Non-Stop Till Tokyo by Kj Charles Page A

simple as that?
    “I want you to stop calling me that,” I told him, holding on to my anger but feeling its energy drain away. “Why are you calling me that?”
    He whistled a few notes of a vaguely familiar tune. I’m not musical, but I took a guess. “Don’t tell me, Madame Butterfly . Thanks a bunch. What’s wrong with Kerry?”
    “You tell me. I don’t seem to have much luck figuring you out.”
    “You could stop jumping to conclusions,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in it. He’d jumped to the right ones, even if he’d missed some of the details. “Look, I need you. I’m scared, my friend’s in a coma, I’ve got the mob on my back and I don’t know what to do. So if you’re sticking around, I’ll try and be nice—” I felt the air temperature drop. “Or not be nice, seeing as it upsets you. What is your problem ?”
    “Why do you have to be what I want?”
    “Because I need you!” I almost screamed. “I need you to protect me from the yakuza, okay? And I don’t know why you’d do it if you don’t even like me, and whatever Taka’s paying you—”
    “Not everything’s for sale.” There was something in his voice that shut me up. “Listen up, Butterfly. I’m going to protect you because I promised Taka I would. You don’t pay me in sex, you don’t pay me in money, and it don’t matter a damn if I like you or you like me, because nothing—and I mean nothing—is going to get rid of me till you’re out of trouble. Not the yakuza. Not the Hello Kitty act, God help me. Not even the real you. So drop the act, and we’ll get along fine. Okay?”
    I swallowed. “Really?”
    “Yup.”
    “What do you owe Taka?”
    “Why do I have to owe him anything?”
    “Everyone else does. Fine, you’re a saint. A one-man charitable institution for the relief of hostesses. They’ll deify you as a Shinto god. I’ll have them make a shrine with an extra-wide gate.”
    “O- kay . When I said I wanted you to be honest…”
    “Changed your mind already?”
    “Hell, no.” I could hear the grin in his voice.
    I was feeling almost buoyant on a sudden wave of relief. I still didn’t have the first idea what his problem was, and I couldn’t even begin to work him out, but he’d said he was going to stick around, and I’d have staked my life that he meant it.
    Come to that, I was staking my life.
    “Okay,” I said. “Start over. My name’s Kerry, don’t call me Butterfly.”
    “My name’s Joe, call me Chanko. Nice to meet you, Butterfly.”
    “You too, Joe. Look, I’ve been run ragged for the past two days, I haven’t slept properly for God knows how long and I’m still dizzy readjusting to daylight hours. I’d like to find a hotel where I can have a shower and a couple of hours’ nap, and recharge this damned phone so the goons can shout at me some more. Can we do that?”
    “Sounds good to me.” He paused for a second, then continued in Japanese, “Okay, let’s go find ourselves that love hotel. One with a big, strong bed.”
    I started to ask what the hell that meant, saw he was holding back a grin, and realised that there were three ob āsan standing on the jetty, staring at us open-mouthed. Two looked scandalised. The third made an economical but expressive hand gesture at me, with a questioning lift of the eyebrows.
    “Not nearly as big as you’d think,” I assured her, and trotted off after my protector, wishing I could see his face.

Chapter Five
    I woke up in the dark.
    I’d been living a nocturnal life for so long that I could scarcely remember waking up except in the midafternoon, but I was confused. The smell of stale cigarette smoke, trace elements of cheap perfume and a lot of cleaning products meant… Was I at the Primrose Path?
    Of course I wasn’t. I was in a love hotel with a sumo wrestler.
    And he wasn’t on the large double bed. I’d have noticed.
    I opened my eyes. The room actually had a window, which was unusual; it was thickly net curtained, but it