Read Raiju: A Kaiju Hunter Novel (The Kaiju Hunter) for Free Online Page B

flames inching toward my fingers. “Shit!” I hissed and threw the cigarette into the toilet and immediately flushed it.
    “ Kevin!”
    “ I’m already there!” I called.
    Smoking is mondo bad for your health, just FYI.
     
    2
     
    Just my luck, I ran into Mr. Serizawa as I headed out to school. Usually he stays upstairs in his room, which is just fine by me, since he has these crazy Muppet eyes that sort of freak me out.
    “ Mago ,” he said in greeting, hobbling down the stairs with his carven little cane. ” Mago , I had a dream about you last night.”
    You know that crazy Asian dude who gave little Billy the mogwai? Yeah, exactly.
    “ Hi, Mr. Serizawa,” I said.
    At least he was speaking English this morning, except for that mago business. It means something casual like son or grandchild . Older Japanese folks use it on young people in a patronizing way that’s supposed to make you feel good, but that’s about all I’d learned of my dad’s native language. Generally speaking, I know less Japanese than the average otaku, which is pretty sad when you think about it.
    Mr. Serizawa worked his way down the steps without help. He’s not what you’d expect—some wizened old magus in a Kung Fu movie or whatever. He’s over eighty years old, and was head chef of various New York bistros most of his life, and a butcher before that, and a soldier before that, if the stories are true. Despite his age, he’s built solid like a mountain.
    I thought about telling him I had to run, that I was late for school, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t buy it. He’s the only one I know who can see right through my fibs—maybe it’s the Muppet eyes, I don’t know. So I waited impatiently at the bottom of the stairs, my pack over one shoulder, hoping this wouldn’t entail some boring long philosophy lesson about a Samurai or something. “What kind of dream did you have, Mr. Serizawa?” I prompted.
    He nodded dourly. “You were fighting the Orochi, like the god Susa-no-Ō,” he announced, rolling the words along in a way you just don’t hear anymore unless you visit the Japanese countryside where the old dialects are still spoken. “I saw you with a flaming sword, taming the great Kami.”
    “ Oh yeah? Was I saving any girls?”
    He laughed. “No girls. But maybe tomorrow night.”
    I pretended to smile, but what I really wanted to do was to get the hell out of there. I mean, the way Mr. Serizawa studies me has total creepy child molester written all over it. He’s never pulled anything, but you can tell he’s up to something.
    “ Did you cut your hair, mago ?” he asked, admiring me.
    I glanced longingly at the door. “Um…no?”
    “ Yet something is different this morning. Something has changed.”
    Yeah, I had taken a shower. Was that it?
    “ You are older today than you were yesterday,” he said. Again he nodded, as if to himself. “Visit me when you are ready, mago . You will know the time. And I will always be here for you.” Turning, he hobbled off to the restaurant’s kitchen.
    Do you see what I mean about creeeepy ?
    Rolling my eyes, I ducked out to the converted shed in the alley behind the restaurant before anything weirder could happen—and before my dad could catch me and offer me a lift to school, because I’d never get out of that one. He hates it when I take Jennie out on these streets and keeps telling me I’m going to break my neck one day. It’s a good thing I’m not a gun freak, because then he’d warn me I’m going to shoot my eye out.
    Out in the shed I swung a leg over Jennie’s worn and pitted saddle, then stopped a moment just to savor the feel of her under me. The obsolete and totally unfashionable dirt bike was comfortable, waiting for me. As always, it felt like coming home.
    But, as always, I felt a spike of despair once Jennie’s engine turned over and snarled to life. It reminded me of Wayne—greasy-fingered Wayne, ponytailed Wayne, Wayne my best (and only) friend,