Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t—
“Neo-Tokyo!”
“Goddamnit!”
Keiko flung the papers she was holding to the ground. If she had told that dumbass once, she had told him a hundred times. It was the same city, in the same spot, meaning it was just called Tokyo.
“By some estimates, the new line will cut the time needed to travel across the city from six hours down to less than one!”
Wait for applause, she thought. The press club members in attendance served up a polite smattering of applause on cue.
“And to celebrate breaking ground on this bold new program, we are here today to begin laying the foundation for this audacious step into the future. Please, follow me.”
The governor began walking towards a front-end loader that had been parked in front of the makeshift stands. It was arranged to give the press a good view from head-on, angled just perfectly to show the governor standing on the tread by the driver’s door.
Most groundbreaking ceremonies involved a ceremonial breaking of ground with a tiny shovel, or a ribbon-cutting in front of the future site. But Governor Haraishi was never one to rely on subtlety when a grand, self-aggrandizing gesture was a possibility. For today’s event, he had insisted on dumping the first load of dirt from the front-end loader. He said the pictures would make him look like a leader who was getting things done. Keiko suspected he just wanted to play with some big-boy construction equipment.
It fell to Keiko and the governor’s other staff members to arrange such stunts, which was never an easy task. They had to engineer them to be as idiot-proof as possible, considering the governor’s ability to fuck just about anything up.
“Are you ready?” the governor shouted from his perch atop the treads of the enormous vehicle.
The photographers and cameramen moved into place.
“Banzai!” the governor shouted.
He pressed a button. The massive front-end loader rumbled to life and began dumping the dirt that had been preloaded for the occasion. Keiko didn’t have a great view from where she was standing and couldn’t see exactly what was going on. So she was surprised when she heard the polite applause turn to screams of horror.
Oh, what the fuck did that idiot do now? she thought as she pushed through the crowd. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. For a woman who prided herself on being jaded and unshockable, the grisly sight was still a blow.
On top of the newly poured mound of dirt was a dead body. Not just dead, but one that had been badly mutilated. It was hard to see with the haze of dust still hanging in the air, but it looked like the man’s eyes had been gouged out and replaced with dirt. Blood and dark mud seeped out from the fresh wounds. Red streaks of dirty blood flowed down the victim’s nose to his dirt-stuffed mouth.
The body looked to be dressed in a cheap suit (which bore more than a passing resemblance to the governor’s own). The suit had been cut open in the middle, where the victim had been gutted. It looked like his organs had been replaced with dirt from the construction site.
In a matter of moments, Keiko’s initial shock at the sight of the gruesome discovery wore off, and her human reaction was shelved as her internal political calculator began gauging the fallout.
“Well, fuck,” she said softly to herself. “There goes our headline.”
CHAPTER TWO
Mei Kimura stood, arms crossed against her chest, staring dispassionately into the interrogation room at the worm wriggling under the bright lights. She needed a breather, and he needed to squirm some more. She had been working on him for hours, chipping away at him, eroding him the way the sea breaks rocks. A little at a time, and then all at once. And she had a feeling he was about to break. She could never say how; she always just knew.
She personally had no use for this worm, except as bait to catch bigger fish. And this worm had direct ties to one of the biggest sharks in the city: Vasili Loginovski. The Rock. A high-ranking boss in the criminal syndicate generally known as the “Kaisha.”
Mei had only been a detective with the Homicide Department in Japan’s National Police Agency (NPA) for a little over two years. So to her way of thinking, she was long overdue for a major case to prove herself. Not that her colleagues would care—she knew they wouldn’t.
Because she knew that nothing she did would earn the respect of some of the other guys on the force. Even when she slept at her desk, they said she wasn’t dedicated enough. Even if she chased and tackled a guy twice her size, they’d say she wasn’t tough enough. Even if she tricked a suspect into confessing, they’d say she wasn’t smart enough. She had heard it all before, and none of it fazed her.
One time a lieutenant had told her she would never be a good cop, because women lacked the same drive and dedication that their male counterparts just had naturally. She knew better than to correct a ranking officer to set him straight, even though at the time she was using a fast-food napkin as a tampon because she had been too busy staking out a suspect to return home to shower, change, or sleep for over a week.
Once, when she had come into a department meeting with a black eye and bruised cheek on her former beat, the head of her department had joked about how she must have tripped in heels chasing after a shoplifter. Her colleagues had laughed pretty hard at that one. She was still too woozy to correct them. A suspected murderer had slammed her into a wall when she’d cornered him in a chase and began whaling on her. She’d suffered a detached cornea and a fractured skull. But all she could do was grit her teeth, swallow more blood, and smile at his stupid jokes.
Even before she’d joined, she had known what to expect from the force. It was a man’s world, after all. So it didn’t surprise her to find it was so full of dicks.
Now she was waiting for her partner Kentaro, one of the few people she had worked with who was actually a decent human being. Once he arrived, they could begin phase four of the interrogation. The phase where she flipped this perp so she could use him to land Vasili.
The wait suited her just fine, though. She found that long breaks in the middle of an interrogation helped loosen perps up a little. She liked to let the stress and fear eat away at them. Let their own paranoia tear them apart, then pick up the pieces.
Her gaze shifted from her perp fidgeting in the interrogation room to her own image in the weak reflection of the glass. She was short (for a man, average for a woman), with long black hair (long for a man, average for a woman) tied into a tight ponytail, with plain features (for a woman, though somewhat feminine for a man). She hated the fact that she unconsciously compared herself to men. But she couldn’t help it anymore. Years of working in one of the most male-dominated fields in one of the most male-dominated societies on the planet had gotten to her.
Kentaro opened the door and sauntered in, glancing through the case file as he walked. Kentaro was her senior in the department by about eight years. His slight paunch around the belly and thinning hair would make him indistinguishable in a lineup of middle-aged accountants and office workers. But the mind behind that unassuming face was razor-sharp.
“This the guy?”
“Yeah. Arekusuandaa Namonai. No relation to all the other Namonais here recently.”
Kentaro didn’t laugh at her feeble attempt at humor. But he seemed to wince at the perp’s awkward mouthful of a name, the Japan-icized version of Alexander. Kentaro looked in at the man sitting there, nervously fidgeting with his hands.
Arekusuandaa appeared to be half-Japanese, which would explain the cumbersome name. He had long, greasy strands of hair hanging down into his face. His scuffed imitation red leather Demron overcoat hung on the chair behind him. Skinny arms poked through a short-sleeved shirt that had the trademark rumpled look of having been worn during an overnighter in a holding cell. The dark circles around his sunken eyes told Kentaro that he either hadn’t slept much or had been crying. Maybe both.
“Poor bastard,” Kentaro said.
“He’s close, I
can feel it.”
“Close to what? We’ve got this guy trying to unload a felony’s worth of controlled substances to an undercover. We don’t need a confession to put this guy away.”
“Just something I want to try with this one.”
“Wait, tell me what you’re …” He trailed off.
Mei was already striding back into the interrogation room. He sighed and followed her in. Mei dragged one of the folding chairs around so that she could sit uncomfortably close to their perp.
She wasn’t the most physically intimidating officer on the force, but she had broken tougher guys than this with sheer determination, intensity, even outright viciousness. Kentaro had seen his fair share of perps dragged out of police interrogation rooms that had been physically battered and beaten. But he had never seen any as outright broken as the ones that faced off against Mei.
“Arekusu, Arekusu, Arekusu,” Mei began with a concerned expression and a shake of her head. “What are we going to do with you?”
Arekusuandaa didn’t have a response.
“Have you given any more thought to what we’ve talked about? Have you considered—really thought deeply about—what it will be like to spend the rest of your life in jail? Minimal contact with the outside world, barely able to see your family.”
Arekusuandaa looked like he was going to cry.
“I mean, sure, they’ll come visit for the first few years, everyone always does. But soon it will get harder and harder. What with your wife struggling to raise your two kids on her own. She’ll probably have to work sixty-plus hours just so they don’t starve. Have you thought about all that?”
Arekusuandaa started to say something, but his voice caught in his throat. Mei leaned in closer.
“I’m just assuming that she won’t be able to find a new husband to take care of your children. Let’s face it, not many guys want to raise some con’s kids for them while they rot in jail. So, assuming she can’t find someone else, her next best bet is probably prostitution.”
At that Arekusuandaa rocked back like he had been physically slapped. He started to protest but Mei cut him short.
“Now, now,” she said, holding her hands up in a conciliatory manner. “Don’t knock the idea right away. Prostitutes can make good money in this city. Especially if they’re pretty, or willing to accommodate some rather … shall we say, extreme, requests. And believe me, she’s going to have to be accommodating, what with her looks.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Arekusuandaa sobbed as he hunched over towards the table. “You’ve got me! Why torture me like this? What purpose can this possibly serve?”
“Wrong question,” Mei said, leaning in. Their noses were practically touching now. “The right question is: what purpose can you possibly serve?”
“Detective,” Kentaro said.
Mei ignored him. “Because if you do me a favor, I’ll do you a favor. Like maybe dropping the charges.”
“What do I have to do?” Arekusuandaa asked.
“Detective!” Kentaro said, leaning forward.
“I need you to get me something I can use on your employer, Vasili Loginovski. One conversation, on tape, where you get me something usable, and you walk.”
Kentaro sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. There was a reason Mei hadn’t cleared this with him ahead of time.
“Go in wired against Vasili?” If Arekusuandaa had been pale before, his face was completely bloodless now. He began shaking his head uncontrollably and stammering. “No … no … no …”
“I can guarantee your safety in this matter,” Mei said. “We’ll be nearby the entire time. We can swoop in as soon as you get something incriminating for me.”
“I can’t do it,” Arekusuandaa said. He looked ready to throw up. “I’ve seen what happens to people that turn. Isn’t there anything else?”
“No,” Mei said impassively. “Look, we’re the only two officers who know about this deal of ours right now. The only others who will know will be our superiors who approve the wire. I can assure you it won’t leak from our side. And you said none of your men know you were going behind Vasili’s back and selling on the side. Which means he doesn’t know either. We’ll do this quick, clean, and surgical. In and out, then you get to walk.”
Arekusuandaa shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Of course, not cooperating carries its own costs.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I could call up some of my contacts in the Counterterrorism Division. Maybe tell them that some of the money from this failed drug deal would have gone to supporting antistate terrorists. They might have some questions for you in one of the MOJ’s black sites. Like the one in Okinawa, or up north in Kamaishi. Somehow I don’t think the ink on your body will protect you in a place like that.”
Mei looked coldly at him. She didn’t have any such contacts, but he wouldn’t dare call her on this bluff.
“But I don’t have any ties to terrorists!”
“Well, I’m sure that will come to light eventually. Probably as they’re torturing the shit out of you.”
“But I—”
“Look, Arekusuandaa, I don’t want to have to do this. A black site is no place for you. I mean, a sugary little treat like you wouldn’t last five minutes in a place like that.” As Mei said this, she dragged one finger down Alex’s cheek and across his lips. In another context it would have been erotic, but here it was just invasive and unsettling. Which was the entire point.
“So what will it be?”
No response, other than a few sniffles.
“Of course, maybe I tell my CTD friends your wife was in on it too. That way you’ll have some company.”
Arekusuandaa stared up at her, then broke down sobbing. She had him.
Mei smiled, ever so slightly.
It took nearly an hour to hammer out the details. By the time Mei and Kentaro got Arekusuandaa back into his holding cell, they were both exhausted.
“You should have cleared that with me ahead of time,” Kentaro said somberly as they walked back towards their departmental office. “You don’t just ambush your superior officer like that with a deal that hasn’t even been approved.”
“Sorry. I’ll get the approval. But if this goes through, we might have a real shot at Vasili! We can show that smug bastard that he’s not untouchable after all.”
Kentaro just gave her a hard look. “You know, if Arekusuandaa had gone to trial, he would’ve just had to take the years. You just sentenced him to death.”
“Don’t be melodramatic. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“With Vasili? You really have no idea, do you?”
Mei regarded Kentaro. She had enormous respect for him as a detective but felt that sometimes he tried to hold her back too much. He always wanted to walk when she was ready to run.
“It’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m going to make some tea and get started on this paperwork. You want any?”
He shook his head. “Going for a smoke.”
Sighing, Kentaro picked up a pack of smokes from his desk and headed out to the roof. He didn’t wear his mask outside when he went to smoke. The guys who did that just seemed silly trying to smoke around their respirators.
As he emerged out onto the roof under the gray haze over the city, he looked up at the buildings of Shibuya looming all around. He tapped his cigarette against the pack and then slid it between his lips. He lit it and took a puff, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number that wasn’t stored in it.
He was furious about what he had to do, and furious that Mei had forced him to do it.
“Hey. There’s a problem heading your way. Thought you ought to know about it.”
CHAPTER THREE
Satoshi felt simultaneously invigorated by the fresh air and nauseated by the rocking of the boat. Though most of that was probably due to the rank fisherman’s overcoat reeking of fish he was wearing. The shriveled little mummy of a boa
t captain had grinned when he handed the jacket to Satoshi, only for Satoshi to recoil from it. Satoshi figured it was disdain for the fancy city-boy. But he was starting to think it was because the crew had pranked him by stuffing dead fish into the pockets. He endured it without complaint, though. After all, orders were orders.
“You alright?”
Satoshi looked up to see one of the elderly boat hands.
“Yeah, just not used to the rocking.”
“Well, you’ll get your boat legs soon enough.”
“So, you think we’ll catch anything tonight?”
“We fucking better!” the man said with a laugh as he turned to go. “Or else someone is going to have hell to pay!”
Satoshi turned to look out again at the inky black water of the bay to try to calm himself. Nothing there.
At nearly six feet, four inches, Satoshi stood head and shoulders above most of the other guys on the ship with him. But it was like that most places he went in Japan. His hair was generally on the shorter side, but tended to get spiky when he forgot to comb it down or wash it for extended periods (a fashion choice forced on him by the job more than anything). He had narrow eyes that appeared cockeyed on account of how he usually kept the right open wider than the left to help him see better. His build was muscular without being too bulky, and gave him a don’t-fuck-with-me bearing. At least he hoped it did. As a soldier, the more you could say with a look and the less you had to say with your fists, the better.
He ambled around to the back of the boat, then to the other side of the chintzy wooden cabin festooned with well-used ropes and nets. He glanced back towards the shore. They couldn’t have been more than a few miles from Tokyo, with its gigawatts of neon signage, streetlights, and buildings spilling light pollution into the night. But most of the light was swallowed up by the fog.
As he watched the city pull away into the distance, he thought of how wonderful it would be if the boat just kept going and never turned around. But as much as the idea of making a fresh start appealed to him, he felt guilty for even thinking it.
The Drowning City (Tokyo Noir Book 1) Page 2
