I keep my head down and make my way across the street, nice and casual, like I don’t see the four gun toting thugs in their bad suits and movie-villain sunglasses. I’m two paces from the sidewalk in front of Hitaratsu’s front door when one of them yells, “you! Stop right there!” I do exactly the opposite and bolt for the revolving door in front of me. The quiet hiss of guns with silencers discharging fills the air moments before the screams. I get through the door and look back through the half-inch bullet proof glass. People are running and screaming, at least those who haven’t been shot.