Case 31 - Another New Beginning, Part 1


    The martial arts class Keiko taught was at a local high school.  It was a recently rebuild building, so it felt more like an office building than a school.  The outside of the ‘L’-shaped building had a decidedly modern and colorful look to it.

    She parked near the rearmost part of the ‘L’ - the basement section of that area was where the larger classrooms used for after-school classes such as music, martial arts, and band were located.  It also had a convenient dedicated entrance which was at the end of the wing.

    Keiko came directly from home dressed in a black and matching pants.  She considered it kind of cliché, but the school required the students to wear the white version - so she wore the black one, both out of respect for them, and also to differentiate herself.  Naturally, she gave herself a black belt, tied expertly at her waist.  

    Once she entered the room, she removed her shoes and socks and placed them along the wall behind her, padding around the carpeted room on her bare feet.

    She spent the few minutes before the after-school class was about to start sorting through papers she would need for the class.  One stack of diagrams to show the students what they would be practicing at home, and a smaller stack of more wrinkled paperwork supplied by the central office for attendance records.

    Once it got close to time for the class to begin, she placed the papers on the floor next to her, took her shoes and socks off, and kneeled to wait quietly.  It was always best to lead by example - she hoped the students would see her do that and imitate it.

    Her class had only six students - two teenage girls and four teenage boys.  Though she liked it small, the true reason for its limited size was that it happened to be one of the few after school classes that came with a fee and a release form for parents to sign in case of injury.  That last part generally eliminated anyone who joined a high-school athletics team - they weren’t allowed to risk injury.  The fee reduced the class size further, limiting it to only the most willing.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Good afternoon,”  Keiko greeted them.  

    She was pleased to see that two of them imitated her, kneeling on the floor without shoes.  Once the peer pressure set in, the rest did as well.

    Right away, of course, one of the teenage boys in the class, named Nate, asked what one always does at that point.  “Do we get to break boards and stuff?”

    Keiko smiled.  She taught three of those classes so far, and every time someone asked that.  It was somewhat amusing.  “No, not right away.  I have to teach you the basics first.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Where are you from?”  one of the girls asked.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Kyoto, in Japan,”  Keiko replied.

    Nate then asked another question.  “When do we start learning Jackie Chan stuff?”

    She laughed again.  “Jackie Chan does kung-fu.  The basics I’ll be teaching are from karate, but they are at the root of kung-fu as well.”

    Then Keiko pushed her palms against the floor, and rose quickly.  “Enough questions, let’s get right to it.”

    The rest of the class stood as well.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“First two principles I will teach you are balance, and control,”  she said.  “Those are both fundamental to learning all martial arts.”

    Keiko quickly stood on just her left foot, holding her right up with one hand.  “Start by doing this for oh, maybe a minute.  We’ll build up slowly until you can do this forever until you feel like stopping.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“What are we doing this for?”  one of the kids in the back asked as the others imitated her.

    To answer the student’s question, Keiko released her foot, but didn’t lower it.  Instead, she leapt off of the foot planted on the ground, and did a perfect mid-air spinning kick.  

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“That’s why,”  she said, among the awed whispers from the class, after she landed in a kneeling position.  “Like I said...balance, and control.”

    She looked behind her as her phone emitted a musical tone.  She left it on the desk, which in that room was pushed into a corner.  When she made her way over to check it, there was a text message from Ron Clancy - she knew what that meant, another ‘job’ was coming up.

    Keiko frowned and picked up the small stack of papers for the students as she turned to face the class again.  She handed the stack to one of the two girls.  “Hand these out, please.  You will be practicing these balance and control exercises at home.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Homework?”  one of the students whined.

    The Asian walked into the middle of the students, so they had to form a near circle around her to face her.  She looked around at them, and then smiled.  “You are my students, but we are also a team.  We must train together.  That means we must all try to maintain the same level of training at all times, or we are all held back.  This is why I ask you to practice at home.”

    Finally, as the papers were just finished handing out, Keiko concluded the class.  “Class dismissed,” she said.  “I’ll see you all back here next week.”

    She felt both sad and relieved as she watched the students leave.  Sad because, like any other time she had a job to do, she was worried she might never return.  But relieved that they would not have to be witness to the darker side of her life.

    As she picked up her cell phone and read the text message, inspiration suddenly struck.  Her instructions arrived by courier to Ron’s office.

    Someone at the other end of this game screwed up.  She had them right where she wanted them.


---


    Keiko had changed out of the robe, and was wearing blue jeans, black leather boots, and an untucked sleeveless black tee-shirt when she arrived at Ron Clancy’s office.  He obviously didn’t expect to see her, he seemed shocked when she strolled in, looking at him through dark sunglasses.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Keiko, what a surprise,”  the older man said.  “I was just going to send you the package.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Which courier dropped it off?”  she asked cooly.

    Ron could tell she was in no mood for small talk, so he picked up the receipt and handed it to her.

    Finally, she smiled.  “Thank you, Ron.  You’ve always been honest with me, so I’m going to be honest with you.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Okay.”  He nodded.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m going to visit the office of this courier next,”  she said as she removed her sunglasses.  “I’m going to show a complete lack of respect for their confidentiality requirements, and find out who sent this package.  We’re on the way to being freed from them.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“That’s good news.”  Ron sounded a little shaken, in spite of it sounding like he had a positive attitude.

    Keiko then got to the point quickly.  “I need you to go into hiding.  Really go into hiding.  Go someplace not even I know, and don’t call me, I must call you.  Use only cash, no credit cards.  You have about an hour to leave town, after that, our mysterious strangers will be on to us, and they will likely go after you first.  You have to be gone when they do.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I understand.”  Ron grabbed his cell phone and stood.  “I’ll see you on the other side, Keiko.  Good luck.”

    She watched him leave his office, and then she was alone.  She whispered, “I’m going to need it.”


---


    Keiko peered through her mirrored bike helmet across a four-lane street to the one and only dispatch office of the Ace Courier Service.  It was very small - they only had two trucks - but they made their mint by keeping their service area small and quick.

    She turned off the motorcycle and stowed her gloves inside the helmet.  Then she stepped off, hooked the helmet behind the seat, and pulled the package from Ron out of the storage compartment, before she crossed the street quickly.

    The door was locked, but there was someone inside.  It took a second for her to realize she had to tap on the door to be admitted by the receptionist.  Then an explanation came.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“We don’t normally have clients drop by,”  the receptionist said.  “They usually just call.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m an investigator.”  Keiko got to the point quickly.  She held up the thin package she carried.  She realized it didn’t have an origin address, so she decided to start with something simple.  “Did anyone else stop by your office today besides me?”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“No,”  the receptionist replied.  She craned her neck to see the package.  “That one’s coded as a pickup and delivery.  It never goes through this office.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Is there a tracking number, so you can tell me where it’s from?”

    Keiko then surrendered the package to the receptionist, who retreated to her desk and typed the tracking number into her computer.  She waited a moment, and then shook her head.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“This was a very unusual delivery,”  she said.  “The driver said he was sent to pick up at a coffee shop, but it was a customer who had the package.  He was paid in cash and given a delivery address.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Can I talk to the driver?”  Keiko asked.  “I’d like to know what the customer looked like.”

    The receptionist picked up a radio and said, “Paging unit two.”

    A few seconds later, there was a fuzzy response.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“There’s an investigator here.  Can you tell me what that cash customer in the coffee shop looked like?”

    Keiko guessed at that point that cash customers in coffee shops was kind of unusual for them.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Foreign, in a suit wearing a hat,”  the driver radioed back.  “Had an accent, dark skin and unshaven.”

    That was consistent with what Keiko told Sean earlier - that an assassin organization never uses locals.  Then again, it didn’t leave many clues.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Thank you for helping me.”  Keiko said.  “I’ll continue my investigation at the coffee shop.”

    With that, Keiko walked back across the street and boarded her motorcycle.  She put on her helmet and gloves, and drove away.

    A minute or so later, a man with dark skin, wearing a suit, tapped on the door of Ace Courier.  The receptionist walked to the door, but didn’t open it - she turned pale and started walking backwards.  But it was too late - he pulled out a pistol with a silencer and fired twice, shattering the glass and killing the receptionist instantly.  Then he casually walked away.


TO BE CONTINUED
    


-- Story written and copyrighted (C) 2011 by Jason Froikin, and may not be 
--    reprinted without permission.  
-- World Class and all characters therein are property of 
--    Strike Two and Jason Froikin.