Free White Tiger by Stephen Knight Page B

snapped off another two rounds. One bullet caught the man in the left eye, while second plowed through the bridge of his nose.
    There was more movement behind the last man, and Manning caught a glimpse of bright, shiny blond hair. One of the club’s hostesses stared at Manning through the pale light of the hallway. Light that was too bright for him to trust his identity was known only to the dead.
    “ Gomen nasai, ” he said, his voice barely audible above the karaoke music. The hostess started to scream, but had barely drawn enough air into her lungs when Manning’s last two rounds penetrated her skull and broke apart, turning her brain into something more akin to lifeless oatmeal than a sophisticated bundle of nerves, neurons, chemicals, and pathways that together served as the human brain.
    “Oh yes,” Chisako murmured from behind him. “Oh, so unexpected, so beautiful! ”
    Manning turned and headed for the door behind her. “Get out of here,” he hissed.
    Chisako grabbed his hand and shoved it between her legs. He momentarily felt the wet heat of her sex, his fingertips grazing her swollen vaginal lips, the palm of his hand brushing the silkiness of her shaven mound.
    “I’m so wet, look what you’ve done to me!” she gasped. “Take me with you — take me with you and fuck me! ”
    “Get the hell out of here!” Manning snatched his hand out from between her thighs and shoved her against the wall. “Go on!”
    Chisako only smiled slavishly, head lolling, eyes on the corpse of her Fujianese benefactor, blood pooling on the rubber matting on the floor, leaking from the wounds in his head. Her right hand darted between her thighs, raising her plaid skirt; she cried out as she immediately broke out in a shuddering climax.
    Manning fled, replacing his gun in its holster. So far, his actions had attracted no interest; no one even turned toward the alleyway. Keeping his head down, Manning stepped out into the pedestrian traffic. After a block, he hailed a taxi and gave him the address of a small coffee shop on a narrow street a mile away. From there, he would walk a circuitous route to the parking garage in Shibuya where he had left the Friendee.
    Chen Gui had his revenge, and his territory returned to him.
    Jerome Manning would soon have two hundred thousand dollars to play with.
    But it would be years until he forgot the hostess. If ever.

    ###

    “ Moshi-moshi. ” Ryoko’s voice was smoky and subdued, even though Manning knew she hadn’t gotten out of bed until at least three o’clock that afternoon. She hadn’t even been awake for ten hours.
    “Ryoko-chan. Are you alone?”
    “ Hai. I didn’t go out tonight. Where are you?”
    “Downstairs.”
    “A few moments, please.”
    The line went dead. Manning flipped his phone closed and plugged it into the charger in the Friendee’s console. He sat in the idling van and listened to Kaori Natori’s KaoRhythmixx program on 76.1 FM. Overhead, the night skies grew cloudy; rain was in forecast, and the clouds consumed the stars before Manning’s eyes. It was fitting, a perfect mirror of his mood. Both the night and his frame of mind were one: dark, brooding, relentless, and seething.
    A car trundled past, rap music blaring — Japanese rap music, which almost always made Manning crack up. Tonight it did nothing for him, couldn’t even begin to chip away at the mantle of depression and self-loathing that encased his soul. For the thousandth time, he wondered how he had wound up so far off course, his morality compass spinning like a runaway gyro. He feared for his humanity; at times like this, the reasons he did what he did seemed distant and cold and small, like the love of the dispassionate God he had once prayed to. If there was a road to salvation, he was certain he would be forbidden to travel it. It did not sadden him, but knowing this was what was allotted for him occasionally made him angry. And as time wore on, he found he merely existed on two