“You want to hear something funny?” I asked, taking a sip of my Old Fashioned.

  “What’s that?”

  “When those guys attacked, my mind almost immediately went to the public relations ramifications. I mean, I was thinking about it before I even got close to the first attacker. I knew there were a lot of witnesses around, and I wanted it to be very, very clear that we were the victims of an unprovoked attack. A guy I’ve done some knife combat training with asked me why I didn’t pick up and use any of the blades the attackers dropped-”

  “Dropped from their lifeless fingers,” Stephen interjected.

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I didn’t have my own knife on me, right?”

  “Um, do you mean to imply that you usually do?” Stephen asked.

  “Not all the time, no,” I replied, turning to face him. “Mostly just when I’m out in public with Emmy and not likely to go through any metal detectors or anything like that.”

  “When you say ‘your knife’, what exactly are we talking about?”

  “Come with me,” I said, tilting my head to indicate he should follow. We went downstairs to the master bedroom, and then into the walk-in closet. I took one of my Savile Row jackets off the hanger and slipped it on, then led Stephen to my dresser. Opening the second drawer, I took out Old Stabby. Turning to face Stephen, I drew the eight-inch blade from its sheath.

  “This is my signature weapon,” I told him, handing it to him hilt-first. “Be careful- it’s sharp.”

  “Jesus, Leah,” he said, setting his drink down on the dresser top to better examine the knife. “Um… You actually carry this around?”

  I took it back from him and slipped it into its sheath, then tucked it in its hiding spot crosswise at my lower back.

  “These jackets were specifically made to conceal that very blade,” I said, turning around slowly so he could see there was no visible bulge.

  “I’m having a really hard time wrapping my brain around all this,” Stephen said, picking up his glass and taking a generous swig. “I’m just having a hard time squaring the idea that…”

  “Stephen,” I said. “I am a businesswoman. I own a company that has divisions in real estate, restaurants, hotels, and property development. I’m married to a rock star. I like to drive fast cars. Those things are most of what make me up, but I’m also a very highly trained fighter, and not just in the MMA sense. My being more physically dangerous than most people is, like I said, just a small part of who I am, but it’s there.”

  “When you said ‘knives out’ earlier you meant it literally,” Stephen said, still trying to put all the pieces together in his mind.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “If things get out of hand and it becomes a do or die type of situation, I’m ready to do.”

  “How often- wait, forget I asked. You’ve already told me more than you should have, and I’ve asked questions I never should have asked. Let’s just… Well, not ‘pretend we never had this conversation’, but just not talk any more about any of this.”

  “I’m O.K. with that,” I said, putting Old Stabby back in my dresser drawer, and hanging the jacket back where it belonged.

  “So, um, hey, got any track days lined up before you head off to Japan?” Stephen asked as we exited the closet.

  “I wish,” I replied, perfectly willing to go along with the change in the conversation. “Saturday morning’s drive is about as close as I’m going to get. There is just too much to do between now and the time I leave.”

  “We’ll just have to take it up a notch on Saturday, then,” Stephen said. “Bring your Porsche Safari- that way it’ll seem that much faster.”

  “I guess I could bring my new-to-me Z8, just to see how that’d do,” I said, not wanting to tell him that I had no heart to drive the rally-styled Porsche yet.

  “Wait- you have a new car? Of course you do,” he said, correcting himself.

  “I guess I sort of think of it as Emmy’s car,” I said. “I mean, it’s mine, sure, but I bought it because she wanted it so we could go on drives together, you know?” I said, turning to lead us downstairs to the garage.

  “Hold up,” Stephen said. “Let’s grab the others so they can see it, too.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I hedged. “I don’t want ‘em puking on my classic ride.”

  “Puking?”

  “They were drinking pretty heavily last I saw them,” I explained. “If they’re gonna toss cookies I’d rather have them not do it on a two hundred thousand dollar car.”

  “Were they really that loaded?” Stephen asked.

  “They’re all going to regret it in the morning, if not before then,” I confirmed.

  “Kinda makes me sorry I missed out,” Stephen said ruefully.

  “Go head up to the rec room- they might still be there,” I suggested, laughing as Stephen took off in that direction.

  Climbing the stairs to the living room, I realized that I might be one of those regretting the night’s refreshments, too. I wasn’t exactly stumbling, but I was just a bit wobbly.

  “In for a penny,” I sighed as I tossed back the last of the Old Fashioned I’d been nursing for a while. After all, I didn’t have to drive home, did I?

  A few stragglers found themselves staying the night- Jeremy wound up making breakfast for Teddy Bear, Darius, Steve K and Lacey Monsee in addition to himself and Emmy and me. Teddy Bear and the two football players looked miserable, but Lacey was fine. She’d stayed just because it had gotten late and Emmy had offered a guest bedroom. I felt a bit rough, but like the four guests I had nothing pressing in the morning so it didn’t matter much.

  “Thanks, brother,” Steve K said to Jeremy as he loaded some more eggs on his plate. “These are really good.”

  “Here, take some potatoes, too,” Jeremy said, moving the platter of hash browns closer to the big defensive back.

  “Thanks for last night, too,” Steve K added.

  “As long as you’re O.K.,” Jeremy said, waving it off.

  “I will be,” Steve K replied, taking another big drink of grapefruit juice.

  “You guys drank a bit last night,” Lacey said, teasing a little.

  “I’m never gonna drink tequila again,” Steve K groaned. “It just goes down too easy.”

  “Whose idea was that, anyway?” Darius demanded. “I never shoulda gotten myself pulled into that shit.”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “No idea, man,” Steve K said. “The game was already goin’ when I got there.”

  Lacey stuck around to hang out with Emmy for the day, but Teddy Bear and the two Rams left after breakfast. Unfortunately, I had some meetings at the office, and then I had some interviews for potential translators for the trip to conduct so I couldn’t stay home and nurse my hangover.

  The interviews were to be held at a café near the UCLA campus, which always meant parking hassles, but I got there early and found a spot only a block away. Akiko Tanaka was already seated at one of the outside tables with a bubble chai tea in front of her when I arrived.

  “Are you looking forward to visiting home?” I asked after I ordered myself an Americano.

  “Yes, I am,” Akiko admitted. “I have been enjoying myself here, but it will be nice to see my family and friends again.”

  “Will you be coming back to the US afterwards?” I asked.

  “This is my place now, until the elders decide otherwise,” Akiko said. “We are hoping that with whatever agreements you make my role will expand.”

  I nodded, seeing how that could be the case. “Your passport has you in makeup,” I mentioned, filling a lull in the conversation. “How is it going to be after going so long without?”

  “I think it will feel normal,” Akiko said, giving it some consideration. “I wore the makeup for most of my life.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” I admitted, just as the first of the prospective translators found his way to our table.

  “I think we can give that one a pass,” I said after the guy had left. “I could barely understand his English.”

  “His Japanese- he has a very strong accent from the East. It is not incorrect, but it sounds…” Akiko said, looking for the right words.

  “I guess I never really thought about it,” I said. “You probably have a lot of regional accents in Japan, right?”

  “We have regional differences, yes,” Akiko agreed. “We have a standard dialect, but…”

  “So we’re really better off narrowing our search down to people from your region?” I asked.

  “Anyone who speaks with the Kyoto dialect would be good enough,” Akiko said. “I still don’t understand why you need another translator. I will be there, and so will Mr Oshida.”

  “Yes, but both of you are from the other side of the metaphorical table,” I explained. “I need someone who is working for me.”

  “Hmph,” Akiko said, crossing her arms.

  The second interviewee arrived about then, putting an end to that discussion. After the last of the four potential translators had left, Akiko and I conferred on which of the candidates was the best.

  “I liked Jiro,” Akiko declared. “He speaks the correct dialect, and he is very handsome.”

  “In a very feminine sort of way,” I snorted.

  “He is a delicate flower,” Akiko countered. “Like a poet, or an artist.”

  “Honestly, I liked him best, too. He seemed the most organized, and his English is excellent. If you think his dialect is good, I say he’s the one,” I said, picking up his resumé.

  “Perfect,” Akiko said. “See you on Monday?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have a driver pick you up in the morning,” I agreed, signaling the waitress for the bill.

  I called Jiro Watanabe from my car to tell him that the job was his, and he should come to my office the next day to get his paperwork processed.

  “I didn’t realize this was going to be an official job,” Jiro confessed. “I’m only on a student visa.”

  “We can get that sorted out,” I assured him. “I have excellent lawyers.”

  “Do you think that this could lead to long-term employment? Would I be able to obtain a green card?”

  “If things work out well on this trip and you want to continue working for me, this could potentially be a forever thing,” I told him. “And like I said, I have great lawyers and we could get you residency if it does seem as if you do want to keep working for me.”

  “How much work do you have for a translator?” Jiro asked.

  “Well, this trip will determine that,” I told him. “If things go well, maybe a lot of work in the future. If things go poorly, maybe none at all.”

  “I see…” Jiro said. “I’ll get paid for this trip, however it goes?”

  “Absolutely,” I told him. “It’s twenty grand for this trip, no matter how things shake out. That money is yours, even if I can’t make a business deal happen.”

  “Then I’m your man,” he said.

  “I’ll see you at my office tomorrow afternoon then,” I agreed, and we hung up. I was pleased that the whole process had gone so easily, and hopeful that Jiro would work out beyond just this trip. He seemed like a careful, conscientious young man, and was the only one of the candidates who hadn’t stared openly at Akiko and her midnight-black skin. Whether that meant he’d seen Night Children (which was completely possible as several worked in the surrounding area) or he was simply polite enough to know better didn’t matter. Once he signed a legally binding NDA I could tell him a bit more about what to expect- hopefully that wouldn’t chase him away.

  When Jiro came to my office the next afternoon he was visibly impressed, and noted the photo of Emmy on the wall opposite the desk. He clearly wanted to ask about it, so I told him that she was my wife.

  “You are very fortunate to have such a beautiful and talented wife,” he said without any hesitation at all, which was another point in his favor.

  “Yes, I am,” I agreed. “Very fortunate indeed. I’m going to miss her while we’re in Japan, but she can’t come along- she’s busy recording with her band.”

  “It will only be two weeks,” he said with a very American shrug. “You’ll be home in time for Christmas.”

  “That’s the plan,” I confirmed.

  After talking through the non-disclosure agreement, Jiro signed without any complaint.

  “Alright,” I told him. “I have some of the nation’s top lawyers on retainer, and that NDA is absolutely ironclad. If you ever mention any of this, I will sue you and it will be brutal. You understand, right?” Once he confirmed that he did, I had him look at the photo of Emmy again. “See her skin color?” When he nodded, I said, “Emmy is part of a very small ethnic group. As it turns out, there are some that that same ethnic minority in Japan.”

  “Like Miss Tanaka?” Jiro asked, obviously connecting the dots.

  “Right. The thing is, both in the West and in Japan, they’ve hidden themselves well forever, to stay invisible in the regions in which they are surrounded by the larger majorities. I have been working to convince these people in Japan to come out of hiding. That’s what this trip is about. I’ll be working with them to open up, and perhaps develop economic opportunities for them as a result.”

  “Alright…” Jiro said, wondering when I was going to get to the point.

  “This minority group- they live almost exclusively in small towns and villages in Iga Province,” I told him. “In hiding, for well over a thousand years.”

  Jiro was no idiot, and it only took a moment for the coin to drop.

  “Are they- are they really ninjas?” he asked, stunned.

  “Well, that’s their history, yes. The people we’ll be dealing with are the descendants of the shinobi,” I told him. “So now that you know that, but absolutely can’t tell anyone, I am going to explain to you that there may be some physical risk associated with this trip. I do believe these people are sincere and operating in good faith but there is always a non-zero chance that things may turn out badly.”

  “The famous ninja treachery,” Jiro nodded.

  “Well, you have to remember that basically all the stories of the ninjas that we have were written a few hundred years after they faded away, and written by and for the elite classes, who looked down on the shinobi for being peasants, right? Not exactly an impartial source.”

  “That… makes sense,” Jiro admitted.

  “That said, it isn’t prudent to ignore the possibilities. As I said, these people, these shinobi, need me more than I need them, so I expect everything will be smiles and bows and cups of saké. A big part of what I’m going to need your help with is etiquette. Clearly they are aware I’m a gaijin, but I’d really prefer to avoid getting off on the wrong foot if I can help it. Essentially I’m going to need you right there with me full-time while we’re in Japan. There might be a day or maybe two when you could slip away to visit family in Kyoto-”

  “I won’t need to do that,” Jiro assured me quickly. “I can be with you all the time.”

  “Even knowing we’ll be dealing with honest-to-god shinobi?”

  “Like you said, it’s probably safe. These are modern Japanese people, not Sengoku Period assassins,” Jiro replied. “Miss Tanaka from the interview- she is one of them, right?”

  “She’s their ambassador to me,” I said. “She’s here to facilitate communication. She’ll be going with us, but here’s the thing- and I’ve explained this to her, when she asked why I needed another translator. She is one of them, and obviously partial to their interests, right? I need you to be my advocate, to make sure that my interests are being accurately translated and no misunderstanding that could come back to bite me. Don’t be shy about it, either. Let me know right then and there.”

  “I see…” he said. “I think I can do that.”

  “Then it’s settled,” I said, handing him all the other employment paperwork. “Fill everything out, and welcome aboard.”

  I did bring out the Z8 for Saturday morning’s drive, and the guys all oohed and aahed over it. Not because it was the latest, fastest thing, but because it had a classy elegance that few cars can manage. Even though it was unreasonably chilly for Los Angeles, I drove with the top down just because. Of course, I had the heater turned up high and the heated seats going full blast, but whatever. It was about the style points, after all.

  Despite being M car-ish the Z8 wasn’t really designed to be a super high performance machine, and compared to what I was used to it was a bit soft. I really didn’t have a hard time keeping up or anything like that, but it was clear that the car was never going to see a track day.

  To be fair, that wasn’t what I bought it for. I bought it to take Emmy out for drives in the countryside, or down to dinner in Venice Beach. It didn’t matter that the GPS was old-school and nearly useless or that it had no CarPlay functionality at all- it was a throwback to an earlier time, and that was its charm. It was about the joy of motoring, and not necessarily the thrill of outright speed. Not that it wasn’t fast- four hundred horsepower gave it a pretty respectable bit of oomph- but again, not the car’s mission in life.

  While I greatly enjoyed taking it out for a morning’s romp with the boys, that was probably the only time it was ever going to happen. It just wasn’t the right car for strafing Angeles Crest.