Warrior Spirit

Annja turned and walked away, aware that Kennichi Ogawa was standing stock-still behind her, very much surprised by the conversation that had just transpired.

2

The Spartan showers at the Tokyo Budokan weren’t the kind of luxurious bath Annja would have preferred if she’d been home in New York City, but the scalding waters were good for relieving the tenderness of her sore muscles. She soaped herself up using the fragrance bar she carried with her, ridding herself of the body-odor stench that seemed a fixture in gyms all over the world.

Aside from her bruised ego and the purplish welts already covering parts of her battered body, Annja felt refreshed when she emerged from the changing area dressed in a gray turtleneck and black slacks.

Kennichi lounged by the front of the budokan , now almost entirely deserted except for the various ushers and cleaning crew. He seemed uninterested in the scenery around him. Annja could see his breathing was relaxed and deep, and every minute or so, his head scanned the immediate vicinity.

Despite his lackadaisical demeanor, Annja knew he was completely aware of everything happening around him. She’d seen the same relaxed attentiveness before in some of the intelligence operatives she’d met during her various adventures. Still, she didn’t figure Kennichi for a spy.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes giving her a lingering once-over. “You certainly clean up well.”

“Thanks. Are you always so blunt?”

Kennichi smiled, showing a mouth full of polished teeth. “Are you wondering why I tend to be at odds with the relative obliqueness that most of my countrymen embrace?”

“I would have said it differently, but yeah, something like that,” Annja said with a smile.

Kennichi led them outside, holding the door open for Annja. She felt the cool breeze wash over her and was glad she’d opted for the turtleneck. Kennichi guided her toward the parking lot.

“I was educated abroad. And personally, I’ve never really liked having to pry honesty out of people. I find it easier to simply say what I think or feel—within reason and tact, of course—and see where it leads.”

“Interesting,” Annja said. “Is that likely to catch on here?”

“I doubt it will ever be so. Japan’s ways are ingrained deep into her psyche. Change is a very difficult thing to produce here.” He pointed at the black Mercedes S550 parked alone under a street lamp. “This is me.”

Annja whistled. “Nice ride.”

Kennichi nodded. “I have a bit of a weakness for nice cars. As much as I try to wean myself, every year there seems to be something new that grabs my gut.”

Annja slid into the leather interior. “Any other weaknesses I should know about?” She couldn’t help but feel intrigued by this man.

Kennichi eyed her for just a moment. “Maybe later. Right now, let’s get something to eat. You must be famished after that grueling session you just logged.”

“I could definitely eat.” Annja rested her head back against the cushion. “It has been some kind of day.”

He slid the car into gear and they moved off into the traffic. At a traffic light, Kennichi turned and smiled again. “First things first. Please call me Ken. It’s easier than the mouthful that my name really is. And I’d hate for that to ever be a burden for someone.”

“Okay. Where are we going, Ken? Steak and lobster? McDonald’s?”

“There’s a coffee shop in Kanda we can hit. They’ve got a very diverse range of food. I’m not sure what you normally eat after you fight your way through a horde of foes, so I thought it might be best to give you a smorgasbord of options. That way you can best decide what will replace the nutrients you lost earlier.”

“Considerate of you,” Annja said. “I appreciate that. Why don’t you tell me about the object you’re trying to locate?”

Ken held up his hand. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather we wait until we eat first. Your attention right now is somewhat diffused. I need you a bit more…concentrated.”

“I’m focused on you, Ken,” Annja said.

Ken grinned. “I don’t doubt it. But I think a meal in your stomach will do you some good before I unleash my family’s woes on you.”

“Family?” Annja frowned. “You’re married?”

“I meant family in the lineage sense. Ancestors, descendants, that kind of thing.” He glanced at her. “And no, I’m not married.”

God, that must have come out like a schoolgirl crush, Annja thought. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s no problem.” He pointed. “We’re here.”

Ken parked the Mercedes in the tiniest parking lot Annja had ever seen. They both got out of the car. The front of the coffee bar proclaimed that it served pizza, Buffalo wings, hamburgers and an assortment of other American food items, all written in English. Annja’s mouth watered at the thought of some wings. But she thought it might be better to stick to something a little less messy. Nothing said impressive on a first date than hot sauce smeared all over your face.

A line of Honda motorcycles that had been decked out with detailing and every latest gizmo available dominated the area immediately outside the coffee shop. At least ten of them vied for space in what should have only accommodated half their number.

Annja whistled. “Nice bikes.”

Ken looked at them and shook his head. “If only their owners were that quiet. But come on, let’s eat.”

The hostess inside greeted them with a bow, and as Annja looked the place over, she couldn’t help but marvel at how things in Japan could be so foreign and so familiar at the same time. Rock music blasted from the speakers, but not so loud you had to shout to be heard. Movie posters and surfboards were plastered on the walls. Diner-style booths with bright red naugahyde cushions and laminate tables reminded Annja of the 1950s-style joints she’d seen back home.

The hostess led them past a bunch of tables packed with Japanese teens adorned with body piercings and colorful spiked red hair. She felt their eyes roam over her body and now wished she’d worn something less clinging than what she had on.

More than the way they looked at her, though, she was alarmed by the way they checked Ken out. Several of them shifted in their seats, and Annja felt her own instincts buzz. Were they going to jump them? And if so, why?

“Annja.”

Ken’s voice brought her back to reality. He smiled at her and Annja smiled back. “Sorry.”

“Forget about them. They’re just teppo .”

Annja frowned. “I’ve heard that word before—”

Ken nodded. “It means ‘bullet’. It’s what they call the kids who have just joined a Yakuza gang. They’re low-level thugs who are used for intimidation. They extort money. Some of them run small-time prostitution rings or sell drugs on the side. And tragically, most of them are dead before they’re twenty years old.”

“That’s horrible,” Annja said. She’d seen enough of youth involved in crime to know the statistics could be devastatingly similar in the States, if not worse.

“Stupid, more likely,” Ken said. “None of these kids have come from the lower class. They’ve all been recruited from the middle class. They have all their options open to them, but they choose instead to forsake the sacrifices their parents made simply because they think it’s cool to be in a gang. It’s very different in America, where the economics of poverty breed new generations of criminals. Here, it’s a fad to be involved. And a stupid one at that.”

A waitress on roller skates glided up to their table. Annja cracked the menu and ordered a hamburger.

The waitress smiled. “Would you like corn on that?”

Annja blanched. “Excuse me?”

Ken chuckled. “We put corn on a lot of things. Pizza, too.”

Annja shook her head. “Just lots of cheese, lettuce, ketchup and mayonnaise. No corn. Oh, and I’d like a large glass of water.”

Ken ordered a plate of Buffalo wings and a beer. “I miss the States and come here for my wing fix. If I could get Sam Adams beer here, I’d be really happy.”