, he was horrified.

Damn him, though, Takumi would not show his fear.

‘Just shoot me and get the hell out of here.’

‘No. Why waste good bullets?’

Takumi heard the click, click, click that was so familiar – and so despised – as the man charged the dispenser. By the number of clicks he’d ratcheted the pen all the way to the top. Knowing Melissa she’d have left him a full pen: that meant that there was 300 ml of insulin – more than plenty to send him into hypoglycaemic coma, from which there’d be no waking up.

Takumi tensed, trying to pinpoint the man’s whereabouts. His heart began to beat ferociously, his adrenalin kicking in, and Takumi thought that his body was his worst enemy of all, for his raised pulse would only aid the effects of the insulin. Despite his earlier resolve to show no fear, he cried out and began swiping randomly to push away his killer.

He felt the sting of the needle as it punctured the side of his neck. It was as if a wasp had stung him. He slapped at it, but found the man’s hand as he pushed down on the plunger. In desperation Takumi dug his nails into flesh and tried to tear the hand loose. The man only laughed and continued to depress the plunger. Takumi realised too late that he had not found skin, but leather gloves – the source of the man’s scent when he first noticed his presence in the room.

‘This is almost too easy,’ the killer said, stepping away. ‘I came here hoping that you were some sort of karate master and that I might have my hands full in a one on one battle. I was looking forward to the challenge. Instead, you’re about the most pathetic of them all.’

‘You bastard! You
evil
bastard!’

‘Hah, what happened to the inscrutable Jap reserve I’ve heard about? When you’re about to die, Japs’re no braver than anybody else.’

Takumi grabbed at the wheels of his chair, twisting round. Not to face the man but searching for his side table. He scrabbled with his fingers along the top, searching for the cellphone he’d placed there.

‘Looking for this? Oh, sorry, I forgot you can’t see. If you’re looking for your phone, I’ve got it right here.’

‘Please . . .’

‘What? Please
what
? Please help you?’ Something clattered against a wall and Takumi thought that the phone had been thrown across the room. He continued to scrabble at the table, his fingers meeting things that were normally familiar but in his panic unidentifiable. He could not find what he was seeking for. Takumi began yelling in frustration.

The wheelchair was yanked round. The man leaned over him, grabbing hold of his head and holding him tightly. ‘Shut up! Shut up, goddamnit, or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.’ Takumi felt the man shake him savagely. ‘Good. That’s better. Now if you scream again, I won’t finish things with you. I’ll wait here for your pretty little granddaughter to come home. Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you understand what I’ll do to her?’

‘Leave her be, she has nothing to do with this.’

‘Shut up. You have no say in what I do. All you’re going to do is sit there and die, you old Jap bastard.’

The man shoved Takumi’s head to one side, then stepped away. ‘How long does it take for that insulin to work? I’d have thought it would be kicking in by now. Let me see your face.’

Takumi wanted to resist, but suddenly he felt a sinking feeling in his entire being, like someone had opened a valve and his blood was spilling out of him. He well recognised the symptoms associated with hypoglycaemia as his blood sugar levels began to drop. Ordinarily he would call to Melissa and she would bring him a sugary drink, or some hard candy to suck on, and he would stave it off. Never had it come on as rapidly as this before. Heat burned a swathe up the centre of his back. Conversely the sweat popping out on his brow was icy cold.

‘Shit. I’ve never watched a yellow man turn white before. I think you’re fucked up, old man.’

Takumi began to shiver. It didn’t manifest outwardly, the sensation was internal, his cells craving energy. The phantom pain was back. But now it travelled up from his ghost legs, through his thighs and into his lower abdomen. A cramp knifed its way into his stomach.

‘Are you hurting? What a pity. Well, if it’s any consolation it’s nothing to what you’re going to feel next.’

Takumi wasn’t thinking straight. He tried to wheel his chair past the man and into the hall. If he could get to the front door and shout for help, there was the hope that a passer-by would hear him and come to his assistance. A boot jammed against the chair, held it in place.

‘Where are you going?’ The man kicked the chair back again. ‘I’m just getting the fire started. Just imagine what it’s going to be like: you slipping into a coma, knowing that the flames are going to eat you alive. I don’t think you’ll feel it, but I bet that’s even worse. Jesus, just the knowledge that you’re burning alive and can do nothing about it . . . that must be terrible? Just think about that. Think how
he
must have felt.’

A spasm racked Takumi, drawing his hands into claws. Never had his hypoglycaemia reached this low level before. He had been told that if ever his blood sugar levels should drop off the scale then convulsions would follow. Well, it was apparent he’d reached that point. Not that he was conscious of that, because with the convulsions his brain activity went haywire. He jackknifed out of the chair and sprawled on the floor. The man was so close that his boot bumped against Takumi’s body as he stepped over him. The old man tried to grasp at it, but he was already too late, his fingers unresponsive. Groaning he rolled on to his back, trying in vain to see where the man was. In his fogged vision a new colour blossomed. It was yellow, then flared to orange, contracting to red as he screwed his eyes tight. Heat wafted over him, but it was a sensation he could no longer make sense of. He groaned again, as fresh pain lanced through him. This time its source wasn’t his amputated legs. He could not pinpoint the agony; it was everywhere at once, his every nerve ending screaming out. Darkness began to descend in his mind, a ragged blanket of feathers cascading out of the sky. He was almost thankful that unconsciousness was coming, but his killer had been right. Knowing that the fire was going to sear the living flesh from his bones struck terror into his heart and he began to scream. Yet – like the agony – the screams were internal, centred in his mind and soul.

Chapter 15

It was my first trip to San Francisco’s Japan Town. I had been to the more famous Chinatown with its dragon gate and profusion of glittering shops and restaurants, but this was more to my taste: less tacky. Driving up Geary Boulevard I was surprised to see the impressive edifice that was the Cathedral of St Mary’s of the Assumption, while just a tad further along there was the Japan Town Peace Plaza, with a beautiful five-tiered pagoda dominating the square. I would have liked to abandon the car and take a walk through the commercial area, but didn’t have the luxury of time. It was the day following Yukiko’s revelation concerning a four-decades-old murder, and even after such a long time there wasn’t a second to spare.

It was apparent to us all that any remaining members of the lynch party led by Andrew Rington were now in dire danger, and from the speed at which the killer’s agenda had escalated, I didn’t think that Yoshida Takumi had much time left. Rink was loath to leave his mother’s side – understandably – but had also taken on the task of locating both Parnell and Faulks, so it fell to me to go and check on their elderly Japanese friend.

Yukiko remained adamant that we could not share what we’d learned with the police, and we’d concurred. If the truth came out, prison time was on the cards for all four surviving members – Yukiko included. I wasn’t sure that an invalid in a wheelchair would escape the law either. Though their crime was horrific, the same impulse that drove me to wage war against the bad guys of the world said that Charles Peterson deserved everything he got. Two wrongs never make a right: true, but where did that leave the issue when a third wrong had been added to the mix? Maybe what I was prepared to do to protect the conspirators was required to regain the equilibrium.

I took a right on Webster, then started watching for the turn I’d need to take me to the neighbourhood where Takumi lived with his granddaughter. Yukiko had given me the address, but also his telephone number. I thought it was a good idea to phone the man, so he’d be expecting my arrival. I didn’t want him getting the wrong impression when a stranger turned up at his door. Using my hands-free kit, I dialled, only to listen to a recorded message stating that the phone was switched off. That didn’t immediately concern me, but I still thought it odd that Takumi’s lifeline to the outside world was not in good working order.