Alex Archer - Warrior Spirit

The waitress brought coffee and Annja ordered two eggs, toast, orange juice and melon slices. Garin ordered an aged Scotch whisky.

Annja grinned. “That’s some breakfast you’re getting.”

He shrugged. “I’m on another time zone. And where I’m at, it’s perfectly acceptable to have a drink to take the edge off.”

“You just got in, then,” Annja said.

“Something like that.” He spread his arms. “Besides, I’m in phenomenal shape. For five hundred years old? You wish you’d look this good when it happens to you.”

“I have no desire to live that long.”

Garin frowned. “I said the same thing. Funny how fate just flips you the bird any time she feels like it.”

“Such talk. Where were you before this?” Annja asked.

“I’m a man of many places and locales. I don’t distinguish between them if I can help it.”

Annja took a sip of her coffee. “I love the fact that my conversations with you usually entail a great deal of frustration on my part because you don’t ever give me anything concrete to go on. You answer questions with questions and never confirm or deny anything. You’re like a politician without an office.”

Garin bowed his head. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Annja laughed.

“The man you met last night.” Garin smiled at her. “What is his name—Kennichi?”

Here we go, Annja thought. No middle ground, just right into it. “What about him?”

“Do you know who he is?”

“No, I liked the idea that he was a complete stranger. It made the unsafe sex all the better.” She shook her head. “He told me his story.”

“And you believe him.”

Annja sighed. “I haven’t really known him long enough to say one way or the other, Garin. We met, had dinner, he beat the crap out of some gangsters and that was it.”

“Let’s not forget what he asked you to help him do.”

Annja narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

Garin laughed. “You’re not going to sit there and lie to me. Really now, after all we’ve been through, you’re not going to feign ignorance to that question, are you?”

“My ignorance, as you put it, is genuine,” Annja said, immediately regretting the poor choice of words.

Garin sniffed as if he’d caught wind of a skunk. “Your ability to lie convincingly needs much improvement, Annja. But if that’s how you want to play this, fine. I’ll do the talking and you can sit there and listen.”

“That would be a refreshing change,” she replied sarcastically. Annja leaned back and crossed her arms, waiting for Garin to begin.

His whisky arrived and he took it with a word of thanks in Japanese to the waitress who stared at him in awe. Garin waved her away as if she were a pesky fly, but Annja could already see that the waitress was enthralled. If the big man knew it, he showed no signs of being interested.

Garin sipped from the glass and seemed to savor it for just a moment before swallowing, and then looked right at Annja. “Ninja are very very dangerous people, my dear.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You haven’t heard the half of it. Yes, there are still families in existence. Anyone telling you different is a moron. But along with the overt families who teach the system to anyone who shows an interest, there are also more covert families who still engage in many shady things.”

“Like what?”

“Remnants from the ultranationalistic groups like the Black Dragon Society that dominated the political scene in the latter part of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Their subtle and terrifying manipulation of government affairs earned them lethal reputations that were well-deserved.”

Annja cocked an eyebrow. “And they employed ninja?”

“Absolutely. Not the do-gooders that you read about today, but mercenaries who hired themselves out to the highest bidder. In this case, some of the ninja families had goals in line with their employers. The result was a marriage of sorts that cemented relationships and expanded empires. Much of what occurred in the last twenty years in Japan is due to the groundwork laid by these families immediately after World War II.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Annja asked.

Garin took another sip of his whisky. “You may be inadvertently helping the wrong side regain that artifact. If you’re not completely certain of this man’s identity, then by helping him, you could be undermining the rightful owner.”

Annja looked up as her food arrived. She bit into the eggs and drank down some of the juice. “So, you’re saying Ken may not be who he says he is.”

“So, it’s ‘Ken’ now, is it?”

Annja smiled. “Jealous?”

Garin ignored her. “I’m suggesting you make sure he is the rightful heir before you engage your rather impressive abilities toward helping him, possibly doing more harm than good.”

Annja leaned back again. “What does this have to do with you, anyway? I mean, why are you even concerned about this? Aren’t you the guy who likes to let chaos unfold wherever it may be?”

Garin set his glass down and leveled a hard stare at Annja. “Don’t ever simplify my personal philosophies like that, Annja. They aren’t nearly as neatly labeled as you’d make them out to be.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Garin finished his Scotch and the waitress immediately appeared with a fresh one. If she’d hoped to impress Garin, she was disappointed. Garin took notice of the fresh drink as if he had expected it all along.

He’s so pompous, Annja thought around a mouthful of egg and toast. Still, she had to admit that what he suggested at least made some degree of sense.

“Why would anyone care about the relic anyway? It’s just an antique.”

Garin frowned. “With supposed magical abilities.”

“ Supposed being the key word,” Annja said.

Garin smiled. “You don’t believe it.”

“I don’t know what to believe. I mean, magic? Come on.” Annja shrugged. “I just don’t know if I can buy into that.”

Garin shook his head. “Annja, there are times when that mind of yours truly does amaze me. Equally so, and regrettable even, are the times when your obstinacy nearly numbs me cold.”

Annja set her fork down. “If you’re going to insult me, I’ll ask you to sit elsewhere.”

“It’s my table.” Garin grinned.

Annja stood. “Fine, then I’ll move.”

Garin sighed. “Sit down, Annja.” He paused. “Please.”

Annja sat and resumed eating. If nothing else, she’d take pleasure in stiffing Garin for the bill. Not that he’d even blink. He had more money than he knew what to do with.

“I know the subject of magic is a touchy one. But honestly, the sword—”

“Is not connected to this at all and I’d appreciate you leaving it out of the conversation,” Annja snapped and then stared at Garin. “Please.”

“Very well. But you can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.” Garin took a deep breath. “It’s a part of who you are now.”

“I don’t pretend anything. But neither do I believe everything people say. You and Ken think this thing is magic. Fine. That’s got no bearing on the fact that it’s missing. I also don’t expect it will matter when I locate it. Magic or not, the thing is lost and needs to be found.”

“It does need to be found.” Garin nodded. “As long as it’s found by the right people.”

“So you said.”

Garin finished his second drink. The waitress reappeared. Now Garin looked her over. He spoke a few words to her and she blushed immediately.

Good lord, Annja thought. Tell me I’m not witnessing a seduction here.

Garin stood. “Be careful, Annja. That’s all I’m saying.” He strode out of the restaurant toward the elevator bank. The waitress dutifully followed behind him.