el.the miko-第15部分

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roaker；　within　Nicholas'　orbit；　had　learned　those　definitions　and　had　chosen　to　be　Nicholas'　friend。
　They　had　promised　each　other　that　after　Croaker　returned　from　Key　West　and　finally　wrapped　up　the　Angela　Didion　murder；　they
　would　go　fishing　for　blues　or　shark　off　Montauk。　Now　that　would　never　happen。　Croaker　was　dead；　and　Nicholas　missed　him　with　a　fierceness　that　was　almost　physical　pain。
　He　knew　that　he　should　clear　his　mind　in　preparation　for　what　was　waiting　for　him　at　the　top　of　the　stairs　but　he　could　not　get　the　memory　of　his　friend　out　of　his　mind。　What　turned　out　to　be　their　final　good…bye　was　a　poignant　moment　full　of　the　kind　of　hushed　feeling　two　Japanese　friends　might　express。
　They　had　been　at　Michita；　the　Japanese　restaurant　in　midtown　Nicholas　frequented。　Their　shoes　were　just　outside　the　tatami　room's　wooden　lintel；　Croaker's　heavy　Western　work　shoes　lined　up　next　to　Nicholas'　featherlight　loafers。　They　knelt　opposite　one　another。　There　was　steaming　tea　and　hot　sake　in　tiny　earthen　cups　between　them。　Sushi　and　tonkatsu　were　ing。
　〃What　time　are　you　leaving？〃　Nicholas　said。
　〃I'm　taking　the　midnight　plane。〃　Croaker　grinned　lopsidedly。　〃It's　the　cheapest　flight。〃
　But　they　both　knew　that　he　had　wanted　to　get　into　Key　West　under　cover　of　darkness。
　The　subdued　clatter　of　the　restaurant　went　on　around　them　as　if　for　once　it　had　no　power　to　touch　them。　They　were　an　island　of　silence；　inviolable。
　Abruptly　Croaker　had　looked　up。　〃Nick…〃
　The　food　came　and　he　waited　until　they　were　alone　again。　〃There　isn't　much　but　I've　got　some　stocks；　bonds；　and　such　in　a　safety　deposit　box。〃　He　slid　a　small　key　in　a　brown　plastic　case　across　the　low　table。　〃You'll　take　care　of　things　if。。。〃　He　picked　up　his　chopsticks；　pushed　raw　tuna　around　with　the　blunt　ends　as　white　as　bones。　〃Well；　if　it　all　doesn't　work　out　for　me　down　there。〃
　Nicholas　took　the　key；　he　felt　honored。　They　fell　to　eating　and　the　atmosphere　seemed　to　clear。　When　they　were　through　and　had　ordered　more　sake；　Nicholas　said；　〃Promise　me　one　thing；　Lew。　I　know　how　you　feel　about　Tomkin。　I　think　it's　a　blind　spot…〃
　〃I　know　what　I　know；　Nick。　He's　a　goddamned　shark；　eating　up　everything　in　his　path。　I　mean　to　stop　him　and　this　lead's　my　only　way。〃
　〃All　I　mean　is　don't　let　this。。。　passion　of　yours　lead　you　around　by　the　nose。　Once　you　get　down　there　take　your　time；　look　around；　size　up　the　situation。〃
　〃You　telling　me　how　to　do　my　job　now？〃
　〃Don't　be　so　touchy。　I　just　mean　that　life's　more　often　shades　of　gray　than　it　is　all　black　and　white。　Tomkin's　not　the　Prince　of　　Evil；　that's　the　role　you've　assigned　him。　It's　just　possible　that　he　didn't　have　Angela　Didion　murdered。〃
　〃Do　you　believe　that？〃
　〃I　don't　think　it　matters　what　I　believe。〃
　Now　Nicholas　did　not　know　whether　that　was　true；　because　he　had　bee　involved。　He　had　accepted　Croaker's　abrupt　death　so　far　away　in　Key　West；　he　was　here　now　in　Japan　because　of　it。　Gin。
　〃So　long；　Nick。〃　Croaker　had　grinned　in　the　multicolored　street　lights　just　outside　the　restaurant。　He　had　half　stuck　out　his　hand；　then；　thinking　better　of　it；　had　bowed　instead。　Nicholas　returned　the　gesture　and　they　had　both　laughed　into　the　night；　as　if　warding　off　any　kind　of　trepidation。
　Their　last　moments　together　had　been　so　casual；　in　the　manner　of　most　men　parting　for　a　short　time。　Despite　what　Croaker　had　given　Nicholas；　neither　man　believed　anything　would　happen　to　the　cop　in　Florida。　And　now　it　seemed　to　Nicholas　that　there　had　been　so　little　time　to　savor　what　they　had。　For　one　such　as　Nicholas；　so　guarded；　so　hidden　within　himself；　such　occurrences　were　rare　indeed。　He　found　now　that　he　liked　to　remember　their　times　together；　running　scenes　back　in　his　mind's　eye　as　if　they　were　clips　from　a　favorite　film。
　He　shook　his　head　now　as　he　reached　the　head　of　the　stairs；　more　certain　than　ever　that　the　path　he　had　chosen　for　himself　was　the　right　one。　He　could　not　allow　the　murder　of　his　friend　to　go　unavenged。　Giri　bound　him；　it　was；　as　all　who　had　e　before　him　had　discovered；　stronger　even　than　life　itself。
　The　sensei　of　this　dojo　was　sitting　at　the　kamiza…the　upper　seat…of　the　aikido　mat　which　was　made　up　of　a　series　of　tatami　of　uncovered　rice　straw　padding。　He　was　a　man　of　indeterminate　middle　years　with　a　dour　countenance；　a　wide　slash　of　a　mouth；　and　cat's　eyes。　He　had　burly　shoulders　and　narrow　waist　and　hips。　He　appeared　almost　hairless。
　His　name　was　Kenzo。　This　bit　of　information　had　been　given　to　Nicholas…along　with　a　letter　of　introduction…by　Fukashigi；　Nicholas'　sensei　in　New　York。　〃He　is　a　hard　one；〃　Fukashigi　had　said；　〃but　I　can　think　of　no　other　to　suit　your　array　of；　er；　unconventional　bujutsu。〃　He　knew　that　Nicholas　was　a　ninja　just　as　he　knew　that　there　was　a　whole　range　of　subdisciplines　in　which　Nicholas　could　be　his　sensei。　〃Kenzo　will　not　know　what　you　are；　Nicholas；　but　he　will　understand　the　scope　of　your　knowledge　and　he　will　work　with　you。〃
　Behind　Kenzo；　Nicholas　saw　a　raised　dais　flanked　by　a　pair　of　seventeenth…century　dai…katana…the　longest　and　most　lethal　of　the　samurai　swords…a　traditional　ceremonial　drum；　and；　hanging　on　the　wall　between　them；　a　rice…paper　scroll　that　read；　〃All　things　appear　but　we　cannot　see　the　gate　from　which　they　e。　All　men　value　the　knowledge　of　what　they　know；　but　really　do　not　know。　Only　those　who　fall　back　upon　what　knowledge　cannot　know　really　know。〃　Nicholas　recognized　the　words　of　Laotse。
　Barefooted；　he　went　upon　the　tatami；　performing　the　ritsurei；　bowing　before　the　sensei。　Then　he　presented　Fukashigi's　letter。
　Kenzo　seemed　to　take　a　long　time　reading。　Not　once　did　he　look　up　at　Nicholas。　At　length；　he　carefully　folded　the　sheets；　returning　them　to　their　envelope。　He　put　the　packet　aside　and；　placing　his　hands　on　the　tatami；　bent　forward　in　the　zarei；　the　sitting　bow。　Folding　his　legs　beneath　him；　Nicholas　returned　the　salutation。
　And　just　at　the　far　apex　of　his　bow；　the　short　stick　came　hurtling　at　him。　There　was　just　the　hint　of　a　blur　at　the　periphery　of　his　vision　and　if　he　had　taken　the　time　to　think；　he　would　surely　have　been　rendered　unconscious。
　Instead；　his　right　arm　lifted　reflexively　even　as　his　torso　shifted　to　the　right；　away　from　the　trajectory　of　the　oning　attack。
　The　stick　struck　the　leading　edge　of　his　forearm；　bouncing　end　over　end　like　a　pinwheel；　but　already　Kenzo　had　leapt　forward；　using　Nicholas'　own　anticipated　momentum　as　he　swung　to　the　left；　using　a　punishing　shomen　uchi；　a　straight　blow　to　the　head　to　try　to　bring　Nicholas　to　the　mat。
　In　so　doing　Kenzo　had　grabbed　hold　of　his　right　wrist　and　immediately　Nicholas　used　an　immobilization…a　yonkyo…a　twist　of　his　own　wrist　so　that　now　he　was　gripping　the　sensei's　left　forearm。　He　dug　his　thumb　deeply　into　the　embedded　nerve　center　running　up　the　inside　of　the　arm。　But　instead　of　backing　away　from　the　pressure；　which　would　have　allowed　Nicholas　to　bring　the　now　outstretched　arm　into　alignment；　Kenzo　moved　into　the　paralyzing　hold；　sacrificing　one　arm　in　order　not　to　lose　the　contest。
　A　second　short　stick　appeared　from　somewhere　and　he　slammed　it　down　hard　on　Nicholas'　shoulder。　Nicholas　gave　up　the　yonkyo　but　instead　of　moving　into　a　second　immobilization　as　Kenzo　suspected　he　would；　he　employed　an　atemi…a　percussive…moving　out　of　the　aikido　discipline　as　the　sensei　already　had。
　The　stiffened　fingertips　jammed　themselves　into　the　space　just　below　Kenzo's　collarbone；　digging　for　the　nerve　juncture　there。　The　sensei's　head　jerked　spastically　up　and　away　and　Nicholas　bore　down。
　But　now　the　short　stick　was　between　their　straining　bodies；　hammering　against　Nicholas'　rib　cage。　Nicholas　moved　in　even　closer；　aware　that　Kenzo　was　attempting　to　swing　the　stick　in　a　short　arc　in　order　to　assault　the　muscles　directly　over　the　heart。　This　he　must　not　allow。
　He　tried　two　quick　dorsal　kites　before　switching　back　to　immobilizations。　Nothing　worked；　and　slowly　the　wooden　stick　began　to　arc　its　way　closer　to　the　left　side　of　his　chest。　Power　was　slipping　away　from　him　and　he　felt　his　centrism　now　as　a　separate　entity；　far　away　and　almost　useless。
　He　cursed　himself；　knowing　that　he　would　lose。　Loss　of　sleep；　the　time　imbalance　had　conspired　to　sap　his　concentration。　What　reserves　he　still　possessed　were　being　rapidly　depleted　by　the　repeated　tambo　attacks。　Blood　was　singing　in　his　ears；　bringing　with　it　the　first　telltale　signs　of　disorientation。　Physical　coordination　would　soon　follow；　he　knew；　unless　he　did　something　to　forestall　it。
　And　then　a　lesson　in　kendo　leapt　into　his　mind　and；　remembering　Musashi's　Red　Leaves　Cut；　he　set　his　spirit　toward　gaining　control　of　Kenzo's　stick。
　Instead　of　defending　himself；　he　broke　his　hands　pletely　free　and　rushed　toward　the　tambo　attacks。　In　a　blur　he　grasped　the　slippery　cylinder；　twisting　it　down　and　to　the　left；　breaking　the　set　of　the　sensei's　wrist　as　he　did　so；　disrupting　the　energy　flow　long　enough　to　deliver　a　vicious　liver　kite。
　Kenzo　rocked　back　on　his　knees；　swaying；　and　Nicholas　followed　through　only　to　e　up　against　the　stone　wall　of　the　sensei's　calloused　fist。　Pain　flamed　through　him　and　he　gritted　his　teeth；　pulling　inward　and　down；　digging　the　heel　of　his　hand　into　Kenzo's　shoulder；　using　the　other's　momentum　to　rock　him　off　his　haunches。
　The　moment　the　sensei's　shoulder　touched　the　tatami；　Nicholas　broke　off。　His　torso　was　bathed　in　sweat；　his　heart　pounded；　and　with　each　breath　he　took；　pain　etched　itself　through　his　tissues。
　He　thought　about　how　close　he　had　e　to　defeat。
　Ichiro　Kagami　was　in　a　surly　mood。　He　was　a　man　of　unusually　calm　and　controlled　disposition；　a　virtue　that　had　awarded　him　with　the　vice　presidency　of　finance　for　Sato　Petrochemicals。
　But　today　he　had　been　unable　to　concentrate　on　any　of　the　fine　points　being　hammered　out　between　this　kobun　and　the　American　microchip　pany。　He　was　enormously　grateful　when　Sato…san　had　given　the　attending　executives　the　signal　to　leave　the　proceedings　before　his　lack　of　concentration　became　a　liability。
　After　almost　an　hour　of　staring　out　the　window　at　the　misty　rain　forming　in　odd　prismatic　patterns　against　the　windows　behind　him；　he　had　had　enough。　He　swiveled　around；　his　fingertip　stabbing　at　the　inter。　He　tol