Pacific Burn

by Barry Lancet

  I looked at the clock. Time to meet Rie. I washed up, changed into beige chinos and a brown shirt, then left Brodie Security with my shadows trailing close behind.

  * * *

  Jun and the Steam Walker had talked three times. With game on for today, the final setup call was coming through any second now.

  And there it was. Jun answered on the first ring.

  Without even a hello, the Walker asked in his unsettling whisper, “Did you confirm placement, Jun Tasaki?”

  Did you confirm placement, Jun Tasaki? Who friggin’ talks like that?

  “He’s in,” Jun said. “At the higher price.”

  “Acceptable.”

  “You need his name?”

  “No. Just execution as promised.”

  “Guy’ll give it his best.”

  “Acceptable. Keep me informed at every step.”

  “What if he can’t find the moment?”

  “Just keep me informed, otherwise it’s a deal breaker.”

  Jun felt his whole body go cold. The Walker always pays, only sometimes it’s to the next of kin.

  “I’ll relay the message.”

  “You do that, Jun Tasaki.”

  CHAPTER 41

  ASAKUSA DISTRICT, TOKYO, 7:00 P.M.

  WE were about to dine on fugu—the first or second most poisonous fish in the world, depending on which expert you believed—aka blowfish, cowfish, boxfish, porcupine fish, balloon fish, globefish, and sea squab, among others.

  Miura-ya was tucked away down a backstreet in Asakusa, an old-town district in northeast Tokyo. The quarter was also home to the renowned Senso-ji temple, a large complex founded in the seventh century and dedicated to the Buddhist deity Kannon, who is esteemed for her compassion toward human suffering and weakness.

  The hostess guided us to a table on the second floor.

  “Why are we here again?” I asked in a low voice, as we ascended the stairs.

  “Because I’m returning a favor.”

  When we’d found ourselves working together three months ago, I’d put Rie front and center in a takedown of a crooked art dealer. She had performed admirably and received kudos back at police HQ.

  “Not that. This particular place.”

  “Oh, Miura-ya was my favorite uncle’s favorite haunt, so I like to come here when I have a cause to celebrate. It reminds me of him. But it has to be during the season.”

  Blowfish is served from October to March, with the tastiest period being from December to February, when ocean waters are coldest.

  Once seated, she said, “I was thinking we could take a stroll after dinner. With the pagoda and other buildings lit up, Senso-ji temple’s quite charming.”

  I thought about my late-night walk in the bamboo forest. And I thought about how well the Steam Walker and his people worked the shadows.

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  Picking up on my lackluster response, Rie gave me a curious look.

  * * *

  The Steam Walker was cold and displeased and stoically bearing up against the chilly December evening while waiting for a long-overdue phone call. What part of keep me informed at every step had the hired hand not understood?

  One finger hit the speed dial, and when Jun picked up, the Steam Walker said, “Where do we stand, Jun Tasaki?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “I need information at every step. That’s what I pay you for.”

  Something in the assassin’s voice put Jun on edge. He recalled the job broker’s warning: No delays, no screw-ups. Even so, Jun hit back with a jab of his own. “You sound nervous. Is your fallback in place? Just let me know if you need a hand.”

  “You sure you want to talk to me that way?”

  The ice-cold downward slide of the killer’s whispered words funneled from Jun’s ear to the pit of his stomach, ending in an involuntary shiver.

  “No, no. Just a joke. Please accept my apology.”

  “This time only,” the Steam Walker said, and disconnected.

  The mafia fixer had also mentioned that the Walker had no sense of humor whatsoever and cautioned Jun about the danger of a stray comment, even a light ribbing. Jun hadn’t believed him. Now he did. Believed it to his core. Felt it there. What’s more, the fixer had mentioned that people who disappointed the Walker simply vanished. Jun hadn’t believed that either.

  Now he did.

  CHAPTER 42

  AFTER we ordered, Rie excused herself to freshen up. I buzzed my shadows, Ito and Sasaki. They had arrived behind us in a second taxi and lingered nearby, one downstairs in the first-floor dining area, the other on watch outside.

  “How’s it look?” I asked.

  “No sign of the Walker.”

  In Ito’s voice I heard a calm watchfulness.

  “Okay,” I said. “You have the sketch and my description.”

  We’d briefly discussed canceling my date, but in the end decided we could use it to draw the Steam Walker out into the open. The fact that Rie was a trained police officer tipped the scale in favor of our acting tonight.

  Sasaki said, “Have you told Hoshino-san?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Be sure and do it, Brodie. If our man shows, a delay on her part could be dangerous for all of us.”

  Rie rounded the corner and was making her way to the table. I gave her a brief smile, then returned to the phone. “She’s on her way back now. Bet you’d like to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.”

  Rie wore a navy cashmere sweater, which she’d paired with a thin gold necklace and black slacks. A tasteful and modest ensemble.

  “Will be if you wait a few minutes. See the table they’re clearing on your floor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m moving there any second.”

  “So many eyes. Fun times.”

  “Lucky you.”

  He hung up and I apologized to Rie.

  “That sounded like business. Anything important?”

  “You may not want to know.”

  “Are you serious? ‘So many eyes’? ‘Fun times’? Tell me everything.”

  * * *

  Jun rang the Steam Walker. “We’re on,” he said.

  “Haven’t seen an ambulance, Jun Tasaki.”

  “They’ve started with drinks and appetizers. The doctored fish goes out with the main course, the fugu stew. Heard the poison is painful. Paralyzes you wide awake and you feel yourself dying inside. That true?”

  “That’s what they say. Is placement confirmed?”

  “Better. The head chef is out today. My friend says getting the bad fish past the second chef is no problem.”

  “Good to hear,” the Steam Walker said.

  “We caught a break.”

  You make your own breaks in this world, Jun Tasaki. That’s the difference between you and me. I have no time for amateurs.

  * * *

  Our appetizers and drinks arrived with a briny freshness.

  Uni sashimi, aka raw sea urchin, and fugu tataki, flash-grilled blowfish of sashimi quality, the flavor of the fish coaxed forth by a light touch of the flame.

  Rie said, “Now spill. The story, not your drink.”

  “First things first,” I said, removing the lids from the capped porcelain cups of hot saké spiced with a toasted fugu fin. “Kanpai.” Cheers.

  We touched glasses and drank. The saké was warm and smooth and infused with a smoky flavor. A sweet, woody aroma rose up from the cup, a browned fin floating on the surface.

  “Well?” Rie said.

  “Right. Did you notice the new diner who just came in?”

  “Of course. Short Japanese male in a blue suit and striped tie. Eating alone. What about him?”

  “One of ours.”

  Rie’s eyebrows rose. “So something’s going on. Unless that’s your way of telling me we’re on a double date.”

  “Worse,” I said, and laid out the story.

  By the time I wound up, an agitated excitement had poole
d in her eyes. “Brodie, you should be in a safe house, under guard like the Nobuki family.”

  “Better this way. If we keep the window of opportunity small and tempting, we have a chance to catch him.”

  “And get your first solid lead?”

  “Exactly.”

  Her excitement flickered as she reconsidered. “It’s not an ideal date, but I’m pleased you included me.”

  “Anyone else and we would have gone in a different direction.”

  I nabbed a piece of the grilled blowfish with my chopsticks. The flesh was succulent and chewy, with a hint of honey.

  “I’m flattered,” she said. “On the other hand, I missed the tail. How embarrassing.”

  “It’s beyond your training. No one threatens the police department.”

  My dining companion’s thoughts had already skipped ahead. “It’s only natural Brodie Security would protect one of its own, especially their shacho.”

  Their president.

  “It’s a title of convenience,” I said, taking another sip of my drink. Fugu-fin saké leaned toward a lowbrow brew but that did not make it any less addicting.

  Rie’s protest was immediate. “It’s more than convenience, and you know it. Brodie Security has a certain expertise in the field because of its American background, so they need you alive and healthy.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. You are a second-generation American PI in Tokyo, even if the job is inherited. Lineage is vital in Japan. If something happens to you, Brodie Security loses all credibility. Clients will think, rightly, that if your firm can’t protect its shacho, how can it protect them and theirs? If you get yourself killed, your staff loses their livelihood.”

  I nodded unhappily. My personal rock-and-a-hard-place. I’d always been aware of this quirk in the way we practiced the trade, but I’d never taken the time to articulate it in terms of my own life and death. A hefty price tag had been attached to my carcass. Consciously, I’d managed to sidestep the issue. But no more. Aside from a daughter I had to raise single-handedly, I needed to stay alive for Brodie Security employees and their families.

  The burden grew heavier.

  My date watched me closely. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  She searched my face. “You’re doing more than surviving. With your last two cases, you’ve brought them honor and distinction. It’s not the Japanese way to say these things aloud, but I’m certain they feel that way.”

  Before I could reply the main course arrived. Fugu stew.

  “Do you know how to cook the meal?” our server asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” Rie said.

  Our waitress bowed and retreated, leaving behind two platters brimming with food. On the first was an elegant spread of Napa cabbage, Japanese leeks, tofu, and clear noodles; on the second, succulent chunks of filleted blowfish. We were to add the ingredients to a deep pot of lightly boiling water set on a tabletop burner, then scoop out the cooked foods and dip them in a seasoned sauce.

  “Looks promising,” I said. “Is it safe?”

  “No promises,” Rie said, with a mischievous smile.

  Licensed chefs in Japan study for two years before being allowed to serve fugu to the public. They learn to fillet the fish and gingerly remove the toxic sections without accidentally puncturing, slicing, or otherwise damaging them and releasing the poison onto the flesh.

  I said, “Maybe I should ask the server to prepare the meal.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  A part of fugu’s popularity is a fascination with what might be: the ultimate penalty versus a sublime dining experience. The story about the famous kabuki actor who couldn’t resist the call of the fish’s delectable but poisonous liver because he believed he’d built up an immunity is true. His name was Mitsugoro Bando VIII, and his headline-grabbing death occurred in 1975.

  “Are you scared yet?” Rie asked.

  “Quivering all over.”

  “About time.”

  Although the danger is nearly nonexistent these days, on rare occasion a Japanese urbanite still ends up in the hospital or the morgue. Death by fugu is not pretty. Victims endure an agonizingly slow death as the toxin paralyzes the body in stages—while the stricken person remains fully conscious of the pain. A single blowfish carries enough tetrodotoxin—the poison in question—to kill thirty people.

  “Itadakimasu,” I said, the Japanese equivalent of bon appétit, with an additional nod to the host or cook for providing the meal.

  Rie and I dug in.

  When she screamed, the blood in my veins froze.

  CHAPTER 43

  A WOMAN two tables down watched in horror as her male dining companion grabbed his throat.

  “I can’t breathe,” he wheezed.

  His companion jumped up, intent on coming to his aid, but managed only a single step before collapsing to the floor, her body thrown into convulsions.

  “I can’t feel my legs,” she said.

  “Call an ambulance,” one of the servers shouted.

  The head waitress reached for the phone, and a man in chef’s whites rushed from the kitchen area with a first-aid kit.

  Ito and I traded glances.

  This was no coincidence.

  The Steam Walker was here.

  * * *

  Jun called the Walker. “The poison was delivered to the wrong table. They had the same order.”

  The Walker frowned. Most everyone ordered the dish. If two orders happened to come up at the same time, an accidental switch was a mishap Jun or his inside man should have prevented.

  “That complicates things.”

  “This is not my fault.”

  “No blame will be assigned,” the Steam Walker said, on the move even before they disconnected, thinking, You did not make the cut, Jun Tasaki.

  * * *

  I scanned the room, then the exits. “We’ve got to go, Rie.”

  Ito appeared at our side.

  Rie took a step toward the stricken diners. “We should help,” she said, her sense of duty as a public servant surfacing.

  I touched her arm. “Another time.”

  The tone in my voice gave her the information she needed.

  “You think it’s him?”

  Ito and I nodded.

  She looked from us to the couple and back. “But—”

  I said, “Leave the staff to handle it. They’ve been trained for this situation.”

  “That makes sense, but I still feel I should help.”

  “I can’t stay,” I said, “but if you really want to, I suppose you could.”

  Ito’s urgent protest betrayed the danger. “She can’t. She’s been seen with you. We all need to go now.”

  Understanding flooded Rie’s features. “You think he might come after me?”

  “Yes,” Ito said, “or he could use you in some way against us. We’re wasting time.”

  “All right.”

  Rie’s glance, sorrowful and reluctant, swung one last time in the direction of the afflicted couple, who had been turned on their sides to facilitate breathing.

  Ito had a phone to his ear. “Yeah, me. There’s been a poisoning and we’re on our way out. Coming down from the second floor. Evac plan two.” Ito listened to the response, then hung up.

  To us he said, “Follow me,” then dove through the split curtain hanging over the doorway of the kitchen.

  “Different exit?” I asked.

  “Yes, prearranged. Back way out.”

  “Good idea.”

  We moved swiftly through the preparation area. A spotless stainless steel tabletop dominated the center of the kitchen. Sparkling utensils hung on the walls. Two blowfish, washed and glistening, lay in a tray next to a cutting board, ready for filleting. Every item in the room had a place. Everything was meticulously arranged. There would be no accidental poisonings in this establishment.

  “You see it?” I said to Ito.

>   “Yeah,” he said.

  * * *

  The Steam Walker removed a long coat and dropped it in a trash bin, then glided out from between two buildings.

  “Sir,” the Walker called to the man at the back of the fugu shop. “We need you to move away from the rear of the restaurant.”

  The man was ten yards away. The Walker advanced.

  Nine, eight . . .

  “I’m on duty with a surveillance team. My name’s Sasaki. Let me get my card.”

  Seven, six . . .

  “Did you inform the precinct?” the Walker asked.

  “No.”

  Five, four . . .

  “Then do not reach for anything in your coat.”

  Three, two . . .

  Sasaki said, “I can assure—”

  The Steam Walker’s hand whipped out. A lightning jab crushed the man’s throat. He spoke not another word. Nor would he ever. He was gasping for breath as the assassin dragged him behind the line of trash cans.

  In the distance the Walker heard the first of the sirens—from an ambulance, then a police car. Followed by a third and fourth.

  Anyone watching would have seen a smile brighten the killer’s features.

  * * *

  We descended a spiral staircase that brought us to a serving pantry on the edge of the first-floor dining area.

  Ito held up his hand. We stopped. He spoke into his phone to Sasaki. “Status?”

  “Clear.”

  “This way,” Ito said, pocketing his mobile and leading us to a door at the rear of the restaurant.

  When we reached the exit, Ito motioned for us to pause.

  “This opens to a back alley,” he said. “A secondary attack from inside the restaurant is still possible, so I’ll go last. My partner has the alley area secured, so Brodie, you exit first and he’ll cover you. Hoshino-san will leave next. Move quickly out and off to the right. Don’t stop unless I say so. Got it?”