A Clean Kill in Tokyo

face high.
    Nothing happened. The extinguisher hiccupped, then made a disappointing hissing sound. That was all.
    The lead guy’s mouth dropped open, and he started fumbling inside his coat. Feeling like I was moving in slow motion, sure I was going to be a second late, I brought the butt end of the extinguisher up. Saw his hand coming free, holding a short-barreled revolver. I stepped in hard and jammed the extinguisher into his face like a battering ram, getting my weight behind the blow. There was a satisfying thud and he spilled into Midori and the guy in the rear, his gun clattering to the floor.
    The second guy stumbled backward, slipping clear of Midori, pinwheeling his left arm. He was holding a gun in his other hand and trying keep it in front of him.
    I launched the extinguisher like a missile, catching him center mass. He went down and I was on him in an instant, catching hold of the gun and jerking it away. Before he could get his hands up to protect himself I smashed the butt into his mastoid process, behind the ear. There was a loud crack and he went limp.
    I spun and brought the gun up, but his friend wasn’t moving. His face looked like he’d run into a flagpole.
    I turned back to Midori just in time to see a third goon emerge from the elevator, where he must have been positioned from the beginning. He grabbed Midori around the neck from behind with his left hand, trying to use her as a shield, while his right hand went to his jacket pocket, groping for a weapon. But before he could pull it free, Midori spun counterclockwise inside his grip, catching his left wrist in her hands and twisting his arm outward and back in a classic aikido
sankyo
joint lock. His reaction showed training: he threw his body in the direction of the lock to save his arm from being broken, and landed with a smooth
ukemi
breakfall. But before he could recover I had closed the distance, launching a field-goal-style kick at his head with enough force to lift his whole body from the ground.
    Midori was looking at me, her eyes wide, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
    “Daijoubu?”
I asked, taking her by the arm. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
    She shook her head. “They told me they were the police, but I knew they weren’t, they wouldn’t show me any identification and why were they waiting in my apartment anyway? Who are they? How did you know they were in there?”
    Keeping my hand on her arm, I started moving us through the lobby toward the glass doors, my eyes sweeping back and forth for signs of danger outside.
    “I saw them at the Blue Note,” I said, urging her with pressure on her arm to increase the pace. “When I realized they hadn’t followed us back, I thought they might be waiting for you at your apartment. That’s when I called.”
    “You saw them at the Blue Note? Who are they? Who the hell are you?”
    “I’m someone who’s stumbled onto something very bad and wants to protect you from it. I’ll explain later. Right now, we’ve got to get you someplace safe.”
    “Safe? With you?” She stopped in front of the glass doors and looked back at the three men, their faces bloody masks, then at me.
    “I’ll explain everything to you, but not now. For now, the only thing that matters is that you’re in danger, and I can’t help you if you don’t believe me. Let me just get you somewhere safe and tell you what all this is about, okay?” The doors slid open, a hidden infrared eye having sensed our proximity.
    “Where?”
    “Someplace where no one would know to look for you, or wait for you. A hotel, something like that.”
    The goon I had kicked groaned and started to pull himself up onto all fours. I strode over and kicked him in the face again. He went down. “Midori, we don’t have time to discuss this here. You’re going to have to believe me. Please.”
    The doors slid shut.
    I wanted to search the men on the floor for ID or some other way of identifying them, but I couldn’t do that and get Midori moving at the same time.
    “How do I know I can believe you?” she said, but she was moving again. The doors opened.
    “Trust your instincts. They seem to have been pretty sound so far.”
    We moved through the doors, and with the wider range of vision our new position afforded me, I was able to see a squat and ugly Japanese man standing about five meters back and to the left. He had a nose that looked like a U-turn—must have been broken so many times he gave up having it set. He