Rules of Honour by Matt Hilton

been sworn to silence, they had parted company. Takumi knew that some of the men were friends and that they would continue to associate with each other, but Takumi was a stranger to them, and glad that it was so. He had left the stench of burning flesh behind, and tried ever since to expunge it from his soul. But – like the phantom pain – it would never leave him. There was always something to remind him; that, he knew, was the way of sin.
    He wasn’t surprised when Yukiko Rington telephoned yesterday. He knew his time on earth was nearing its end, and understood that he would be judged and made to pay for his wrongdoing before taking his final rest. His Buddhist teaching said: ‘For every event that occurs, there will follow another event whose existence was caused by the first, and this second event will be pleasant or unpleasant according to its cause.’ Well, however he tried to vindicate his actions in the cellar, there was no getting away from the fact that they were unpleasant. According to Yukiko, four of the co-conspirators had already been served their dues, and it would be only a matter of time until karma came knocking at his door. It was ironic that evil begat evil, and that it chose further evil to punish those involved. He wondered how that circle could ever close, but suspected that it was an impossibility.
    His granddaughter, Melissa, had resisted him when he suggested she go out with her friends. She had told him the movie would last two hours, but that she would be gone for at least four. No way would she leave him alone for that length of time. Takumi had then played the ‘grumpy old guy’ card, and sent her off with a flea in her ear, snapping at her that he was quite capable of sitting in a goddamn chair for a few hours, and by suggesting otherwise she was being both dishonourable and spiteful. Melissa had acquiesced, but only on the understanding that he have his cellphone in his lap, her number on speed dial and only the press of a button away. It was a game they both played, but one that satisfied each that they had retained the upper hand. Takumi smiled at the memory of the kiss she’d laid on his forehead, before she had rushed happily to join the friends waiting outside in the taxicab.
    He was happy that Melissa was out of the way. He was only sorry she would be the first to find him dead.
    ‘I may be blind, but I’m not deaf.’
    He heard a second click from behind him. The first had been subtler, but it was the inescapable sound of bodyweight adjusting on a loose floorboard. He was familiar with the sound. When Melissa would sneak in to check on him without wanting to alert him to her presence, she had learned to step over the loose board, but often forgot that her perfume was a dead giveaway. The interloper did not wear expensive cologne, he smelled of sweat and leather.
    ‘I know you are there,’ Takumi said again. He picked up the cellphone and hit a button. It was not to alert Melissa, quite the opposite. He hit the red button to turn it off. Then he reached for the table his wheelchair stood alongside and placed the phone down in clear view of the man behind him. ‘There,’ he said, ‘you have nothing to fear. Come forward.’
    Still he got no reply. Takumi placed his hands on the wheel rims, held one in place, twisted the other. He turned abruptly so that he was facing the intruder.
    ‘You can hold your breath, but not for ever. I know you are there . . . I can smell you.’
    ‘Can you smell this?’
    Takumi reared away, avoiding the acrid stink so close to his nostrils. He recognised the unmistakable tang of cordite. The intruder had placed the barrel of a gun under his nose, and it was evident that it had been fired recently. Once he’d regained his composure, Takumi smiled. If he were facing death it would be with a brave heart. He reached out, placed a finger against the barrel of the gun and pushed it aside. He squinted up at his would be tormentor. Despite what even