"Masa, how far is your uncle's restaurant?" Ruslan said, following Eshe's glance at their pursuers stumbling after them.

"This way!" Masahiro lead to the right.

Moments later they burst out onto a street lined with restaurants and shops. Only a few people milled about in the bright afternoon sun and barely glanced at the three people sweating heavily and glancing around fearfully.

"There!" Masahiro shouted and pointed to a nondescript, brown, wooden door with a plain white sign above it sporting a single line of Japanese characters in black ink.

They ran across the street into the door. They paused just inside the entrance to let their eyes adjust to the dimness. The tables were empty.

Masahiro began calling out in Japanese as soon as they entered. "Follow!" he called and ran towards a door at the back of the room.

A crowd of Japanese men bunched up in the doorway that opened just as they arrived.

Masahiro began speaking rapidly in Japanese. The men's faces alternated with looks of horror and anger. When he pointed behind him at the open restaurant door, they all gasped when Eiji filled the frame.

"In! In! In!" cried Ruslan, pushing Eshe and Masahiro into the crowd of cooks who stumbled backwards trying to make way.

Eshe looked around the new room.

It was a standard kitchen with an island running down the centre with prep stations of vegetables. A large rack of pots, pans and utensils hung over it. Deep fryers and four stacked ovens lined the left side while the right had a line of grills and flat frying surfaces. At the far end were sinks and a large industrial dishwasher. Rows of knives lined the walls, stuck to magnet strips.

The cooks fled into the kitchen, lining the sides. They looked wide-eyed at each other.

The door slammed open, bouncing off the wall with a crash. Eiji's lips were pulled back, baring his teeth as he looked around.

"Give me the woman, and I will go easy on the rest of you when I come back later to punish you."

"They no speak English," Masahiro said, his voice shaky.

"I know!" Eiji replied haughtily. "I'm saying it for the benefit of those who don't speak Japanese. I want you to know the blood that will be on your hands if you don't give up now."

Masahiro said something in Japanese and Eiji growled deep in his throat.

The vibe in the kitchen shifted as the cooks stood a little straighter and their chests puffed out.

"What did you say?" Ruslan asked. "For those of us who don't speak Japanese."

"I say Eiji alone. He only one. He not have Yakuza. I say before. Eiji do very bad things for many long time to my uncle and his cook people. They hates him."

Eshe glanced around. Some cooks were stealthily reaching behind them and pulling knives off their stations, holding them pointed down at the floor beside their legs. Others sidled along until they were standing within arms reach of bubbling pots or pans that sizzled with ingredients in the midst of frying.

One old man with salt and pepper hair wearing a long chef's apron stepped up beside Masahiro. He lifted his chin, said something in a strong voice and stamped his foot.

Masahiro translated. "My uncle say Eiji go now. He no welcome. They protect Eshe-san."

Gentle hands reached out and pulled Eshe backwards and down the line towards the rear door. Tears pricked her eyes.

Ruslan, standing at the end of the deep fryer row, twitched on Masahiro's sleeve and pulled him backwards until he stood behind him. He pushed the Japanese man backwards, silently urging him to follow Eshe.

The cooks nearby grabbed hold of Masahiro and quickly manhandled him down the small kitchen with him grumbling quietly the whole way.

"I have enough knives for all of you," Eiji threatened.

Eshe screamed when Eiji slashed out at Masahiro's uncle who jumped back reflexively and surprisingly spryly for a man of such advanced years.

The elderly man said something and spat directly in the face of the disgraced gang member.

Eiji took a moment to calmly wipe it from his face and smear the spit onto the wall nearby.

With a war-like shout, Eiji leapt forward, knife out - but he met with the bulk of Ruslan who had leapt forward at the same time to intercept him.

Ruslan caught his knife arm and held the knife aloft, still clutched in Eiji's hand.

"I've already broken your nose, but I think I'll break your head this time!" Ruslan promised, grabbing at Eiji's other arm.

Several cooks shouted but not soon enough to save Ruslan the wicked cut down his cheek when Eiji spun the knife in his hand and dropped it.

Seizing the moment of distraction when Ruslan closed his eyes and jerked his head back, Eiji leaned forward and head-butted Ruslan in the face hard enough the Russian's nose spouted blood.

With a quick jerk, Eiji pulled his arms free. He ripped open his shirt, sending buttons pinging off pots and pans hanging above the centre island, to reveal two bands of leather with a dozen or more daggers in each.

"He like cartoon!" Masahiro said.

Eshe couldn't control the hysterical giggle that bubbled up. Her heart was in her throat watching her new beloved fighting for his life - and most likely hers.

Eiji pulled two daggers out and sent them flying through the air left and right. All the cooks ducked. Several shook fists at Eiji and shouted.

"Ruslan!" Eshe screamed seeing the crazed killer's eyes shift to the Russian.

Ruslan just had time to arch his body backwards as a dagger sliced across his middle.

Ruslan instinctively stepped back. His back hit the work island and his head banged into the overhead pots. He reached up and yanked on one, making a great ruckus as they began clanking and clanging together. The pan finally came free, sending the metal S hook that held it in place clattering to the tile floor.

Before he could lower his arm, Eiji stepped forward and swiped again. His satisfied smile made Eshe scream again as Ruslan cried "Arghhh!" and bent over slightly, his free hand wrapped around his middle.

Ruslan looked up at Eiji and hissed as he stood erect, then swung the pan so fast the air whistled. It connected with the side of Eiji's head, sending the Japanese man staggering to the corner of the room.

"That was for Leora!" Ruslan said, then sagged back into the work station.

Regardless of the threat Eiji still posed, Eshe broke from Masahiro's hand when he tried to keep her from running up the kitchen. She rushed to Ruslan's side and examined the long deep cut across his muscular abdomen. It was bleeding profusely, but she didn't see any organs bulging out.

Masahiro's uncle came running over with clean towels he pressed to the wound. He nodded at Eshe to help him. Over his shoulder, the uncle said something in Japanese and a cook ran up and began punching numbers into a mobile phone then speaking rapidly to whoever answered.

"Doctor," said Masahiro's uncle with a sombre nod.

Pushing himself up from the corner, Eiji reached for another dagger, but before he could pull it from the sheath, a long, thin boning knife flew through the air and speared his hand. He pulled it out, brandishing it in the air, and screamed a long string of heated Japanese.

The only answer was another knife that flew forward. When Eiji tried to knock it out of the air, he hissed at the long cut it made on his bare forearm.

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, another knife and then another flew at him. Unable to block them all, several made it through Eiji's arms, raised in defence, and were sticking from his abdomen and arms.

Regardless, the killer still spoke harshly and sneered at the cooks who were standing up on both sides of the kitchen, crowding closer and closer, even atop the middle island, to get a better shot. Their faces were set in stern masks set of vengeance.

Masahiro's uncle turned and called to his nephew who still stood by the back door. He spoke rapidly in Japanese as Masahiro ran up to him.

"Ruslan-san, I'm so sorry you be cutted. My uncle help you. He know very good doctor. Very quiet doctor. Eshe-san, we must go!" Masahiro pulled on Eshe's arm.

"Eiji?" Ruslan asked. His complexion was turning grey from pain.

Masahiro looked over at the man who was now sliding down the wall. His grey shirt looked like it had been decorated with macabre roses that bloomed from the handles protruding out of him.

Masahiro shook his head. "He cut bad. But Joey. We worry because Joey."

"I can't leave you!" Eshe sobbed, clinging gently to Ruslan's arm for fear of jostling him.

The big Russian reached up, wincing slightly at the movement, and brushed the back of his hand down Eshe's cheek. "I will find you. Go. Be safe. Masahiro will tell me where you are."

Masahiro reached out and let Ruslan clasp his hand. "I keep Eshe-san safe. I send you message with information. My uncle keep you safe."

Eshe placed her hands alongside Ruslan's face and pressed her lips to his. "You crazy Russian. You better be healthy enough to take me on a date soon."

He gently pinched her chin and used the tender hold to pull her forward for another kiss. "Keep yourself safe so we can go. I've got my phone. I'll get an APB put out on Joey so he won't be able to leave Japan by air." He looked at Masahiro. "Keep her safe."

Masahiro drew himself to his full height and nodded once, sharply. "Hai! So desune. I do!"

When Masahiro grabbed her hand, Eshe kept her head twisted back to Ruslan while he pulled her to the door.

Just before they rounded the corner, Ruslan touched his fingers to his lips and held them out to her.

"Oh, God!" Eshe cried out. Tears streamed down her face and blurred her vision.

"We only minutes from Namba Station, Eshe-san. You be safety very soon."

Running back through the dim restaurant, they pushed out to the sunny street and again stood, waiting for their eyes to adjust.

"Damn!" Eshe said.

A hundred feet away stood Joey turning a slow circle, his phone to his ear. Before they could take off, he turned to face them. His eyes focused like lasers and he launched into a run towards them.

WORD COUNT: 1922