Melissa believed Takumi was not totally blind. He still had a sense of colours, and could make out the blurred outlines of larger figures, albeit as though peering through moving fog. Darkness hovered over him, the man leaning close, his face an indistinct paler blob at the top.
‘I’m surprised,’ the man said.
‘That I’m not afraid of you?’
‘No. I’m surprised that you’re the only Jap in the bunch. I kinda expected more of you to be involved.’
‘Why would you?’
‘It was Jap bitches who told the lies that had an innocent man murdered.’
‘You speak like you do not like Japanese people.’
‘I don’t. And I don’t like Americans who consort with them either. What I especially don’t like is Jap murderers. That’s why I don’t like you.’
‘You are misguided.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Peterson wasn’t innocent. Far from it. You are avenging a sex offender . . . a child rapist.’
‘So you say, Jap . But I’ve heard no proof of that. On the other hand I got all the gory details from Bruce Tennant of what you and those other bastards did. Way I heard it, you were the one who held on to the chain while he was strangled to death.’ The man moved, walking round Takumi, forcing the old man to follow his progress by pushing at the wheels. ‘I was going to pay you back in kind until I got a look at you. Kind of pointless hoping to watch you dancing in the air, isn’t it?’
Takumi snorted.
‘Anyway, I didn’t bring a chain with me . . . just this.’ The gun barrel tapped against the side of Takumi’s jaw. He swiped at the barrel then wished that he hadn’t. He missed and the man laughed at his blind grope. He made himself a promise he wouldn’t react the next time, he wouldn’t give the man the privilege of laughter.
‘You know something?’ The man continued his slow circling of Takumi. This time the old man didn’t turn with him. ‘When first I saw you, saw the suffering you’re going through, I decided to let you live. I think what you have to put up with now is preferable to the quick death I was going to give you. But . . .’ He laughed. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m still going to kill you. Not with my gun, though.’
Takumi heard a clatter alongside him. He tried to make sense of the movements swarming through his fogged gaze. It was futile, but still natural to try to look when he should have relied on his stronger senses. By the time he understood what the man was up to and tried to swat his hands away it was too late. The man had already moved.
‘Hmmm, a diabetic, eh?’
Takumi sighed. He should have moved the damn insulin pen. Before leaving for her movie date, Melissa had prepared his next dose of Humulin-S, setting the insulin level on the dispenser so that all he had to do was jab the needle in and press the plunger.
‘I’ve seen these before. Always wondered what they were. They look just like a pen these days – huh? Not like a syringe at all. Is that to make it more socially acceptable for when you’re injecting in public?’
Takumi didn’t answer. His bushido resolve to meet his death face on wavered for the first time. He hated that his condition had affected him so badly, taking his eyesight, taking his legs, and prior to this had dreaded succumbing to further complications. His doctor had warned him that his likely prognosis was renal failure, followed most probably by a heart attack. When first the killer of his co-conspirators had mentioned the gun, a flare of hope had risen up in him: better a clean death while confronting an enemy than wasting away in agony. Now that he understood what his tormentor planned, he was horrified.
Damn him, though, Takumi would not show his fear.
‘Just shoot me and get the hell out of here.’
‘No. Why waste good bullets?’
Takumi heard the click, click, click that was so familiar – and so despised – as the man charged the dispenser. By the number of clicks he’d ratcheted the pen all the way to
‘I’m surprised,’ the man said.
‘That I’m not afraid of you?’
‘No. I’m surprised that you’re the only Jap in the bunch. I kinda expected more of you to be involved.’
‘Why would you?’
‘It was Jap bitches who told the lies that had an innocent man murdered.’
‘You speak like you do not like Japanese people.’
‘I don’t. And I don’t like Americans who consort with them either. What I especially don’t like is Jap murderers. That’s why I don’t like you.’
‘You are misguided.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Peterson wasn’t innocent. Far from it. You are avenging a sex offender . . . a child rapist.’
‘So you say, Jap . But I’ve heard no proof of that. On the other hand I got all the gory details from Bruce Tennant of what you and those other bastards did. Way I heard it, you were the one who held on to the chain while he was strangled to death.’ The man moved, walking round Takumi, forcing the old man to follow his progress by pushing at the wheels. ‘I was going to pay you back in kind until I got a look at you. Kind of pointless hoping to watch you dancing in the air, isn’t it?’
Takumi snorted.
‘Anyway, I didn’t bring a chain with me . . . just this.’ The gun barrel tapped against the side of Takumi’s jaw. He swiped at the barrel then wished that he hadn’t. He missed and the man laughed at his blind grope. He made himself a promise he wouldn’t react the next time, he wouldn’t give the man the privilege of laughter.
‘You know something?’ The man continued his slow circling of Takumi. This time the old man didn’t turn with him. ‘When first I saw you, saw the suffering you’re going through, I decided to let you live. I think what you have to put up with now is preferable to the quick death I was going to give you. But . . .’ He laughed. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m still going to kill you. Not with my gun, though.’
Takumi heard a clatter alongside him. He tried to make sense of the movements swarming through his fogged gaze. It was futile, but still natural to try to look when he should have relied on his stronger senses. By the time he understood what the man was up to and tried to swat his hands away it was too late. The man had already moved.
‘Hmmm, a diabetic, eh?’
Takumi sighed. He should have moved the damn insulin pen. Before leaving for her movie date, Melissa had prepared his next dose of Humulin-S, setting the insulin level on the dispenser so that all he had to do was jab the needle in and press the plunger.
‘I’ve seen these before. Always wondered what they were. They look just like a pen these days – huh? Not like a syringe at all. Is that to make it more socially acceptable for when you’re injecting in public?’
Takumi didn’t answer. His bushido resolve to meet his death face on wavered for the first time. He hated that his condition had affected him so badly, taking his eyesight, taking his legs, and prior to this had dreaded succumbing to further complications. His doctor had warned him that his likely prognosis was renal failure, followed most probably by a heart attack. When first the killer of his co-conspirators had mentioned the gun, a flare of hope had risen up in him: better a clean death while confronting an enemy than wasting away in agony. Now that he understood what his tormentor planned, he was horrified.
Damn him, though, Takumi would not show his fear.
‘Just shoot me and get the hell out of here.’
‘No. Why waste good bullets?’
Takumi heard the click, click, click that was so familiar – and so despised – as the man charged the dispenser. By the number of clicks he’d ratcheted the pen all the way to
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