An Oshin of Trouble

VW turned to Lex, the name he had given his AI assistant.

“Show me photographs of safety deposit box keys used by every bank in New York City.”

The AI searched through thousands of images, comparing the shape of the key, the cuts along its blade, and even the style of the numbers stamped into the brass.

Nearly an hour later, Lex found a match.

“Got it,” VW said. “It’s a safety deposit box at First Manhattan Bank on Lexington Avenue.”

Oshin glanced at the clock. It was nearly three in the morning.

“Banks won’t open for hours,” he said. “Let’s go home and get some sleep.”

VW nodded.

“Meet back here at eight,” Oshin continued. “We’ll pick up the key from Claws and be at the bank when the doors open at nine.”

At precisely nine o’clock they entered the bank. Twenty minutes later, the manager unlocked the safety deposit box, wished them a good day, and left them alone with its contents.

Oshin lifted the lid.

Inside lay an idol carved from turquoise and a notebook. The idol’s arms and legs were bent at sharp, square angles—so severely that it could not stand on its own feet. Instead, it balanced on its hands.

Oshin lifted the notebook and turned the first page.

Handwritten notes surrounded a carefully drawn sketch of the turquoise idol.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

“What is it?” VW asked.

Oshin turned the notebook so VW could see.

“According to this, the idol isn’t a statue. It’s a key.”

“A key to what?”

“A hidden ceremonial chamber.” Oshin tapped the page. “The writer believed it contains untouched Anasazi turquoise animal fetishes, necklaces, ceremonial offerings… artifacts left to honor the sky gods.”

VW stared at the idol. “Do you believe it?”

Oshin shrugged. “I believe someone believed it enough to rent a safety deposit box and hide both the idol and these notes.”

He flipped to the next page.

A hand-drawn map filled the paper. Seven petroglyphs were sketched in sequence, each connected by a faint line that climbed toward a cliff. At the top, just beyond the seventh symbol, someone had drawn a small chamber beneath an overhanging rock.

“Looks like a trail,” VW said.

“More than that,” Oshin replied. “These seven petroglyphs are landmarks. Find them in the right order, and they should lead to what the notebook calls the Sky God Shrine.”

VW looked from the map to the turquoise idol.

“If this is authentic…”

Oshin nodded slowly.

“Then we’re not chasing buried treasure. We’re searching for one of the greatest undiscovered archaeological sites in the Southwest.”

Oshin placed the idol back into the safety deposit box but slipped the notebook into his coat.

As the cab carried the two men back to The Pier, the magician noticed a black sedan shadowing them through traffic. He casually checked the flash-bang launcher hidden inside his sleeve and said nothing.

The moment VW unlocked the rear entrance to The Pier, four men rushed out of the alley and forced their way inside with the two men. They backed Oshin and VW into the animal holding area.

Claws answered the commotion with a thunderous roar that rattled the steel bars of her cage.

“ Give us the turquoise idol,” one of the Japanese men demanded.

The other three spread out, each settling into a karate stance.

Oshin’s eyes narrowed.

“What idol?”

“The one you found at the bank.”

VW looked at Oshin.

The leader smiled.

“The key to the Sky Shrine, fool.”

Oshin kept his expression calm.

“We don’t have it.”

“Then give us the key to the safety deposit box. Now.”

Oshin smiled faintly.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

The leader stepped forward.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

In one fluid motion, Oshin snapped his wrist.

A small capsule arced through the air.

It landed between the four men.

A blinding flash erupted.

A concussive crack slammed through the room.

Before the echoes faded, Oshin was already moving.

He reached Claws’ cage and unlocked the door.

The Bengal tiger stepped forward.

Her shoulders rolled beneath her striped coat. Her ears flattened against her head, and a low growl vibrated through the room.

The four men froze.

Oshin rested one hand on the tiger’s shoulder.

“One word from me,” he said quietly, “and Claws chooses her first meal.”

He smiled.

“Which one of you volunteers?”

The men slowly retreated toward the rear door, never taking their eyes off the tiger.

“This isn’t over, Oshin,” the leader warned.

He pointed toward the magician.

“Mr. Wong will add the Anasazi artifacts to his collection, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him.”

Oshin watched them disappear through the door.

Then he looked down at Claws.

He smiled.

“We’ll see.”