The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

He passed through the pachinko hall and took a seat at one of the pai gow poker tables. Passing over his million yen, he was given a stack of clear chips and slid most of them into place right off the bat. The cards came out with incredible speed.

“Nine,” the dealer said, looking at Kurt. A few more cards were dealt and she pushed a stack of chips next to his.

Kurt smiled, left all the chips on the table and waited for the next hand. He received another natural 9. The highest and unbeatable score. The dealer had an 8 and lost by one. The stack of chips doubled again.

Feeling he was on a hot streak—despite the plan to lose money fast—he moved his bet, placing all of it on the dealer instead. Essentially, he was betting against himself. This time, he ended up with a 4 and the dealer had 7. Technically, the dealer won, but Kurt got paid.

The huge stacks of chips were doubled again and then pushed back toward him. “Table limit,” the dealer said. In three hands, he’d grown his stack to eight million yen.

Kurt looked at the winnings. This would never happen if it was my own money.

He decided to bet lower amounts until his luck changed for the worse, tipped the dealer handsomely and pushed a few chips into place. As the next set of cards came out, he felt someone slide up behind him. A hand with perfectly manicured fingernails slid softly onto his shoulder. He turned to see the attendant from the pachinko lounge. She’d followed him to the table.

“You are lucky,” she said.

Kurt grinned. He must have been doing well if the shills were already gathering. “So far,” he replied.

He didn’t shoo the woman away. Her presence would help him blend in and her beauty would draw eyes toward her instead of him. It would make looking around the room easier and less dangerous.

The next hand was a loser, something Kurt was thankful for, but he’d made a small fortune already and would have to lose a lot more before he could ask for credit.

He bet again and continued scanning the room for any sign of Ushi-Oni. At first, nothing caught his eye. Then, at a table across from him, partially blocked by the pit boss, he noticed a familiar face. He focused through the smoke, squinting just to be sure.

“You win again, sir,” the dealer said.

“Damn,” Kurt whispered, reacting not to the latest unwanted victory but to a face he hadn’t expected to see. Sitting at the table across the pit was Master Kenzo’s missing acolyte, Akiko.

She was dressed elegantly, heavily made up and smoking a long, thin cigarette, while her gaze flicked from the cards in front of her to every corner of the casino floor.

Kurt could imagine several reasons she might have chosen to be here and none of them were good.

16

THE SENTO

WALTER HAN stood in a private suite on the upper level of the Sento. He gazed briefly out through the floor-to-ceiling glass. From this vantage point, he could see the lower levels of the circular building. The crowd was gathering, and even he wanted to see the combat, but business took precedence.

He turned his attention back to the guest in his suite, Ushi-Oni. The Demon didn’t quite look himself. “Are you all right, my friend? Or is this a

ll part of your disguise.”

“Recovering from my wounds,” Oni replied. “All the more reason for the payment to be quick.”

As Oni spoke, a twitch ran across his face. It looked like he was snarling. With the facial tics, a yellowish tint discoloring his eyes and a gloss of moisture on his skin, Oni was beginning to look like his namesake.

“You will be paid,” Han said. “But first, I give you a choice. Payment for the job you’ve completed. Or ten times that amount for an easier but more important task.”

“I’ve had enough of your jobs,” the Demon said. “The last easy task nearly got me killed. Now pay me so I can leave.”

“Leaving won’t help you this time,” Han said.

“What are you talking about?”

“The Federal Police have your description at long last,” Han said. “They know what you look like. And they will find you soon enough. When they do, they’ll hang plenty of crimes on you, most of which you’re actually guilty of.”

“You . . . You gave them my—”

“Why would I do that if I still want your help?”