A Lonely Resurrection

in. My gut told me he was faking, again trying to lure me inside, where he could neutralize the greater distance afforded by the baton.
    Blood ran down from the side of his head. He looked at me and for a split instant I saw fear sweep across his face like a sheet of driving rain. His feints hadn’t worked and he knew it. He knew I was going to wear him down, carefully, methodically, that I wasn’t going to do anything stupid he could exploit.
    His only chance would be something desperate. I circled again and waited for it.
    I let him get a little bit closer, close enough to give him hope.
    I feinted and dodged, forcing him to move on the ankle. He was panting now.
    With a loud
kiai
he lunged at me, reaching with his free hand, hoping to snag a jacket sleeve and reel me into the knife.
    But his ankle slowed him down.
    I took a long step back and to the side and snapped the baton down on his forearm. I traded force for accuracy and speed, but it was still a solid shot. He grunted in pain, and I took two more steps back to assess the damage. He held his injured arm against his body and looked at me. He smiled.
    “Come on,” he said. “I’m right here. Finish me off. Don’t be afraid.”
    I circled again. His taunts meant nothing to me.
    “Your friend screamed on the way down,” he said. “He—”
    I closed the distance with a single step and speared the baton into his throat. He raised his injured arm to try to grab it, but I had already retracted it across my body. In the same motion, I changed levels, dropping into a squat, and whipped the baton into his ankle again. He screamed and crumbled to his knees.
    I stepped behind him, away from any possibility of a lunge.
    “Did he sound like that?” I snarled, and brought the baton down on his head like a hatchet.
    He sank to his side, then fought to regain his balance. I brought the baton down again. And again. Gouts of blood flew from his scalp. I realized I was yelling. I didn’t know what.
    I rained blows on him until my arm and shoulder ached. Then I took a long step backward and collapsed to my knees, sucking wind. I looked over at the dog. It was still.
    I waited a few seconds to catch my breath. I tried to jam the baton closed, but couldn’t. I looked and saw why. The straight steel rod had deformed into a bow shape from what I had done to Murakami.
    Jesus. I stood and dragged his body into the shadows under the awning, next to what was left of his buddy. Dragging him one-armed was a bitch, but I managed it. The dog was easier.
    I took out the mobile phones, wiped them down, and dropped them. Ditto for the shades. Last was the baton. I didn’t want to be found walking around with a twenty-six-inch murder weapon bent into the shape of one of the victim’s skulls. I shrugged off the leather jacket I had taken and dropped it on top of the mess.
    Some of the buckets near the awning had collected rainwater. I used them to wash down the area and make the blood less obvious. I wiped them for prints when I was done.
    Last stop was the front of the building, where I found the cigarette I had spat out before taking out the second guy. I stubbed it out and pocketed the butt.
    I walked over to Naomi’s building and pressed a knuckle to her apartment buzzer. A moment later I heard her voice. Her tone was fearful. “Who is it?” she asked.
    For a second I couldn’t even remember what I’d told her to call me when I’d first met her at the club. Then I remembered: my real name.
    “It’s me,” I said. “John.”
    I heard her breathing. “Are you alone?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “All right. Just come up. Hurry.”
    The door buzzed and I opened it. I kept my head low so whoever would surely be reviewing the building security tapes later that morning wouldn’t get a good look at my face. I took the stairs to the fifth floor, headed to her door, and knocked.
    For a moment, the light was blotted out behind the peephole. Then the door opened. Her mouth opened wide when she saw me.
    “Oh meu Deus,
meu Deus,
what happened?”
    “I ran into them on their way out.”
    She shook her head and blinked. “Come in.” I walked into the
genkan
and she closed the door behind me.
    “I can’t stay,” I said. “Someone is going to find them out there soon, and when that happens there are going to be cops swarming all over your neighborhood.”
    “Find them. . .” she said, then recognition hardened onto her features. “You. . . you killed them?” She