He froze, keeping his body still as a lake on a windless day. The darkness felt like a solid entity, enveloping him in its deadly embrace. He was patient though, like a spider at the centre of its web awaiting the victim to come within reach.
A smear of darkness crashed into him. He fell back against the rough wall behind, the wall fell away, and his backwards momentum continued, through and down onto a carpeted floor. There must have been a door.
Jones was confused, why had he not noticed the threat so close? He felt a strong blow to his side, lifting him up off the floor. Jones crashed against a glass cabinet in the darkened room, the Tanto sent flying from his hand. He jumped up and braced himself. Something hit the side of his head. He saw stars. A flurry of blows assailed him, coming in from different angles. It felt as if a gang of attackers was beating him, when in reality he knew there was only one.
The attack was leaving him off balance, both mentally and physically. He had to find his centre again. This attacker was highly skilled, obviously not one of the bar’s normal patrons.
He pushed away from the wall to the centre of the room, focused his breathing. A wave of displaced air to his left, he reacted. Blocking a flurry of blows, he managed to fend off the attacker.
A dark chuckle filled the black room, followed by the sound of the door slamming.
He moved, heading in the direction of the sound. Pulling the door open, he heard light footsteps ascending the stairs.
Guardedly, he moved along the night black hall. He was like a blind man in the night, without his stick. He felt lost. Haragei had failed him. His opponent had training on a par with what Jones had undertaken. He would have to be careful.
Slowly he mounted the stairs to the next level. His Haragei was still picking up no threat; his opponent was obviously masking his intentions.
Jones flattened himself against the wall of the hallway, crabbed along it. He felt the outline of a door, and he extended his senses; this time seeking the girl. No trace.
He continued along the wall, coming to another door. He paused. This time he felt a different essence. Jennifer Delaney was beyond the door, he was sure of it.
He crashed the door with his shoulder, relying on surprise more than stealth; he went into a Ukemi role. Coming to his feet near the opposite wall, arms and legs braced for attack. The windows in this room were boarded up, but light filtered through like the sun bar-coding the pines on the hills above Pearl City.
The room ran the entire length of the building, chairs stacked against the wall behind him, tables along the window wall. A stage took up the entire far wall.
On the stage, secured by chains to the ceiling and the floor, hung a semi-conscious Jennifer. The half-light dappled her face in a yin yang display of light and dark, revealing bruised- and blood-splattered skin.
A man stepped out of the shadows behind her.
“We meet at long last, Mr Jones.”
“I don’t know who you are, but you’ve arrived at your final day, mister.”
The stranger waved his finger in the air. “I don’t think so Mr Jones, you are a loose end that I have been waiting a long time to tie up.”
The man was in his fifties. He was not the one who had attacked Jones in the hallway. So who was he?
“Seeing as I’ve not had the honour of meeting you before, you mind filling in the gaps?”
The man laughed. He stepped to the front of the stage, and began to speak. What he said left Jones cold, a ball of fury building in his stomach.
“I’m what you might call a fixer; I took a contract to eliminate certain people who were causing the Ichigumi Yakuza problems with their distribution network through Pearl Harbour. You Mr Jones, are the last person on the list I was given.”
The realisation hit him, that this man was responsible for his parents' deaths. The car crash was no accident.
“Why now, after all these years?”
He wanted to rush the man, who appeared to be unarmed, but something felt wrong. The atmosphere in the room hung heavy on him. His Haragei held him back. There was unseen danger here.
“I am a professional, Mr Jones. This is just business. I was given a contract, and I intend to fulfill my duty.” He brushed imaginary lint from the lapel of his suit. “You dropped off the grid for many years. Nothing I tried could locate you, so imagine my surprise when I took the Delaney contract, and you surfaced. You see…I hate loose ends.”
He went on to explain Jennifer’s father was in hock over loans he had taken out from the Yakuza. His daughter was taken as punishment until he paid in full what was owed. A straightforward job to the fixer, that was until Jones showed up.
He had the opportunity to fulfill his other contract.
Thinking back now, Jones thought the trail leading him to this bar in Chicago had been too transparent. The fixer had been rigging the game all along.
“Makes no difference, I’m not an easy guy to get rid of. Seems to me the world will be a better place once I off you.”
Jones moved towards the stage. Something crashed down on him from above. He was pinned to the floor by a black-garbed figure. He must have attached himself to the ceiling, waiting like a great Vampire Bat.
The fixer stepped down from the stage, and walked over to them.
Jones tried to force the figure off him. He was pinned good.
“Meet Dan-Te, the greatest assassin in the world. Only natural we would join forces. Indeed, I believe you two have met before. Farewell, Mr Jones.”
The fixer turned and walked out of the room.
Ashikaga took Jones to a temple, hidden amongst the needle pines, strawberry guava and eucalyptus on the slopes of the Waianae Mountains. This was where Ashikaga trained a select handful of students. Jones was the only Caucasian in the group; the others were Japanese, and one Kanaka Maoli – a pure blood Hawaiian – Makua Ohana.
From the start, Jones was paired with Ohana as his training brother. He was also an orphan, and like Jones had recently been accepted into the small cadre.
Ashikaga was a hard taskmaster, punishing any mistakes with a strike from the bamboo cane he always carried during the sessions. The training was hard, but Jones threw himself into it with gusto.
The day started at five a.m. when the students had to scrub the floor of the Dojo before breakfast. The rest of the day was filled with weapons training, and Jujutsu. In the evening they learned about In-Yo Kigaku, the philosophy of Shingon Buddhism, Gunbai-Heihō, strategy and tactics, before ending with another Dojo cleaning session, then bed at around 1 a.m.
Jones excelled in the training, quickly overtaking the others in skill and knowledge. He had been at the temple for five years when he was introduced to a completely new set of training, the skills of the Shinobi. The Katori Shinto Ryu was primarily a Samurai art, the Shinobi were the natural enemies of the Samurai so they trained in learning the enemy's ways.
One night he was sneaking around the temple. He scaled the castellated walls of the temple and made his way around until he was overlooking Abbot Shohara’s office. A single candle illuminated the room; shadows seemed to dance across the tatami mats covering the floor.
Jones launched himself from the wall. He flew ten feet through the air, grasping a large wooden spar jutting out of the wall next to the window. He moved hand over hand along the spar, before dropping down to the sill of the unglazed window.
The task he had given himself that night was to move through the abbot’s quarters without disturbing him, or the other monks who slept nearby. The corridors between the rooms had singing floorboards, which would alert the sleepers if he triggered them.
Jones was about to pull himself over the ledge. A tingling feeling ran down his spine, the newly learned Haragei was spiking. He lowered himself until only his eyes were above the ledge.