F. Paul Wilson - By the Sword

"It's a simple question, Mister Cooter. Where does Hugh Gerrish live?"

"Fuck off. Never heard of him."

"Do not lie, Mister Cooter. You were arrested with him during an attempted robbery. You do know him. And obviously you are loyal to him. That is admirable and honorable. And I am being equally honorable with you when I say that we wish him no harm. In fact, we intend to make him rich by purchasing an item he holds."

Cooter-san surprised him by grinning. "Look at me, chinky boy. Do I look like I just popped out of my momma's pussy? I got nothing to say to you."

Hideo heaved a dramatic sigh. "I was afraid of this." He nodded to Goro. "You may begin."

Goro grinned and pulled off his shirt, revealing his yakuza irezumi . The tattoos were so extensive that he appeared to be wearing a long-sleeve bodysuit. Hideo had heard of the yakuza tradition of tattoos, of course, and had seen photos, but never before had he seen them in the flesh. A pair of carp swam in different directions across Goro's chest; from his back a tiger attacked with extended claws. Waves and hillsides and cherry blossoms filled the spaces between and wound down his arms.

Cooter-san stared in awe, speechless.

The prisoner's wrists were already secure, so Ryo began taping the fingers of his left hand to the arm of the chair—all except the little one.

Cooter-san found his voice. "The fuck you think you're doing?"

Hideo stepped away from the table, leaving the stage to the yakuza. In a very real way, it was a stage. For they were each playing a part, carefully worked out in advance.

"In my country," Kenji said in a matter-of-fact tone, "members of our organizations have a ritual known as yubitsume . When we offend a superior, or make a mistake that costs the organization, we make amends by yubitsume ."

"Yeah? Well, you can bitsume my big black dick."

"The word means 'finger cutting.' We use a tanto—that is a certain kind of knife—and cut off the tip of a finger, usually the smallest, which we then send to our superior."

"I'll bet he's real tickled about that. What's he do with it? Shove it up his ass?"

Kenji didn't miss a beat. "You have offended our superior by not honoring his simple request for information. Therefore we have decided to perform yubitsume on you."

Hideo knew how far outside true yakuza tradition this was, but Cootersan would not know that.

The man's expression lost some of its belligerence.

"Yeah?" He looked down at his left hand, where his little finger had been taped flat and straight along the arm of the chair. "You're kidding, right?"

Kenji gave his head a slow, solemn shake. "I do not know this 'kidding.' My associate will perform the yubitsume . We do not have a tanto available, so we have had to make do with what is available."

As if by magic, a meat cleaver appeared in Goro's hand. He tested the edge with his thumb.

"Oh, yeah," Cooter-san said, his air of bravado returning. "Gotta admit you put on a good show with this finger business. But I notice all you guys got your pinkies. I'm supposed to believe you guys've never screwed up? That's a laugh."

Goro frowned and shot Kenji a questioning look. Cooter-san's English had been too rapid for him. Kenji translated.

Goro smiled and tucked the cleaver under an armpit. He spread the fingers of his left hand. Then he grasped the tip of the fifth and pulled it off.

Cooter-san's shocked gasp echoed through the room.

And then Ryo revealed his stump, and finally Kenji.

As the still-smiling Goro grasped the cleaver again by its handle, Cooter-san began writhing and thrashing about in his chair.

"Wait a minute! Wait-wait-wait a fucking minute!"

The cleaver was all for show. All three of the yakuza carried tantos, but a meat cleaver caused a more visceral reaction—at least in Hideo. And, from the looks of it, in Cooter-san as well.

Hideo had given strict orders not to harm the man, merely frighten him. He was sure the sight of the tattoos and the cleaver—and now the foreshortened fingers—along with Goro's merciless black eyes would be more than enough.

Hideo admitted to some qualms about putting the cleaver into Goro's hands. He had a feral quality about him, a sense that violence lurked very close to the surface, no deeper than his tattoos. That increased the level of threat, but also increased the chances of Cooter-san suffering injury.

Goro stepped forward and positioned the cleaver over the last joint on Cooter-san's little finger.

Kenji said, "I will give you until the count of three. One…"

Goro smiled at Cooter-san and Hideo couldn't remember a more chilling sight.

"Two…"

Still smiling, Goro raised the cleaver.

"Th—"

"All right, all right, all right ! He lives in Jamaica!"

Hideo's burst of elation at Cooter-san's capitulation died in midflash.

"Jamaica? He lives in Jamaica?"

"That's what I said. Now get this guy away from me."

"Why did he leave the country?"

Cooter-san laughed. "Leave the country? You dickwad! Jamaica, Queens !"

Relief flooded Hideo. Queens… he knew where Queens was… and he would find this Jamaica in Queens.

Cooter-san, defeated now, gave his friend's street address without argument or further duress.

As Hideo reached for his PDA to key in the data, he heard a thunk and a man's scream. He looked up in time to see a small dark object tumble through the air, trailing a fine thread of blood. Goro's hand darted out and caught it in midflight.

Hideo looked at Cooter-san and saw him writhing in agony as blood flowed from the stub end of his little finger. His stomach turned.

"What—what did you do?" he cried in Japanese.

Goro gave him a flat look. "Yubitsume."

"You weren't supposed to hurt him! I told you that!"

"I know."

And then he popped the fingertip into his mouth and swallowed it whole.

Hideo couldn't believe his eyes. "What—?"

Goro smiled and said, "So they can't sew it back on."

"But you were not supposed to hurt him!"

"He should not have informed on his friend."

Furious, confused, frustrated, Hideo turned to Kenji. "Stop his bleeding and return him to his home."

Then he hurried from the building. He did not want to be sick in front of the yakuza.

Hank couldn't believe it, so he made Darryl say it again.

"I found the bitch. She's in the Milford Plaza."

"You're sure? You're absolutely sure?"

"Hey, man, ain't I been lookin at her face all day, every day for weeks?"

Yeah, he had. Hank's gut tingled with triumph, but he was afraid to celebrate. All along he'd put on a confident face, but in his heart he hadn't truly believed he'd ever find her. The flyers had been a long shot but, ironically, in the end it had been one of his own Kickers who'd come through.

If it was really her. He had to ask again.

"No question in your mind?"

"She looks thinner than in the picture, but it's her. She was in that same Arab getup at first, and then she took it off. It's her all right. Followed her on the C from SoHo to the Deuce, in and out of a Duane Reade, and into the Milford Plaza."

Milford Plaza? What was she doing there? No sign of her for weeks and weeks, and then she shows up in a theater-district tourist trap. What was going on?

"She with that chauffeur you mentioned the other day?"

"That's the weird part. He was following her in and out of these stores like a bodyguard, like stink on shit, but then she comes tearing out of the last store and he's nowhere to be seen. Almost like she was ditching him."

None of this made any sense. Had she had a falling-out with whoever had been hiding her?