The man looked around and saw the pistol aimed at him.

“Nice and quiet, please.”

“Hey,” the man said, his eyes fixed on the gun. “That’s not necessary. There’s no money in here.”

“I don’t want money.”

“So what do you want?”

“Lock the door, please,” Katsuro said.

He held the pistol on the man while he reached into his pocket and pulled out the key.

“Quickly,” Katsuro said, stepping closer and jabbing the man in the ribs with the pistol.

The man put the key in the lock and turned it.

“Give it to me.”

The man dropped the key into Katsuro’s hand.

“Now—over there. Sit down.”

There was a wooden chair pushed up against the wall and the man lowered himself onto the wicker seat. Katsuro reached into his pocket and took out two cable ties. He tossed them to the man.

“Your right wrist first, please.”

The man looked at the ties in his lap and then back up to Katsuro. “What?”

“Secure your right wrist to the arm of the chair—please don’t make me ask you again.”

The man stared from Katsuro’s face to the muzzle of the gun to the tie in his lap and, correctly identifying his situation as far from promising, he did as he was told. He looped the tie around the arm of the chair, fed his wrist through and then used his left hand to draw it closed.

“And now your left hand.”

It was more difficult for the man to fashion the loop with one hand fastened to the arm of the chair, but he managed. Katsuro drew nearer, the gun level with the man’s head, and tightened both ties all the way to their stops.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now—I have a question for you. Just one. If you tell me what I want to know, there’s no reason for me to hurt you. Do you understand?” The man swallowed, his larynx bobbing up and down, and nodded. “Good. The girl—Sakura. Where is she going?”

“What? Who?”

Katsuro turned his wrist and crashed the butt of the pistol across the man’s face.

“Let’s try again. Where is Sakura going?”

The man turned his head to the side and spat out a streamer of blood. “Who?”

Katsuro swallowed down his anger. His instinct was to press the muzzle against the man’s head and pull the trigger, but, while that might sate his irritation, it would not bring him the information that he needed. He glanced to his left and saw the large industrial stove with six burners. He turned the dial to open the gas and pressed the trigger to light it. A blue flame caught and burned hot. A row of knives were arranged on a magnetic strip and Katsuro took down a paring knife.