"Praxis"

Mr. Asato Mito's home was beautiful. It was something you would expect from a millionaire. I thought of several ways to approach him, but they were all dangerous. The most logically one, and best one was probably the most idiotic one. It was the direct approach. I'm paid to get information, to put my life on the line, to keep the 'peace.' I got out of the car and walked up to the guard shack. A rent-a-cop stepped out from it.

"May I help you Miss?"

"Yes, I'm here to see Mr. Asato Mito."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes I do . . ." It was ten o'clock now. " . . .for eleven. I am very early."

He slipped back into the shack and grabbed a clipboard. "I don't see your name on the list of possible visitors. Let me call."

Uh oh. "No problem . . ."

"Your name?"

"Paula Haggart, from Morocco."

"Okay." He ducked back in. A minute later. "He will see you Miss Haggart. Just follow the path up to the main house."

"Thank you." I said. The 'path' to the main house was a long one, about a quarter of a mile. A man in a generic suit, wearing generic shades greeted me. I looked him over carefully. It wasn't Mr. Mito.

"Herro, Ms. Haggart . . ." He bowed his head slightly. "Mr. Mito is in his studies, prease forrow me."

I did.

We walked up some stairs to a foyer.

"BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP."

He turned to me, said, "Your weapon prease.", and held out his hand.

I reached in my purse and gave him my GLOCK. That hurt. Another generic suiter came from behind me, and patted me down.

"She clean." The voice said.

He missed my SEECAMP mini-auto. I had it taped to the inside of my inner thigh, it was almost at a half squat.

"Prease forrow me." His accent was thick. A body guard usually doesn't have to be proficient in many skills except body guarding and body bouncing. Body bagging is probably up there also. I followed him to a door. He knocked once.

"Enter." A deep voice from behind it said.

The bodyguard opened the door and motioned me in. He stepped in behind me. I saw a young woman sitting next to a large oak desk. A chair was facing toward the window. From my angle I could also see a small stand. It had two katana blades resting on it. One was the short sword, the other had to be the long sword.

"Leave us alone." The voice said.

The woman got up and walked passed me.

"You're Korean." I said.

She stopped.

"Leave us alone." The voice repeated.

She and the generic suit closed the door behind them. The chair then slowly turned around. The face, the hair, the voice, the scar, they all fit.

"Mr. Asato Mito." I said trying to control my voice from quivering.

"Yes, it is Ms. Bechard."

I raised an eyebrow. "Of course you would know, but why?"

He sat back, "Why I let you in here, or why I deal in people?"

Good question. "Both."

He got up from the chair. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, Long Island Iced Tea."

His eyebrow raised up again, "Ice Tea, I can do that." He walked to a bar over to the corner of the room. Looked in its shelves, mixed a few bottles. "Shaken, or stirred?"

"Stirred, please."

He poured some contents into a tall glass and placed a stirring rod in it. For himself, he poured a clear liquid into a medium glass.

"Here you are Ms. Bechard."

I reached for the drink, "Thank you." I said and inhale silently and deeply. "Vodka."

He looked surprised, "Very good, can you tell me the brand?"

I smiled, "Denaka, Holland. You keep it chilled."

"I'm impressed. But you're not here to show me your observant talent."

I sat back and smelled the glass, no poison I could smell. He took a big swallow from his glass. I tasted mine and waited. "Some rum . . ." I remarked.

"You approve?"

"Yes, this is the way I like it."

"Don't worry Ms. Bechard, I am an honorable man, I wouldn't poison you. You're good, very good . . ."

"Is that why you had me sold to a cheap band of militants?"

"That was a mistake. The gentleman you were with was the target. The FBI, as an organization is quite amazing. Five times they try to stop me. The people they put in are stupid. They think they are dealing with beginners."

I chuckled. At least someone else thinks the same way I do.

"You, however, were very convincing. I had no idea whom you were until your purse was retrieved. Several personas, very good."

"Did you check them all?"

"Yes."

Vadnez was probably alerted by a TRW check. I'll probably have to get new identities.

"Why?" I said taking a swallow of Iced Tea. It was very sweet, very good.

"The second question. Why not?"

"Don't give me that, Mr. Mito. You deal in flesh."

"Ms. Bechard, please don't upset yourself. People are like dirt. There is always a need for dirt, and there is always people who will purchase dirt. I am a seller of landfill, individuals who can afford my dirt, buy it. Those who can't. . ." He shrugged and left it at that.

I took another swallow, smaller this time. "I don't like you."

"Understandable. I have many enemies. You are one of them, unfortunately. However, for my sake, you'll be a dead one."

I laughed. "And how are you going to do that?"

"I'm a man of many answers. You're an agent for the UN. I don't like agents. You know too much, therefore you must die. . ."

I interrupted, "You know, the FBI and the UN has enough information to arrest you?" I was getting desperate. I walked into a situation I might not be able to get out.

"The FBI I don't fear. I have Diplomatic Immunity. As for the UN . . ." He laughed. "Your role is only advisory. You cannot touch me. In a year or two, I will start my business up again, maybe I'll do it in the mid-west. Some of my buyers will pay a ridiculous amount of money for a 'corn fed' woman." He burst into a hysterical fit of laughter.

That did it. I slammed my fist on his desk, rattling the contents on it. His drink spilled over his desk.

"Woman!" He yelped.

I reached over and slapped him. His face twisted into rage. He jumped over the desk and chopped at me. I dropped to my butt and back rolled up into a fighting stance.

"Do you often hit women?"

He smiled, "I don't consider you a woman, Ms. Bechard. I've learned through the years how to recognize the enemy." He kicked at me. I was hit squarely in the chest. It knocked the wind out of me and back five feet. Another kick to the chest slammed me into the wall. He punched and I ducked. I was showered with dust from the wall. I punched up, into his stomach, and met a solid mass of muscle, almost like wood. He kick at me, connected to my jaw, and sent me over a chair.

"Come on, Ms. Bechard, I thought you would be better sport than this."

I licked at the blood from the corner of my mouth. "Aren't you afraid of killing me?"

He snorted, "Why should I? You entered my home and attacked me, I am just defending myself." He kicked at me again, I grabbed his leg and elbowed it. He grunted and swung. I blocked it and gave him a chop to the neck. He fell back holding his throat.

"You will die now." He rasped, and came at me again with renewed strength, chopping the air, just missing me. I slammed into him. He stood his ground. I punched up into his stomach again. Damn wall of wood again stopped me. He back-handed me. I fell over a chair and quickly got up. I heard the sound of a sword being pulled from its home and looked up just in time to see him slicing the air over my head. I rolled out of the way, a breeze ran across my back. I jumped up into a fighting stance again. He came at me in short chop, skip motions. I waited until he was up close then double-kicked him in the face. I slammed into him again and shoved him out of the way. I jump over his desk and grabbed the other sword. It was the shortsword. He had at least 12 inches on me. I moved out from behind the desk and took the 'Happo Biraki' position, open on all eight positions.

He looked over to me. "You know Kendo. Good." Blood ran from his nose.

"I'm ready."

He screamed, half running, chopping the air at me. He came up on me quick. I nearly waited too long, his sword was a foot from my neck when I reacted and crossed his sword with mine. He chopped again, I blocked. A sharp pain flashed into my mind. He cut me in the side and was slashing across at me. I block it and moved in. The sword cut him in the chest and over the shoulder. He came at me again. The cling-clank of metal filled my ears. He backed me up to his desk, swung the blade, I ducked and found a knee against my jaw. I came up with my sword, and sliced . . .empty air. He came around again. I stepped back and got a slash across the leg, sharp blinding pain almost clouded my vision. He jumped up in the air bringing his blade down on me. I dropped to my knees, the blade whooshed just missing my head. I lifted my blade over my head and caught something soft. I looked up and say the blade half way in his throat. I rotated the blade around the circumference of his neck and stepped back. He grabbed his neck, dropped his sword and stood straight up. We made eye contact.

"I want to die honorable." He silently said, dropping his hands to his side.

I bowed my head slightly, aimed, and flashed the sword side ways across his neck. His body hung motionless as his head thump on his desk. His body then collapsed into a heap. I dropped my sword and walked out the door. His bodyguard was waiting just on the other side.

He had questioning eyes, "Did he die with honor?"

"Yes, he did."

He handed me my weapon, turned and left, probably to perform seppuku. I limped to the car and started the engine. He said, 'people are like dirt. There is always need for dirt . . .I am a seller of landfill.' A seller of landfill. That's what this world is full of: dirt. And as the world grows and the dirt starts spilling over the edges, people like Mr. Mito will thrive to exploit them. As long as I live, I'll try and make sure no one will ever sell 'landfill' on the planet Earth. I turned on to the main street, several generic looking cars zipped passed me. The Feds I guessed, 'Too late fellows' I said under my breath. 'This company is out of business. They won't be selling landfill for a long time.' I think I'll take that vacation now. Maybe I can get Jim to go with me. San Francisco would be a nice place to go too, this time I'll enjoy the trip and retrieve my car. I still have a hundred thousand dollars in the trunk. A nice way to start a medical leave.