The Last Assassin

Watanabe's sad story, she asked no further questions, and I needed tell her no further lies. But I was confident that word would now circulate among the staff, and that consequently no one would find it at all remarkable that sad Watanabe-san might sit brooding for long hours alone on that second-floor balcony.
    I dropped off my bag in my room on the third floor, a twelve-mat square with an alcove and a view of the sea that was impressive in spite of the tangle of high-tension wire in front of it. Then I went down to the lobby restaurant, sat so I had a view of the entrance, and ate a long, leisurely lunch of oysters from Anamizu Bay, sweet shrimp from the deep waters of the Sea of Japan, and locally caught winter yellowtail with sliced radish and red pepper. During my repast a few elderly couples checked in, but they obviously weren't the people Dox and I were waiting for.
    Afterward, I repaired to the second-story balcony, where I waited as though absorbed in my memories. It was just getting dark outside when my cell phone buzzed. I glanced at the caller ID readout — Dox.
    I pressed the receive button. 'Yeah.'
    'Looks like our company has finally arrived,' Dox said.
    'You sure?'
    'Let's just say I've got a strong feeling. They're coming in now.'
    'What do they look like?'
    'Oh, don't worry, you're not going to miss them.'
    'What do you mean?'
    'Just watch, you'll see.'
    I looked down into the lobby. I heard the front door open and close. The blue-kimonoed woman who had greeted me called out
'Irasshaimase'
— welcome — and hurried out from behind the check-in counter. A moment later, two gigantic men, obviously sumo wrestlers, appeared below me. I sat well back to conceal myself and from the angle I couldn't be sure, but I estimated each of them at north of a hundred and fifty kilos. It was like looking down on the heads and shoulders of a pair of bison.
    'Holy shit,' I whispered.
    'Guess you've seen 'em,' Dox said.
    'Christ, we've only got four darts.'
    'Yeah, as I think Roy Scheider put it in
Jaws,
"We're gonna need a bigger boat."'
    They said something to the woman, but I couldn't quite make out what. She escorted them inside.
    It wasn't just their bulk that advertised their background. They had that slow sumo swagger, that air of royalty — almost of divinity — born of size and celebrity. They were used to being looked at, to being the objects of attention and awe, and they moved as though bearing the adoration as of right, with no obligation to repay it with anything more than impassive acceptance.
    I moved farther back, out of their view. 'Did you see what they're driving?' I asked.
    "Course I did. Big burgundy Cadillac, with the steering wheel on the left side.'
    Sounded like a yakuza ride. It had to be them.
    'You get the license plate?'
    'Yeah.' He gave it to me, and I wrote it down.
    'Hang on,' I said. 'I'll call you back.'
    'Roger that.'
    I called Tatsu. The phone rang a few times, then his weak voice said,
'Hai'
    'How are you holding up?' I asked.
    'I'm still here.'
    I had the sudden sick knowledge that one day soon I would call him and he wouldn't answer, he wouldn't still be here at all.
    I pushed that aside and said, 'I think our guys have arrived, but I need to be sure. Kito and Sanada… are they sumo wrestlers?'
    'I don't know. But I can find out.'
    'All right. Here's the license number of the car they're driving. Tokyo plate.'
    I read it out to him. He told me he would call me back.
    I stole another peek down at the lobby. The men had finished signing in, and the woman in blue was walking them to the elevator, presumably to show them their rooms.
    Fifteen minutes later, Tatsu called back. 'It's them,' he said. 'Both former sumo wrestlers, their careers cut short by injuries. The car is registered to Kito.'
    'Okay. Let me get back to business. I'll call you again soon.'
    'Good.'
    I hung up and called Dox.
    'You were right,' I told him. 'They're the ones we've been waiting for. Former sumo wrestlers.'
    '"Former?" They look pretty current to me.'
    'I know what you mean.'
    'Were they any good?'
    'How the hell should I know?'
    'Just wondering if we could handle 'em if we had to.'
    '"Handle" them? There must be seven or eight hundred pounds between the two of them. We're going to handle them with long-range weapons, that's how we're going to handle them. And only because we can't call in an air strike.'
    'All right, just trying to contingency plan, that's all.'
    'If we have to tangle with these