The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3) (5 page)

The Yakuza started shooting back, as more and more ninjas landed on the deck. Tiny spun his gun around, giving them the rest of the belt and helping the Yakuza. I stood up, an automatic in each hand, eager to do the same. I stepped out of cover, anxious to do some killing, when I saw a green claw with yellow nails reach up and settle on the railing.

A strange scaly creature followed, standing a head shorter than a normal guy and looking like a sea-green alligator slammed into a turtle’s shell. Saltwater dripped down its long, pointed snout, which it opened to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. Stubby, short claws slashed through the air, while its little tail swung back and forth like it was an excited dog. This was the kappa, the water imp that Weatherby had mentioned.

I started shooting, as the kappa charged me. More of the creatures followed it onto the deck, using their sharp little claws to clamber straight up the hull of the cruise ship from the ocean waves. I stood my ground and kept spitting bullets, until the kappa slammed into me and knocked me back. It opened its big mouth, about to take a bite out of me that would remove my face. The kappa made a rasping hiss, surprisingly squeaky for something of its size. Its scales and claws felt rough on my skin, and I could smell the saltwater on its breath.

“Weatherby!” I called. “Give this damn turtle something else to snack on!”

Weatherby was ready. He pulled a cucumber from the bag and held it up. Instantly, the kappa stopped trying to dine on my face and looked up. It leapt away from me, the other kappa following. They charged for Weatherby, a dozen slavering monsters eager to take the cucumber from his hands. For a little, I thought they were gonna tear Weatherby apart. But then he hurled the cucumber over the side, and tossed the bag in after it.

The kappa followed the cucumbers into the ocean, their mission of destruction completely forgotten. They thrashed through the water, biting and clawing each other in their desire to grab a cucumber. The water went white as they fought, and then calmed down as they dove under the water, eager to get away and enjoy their vegetable prizes.

I looked at Weatherby and grinned. “Nice job, kiddo,” I said. “You’ve earned your keep.”

“Thank you, Mort,” Weatherby replied, glad of my praise. “It’s a simply a matter of—Mort!” He cried in panic.

He didn’t have time to tell me what had upset him, because it smacked me in the back and flattened me on the deck. It was Toshi. I recognized his eyes. The leader of the Ninja Clan stood over me, his sword in hand, and his foot on my throat.

My pistols were still in my hands, but Toshi could crack my windpipe and cut my head in half before I could fire them. He knew it too, and I saw his lips curling under his mask, forming a dark smile. “You have caused so much trouble, you impudent swine,” he growled. “You are the worst sort of arrogant Westerner!”

“And you talk too much.” I dropped one of my automatics and grabbed his foot. I twisted and he went down, slamming onto the deck next to me. I scrambled for my pistol as he slashed his sword around. The edge of the blade dug into my arm, and then I turned and opened fire, emptying the clip into Toshi’s chest. I crawled forward, the blade falling from my arm in a gout of blood.

But Toshi wasn’t finished. He stood up, blood seeping in half-a-dozen holes down the front of his black suit. He gripped his sword tightly, even as his own blood dripped on the handle and blade. With a final grimace, he raised the sword high and charged toward me.

I dove for the pistol I had dropped. I raised it as he came toward me, looking down the sights and drawing a bead on his face. The sword hovered right over my head. My sights were over his. I fired once. That was all it took. Toshi tumbled back, the sword falling from his hands. It clattered to the deck and Toshi followed, lying still with his brains blown out.

Weatherby ran to my side and offered me a hand. He helped me up, supporting most of my weight on his thin frame. “By all the gods and devils, Mort,” Weatherby muttered. The poor kid was shaking. He was terrified and trying not to show it. “You sure know how to get into dangerous situations.”

“Just get me back to the hotel and patch me up,” I replied. Tiny joined us, the .30 cal resting on his shoulder. All around us, the Yakuza were finishing off the ninjas. Despite their speed and their stealth, they didn’t last long against firearms. The Yakuza tossed the bodies overboard, just as the police arrived in several speedboats to clean up the mess.

As we walked to the railing, I spotted Boss Yamoto standing over the bodies of the ninjas, his katana resting between his hands like an old man’s cane. He looked at me, and extended a brief nod. That was all the thanks I was gonna get out of him and it was enough.

We took our speedboat back to the docks, and Tiny and Weatherby helped me out. As I tossed the keys to the surprised fisherman, I noticed Bobby Belasco standing on the edge of the pier, looking at the boat. He turned to face me and offered a grin.

“Mort Candle!” he said, walking over to me with outstretched arms. “I ought to thank you – I really should. To tell you the truth, I never liked using the ninjas to take over the Japanese underworld. I preferred the Yakuza gangs, and with the ninjas dead, Langley will be forced to think my way.”

“But you said the Yakuza would not bargain with you,” Weatherby pointed out.

“Just cause I didn’t offer them enough cash. Now, Washington will increase the budget of this little project and I’ll be able to pay them what they ask for.” Belasco walked down the pier, briskly stepping past me. “Hate to break it to you, Mort, but the CIA will do whatever it takes to roll back communism. You stop one mad scheme, we’ll just make another.”

“Then we’ll stop that one too.” My words stopped Belasco in his tracks.

His grin vanished. “Take care of yourself, Mort. Next time I see you, I might not be so kind.”

“Likewise,” I agreed. I watched as he hurried away, losing himself in the crowd of onlookers just like the pro he was.

We left the docks as well, and walked back into the shadows of waterfront buildings. Lieutenant Sakai was waiting for us, leaning against a wall. He was watching the bay, looking at the bodies floating in the white water. I wondered if he knew the kind of carnage he was unleashing when he hired us. He certainly got his money’s worth. Sakai approached us, and held out his hand. There was an envelope in it, fat with cash.

“Thanks,” I said, stuffing it into the pocket of my trench coat. “That should cover it. I got some good news and some bad news. The ninjas are defeated. I don’t think you’ll have to deal with them – or their demonic pals – ever again.” I gasped, holding tightly to the wound on my arm. “The bad news is that the Yakuza are here for good. They’re gonna get real powerful soon, probably after making some deals with powerful people in the CIA.”

Sakai sadly nodded. “I suppose it is inevitable.” He removed his glasses and cleaned them on his coat. “Japan has just left a reign of tyranny. I do not know what will follow it.”

“You’ve just got to stay strong, sir,” Weatherby said. “Just refuse to bow to corruption and cruelty, no matter what flag they wrap themselves in, and you will help lead Japan into a new age. This is a grand country and it deserves a fine future.” He held out his hand and Sakai shook it. They exchanged a quick bow, and Sakai headed away, walking toward the dock and the crime scene that he now had to unravel.

Weatherby, Tiny and I walked back to the pick-up. I slumped into the passenger seat as Tiny set the .30 cal in the back. He walked around slowly, his hands in the pockets of his dark suit jacket. “Well, I think we’ll part ways. We got different careers after all. You solve crimes. I sell guns that cause them.” He seemed dejected as he got into the seat, until Weatherby reached out and patted his shoulder.

“No, Mr. Tiny. You saved my life. You are a hero, sir. You could never knowingly cause any evil.” Weatherby’s comforting words made Tiny smile. “You helped us today, and perhaps you will in the future.”

Tiny nodded. He took a card from his pocket, making it look like a toy in his massive hand, and placed it in my pocket. “You think so, sarge?” he asked me. “You wouldn’t mind working with a fellow like me again?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all, Tiny,” I said. “You’re a good man. No matter what you think.”

We drove on, into the crowded streets of Tokyo. The scars from the War remained, in men as well as cities. But maybe, if we worked at it, those wounds could finally heal.

Teenage Wasteland

W
eatherby Stein looked out the window of the Roadmaster, across the green grass and white picket fences, to the rectangular set of buildings, squatting like some geometrically perfect animal in the suburbs. This was Silver Hills High School. Weatherby had ventured into ancient tombs, forbidden jungles and cursed groves with less trepidation than this high school. But his job, a private detective specializing in occult cases, would make him go inside and get to class.

“You sure about this, kiddo?” Weatherby’s partner, Morton Candle, wondered. Mort rested his thick hands on the steering wheel, his half-closed eyes staring straight ahead. “We can figure out some other way to investigate this thing, without you going undercover at the high school. And I bet these parents have their heads up their behinds anyway.”

“It’s all right, Mort.” Weatherby smiled hopefully. “I went to boarding school in England, remember? When I was boy, for several years. I enjoyed my experience, despite the homesickness. I’m certain this will be much the same.”

“Then why are you nervous?” Mort asked.

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Weatherby grabbed his backpack, purchased for the case. “The bell shall ring soon. I’d better get moving. I’ll see you this afternoon, and we’ll discuss what I’ve discovered.” He opened the door of the car and stepped out onto the pavement. Other students were drifting in, and though Weatherby wore a collared checkered shirt and vest to blend in, he could still feel their questioning eyes on him as he headed to class.

The case seemed like a simple matter of reconnaissance. The parents, teachers and reverend of Silver Hills were afraid of their teenagers, but it wasn’t a simple matter of juvenile delinquency. A rash of unexplained occurrences, such as strange lights in the night sky, disappearing pets and sightings of monstrous, goat-like creatures loping down neat suburban avenues, had the adults of Silver Hills convinced that their children were experimenting with Black Magic. They hired Stein and Candle to find out the truth. Now Weatherby was heading to Silver Hills High, enrolled in the school for as long as it took to finish his investigation.

He reached into the pockets of his trousers, pulling out the note with his homeroom class scrawled down. He missed the feeling of his father’s frock coat around his shoulders. That coat seemed to shelter him, wrapping his thin shoulders in a protective hug, and he felt vulnerable and alone without it. Weatherby forced the feeling away, pushing his spectacles off his nose as he hurried to class. He moved quickly through the cream-colored hallways and reached the proper classroom just as the final bell rang.

The teacher was a thin lady with scraggly gray hair and a hooked nose, resembling a vulture in a floral print dress. She looked at Weatherby as he sat in the back, and motioned for him to come to the front. Weatherby looked around at the other students as he walked up. They were talking amongst themselves, a cluster of girls in skirts and ponytails suppressing giggles while a pair of brawny football players in letterman jackets calmly kept their voices low.

“Class! Class!” The teacher bellowed, her voice a rising shriek that grew until her students fell silent. “Settle down immediately! Now, this is our newest student, Weatherby Stein, and I’m sure you’ll all show him a big Silver Hills welcome!  Weatherby will be with us for some time, and—”

A big fellow in letterman jacket, his short brown hair a solid, carefully sculpted mass of hair tonic and gel, raised a hand. “He a Jew?” he demanded, to a chorus of sudden laughter from the other students. Weatherby had experienced a little prejudice in boarding school, but only from his strange German accent. Most of the boys there were too young to be truly bigoted, and he soon earned their friendship. But Weatherby had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case in Silver Hills High.