"This? Masamune-san made it for me, but I don't think I want it."
Wondering what he meant by that absurd statement, Hideo gestured the yakuza into the room and followed.
"A wise choice. I am a man of my word. If you will hand me the sword, we will take our leave and—"
Something hard jammed against his left ear and a voice said, "I'd like to have something to say about that."
The yakuza whirled and reacted with shock. As they aimed their pistols the voice said, "Uh-uh-uh. Hair trigger. One twitch and his brains will Jackson Pollock the wall."
Hideo knew Kenji's English was good enough for him to understand, but he didn't know about Ryo, so he translated.
They turned as one and retrained their weapons on the old man who still held the katana poised before him.
"Looks like we've got a John Woo situation here," the voice said.
Hideo was almost sure now that it was the ronin. A slight turn of his head confirmed it.
"Who is John Woo?" the old man said.
"Never mind."
But Hideo knew what he meant, and he was wrong. He felt sweat gathering on his brow and under his arms. His knew his life depended on convincing the ronin of the futility of this.
"This is not the standoff you think it is," he said. "We were sent to return the katana to Japan."
"By whom?"
"That is not important. What matters is that we were charged with the task and we will see it through no matter what the cost. If you do not hand over the katana within the next few seconds, they will kill your friend and then—"
"And then that'll be the end of you."
"You must understand that they do not care about me. They will kill your friend and you will kill me and they will kill you. So you see, no matter what happens here, the katana will be returned to Japan."
"Perhaps there's been enough killing, Jack," the old man said.
Jack… the ronin's name was Jack.
"Listen to him, Jack. With age comes wisdom."
The old man said, "Should we give it to him?"
Jack said, "I kind of promised it to someone else."
Hideo shuddered. "Then what happens next is on your head."
The muzzle pressed harder against his ear.
"And in yours."
The old man sighed. "You don't leave me much choice. No more killing. I wish I could say the same for bloodshed."
Hideo was sagging with relief when he saw the blade of the katana flicker—or seem to. And then he heard Kenji and Ryo grunt and drop their guns.
The shock of wondering why was replaced by the horror of realizing that they were dropping hands along with the guns.
"Good Christ!" Jack said.
Kenji and Ryo started screaming then, each gaping at the spurting stump where a hand had been. They dropped to their knees—first Ryo, then Kenji—and knelt there squeezing their wrists to stanch the flow.
Hideo looked at the old man who was again calmly examining the blade, now slightly smeared with red.
"Quite an edge. Masamune-san certainly knew his trade."
Hideo was still trying to comprehend what had happened. He hadn't seen the katana move. Could this old man have struck so swiftly that the blade had seemed only to flicker?
Hideo slowly slipped his hand inside his coat, edging toward his pistol. But the ronin grabbed his wrist.
"Don't be stupid now."
He reached in and pulled Hideo's weapon from its holster.
"H and K," he said, holding it up. "Nice."
He dropped it, then stepped away. Hideo turned to face him.
"What now? Are you going to execute me like you did my brother?"
The ronin looked puzzled. "What?"
"You killed my brother."
"Your James Cagney is lousy. Do you mean Yoshio?"
Hideo closed his eyes. He did remember.
"I'm his brother."
Jack smiled and said, "Despite the fact that he once had a gun pressed against the back of my head, I liked him."
"Then why did you kill him?"
"I didn't. A man named Baker did. He's dead."
"How? You?"
Jack shook his head. "I sure as hell tried, but someone beat me to it." He stared at Hideo. "So, do you and your brother work for the same organization?"