Japantown by Barry Lancet Page A

American master. We got along just fine.
    Hara took a seat and the Great Wall angled his shoulders into the room. The next instant, Abers appeared with coffee, set it down, then eased the door shut, giving me a thumbs-down behind the mogul’s back as he closed us in.
    Hara crossed his legs. I remained standing, an eye on the Wall.
    Hara scanned the room. “Ano e mo warukanai kedo . . .” The painting’s not bad either, but . . 
    I dropped my head in a modest bow. “It’s adequate,” I replied in his native tongue with the proper tone of self-deprecation.
    Hara was a handsome man in his mid-fifties, his picture often in the news. In person, he had the same square chin, the same glowing tan, the same piercing eyes. What was different was the shock of whitehair combed up and back. The stills in Fortune, Time, and Asia Today showed him with a black mane graying with dignity around the edges.
    “Do you handle any work here?”
    I decided he wasn’t talking about the art.
    “I run stateside security jobs out of this office, but Tokyo is still the main liaison for the agency. I hire local expertise as needed, or bring people over from Tokyo.”
    The Wall had spread his legs, squared his chin, and clasped his hands behind his back. At parade rest, while the general spoke to the flunky.
    I jerked my chin at the watchdog. “Isn’t he kind of big for a pet?”
    Hara smiled without merriment. “Are you any good at what you do?”
    “Some people think so.”
    “You were involved in the recovery of the recent Rikyu, were you not?”
    “Yes.”
    “Impressive, but in the end that’s only art. Are you as good as your father was?”
    What was I supposed to say to that? I shrugged. “I know how to get in and out of trouble.”
    In truth, I doubted I could measure up to Jake’s legendary talents. Several people had lost their lives over the Rikyu and I came close to losing mine. At Brodie Security the vote was still out.
    “That tells us you’re clever. But are you tough?”
    “Enough.”
    Hara moved his chin maybe half a millimeter, and the Great Wall charged.
    Anticipating the move, I preempted his attack, brushing his rising hands away with a forearm sweep and plowing the heel of my other hand into his nose but pulling back enough to keep the breathing apparatus from turning to pulp. Anything less and he would have trampled me. The Wall staggered sideways and grabbed for his face. I connected with a knee kick to the stomach, eschewing the more damaging targets above and below. He went down, but it was all I coulddo to keep from screaming at the intense pain that streaked down my leg. From beneath the bandage, I felt skin tear and blood trickle. In the heat of the attack, instinct had overridden caution and the knife wound had slipped my mind.
    Now I was going to need stitches.

CHAPTER 11
    H ARA stared at the immobile form at his feet.
    I said, “A little less bulk, he’d make a nice doormat.”
    The businessman raised his eyes to mine, his expression empty of mirth, anger, or any other emotion. “The Sony people recommended your firm. Highly. I guess it hasn’t slipped any.”
    “Guess not.”
    Jake had roped in high-profile clients like Sony and Toyota, and they stayed on after his death. Name clients allowed me to keep my father’s loyal staff gainfully employed, but the problem was, VIP security took a lot of bodies, and each one required a salary. And a raise. And had growing families. Keeping the enterprise going was an uphill battle, but one I felt I owed Jake.
    The Wall groaned.
    I said, “Tell your boy to stay on the floor and play carpet until we’re done.”
    “Surely that won’t be necessary. You’ve amply demonstrated what I wished to know.” The magnate’s eyelids slipped to half-mast. “By the way, my name’s Katsuyuki Hara.”
    “I know who you are.”
    “Do you?”
    “CompTel Nippon. From making computerized toys in a garage in Shibaura to electronics to chips to factories in