Linnear 01 - The Ninja (8 page)

Nicholas recalled Justine’s words, He’s as dead as he could possibly be. Now he began to understand the irony of that remark. Still, he was annoyed at finding out this way.

‘Now, what can you tell me about the ninja?’ Doc Deerforth said around a bit of clam flesh.

Outside, a white Ford with black trim pulled up next to the diner. As they watched, a big man with a red face and bulbous nose stepped out and walked towards them.

‘Hope neither of you mind,’ Doc Deerforth said. ‘I phoned Ray Florum when we got here. He’s the commander of the West Bay Bridge Village Police. I think he’s got a right to hear what’s going on. Okay?’ Both Nicholas and Vincent nodded their assent. ‘Nick?’

‘It’s okay, Doc,’ he said as lightly as he could. ‘It just caught me off guard. I didn’t expect her to -‘ He waved a hand in lieu of finishing.

The door opened and Florum pushed into the diner. Doc

Deerforth introduced him around and he sat down. They filled him in.

‘Quite literally,’ Nicholas said, ‘ninja means “in stealth”.’ Florum poured himself some coffee as Nicholas continued. ‘Outside of Japan, there is almost nothing known about ninjutsu, the art of the ninja. Even there, it has been poorly documented primarily because it was knowledge that was both utterly secret and jealously guarded. One was born into a ninja family or one gave up all hope of becoming one.

‘As you may know, Japanese society has always been rigorously stratified. There is a highly defined social order and no one would even contemplate deserting his station in life; it’s part of one’s karma, and this has religious as well as social overtones.

‘The samurai, for instance, the warriors of feudal Japan, were gentlemen, of the bushi class; no one else was allowed to become a samurai or carry two swords. Well, the ninja evolved from the opposite end of the social spectrum, the hinin. This level was so low that the translation of that term means “not human”. Naturally, they were a far cry from the aristocratic bushi. Yet, as clan warfare increased in Japan, the samurai recognized a growing need for the specific skills of the ninja, for the samurai themselves were bound by an iron-clad code of bushido which strictly forbade them many actions. Thus, the samurai clans hired the freelance ninja to perform acts of arson, assassination, infiltration and terrorism which they themselves were duty-bound to shun. History tells us, for instance, that the ninja made their first important appearance in the sixth century A.D. Prince Regent Shotoku employed them as spies.

‘So successful were they that their numbers increased dramatically during the Heian and Kamakura periods in Japanese history. They concentrated in the south. Kyoto, for example, was dominated by them at night.

‘But the last we hear of them as a major factor in Japan is during the Shimabara war in 1637 when they were used to quell a Christian rebellion on the island of Kyushu. Yet we know they were active all through the long Tokugawa shogunate.’

‘Just how wide is the scope of their skill?’ Doc Deerforth’s nostrils were clogged with the rotting stench of the Philippine jungle.

‘Very,’ Nicholas said. ‘From the ninja the samurai learned woodsmanship, disguise, camouflage, codes and silent signalling, the preparation of fire bombs and smoke screens. In short, you would not be wrong to consider the ninja military Houdinis. But each ryu, that is, school and, in the ninja’s case, clan, specialized in different forms of combat, espionage, lore, and so on, so that one was often able to tell by his methods from which ryu a particular assassin came. For instance, the Fodo ryu was known for its work with many kinds of small concealed blades, the Gyokku was expert at using thumb and forefinger on the body’s nerve centres in hand-to-hand combat, the Kotto was proficient at breaking bones, others used hypnotism and so on. Ninjas were also quite often skilled yogen - that is, chemists.’

There was a heavy silence between them until Vincent cleared his throat and said, ‘Nick, I think you ought to tell them the rest of it.’

Nicholas was silent for a time.

‘What does he mean?’ Florum said.

Nicholas took a deep breath. -‘The art of ninjutsu,’ he said, ‘is very ancient. So old, in fact, that no one is certain of its origin, though speculation is that it was born in a region of China. The Japanese took many things from Chinese culture over the centuries. There is an element of … superstition involved. One could even say magic.’

‘Magic?’ echoed Doc Deerforth. ‘Are you seriously suggesting…?’

‘In the history of Japan,’ Nicholas said, ‘it is oftentimes difficult to separate fact from legend. I am not trying to be melodramatic. This is the way it is in Japan. Feats have been ascribed to the ninja that would have been impossible without the aid of some kind of magic.’

‘Tall tales,’ said Florum. ‘Every country’s got ‘em.’

‘Yes. Possibly.’

‘And the poison you found?’

‘Is a ninja poison. Swallowed, it’s quite harmless. A favourite method of administering it was to make a quick drying syrup of it and coat the shaken with it.’

‘What’s that?’ Florum asked.

‘These are part of a ninja’s arsenal of silent, easily concealed weapons, his short-bladed shuriken. The shaken is a star-shaped metal object. Flung through the air by the ninja, it becomes a most lethal weapon. And coated with this poison, the weapon need not even puncture a vital spot for the victim to die.’

Florum snorted. ‘Are you trying to tell me that that stiff was killed by a ninja? Jesus, Linnear, you said they died out three hundred years ago.”

‘No,’ Nicholas corrected. ‘I merely said that that was the last time they were used in any major way. Many things have changed in Japan since the sixteen hundreds and the Tokugawa shogunate, and the country is, in many respects, no longer what it once was. However, there are traditions that are impossible to obliterate by either man or time.’

‘There’s got to be another explanation,’ Florum said, shaking his head. ‘What would a ninja be doing in West Bay Bridge?’

‘I’m afraid that’s something I can’t answer,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I know this. There is a ninja abroad here and in all the world there is no more deadly or clever foe. You must act with extreme caution. Modern weapons - guns, grenades, tear-gas -will give you no security against him, for he knows of all these things and they will not deter him from destroying-his intended target and escaping unseen.’

‘Wellj he’s already done that,’ Florum said, getting up. ‘Thanks for the information.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘Nice meeting you both.’ He nodded. ‘Doc.’ And with that he left.

The moment Justine heard the knock on her door she felt her heart sink. She put down her pen and, wiping her hands on a chamois cloth, came away from the drawing-board. The light had been just right; she preferred the daylight to the gooseneck lamp clamped to the board, even though its combination of fluorescent and incandescent bulbs gave her a decent approximation of natural illumination.

She let Nicholas in.

‘They called you about that body, didn’t they?’ she said.

He went across the room and sat on the sofa, hands behind

his head. ‘What body?’

‘You know. The one they took out of the water the day we met.’

‘Yes. That’s the one.’ He looked tired and drawn to her.

‘Why did they call you?’

He looked up at her. ‘They thought I might be able to help them find out how he died.’

‘You mean he didn’t drown? But what would you -‘

‘Justine, why didn’t you tell me your father is Raphael Tomkin?’

Her hands, which had been in front of her, fingers interlaced, dropped to her sides. ‘What possible reason would I have to tell you?’ she said.

‘Did you think I’d be after your money?’

‘Don’t be absurd.’ She gave a little laugh but it came out quite strangled. ‘I don’t have any money.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘What difference could it make who my father is?’

‘It doesn’t, really. I’m more interested in why you chose to change your name.’

‘I don’t think it’s any of your business.’

He got up, went over to look at what she had been working on. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘I like it.’ He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator. ‘That man was murdered,’ he told her over his shoulder. ‘By an expert assassin. But nobody knows why.’ He took out a bottle of Perrier, opened it and emptied it into a glass. He took a drink. ‘Vincent was called in and he in turn asked for my help, because the murderer is in all likelihood a Japanese; a man who kills for money.’ He turned round, went back into the living room where she still stood where he had left her. She stared at him, her eyes very bright. ‘Not a hit man - someone you read about in the papers when there’s some gangland killing in New Jersey or Brooklyn. No, this is the kind of man you never hear about. He’s far too clever to give himself any notoriety except among an elite core of potential clients. But I really don’t know too much about that end of it.’ He looked up at her as he settled himself on the sofa once more. ‘Are you getting all this?’

There was silence for a time, just the sound of the surf seeming far away. She moved, at last, over to the stereo, putting on a record. But almost immediately she took the needle off the groove as if the music were some intruder now to be kept away.

‘He called me home during my sophomore year at Smith,’ she said with her back to him. Her voice was flat and dry and contained. ‘Sent his goddamn private jet for me so I was sure not to miss any of my classes.’ She turned round but her head was down, her gaze riveted on a paper clip she held, working it back and forth until it snapped apart.

‘Well, I was, I don’t know, I guess “frightened” is the word. I couldn’t imagine what emergency he’d called me back home for. I immediately thought of my mother. Funny, not Gelda; she never got sick. Not like Mother.

‘Anyway, I was brought into the study and there he was standing before the fire, toasting his hands. I stood watching him with my loden coat brushed with snow, not even bothering to take it off. He offered me a drink.” Her head snapped up and she impaled him with her eyes. ‘Can you imagine I He offered me a drink as calmly as if we were business partners about to discuss an important deal.

‘It’s odd, you know. That’s precisely the image I had at the time. It was prophetic. “My dear,” he said, “I’ve got a surprise for you. I’ve come across a most extraordinary man. He’ll be here any moment. I imagine the snow’s delayed him a bit. Come. Take off your coat and sit down.” But I stayed where I was, dumbfounded. “Is this why you flew me home?” I asked. “Well, yes. I want you to meet him. He’s ideal for you. His family’s in the right bracket and quite well connected. He’s good-looking and a three-letter man to boot.” “Father,” I said, “you scared me half to death over some mad idea that -” “I scared you?” “Yes, I thought something had happened, to Mother or -” “Don’t be so idiotic, Justine! I can’t think what I’m going to do with you.” I stormed out, furious, and he just couldn’t understand what he had done to upset me. It was all done out of love, he told me. “Do you know how much time I spent making this selection?” he said as I went out the door.’ She sighed. ‘For my father, time was always his most precious commodity.’

‘People don’t do that” any more,’ he said. ‘Trade off other people as if they were things.’

‘Oh no?’ She laughed sardonically. ‘It happens all the time, all around.’ She spread out her arms. ‘In marriages, when die woman’s expected to perform certain duties; in divorces, when the kids are used as bargaining points; in affairs. All the time, Nick. Grow up, will you?’

He got up off the sofa, annoyed at her height advantage. ‘I’ll bet your father used to say that to you. “Grow up, Justine.”’

‘You’re a bastard, you know that?’

‘C’mon. You’re not going to start another fight now, are you? I told you -‘

‘Bastard!’ She leaped across the intervening coffee table, her body crashing against his, her hands flailing against him, but he caught her slender wrists without difficulty, pinioning her.

‘Now, listen,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind horsing around with you, but I told you, I’m not Chris and you’re not going to provoke a fight with me every time you want some attention. There’re other ways to get it. For instance, you could ask.’

‘I shouldn’t have to ask,’ she said.

‘Oho! So that’s it. I don’t have ESP. I’m just a human being. And I don’t need psychodramas.’

‘But I do.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘you don’t.’ He let her go.

‘Prove it.’

‘You’re the only one who can do that.’

‘Not alone, I can’t.’ She stared up into his face. Her hand lifted. Her fingertips grazed his cheek. ‘Help me,’ she whispered. ‘Help me.’

His mouth covered her open lips.

It seemed highly improbable that Billy Shawtuck should have got the nickname ‘Wild Bill’ but nevertheless there it was. He was a ruddy-complexioned man in his early forties, shortish and not even stocky. He always wore long-sleeved shirts, even at the height of summer when, even out here near the shore, there was more sweat than wind around.

Ask his buddies at Grendel’s and they would tell you that was because he didn’t like to show off his enormous biceps. Of course, if pressed, they would also tell you he came to his nickname by way of eschewing beers for a double Scotch on the rocks every time. Apparently the heat didn’t bother him much.

Billy worked for Lilco, riding power-lines, and, he always said to those he beat at arm wrestling off-hours at Grendel’s, he came by his muscles honestly. ‘I didn’t have to go to no fag gym every day to get these,’ he’d say, downing the double Scotch on the rocks in a swallow and raising his arm to order another. ‘Shit, my job does all that. Honest work you can sweat at.’ Then he would shake his head full of sandy hair. ‘I’m not one of those goddamned desk jockeys.’

Grendel’s was a local watering hole - almost exclusively blue-collar (the writers had their own favourite) - several miles outside West Bay Bridge, roadside to Montauk Highway.

Late in the evening, Billy Shawtuck stood in the doorway of Grendel’s preparatory to leaving. The sky was turning from indigo to black, the traffic from the highway taking on a spectral quality as headlights and tail-lights flicked by like the inquisitive eyes of nocturnal animals.