Free White Tiger by Stephen Knight Page A

of his blood on me, I’ll come. Right there. I won’t wear any panties, and I’ll spread my legs for you so you can see. My manko is lovely, you’ll see for yourself, it’s like a small peach — ”
    “ Noguchi Chisako! Do as I tell you! ” Manning snapped in Japanese. “Do as I tell you, and Chen Gui will reward you with anything you desire. Anything. Do you understand me?”
    “ Hai, wakarimasu, ” the girl on the other end of the phone responded. “Will he give you to me, if I ask? Will he reward me that way?”
    “Remember what I told you, and do nothing out of the ordinary this evening. If you wish to remain the recipient of Chen Gui’s favoritism, this is a non-negotiable requirement.” Manning disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the coffee table. He stretched out on the leather couch and regarded the winking lights of Minato-ku outside. He couldn’t believe the conversation he had just had with a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl, of all people.
    “My God, Japan is one fucked up place,” he told himself.

    ###

    Despite the fact that it was a Friday night and the Lychee Karaoke Club was both a new and a happening place, it was situated on the corner of Kaigaken-mae street, which meant Manning could prowl the area without much trouble from the countless bar hostesses and streetwalkers who preyed on gaijin like himself. He found the door that Chisako had told him about, and saw the short alleyway it led into was only tepidly lit. While it would afford him some anonymity, it would also reduce his ability to carry out the act as quickly as he had hoped. He decided it was a fair tradeoff; he’d rather get it over with and risk having to take the time for a few more shots as opposed to standing out in bright light with a gun. Even though he was fast, there was a wealth of pedestrian and vehicular traffic in the area.
    There was a Starbucks three doors down. Manning went inside and ordered a tall latté, and then sat in one of two available chairs. He sipped the latté and waited.
    At just a few minutes before midnight, his phone trilled. Manning read the display; in hiragana was the message:
    coming out now make me wet
    Manning pocketed the phone and hurried outside. He entered the alley just as the first man, the fat one Chisako had told him about, stepped out. Loud, raucous music followed him, echoing in the alleyway. Their eyes met, and Manning was overtaken by a sinking feeling.
    It was the Fujianese he’d taken out in the men’s room earlier in the day.
    He heard Chen Gui’s voice in his head: “Why didn’t you kill him?”
    Because my dream of becoming a wealthy fortune teller is officially on the rocks, he thought as the Fujianese facing him drew short. Recognition flashed across his face.
    Manning went on automatic. He whipped the suppressed Ruger KMKIII pistol from its shoulder holster. Thumbed off the safety and fired two rounds — clack-clack! — into the man’s face. He collapsed into the arms of the man behind him, who hadn’t seen Manning yet. It wasn’t the mark, Yang; even though Chisako had said he would be between the first and third man, they hadn’t synchronized their formation yet. Manning fired another two shots, and charged toward the door as the two bodies collapsed.
    Manning stepped into the doorway and came face-to-face with Chisako, her eyes wide and bright, her face flushing with unmistakable ardor at what she had just witnessed. Behind her, the older Fujianese, Yang, backpedaled right into his third and last remaining bodyguard.
    Manning fired right over Chisako’s head. She squealed in delight as the .22 clicked and spat its small gout of fire from the end of the suppressor. Yang took both rounds in the right eye, and he crumpled against the man behind him. Manning glimpsed a stainless steel-plated Browning Pro-9 as the guard frantically tried to shrug off his boss’s body, now concerned only for his own safety. It was too late for him. Manning advanced and