The Last Assassin

phone and input Big Liu’s number. He handed the phone to the Taiwanese.
    For someone who had been reluctant to speak a moment earlier, the man was suddenly garrulous. He let loose a torrent of agitated Chinese, his eyes darting from the heads to the bodies to Yamaoto and back again.
    After about a minute, he returned the phone to Kuro with a trembling hand. Kuro gave it to Yamaoto, who raised the unit to his ear and said in English, “This is Yamaoto Toshi.”
    “Okay, very good,” Big Liu said. “You kill bad men. Big Liu happy. But still missing money. And Big Liu men still dead.”
    “Yes,” Yamaoto said. “And we should talk about all of that.”
    “Okay, talk.”
    Yamaoto didn’t like to be issued commands, but decided it was better to attribute the construction to a faulty command of English and let it go for now.
    “I killed those men because there was no other way to avert a war,” he said. “But I don’t believe they were responsible for what happened at Wajima. They claimed there were two men there who shot them with tranquilizers. And if they really were the perpetrators, they never would have come in. They would have had escape plans in place and they would have used them. So there is a leak in one or both of our organizations, or worse, a collaborator. We need to discuss this and try to figure out who.”
    “Tran…tran…” Big Liu said, and Yamaoto realized the man hadn’t followed anything after the word tranquilizer. He handed the phone to Kuro and said, “Translate what I just told him.”
    Kuro complied, then gave the phone back. Yamaoto said, “You see? We really should talk about this face-to-face. May I suggest my associate Mr. Kuro’s club in Minami Aoyama in Tokyo? Whispers, you may remember it’s called. I think it would provide the right setting.”
    Whispers was Kuro’s most lucrative and high-class establishment, staffed by stunning women from all over the world. It was the very club where they had sealed the current supply arrangement, and Big Liu had been so overwhelmed by the beauty of the hostesses that he had stayed in Tokyo two extra days and taken a different blonde back to his hotel every night. Yamaoto sensed that the allure of another all-expenses-paid trip to the club would be enough to bring Big Liu around.
    “Big Liu still missing money,” the man said, holding out. “And Big Liu’s men still dead.”
    “My men are dead now, too,” Yamaoto said, “although I suspect they were as blameless as yours. Blood has been repaid with blood. As for the money, I’m certain we can reach an accommodation. We’re reasonable men, after all. Won’t you be my guest in Tokyo for a few days?”
    There, push back on Big Liu’s attempts to squeeze Yamaoto for the missing money and restitution, but without an actual no. And a sweetener that Big Liu could tell himself was a concession: confirmation that all aspects of Big Liu’s trip, including, doubtless, another stay in a suite at the world-class Grand Hyatt in Roppongi Hills, suitable for after-hours entertainment by multiple blond Whispers hostesses, would be complimentary.
    “When?” Big Liu asked.
    Yamaoto smiled. “Whenever would be convenient for you. But I would propose that sooner is better.”
    “Saturday,” Big Liu said, after a moment. “Busy before then.”
    Yamaoto shrugged. Maybe Big Liu really was busy for the next three days. Maybe he was just trying not to seem too eager, to maintain the appearance of control. Yamaoto didn’t particularly care. The main thing was that he was coming. If they sat down together, Yamaoto was confident they could work out what had happened, then settle this in a reasonable way.
    “Saturday, then,” Yamaoto said. “I’ll arrange a suite for you at the Grand Hyatt.”
    “Good,” Big Liu responded, and Yamaoto could feel his eagerness. “Thank you. Yamaoto good man. Good friend.”
    Yamaoto detested these sorts of false protestations of friendship between business partners who would as happily kill each other if that’s where the profit lay, but sometimes they were called for. “Yes, and so is Big Liu,” he said. “I’ll leave it to Mr. Kuro to sort out the details, and will look forward to seeing you on Saturday.”
    Yamaoto clicked off and handed the phone back to Kuro. And suddenly, for the first time since the sumos had told him their story, his mind flashed on a possible explanation: John Rain.
    He paused to consider, but then dismissed the