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His legs felt like jelly. A voice in his head told him to get up and run, but it was drowned out by the ringing sound in his ears.
He tried for a crawling position, before falling to his side and then rolling over on his back. He lay that way, staring straight up. There was no ref to count him out, only the blinding glare of the lights up above. A perfect square of incandescence with an impenetrably dark section in the center.
For a second, the giant stood over Joe, blocking the light. But the horn sounded and the big man walked off rather than attempting to finish Joe.
“Chivalry isn’t dead after all,” Joe said to himself.
As he lay there waiting for the feeling to return to his legs, something fell toward him from up above. At first, Joe thought it was his imagination, but it hit the deck next to him, bounced and then rolled in a curved path until it bumped against his ribs.
He turned on his side, innate curiosity driving him to see what had fallen from the rafters. Grasping it with his fingers, he plucked the object from the floor. It was a five-yen coin, with its brassy color and hole in the middle. A token of good luck.
Joe’s spirits soared. He looked back up to the rafters just as the bank of overhead lights went out.
23
“THROW HIM THE ROPE,” Kurt called.
He, Akiko and Kashimora were perched on the catwalk that ran between the lights. Akiko had a long nylon cord used to secure things to the catwalk. She dropped one end over the side, allowing it to fall straight down. It hit the canvas in the dark.
“I hope he sees it,” she said. “After that last hit, he might not be thinking clearly.”
“If there’s anything harder than a diamond, it’s Joe’s head,” Kurt told her. “He’ll be all right.”
Kurt had seen Joe grasp the coin and look up. He knew Joe would put it together.
“Once he’s up here, you give me the antidote,” Kashimora said anxiously.
“Not until we’re outside,” Kurt replied.
The rope went taut. Two pulls told them Joe was ready.
“Now,” Kurt said. “Pull him up.” The three of them began hauling on the rope. Arm over arm. With synchronized strokes that would have done a yacht crew proud, they lifted Joe off the ground, but it was a long w
ay up to the lighting array and Joe weighed nearly two hundred pounds.
Halfway up, Kashimora stopped. He dropped to a knee, clutching at his chest. He was sweating feverishly. “I need the antidote.”
“Get back on the rope,” Kurt shouted.
“Not unless you give me the pills.”
There wasn’t much Kurt could do. Joe was a lot heavier without Kashimora hauling in tandem. If Kurt let go, Akiko would be hard-pressed to hold him all by herself. “I’ll give you the pills as soon as he’s up here. Now pull.”
With Kurt frozen, Kashimora lunged at him, thrusting his hand into Kurt’s pocket and fishing around for the pills. The impact almost knocked them both over the railing. The rope slipped, Joe dropped a few feet and Kurt gripped it again.
“Give me the antidote!” Kashimora screamed.
Kurt didn’t bother to respond. He pushed Kashimora back against the rail, wrapped the other end of the rope around him and pushed him over. The bulky mobster was not particularly nimble, but, in desperation, he managed to hook one foot around the railing. He stopped his fall. He and Joe were now balancing each other out.
Kurt pulled out the orange tablets. “This is what you want.”
“Please,” Kashimora said.
“One question first,” Kurt said. “Who paid Ushi-Oni?”
“What?”
Kurt reared back as if to throw the tablets into the dark.
