PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (25 page)

CHAPTER 48

HIMEJI DOCKLANDS

“Where are we?” Karla demanded as they pulled up outside a gray, concrete-walled warehouse. A heavy steel door blocked their way.

“I want to show you something,” said Masateru.

“I can’t see anything with this on.” She gestured to the blindfold.

“You will soon enough.”

The driver made a phone call and a few seconds later the gate slid open. They drove into a large garage and parked next to a pair of white windowless vans.

Hideaki helped Karla out and led her alongside Masateru to where a suit-wearing Yakuza waited. The facility manager bowed, a look of uncertainty on his face.

“What brings you here,
waka-gashira
?” the man asked in Japanese.

“I have the
oyabun
’s new bitch. She needs to be shown how it will be if she doesn’t behave.”

The other man laughed. “Then come this way.” He led them through another door into what could have passed as a cocktail lounge.

The floor was traditional polished wood, the walls decorated in a tasteful crane motif. Luxurious leather couches lined one of the walls and a small bar graced the wall opposite it. A handful of men were lounging on the couches and sitting at the bar. They all stood and bowed as Masateru entered.

“Take off her blindfold,” he ordered Hideaki.

Karla squinted in the light of the waiting area. Her eyes darted around, painfully aware she was the only woman in a room full of gangsters. “What is this place?” she asked.

“This is where you will end up if you do not follow every command you are given. Now come.”

Masateru led her down a poorly lit corridor with metal doors running off either side. He stopped in front of one of the rooms and gestured for Karla to join him. He slid back the heavy bolt on the door and pushed it open.

Inside it looked to be a prison cell, complete with a bare stainless toilet and a mattress on the floor covered in blankets.

There was a moan from the pile of blankets and Karla recoiled in horror as a young blonde girl appeared from under the covers.

Her once pretty features were sunken and drawn, her skin pale. The dull gray eyes widened as they focused on Karla and she gave a desperate look. “Help me,” she mouthed.

Masateru slammed the door and slid the bolt home.

“Why is she here?” Karla looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “What did she do?”

“You’re not that naive. She services the needs of our clients.” Masateru kept walking down the corridor until he got to another room. “This facility is for some of our more, shall we say, creative guests.” He pushed open the door and waved Karla inside.

“Oh my god.”

Metal grates covered the floor, the smell of antiseptic lingered in the air. Chains hung from the roof, supporting a heavy leather harness. In the corner were a variety of strange chairs, mechanical contraptions, and benches with built-in restraints. A stainless-steel bench against the back wall was covered in wicked-looking surgical tools, whips, and vaguely phallic devices.

“Get me out of here,” Karla screamed, pushing toward the door.

Masateru calmly grabbed her hair and forced her across to the table.

“NO, NO, NO, NO!” she screamed as he picked up a solid steel rod and held it in front of her face.

“This is what’s going to happen if you don’t comply with every direction we give you. You’ll be brought here, locked in a cell, and fucked with something like this every day until you die. Is that what you want?”

Karla was crying hysterically.

“Do as you’re told and you will never see this place again. Plus I’ll guarantee your sister will be safe. You wouldn’t want something like this to happen to her, would you?”

She shook her head and Masateru released her. She stumbled out the door and he followed her back into the corridor.

“This is not your life, my little angel.” Masateru stroked her hair as they walked back to the waiting area. “Your destiny is one of privilege and comfort.”

“You’re pigs,” she sobbed. “How can you do this?”

“Because it is our right. These women are cattle and we will do with them as we wish. You should be thankful that you are more valuable.”

Masateru ushered her back to the waiting area, where Hideaki was sharing sake with the other gangsters.

“Would you drink with us,
waka-gashira
?” the facility manager asked in Japanese.

“What’s the occasion?”

“To fallen brothers.”

Masateru nodded and lifted a glass.

“The Yamaguchi will pay now that you have returned.”

“What have the Yamaguchi done?” Masateru asked after he downed the liquor.

The other man looked surprised. “You don’t know? The Yamaguchi
ambushed three of our men on the Shinkansen.”

“Kissaki?” Masateru asked.

“Yes. All dead.”

Masateru drew a deep breath, his usually calm exterior dissolving. “Hideaki, you did not inform me of this.”

His bodyguard bowed his head. “Like I said,
waka-gashira
, the
oyabun
wanted to speak to you first. He has plans.”

Masateru threw the sake glass against the wall. It shattered in an explosion of glass shards. “You forget who you fucking work for?”

“No,
waka-gashira
.” Hideaki dipped his head in deference.

“The Kissaki work for me and only for me.” He slapped Hideaki with an open hand, sending the man reeling. He lifted his arm to strike him again and the facility manager grabbed him.

Masateru’s knife appeared out of nowhere, a flashing blur of steel. Blood sprayed into the air as the blade sliced through the bridge of the manager’s nose. He screamed in agony, clutching his face. The other men in the room stood still, in horror.

Masateru pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blade clean. “Put the girl in the car. We’re leaving.”

CHAPTER 49

“Our people are in place.” Kenta had joined Saneh and Bishop in the GT-R parked in front of the 100-yen store.

“How many?” Bishop asked.

“Five. They will take turns watching. If anyone leaves they will follow,” Kenta explained from the backseat.

“That should be enough,” said Bishop. “Now we wait and see who comes and goes. That right, Sarah?”

“Correct.” Saneh had the Yamaguchi’s camera and was looking at the photos he had taken at the airport. She paused on a shot that showed Masateru’s face. “Kenta, what did you say his real name was?”

“If he is the man I think he is, then his name is Hinata. He was expelled for dealing in heroin.”

“Well, he goes by Masateru now,” Saneh said. “He’s a real piece of work. I watched him slice a girl’s face like he was peeling an orange.”

“He never fit in with the Yamaguchi-gumi.”

“If you find out anything else…”

“I will tell you immediately.” Kenta nodded as he opened a takeout food container. The odor of teriyaki filled the car.

“That smells good,” said Bishop, looking over his shoulder.

“Would you like some?” He handed a container full of fried vegetables and rice toward him.

“No, it’s OK.”

“There is plenty, I have enough for us all.”

“I’ll try some.” Saneh took the container from him. “Do you have any chopsticks?”

“
Hai
.” He passed a disposable pair across.

Saneh handled the chopsticks with a deftness that surprised Bishop. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“I love Asian food,” she responded between mouthfuls.

“That much is evident,” Bishop smirked.

“Do you want some?”

“Hey, Kenta, you got a fork?” Bishop asked.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

“You can’t use chopsticks?” Saneh asked.

“I can use them; it’s more of a phobia.”

“You’re afraid of chopsticks?”

“Let’s just say we don’t get along.”

Saneh laughed between mouthfuls. “Did you have a bad experience with a particularly slippery piece of tofu?”

“Firstly, I don’t eat tofu. It makes men grow tits. Secondly, having a chopstick stuck up your nose is quite a traumatic experience for a young child.”

Saneh looked at him with her mouth open. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I ever joke?”

Saneh laughed. “The question is, do you ever stop?”

“You are both very funny!” Kenta said, cracking the first broad smile that Bishop had seen from him. “Very entertaining, like American TV.”

Bishop chuckled. “It gets worse, trust me.”

Saneh punched him in the shoulder and gave the container back to Kenta. “So tell us about yourself. When did you start with the Yamaguchi?”

“There is not much to tell. When I was fifteen the Yamaguchi-gumi took me in. I have been with them ever since.”

“What makes a fifteen-year-old boy join the Yakuza?”

“I didn’t have a choice. My brother was a foot soldier. When he died I replaced him.”

“That must have been traumatic.” Saneh had noticed the scars on his face and hands.

Kenta ate another mouthful before continuing. “Worse things could have happened to me. I always wanted to join the police but I would have ended up a Yakuza puppet. My duty would have been corrupted. This is better, I think.”

A blast of noise from Kenta’s radio interrupted Saneh. High-speed Japanese emitted from the speaker as though from a verbal machine gun.

Kenta replied, giving a series of equally rapid orders.

“What’s going on?” Bishop asked.

“The Lexus is leaving the compound; the girl is in it,” Kenta translated.

“Do we need to follow?” asked Bishop.

“My people will tail them,” Kenta replied.

“We should leave it to the locals, Brian,” said Saneh. “They’ll draw less attention.”

“Yeah, OK,” agreed Bishop.

Kenta gathered the food into the takeout bag. “We should be ready to move. Can you let me out?”

Saneh exited and flicked her seat forward, allowing Kenta to extricate himself from the back of the sports car.

“Once my men have found the next location, we will go. I will lead.”

“Where to?” Masateru’s driver asked.

“The Apartments.”

The Lexus left the secure parking lot of the warehouse and turned onto the main road north to Himeji city.

Masateru turned to Karla. “We’re going to your new home.”

She turned away, staring out the window.

They drove in silence for a few minutes before the driver spoke again. “
Waka-gashira
, I think we are being followed.”

The Yakuza lieutenant swiveled in his seat to look out the back window. “Which car?”

“The black Nissan.”

“Who are they? Police?”

“No. I think they are Yakuza.”

“How the hell did they find us?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“When I say go, I want you to accelerate and take the next left turn. Don’t slow down for the corner. As soon as we are around it, stop. Hideaki and I will take care of this problem.”

The Kissaki in the front passenger seat nodded and pulled his MP9 machine pistol from under his jacket. He opened the glove compartment and drew out an identical weapon, handing it back to his boss. Both men checked that their weapons were loaded and unfolded the stocks.

“What’s happening?” Karla stared at the weapons.

“Just stay in the car,” Masateru said in English before switching back to Japanese. “NOW!”

The driver jammed his foot down on the accelerator and the Lexus leaped forward. The tires squealed as he threw the car around the next left turn.

“Stop here!” Masateru yelled after the turn, and their car screeched to a halt. Masateru and Hideaki leaped out with their weapons in their shoulders as the Nissan came barreling around the corner in pursuit. They fired automatic bursts into the front of the car, shredding its tires. With a screech it veered onto the pavement and crashed into the side of a building.

A series of single shots were fired from the immobilized Yamaguchi vehicle, a feeble attempt at self-defense. The response was overwhelming. The MP9s spat flame, firing more than fifteen rounds per second. The torrent of bullets smashed holes through the windshield of the sedan and into its occupants.

Masateru’s weapon ran dry, the bolt locking open on an empty magazine as he walked toward the shattered car. He pulled open the driver’s door. The man at the wheel was dead, missing half his face. His partner in the passenger seat gurgled, struggling to breathe through punctured lungs. An old revolver was still in his limp grip.

Masateru tossed the pistol aside and grabbed hold of the man’s shirt. “Who do you work for?”

Bloody froth spilled from the man’s mouth as he tried to respond.

“Useless swine.” Masateru handed his empty submachine gun to Hideaki. He drew his knife from his jacket and opened it with a deft flick of his wrist. Pulling the man’s head back by the hair, he slashed his throat with the blade, severing the windpipe, blood vessels, and tendons. Blood sprayed across Masateru as he cut down to the spine. His victim’s arms and legs convulsed, his eyes wide in shock.

Thirty seconds later Masateru was back in the Lexus, severed head in the trunk, and they resumed their journey.

Karla stared at him in horror as he used a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his face.

“Who…who were those men?” she asked quietly.

“Other Yakuza. Yamaguchi.”

Karla’s hand shook as she touched the window where one of the stray Yamaguchi bullets had hit the armored glass. “They shot at us.”

“They wanted to kill us. They wanted you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because you are worth a great deal of money as a slave. They want to sell you to a rich, fat Arab for a million dollars. A rich Arab who wants to rape beautiful, young, blonde infidel women.” He let the words sink in before continuing. “But you do not need to fear this, because I will never let them take you. You belong to the
oyabun
and soon you will realize that serving him comes with great benefits.”

Masateru handed Karla another two pills.

She swallowed them and waited for their numbing effect. For a moment her thoughts wandered back to her sister and her home village. A single tear ran down her cheek and she consoled herself with the hope that at least her sister would be able to lead a normal life.