Bamboo Bloodbath and Ninja's Revenge, Page 2

  "Don't you think I deserve an equal shot?"

  "Now just a—"

  "After all, you said some were worse than me."

  What next! "Thera, I—"

  "I'm no virgin; you know that. Why not permit me the same lapses you've indulged yourself with? How can you hold my fling with Jim against me, when you've done the same with at least three other girls since then? I don't even profess the same moral standards you do; mine are looser."

  She was beginning to make sense. It alarmed me. All I really had against her was that "fling"...and I had done worse myself. Was I really a male chauvinist or hypocrite?

  Reaching for her blouse, she said, "Let's stop right now and—"

  That was too much. She had overplayed her hand. Theoretically we were going to save her father's life. "I'm no casual stud for nymphos," I said harshly, to cover the fact that I had been more than a little tempted. Sighting down a well-formed leg has a peculiar but powerful effect on me. In fact, I become tempted to augment vision with touch.

  She sighed. "Damn! Almost had you that time."

  A fair analysis. Still, she had made me think, and to re-evaluate my personal inclinations. On that basis, I had to deem Thera a current prospect, rather than a defunct one. She really had done me less injury than I'd supposed, and she had a lot to recommend her.

  We pulled up at the estate. There was no guard at the gate—evidence that Drummond really had dismissed his help. It seemed foolish, if his life were really in danger; but the pressure of fear can do strange things to people. Drummond, evidently, was not accustomed to an immediate, personal, physical threat to his existence, and didn't know how to handle it.

  The door was locked—an almost pitiful precaution, considering the number of large plate-glass windows in the house. Any serious murderer could readily enter.

  "Daddy, it's me!" Thera called. "I brought him!"

  In a moment Drummond opened the door himself. He was a husky, well-fed man, but now he looked haggard. He could not have slept well or eaten well in several days.

  He shook my hand vigorously. "God, am I glad to see you, Striker!" he said. It was the obvious truth.

  "Thera would not take no for an answer," I said.

  "Whatever she offered you, consider it doubled! Striker, I want you with me!"

  "She mentioned money and sex," I said, nettled again. These people thought anything at all could be bought, if the price was right. The irony was, ninety per cent of the time they were quite correct.

  "I'll go fix us something to eat," Thera said quickly. She strode out of the room without a backward glance.

  Drummond smiled briefly. "She's a big girl now. Age of consent. I could wish my daughter were more circumspect, but..."

  He shrugged. "How much?"

  "Don't worry. I turned her down."

  Again he smiled, even more briefly. "I was referring to money."

  "So was I."

  "Striker, name your figure!"

  I thought of Thera's figure, but resisted further by-play.

  "Drummond, I didn't come here for money or sex, even though I know you've got a lot of the one and she's got a lot of the other. I came because you've bailed me out a couple of—times and I figure I owe it to you. I don't know whether I'll stay. But if I do, it won't be for a fee."

  "Yes, Thera said you'd be that way." He sat down in an easy chair, gesturing me to do the same. "But I'm a money-oriented man, Striker. I've got to pay for what I get, or I don't trust it."

  "Thera said your life had been threatened."

  "I want—you for three days; twenty-four hours a day. When I sleep, I want you next to me; when I sit on the pot, I want you there. The moment I am alone may be my last. Once the time is up, I'll be safe. Shall we call it five thousand for the duration?"

  Five thousand dollars for three days' work! He was one-tracked on money, all right! "No fee, I told you! What was the nature of this threat—mail, phone, personal?"

  "You have assumed the training of a number of new students," he said. "They were formerly at a rival studio—"

  "Dojo, not studio," I said. "Associate, not rival." I didn't see the relevance to his problem, but at least be was off the subject of money. Just as well; his money, like his daughter's body, was underhandedly tempting. Five thousand dollars would magically convert my estate from red to black.

  "Why do you train them?" he inquired.

  "Their original dojo went out of business. These things happen."

  "Why did they all come to you? Surely some would have preferred other dojos?"

  "They had to come to me, or lose their money. They're all on contract. Look, we're wasting time! Why are you afraid for your life?"

  "On contract. Does that mean they have to train with you, as in baseball?"

  Why his questions? "No," I explained, "they're paying, not playing. Martial arts interest tends to be transitory, so many senseis—trainers, to you—can't earn a living on drop-out students. The bills have to be paid, even if no students show up. So they require a contract: so many lessons at such and such a price for the package. It's a good deal, for the serious student."

  "And the drop-outs?"

  "They have to pay for the full course anyway. They know that when they sign. Without contracts, many dojos could not stay in business; they need to be assured of a regular income."

  "Do you use such a system in your own dojo?"

  "Contracts? No. My students pay only for the lessons they receive. That's just the way I work. Now, if you'll just answer my questions—"

  "In a moment, Striker. You have many drop-outs?"

  "The usual percentage. But I don't think any of them would be a threat to you, if that's what you're driving at."

  "So you don't make much money," he said.

  Oh—so that was it. I sighed. "Not much. But I'm choosy about how I make it, so if you don't mind—"

  "That is why I trust you, Striker. You can't be bought. You will take money only for services rendered and you will not—render an illicit service."

  I smiled. "Yes. Now we understand each other. So you can stop trying to pay me for—"

  "Not quite. I require a service of you, and I will pay." He raised his hand to forestall my objection. "But who do your inherited students pay?"

  "A finance company. It took over their contracts when their dojo closed."

  "And the finance company pays you?"

  "No," I said shortly.

  "Then why do you train them, if you receive no payment?"

  "It isn't right to make them pay for nothing, when they are not at fault. That sort of thing gives the field a bad name."

  "So you train them for nothing? Because of principle?"

  "I'm not the first to do that. There are some bad apples in the arts—fake senseis who put on a big show and sign up many students, then deliberately skip town and open a new dojo under another name and start all over. These unscrupulous operators hurt the business for all of us. I'd like to see them all in jail! But meanwhile there is the problem of the students. A responsible sensei will—"

  "What finance company is involved?"

  "General Loans, Inc. But don't blame them; they made a business investment, and they advanced money to the failing dojo in good faith. They have a right to—"

  "I own General Loans."

  "I'm not surprised," I said, surprised. I hadn't known he was into that kind of enterprise; but of course he was into everything that had the smell of money. "Well, you made a good investment."

  "I shall reimburse you the value of those students' contracts—the amount you should have earned if they had signed with you I think this is the ethical thing to do, since you are already training them, and since you are not at fault in the failure of the other dojo. Do you agree?"

  But then General Loans would be taking a loss!"

  "If a finance company keeps money at the expense of innocents—and you, sir, are a financial innocent—it looks bad. That sort of thing gives the field a bad name
. Sometimes a sacrifice has to be made for the benefit of the industry... as you pointed out just now."

  "I—" But he had me, oh so cleverly. He'd known all about training contracts and my connection with his company, of course; Johnson Drummond knew all about all of his business interests. Which was one reason he was rich.

  I should never have tried to debate the ethics of finance with a professional. He had destroyed my position as readily as I would have destroyed his body, had he attacked me with a knife. It meant a sizable payment—enough to relieve me of my present difficulties and keep me flush for some time. Five dollars per lesson for each hundred-lesson contract, and twenty transfer students... $10,000 total!

  "Now I ask you as a friend," Drummond said. "Will you stay with me for three days—at no charge?"

  What could I do? "Tell me your problem."

  For answer, he handed me two pieces of paper. One was a check for $10,000, already signed. The other was a crudely scrawled note on a torn fragment of a grocery bag. "TWO MILLION. TWO HUNDRED THIRTY-FOUR THOUSAND, EIGHT HUNDRED FIVE DOLLARS. EIGHTEEN CENTS."

  There was no signature—just sketch like a child's drawing of a dog, hardly recognizable. And overall, a smudge.

  I looked up. "A practical joke!"

  He shook his head. "No."

  "There's no—no inducement. Your daughter has not been kidnapped, no bomb has been planted. And no instruction for delivery of the money. Just a figure chosen at random. How do you know it's even a threat?"

  "That figure is not random. it represents precisely ten per cent of my immediately liquifiable assets as of last month."

  Immediately liquifiable assets... That would be savings accounts and the like. Only a small portion of his actual wealth, most of which would be invested in real estate, stocks, bonds and God knew what else. And still a figure a thousand times the size of what I could ever make in a year. But what point to dwell on that? "A tithe," I said. "But how could anyone know your worth, except you?"

  "Only my accountants. I thought they were absolutely trustworthy. You can see why I have been firing people recently."

  "Yes."

  Thera returned with a tray. "It's not much, but I never was much of a cook—and it's getting scary in the far corners of this house." She saw the note. "Yes, that's real, Jason. It's the way the Hyena operates."

  I shook my head unbelievingly. "If I received such a note, I'd throw it away and go to bed."

  "You could afford to," Drummond said. "You have wealth to rival mine—only yours is all invested in physical combat expertise. That's why I want you with me... when the Hyena comes."

  Thera had brought hot chocolate and sweet rolls—not my idea of good nutrition, And she was right; the drink was thin and the rolls were burned. She was no chef. "What's this about a hyena?"

  "I suppose you would not be in a position to know," Drummond said. "He doesn't bother with anyone worth less than ten million dollars."

  "See that paw-print?" Thera asked me, pointing to the smudge. "That's the key. It's genuine. We had it checked out."

  "An actual hyena print?" I asked, bemused.

  "Yes," she said. "Lab, zoologist, the works. A real live hyena stepped on that paper, and not long before we got it. The mud wasn't dry yet."

  "But we don't have hyenas running loose around here!" I protested.

  "Precisely," Drummond said "Coincidence is out of the question."

  "I haven't seen anything in the newspapers about big shakedowns. Are you sure—"

  "It has been hushed up until the police can catch the Hyena. Assuming they're not already in his pay. But word gets around, in business circles as elsewhere. I know of six strikes by the Hyena, and I suspect that's only half the total. A lot of people must have quietly paid up. Now he's coming for me." And there was no doubt Drummond took the threat seriously.

  I set my inedible roll aside. "I guess I just don't think the way a millionaire does! If I were threatened, I'd go to the police—or at least double my guard. Or use electronic defenses. Or skip town for a while. You're just sitting here, wide open for an invasion!"

  "You're a liar," he replied. "If you were threatened, you'd stand and fight."

  Good point! But I tried again. "If you really believe you have no protection, why don't you simply pay off and be done with it?"

  "Why don't you take money for bodyguard duty?" he asked in turn.

  "Dad's ornery about payoffs," Thera said. "Matter of principle involved, he claims. I never could understand it myself—but he'll die before he pays one cent of tribute."

  I could understand it, put that way. I had thought Drummond was unscrupulous, but I saw now that he had his scruples and held firmly to them. I respected him more for it.

  "And I told you about bringing in the police or other strangers," Thera said. "Dad backed the wrong political machine last time out, and those scandals didn't help."

  Her remark didn't help me. Political machine, scandals... Where were Drummond's scruples when he was involved in that?

  "And I do have protection—now," Drummond finished. "The best."

  I got up and paced the floor. "You overestimate what I can do. One hood with a gun could take me out with no trouble. Or they could lob a grenade in here."

  Father and daughter shook their heads in unison. "The Hyena doesn't use firearms," Drummond said. "Not unless there are police or armed guards about. That's why we have none here."

  I pounded my right fist into my left hand. "Two or more of us here are crazy! Even if there were honor among extortionists—and there sure as hell isn't—how would your attacker know you didn't have a gunman planted in ambush? He can't—"

  "He knows," Drummond said. "The way I know money, he knows murder."

  "You'll have to explain it to me in concepts of one syllable! There's a piece or three missing from this jigsaw."

  "Let me do it, Daddy," Thera said. "Jason, sit down."

  I sat down. She planted her exquisite posterior on my lap and spoke quietly into my ear, as though this were a love tryst. Her warm breath tickling the hairs of my ear was sexually exciting—but what she said was something else.

  The typical "Hyena" case went something like this: the businessman received a note, naming a tenth of his available assets; and the financial assessment was always uncannily accurate. If he paid, he put the exact amount, in cash, in a satchel and dropped it from an airplane over a certain wilderness area, buoyed by a small parachute so that it would not burst on impact with the ground. That was the end of the matter—provided he made the payment exactly ten days after receiving the note.

  If, in paying, he tried to set a trap of some sort, he would be killed just as though he had not paid. On one occasion the victim had not known about a secret police stake-out. But the Hyena had known, and had come for the kill. So the police were generally left out of it. In fact, they were seldom notified.

  If the person refused to pay, the Hyena would come for him within three days of the deadline. No one had seen the Hyena and lived. Instead their mauled bodies were found, chewed and scratched as if by some vicious wild animal. Sometimes hyena dung was found in the area—and once the victim's bones had been cracked, as though a beast with extraordinarily powerful jaws had sought the marrow within them.

  No hired protection sufficed; one way or another, the Hyena nullified every measure. But if the victim braved it alone, he was the only one killed, and none of his family were touched. One man had fancied himself an artist with the foil; he had been found stabbed through the heart by that weapon, but not otherwise mauled. The Hyena seemed to be a sportsman, of sorts.

  "That's his way of running the line," Thera concluded, touching my ear electrifyingly with her lips. I was appalled at my body's readiness to be aroused despite the sinister material being fed to my mind.

  "My deadline passed this morning," Drummond said. "The Hyena will come tonight—or tomorrow, or the night after. My daughter refuses to leave me here alone. So I have had to seek help—special hel
p. If only I had been able to locate Diago in time! He could have handled the monster!"

  Probably true. Diago was a top-notch judoka, seventh dan, with a phenomenal kiai! yell that could stun a roomful of attackers. I had had adventures with him, and had thought at one time he was dead, but he had shown up again alive. An excellent choice—but Diago wasn't here.

  "Let me get my nunchakus." I said. "They're back at my dojo."

  "You stay with Daddy," Thera said, giving my crotch a last hot nudge with her derriere. God, she could wiggle! "I'll fetch your—what did you call it?"

  "Nunchakus. Like two billy clubs chained together. It is a deadly hand weapon, good against one person or a crowd, and I know how to use it. If the hyena comes armed with sword or club—"

  "So long as it's not a firearm," Drummond said as Thera bounced up and out. "I think we can fight him off—but we've got to go by his rules."

  "If you say so," I said dubiously. But the truth was, I didn't much like guns myself. A gun turns the tradional ninety-seven-pound weakling into Superman, negating twenty years of discipline, leading to irresponsible threats and murder. Banish guns and a lot of trouble in our world would disappear. That's my view, anyway.

  This Hyena sounded like a demented but highly skilled martial artist, possibly a kung fu adept, who had turned his deadly talent to extortion—successfully, so far. Probably he had had many years of rigorous training; and such training necessarily inculcates the martial discipline and ethics along with physical proficiency. So he followed certain rules, because they were part of his being—such as meeting weapon with matching weapon. This was not a thing outsiders could understand well, but I understood it.

  I was intrigued. I had encountered some of the best, in the course of my career, with and without weapons. I was ready to take my chances. Probably the Hyena had not come up against a competent professional martial artist in the course of his extortions. I was a fifth-degree black belt in judo, and a third in karate—a true third, as I had been rated in Japan by Mas Oyama himself. Which, frankly, is plenty competent. I had taken my share of titles in competition, and I had a good deal of practical experience.

  Yes, we would see! Perhaps we could both solve the mystery and eliminate the menace of this dreaded Hyena. And then I could return to my training duties with the American judo team. I heard the roar of Thera's car taking off. She had a spare, of course; her first car had been left at my dojo. The luxury of riches...