Not Ninja Style

Chris was nervous.

It was not so much the court appearance itself that had unnerved him. He had simply stood up and plainly stated what he had seen. He had told the truth, and that was nothing to worry over.

It was the look in the gangster's eyes, the cold stare that followed him down from the witness box, his face an expressionless mask, that had bothered Chris. He had not shouted or cursed him or hurled threats at him. He had not said a word. And that was perhaps the most frightening thing he could have done.

What, Chris wondered, did he have planned? For him to sit there like that, so calm, so confident, it had to have meant that he felt in complete control of the situation. The doubts plague Chris' mind all day. He nearly jumped out of his skin every time the telephone rang, and an innocent slap on the back from one of his fellow detectives had sent him scampering to the gents, barely holding back the urge to heave up. He wondered how he was ever going to survive the walk home.

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It was not a long walk from CID to his parents' house, nor was the neighborhood a seedy one, but the route Chris usually took generally involved a few shortcuts through some back yards and at least one alleyway. He stood uncertainly at the top of the alley, torn between taking the shortcut, getting him safely home that much quicker, and sticking to the well lit street, which would take longer and expose him to more strangers. As he tried to make a decision, he suddenly had the feeling that someone was watching him.

"Who's there?" he called out, his voice cracking despite his best effort to sound unafraid. He took a step backwards, ready to flee the scene, but suddenly he felt a hand on his arm. A short, dark-haired man dressed in black with a wicked looking curved sword strapped to his back regarded him from the half shadow of the alley's edge.

The stranger seemed to be deciding whether or not to answer Chris' question, when a rush of pounding feet from the opposite end of the alleyway made up his mind for him. In a heavy Japanese accent, he told Chris, without any hint of sarcasm, "My name is Hiro Nakamura, and I have come to save your life."

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By the time Chris regained consciousness, the brief but intense fight was already over. He gawked up at Hiro from the ground and asked the only question he could think of. "Are you a ninja?"

Hiro gave him a look of consternation as he sheathed his sword. "Ninja? No, not Ninjutsu, Battōjutsu."

Chris shook his head without comprehension as he stumbled to his feet. Looking around the alley at the fallen thugs who had been waiting in ambush, he gestured and asked helplessly, "But, why?"

Hiro clapped a hand on Chris' shoulder and looked at him earnestly. "Chris Skelton, you are a good cop. Soon, you will be a great one. That's all I can say." And before Chris could answer, Hiro was gone.

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Sam surveyed the scene in the alley grimly. "Tell me again what happened, Chris."

Chris shook his head vaguely. "I was just walking and suddenly this man jumped out from behind the bins. That's all I remember."

"So you're telling me that one person fought off five hired killers with what appears to be a large knife?" He examined the vicious stab wounds in one of the bodies. "So what, are we looking at ninjas again, Chris?"

"Oh, no, boss," Chris answered before he could stop himself. "Not ninja style."