Having acquired two new rooms at a Roadway Inn on the outskirts of Toledo, Kip and Charlene made time to freshen up before their next stop on the fact-finding mission as to who was really trying to kill Kip and who’d tried to hire to do it. Charlene knocked on Kip’s door, who eased it open, relieved not to find her holding an outstretched gun.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Yeah, just a second.” Kip closed the door, staying on the inside for a moment, holding his breath, then running his hand through his hair, dressed up compared to the day before on reconnaissance, no longer purposely looking like a software-salesman-tourist. He was wearing standard macho-man wear of cargo pants, a button up midnight blue shirt and no hat on his brown wavy hair. However, still poking out of the bottom of the pants were the Versace stilettos. Having noticed Charlene was wearing dressier clothes too, he wondered if she was trying to look good for him, for Haru, or for both. Kip reopened the door, checked his pockets to make sure he had everything, then locked the door and strode off with Charlene.
“You look good,” said Charlene, as they made the long walk down the hall.
“Thanks. Looking easy on the eyes yourself,” said Kip to her.
She smiled and they remained silent throughout the car ride until they reached a Japanese themed gate at the edge of a large property. A large monitor and camera were visible to which Kip grimaced a smile, not sure what else the observer would want from him.
“The keypad,” she said, pointing to something hidden behind a tall bush. Kip pulled the Nissan Sentra he’d rented beyond the bush. He saw a small keypad on a pole extending to car window height. Charlene told him the code: 7-1-1-7-1 and he punched it in. The gate opened in towards the house.
“It’s his son’s birthday,” Charlene said. “The code, I mean.”
Kip drove up the driveway of switchbacks like it was a terraced Japanese island fortress to reach the castle at the summit. At least, it looked like a castle to Kip, or whatever they called them in Japanese, which Charlene told him was shiro, but when attached to the name of a thing, you just added “yo” or “jo” to the ending, the former being the pronunciation, the latter being the spelling. Hence, since this was Haru’s castle, it was Haru-jo.
“Welcome to Haru-jo,” said Charlene.
“This place is tall,” said Kip, “And I don’t just mean that because it’s Toledo.”
Charlene chuckled. “You don’t like anything that’s tall, do you?”
“Gives me vertigo.” Kip joked.
On the top of the hill, at the base of the castle, Kip parked the car. The driveway was littered with white and black pebbles, with bigger black basaltic rocks as one got closer to the door. On exiting the car, they instinctively looked from the bottom all the way up to the top of the monstrosity.
“Damn,” said Kip.
“I know,” said Charlene.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this guy was trying to compensate for something.”
“Yeah, like you’re not,” Charlene said, eying his stilettos.
“Hey,” he whispered with a smile. “Not nice.”
Avoiding the rocks, they made their way to the front door where Charlene knocked politely. There was another strange juxtaposition of modern and ancient with an imposing traditional Japanese door and a flat screen monitor above it showing the guest that he and/or she was being watched by a camera out of sight.
The door opened and a small, young Japanese woman stood and said, “Watashitachi no iey ee yohkoso” and then translated “Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you,” said Kip.
“Yes, thank you,” repeated Charlene.
“Follow me,” said the woman.
The pair followed her through the labyrinth-like space and she took them to a large room that was most likely the living room although there was nothing resembling couches or a TV. It was very traditional, and there were pillows and mats on the floor.
“Wait here,” the young woman said.
After she left, Kip and Charlene each pulled up a small square cushion and sat down, their legs trying, but failing to tuck comfortably to the side or underneath themselves.
“Is she his daughter?” Kip asked Charlene.
“No, he doesn’t have a daughter,” she replied. “Only the son. But the son, he’s…”
“Not welcome here,” said Haru, completing her sentence. He was dressed in a traditional 19th Century Japanese outfit, however with bone or ivory buttons with loop ties rather than the obi belt to fasten his embroidered silk kimono, which was still loose enough for maneuvering.
The guests stood up uncomfortably, as if having been caught by a teacher aiming spit balls at each other through empty ball-point pen shafts.
“Please, don’t fuss. Something tells me our kind would be more comfortable on the range,” he said, his moderately-thick traditional Japanese accent coloring the English words.
“Oh, you’re going to love it,” said Charlene to Kip as they followed him through the sliding doors opening into a large courtyard that resembled a backyard with a firing range, but not designed for guns.
All along the walls hung ancient Japanese battle gear including medieval armor, katana swords on racks, period daggers, horse armor and padding, and random weapons. Kip remained in awe, believing the weapons to be from other parts of the world, noting Chinese throwing stars and little weighted throwing knives. Also interspersed were Japanese vases, housewares, and landscape paintings including oxen, cherry blossom trees, Japanese farm houses, castles and temples.
Kip was clearly impressed and this pleased Haru. “You like?” Haru said more as a statement than a question.
“Yes,” said Kip. “Very much.”
“I don’t generally allow, ‘our type’ inside my little castle,” said Haru.
“I understand,” said Kip.
“Chazz, here,” he said, “was my pupil and so is exempt from my rule. She was a very good student, especially starting at a late age.”
Charlene smiled, although Kip could tell she was slightly annoyed at the reference to her age.
“You are welcome here because she vouch for you,” Haru said, the accent showing a bit more.
“I thank you for your hospitality,” said Kip with a slight bow.
Haru appreciated the gesture, but he felt it meant little to the westerner, not the way an Asian might bow to another even in a country not native to either. Haru nodded back to be polite.
“You, Mr. Kip, have you ever thrown a knife?”
“Never had the need to,” said Kip.
“You might. Someday,” said Haru, a bit ominously.
“True,” said Kip, coolly.
“Show him,” said Haru to Charlene.
Charlene went to one wall along the courtyard and picked up two throwing knives. The outline of two men, both straw-stuffed shapes were along one end of the open-to-the-sky rectangular courtyard. Charlene turned her back to the targets and then in a gliding fast turn, threw both knives, both leaving her hands before her body and eyes even met each target. Each one landed perfectly where the jugular vein would be, one in each stuffed man’s neck.
Kip resisted the urge to gasp and said, “Impressive,” to Charlene to which she nodded, but in a split second Haru interrupted.
“Taught her everything she know,” Haru said.
“It shows,” said Kip without missing a beat. He knew better than to even show a hint of disrespect to a guy like this…a guy who could probably have killed him fifty times over since he entered his castle without even breaking a sweat.
“Now you try,” said Haru to Kip.
“Oh me?” Kip almost blushed. “It would be embarrassing. I’ll leave the pointy weapons to the experts. I’m a gun guy.”
“Think I don’t know guns too?” Haru said this almost as if he were insulted.
“Oh no, I’m sure you’re a marksman with more than swords and daggers,” said Kip as he backed off a bit, not trying to sound like he was stroking the man. “I mean, you’ve lived this long, so you must have perfected our profession,” he said for correction.
“And swords and daggers wouldn’t be enough?” Haru said this, testing him for signs of insincerity.
Charlene tried not to cringe as she waited for Kip to squirm. Kip tried not to break a sweat with the obvious verbal jousting. Kip wanted to call out Haru on his medieval torture, but instead opted to turn the tables.
“Why don’t you show me how it’s done…with the weapon of your choice,” said Kip. Here again, Kip showed that even though he looked like a dumb oaf in heels, he could make other people look good and win the day, outsmarting them without them knowing it.
“Okay, you win,” said Haru and grabbed a katana, the top one of a rack of three.
Haru proceeded to do an attack and defend demonstration with much more flair and grace than any story about the samurai that Kip could recall. When Haru had finished, he flung the sword through the air and it hit one of the stuffed targets Charlene had hit earlier, only this time with the katana stabbing where the heart would have been.
Kip wasn’t sure if he should clap or if that would seem patronizing, so he opted to say, “Excellent. Perfect.”
Smiling at Kip as he eyed the stilettos, Haru said, “You might find learning my ways will be a problem with those. Maybe you will accept my help, later. Can I offer you both my special cold sake?”
Charlene nodded her almost filial assent.
Although Kip didn’t figure it was a good idea to turn down any hospitality from a guy like this, he wasn’t about to take Haru’s comment about his footwear as an insult. So, he answered, “Yeah… something cold will hold me until ‘later’.”
