The Lycanthrope Club - An American Werewolf in Japan, Chapter XIV

The two ambulance drivers carefully lifted agent Ito. The agent had been strapped into a stretcher, bandaged and fitted with a respirator but was fully awake and looked more confused than anything else. Nevertheless he laid there patiently as the drivers slid him into the vehicle and shut the door. Junko and Masae watched silently from the steps of the porch. Apart from the ambulance there were four other vehicles parked along the road adjoining the house - two police cars and two slick black sedans bearing government license plates. The area had been cordoned off with bright yellow tape with a half-dozen or so uniformed officers maintaining the perimeter. It resembled, to Junko at least, a scene from a movie or television show. It seemed distant and unreal despite the fact the three of them were very much at the center of it all. 

The ambulance drivers climbed inside the white and red van. A few seconds later its lights flickered to life and the loud wail of its siren filled the air. The van slowly turned onto the road and then sped off. Even after it disappeared from sight, the sound of its siren could be heard in the distance, growing steadily fainter. 

Junko glanced at Masae. The senior student had removed her shirt and was now only wearing a dark sports bra. The left side of her torso was covered in bandages.

"When should we tell them that we...?" said Junko, nodding the direction the ambulance had gone.

"Not yet," said Masae, her expression wooden. "Things are complicated enough."

The two were quiet for a time. 

"Are we really going to-"

"Don't say anything," said Masae quickly and quietly. 

Junko swallowed and went silent. 

A minute or so passed. Junko gazed down at the vehicles and then looked over her shoulder at the trees. The latter looked strangely inviting. Then, her ears perked up. Someone was walking towards them. One sniff of the air confirmed their identity. 

"Hello, agent Yoshikawa," she said.

The agent they had met at the restaurant in Tokyo stared solemnly down at them. Junko noticed a taller, younger-looking bespectacled agent standing behind him. Both wore dark-grey three-piece suits.

"We need to move fast," said Kensaku flatly. "Your plane has already left but we can get you on an early morning flight tomorrow - a private plane this time. We'll move you to a hotel near the airport in an hour or so. You'll be escorted by a cadre of police and monitored closely. It may attract attention but we're not taking any chances." He paused. "Perhaps we should have simply flown you out of the country the day we met and then informed your parents and concocted this fictional scholarship. I am loath to admit it but sometimes it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission."

Junko said nothing. Masae said nothing.

"The agency is still working on a cover story for this catastrophe," continued Kensaku. "Until then I would ask you not to discuss what happened here. You shouldn't have any reason to speak with anyone besides the agency in any event but keep this in mind." He paused. "Your grandmother has been very cooperative. She's a strong woman," he said, addressing Masae.

Masae gave him an odd look.

"How are you two holding up?" asked the agent. 

"Well enough, I suppose," said Masae quietly.

"I'm doing okay," said Junko unenthusiastically.

"Good," said Kensaku, nodding curtly. "Again, if you recall anything else about the men who attacked you, please let me know."

The pair stood there for an awkward second or two. Then, Kensaku and his cohort walked past the two girls and entered the house.

"How should we do this?" said Junko once she was certain the two agents were out of earshot.

"We'll have to leave most of our stuff behind," said Masae, frowning. "We'll take anything we can grab without arousing suspicion that will fit in our backpacks. I already went into the bathroom and packed my toiletries. You should do the same. I think Taro-kun is already ready to leave."

Junko nodded.

"Exactly 1:30," said Masae, now whispering. "We meet in the garden near my grandfather's grave. You'll be able to change right away but Taro-san and I will need to get some distance. There aren't many agents or police out there but if one of them sees us..."

"I'll stop them," said Junko quietly. 

"Don't actuall-"

"I know, I know," said Junko wearily. She rose and entered the house. A uniformed police officer stepped around her as she passed through the front door.

"Takahashi-san," said the officer, addressing Masae.

Masae turned and looked up at him.

"Your grandmother has asked to see you," he said.

"Is she alright?" asked Masae, rising. 

"Yes," said the police officer. "She just wants to talk."

Somewhat bemused, Masae followed him inside.

* * *

Even with the power restored it seemed darker than usual in the house. Masae glanced over her shoulder down the hall. Though she'd spent a fair deal of her childhood here it felt strange, almost alien now. She turned back. The police officer tapped gently on a door.

"Hello, ma'am?" he said. "Your granddaughter is here."

"Come in," came a muffled voice from within.

The officer opened the door and gestured for Masae to enter. She did so.

The room was small and simple; there was no furniture save for a few sitting pillows and a small lacquered cabinet on the wall opposite the door. The floor was almost entirely covered in tatami mats; a few kakejiku hung from the walls, all depicting placid natural scenes such as a waterfall or cloud-enshrouded mountain peak. It was bright inside. Masae glanced up and saw a large paper lantern suspended in the middle of the room by a single thin cord. Probably electric, though she swore the light was flickering. 

"Where is-" began Masae, looking around the room.

A figure detached itself from a corner of the room. It had been standing behind a support beam, hidden from view.

"Ah, grandmother," said Masae. 

"I came here to clear my head," said Masae's grandmother, a wan smile on her wrinkly face. "Thank you," she said, bowing at the officer who had escorted Masae. "Might I have some time alone with my granddaughter?"

The officer hesitated, but only for a moment. He bowed and slipped out of the room.

Masae and her grandmother stood there for a few seconds. Masae sniffed the air and unconsciously rubbed her bandaged side. Her grandmother's smiled widened. Then, saying nothing, the elderly woman walked over to one of the pillows. Slowly yet smoothly she knelt on it. She looked up at Masae, who gave her a curious look, walked over to another pillow and knelt facing her. 

"I hope you are not in too much pain, dearie," said Masae's grandmother.

"It's...not bad," said Masae softly.

There was a pause.

"I suppose your mother finally got her way," said Masae's grandmother, chuckling. "I'll need to remodel your grandfather's house after all. And not just the exterior this time."

"What? Oh...oh yes," said Masae, biting her lower lip. "Er, sorry about the floor." 

"The floor? No need to apologize, Masae-chan. It wasn't your fault."

Masae stared at her grandmother. 

"I...that is...it was still unfortunate," said Masae uncomfortably.

"Most unfortunate," agreed her grandmother, nodding gravely. Her smile faded. "Those men were quite troublesome."

"Yes, they were," said Masae, almost growling. 

"I don't think they were evil, Masae-chan. Evil is...rarer than most people think. Many of the terrible things that happen in our world are born of fear and ignorance. Those men you fought were cruel, but acted in desperation. They were directed. Such things can be forgiven."

"The tried to kill us, grandmother. And nearly killed an innocent man."

"If one of them put a gun to your head, handed you a gun and ordered you to kill me, would you be a murderer?"

Masae's eyes widened.

"No need to answer," said her grandmother. "Just something to consider." She paused. "I wonder if those men from the government will be able to stop them. I can tell they're still worried."

"They are," said Masae. "They still want to send us to the United States."

"You and your friends were able to stop them. So, either our government is so incompetent that it cannot do what three high schoolers can or you three are so powerful that you can do what the government can't."

Masae said nothing.

"I hope for the sake of our country that the latter is the case," continued her grandmother. "But either way...well, I think you know what this means."

Masae looked up at her grandmother, even more shocked than before. She opened her mouth to say something but no words were forthcoming. Then, her grandmother rose from her pillow.

"Before you leave I want to show you something," she said. She walked up to the cabinet on the far end of the room and opened it. "Make no mistake, this no priceless relic. It has no name. It was made during the early shōwa era - one of many, in fact." Her grandmother turned back around. She was holding a long, curved black scabbard. 

"Is that...?" breathed Masae.

"A real katana, yes," said her grandmother, stepping towards her. "We don't know who forged it. The signature was shallow and wore away soon after it was made. Likely the work of an apprentice or even some factory worker, though credit to the smith, it is a fine enough sword all things considered. And it will certainly cut. Your grandfather actually owned a genuine Kaneuji blade but it passed to the government after his death. And even when he was alive he hardly touched it, let alone wielded it."

Masae gazed down at the weapon, noting the glossy surface of its sheath, the fine red silk cord wrapped around it, the simple yet elegant ovoid tsuba and the black and white diamond-patterned hilt. To her surprise, her grandmother tugged at the cord, loosening the knot, and slowly drew the blade. The steel gleamed with sullen menace in the brightly-lit room. Masae's nose twitched as the faint scent of choji oil and oxidized metal tickled her nostrils.

"This is the blade your grandfather used performing kata," said her grandmother. "Twice I year I clean and oil it, so it's in good condition." She paused. "The government doesn't consider it a national treasure. There are some museums that would take it but I fear they would just put it in a box and store it away in some forgotten corner. And it has far too much sentimental value to sell to a collector." She looked into Masae's eyes. "I want you to have it." She slowly sheathed the blade and proffered it.

"Grandmother I...can't accept it," said Masae, stunned.

"It is your legacy," said her grandmother, still holding the sword. 

"I don't think my mom and dad would let me have a real sword," said Masae, raising both hands.

"Then it will remain here but still belong to you. But for now, take it."

"I think grandfather would have wanted you to keep it," said Masae.

"Even if he had, I want you to have it, granddaughter. After what happened today I..." her grandmother's eyes softened. She sniffled but quickly recovered. "Let's just say it reminded me that life can be short. Please."

Masae swallowed, reached out and took the weapon from her grandmother's now trembling hands. It was heavy, but not quite as heavy as she had expected. Almost on instinct she gripped the hilt and slid it open. She noted the grain pattern - the hada - in the steel and oh so gently touched the edge. It was razor sharp.

"If you ever wield it, remember what I said today, in this room," said her grandmother, her voice suddenly firm.

"Y-Yes, grandmother," said Masae.

"Good," said her grandmother, nodding. "That's all I wanted to say. Thank you for visiting, Masae-chan. Tell your friends I said hello."

"I wil-...I mean, we aren't leaving yet, grandmother," corrected Masae quickly. 

"Of course, dearie," said her grandmother, smiling. "Of course."

* * *

"Here," barked Hajime from the passenger seat, gesturing at the train station. 

Hisao peered around Hajime. He hit the brakes. Hajime lurched forward and cursed under his breath. 

"Are you going on a trip, boss?" asked the youth.

"Yes, but not yet," said Hajime. 

"I still say you should go to the hospital. Or at least the doc." Hisao grinned slyly. "Come on, what went down? You look almost as bad as you did after that fight in the park."

"You don't want to know," growled Hajime. "And stop driving like a blind tourist! We almost hit a motorcycle back there."

"He cut me off," protested Hisao, shrugging.

"And keep your hands on the wheel."

"Yes moth-" began Hisao until he saw the glint in Hajime's eyes "...yes boss," he gulped. 

Hajime stared at the window at the bustling station. His eyes narrowed. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette but clenched his teeth in pain. Nearly every part of his body hurt.

"Hisao, give me a cigarette," he hissed.

"Um..."

"What?" said Hajime angrily.

"I, um, I'm driving boss," said Hisao, grinning foolishly. "And uh, you told me to keep both hands on the wheel."

Hajime glared at the youth but did not reprimand him. In truth, it was taking a great deal of effort not to pass out. 

"At least pass me some Meridon," said Hajime. 

Saying nothing, Hisao reached over to the glove compartment, flipped it open and retrieved a small plastic bottle. Still using one hand, he dexterously popped the cap off and poured a few pills into Hajime's waiting hand. Hajime awkwardly lifted his right arm without actually moving his shoulder, lowered his head and tossed the Meridon into his open mouth. He managed to swallow all three in one gulp; he coughed a few times afterwards.

"So, where do you want me to drop you off," asked Hisao as they neared an intersection.

"Nowhere. You're coming with me. Find a parking spot."

"That'll take a while," said Hisao. "And you said you had to be here..." he checked the car clock "...five minutes ago."

Hajime cursed. His mind raced.

"There's a small alley up ahead on the left," he sighed in a resigned voice. "Turn and park there."

"Uh, is parking allowed there?"

"Not at all," said Hajime. "We'll just abandon the car and take a taxi out of here when our business is concluded."

"What?" exclaimed Hisao.

"I was going to torch this car anyhow," said Hajime, shrugging.

Hisao stared at Hajime, almost failing to notice that the car ahead of him had stopped. Hisao yelped and hit the brakes. Both he and Hajime lurched forward.

"You're a worse driver than my mother! And she's dead!" yelled Hajime.

"Sorry! Sorry!"

"Get us to the alley. We're running out of time."

"Just, how much trouble are you in, boss?" said Hisao nervously.

"You mean how much trouble are WE in, idiot," said Hajime crossly. "This concerns the entire syndicate. Just do what I say and maybe we'll get out of this with our heads intact." He paused. "Have you ever visited Hokkaido?"

"What?"

"Maybe you should look into it, eh?" said Hajime. He looked up and pointed. "There, there's the alley," he said as they made a left turn.

Sure enough there was a small alleyway dividing a convenience store and laundromat around fifty or so meters ahead. Hisao carefully maneuvered into the narrow lane. It was barely wide enough to accommodate their vehicle though it widened ahead. Around twenty meters in Hisao slowed to a halt, turned the engine off, hurried out and around the car and helped Hajime out. The wounded gangster growled in annoyance but allowed the young man to lift him from his seat. 

"Forgive me, boss, but, look, you really need-"

"I'm fine," snapped Hajime, straightening up even though his chest felt as though it were on fire. "The Meridon is kicking in. Come on."

Hajime led Hisao down the alleyway and towards the station. 

"So, uh, what are we doing?" asked Hisao, glancing back at the car.

"We're meeting someone," said Hajime. "And don't ask who. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Uh, okay."

The pair made their way past the main entrance and into the concourse. It was crowded, but not enough to slow their progress. As they walked, Hajime caught a glimpse of a television screen affixed to the wall next to a noodle stand. He saw a large, traditional house surrounded by police tape with a news reporter standing outside. He quickly looked away. 

Hisao, apparently noticing this, looked up at the screen. He slowed and squinted his eyes. "Attack...on...elderly..." he said, reading the scrolling marquee on the screen.

"Hisao-san!" growled Hajime.

Hisao blinked and hurried after Hajime.

They left the concourse and entered the platforms. Hajime turned and started walking parallel to the tracks. Eventually they reached the east end of the station. There weren't many people around. Hajime sat down on a small blue bench next to a pair of vending machines. Hisao hesitated, and then took a seat next to him. 

"Er..."

"What?" snapped Hajime.

"...I could get you that cigarette now."

Hajime stared blankly at Hisao. Then, he nodded. Hisao produced a lighter and battered packet of cigarettes from his bomber jacket. He pulled a single cigarette from the packet, lit it and passed the smoldering thing to Hajime, who raised it to his lips. Hajime took a smooth, long drag, burning nearly a quarter of the cigarette in a single breath, and exhaled. Smoke wafted in the air. 

"Those things are bad for you." 

It hadn't been Hisao who had spoken.

Hajime slowly turned to his left. He saw a tall teenage girl with long black hair dressed in a grey, loose-fitting sweater leaning against the wall about a meter away. He could have sworn she hadn't been there a second or so ago. A lifetime of honed instincts and paranoia prompted him to look past her. He spied two figures - a younger teenage girl and a teenage boy, both quite familiar - hanging back in the crowd. Both were trying a bit too hard not to look in their direction. 

"Hisao-san," he began, keeping his gaze fixed on the girl. "Sit there and stay quiet."

"Uhh...okay."

Hajime slowly rose. His body screamed at him to stay seated but he gritted his teeth and endured the pain.

"Seriously, put that out," said the girl as he approached, wrinkling her nose. "It's making me nauseous."

Hajime just snarled and took another drag. Then, he remembered who - or what - he was dealing with. He sighed, flicked the cigarette to the pavement it and ground it out with his heel.

"Let's get this over with," said Hajime.

"Agreed," said the girl.

Hajime reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of folded paper. He hesitated, and looked around.

"No cops, right?" he said. 

"Maybe," said the girl, folding her arms.

"No, that's not how this works," said Hajime with barely restrained anger. "If the police are involved I walk away now and whatever happens, happens."

"The way I see it, you've already betrayed your boss," said the girl, narrowing her eyes. "That means you either work with us and take that risk or walk away and spend the rest of your lif-"

"Alright, fine," snapped Hajime. He flung the paper at the girl, who snatched it from the air without blinking an eye. She unfolded and read it. As she did, Hajime, curiously, felt his anger subside. Perhaps the pain was finally getting to him. Or perhaps the knowledge that the three creatures - the ones who had gone through his best men like a hot knife through butter - would soon be gunning for his former boss. 

"Here?" said the girl. "Seriously?"

"What did you expect? A high rise penthouse? An underground bunker? A hidden volcano lair?" Hajime sighed. "It's a place where privacy and discretion are prized and that suits him just fine. Assume everyone working there is on his payroll. The security is lighter than you'd expect but he won't necessarily hesitate to call the police since the business is under another, legitimate name. He's just a guest who almost never leaves. Don't go in guns blazing, so to speak." 

"What does he look like?"

Hajime blinked. "Oh, yes. An older man. Short, face like a wrinkled squash, short grey hair, always carries a small, slim knife. Not Japanese, of course, but Asian; I can't quite place his accent but he might be Pilipino. Goes by Mr. Shen."

"A photo would help."

"He's very camera shy," said Hajime. "If I had one I'd give it to you. Are we done here?" 

The girl paused. She read the paper again and gave Hajime a probing look. Hajime countered with a cold stare.

"Yes," said the girl at last. "Now and forever with any luck." She paused. "If you or the yakuza ever harasses me, my friends or our families again...I WILL tear your throat open and eat your heart."

Hajime's heart skipped a beat as he recalled that terrifying and painful night, but otherwise retained his composure. He even managed a smirk.

"You'd better hurry," he said, almost casually. "If Shen hasn't already started torturing that American he'll be starting soon."

The girl gave him an angry look but turned and walked away. Hajime watched her disappear into the crowd. Behind him, Hisao rose from the bench.

"Did I say 'get up,' stripling?" grunted Hajime without bothering turning around.

Hisao froze midway up.

"How did yo-..." he began before noticing his reflection in a glass billboard ahead of Hajime. Hisao sat back down. Hajime stepped back and slowly slumped back in the bench. He was breathing heavily. His hands were trembling.

"Another smoke, now!" he barked.

Hisao yelped and fumbled through his pockets for his lighter and pack. A few commuters shot them brief, curious glances but quickly looked away. After a few failed attempts, Hisao lit a cigarette and passed it to his boss, who snatched it out of his hand and sucked on it like it was his last breath. 

"What the...who the heck was she?" asked Hisao. "I mean, she just looked like some snot-nosed brat with 8th grader syndrome but she...I mean, no offense, boss, but you looked scared."

Hajime took another drag before answering.

"That's because I am scared. That brat with 8th grader syndrome was the one who took down my crew - twice. Not alone, of course, but still..."

Hisao's eyes widened.

"Wh-What? Her?" He chuckled nervously. "Boss, I...I've seen you break guys twice as big as her. Why are you afraid of her?"

"Because she's a shapeshifting wolf kami," said Hajime a matter-of-factly. He rose from the bench. "Come on, Hisao-san, it's time we got moving. I don't want to be anywhere in the city when they hit the boss's place." He paused, thinking. "Think you could find someone who could set us up with fake passports on that deep web of yours?"

* * *

Mr. Shen glared down at the American as his henchman yanked the black sack from her head. He noted her brown complexion and dark curly hair. She looked scared or was very good and pretending to be scared. She struggled in the chair for a second or two, looked around wildly and then, somewhat to Mr. Shen's bemusement, sniffed the air. She immediately grimaced as though she had smelled something truly foul. Mr. Shen then turned slightly and nodded to a thin, pale man wearing round spectacles standing next to him in the shadowy room.

"Lily Forger," said the thin man in heavily accented English. "I will be blunt. You and your government are not wanted here. We know your 'semester abroad' is a cover for conducting surveillance on behalf of the CIA and several bad actors within our agency. While your government and ours have many treaties this unauthorized intelligence work cannot be tolerated. You have two choices. Reveal the identities of your co-conspirators or spend the rest of your life in prison for espionage. Please choose now."

Lily said nothing. He looked up at the thin man and Mr. Shen. Both men remained impassive. She didn't appear to be frightened any longer.

"You're with Kōanchōsa-chō?" she asked.

"Will you reveal the identities of your co-conspirators or not?"

Lily was silent for a few seconds.

"Fine. Let's see...I think one of them was named Saya. She was the one who first spoke with me when I came to Japan. She was...oh, five foot, long dark hair, black eyes. She told me she would be taking care of my housing needs while I was staying here. I don't know if she works directly for the agency or was just some hostess. I could identify her for you if you got me a good photo. Next person I met was a man named K...Koga. I think he was an accountant or...no, a comptroller. You know what that means? Oh, duh, of course you do. Uh, five foot three, short dark hair, black eyes, glasses, nice suit. I didn't catch his last name but he seemed..." she looked around. "Um, do you want to write this down or should I...?" she trailed off meaningfully, waiting.

The thin man turned to Mr. Shen, looking perplexed.

"She...mentioned a few names and asked if we wanted to write down her words..."

Someone in the back of the room coughed meaningfully. Mr. Shen glanced over his shoulder and shook his head.

"I know this tactic," he said, turning back to Lily. "She gives us all the information she can think of that won't be useful to us, delaying us, all while appearing to cooperate. She's not very good at it. Someone briefed her but didn't train her. Just ask her to name the individuals or individual in our organization that alerted the CIA to my presence in Japan."

 The thin man nodded.

"We would also like to know, specifically, which members of the Seven-Seven-Four Syndicate leaked classified intelligence to the CIA."

Lily looked nonplussed.

"Uh, what? I thought they contacted you guys. Why would they go to the CIA?"

"Nevertheless, we would also like to know which members of the Seven-Seven-Four Syndicate leaked classified intelligence to the CIA," repeated the thin man in an almost robotic fashion.

"Honestly, I don't know. I might be able to tell you which agents in Kōanchōsa-chō relayed that intel to the CIA but I don't know the names of the assets themselves."

"She claims she does not know their names," said the thin man. "Only, possibly, names of the agents who may have passed the information along to the CIA."

Mr. Shen sighed.

"I am really not in the mood for games," he said, reaching into jacket. He raised a sleek, evil-looking pistol in the air. "Besides, there is something I want to test."

He leveled the gun at Lily's head for a few seconds. To her credit, she did not flinch. Then, he lowered the gun and fired a single round at her left leg. The pistol had a silencer attached so it wasn't particularly loud. Still, many in the room leapt at the sudden act of violence. 

Lily hissed in pain, eyes shut, teeth clenched. A small but growing dark spot appeared in her jeans just below her left knee. Mr. Shen tucked the still smoking gun back into its holster. He approached Lily, knelt down and pulled a slender knife from his sleeve. Lily cried out and squirmed in her chair. Ignoring this, Mr. Shen grabbed her leg and cut the lower portion of her left pant leg off - all without so much as nicking her skin. He looked down at the fresh wound. 

"So much...for being with Kōanchōsa-chō," growled Lily.

Mr. Shen just kept staring at Lily's wound. Though her knee and lower leg were smeared with blood he noted something peculiar almost immediately. He picked up the section of denim he had cut out and used it to wipe away the blood.

"You've stopped bleeding," gasped Mr. Shen. His once flat, emotionless tone had become almost astonished. "There, there's the bullet on the ground," he said. He lifted a tiny, warped metal fragment from the blood-splattered carpet and examined it. "Even after all I've heard - numerous sources, rumors, testimonies from my own men - I didn't quite believe it or suspected it was an exaggeration." He looked up at Lily. "Would the same thing happen if I shot you in the head? The heart?" he said, not in a threatening tone but one of gleeful, almost manic curiosity. 

The thin man cleared his throat.

"He wants to know if-" 

"Quiet," said Mr. Shen, not loudly, but firmly. He rose, took a deep breath and exhaled. "This," he said, motioning at Lily "This is quite a prize. We need to get her out of the country." He paused. "I wonder if we should make her...change. I'd certainly like to see that. What do you think?" he asked, addressing the four men standing behind Lily pointing automatic rifles at her head.

"We have her covered, boss," said one of the men in a gruff voice.

"Mmm...actually, this can wait," said Mr. Shen, looking thoughtful. "We still don't know the full extent of her capabilities...or weaknesses...ah," he said happily as a soft squeaking sound filled the room. "Perfect timing."

Lily looked behind Mr. Shen. Someone was wheeling a small cart towards them. Numerous, gleaming metal instruments lay neatly arrayed on its surface. She looked up at Mr. Shen and growled in a disconcertingly low voice. 

"Fine. Let's get this over with. Wouldn't be the first time someone's taken me apart."

"No need to translate that," said Mr. Shen, glancing back at the thin man. "I got the gist."