I looked at his hand. “I’m not carrying one,” I said.

He eyeballed me, his expression baleful. I stared back. What I had told him was true, although if I’d been lying it would take more than a scowl to make me admit it.

His expression softened and he released my arm. “I’m not going to search you,” he said. “But no one’s allowed in here with a cell phone or pager. Too many people like to call a friend, tell ’em what they’re seeing. It’s insecure.”

I nodded. “That seems sensible.”

“If one of the bouncers sees you with one, they’ll work you over good. Just so you know.”

I nodded to show I understood, then moved off to one of the corners and watched as people began to arrive. Some I recognized from the club. Adonis was wearing sweatpants. I wondered if he was fighting.

I stood in the corner and watched the place gradually fill up. After about an hour, I saw Murakami come in, flanked by two bodyguards, a different pair than I had seen in the dojo. He exchanged a few words with Washio, who looked around and then pointed at me.

I had the sudden sense that this was more attention from Murakami than I really wanted.

I watched him nudge his two men. The three of them started moving toward me.

Adrenaline dumped into my veins. I felt the surge. I looked around casually, searching for a weapon of convenience. There was nothing handy.

They walked up and stood in front of me, three abreast, Murakami slightly in front of the other two.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” he said. “Glad to see you did.”

“It’s good to be here,” I said, rubbing my palms in front of me as though in anticipation of the evening’s entertainment. In fact it was an expedient defensive stance.

“We do three fights or thirty minutes, whichever comes first. That way everyone gets his money’s worth. I’ll explain the rules.”

I didn’t understand why he was telling me this. “Who’s fighting?” I asked.

He smiled. The bridged teeth were white. Predatory.

“You are,” he said.

Oh shit.

I looked at him and said, “I don’t think so.”

The smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to waste time fucking around with you. Washio says you’re good. Says you broke a guy’s ankle inside thirty seconds. Now that guy’s friend wants payback. You’re going to fight him.”

Adonis. Should have known.

“Or…”

“Or you can fight three people that I pick. You’re so good, I’ll make sure they have police batons. The crowd will like that, too. It’s all the same to me.”

I was in a box. I picked the easiest way out.

“I’ll fight,” I told him.

His eyes crinkled with suppressed mirth. “Yes, you will.”

“Anything else I need to know?”

He shrugged. “No shirts, no shoes, no weapons. Other than that, anything goes. There’s no ring. If you get too close to the edge of the crowd, they’ll shove you back to the center. If they think you’re running from the other guy, you’ll take a few punches, too. Good news is, the winner gets two million yen.”

“What does the loser get?”

He smiled again. “We take care of the funeral expenses.”

I looked at him. “I’ll take the money.”

He laughed. “We’ll see. Now pay attention. You’re up first. That gives you fifteen minutes. These guys will stay with you to help you get ready.” He turned and walked away.

I looked up at the two goons. They kept a respectful distance, reducing my chances of making a sudden move and getting past them. Even if I could, though, there were men working the door. Several of them were watching. My chances would be better with Adonis.

I wondered about the number of fights. Multiple payouts would reduce, maybe even eliminate, the house’s take.

I pushed the thought aside and slipped off the navy blazer I was wearing, then my shirt and shoes. I looked over and saw that Adonis was doing the same.

Some vicious thing inside me stirred. I felt it in my gut, the back of my neck, my hands.

I thought of Musashi, the master swordsman, who wrote, You must think of neither victory nor of defeat, but only of cutting and killing your enemy.

I stretched and shadowboxed. I let my focus narrow. It didn’t matter where I was.

Murakami walked over. He said, “Let’s go.”

I moved to the center of the room. Adonis was waiting there.

His pupils were dilated and his hands were shaking. He looked juiced, maybe kakuseizai. Speed would give him a short-term energy boost, help him focus his attention.

I decided to give him something to focus on.

I approached him, not slowing until I was in his face. “How’s your buddy’s ankle?” I asked. “Sounded like it hurt.”

He stared at me. His respiration was rapid. Pupils, black basketballs. Definitely kakuseizai.

“Try that on me,” he said around clenched teeth.

“Oh no,” I said. “I’m not going to break your ankle. I’m going to break your knee.” I took a half-step back and pointed. “That one right there.”

The idiot actually let his glance follow my outstretched finger. I tensed to launch an uppercut to his gut, but Washio, wise to such things, had seen it coming and jumped in between us.

“You don’t start until I say start,” he growled, looking at me.

I shrugged. Can’t blame a guy for trying.

“They’ll be taking you out of here in a bag, fucker,” Adonis said. “That’s a promise.”

Washio shoved us apart. The crowd tightened like a noose.

“Are you ready?” Washio asked Adonis, who was bouncing on his toes like a hyperactive boxer.

Adonis nodded, glaring at me.

Washio turned to me. “Are you ready?”

I nodded, watching Adonis.

“Hajime!” Washio cried, and a collective shout went up around us.

Adonis immediately feinted with a kick and took a side step back. Then again. We started to move in small, migrating circles.

I saw what he was up to. For him this was effectively a hometown crowd. He would have friends in the audience. The movement of our circles would gradually take us closer to them and give them access to me.

But the presence of those friends would also engage his ego. “Doko ni ikunda?” I taunted him, moving to the center. “Koko da.” Where are you going? I’m right here.

He took a step forward, but not enough to close the distance. My earlier taunts had focused him on his knees. He was afraid I would shoot in on him the way I had on his friend, and thought that keeping his distance would prevent me.

I dropped my arms a few centimeters and kept my head and torso slightly forward. He steadied himself on his feet and I could feel him thinking Kick. His kicks were good, too. I’d seen him practicing. If I were him, I’d try to wear me down from extended range, try to keep me away with those long legs.

He planted his left foot forward and whipped in a right roundhouse kick. His foot smacked into my left thigh, then snapped back to the ground. I felt a bolt of pain and there was a shout of approval from the crowd. Adonis bounced on his toes again.

He was quick. Didn’t give me a chance to grab the leg.

I’d have to let him feel that the kicks were working for him, so he’d try to land them with a little more authority. The extra couple of milliseconds of contact would make the difference.

He snapped the kick out again. It hit my thigh like a baseball bat and shot back to the floor. The crowd shouted again. There was a roaring in my ears.

The impact hurt worse this time. A few more like that and I’d start to lose the full use of the leg. I knew he was thinking the same thing.

I shifted back a half-step and crouched, giving him more of my right side as though to protect my forward leg. I watched him in adrenalized slow-motion.

His nostrils were flaring in and out, his eyes drilling into me. He shuffled forward, his feet staying close to the floor.