By the Sword

    Hideo was almost sure now that it was the ronin. A slight turn of his head confirmed it.

    "Who is John Woo?" the old man said.

    "Never mind."

    But Hideo knew what he meant, and he was wrong. He felt sweat gathering on his brow and under his arms. His knew his life depended on convincing the ronin of the futility of this.

    "This is not the standoff you think it is," he said. "We were sent to return the katana to Japan."

    "By whom?"

    "That is not important. What matters is that we were charged with the task and we will see it through no matter what the cost. If you do not hand over the katana within the next few seconds, they will kill your friend and then—"

    "And then that'll be the end of you."

    "You must understand that they do not care about me. They will kill your friend and you will kill me and they will kill you. So you see, no matter what happens here, the katana will be returned to Japan."

    "Perhaps there's been enough killing, Jack," the old man said.

    Jack… the ronin's name was Jack.

    "Listen to him, Jack. With age comes wisdom."

    The old man said, "Should we give it to him?"

    Jack said, "I kind of promised it to someone else."

    Hideo shuddered. "Then what happens next is on your head."

    The muzzle pressed harder against his ear.

    "And in yours."

    The old man sighed. "You don't leave me much choice. No more killing. I wish I could say the same for bloodshed."

    Hideo was sagging with relief when he saw the blade of the katana flicker—or seem to. And then he heard Kenji and Ryo grunt and drop their guns.

    The shock of wondering why was replaced by the horror of realizing that they were dropping hands along with the guns.

    "Good Christ!" Jack said.

    Kenji and Ryo started screaming then, each gaping at the spurting stump where a hand had been. They dropped to their knees—first Ryo, then Kenji—and knelt there squeezing their wrists to stanch the flow.

    Hideo looked at the old man who was again calmly examining the blade, now slightly smeared with red.

    "Quite an edge. Masamune-san certainly knew his trade."

    Hideo was still trying to comprehend what had happened. He hadn't seen the katana move. Could this old man have struck so swiftly that the blade had seemed only to flicker?

    Hideo slowly slipped his hand inside his coat, edging toward his pistol. But the ronin grabbed his wrist.

    "Don't be stupid now."

    He reached in and pulled Hideo's weapon from its holster.

    "H and K," he said, holding it up. "Nice."

    He dropped it, then stepped away. Hideo turned to face him.

    "What now? Are you going to execute me like you did my brother?"

    The ronin looked puzzled. "What?"

    "You killed my brother."

    "Your James Cagney is lousy. Do you mean Yoshio?"

    Hideo closed his eyes. He did remember.

    "I'm his brother."

    Jack smiled and said, "Despite the fact that he once had a gun pressed against the back of my head, I liked him."

    "Then why did you kill him?"

    "I didn't. A man named Baker did. He's dead."

    "How? You?"

    Jack shook his head. "I sure as hell tried, but someone beat me to it." He stared at Hideo. "So, do you and your brother work for the same organization?"

    Hideo stiffened. "What did he tell you?"

    "Nothing. Just curious. He died trying to unravel a secret, and I knew he wasn't doing it for himself."

    Yoshio had died in the course of duty. His honor was intact.

    Jack said, "Did you happen to come across an eighteen-year-old girl in your travels?"

    "I saw a man carrying a young woman out of the building."

    He looked at the old man. "Dawn."

    Hideo did not care about the girl. To restore honor to his family name he needed what the old man was holding.

    "I must have the katana."

    Jack shook his head. "The owner hired me to find it. He gets first dibs."

    "I could make a case for being the rightful owner," the old man said, still holding the katana. "I'm the gaijin who gave Masamune-san the short sword to refashion into something more graceful."

    "I kind of suspected that," Jack said.

    The old man stared at the blade, then shook his head. "But by the time I returned to pay him and claim it, he was dead and the blade was gone." He shook his head. "Time passes too quickly sometimes."

    Hideo glanced at Jack and saw calm acceptance in his expression. Surely the old man was mad—claiming to be seven hundred years old—but the ronin too?

    Then again, feeling the old one's presence, he might be telling the truth.

    He shook himself. What am I thinking?

    "Well," Jack said, "if you didn't pay for it and never took possession, I can make as good a case for you not being the rightful owner."

    The old man sighed. "I suppose so."

    Hideo looked over at the yakuza. Kenji still knelt, but Ryo lay on his side. Both looked pale and weak and ill. But by applying constant pressure, they had stopped the blood loss from their wrists. They would survive, but they were of no use to him now.

    Hideo did something then that he'd never done in his life: He dropped to his knees and folded his hands in supplication.

    "Please give me the sword. My family honor depends on it."

    Jack's expression hardened. "You and your goons were ready to Swiss-cheese me at Gerrish's place. Instead of gabbing I should be kneecapping you. Shove your family honor, pal."

    He bent and picked up the scabbard, then tossed it to the old man.

    "We need to get back to the city."

    He kicked Kenji's and Ryo's pistols—still gripped in their hands—into the hallway, then did the same with Hideo's.

    Without a word, the old man sheathed the sword and handed it to Jack, then walked out of the room. The ronin followed, leaving Hideo on his knees.

    "Don't do anything stupid."

    Hideo rose on wobbly legs. He had failed Sasaki-san. He could not return without the katana. And he could not stay here.

    He staggered out into the hall. The ronin and the old man had disappeared into the smoke but he heard their footsteps on the stairway. He found his pistol and hefted it. His first impulse was to stick the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger. But he didn't know if he could do that.

    Perhaps later he would find out, but as for now…

    He hurried for the stairs. He would have the katana or die trying.

    He was down the first flight and rounding the bend when he came to a sudden stop as he felt something jab against his chest. The ronin stood before him with the muzzle of his pistol pressed over Hideo's heart.

    "I warned you about being stupid."

    Hideo's pistol was down, against his thigh. He began to raise it.

    "Don't," the ronin said. "Your brother was a good guy, a brave man. I'm sure you're just as brave, and I know you think you're doing what you have to do, and I respect that, but you're trading brave for stupid now. Do that and this can end only one way."

    Hideo didn't stop the upward movement of his weapon. Honor demanded he resolve this, one way or another.

    He heard a sudden, almost deafening sound as something smashed into his chest, half turning his body as it tumbled backward. He landed on his shoulder, then flopped onto his back where he stared at the cracked ceiling and listened to the death cries of his punctured heart.

    "Aw, jeez," he heard the ronin say. "Why'd he have to do that?"

    The old man said, "I think he was using you to do something he couldn't do himself."