A Lonely Resurrection

going to search you,” he said. “But no one’s allowed in here with a mobile phone. Too many people like to call a friend, tell ’em what they’re seeing. It’s unsecure.”
    I nodded. “That seems sensible.”
    “If one of the bouncers sees you with one, they’ll work you over good. Just so you know.”
    I nodded to show I understood, then moved off to one of the corners and watched as people began to arrive. Some I recognized from the club. Adonis was wearing sweatpants. I wondered if he was fighting.
    I stood in a corner and watched the place gradually fill. After about an hour, Murakami came in, flanked by two bodyguards, a different pair than I had seen in the
dojo.
He exchanged a few words with Washio, who looked around and then pointed at me.
    I had the sudden sense that this was more attention from Murakami than I really wanted.
    I watched him nudge his two men. The three of them started moving toward me.
    Adrenaline dumped into my veins. I felt the surge. I looked around casually, searching for a weapon of convenience. There was nothing handy.
    They walked up and stood in front of me, three abreast, Murakami slightly in front of the other two.
    “I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” he said. “Glad to see you did.”
    “It’s good to be here,” I said, rubbing my palms in front of me as though in anticipation of the evening’s entertainment. In fact it was an expedient defensive stance.
    “We do three fights or thirty minutes, whichever comes first. That way everyone gets his money’s worth. I’ll explain the rules.”
    I didn’t understand why he was telling me this. “Who’s fighting?” I asked.
    He smiled. The bridged teeth were white. Predatory.
    “You are,” he said.
    Oh shit.
    I looked at him and said, “I don’t think so.”
    The smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to waste time fucking around with you. Washio says you’re good. Says you broke a guy’s ankle inside thirty seconds. Now that guy’s friend wants payback. You’re going to fight him.”
    Adonis. Should have known.
    “Or. . .”
    “Or you can fight three people I pick. You’re so good, I’ll make sure they have police batons. The crowd will like that, too. It’s all the same to me.”
    I was in a box. I picked the easier way out.
    “I’ll fight,” I told him.
    His eyes crinkled with suppressed mirth. “Yes, you will.”
    “Anything else I need to know?”
    He shrugged. “No shirts, no shoes, no weapons. Other than that, anything goes. There’s no ring. If you get too close to the edge of the crowd, they’ll shove you back to the center. If they think you’re running from the other guy, you’ll take a few punches, too. Good news is, the winner gets two million yen.”
    “What does the loser get?”
    He smiled again. “We take care of the burial expenses.”
    I looked at him. “I’ll take the money.”
    He laughed. “We’ll see. Now pay attention. You’re up first. That gives you fifteen minutes. These guys will stay with you to help you get ready.” He turned and walked away.
    I looked at the two goons. They kept a respectful distance, reducing my chances of making a sudden move and getting past them. Even if I could, though, there were men working the door. Several of them were watching. My chances would be better with Adonis.
    I wondered about the number of fights. Multiple payouts would reduce, maybe even eliminate, the house’s take.
    I pushed the thought aside and slipped off the navy blazer I was wearing, then my shirt and shoes. I looked over and saw Adonis doing the same.
    Some vicious thing inside me stirred. I felt it in my gut, the back of my neck, my hands.
    I thought of Musashi, the master swordsman, who wrote,
You must think of neither victory nor of defeat, but only of cutting and killing your enemy.
    I stretched and shadowboxed. I let my focus narrow. It didn’t matter where I was.
    Murakami walked over. He said, “Let’s go.”
    I moved to the center of the room. Adonis was waiting there.
    His pupils were dilated and his hands were shaking. He looked juiced, maybe
kakuseizai.
Speed would give him a short-term energy boost, help him focus his attention.
    I decided to give him something to focus it on.
    I approached him, not slowing until I was in his face. “How’s your buddy’s ankle?” I asked. “Sounded like it hurt.”
    He stared at me. His respiration was rapid. Pupils, black basketballs. Definitely
kakuseizai.
    “Try that on