I Parker: The Fires of the Gods

Tora shook his head sadly. ‘Some people never learn. Can I give you a hand?’

‘No, thanks. We’re five of us.’ He sounded as if he was making a point.

‘Help me,’ croaked their victim and cried out as one of the youths twisted his wrist.

‘Hush, Uncle,’ said the tall boy. ‘We’ll get you home to Auntie, don’t you worry.’ He took a step towards Tora. ‘You’d better let us pass.’

Tora rocked back and forth on his feet, as if undecided, his eyes on the limp figure between the two young thugs. Then he studied his boots a moment before launching himself at the tall youth, swinging his right foot forward, aiming the heel at the youth’s groin. The kick was powerful and unexpected. The youth left the ground and flew a few steps back, landing on his back with an almighty scream.

Tora had already pivoted towards his companions, the two whose hands were free. He used his fist to strike the first one on the temple and send him crashing into the dirt. ‘You’re next,’ he growled to the other. But that one pulled his knife and rushed Tora.

Tora feinted, jumped back, caught the youth’s knife arm at the wrist, and twisted it back until it snapped. The knife fell to the ground, and the youth shrieked, cradling his broken arm.

Tora scooped up the knife and turned to the two, who gaped, still holding the limp figure between them. They dropped their burden and ran.

Tora surveyed the wounded trio that was left. The one he had hit with his fist sat on the ground, looking groggy. The tall one lay curled in a ball. He was cursing steadily. ‘What were you doing to the old guy?’ Tora asked. ‘And don’t lie to me.’

The one with the broken arm blustered, ‘He’s a thief. We caught him. We were gonna turn him in.’

Tora fingered the knife. ‘And I’m the Empress Jingo. Try again.’

The other backed away. ‘He’s got a lot of gold hidden.’ He glanced at his companions and offered, ‘We might share with you.’

Their victim raised his voice. ‘They’re lying.’

‘Hmm.’ Tora eyed the small man and decided that he did look like a thief, but a poor one. He turned back to the trio. ‘Let’s see. What should I do with you? I could call for the constables.’

They merely stared at that suggestion. For some reason, the victim was the one who cried, ‘No.’

Tora glowered at the youths. ‘Get out of here before I change my mind and cut you up a little.’

The one with the broken arm hesitated only a moment, then turned and ran. The tall one staggered to his feet, cursed Tora, and pulled his groggy friend up. They limped off, clutching each other for support.

After making sure they were gone, Tora checked the miserable heap still sitting on the ground. His shoulders were heaving, and he made a strange wheezing noise. Tora thought he was weeping, but when he bent down, he saw that the wheezing was laughter. The little fellow shook with it. A small claw-like hand shot out and pointed. Down the street, the tall youth Tora had kicked was bent over, vomiting.

‘Hehehe!’ wheezed the small fellow. ‘Hehehehehe. Son o’ a bitch knows how it feels to get kicked inna balls! Tha’ss worth a piece o’ gold, that.’

He had trouble speaking and stopped to feel his front teeth. One of them was loose and started bleeding again. ‘Damn bassards beat me,’ he said unnecessarily.

Tora reached out to help him to his feet. ‘Who are you? Are you really a thief?’

The other stood gingerly and groaned a bit. Then he looked up at Tora. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I’m Jirokichi. And you, my hero?’

Tora stared. ‘You’re Jirokichi? Jirokichi, the thief?’ he asked, dumbfounded.

The other nodded. The little fellow was anywhere between thirty and fifty, for all Tora could tell. With his buck teeth, sharp features, and close-set eyes, he resembled a rodent, but Jirokichi, also known as the Rat, was a legendary and magical person, and this creature looked altogether insignificant in his plain and dirty brown cotton clothes. And his manner was ingratiating.

‘Well,’ said Tora, ‘whatever. I’m Tora, and you look like you could use a cup of wine. Come along. I’m buying.’

The little man gave a chuckle and followed obediently. Tora headed back towards the market. After a while, Jirokichi mumbled, ‘Don’t believe me, do you?’

Tora looked back, hesitated. The real Jirokichi could make himself invisible. Because of this, he could enter wealthy people’s homes while they slept to steal their gold. Among the poor, a kind of religion had developed that venerated the image of a rat, presenting gifts to it and praying that Jirokichi share his wealth with them. There were claims that such prayers had been heard, and that people had found gold in their empty rice bin or under a wooden bucket, or stuffed into their outdoor shoes.

‘Maybe your name is Jirokichi, and maybe you’re a thief,’ Tora said cautiously. ‘It doesn’t matter. We both need a drink.’

But the fellow tugged at Tora’s sleeve. ‘It matters to me.’ The broken tooth caused him to make whistling sounds when he talked.

‘OK, I believe you,’ said Tora, suppressing a grin.

At the market, Jirokichi pointed to a small wine shop with benches outside. This time of day it was nearly empty. Tora saw only a few other guests. Inside, a monk ate something from a bowl and two old men drank wine and played go. Outside, a shifty-eyed man sat and watched the crowd. He gave them a brief glance, then turned his attention back to the market.

Jirokichi lowered himself gingerly on to the bench and shouted, ‘Hoshina! Wine.’

A large young woman appeared from the back of the shop, crying, ‘Jiro, my little turtle, is that you?’ She glanced at Tora and then at Jirokichi. ‘Amida! What happened, lover?’

Jirokichi waved her away and looked at Tora with a blush. ‘She’s great in bed,’ he muttered.

Hoshina reappeared with wine and two cups in a basket. Tora marveled at her size. She was one of the biggest women he had ever seen. Jirokichi’s head would barely reach her ample bosom. She took a wet cloth from the bottom of the basket and knelt down beside the little man, touching his bruised face as lovingly as a mother. ‘You look terrible. Who did that to you, my love?’ She dabbed at the traces of blood.

Jirokichi winced, snatched the cloth away from her, and held it to his swollen lip. ‘Don’ask.’

Tora reached into his jacket to pay for the wine, but Jirokichi pushed his hand away. On me,’ he mumbled through the cloth.

‘I thought those hoodlums picked you clean?’

‘Hoodlums?’ cried Hoshina.

Jirokichi took the cloth away to say, ‘No, no. I had a fall. Now pour us some wine, precious.’

‘Precious’ leaned over him like a pine over a mushroom. ‘My poor darling. Whatever you say,’ she murmured. She poured. ‘Will I see you tonight?’

‘I’m not quite up to it.’

She pouted. ‘Liar. You’re always up to it.’

Jirokichi blushed again and shot Tora a glance.

She raised her chin. ‘Maybe I’ll ask your friend. He looks like he’s up to it.’

Jirokichi gasped, then shot Tora an anxious glance.

Tora laughed. ‘Thanks, but I’m a married man.’

‘Pity.’ She poured the wine, whispered something in Jirokichi’s ear, and left.

They drank deeply and sighed in unison. Jirokichi – or whoever he was – certainly looked like a thief. Ask a thief if you want to catch a thief. His color was better, and Tora liked that the little man had not complained about the loose tooth or the pain in his jewels.

‘About those louts that attacked you,’ Tora said. ‘You don’t look like a wealthy man.’

Jirokichi gave him a quick glance, then looked down at himself and brushed some dirt from his pants and jacket. ‘Whath wrong with my clothes? I’m a working man, and I was clean before those bastards got hold o’ me. Leth forget about it.’