Page 40 of Downforce

“I’ll see you in a few days.” She waves as we go our separate ways.

While it’s the last thing I want to do, I can’t stop the way my mind turns over my discussion with Jen. As I meander through the emptying streets of Tokyo, I think about Jen’s life and work.

The year I started at our old firm was the same time she decided to strike out on her own. We’d already bonded over our mutual love of sports and the law, so it was easy to keep in touch. I admired her for knowing what she wanted and going after it.

In that way, she reminded me of my mother, who’s always been a career role model for me. Which is why it hurt more than I expected when I realized working in big law wasn’t for me and chose to resign.

Switching from thinking about work to my surroundings, I opt to take the long way back to my hotel. It’s well after dark, but I don’t feel unsafe walking around, and it’s something I often do while in Japan. Some might say I should be more cognizant of safety.

Not too far from me is the beautiful Asukayama Park with its famous blossom tree and perfectly pruned bush lined trail. I went earlier today, but I love the idea of walking through at night as the crowds have thinned out.

Per usual, I stop here and there taking pictures and admiring how different it looks at night, although there are lights throughout the park so it’s not completely dark.

In the distance I hear male voices, but don’t pay them much attention. Their English tells me they’re foreigners as well, probably here for the blossoms.

“Hello?” someone says behind me.

Assuming he’s speaking to someone else, I continue to focus on taking pictures and then pausing to scroll through my phone’s gallery, smiling at the pictures I’ve taken since arriving.

“Excuse me?” the voice says closer now.

“What’s the matter? You can’t hear or something?”

My head snaps up and I turn, immediately getting into a defensive position. When I realize three pairs of eyes are focused on me, my stomach sinks and I inwardly curse myself for not being more aware of surroundings.

I should know better than to let my guard down that much.

“What’s your name?” one of the guys asks. By his accent, I can tell English isn’t his first language. But he’s not Japanese. Maybe German, if I had to guess.

I scan the other two, sizing them up before returning my attention back to the one who asked the question. He’s about six-foot and appears to be in pretty good shape. Since he’s the one who asked the questions and stands slightly in front of the other two, I conclude that he’s the ringleader.

Which means he’s the one I’d have to take out first if these three decide to act stupid tonight.

“I don’t give my name to strangers,” I reply, watching him carefully.

He chortles. “How can we stop being strangers if you don’t tell us your name?” His voice is a few decibels too loud, and I can smell the alcohol emanating off of all three of them.

“Maybe you should take it for the hint it is,” I suggest.

He glances back over his shoulder at the other two, laughing. “We’re just trying to be friendly. You look lost.”

“I’ve lived in Tokyo for two years,” one of the guys in the back says. “I can help you wherever you need to go. What’s the name of your hotel?”

Yeah, these guys are drunk as hell if they think I’m going to give them the name of my hotel.

“I’ll find it on my own. You can go be a good Samaritan elsewhere.”

This angers the ringleader and he takes a step closer. His face has compressed into a scowl.

“We were just being nice. But we can become not so nice if you want to be a bitch,” he says through clenched teeth at the same time he attempts to reach for my arm.

He never would’ve gotten the chance to touch me under normal circumstances.

But circumstances get even more abnormal when I go to send a palm strike right to the guy’s throat but he’s already on the ground.

Thwap!

My brain registers the sound of the punch moments after it’s happened.