CHAPTER 13
The other end of the phone went quiet again and Rick glanced anxiously at his group and the Woodbury group as he waited for Sora Miyaguchi to reply.
After a minute, Miyaguchi finally answered, "I agree we should meet, Officer Grimes. I will take the elevator and meet you in the lobby."
There was a click, followed by a dial tone. Rick took the phone away from his ear and looked at it in disbelief. The son of a bitch hung up on me, he thought.
"Well? What did he say?" John asked impatiently.
Rick set the wireless phone down on the granite top bar table and looked at John; he was so shocked that the phone worked that he didn't notice John's disrespectful tone of voice.
"He wants to talk. He'll meet me in the lobby," Rick answered quietly.
The prison group and the Woodbury group exchanged tense glances at Rick's announcement that he was going to meet the Japanese leader of the El Dorado group.
"What do we do, Dad?" Carl asked excitedly.
The sound of Carl's voice snapped Rick out of his stupor and he began plotting for Miyaguchi's arrival.
"We need to get ready for anything," Rick answered as he unslung the M4A1 rifle off his back.
Carl gripped his Beretta 92FS pistol with both hands and looked over his shoulder at the tavern's vaulted doorway in anticipation of a confrontation.
"Is…is there going to be a fight?" Tyreese asked Rick.
Rick held his rifle in his hands but didn't reply.
Daryl took a step towards Nate and shoved the handcuffed ADA's shoulder. "Hey! Does your group have any weapons?" he asked angrily.
"Yeah," Nate answered as he nodded repeatedly, "They've gone out and brought back guns and ammo. That's how I wound up here."
"Shit," Daryl muttered as he stomped away from the young ADA and began pacing across the tavern.
"Maybe there doesn't need to be a fight. Hell, maybe we can use the kid as a hostage and make his boss surrender," Juan suggested.
"Japs don't surrender unless it's post-nuclear bombing," John replied sarcastically.
Juan lowered his head in embarrassment while Nate lowered his own head and began to weep.
"Michonne, take my rifle," Rick ordered.
The mysterious swordswoman sheathed her katana and held out her hands; Rick tossed her his M4A1 rifle and she caught it.
Rick looked at John. "Was there an elevator in that room across the lobby?" he asked.
John thought the question over a moment and nodded. "Yeah, two of them," he answered.
"All right, you and Michonne cover those elevators. Take the AR-15 with you."
Michonne turned around and ran out of the tavern with her hooded cape billowing behind her. John holstered his Colt M1911A1 pistol, took the AR-15 rifle that Nate left propped against the wall, and followed the mysterious woman.
"Michonne, wait!" Carl called out as he turned around to run out of the tavern.
"Carl!" Rick shouted angrily.
Carl's feet skidded to a stop under the arched doorway and he turned around to look at his father.
"I told you to stay with me!"
"But Dad—"
"Get back here!"
Carl lowered his head, stomped towards the bar, climbed onto a stool, where he sat with his arms folded across his chest.
Rick ignored Carl's poor behavior and faced Daryl. "My gun," he said with his hand out.
Daryl stepped forward and returned Rick's Glock 19 pistol with the Maglite suppressor.
"Go to the second floor and cover the elevator," Rick ordered.
Daryl nodded, and unslung his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow from his back. He then threw the front of his poncho over his left shoulder for better mobility.
"Karen, go with Daryl and watch the lobby from the staircase."
"Okay," Karen answered as she nodded nervously.
"Vamanos," Daryl ordered Karen as he ran out the tavern with his crossbow in his hands.
Karen nodded and with her M4A1 rifle in her hands, ran to catch up with Daryl.
"Tyreese, you and Sam check the hallway beside the staircase; if you find an elevator watch it," Rick ordered.
Tyreese switched his Mossberg 500 shotgun to his left hand and wrapped his right hand around the head of his framing hammer strapped to his side. "You've got it, Rick," he muttered as he ran out of the tavern.
Sam glared at Rick for a moment and ran to catch up with Tyreese.
"Juan, go back to the vestibule and guard that door. We can't afford any surprise visits from walkers."
Beads of sweat formed on Juan's forehead and the weight of his Remington 870 shotgun was pulling his arm down to the floor. "You're…you're not going to kill him, sí?" he asked Rick nervously.
Rick looked at Juan in disbelief. "I'm just going to talk to the man," he answered.
"Bueno," Juan sighed as he walked out of the tavern.
Floyd looked around the near empty tavern and pointed at himself. "Uh, what about me?" he asked Rick.
The confused look on Rick's face was replaced by a contemptuous one as he glared at the retired mailman who nearly shot him yesterday, and who aimed a gun at Daryl just minutes ago.
"Floyd, you can sit down and shut up," Rick answered as he pointed at a small table and a set of chairs against the wall.
Floyd didn't protest, he simply walked over to the table, pulled the chair out, and sat down.
The only group member left for Rick to give orders was also the one person he worried the most about: Carl.
"Carl," Rick said as he faced his angry son.
Carl remained on the barstool with his arms folded and his battered Stetson hat concealing his face.
"Carl, I can't let you go out there," Rick said calmly, "these people are armed, and they could be dangerous."
"I can take care of myself," Carl said as he looked up at his father.
Rick stared at Carl for a few moments and smiled. With my old sheriff's deputy hat and that glint in his eye, Carl looks like an adolescent Clint Eastwood! He thought.
"I know you can take care of yourself, Carl, I wouldn't have agreed to let you come along if you couldn't. But I hoped this casino would be deserted, and I won't put you in the middle of a gunfight."
Carl lowered his head again, and the Stetson hat covered his features.
"I need you to watch Nate and Floyd," Rick said.
Nate raised his head and looked at Rick as if he was offended. Floyd glanced at Rick and looked down at the table like his name was called by a bartender.
Carl looked at his father again. "He's handcuffed," he said while pointing a thumb at Nate, "and he's a coward," he said while pointing a finger at Floyd.
Nate shook his head as if Carl reminded him that his wrists were handcuffed behind his back. Floyd slouched on the table like his favorite sports team was losing on the flat screen TV's above the bar.
"Yes, they are," Rick agreed with a nod, "but there's a locked door behind you."
Carl spun around on his barstool, and saw a wooden door with a glass window atop it.
"This group may try to get behind us. If that happens I need you to guard that door," Rick said.
Carl looked at his father and grinned. "Yeah!" he agreed proudly.
Carl hopped off the barstool, raised his Beretta 92FS pistol with the aluminum bat suppressor, propped it on the granite bar top, and aimed it at the wooden door.
"I'll be in the lobby, Carl," Rick said as he smiled at his son's determination to protect the group.
"Okay," Carl said, staring down the iron sights of his pistol.
Rick turned around and started walking towards the vaulted doorway.
"Dad?" Carl asked.
Rick stopped under the vaulted doorway and looked over his shoulder at Carl, who was now looking at him.
"Be careful, okay?"
Rick nodded. "I will, son."
•••
In the slot machine room across from the tavern, Michonne and John stood behind the gambling machines as they aimed their rifles at the two elevators along the left wall.
On the second floor, Daryl aimed his crossbow at the four elevators, while a few feet away, Karen knelt at the top of the staircase, aiming her rifle at the elevator's final stop on the lobby.
In the roulette room, Tyreese used a large statue of an Aztec woman for cover as he aimed his shotgun at the three elevators across from him. Sam was a few feet to his left, kneeling behind a roulette table, and aiming his pistol at the elevators.
In the vestibule, Juan sat on the top steps, with his shotgun aimed at the shattered door below him. He heard footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Rick walk out of the tavern and into the lobby with the pistol with that flashlight on the barrel.
Rick said he was going to talk to that Japanese guy, but can I trust him? Mariana warned me about Rick, and I think she might be right, Juan thought worriedly as his mind drifted to the past.
•••
Philip stopped in his tracks, looked at Nick, and asked quietly, "Do you smell that?"
Nick stopped walking, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Campfire," he answered in an equally quiet tone.
Juan also stopped walking and took a quick breath; the smell from of the campfire shot into his nostrils.
A moment later muffled voices drifted downhill to Philip and his two companions. Juan's complexion went pale and his heart began pounding in his chest.
The beam of a flashlight struck Juan's face and he nearly screamed in fear. A moment later a calm hand touched his shoulder.
"Are you all right, Juan?" Philip asked as he slung his AR-15 rifle over his shoulder.
"Sí. Sí," Juan answered while nodding quickly.
"Good. Because I'd hate to tell Marianna that you had a heart attack walking up this hill. Right, Nick?"
"Yeah," Nick answered coldly.
"And those people up there?" Juan asked as he gestured up the hill, "are you going to tell Marianna and your daughter that we killed all of them?!"
"Keep your voice down, asshole!" Nick hissed as he stepped forward.
Philip glared at Nick and the other man's complexion turned pale and he backed away. Philip looked at Juan again, squeezed his shoulder, and the Latino handyman felt a surge of confidence.
"You seem to be confused, Juan. We're just going up there to say hello to those people and invite them to join our group. I only asked you if you're prepared to kill because the use of violence is one of several possibilities."
"We're really just going to…talk to them?" Juan asked.
Philip tightened his grip on Juan's shoulder and smiled affably. "Absolutely," he answered.
With that, Philip let go of Juan's shoulder and pointed his flashlight forward as he resumed walking up the hill.
Juan looked at Nick, who looked back at him and resumed walking up the hill with his AR-15 rifle in his hands.
Don't be a cabrón! Juan scolded himself. You know what's going to happen! You don't have to be a part of it!
An instant later, Juan shook his head. No! You told Philip that you're prepared to kill! You can't be weak or he'll throw you and Marianna out of the group! We'll never survive on our own! Do what you must to protect her!
Juan held his shotgun and resumed walking uphill. After a few steps he caught up to Philip and Nick.
The voices from the camp grew closer and clearer.
•••
DING!
The elevator's bell chimed, signaling that it—and its mysterious occupant—had reached the lobby. Rick took a deep breath and tapped the Maglite suppressor on his Glock 19 pistol against his right leg.
The door slid open, revealing a thin Japanese man with short, black hair, and wearing a tailored Italian business suit. In his left hand was a katana with a worn handle and sheathed in a scabbard of black wood marred with scratches.
"Sora Miyaguchi?" Rick asked.
The Japanese man stepped out of the elevator and bowed in greeting. "Officer Grimes?" he retorted.
Rick nodded.
"You are not what I expected a police officer to look like," Sora said with a hint of disappointment.
Rick scratched the stubble on his face and looked down at his jacket, buttoned down shirt, and dark jeans. "Well, I haven't had the time to shave or pick up my uniform at the cleaners," he quipped.
Sora didn't respond. The elevator door slid closed behind him, and he looked past Rick at the arched doorway of the El Dorado's tavern. "Did you leave Tatum in the tavern?"
"Yes."
"And you really did not kill him?"
"Yes."
Sora shook his head once. "Pity. In Japan, a samurai who dishonored himself in the eyes of his lord was given the chance to atone through yubitsume: an act in which he would take a knife and amputate his little finger."
"That sounds…extreme," Rick said.
"If one person in your group endangered the others, would you not take your pistol and put a bullet through their head?"
•••
Sora's question made Rick think of Shane: they were best friends—brothers—and they were partners in the King County Sheriff's Department. Rick's wife Lori saw Shane as a friend, and Rick's young son Carl saw Shane as an uncle.
Then one night last year, Rick was stabbing Shane in the heart in the middle of an open field.
Rick killed Shane because the man he loved like a brother, and who was his partner in law enforcement, had lured him away from his family and the group so he could kill him.
And the reason why Shane wanted to kill him was that he wanted Lori.
Shane and Lori believed Rick died in that hospital, and they soon developed an intimate relationship (if the courts still existed, they would've called it an affair). The relationship ended when Rick returned unexpectedly, but Shane refused to let go of Lori.
Rick knew that Shane's story about the prisoner Randall (a young man from a violent group of survivors) breaking his nose and escaping with his gun was a lie, but he still followed Shane into the woods. And when Shane aimed a Glock 19 pistol at him, he refused to draw his Colt Python revolver to give him a reason to kill him.
"Nothing has happened here," Rick said softly as he approached Shane while holding his service revolver with the grip forward in his left hand. "We're going to lay down our guns and we're going to walk back to the farm…together."
Shane looked at Rick as if his resolve to kill him was breaking.
"Back to Lori. Back to Carl. Put this all behind us," Rick whispered as he stood within reach of Shane.
Shane looked down at Rick's service revolver, and took hold of its grip with his left hand. That was the distraction Rick was waiting for: he grabbed Shane, unsheathed his belt knife, and drove it into his best friend's heart.
BLAM!
Shane fired his pistol on reflex, but the bullet flew past Rick harmlessly. Shane fell to his knees, and Rick laid him down on his back, gripping the knife's handle tightly.
"Damn you for making me do this, Shane!" Rick screamed hoarsely as he stood over the dying man. "This was you, not me! You did this to us! This was you, not me…Not me! Not me!"
Rick pulled the knife's blade out of Shane's chest, and a pool of blood rose up from the wound; Shane's left hand touched the bleeding wound, and he kept looking from the blood on his hand and up at Rick in disbelief. Soon, Shane's breathing drew thin, and he died his first death. Rick sat nearby, sobbing uncontrollably, waiting for him to turn into a walker so he could put him…it…down.
But it was Carl who ended up doing that.
•••
"Officer Grimes," said an annoyed voice.
Rick blinked and realized he was standing the lobby of the El Dorado casino, with Sora Miyaguchi, waiting impatiently for an answer to his question.
"To…to protect my family and my group, I'd…do what I have to do," Rick answered uncomfortably.
Sora nodded with satisfaction. "Indeed. Your reaction answered my question perfectly. Who was it you killed, Officer Grimes: your brother or your partner?"
Rick glared at Sora, and said nothing.
"A brother, yes?" Sora asked with a smirk. The Japanese gambler then looked Rick over. "Grimes, eh? That is English, yes? I thought only the Irish held a family tradition in law enforcement."
"Are you a gambler or a psychologist?" Rick asked angrily.
"You would be surprised how much psychology applies to my profession," Sora retorted.
"These days not much surprises me."
"Nor I. But I must admit that I was surprised to hear your voice over the phone. Tell me: how did you get inside my casino?"
Rick pointed at the front door with his left hand. "I broke in."
Sora looked to his left as he took a few more steps towards Rick. "Shattered one of the glass doors, yes? You do realize that the Oni are still in Atlanta, yes?"
Rick blinked in confusion. "Oni?" he asked.
"Oni. They are the ogres of Japanese folklore. Their notable characteristic are their fangs; quite a fitting name for those monsters outside, and considering their mysterious origin, it is also a more appropriate name than "geeks", as Tatum calls them.
"You forgot to mention one thing," Rick grinned.
Sora raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked.
"You're in charge of your group, so you get to decide what they'll call the dead."
Sora grinned. "Yes. Now, what about your group, Officer Grimes?"
Rick didn't reply.
"Surely you have someone guarding the door," Sora said as he glanced to his left again. "You told me over the phone and face-to-face that you did not kill Tatum, so surely you have someone guarding him.
"Surely you have someone on the staircase covering you," Sora continued as he looked to his right. He spotted Karen kneeling at the top, and looking down the iron sight of her M4A1 rifle. The Japanese gambler bowed in greeting and looked at Rick. "And surely you have the rest of your group scattered around the first two floors of my casino, covering all the elevators in case of an attack by my group."
Rick considered Sora's statement and nodded in agreement. "Well, surely you are a brave man to come down here and talk to me."
"Not quite," Sora grinned. "For you to have survived this long, you would know that noise attracts the Oni. It would be foolish for our two groups to engage in a gun fight, especially if you and I can negotiate."
"Exactly," Rick said. A moment later he raised his Glock 19 with Maglite suppressor and aimed it at Sora. "Freeze," he ordered.
Sora's eyes opened wide. "Excuse me?" he asked in disbelief.
"Drop the sword, get on your knees, and put your hands on top of your head."
"This is outrageous!"
"No, it's an order."
Sora regained his composure, and he knelt down, placed the scratched katana on the polished floor, and put his hands on top of his head.
Rick walked past Sora, tucked his pistol behind his back and began patting down the Japanese gambler for additional weapons.
"I do not have a firearm," Sora said angrily.
"But you do have a sword," Rick retorted.
"Do you really believe I could draw that blade and strike you down before you, or your friend upstairs, could shoot me?"
Rick thought about the times he saw Michonne decapitate walkers with one stroke of her katana. "I've seen what a person can do with these swords."
Rick patted Sora's limbs and waist; all he found was a gold platted cigarette lighter, and a gold platted cigarette case with eleven cigarettes inside it. Rick picked up Sora's katana with his left hand, and pulled the gambler up with his right hand.
"You will not lay hands upon me again," Sora warned Rick as he straightened his Italian business suit.
"Sorry, but to have survived this long, you would know that you can't trust strangers," Rick quipped as he threw Sora's earlier statement back at him.
When Sora brushed himself off, Rick tossed the katana back to him and the Japanese gambler caught it with his right hand. Rick looked up the staircase and nodded at Karen; the young woman lowered her rifle, stood up and walked down the staircase.
"I want to see Tatum and phone my associates upstairs," Sora said without acknowledging Karen's presence, "If they do not hear from me in ten minutes, they will be…concerned."
"Follow me," Rick grinned. "If you walk into the bar first, you'll catch a bullet."
Sora moved his scratched katana from his right hand to his left, and followed Rick towards the casino's tavern. Daryl walked down the staircase, and when the hunter stepped onto the polished floor, he slung his crossbow over his shoulder and stood beside Karen.
"That guy's an asshole," Karen whispered to Daryl.
Daryl heard footsteps to his left; he looked in that direction and saw John stepping out of the slot machine room ahead of Michonne. The hunter snorted and quipped "Yeah, the world's still full of those."
•••
"Carl, Lower your gun," Rick ordered.
Carl backed away from the bar, lowered his pistol, and looked at the vaulted doorway. "Okay, Dad," he said.
Rick walked into the tavern, with Sora behind him. Carl watched the Japanese gambler warily.
"Carl, this is Sora Miyaguchi, he's the leader of the El Dorado group."
"Hi," Carl said coldly.
Sora bowed in greeting.
"Your son, yes?" Sora asked as he looked at Rick. "It is good to see an American youth with an appreciation for the western genre."
"What's he talking about?" Carl asked his father.
Rick tapped his forehead. "Your hat," he answered.
Carl pushed the brim of his Stetson hat up to look tough to Sora.
Nate was still on the barstool with his hands cuffed behind his back, when he heard Sora's voice he looked over his shoulder, and when he saw Sora, he gulped fearfully.
"Good evening, Mr. Tatum," Sora said as he walked over to the young ADA. "This police officer and his group broke into my casino and you did nothing to stop them."
"I'm sorry," Nate whined.
Sora looked to his right and saw Floyd sitting at a table against the wall, looking like a disgruntled customer. "Who is that?"
"That's Floyd," Rick answered.
"He seems useless."
"Christ Almighty…" Floyd muttered as he looked down at the menu on his table.
Rick picked up the wireless phone and offered it to Sora. "You wanted to talk to your people," he reminded the Japanese gambler.
Sora nodded.
"Go ahead. But put it on speaker."
Sora took the phone, dialed the penthouse, and clicked the speaker button. The phone rang once, and there was a male voice that asked "Boss?"
"Yes, Mr. Singleton," Sora answered.
"Are you okay?" Singleton's voice asked.
"I am well."
"What's going on down there?"
"I am in the tavern with Officer Grimes."
"What about Nate?"
Sora glared at the young ADA. "I will deal with him later."
Nate lowered his head again and closed his eyes.
"How many people are with this cop?"
"I have seen four people but surely there are—"
Rick grabbed the wireless phone from Sora. "Wrap up the call," he ordered in a whisper.
Sora grinned and rested the end of his scratched katana on the floor like it was a cane. "Mr. Singleton: I think it is time you and the others come down and say hello to our guests."
"Sure, boss," Singleton replied.
A second later there was a click, followed by a dial tone; Rick turned off the wireless phone and set it down on the granite top bar table.
"My associates are on their way," Sora said.
"They better not try anything stupid," Rick warned the Japanese gambler.
"I doubt Mr. Singleton will act recklessly. Besides, I find you to be a fascinating individual."