"So, O-Ren, any more subordinates for me to kill?"
This is it, thought Gogo Yubari, peering down from the second floor landing in the House of Blue Leaves nightclub to the yellow-clad, yellow-haired woman standing on the deserted dance floor below. This is where it all had to pay off. The countless hours of study and drills she had put in with Johnny Mo – and before him with O-Ren Ishii – now was the time she had to pull it all together and make it count.
No more practice matches. No more simulated combat. This was the real thing. She was going to kill this tall, blonde woman. Or the woman was going to kill her…and if that happened, then O-Ren herself would be at risk and Gogo simply would not allow that to happen.
This would not be like the two prior assassination attempts against O-Ren that Gogo had thwarted, one over a year ago and the other just four months ago. Those would-be assassins had been zealots – and fools – wanting to kill the infamous yakuza queen for who knows what reasons. In both instances, Gogo had easily intercepted and eviscerated the attackers, leaving them to bleed to death in the street.
But this blonde woman was different. She was a trained assassin – and an exceptional combatant. Gogo had just watched her almost effortlessly dispatch six of Johnny Mo's best warriors. Including the young, female warrior named Juri.
That one bothered Gogo…because she was actually rather fond of Juri. Unlike most of the other Crazy 88s, who seemed to look upon Gogo with a mixture of fear and resentment, Juri had always made an effort to be friendly toward her, engaging her in conversation, showing an interest in her and sharing her own thoughts and interests as well. She had even once invited Gogo to watch a movie with her. Gogo had declined the offer, but nevertheless, she had found the invitation itself strangely pleasing. Although Gogo was mostly just confused by Juri's overtures, she had to admit it was nice to have someone to chat with from time to time, or even just to have someone to say "hello" to when passing in the hallways. Most of the Crazy 88s seemed to want to have nothing to do with her, and Juri was a nice, even welcome, change to that.
Gogo was going to enjoy making this blonde woman pay for killing Juri.
At least it was easier to concentrate now that Sofie Fatale had finally ceased her caterwauling. Possibly she had passed out from loss of blood from her severed arm. Possibly she had died. Gogo didn't really care why she had shut the hell up; she was just glad that she had.
Gogo took one more deep, cleansing breath to focus her mind, concentrating to recall all that Master Mo and Mistress Ishii had taught her about the art of combat. As she gathered up her meteor hammer and stepped forward to confront the blonde woman, the first thing she remembered was:
Intimidation. Show contempt for your enemy's abilities…and never show fear.
"Hi-iii!" Gogo called to the blonde woman in a high, sing-song, school girl voice, waving.
"Gogo, right?" the woman responded in near perfect Japanese with only a hint of an accent. She knows who I am, Gogo thought. She's done her homework.
"Bingo!" Gogo replied, starting down the stairs toward her adversary. "And you're Black Mamba." You're not the only one who's done her homework, bitch!
"Our reputations precede us," the Mamba noted, moving toward the foot of the stairs. Gogo wondered if the blonde woman intended to attack her while she was still descending the steps. Not likely, she decided. A novice might make the mistake of hoping the uneven stairs might put her opponent at a disadvantage, but an experienced warrior like the Black Mamba would know better. She would know that a highly-trained martial artist like Gogo would be every bit as surefooted on the uneven steps as she was on level ground, and that her higher position on the stairs actually gave the young warrior a slight advantage.
Nevertheless, Gogo started the heavy ball of her weapon swinging slightly at the end of its chain so that she could spin it up to striking speed quickly if necessary.
"Gogo, I know you feel you must protect your mistress, but I beg you, walk away."
Gogo stopped in her tracks, in genuine astonishment. Perhaps she had misjudged this woman. Perhaps the legendary Black Mamba was just a simple fool, after all. Could she really imagine that Gogo would ever even consider betraying O-Ren Ishii?
Gogo decided a bit more intimidation was in order. She giggled like a school girl. "You call that begging?" she asked with exaggerated incredulity. She then took three more menacing steps toward the Mamba and demanded with pure, threatening malevolence, "You can beg better than that!" Crawl for me, bitch, and maybe – MAYBE – you'll get out of this alive! Gogo dropped the ball of her meteor hammer for good measure, letting the woman hear its weight impact the floor.
But the Mamba was not so easily cowed. She smiled coldly and gestured with her katana toward the empty dance floor, inviting Gogo into battle.
Gogo put her weapon into rotation above her head. The distinctive whump-whump sound it made as it plowed through the air always made her feel a bit more invincible and could also be very unnerving to an opponent. Gogo was pleased to see that the Mamba began retreating from her almost immediately. As Gogo inched forward, forcing the woman back with each step, the wariness and uncertainty in the Black Mamba's eyes was unmistakable. She's not familiar with the meteor hammer! Gogo realized. She didn't know its capabilities or limitations, while Gogo herself was well-versed in the fighting characteristics of the Mamba's weapon, the katana. Definite advantage!
Gogo launched her first attack, attempting to end the battle quickly by sending the heavy ball streaking directly at the Mamba's head, but the Mamba intercepted the ball with a lightning-quick stroke of her katana blade, deflecting it into a wooden beam to her left where it produced a shower of wooden splinters. She was fast! Gogo heard Johnny Mo's voice in her head. Never underestimate your enemy!
Gogo had been unprepared for her weapon to miss and was unable to recover the ball quickly enough to put it immediately back into play. She quickly switched to attacking with the weapon's chain instead, flailing at the Mamba while advancing aggressively in an attempt to keep her off-balance and retreating, but the Mamba parried with swift, strong and well-aimed slashes of her katana. Gogo's chain never touched her. This woman was good!
Gogo spun quickly on the balls of her feet and dashed away from her adversary. She could hear the Mamba in pursuit behind her, her blade slashing the air mere inches behind Gogo's head. But it was the Mamba's turn to underestimate her opponent now. She thought Gogo was merely fleeing from her. She didn't realize the young warrior was already setting up her next attack.
In a move she had practiced countless times, Gogo vaulted upward into the air, releasing her metal ball at precisely the right moment to allow her foot to smash backward into it, sending it rocketing back toward the Mamba.
The ball struck the blonde woman in her chest, stopping her advance and throwing her off balance. Gogo recovered the ball quickly and rapidly deployed it again, expertly wrapping its trailing chain around the Mamba's katana blade. Gogo yanked at the chain, trying to pull the sword away from her opponent, but the Mamba held on and yanked back just as fiercely, nearly pulling Gogo off her feet. She was strong! Gogo quickly looped the chain around her shoulder and pulled again with her whole body behind it. The sword was ripped from the Mamba's grip and flew clattering across the floor.
Gogo quickly recovered the ball and again sent it flying into her opponent's chest, knocking her backward over a table and onto the floor. As Gogo recovered the ball once more, keeping it orbiting and ready, the Black Mamba gasped and clutched at her chest as she lay on the floor. Gogo smiled as she noticed there was blood in the Mamba's mouth, on her teeth. Had she bitten her own tongue? wondered Gogo. Or had Gogo perhaps been fortunate enough to have fractured a rib and punctured a lung.
No such luck. The Mamba still had plenty of energy, as she demonstrated by arching her back and throwing herself to her feet in one fluid motion. Gogo fired her ball again, but the blonde woman scooped up the table she had just been knocked over and held it up as a shield. The heavy ball smashed through the tabletop, splintering it, but the ball was deflected enough to miss its target.
The table leg that she had been holding it by was about all that was left of the table, but at least the Mamba had a weapon of sorts now, even if it was no better than a simple club.
Over the next few minutes, Gogo pursued the Mamba, first across the floor and then actually up onto the tabletops as each fighter sought advantage over the other. Gogo attacked repeatedly with her hammer, but the Mamba always seemed to be able to dodge out of its path. But, Gogo noticed, usually only just out of its path and not an inch farther. The woman was a pro; she wasn't going to waste energy by overreacting to Gogo's attacks. In a flash of inspiration, Gogo began to see in her head exactly how she was going to kill the Black Mamba.
But as Gogo sent the ball once more racing toward her foe, the Mamba did something unexpected. She grasped her table leg club with both hands like a baseball bat and swung at the ball…and connected! With a loud wooden-metallic thwack, the ball went screaming back at Gogo, shooting past her high and to her right. Gogo heard it impact hard against wood behind her, but she kept her eyes locked on the Mamba, ready to counter any follow-up attack.
Suddenly, something hit the back of her head…hard! She was thrown forward, completely head over heels, and crashed down onto the table upon which she had been standing, shattering it into a pile of jagged wooden fragments around her. Black spots momentarily obscured her vision as she almost lost consciousness.
Where had the blow come from? Was there another attacker? Flat on her back, she quickly scanned the limits of her peripheral vision, but saw no one. She had no time to search further, for the Black Mamba was upon her in a flash, bringing her table leg down in a death blow toward Gogo's skull. Gogo brought up her chain to block the blow. She had only enough time to deal with the Mamba's attack; she knew if there was another attacker, she was defenseless against him and probably only moments away from death.
Bracing herself for the blow she expected from the second, unseen enemy, Gogo, almost instinctively, ensnared the Mamba's table leg with her chain and then kicked with both her legs hard into the Mamba's chest, sending the blonde warrior arching through the air away from her. Gogo leapt to her feet, tossing the table leg clear of her chain, and wheeled quickly to counter the second attacker…who was nowhere to be seen.
Gogo felt blood trickling down the back of her neck and, at the same instant, spied a small red smear on the shiny surface of her meteor ball, and she realized immediately what it actually was that had struck her from behind.
Gogo marveled at how quickly the situation had turned for the better. No second attacker after all and the Mamba was now once again disarmed. But it had been close, and Gogo realized it was time to end this fight before her luck really did run out.
Gogo pressed an activator on the metal handle of her weapon, releasing a series of spring-loaded, razor-sharp, two-inch blades around the circumference of the ball. She launched the ball at the Mamba again, and it caught the blonde warrior a glancing blow, slicing through her clothing and leaving a deep, three-inch gash in her shoulder.
Gogo quickly recovered and launched the ball again. The Mamba assumed Gogo was attacking with her blades again and quickly ducked to clear the missile…but only enough to clear it, exactly as Gogo had hoped.
Now, as the ball's blades embedded themselves into their true target – the wooden post behind the Black Mamba – Gogo employed yet another move that she had practiced to perfection. She expertly flexed her wrist to send a wave racing down the length of the chain, a wave that threw the links into a loop at just the right point and dropped that loop neatly over the Mamba's head and around her neck.
Gogo quickly threw a length of chain around her shoulder and pulled hard to take up the slack, tightening the chain around the Mamba's neck and cutting off her air supply. The Mamba tried to pull the chain back away from her, but Gogo's stance was solid and strong. She threw another length of chain around her shoulder and pulled even tighter, driving the Mamba to her knees.
In the heat of battle, with her bloodstream flooded with adrenaline, Gogo felt primal, animalistic urges beginning to assert themselves upon her as she literally smelled the fear in the Mamba and sensed the approaching kill. She was driven to look deeply into her enemy's eyes, wanting to see the moment of acknowledged defeat…and the moment of death. She shouldered yet another length of chain and moved even closer to her prey.
But before Gogo could completely surrender to pure, primitive instinct, Johnny Mo's training kicked in to warn her that she was breaking a cardinal rule of combat. Use the fire in your blood, but never allow it to control you! Always maintain awareness! Always fight with your rational mind! Gogo realized that she was focused on her opponent's eyes to the exclusion of all else. She quickly broke the spell and surveyed her surroundings.
The first thing she realized was that she was much too close to her enemy. The meteor hammer was a medium-distance weapon, but Gogo had allowed herself to move to barely more than arm's length away from the Mamba. Stupid, she chided herself. Very stupid!
The second thing she noticed made her blood run cold. On the floor, next to the Mamba's right knee, well within the blonde warrior's reach, was a leg from the table that Gogo's meteor ball had shattered earlier, and protruding from the joint end of that leg were three long, sharp nails! A potentially lethal weapon was well within the Mamba's reach! And so was Gogo!
Panic gripped Gogo as she realized the Black Mamba's hand was already darting for the weapon. As the blonde warrior's fingers closed around the table leg, Gogo desperately lashed out with her left foot. The rushed kick was clumsy and badly aimed. It struck the Mamba's forearm, high above her wrist. But it was enough to break her grip and send the table leg skittering harmlessly across the floor.
Gogo quickly recovered her balance and immediately retreated two steps back from the Mamba, reeling extra lengths of chain from her shoulder while carefully maintaining the tension around her enemy's neck. A strange sensation of lightness swept through her like a wave as her body fought to deal with the massive additional surge of adrenaline her brain had dumped into her bloodstream in response to her near brush with death.
Beatrix grasped the chain between them with both hands, trying to pull enough slack into it to ease the pressure on her throat and allow air into her starving lungs, but it was too late. Gogo's stance was too strong and the Mamba was already too weakened by lack of oxygen to overcome her. As the burning in her lungs became unbearable and the black spots in her vision merged into a single dark void, Beatrix Kiddo knew she was dead.
Beatrix Kiddo opened her eyes and saw the plain white ceiling of a dimly lit room. She could hear the rhythmic beeping of a medical monitor close by the right side of the bed upon which she was lying, but despite that clue, she didn't think she was in a hospital. Aside from the beeping of the monitor there was absolute silence, none of the bustling hallway noises of a typical hospital.
Besides, she thought, I'm dead, aren't I? Why would I be in a hospital? Although…I must admit this plain white room does seem rather bland for Hell. And my neck hurts too much for this to be Heaven.
When she tried to move her arms and legs, she found that she was in restraints, straps around her wrists and ankles.
She took assessment of herself as best she could. Aside from the soreness around her neck, she was in surprisingly little pain, although she did feel distinctly lightheaded and slightly euphoric. She figured she was probably full of painkillers.
She was breathing easily enough. Apparently, whoever was tending to her medical needs had any residual swelling from the trauma to her neck under control. Beatrix was not clear-headed enough to be able to determine whether or not she had a breathing tube down her throat, but she could hear the noise of no respiratory machinery in the room. As far as she could tell, she was breathing on her own.
Beatrix had no memory of having lost consciousness again, but she realized she was waking up for a second time. The room was much brighter now. Sunlight flooded in through two large windows in the left-hand wall.
There was a man standing at the side of her bed, studying papers on a clipboard. He was middle-aged, Japanese, wearing a white lab coat.
Beatrix tried to speak, but all she was able to produce was a tiny squeak. It was enough to get the man's attention, though.
"Ah," he said jovially, setting his clipboard aside. "You're awake!"
Beatrix opened her mouth to try to speak again, but the man placed his hand on her forearm and said, "No, no, I'd prefer you didn't try talking just yet. That throat of yours needs rest." He bent down to take a closer look at her neck. "Although, I must say I'm very pleased with the progress you've made. That bruising is looking much better, and the swelling is almost completely gone. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try a few words, if you'd like."
"Where am I?" Beatrix asked. Her voice was little more than a raspy whisper.
"You are the guest of O-Ren Ishii," the man replied, smiling broadly. "I am Doctor Shigata. I am Boss Ishii's personal physician and, for as long as you are her guest, your personal physician as well."
Beatrix flexed her right arm against the restraining strap. "Are these restraints really necessary?"
"I'm afraid so," the doctor responded apologetically. "Boss Ishii's orders."
So, she was O-Ren's prisoner. Beatrix wasn't surprised by that revelation. What she couldn't understand was why she was still alive at all.
"What's going to happen to me?" she asked.
The doctor's smile faded. "I don't know the answer to that," he said. "I'm sorry. I wish I could put your mind at ease, but the fact is your fate is entirely in the hands of Boss Ishii.
"However," the doctor continued, "it might interest you to know that Boss Ishii has instructed me to give you the very best medical care I can. She seems genuinely concerned for your well-being. So…maybe your situation isn't as dire as you might fear."
For the next three days, Beatrix Kiddo rested. There really wasn't anything else she could do. She felt terribly weak…and suspected she was being kept mildly sedated. She was kept in restraints around the clock.
On the fourth day of Beatrix' convalescence, Dr. Shigata arrived for his morning visit at precisely 9 AM, just as he had every day since her first awakening, but this time he was accompanied by two women, wearing men's black business suits, whom Beatrix was certain were not nurses. Although the women were not wearing their customary black masks, Beatrix had no doubt about who they were.
"You will be meeting with Boss Ishii this morning," Dr. Shigata announced. Beatrix almost thought she detected a note of sadness in his voice. "These ladies will escort you to her."
As Dr. Shigata left the room, the two Crazy 88s briskly went to work. They removed the restraints from Beatrix' wrists and ankles and helped her to sit up on the bed. They were both very wary of her, even though she was much too weak – from her injuries, from the days of inactivity, and probably even from drugs still flowing through her veins – to be much of a threat to them.
They efficiently stripped her of the hospital gown she wore and helped her slip into a tracksuit, very similar to the yellow one she had worn to the House of Blue Leaves except this one was dark blue in color. They then had her sit in a wheelchair where they quickly secured her ankles and left wrist with leather straps. They left her right arm free.
O-Ren Ishii stood silently looking out her windows at the Tokyo skyline, her back to the room, as the two Crazy 88s wheeled Beatrix into her office and to a spot in front of her massive desk and then took up positions standing on either side of the entry doorway. Beatrix noticed another person already in the room, sitting on a sofa off to the side. He was an imposing man with a bald head. Like Beatrix' two escorts, he wore the Crazy 88 uniform of black business suit although, also like them, his black mask was absent.
Beatrix studied the man while waiting for O-Ren to acknowledge her presence. He stared back at her but made no attempt to speak. Something about his very demeanor, even as he sat casually on the sofa, told Beatrix that this man was dangerous. He reminded her of a coiled cobra. Beatrix guessed that this was probably Johnny Mo, the head of O-Ren's private army.
At last, O-Ren turned to face Beatrix. "How are you feeling, Trix?" she asked cordially. "Would you like something to drink?"
O-Ren's use of the name "Trix" shocked Beatrix. It was an affectionate nickname O-Ren had given her back in happier times, when the two women were supposedly friends. To hear her use it now, after all that had happened between them, seemed obscene to Beatrix.
"I could use some water, if you have any," Beatrix replied, her voice still raspy.
"Miko!" O-Ren called to one of the female Crazy 88s. The woman quickly went to a side table and poured a tall glass of ice water from the pitcher there and brought it to Beatrix.
Beatrix took the glass in her free right hand and took a long sip. The cold liquid felt wonderful on her parched throat. She took another long sip and then set the glass down on the edge of O-Ren's desk.
"I guess I should thank you for leaving me one hand free," she said to O-Ren, her voice dripping with venom.
"Least I could do…for an old friend," O-Ren replied.
Beatrix was offended by O-Ren's manner. As far as Beatrix was concerned, the two women were now bitter enemies, not "old friends." She felt an urge to say something to hurt O-Ren.
"So, how's Sofie?" she asked.
Except for a momentary pause before answering, O-Ren's demeanor remained unchanged. "She's doing remarkably well," she answered. "Her doctors say she's resting comfortably and her injuries are not life-threatening."
"And her arm?" Beatrix inquired.
O-Ren's smile remained frozen on her face, but Beatrix saw the hardening in her eyes. "We got her arm on ice pretty quickly that night," she answered evenly. "She underwent surgery the next day to reattach it. And so far – thanks to you, actually – it looks as though she has a very good chance of regaining at least partial use of it."
"Thanks to me?" Beatrix blurted in surprise.
"Oh, yes," replied O-Ren. "Her doctors were quite amazed that her arm was severed so cleanly. Apparently there was no tearing of tissue or splintering of bone – just a smooth, clean slice through flesh and bone alike. In fact, when we told them the wound was made with a simple sword, I don't think they believed us!"
O-Ren walked slowly over to her desk and picked up a shiny, black, sheathed samurai sword from the desktop. Beatrix recognized the weapon as her own Hanzo sword.
"Of course," O-Ren continued, "you and I know why that cut was so clean, don't we." She pulled the sword from its sheath and examined it admiringly. "Not so 'simple' a sword, after all. Hattori Hanzo steel! I'm very impressed!" She looked at Beatrix. "And also a little hurt," she pouted. "I thought we were friends, Trix. You never told me you had one of these."
"I didn't have one of those," Beatrix replied with a cold smile, "until a few weeks ago."
"Well," O-Ren said, considering the implications of that statement, "if Bill had been killed a few weeks ago, I'm pretty sure I would have heard about it." She hefted the sword and cocked an eyebrow at Beatrix. "Budd's?"
"That sword was forged last month. In Okinawa."
O-Ren's eyes widened with genuine surprise. "Hanzo?"
Beatrix nodded once.
"My, my," said O-Ren, examining the sword again. "Things do change, don't they?"
"They really do," Beatrix replied. "For instance, I was a bit surprised to find you've taken to hiding behind children these days."
O-Ren smiled thinly at the attempted insult. "If you're referring to Gogo, that 'child' did a pretty good job of mopping the floor with you." She re-sheathed the sword and laid it back upon her desk. "You'd be dead now if I hadn't called her off."
"So why did you call her off? Did you want to finish the job yourself? After I was safely trussed up, that is?"
O-Ren's face flushed red. "I should kill you!" she hissed with sudden fury. "For what you did to Sofie, if nothing else!"
But the fury seemed to pass as quickly as it had appeared. O-Ren sighed and sat down behind her desk, and when she spoke again, the menace was gone from her voice. In its place, O-Ren almost seemed to be pleading with Beatrix. "I don't want to kill you, Trix. I've never wanted to hurt you."
"You had a hell of a way of showing it back at Two Pines," Beatrix responded icily.
"Things got out of hand at Two Pines," O-Ren said, and Beatrix thought she heard real regret in her voice. "I swear to you, Trix, I didn't know Bill intended to kill you."
Beatrix snorted. "I'd have an easier time believing that if you hadn't come through those doors blasting away just like everyone else!"
"Oh, I knew we were going to kill your friends," O-Ren replied, "but not you. I thought you had only bought yourself a good beating."
"Oh, but killing a roomful of strangers and beating me to a pulp, you were just fine with that, huh?"
O-Ren shrugged. "I wasn't crazy about the idea," she admitted, "but I also wasn't stupid enough to think you could pull the kind of stunt you did and get off scot-free."
O-Ren leaned forward, resting her crossed forearms on the desktop, and her eyes narrowed. "And don't lecture me about killing strangers. You've got plenty of that blood on your own hands. In case you've forgotten, you and I both used to make our living by killing strangers.
"And as for 'beating you to a pulp,'" O-Ren continued, "I don't know if you're aware of what I have here, but I own this city. This was always my goal – even four years ago – and it was always going to be Bill's backing that would be the key to making it possible. That being the case, you're not really surprised I was willing to bounce you off the walls for a while to stay in his good graces, are you?"
She then leaned back into her chair and her eyes and voice softened. "And besides, you silly rabbit, how many times over the years have you and I beaten each other bloody in practice matches, for God's sake? What's the big deal?"
"The big deal is that you murdered my daughter! And I'm going to see that you pay for that, every last one of you!"
"Listen to me, Trix. I could have let Gogo kill you at the House of Blue Leaves. Hell, I could kill you right now! But I'm not going to—"
"Then you're a fool! Because the first chance I get, I am going to kill you!"
"That's what this is all about, isn't it. You're on some big quest for revenge because you think vengeance is the only thing you have left to live for, am I right? Well, you're the one who's a fool, because you do have something else to live for. Hold on to your butt, Trix, because I've got a news flash for you. Your daughter is not dead."
Beatrix was momentarily stunned by O-Ren's statement, but then she became filled with rage. "You lying bitch! You'd say anything to save your sorry skin, wouldn't you!"
"If all I wanted to do was save my skin, I'd slit your throat right now and be done with it," O-Ren said. "Think, Trix! What possible reason would I have to lie about this? Your daughter is alive and well. She's living with Bill…in Mexico. She was delivered by cesarean section while you were comatose." O-Ren slammed both her palms down onto the desktop. "For God's sake, you have noticed the scar, haven't you?!"
Beatrix had indeed seen the scar. It was a constant source of anguish to her, for she had assumed it was from the procedure to remove her dead child's remains from her comatose body.
Beatrix realized that O-Ren didn't have any reason to lie, that she might be – probably was! – telling the truth. And in the moment of that realization, Beatrix Kiddo's universe changed.
"Listen to me, Trix," O-Ren was saying. "I'm giving you a second chance here. If I was in your place, I'd forget about all this revenge nonsense. I'd reclaim my daughter and get on with my life!" O-Ren leaned back into her chair. "But right now, I need to know from you what you're going to do if I turn you loose."
"I don't know what to tell you, O-Ren," Beatrix said, still numb from the bombshell O-Ren had dropped on her. But she believed O-Ren had told her the truth and she believed she owed her the truth in return. "The truth is…if my hands were free right now, I think I would still be awfully tempted to kill you. But you're not my priority now. My priority now is to go after my daughter. But after that…I just don't know."
"Trix," O-Ren pleaded, "think about—"
Beatrix could stand it no longer. "Stop calling me that!" she exploded. "Don't ever call me by that name again!"
And in that instant, all suddenly became clear to O-Ren. Her eyes slowly turned cold as she silently stared at Beatrix and realized what a fool she had been to entertain the hope that somehow she might at least begin the process of setting things right with her old friend today. But she now understood she had only been lying to herself.
It was time to face and accept the truth. Beatrix was right. That name belonged to another reality, a reality that could never be again. The attack on Beatrix at Two Pines had been too murderous, too savage...the theft of her child too monstrous. There could be no coming back from that. O-Ren was surprised by how much sadness that realization brought to her.
O-Ren sat for a long moment in silence, and then she stood and walked slowly back to the windows, her back to Beatrix again. "I want you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say," she said, her voice low and filled with resignation and resolve. "This country is off limits to you now. If you ever set foot in Japan again, I'll assume you're here for one reason…and I'll kill you on sight. Do you understand?"
Beatrix did not answer. O-Ren turned to Johnny Mo. "Have her taken to the airport and put on the next plane bound non-stop for the United States. I don't care what city. Send a full security detail, and I don't care how much the airline people squawk, her handcuffs don't come off until she's on the plane."
As Johnny Mo and the two female Crazy 88s wheeled Beatrix out of her office, O-Ren fished a set of keys out of her top desk drawer and headed for the storage rooms on the fifth floor.
It was almost two hours before Johnny Mo returned to O-Ren's office to inform her that Beatrix Kiddo was safely airborne, bound for San Francisco.
"Good," said O-Ren. "I want you to make sure she's put under surveillance as soon as she steps off that plane. From now until further notice, I want to know where she is every minute of the night and day."
"It will be done," Johnny assured her.
O-Ren would have expected Johnny to leave at that point, but he stood silently in front of her desk until she looked up at him again. "Something else?" she asked.
"Only that…it is obvious events did not unfold as you would have wished today. I'm sorry. I wish things had gone differently."
O-Ren sighed. "I don't know what the hell I was expecting, anyway," she chastised herself. She looked up at Johnny. "Do you think she believed me?"
"About her daughter?" Johnny replied. "Yes. Mostly because she desperately wants to believe it. About the rest, I couldn't tell."
O-Ren sighed again. "Even if she did, I don't think it was enough to buy me any forgiveness from her."
"Sometimes," Johnny said, "the past is simply too vivid to be undone."
"Vivid," O-Ren repeated the word, smiling ruefully. "That's a good way to put it.
"Well," O-Ren continued with forced cheerfulness, attempting to lighten the mood, "at least I didn't end up completely empty-handed." She reached across her desk to pick up Beatrix' Hanzo sword again. Even in its sheath, the weapon felt superbly balanced in her hands. "You know, I've wanted to own one of these since…as long as I can remember."
"A magnificent weapon," Johnny Mo agreed. "But, if I may say…?"
"Yes?"
"By all rights, that weapon should belong to Yubari-kun now. She did earn it, don't you think?"
A smile slowly grew on O-Ren's face. Johnny was right. "My God," she said. "Her own Hanzo sword at seventeen! You know, we just might have a future legend growing up in our midst."
Johnny Mo smiled back at her. "Quite possibly," he agreed.
O-Ren laid the sword back upon her desk and leaned forward to look deeply into Johnny's eyes, her own eyes shining with fierce pride. "My God, Johnny, you should have seen her! She was magnificent! Do you realize…she went up against the training of Pai Mei and the steel of Hattori Hanzo in that room…and she beat them both! I've never been more proud of her! And you should be proud, too. You've trained her well."
"I am proud of her," Johnny acknowledged, "but...I am also still concerned about the Black Mamba. Surely you realize that she is still a threat to you. Will you really not have her killed?"
"No," O-Ren responded. "Not if I can avoid it."
"May I ask how you do intend to deal with her?"
Instead of answering, O-Ren stood and walked to a table by the windows. Johnny noticed a large, flat case – a rifle's carrying case, he thought – sitting on that table. It was this case that O-Ren had earlier retrieved from the fifth-floor storage room.
O-Ren opened the case and lifted out a formidable-looking firearm, composed of gunmetal gray steel and black composites and sporting a large telescopic sight. The rifle had such a lean and predatory look to it that Johnny Mo knew instinctively that this was not a weapon for hunting game or shooting at targets. This rifle was designed for one purpose only – to kill men.
"Do you recognize this weapon?" O-Ren asked.
"Sniper rifle." Johnny's reply was as close to a sneer as he dared considering who the rifle belonged to. To an old-school, traditionalist samurai like Johnny Mo, the sniper rifle was a loathsome – even cowardly – weapon, designed to kill with complete surprise and from a great and safe distance. O-Ren heard the disdain in Johnny's voice, but she did not take offense.
O-Ren hefted the rifle in her hands. It felt familiar, comforting…almost even nostalgic. "This is a Heckler & Koch PSG1," she told Johnny. "A long time ago, this used to be my weapon of choice."
O-Ren pulled open the bolt of the rifle, verifying that the weapon was unloaded, the firing chamber empty. "I know you don't think much of this weapon," she continued, "but nevertheless there are certain tasks for which it is superbly suited."
She pushed the bolt closed and expertly shouldered the weapon, aiming it out through the windows and sighting on a random window in a distant office building across the wide boulevard below. She wrapped her fingers around the rifle's contoured pistol grip. O-Ren had been barely twenty years old when that grip had been sculpted to perfectly match her own hand. It was still a perfect fit.
"You asked how I was going to ultimately deal with Beatrix Kiddo," she said as she gently rested her index finger on the adjustable trigger. "That depends on her. If she gets on with her life and stays away from us, we'll leave her alone."
O-Ren was pleased to note how smoothly and naturally her body still responded, effortlessly assuming a perfect marksman's stance and pulling the telescopic sight's crosshairs into perfect aim on the back of the head of a young worker sitting at her desk in that far office. "However, if she can't put her vengeance aside, if she comes after us again…then I'll give her a quick, easy death. I can at least do that much for her. One quick, clean shot from about five hundred meters."
O-Ren squeezed the trigger. The hammer snapped down onto the empty chamber.
"She'll never even hear it coming."