* * * * *
1 PARKER PLACE,
LOS ANGELES, CAL.
MAY 19, 2009
(6:18 P.M./PST)
CHET NORTHFIELD'S P.O.V.
I had been after the Heikegani-ryu for over thirty-five years.
The Heikegani-ryu is a Japanese ninja cult that's been behind some of the biggest assassinations in the history of the 20th century. From FDR to Pope John Paul I! And, one of the reasons they've been so successful can be summed up in one word: shrinkage.
Yes, that's what I said. Shrinkage! Each and every ninja in that murderous cult has the power to shrink themselves small enough to ride on the back of a carrier pigeon!! But, that's not the worst of it.
They also have the power to shrink some of their victims. Making them small enough where they can be crushed...literally underfoot! I know, because I once saw them do that very thing to Percy Throckmorton. A retired British spy who had been counting on his old friend (and my mentor), Buck Fogarty, for help.
Help neither of us was ultimately able to provide.*
I've been out to crush them, ever since. That's why I volunteered to be trained in eguzairu-do ninjitsu by my uncle, Anjiro Watanabe. Not only is he a collateral descendant of eguzairu-do's originator. He's also one of the last living direct descendants of Watanabe no Tsuna (one of the four stalwart companions of Minamoto Clan patriarch, Minamoto no Raiko)!
And, with his help, I've been whittling away at them for over three decades. Mostly through the Earth Tiger Tong; one of their oldest fronts.
From what I've been able to unearth, as an investigative reporter for THE NATIONAL INTELLIGENCER, the tong started out as a splinter faction of the White Lotus Society. When the latter tried-but-failed to overthrow the Manchurian founders of the Ching Dynasty, circa the 17th century, this splinter faction fled to one of the nominally Japanese-held Ryukyu Islands. There, they intermarried with the remnants of the Tsuchigumo-jin. A once-powerful bandit tribe, from Japan, that had supposedly been wiped out by the aforementioned Raiko. Whether or not this legend was true, one thing was certain.
The Earth Tiger Tong had allowed the Heikegani-ryu to spread outward from Japan. And, the profits derived from the tong's more conventional criminal activities had allowed this cult to survive far longer than it deserved.
That's why Uncle Jiro's phone call, about the Ghost Spider incident, had piqued my curiosity. The tong normally didn't employ that street gang outside the environs of Chinatown. So, whoever they had gone after, at the hotel, must have been construed as quite a threat to the tong.
"Top of the evening to you, Casey!" I called out, as I entered the lobby of LAPD Headquarters.
The African-American desk sergeant--one Kingston Charles Donahue--looked up at me, and said (with his usual scowl):
"I wish you'd permanently drop that Barry Fitzgerald brogue, Northfield. You're no more Irish than I am!"
I shrugged (with a shameless grin): "Just blame it on one too many re-runs of GOING MY WAY. Seriously, though; I heard about that bust at the LAX Hilton. What happened, and who was involved?"
He scowled even more: "You know I can't talk about an on-going investigation. Even if I was directly involved with it. Which I'm not!"
"Well, if you change your mind, you can reach me at this number."
I wrote down my unlisted cellphone number on the back of a business card, and slid across it to him, over the desk's surface. He picked it up; read the number, half-heartedly; then slid it back to me.
"Forget it! Go worm the info out of someone else!"
"Okay, okay!" I exclaimed: "There's no crime in asking. Is there?"
"Not yet," he replied: "Fortunately, for you."
As I exited the building, I read the back of the business card he had slipped on top of my mine.
"MELISSA BELMONDO
Claims Investigator
Amer. Fidelity Ins.
(Honeymoon Suite)"
I knew that the hotel's in-house security had probably been doubled, by this point. So, I decided to stake out the place from the outside. This entailed my driving back to my apartment, in Tarzana, and grabbing my...stuff.
One hour and fifteen minutes later, I was roosting beneath the fronds of a palm tree. Keeping an eye on the honeymoon suite, in case other ninjas came along, looking to finish what the Ghost Spiders had so miserably started.
"Never send boys,..." and all that jazz.
Just before dawn, I descended from the palm tree and quick-changed back into my street duds. Then, I scurried back to my car (a fully restored Volkswagen Thing), which I'd made sure to leave in the airport's long-term parking lot.
I got my lap top out of the trunk, where I'd hidden it, (beneath the spare tire), and checked my e-mails. Sure enough; good old Uncle Jiro had sent me a photo of Ms. Belmondo!
Now, I knew who to follow when she left the hotel. Which she finally did...around ten o'clock.
"Now, that's weird," I muttered to myself: "You'd think she'd be anxious to give her official statement to the cops, way sooner."
Things got even weirder when I tailed her car (a rented Toyota Camry). I noted, all too soon, that she wasn't headed in the direction of Parker Place. Instead, she was headed for Cal-Tech!
Which prompted me to quote what Arte Johnson used to say, on that old NBC variety show, LAUGH-IN: "Verrrrrrry interestink!"
tbc
Giantess World
Chapter End Notes:
* See "LITTLE" KNOWN SECRETS.