Stephen Knight - White Tiger

Tokyo, Japan

The sun was low on the horizon when Manning returned to his apartment in Tokyo’s Minato-ku ward. He had taken a circuitous route home, making several switchbacks and conducting the usual surveillance detection routines he employed out of habit, though he had no indication that the Fujianese had tailed him. And as Minato-ku was full of foreigners like himself, there was little chance they could find him near his home. As most Asians looked alike to Westerners, the reverse was true, though getting an Asian to admit such usually involved nail-pulling and teeth-breaking.

Halfway home, his DoCoMo cell phone chirped; he had received an SMS message. Manning checked the mailbox, and was heartened to see one word: Airborne. Chen Gui and his narcissistic nephew had left Haneda, and were bound for Osaka’s Kansai International. Excellent-step one complete.

Manning’s apartment was in a newer building in Roppongi Heights. His two-bedroom unit was on the 19th floor, which afforded him a grand view of the hellacious Tokyo Tower and all of Minato-ku, something he rarely tired of. It also had an alarm system, which was something he prized.

As always, the apartment was vacant when he entered. Shucking his shoes, he stepped across the ceramic-tiled entry foyer and crossed over into the kitchen, where he acceded to his customary ritual of opening the refrigerator and peering inside. He wanted a beer, but didn’t dare, not if there would be an op later in the night. So he chose a chocolate-flavored soy drink. The cherry wood floors in the living room gleamed as if they were glazed with glass, and his socks made for an uneven gait as he half-walked and half-skated to the leather chair that faced the windows. He lowered himself into it with a sigh, and sipped some of the sweet soy. He checked his watch; Chen Gui would be in Osaka in less than an hour, and his connection would depart 40 minutes after that. So for the moment, Manning was content to sip some soy and look out the windows at the growing night.

He must have dozed off, for the trilling of the cell phone brought him back to a much darker room than the one he thought he’d just entered a short while ago. He checked his watch groggily; hell, it was no doze, it was a full-out power nap. He’d been out for over two hours!

He rose from the chair, kicking over the empty glass, sending it rolling across the throw rug. Manning stooped to pick it up, then headed into the kitchen. He placed the glass in the stainless steel sink and picked up the phone from where he’d left it on the marble countertop.

To Dalian. Call LF. Msg Me Aft 12

Manning pursed his lips and cleared the message. Apparently, Chen Gui was quite worried about the future disposition of his rival, for which Manning couldn’t blame him.

He made the requisite telephone call to Chen Gui’s man in Shanghai, Lin Feng. Their conversation was brief, a verbal shorthand. Lin Feng confirmed he understood what was required of him, and that he would initiate the lengthy process of contacting Boss Tao in Dalian. The call completed, Manning pulled the card Chen Gui had given him from his back pocket, and wondered for a moment just what a young girl was doing handing out business cards to middle-aged Chinese gangsters who couldn’t even help her with her homework.

Chen Gui’s contact to the Fujianese gangland world was a young but world-weary fifteen-year-old girl named Chisako Noguchi. She had her own cell phone and answered almost immediately when Manning called. She was thrilled and delighted to speak with a foreigner, and she was greatly interested to learn how old he was. When he told her he was forty years old, she turned positively gooey with delight.

“I’ve never been with a foreigner before,” she cooed. “A white foreigner-”

“I’m sorry, but Chen Gui would never allow that.”

“Mmm.” There was a pause, and Manning was sure he could hear a television in the background. “Why should you care if he wouldn’t like it? He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“ Giri, ” Manning answered, using the Japanese word for honor.

She giggled. “You think Chen Gui understands giri? You’re more foreign than he is!”

“Chen Gui tells me you know the movements of the Fujianese snake head.”

“Yes…I’ll be with him at nine tonight.”

“Nine? Aren’t your parents going to be concerned?”

“It’s Friday, and I can stay out until midnight on Friday and Saturday. He’ll be taking me to Lychee tonight…you know it?”

“A karaoke club in Roppongi.” Manning knew it, though he’d never been inside. It wasn’t far from his apartment.

“Yes,” Chisako murmured. “We always leave through the side exit. I’ll send you his picture…” An instant later, Manning’s cell phone trilled.

“Just a moment.” Manning thumbed the menu buttons on his phone, and was rewarded with a photo of a very thin Chinese dressed in an expensive business suit. He had lank hair and oversized glasses which were held in place by an unusually broad nose. Even over the telephone’s small screen, Manning could make out the acne scars. He put the phone back to his ear.

“Got it, thanks.”

“We don’t have sex or anything,” Chisako said quietly on the other side. “Nothing like that. He just holds my hand and likes it when I wear short skirts. Do you like short skirts?”

“Sure. Why not.”

“Would you like to see a picture of me?”

“That’s not nec-” His phone trilled again, and Manning stifled a sigh. “Just a moment.”

He thumbed through the menu again. Chisako was a young, fresh-faced girl with eyes that were as empty and devoid of warmth as a hungry shark’s. Surprisingly straight teeth that were white, hair dyed to a glossy light brown, and smooth skin. A touch of eye makeup heightened the sense of budding exoticness she emanated even from a digital photograph. Manning put the phone back to his ear.

“You’re very lovely. Chen Gui is smitten with you, and I can see why.”

“But I want a white foreigner…” she pouted.

“How many men travel with your-with the Fujianese?”

“Usually only three. Sometimes four. They take two cars…Audi A8s. Black. Very kako ii, ” she said, using the Japanese word for “cool.”

“How are they armed?”

“Two of them usually carry guns. They all carry knives, though. Do you like women with hair, or do you prefer them shaved?”

I prefer them legal, Manning didn’t say. He ignored the question and stuck to business.

“You’ll have to find an excuse to leave him. As they’re walking out to the cars. It’s very, very important that you’re not there.”

“I want to see it.” Chisako’s voice was small and suddenly dreamy, and Manning had no trouble picking out the sheer lust riding her voice like a carrier wave. “I’ve never seen men die before… I want to see it. I want to know what it’s like.”

“That’s not at all wise. You could be injured, or even killed yourself.”

“You would shoot me? To get to your target, would you shoot me?” she whispered.

“No. But one of his men might, and that would be a bad thing.”

Chisako sighed. “I’m so wet now,” she murmured.

Manning put his head in his free hand and sighed. “Chen Gui would be very upset with me if you were to be hurt. That can’t happen.”

“Then don’t shoot me,” Chisako said coyly. “The man who opens the car door for him is armed. The one behind us will be armed. Mister Yang is always between them. One tall and thin, the other short and fat. The fat man wants to fuck me, but he’s disgusting and has bad teeth. Do you have good teeth? White teeth?”