Chapter 12: Joyla flirts
Joyla and Rex were gloriously, euphorically sweaty. They stared at one another, breathing deeply, almost panting.
Then Joyla thrust her hanbō forward in a rapid, spiraling form, torso diving low, left leg extended behind her, whistling past his guard and into his sternum. She pulled it, ever so slightly. Rex’ eyes widened as his body collapsed beneath him, his diaphragm in spasms, his lungs empty, tremors running through his limbs.
Joyla stepped back. Bowed, then slipped down to sit cross-legged and await his recovery. His gasps filled the dojo as he regained his breath, pulled himself to his knees and panted for air.
“That’s going to leave a serious bruise.” It was more of a wheeze than words, but it was intelligible.
“Possibly not as bad as the one your wallet will be taking. I believe the bet was that whoever won could pick the place to dine, and what would be on the menu?”
He managed to nod. She remembered the calculation in his eyes when she had set the terms, his automatic assumption of winning and what he likely intended to dine on.
“Marvelous. I understand Sushi Yoshitake’s set is divine, and haven’t been. I’m sure we can get a seat at the bar.”
His face blanched. She started laughing and rolled off her knees onto her side.
“You should see the look on your face. No, I won’t be asking you to fork out $10,000 for dinner, as much fun as that would be. Shiro’s in Hysan Place will be fine, and the view is better.”
She stood, walked past him and swatted his ass with her hanbō. “Get through the shower. I’m hungry.”
Later, they were sitting by the huge windows in Shiro’s, enjoying the view of the bustling city thirteen floors below, the lights of the skyline and an excellent sunomono salad accompanied by a chilled bottle of Akita Homare sake. She had been willing to settle for less, but he was nothing if not a good loser, and had insisted on the Akita. She hadn’t argued hard.
“Right, so how is it that you just trounced me so thoroughly? Not to brag, but I was SBS’ top stick man. I trained hundreds in it. And I’m the one paying for dinner. What don’t I know?”
“Ah, poor man with your poor wounded ego. But I’ll open my kimono just a bit for you regardless. Once again, my nenek. One of her wealthy customers in Singapura loved the art of hanbō. My grandmother became a student, then a master, surpassing her client. Actually, she became a bit of a legend in Singapura and surrounding countries. She’d drop in unannounced at a dojo when she was traveling, a slip of a woman of Han extraction, just like me. She’d put on a white student’s belt out of humility and respect, then request instruction. She would rapidly work her way up from the students to the masters, learning their techniques and turning them against her sparring partners in an instant. I learned from her as a child, as a tightly furled umbrella is always useful in Singapura, and it wasn’t always quite so safe there as it is now.”
The best lies were almost entirely true. The first round of sashimi arrived, slivers of engawa, white flesh glistening next to shaved daikon.
“What about you? Why would a British marine be doing with a bo? Why not a knife or rifle? Or a Harrier for that matter?”
“Childhood again. The boarding school I was put up at had a good martial arts club, and an old Asia hand back from the Opium Wars, at least the way he implied it. Older than god and suppler than a kidskin glove. Bastard could move like lightning.”
The halibut had dissolved in their mouths, but they were far from satiated. And their glasses were dry. Joyla refilled them, and noted his right middle finger tapping the table unconsciously in thanks. Old Asia hand indeed.
“So this company you are leading. What exactly does it do again? I’m trying to connect the dots between it, special forces, minor royalty and your definite prowess with your bo.”
His right eyebrow rose, Joyla noted with satisfaction. Kaa had taught her that seduction depended in part on keeping your partner in the dance both slightly off balance and unsure of who was seducing who.
“We deliver.”
“Excuse me? What? Where? When? How?”
“It doesn’t matter. If you need something or someone somewhere at a certain time, we guarantee delivery. Within limits: we don’t have orbital capabilities.”
A plate of iwashi arrived, the delicate sardine fragrant and fresh. More sake.
“Sounds expensive.”
“Not at all. When something absolutely must be present and there are millions or billions at stake, we are incredibly reasonably priced.”
“Hmmm… I sense some serious confidentiality clauses. But still, you must have a story or two you can share?”
He smiled slightly, looked her in the eyes.
“Perhaps one or two. Probably the funniest is the Pekinese. A top-notch show dog was in heat in Philadelphia. A top stud was in his prime in Sydney. It came together very rapidly, but the Ozzie dog didn’t have his papers. They called us. We had the stud there the next day, all the authorities unknowing that we’d just walked past their security measures as if they were tissue paper. Sadly, the show dog was choosey, and the stud wasn’t up to her standards. They tried scent lures, diddling, doggy cat calling, even tying the two dogs together. No good. Flew the pooch back to Sydney, collected our money and walked away.”
Joyla had been shaking in laughter from three quarters of the way through the story. She wiped her eyes, refilled their sakes, acknowledged the tap.
“So you are president of a failed doggy dating service? You arrange affairs for pooches? Is that what Zau has you doing?”
“Ah yes, our mutual friend Zau. No, he has me doing something much more interesting.”
Small bowls of kurage arrived, and they applied themselves to the slight crunch of the jellyfish, Rex’ brow slightly furrowed.
“Actually, I could use someone to lend an ear on it. Interested in keeping a confidence? It’s … unusual.”
The mood had turned somewhat cooler, the residue of their heated bout retracting with the cool sashimi and the change in topic. Joyla sat back, considered. Did she really want to know any of Zau’s secrets?
“Certainly. Believe me when I say that I am hard to surprise, and harder to pull secrets from.”
And so he told her, laying out Zau’s requests of him over aji, hamachi and albacore belly. Another bottle of sake arrived and disappeared.
Joyla found herself surprised. And chilled. Not quite the evening that she had expected, and then, suddenly, they were ready to go.