Bobby Sky

by Joe Shine

  “You should, though. You watch the news. We are all very stupid.”

  He simply looked at me.

  “Okay, fine, good point. So how do we reach her?”

  “A phone?” Ryo said sarcastically.

  If I hadn’t been linked to him, I might have smacked him. “I meant, do you remember her number? ’Cause I don’t know any number in my phone.” That part was a lie. I had every single one memorized forward and backward. Problem was, they were all for FATE, so it was sorta like I didn’t know any. I had been right to ask Ryo, though, because he looked deer-in-the-headlights lost. Nobody actually knows numbers anymore. They are just a name in your phone you tap when you want to talk to them. Or not even a name, just a picture. Picture!

  “She on Instagram?” I asked him.

  Ryo nodded, but he still hadn’t put the dots together.

  “So we can find her on that, right?”

  He nodded, but this time he was smiling. “Yes, yes, we can. She checks it all the time.”

  “Then we have a plan.”

  About twenty minutes later, we reached the small town and it couldn’t have come soon enough. No, we weren’t being chased again—that would have been better. The shock of it all had worn off about fifteen minutes prior and since then Ryo had been crying about our bandmates. And no, not like quiet I-still-want-to-look-brave-but-I-can’t-help-the-tears-from-silently-streaming-down-my-emotionless-face crying, but blubbering, snotty, choking-yourself crying. It was really, really awkward sitting next to that, so reaching town was a godsend. Don’t get me wrong, I felt bad for what happened to the boys. I’d miss them, and I’d mourn them in my own way at some point, but in my mind the best way to honor them was through vengeance. That’s what I did best, so that’s what I was focused on.

  “We’re here,” I said loudly, hoping it would snap Ryo out of his groaning sobs.

  It was barely three-thirty in the morning, so the roads were dead and empty. Good. Yeah, we were in a small town, but if anyone saw us, recognized us, and snapped a picture to post online, we’d be toast. I cruised down the main drag toward the local gas station and parked a few hundred feet away. The lights for the pumps were on, but the convenience store was dark and closed.

  “Wait here,” I told Ryo as I got out of the truck. He nodded as he sniffled.

  Like most good ranchers, Frank kept spare hats, gloves, bandannas, and rags in the back seat of the truck. I put on an old, beat-up straw hat, wrapped a blue bandanna over my nose and mouth like an Old West bandit, and slid on a pair of gloves. In my soaking wet, muddy sweat suit I looked ridiculous. Good. The less chance anyone had of recognizing me, the better. The last things I grabbed were a hammer and flashlight from Frank’s toolbox.

  I ran toward the convenience store and when I was close enough, I flung the hammer at the glass front door. It hit the door but bounced off like it was nothing. Well, that’s embarrassing.

  “Oh, come on . . .”

  I picked up the hammer and tapped it on the door. The stupid thing was made of bulletproof Plexiglas. Great. So instead of walking through the door like a respectable criminal, I had to break the small glass window in the bathroom and shimmy my way in all gracious like. The smell was enough to make me gag, so I was really happy it was dark in here and I couldn’t see whatever wetness my gloved hands were touching.

  I crept out of the bathroom and into the main part of the store. When I flipped on the flashlight, I smiled. Even in a small town like this they had burner phones behind the counter. I grabbed two, undid the lock on the front door, and was about to run back to the truck when I paused. Clothes. My sweats were soaked, muddy, and had blood on them. Ryo’s pajamas were about the same. I ripped open a box of trash bags and filled one with some shirts, jeans, socks, and boots. Loot in hand, I quickly ran back to the truck.

  “Here,” I said, tossing the phones to Ryo.

  I tossed the bag of clothes in the back seat, along with my disguise, and started driving. We’d stop to change later. Having a chore helped stop Ryo’s tears, and by the time he had ripped one of the phones out of the package and turned it on, he had stopped crying.

  “Looking for a signal,” he finally told me, right as I was about to ask what the holdup was. “Got it,” he finally said.

  His fingers flew across the keyboard as he logged in.

  “Done,” he said. “Now we just have to wa . . .”

  Ding.

  “Told you she always checked,” he said smugly.

  “Get her number.”

  Ding.

  The response was almost instant.

  “I have it,” Ryo said.

  “Good. Show it to me.”

  He showed me the number and I memorized it.

  “Now call it.”

  He dialed.

  “Akiko, yes, I am alive. It has been a very . . .”

  “Here,” I said, practically taking the phone from him. We didn’t have time for chitchat. “Akiko, it’s Bobby. Can you use your little hacker skills on this phone and make it unreadable, untraceable, un-everything?”

  “My little hacker skills? Do you aim to insult me at every opportunity, or is it chance?”

  “Can you do it? Yes or no?”

  “I already have.”

  “Holy crap, that was fast. Color me impressed.”

  “That means so much to me.” The sarcasm oozed through the phone.

  “Look, I’m sure you’ve seen the news. We’ll explain it all later, but right now we need your help. Ryo says you can help us hide. Can you?”

  “I’ll find something.”

  “Good, we’ll be waiting. Hurry.”

  I tossed the phone to Ryo as I said, “She’s going to find us something.”

  Recognizable or not, our best bet to stay out of FATE’s gaze was to be in a massive city where we could cover our faces and get lost in the crowd. The closest was Denver, so that’s where we were headed. We stopped at a rest station and changed into the clothes I’d stolen. In matching flannel shirts, dark blue jeans, and boots we felt a bit silly, but neither of us cared. Being dry and warm trumped everything.

  The phone rang.

  “I have a plane for you,” Akiko said. “Park in Lot F at the Denver airport. Someone will find you.”

  “How do you know we’re heading to Denver?” I asked. Not even Ryo knew that.

  “Even though others cannot trace your phone, it does not mean I cannot. Get to the airport.”

  “Got it.”

  “And, Bobby,” she began, “if he is injured when we meet, I’ll . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’ll kill me. I got it,” I said, interrupting her.

  “I was going to say I’ll be quite angry.”

  “Oh. You can be that, too.”

  “I’ll see you both tomorrow in Tokyo,” she said before the line went dead. Tokyo?

  Running low on gas and without a penny to our name, I stole a car in the next small town we passed. I left Frank’s truck as collateral. Ryo insisted on writing down the address so that he could pay them back. He would too. He’s that kind of guy. Off the grid and warm—with a new car and a tank full of gas—I was starting to hope. Ryo dozed off next to me as the mile markers ticked by.

  150 miles to Denver.

  149 miles to getting closer to some answers.

  148 miles to vengeance.

  Chapter 22

  Nihon, Nippon, Yamato!

  I have to say that I love, love Tokyo. It’s the most wacked-out, fast-paced, hyper-real, bizarro city ever. It’s like the neon lights and sounds of the Vegas Strip took over all of Manhattan and then someone packed the streets full of really, really nice, polite people. Like so nice it’s disturbing. Like, I bumped into you; why are you apologizing to me?! It’s bursting with people and energy and excitement, and then there are the random t
emples, which are so cool but so out of place in the middle of the city that they feel fake. Tokyo is a place with what feels like endless possibilities, where you seriously never know what is around the corner.

  I was going to see none of it.

  The private plane Akiko had arranged to steal us away from Denver landed in the Tokyo airport at dusk. Ryo had slept most of the fifteen hours (including three pit stops), thank God. I probably should have slept more, too, but I didn’t. I wasn’t any closer to answering the questions I had—as in, why we were on the run in the first place—but I knew Ryo would start pestering me about the CIA the moment he woke up, so I spent the flight adding layers to my fake CIA cover.

  After we taxied over to one of the private hangars off the main terminal, the door opened, and the little stairwell folded onto the tarmac. We waited for someone to come get us, or tell us to get off, but no one did. After a few minutes, we shared a look, got up, and got off. I never even saw the pilot; the cockpit was shut the entire time. No customs official stood at the ready, and no passport was required. Instead a black Mercedes with gold trim awaited us. It was a signature of Yakuza rides. Once you were at a certain level within the organization, you had one of these. I had my “learning Japanese” by watching old movies to thank for this bit of useless knowledge. The back door of the car was open and waiting for us. Still looking like twin hipster lumberjacks, we hurried off the plane and climbed inside.

  Ryo greeted the driver in Japanese: “Ohio.”

  The man ignored us and began to drive. He ignored all our questions like we weren’t there. Or he was deaf, and in that case I apologize for cursing at him for fun to get a reaction from him.

  Traffic was terrible. Ryo told me it was normal for Tokyo. I decided not to argue. It took us two hours of snail-like inching until the driver finally turned down an alley.

  We were in the middle of the city, so I had my doubts about how “super secret” this hideout could be. I held my tongue. Maybe this alley led to a shady, rusting hovel hidden between skyscrapers and protected by snarling dogs and unfriendly types?

  But then the driver turned the car and plunged us into the garage of a huge modern skyscraper.

  Okay, Yakuza, I don’t mean to criticize, but no self-respecting criminal organization would have a hideout in a skyscraper. You’re adorable.

  The driver threaded his way through the garage, which was crowded with men and women in business clothes headed home for the day. Too busy. Too many eyes would recognize Ryo, a national heartthrob and uber-celebrity. in half a second. I knew the windows were tinted, but I now really doubted how “safe” this safe house really was. I’d need to come up with a plan B and quick. The driver eventually parked the car in front of a service elevator. The back door of the Mercedes clicked open automatically and no sooner had Ryo’s boot touched the ground than the elevator doors slid open.

  Akiko was alone in the elevator, waiting for us.

  She wore a pantsuit and had her hair perfectly parted, the final touch being black-rimmed glasses. She looked super professional and totally miserable. Wait, that sounds bad. She looked great, but you could tell she was miserable having to dress like that. Better.

  We ducked our heads and ran to her. The doors slid shut behind us. Ryo hugged Akiko and seeing his old friend brought back a lot of the emotion of the last twenty-four hours and he teared up. I stared at the floor. Thanks to the link, seeing him cry affected me in a way I could barely handle. It gutted me.

  “Put these on,” she said, handing each of us a bag.

  Inside each bag was a set of coveralls with a hood. Along with the coveralls was a set of dark safety glasses, one of those respirator masks that goes over your mouth and has two filters on either side, and a small backpack with a metal tank. With the coveralls, hoodies, sunglasses, and masks we looked like two plain old exterminators on a job. I felt a little better. No one was about to recognize us. Even I didn’t recognize us.

  “You’re exterminators here to work and I’m an intern, understand?” she instructed.

  We both nodded.

  Most iconic evil lairs are in the penthouse, so I assumed we were going there. Makes sense when you think about it. It gives you a bunch of easy escape options: helicopters, BASE jumping, zip-lining, etc. So when we stopped at floor twenty-seven out of seventy-five, I checked another box in the I-don’t-think-they-know-what-they’re-doing column. This wasn’t even close to the top. They probably didn’t even have a balcony.

  On the plus side, neither Akiko nor Ryo was asking me any questions. Gotta recognize the small victories, right?

  The elevator opened up to an empty hallway. We followed Akiko to a nondescript office. As in literally, there was no signage. A receptionist was chatting on the phone. When she saw us, she waved us in. Akiko took us past the desk, through a door, and into a sea of cubicles. Half were empty, their owners having left for the night, but the other half still had black-haired heads popping out of the top, their faces staring at glowing computer screens. So this was what real life was like. How depressing. As we followed Akiko past the cubes toward the far end of the office, we got a few glances but nothing to worry about. I could guess what they were thinking from the glances: Oh, bug guys are here. Gross. Well, better get back to it. Lots of quick glances, but everyone went back to work.

  This was all very strange. Where were the gangsters? Where were the scary-looking, dark-suit-wearing, tattooed-up thugs with samurai swords and Uzis like you see in the movies? This was an office, and from what I could tell, a real one. These were normal people who, unless they’re amazing actors and have ninja stars hidden under their desks, would be worthless in a fight. Thanks, Akiko, but the first chance I get to sneak Ryo out of here, I’m gonna take him. I need something remote, dirty, and totally off the grid. This was none of those.

  Another receptionist sat guarding a large office ahead of us, and as we got closer she picked up her phone, waited a second for the other end of the line to pick up, and said, “They’re here.”

  A sweaty, middle-aged man in a nice gray suit burst out of his office door, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Hello, hello,” he called out. “Yes, yes, please come inside. The infestation is right this way,” he added a bit louder than would have been normal to make sure others could hear it. “So pleased you could make it on such short notice.”

  Once we were inside the office, the guy closed the door and his whole cheery demeanor disappeared. The sparkle in his eyes and the smile on his face were replaced by a hard glare and flat, pursed lips. He’d gone from the guy you’d laugh with at the bar to the one you stayed far, far away from. He strode over to a door off to the side of his office and opened it. It was a bathroom.

  “Inside,” he ordered.

  We crowded inside the bathroom. It was big for a bathroom. There was a toilet, a shower, and a changing area. So it wasn’t small, but with four people inside, it was a little cramped.

  The man pushed through us to the far wall. On an end table sat a tiny little bonsai tree in a bed of small white rocks in a black bowl. The man gripped the trunk of the tree, twisted it, and then pulled it toward him like a lever. Something clicked. The table and wall swung toward us, revealing a vast shadowy space beyond.

  Now we were talking.

  “In,” the man grunted in English.

  We followed him into what looked like a dorm room. There was a set of bunk beds, TV, small fridge, and (I could only guess) a bathroom behind the door on the far side. It wasn’t luxurious. It didn’t meet my own personal standards for what makes a good hideout, but I had to hand it to him, this was pretty legit. Assuming no one knew about this place, no one was going to find it. Okay, it wasn’t ideal for long-term comfort, but for a short, get-off-the-grid break? This would do.

  The man didn’t stay. Instead he turned back and closed the secret bathroom door behind him, leaving us alone. I was i
nstantly struck by the silence. The room was soundproof. Okay, maybe I’d jumped the gun judging these people’s hideout skills. After all the driving, flying, and then driving again, it felt pretty damn nice to finally be still and quiet.

  “Is this sufficient?” Akiko asked me.

  I nodded. “It’ll do, but I have no idea how long we’ll need to hide, so long-term?” I shook my head.

  “This is only temporary. You will be moved to more comfortable housing once I have completed a job for them.”

  “Job?” Ryo asked.

  “Yes,” she said, still staring at me. “This”—she motioned around—“did not come easy and it did not come free. I had to offer them my services, without my usual stipulations, in exchange for bringing you all here. I must now perform a job I would normally never accept, so now I’d like to know why I agreed to it.”

  Together Ryo and I explained what had happened. We started with the plane crash and went all the way through calling her for help. Every time I tried to gloss over something unbelievable that I’d done, like fly the plane, in an attempt to keep her from getting too suspicious about me, Ryo was quick to stop me and go back. I wasn’t about to mention I was pretend “CIA” and Ryo never brought it up either, so when we somehow made it through the whole tale without Ryo spilling the beans, I couldn’t believe it. I’d hoped for this, but what you hope for and what actually happens is pretty much never the same thing. Was this going to be one of those magical moments where it somehow does, though?

  “Oh, and he’s CIA,” Ryo blurted out matter-of-factly.

  Thanks, buddy. Akiko’s eyes shot at me.

  “CIA?”

  That was it. No questions about the death squad who’d come after us, or the chase in the woods, or congrats on getting her best friend out alive. Me in the CIA was what she was focusing on? I filed that away in my brain, not sure at all what it meant. So I just nodded. “Yep.”

  She frowned. “Yep, as in I just helped an agent of the CIA get inside a Yakuza safe house?”