Chameleon

  Little Ears approached the building cautiously. The window in the front door was haloed with dust. He made a small circle with his hand and looked in. The Gunn woman was at the foot of the steps. She turned into a hallway and went out of view. Little Ears quietly entered the building.

  The place was scary. Eliza found herself in a long grim narrow hallway. At the far end she could see a door hanging awkwardly from its hinges, and beyond it, the bay. A foghorn bleated far off in the darkness someplace and was answered by another, from even farther away.

  She walked about halfway down the hall and stopped. There were sounds all around her: water slapping at pilings; the creaking of old wood; and somewhere in front of her in the darkness, a rat, squealing and skittering across the floor. Squinting down into the darkness, she said to herself, You're not walking down there, Gunn. There is no way you are going one step farther.

  "Hello?"

  Nothing.

  I'm not going another inch. I don't think this is funny at all.

  A door opened at the far end of the corridor and yellow light flickered on the floor. She walked a little closer. The sounds surrounded her now. The stairs behind her, creaking with age; the dock, groaning with the tide.

  She was nearly at the doorway when a hand grabbed her from behind. It squeezed her mouth shut. She felt cold metal against her throat. She tried to scream, but it was impossible. Breath, foul with garlic, was hot against her cheek.

  "Easy, lady," a voice said in her ear. "We're gonna do us a little fishing."

  She jerked her head up sharply and the hand slipped away from her mouth and she bit it. Hard. And kept biting until she tasted blood in her mouth. The man screamed and she whirled away from him. Another grabbed her in the darkness and spun her into the room. She was caught in a kaleidoscope of movement, images and voices: a new voice in her ear saying, "Don't worry, you are okay"; a table in the middle of the room with a candle, set in a pool of its own wax, burning at one corner; another man standing between her and the candlelight; a towering, frightening silhouette in a thick fur jacket; black shaggy hair; a black full beard. And those eyes, peering from the dark, shapeless face; cold gray eyes looking right through her; the big man charging past her, swinging through the doorway in a crouch.

  Little Ears was backed against the wall, his bleeding hand in his mouth, his face bunched up with anger. He hadn't expected the big man. As he turned, the big man's foot swept in a wide arc and shattered Little Ears' wrist bone. The gun, a police special, spun out of his hand, flew across the hallway and stuck in the plaster wall, muzzle first, its stock and chamber protruding out into the hall.

  Little Ears swung his hands up in a classic karate position and leaped toward the pistol, but before he could complete the move, his attacker twisted sideways and lashed out with his left leg. He missed, but the move distracted Little Ears and the big man whirled and caught him deep in the gut with the heel of his other foot. Breath whooshed out of Little Ears like air from a punctured balloon. His face turned red with pain and he jackknifed forward, clutching his stomach. The big man twisted him around with one hand and slammed him in the middle of the back with the palm of the other.

  Little Ears flew across the hallway, almost tiptoeing, trying vainly to regain his footing. His arm smashed through the cracked pane of the door, hanging at the entrance to the dock, was caught there for a moment and then the door tore loose and he sprawled headlong onto the dock in a shower of broken glass and curse words. The old dock creaked under his weight. He rolled fast, got his feet under him and jumped into a crouch, but the big man in the fur jacket was all over him. He grabbed Little Ear's wrist, twisted hard, stepped in close and flipped him in a tight loop.

  Little Ears kept moving, rolling out of the loop, trying to get back into the hallway. He snapped his wrist and a switchblade slid from his sleeve into his hand. The blade hissed from the handle, glittering in reflected light. Before Little Ears could turn, the big man leaped into the doorway and slashed his elbow into Little Ears' jaw. The blow knocked him back onto the dock. He hit the antiquated dock railing, which cracked under his weight. He staggered away from it and took a hard swipe with the knife. Its blade swished an inch from the big man's face. The big man stepped in fast, getting inside his reach, but Little Ears slashed back and the knife sliced through the big man's jacket and ripped into his shoulder.

  The big man did not utter a sound. He feinted with a chop, stepped back as Little Ears made another swipe, then moved in and threw a body block across him, grabbing his wrist and twisting. Little Ears shrieked and fell to his knees. The knife clattered to the floor.

  The big man spun him around, wrapped his wounded arm around Little Ears' neck, ground his fist into his throat and held the point of the knife against his jugular. He pressed a knuckle from his fist into Little Ears' carotid.

  "Calm down," the big man said. "It would be real embarrassing to get your throat cut with your own knife."

  Little Ears grunted something and tried to twist away.

  The knuckles dug in deeper. Little Ears growled with pain. The big man said, "Listen to me pal, if you're after O'Hara, you missed the party."

  Little Ears stopped struggling. He moved his head away from the knife. "Aaargh ... larder ... furmilpuf ..." he said.

  The big man let up the pressure with the knuckle a little. "What was that?" he asked.

  "Somebody's already pushed him over?" Little Ears asked in a husky voice.

  "No, the Winter Man called off the sanction. The Game's over."

  Little Ears snapped "Bullshit!" and tried to pull away. The knuckle dug in harder. In a moment Little Ears began to go limp. The big man loosened up again. Little Ears was not convinced. He glared at the girl. Then he said, "That lying Winter Man told me this was my stunt. Exclusive, he said."

  The big man drove the knuckle into the artery again. His shoulder was killing him, but he kept the pressure on, neutralizing Little Ears.

  "If you don't calm down, you're going to have a sore throat for the rest of your life," the big man said and turned to Eliza. "You got the letter from Dobbs?"

  Her eyes were as wide as dollar pancakes. She nodded vigorously.

  "Well, get it up before this jackass dies on me."

  She dug in her bag, thrashing around among clinking mirror, lipstick, comb, brush, hairpins, pens, paper, and finally produced the letter. But Little Ears wasn't interested. He jammed his elbow into the big man's ribs and twisted, and the big man let him go, kicked him hard in the kneecap and threw a hard punch straight to Little Ears' temple. The man hit the railing and it shattered. He soared off the dock, head over heels, and hit the water six feet below, spread-eagled.

  The big man leaned back against the wall and sighed. "I hope you can swim," he said, looking down at Little Ears, who was floundering in the frigid black water.

  Little Ears struggled to the dock and dragged himself up on it. He collapsed on his hands and knees.

  The big man grabbed a fistful of his collar and pulled him up, and dragged him into the room. He held the letter in front of Little Ears' face. "Can you read?"

  Little Ears tried to focus his eyes. He was beginning to shiver. He spat water on the floor.

  "Read it!"

  Little Ears waited until his eyes could focus, and he read the letter. "Son of a bitch," he said. He read it again, shaking his head in disbelief.

  "You almost got yourself burned for nothing," the big man said. His shoulder was throbbing.

  Little Ears rubbed the spot on his neck. It was already beginning to bruise. His voice was a tortured whisper. "I don't believe this," he said, shaking his head. "I fucking don't believe this. You know what I got in this job? I started following her in San Francisco, for Chrissakes. I must be close to six grand out of pocket. And that don't count the time. Three, four weeks. I must be out, dammit, close to ten grand."

  "Send the Winter Man a bill."

  "I'll send him a bill, I'll go back and castrate the son of a bitch.
"

  "Good, you'll need this." The big man pressed the release button on the knife and shoved the blade against the wall. It slid back into the handle. He tossed it to Little Ears. "At least you got your knife back," he said.

  "Jesus, I don't believe any of this," Little Ears said, still shaking his head, and he dragged his wet, shivering body from the room, pulled his .38 out of the wall and limped up the stairs, the gun hanging forgotten in his hand as he went out the door, still rubbing his throat.

  The big man turned to Eliza. "Hey," he said, "you looked pretty good in there, for a midget."

  Eliza's eyes were still the size of dollar pancakes, and the questions came tumbling as they returned to the street. "Are you okay? Who was that? Is he just going to walk away from it like that? Isn't he mad or something? You almost broke his neck. You threatened to cut his throat. He tried to kill you. What the hell's going on, anyway? Won't he come looking for you later?"

  "He's a headhunter," the big man said. "First thing they learn, never let emotion get in the way of business. If he starts feeling instead of thinking, he'll end face-up smiling at the moon."

  She shuddered, for the full impact of what had just happened had begun to sink in. The man with the Little Ears had tried to kill them.

  "Kazuo?"

  The voice came from behind her, a quiet voice, yet forged with authority. Turning, she found herself face to face with a young Japanese man. He was a head shorter than the big man, wide through the shoulders with no waist to speak of. He wore a black turtleneck sweater, black pants, black soft-soled shoes, and his long black hair tumbled over the sweater at his neck. His brown eyes burned with anxiety.

  She froze for a moment, until the big man spoke and she realized he was a friend.

  "Are you okay, pal?" he said to the big man.

  "Bastard took a piece out of my arm. Was there anybody else?"

  "No, he was operating alone," the Japanese said. And then he smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Maybe I should have backed you up. It did not occur to me that he might be a match for you. He did not look that tough."

  "A match for me! Bullshit. He was a cheap street fighter. He got lucky. Oh, by the way, Eliza Gunn, this is Sammi. He followed you while I followed the cheap shot with no ears. It's known as a double-up."

  She had stopped listening. Instead she was concentrating on the big man's eyes.

  "One of your eyes changed color," she said to the big man.

  "What?"

  "That eye. That green eye on the right. It used to be gray."

  He turned away from her and Sammi peered intently at the big man.

  "The gods have indeed played a trick," Sammi said with mock seriousness. "They have changed the color of your right eye."

  "Let's get me to Dr. Saiwai," the big man said. "I need a little repairwork."

  But Eliza would not be distracted. She started to laugh. She laughed very hard. "Contact lenses," she said. "You were wearing contact lenses. The cowboy boots must add an inch or so to your height. The contact lenses change the color of your eyes. The beard and everything ... Kazuo ... hell, you're O'Hara!"

  V

  The doctor's house was on the outskirts of Kyoto, a dim, black one-story outline against the gray silhouette of Mount Hiei, which soared up behind it, less than two miles away. O'Hara and Sammi were gone less than fifteen minutes. When they came out, O'Hara had his hand stuffed in his pocket.

  "No big thing," he told her. "Twelve stitches, but the cut isn't very deep. That bastard ruined my jacket."

  "Tana will fix it. Nobody will even know," said Sammi.

  "Who's Tana?" Eliza asked.

  "Friend of the family," said O'Hara.

  They drove back to Osaka, parked the car and walked to the nomiya, the sake bar, across from her hotel. It was a delicate place, dark and quiet, and after leaving their shoes near the door, they found a small booth near the back.

  "I will call Tokenrui-san and tell him it went well. He'll be worried," Sammi said and left the stall.

  "Is that Mr. Kimura?" Eliza asked.

  "O'Hara nodded. He was looking at her hard with his green eyes, then he suddenly smiled for the first time and she began to feel warm. She took off her coat.

  "You got quite a bite there, pal," he said.

  "We can thank my dentist in Nebraska for that."

  "Nebraska, hunh?"

  "Yep. Webster Groves high school, then the University of Missouri, then Boston, via Chicago. That's the story of my life. Not much to it. Nothing like yours. Does this kind of thing happen often?"

  "Only when I get mixed up with television reporters that bite."

  She smiled at him across the table. "Cute," she said.

  She had one hell of a smile. If ever a smile could be called ear-to-ear, it was that one.

  "What does that word mean?" she asked.

  "What, 'cute'?"

  "No, silly. Token ... whatever."

  "Tokenrui-san?"

  "Right."

  "Literally, token means 'swords.' But in this case it's interpreted to mean 'the Master.' "

  "Do you really think of him as your Master?"

  "Not the way you mean. In the aesthetic sense."

  "You mean like a teacher?"

  "That's part of it. He is the Master of higaru-dashi, which is kind of a ... combination advanced karate, Shinto and Zen. It's difficult to describe in English. The words are misleading. Anyway, Kimura makes the final choice on everyone who enters the seventh level of the higaru-dashi. What's known as the Plane of the Beyond."

  "It sounds way beyond me."

  "Only because you take the words literally. In Japan, nothing is obvious."

  "He tells me you can stand on one foot for six hours without blinking an eye. Is that what you call the Plane of the Beyond?"

  "No," he said and smiled again, "it's what I call painful."

  The waitress appeared. "Osake o ippai onegai shimasu," O'Hara said, and she nodded and left. "I ordered us sake," he explained to Eliza. "I think we can all use it."

  "You seem very much at ease here in Japan."

  "It's my home."

  "That mean you've given up on the States?"

  He made a vague gesture, which he did not bother to explain.

  "And these people helped you just because they're your friends?"

  "Is there a better reason?"

  "But it was dangerous."

  "I was in trouble. A year on the dodge is a long time. Besides, the Winter Man tried to dishonor me. That was unspeakable to Kimura. And to Sammi. Here, a person's honor is sacred. To steal it is like stealing your soul. It's a despicable act."

  The waitress and Sammi both returned at the same time. They raised their warm cups in a mutual toast and sipped the hot rice liquor.

  "Tell me more about Kimura ... Tokenrui-san? Does

  Kimura still teach? I mean, he seems so old. How old is he?"

  "Sammi?"

  Sammi said, "Nana-ju-ni."

  "Seventy-two," O'Hara said.

  "And he's still active?"

  "He would never have taken that cut, tonight, you can bet on that. I'll hear about it, too, all right, letting that dipshit get his blade into me."

  "You were not prepared. Your head was with the fleas,"

  Sammi said. "Your first two moves were an inch too wide."

  "Yeah. I knew that when I felt his knife in my shoulder."

  "And Kimura is faster than you?" Eliza asked.

  "It is not the speed, it is the mind," Sammi said.

  "Tokenrui-san can catch a hummingbird in flight," said O'Hara. "The move is so fast, you don't see it, you just feel the wind, from his arm moving. That wind is called okinshiwa, and it has different meanings to different people. To you, the wind could mean confusion; to me, because I am his friend, it can mean security. To his enemies, it can mean danger."

  "And then he opens his hand," Sammi said, holding his arm out and unfolding his fist, "and the bird sits there and waits for him to blow on i
ts tail and make it fly away."

  "That's the mystic part of it," said O'Hara. "When I understand that I will feel that I have achieved the Plane of the Beyond."

  "It's all very difficult..."

  "That's because it requires a different kind of thinking than you're accustomed to. Kimura changed my life ... no, he saved my life. If it weren't for him, I'd probably be a headhunting punk like Little Ears."

  "Doesn't it seem strange," she said, "just a few years ago we were all at war. Was he involved in that?"

  "Involved?" Sammi laughed. "I suppose you could say that."

  O'Hara said, "He hand-picked the officers—and this is the top staff of the Imperial Army we're talking about—who were to enter the seventh level of higaru-dashi. He only selected twelve. They were with him for three years before they returned to duty—in 1942. Every one of them was a key man in the Japanese war machine."

  She sat quietly for a minute, letting it sink in.

  O'Hara said, "You might say he prepared them to kick the shit out of us."

  And he and Sammi laughed, and then she laughed too. "And you feel the same way about him, right?" she said to Sammi.

  "It's not quite the same," O'Hara said. "Tokenrui-san is Sammi's grandfather."

  Neat, Eliza. Next time, take your shoe off before you put your foot in your mouth.

  "I'm sorry," she said, "that was dumb, bringing up the war."

  "It's no secret," Sammi said, and went on talking fast and running his sentences together. "Anyway, it's a natural question but many people wouldn't ask, he will like it that you were honest enough to find out. There is one other thing. Higaru is never used for aggression, it is used to defend. When my grandfather taught these men, it was because he was led to believe that Japan might be attacked."

  "He had good feelings about you," O'Hara said, changing the subject. "Now, me-I thought you and that pistolero were working a double. Some kind of elaborate sting."

  "Well, thanks a lot. I come halfway around the world, get insulted, shoved around, almost killed, just to bring you these letters, and you think I could be—what did you call it, 'working a double'?-really ... with that dumb ass. If you're in the seventh plane, or whatever you call it, you ought to be able to judge character a little better. Besides, what was all that melodrama back there about, anyway? If all you want is peace and quiet, why didn't you just walk up to him and tell him it was all off?"