by Barry Eisler
Takizawa looked at him, plainly discomfited. “What?”
The driver, another tough-looking guy in a tracksuit, got out. The engine was still idling. “Yeah,” he said. “Come with us. Too dangerous to be alone.”
It felt all wrong. It felt like a hit. And she sensed it, too, even if she couldn’t articulate it. Her gut was sounding a klaxon like, Why wouldn’t Mad Dog have told me I was going to have an escort? Why is the driver getting out, as though to intimidate or encircle me? Why do these men feel like a threat rather than protection?
She took a step back. The closer yakuza grabbed her by the arm. She tried to pull away and opened her mouth to scream. He popped an uppercut into her belly. She doubled over with a muted cry, and he picked her up and threw her in the backseat. He got in and pulled the door closed. The driver glanced around, got in, and they drove off. No one else had seen anything. I was the only one.
My gut told me Mad Dog was in there. He was the primary. I might never get a better chance.
I thought of Tatsu, about what separates men from monsters.
For one second, I was paralyzed between competing imperatives. Then, Fuck! I jumped back over the wall and onto Thanatos, and roared off after them.
They’d been heading toward Roppongi-dōri, where, because of the divider in the road under the overhead Metropolitan Highway, they’d have to turn left. But once they were on Roppongi-dōri, they could go anywhere, and if I weren’t close I’d almost certainly lose them. I didn’t think they would kill her in the car—it was risky enough to drive someplace with a kidnapped girl in back, but a body would be worse. Probably the plan was to take her someplace quiet and do it there. Still, I couldn’t be sure. Maybe she would try to scream again. Maybe someone would miscalculate. Maybe they didn’t give a shit about risks and just wanted to silence her as soon as they had the chance.
I turned onto the street just in time to see them making the left onto Roppongi-dōri. I hit the throttle and Thanatos rocketed forward. I slowed just enough to make sure I wasn’t going to be mowed down by an oncoming vehicle, then turned left behind them onto the street. It was late enough that there wasn’t much traffic. With a little luck, the light at the Akasaka intersection would be red. When they stopped, I’d pull up alongside them and start shooting. They’d never know what hit them. I hung back, two lanes to the right, waiting for my chance.
But someone must have checked the rearview and recognized me. I was looking ahead to see if luck was going to be with me at the traffic light, then glanced over barely in time to see the yakuza in back climbing halfway out the passenger-side window and training a pistol at me over the roof. Shit! I swerved just as the gun kicked and I heard the report of the bullet. He shot again and missed again. He was firing backward from the opposite side of a moving vehicle, and probably had scant training in any kind of marksmanship, let alone combat shooting, but somehow I didn’t find any of that particularly comforting. He fired again. The elevated Metropolitan Highway ran parallel to Roppongi-dōri here, right up the center of the multilane street. I cut through a break in the metal guardrail and roared up along the median, feeling naked on Thanatos, praying the concrete pillars and the guardrail would offer at least a little protection from a lucky shot.
He kept shooting. I counted six shots, seven, eight. An automatic, then, not a revolver. But how many rounds in the magazine? I swerved, barely avoiding a pylon, watching for obstructions, glancing at the car, looking for an opportunity, my throat tight, my heart hammering. The Akasaka intersection was just ahead, the median enclosed there in a metal fence. I was running out of room. A ninth shot. I heard it ricochet off the metal divider, and then the sound was behind me. A tenth shot tore a chunk of concrete out of one of the giant pillars just to my left. I waited. Was he reloading? Did he even have a reload?
I glanced over and didn’t see him—he’d disappeared back into the car. The end of the median was just ahead. The light at the intersection was red. I saw another break in the guardrail and cut left through it. I leaned forward, twisted back the accelerator, and rocketed up alongside them, the Hi Power out and ready. We blew through the red light. The driver cut right and tried to force me into the divider but I was ready for the move and had room to maneuver in the intersection. I cut in the same direction he had, firing into the driver-side window. The glass blew out. He swerved hard left. I didn’t think I’d hit him; he had just panicked from being shot at from close range. Yeah, see how you like it, motherfucker.
The other yakuza popped out the back passenger side again, probably with a fresh load or his partner’s pistol. I pulled up alongside the driver. He glanced at me, panic in his eyes. I held the Hi Power steady and pressed the trigger. His head exploded and the car swerved into me. I hauled the handlebars right and nearly lost control of the bike, but held on. The car swerved the other way, out of control now. I hit the brakes so it would go past me. I saw the guy poking out the back window trying to pull himself in, his face a mask of pure terror. The car jumped the curb and sideswiped a riser of metal stairs leading to a pedestrian overpass, took out a row of parked bicycles, and stopped. I cut left, pulled up onto the sidewalk, and rolled forward cautiously from behind, the Hi Power at the ready.
There was no need for the gun. The yakuza who’d been shooting was dead, no more than a mass of mangled meat hanging from the back passenger-side window. I circled onto the street, dismounted, and leaned Thanatos against a pedestrian guardrail. I shoved the Hi Power into my pants and tried the back driver-side door. It was locked. Takizawa was inside, huddled and shaking—alive.
“Takizawa-san!” I shouted. “Open the door!”
She glanced at me and recoiled, plainly terrified.
I looked around. There weren’t many cars out, but the few I saw were slowing for a better look. One of them pulled over ahead of us.
“I’m trying to help you!” I shouted.
All she did was cringe.
The driver who had pulled over got out and started running toward us. “Can I help?”
“Yes,” I said. “Get to a phone, call an ambulance. I’ll stay here. There’s someone hurt in the backseat—I’ll stay with them.”
Nothing like giving someone firm, clear instructions in an emergency to get action. The guy took off. Thank God for Good Samaritans.
I reached around through the broken front driver-side window, popped the back door lock, and opened the door.
“Takizawa-san,” I said, “are you hurt?” I was trying to create the right first impression. She was terrified, confused, possibly hurt. I had to establish myself as someone who cared about her before I could hope to get any compliance.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Those men were going to kill you. Mad Dog sent them. More are going to come. If you want to live, we have to get you out of here. Right now.”
She glanced left. If the yakuza’s mangled body hadn’t been in the way, I thought she might have tried escaping out the passenger-side door. As it was, she was trapped. “Who…who are you?”
She didn’t recognize me from the brief look outside Fukumoto’s house in Denenchofu. I would have handled it if she had, but this way was better. “I’m the guy who can tell you what’s been going on. And keep you safe. But we have to go right now, before more of those men get here. Come on. Give me your hand. Let’s get you out of that car.”
There was an instant of hesitation, then she reached out with a shaking hand and took mine. I pulled her toward me, gently grasped her elbow, and started leading her to Thanatos. Then I realized—Christ, I’d been so focused on so many other things, I’d almost forgotten.
“Wait,” I said. I pulled out a handkerchief and wiped down the door lock and handle. Then I took her by the arm again, and helped her onto the back of Thanatos. I jumped in front of her and revved the engine. “Put your arms around my waist,” I said. “Come on, do it. We’ll get you someplace safe.”
She did. I pulled slowly away from the curb. There were more c
ars slowing down and probably some of them would report seeing a man and woman leaving on a motorcycle. But it wouldn’t be much for anyone to go on. The license plate was reversed and I doubted anyone would be able to describe either of us with much accuracy.
I drove to Shiba Kōen, a park in the incongruous dual shadow of the ancient Zōjō-ji Temple and the considerably less ancient Tokyo Tower. I parked Thanatos amid some dark trees, and we sat on a park bench. The trains had stopped running for the night; there were no sounds of traffic; even the insects were silent. The center of the park was completely still.
“Are you all right?” I asked again, trying to show some empathy. And though I was aware of the tactical uses, I wasn’t faking it. Her makeup was smeared and she was confused and terrified, but she was as stunningly beautiful as I remembered from outside Fukumoto’s house—more so, even, without the sunglasses and the hauteur I’d sensed that day. Whoever she was, she clearly was out of her element and in a mild state of shock.
“I just…don’t know what’s going on. Who are you? Why are we here? I want to go home.”
“I’ll take you home if that’s what you want. But I’m afraid that for now, that’s the first place Mad Dog would look for you.” Again, I was hoping that an expression of concern plus my willingness to do whatever she wanted would get her to relax, to trust me.
“I just don’t understand. There must have been some mistake. Why would he…how could he…” She covered her mouth and started crying.
I handed her my handkerchief. “I think it’s because you know he had his father killed. That’s not something he wants anyone else ever to know. You helped him, didn’t you?”
“No!” she said, still crying. “I didn’t know about any of that. He told me he needed me to stay at the house. He gave me a walkie-talkie. He told me to wait in my car in the garage and leave when he told me to. And to make sure whoever was outside the house right then saw me pressing the garage door opener. I asked him why, and he told me to just trust him, it was important. I thought it was just some kind of game, so I did it. And he told me to drive somewhere close by and leave the car afterward. I didn’t understand why, but I did it, I did it for him. And then…on the news that night…” Her voice cracked and she sobbed.
Was it the truth? My gut told me yes. Certainly it tracked with everything I suspected. But maybe she was just a good liar. I had no way to know.
“He had his father killed,” I said. “I think so he could take over the business, but I’m not sure. Do you know any more than that?”
She shook her head. “I don’t even know him anymore. He’s crazy. He snorts shabu all the time. He’s been hitting me. Why didn’t I just run away? I’ve been so afraid. I don’t know what to do.”
Shabu was Japanese slang for amphetamines, a popular drug in Japan since pretty much the Meiji Restoration. As a yakuza prince—and now as king, I supposed—Mad Dog would have plenty of access.
“All right. You’re safe now. You’re going to be okay. I have a friend who can help you. A cop.”
“A cop? No! I don’t want to talk to the police. Don’t you know, Mad Dog owns half of them?”
“Not this one. Nobody owns this one.”
“They’re all corrupt.”
“Not this one. He’ll protect you.”
“Nobody can protect me from him. He’s evil, he’s lost his mind. He’s high all the time, he rants about all these things that don’t make any sense, oh my God, why didn’t I just run when I could?”
“What? What does he say that doesn’t make sense?”
“I don’t know. Since…since his father, he’s paranoid. Why wouldn’t he be, can you imagine his conscience? His father was such a kind man, the newspapers have it all wrong, when I read it I want to scream—”
“But what is Mad Dog saying? Why do you say he’s paranoid?”
“It’s always something about an assassin. An assassin stalking him, he has to be careful. I think it’s just his guilty conscience. He’s losing his mind from what he did, and the drugs—”
“What else about the assassin? How’s he protecting himself?”
“I don’t know. He says…he says he knows how to get to him. A girl in a wheelchair, something like that.”
My heart stopped. The world grayed out. An adrenaline bomb mushroomed inside me.
“What? What about a girl in a wheelchair?”
“Just that. The assassin…Mad Dog knows how to get to him. The girl in the wheelchair. I don’t know, I’m telling you, he’s insane!”
“How? How could he know about that?”
“Know about what?”
“The girl in the wheelchair!”
“He says…the girls tell him. The streetwalkers. He has all these informants.”
God, I’d been stupid. So stupid. The same place, night after night, the same collection of prostitutes, seeing my face, seeing the license plate on Thanatos, seeing Sayaka and me getting into the van in front of the station, coming back late together, leaving her apartment together. Maybe correlating sightings in Uguisudani with other reports, maybe even reports from Kabukichō, where I’d known there would be yakuza and stupidly told myself that even if someone saw me, I wouldn’t be recognized. So stupid. No, they hadn’t recognized me at the time, but how hard would it be to put the pieces together after the fact, in response to Anyone seen a guy pushing a girl in a wheelchair…?
I pulled out a pen. “Call this guy,” I said, writing Tatsu’s number on her palm. I had to draw huge numerals, my hands were shaking so badly. “Ishikura Tatsuhiko. He’ll help you. He’ll protect you. Call him.”
I sprang from the bench and leaped onto Thanatos.
She ran to me. “Wait! I don’t know what to do—”
“Call Ishikura!” I shouted over the whine of the engine. “And don’t go back to your apartment!”
I roared off, my mouth desert-dry, my heart pounding like a war drum, my eyes brimming with tears. Please, was all I could think. Please, please, please.
chapter
thirty-two
I rocketed to Uguisudani on the elevated Tokyo Metropolitan Expressway, the wind buffeting my body and whipping back my hair, my eyes streaming. I tried to concentrate along the way, to not let fear and rage and my temper dictate the approach.
Think. Think. Think.
I breathed steadily in and out, getting my mind clear. Then:
It could be a setup. They could be there now.
Yes. But…
If they knew about Sayaka, why haven’t they already tried to get to you at the hotel?
I considered. Focusing on the tactical problem helped keep the fear in check.
Maybe they only just found out. And they decided that after Yanaka, trying to ambush you without insurance was a losing proposition. So they came and collected their policy, and now they’ll just demand that you surrender yourself as the payout.
It didn’t matter. I could figure all that out later. For now, I just had to get to her.
If she’s still there.
I tried to push the thought away. I couldn’t.
I parked Thanatos a quarter mile from the hotel and pulled out the Hi Power, folding a discarded page of newspaper over it for concealment.
Slowly. Slowly, goddamn it. Where would you set up if you were on the other end of this? That’s where you need to look.
I moved as carefully as I could. The streetwalkers were still out. I couldn’t know which one had given me up. I wanted to kill them all.
Outside the hotel’s privacy wall, I paused and dropped the newspaper, the Hi Power at high-ready, breathing quietly, listening. Nothing. Just the normal sounds of nocturnal Uguisudani: a few cars in the distance, a barking dog, music from a pub. I popped my head past the side of the wall and back. Nothing. I eased around and pulled up to the side of the entrance door, my heart pounding like a war drum.
One. Two. Three.
I burst inside, the Hi Power out, sweeping the room, moving, getting off th
e X the way I’d learned in the jungle. The reception area was deserted and morgue-silent. Sayaka was behind the desk, looking at me.
I swept the room one last time, then moved up alongside the window, the Hi Power still in hand. “Are you all right?” I said.
She looked both angry and afraid. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t want to explain here. We need to go. Right now.”
“Two men were here an hour ago. They said, ‘Tell your friend to get in touch. If he doesn’t, we’ll come back.’”
I was so relieved I could have cried. She was all right. They hadn’t hurt her. They hadn’t taken her. I supposed they figured, Why bother? She’s in a wheelchair, she’s not going anywhere. And she worked the night shift in a crappy love hotel—it was obvious she had no money and no means of flight. They could get to her anytime they wanted. If they wanted to motivate me, it was better to maintain the threat than it would be to fulfill it. To point the gun rather than pull the trigger.
This time. Next time, I couldn’t say.
“I’m just glad you’re okay. But we need to go.”
“You know what else they said? ‘The good news is, you won’t feel it when we dump you from that wheelchair and fuck you on the floor. The bad news is, you won’t be able to run away.’”
I thought of the chinpira in Ueno. They were trying to bait me again, get me reactive, make me lose my temper, make me lose control. I wouldn’t let them.
But that didn’t mean they weren’t going to pay.
“Sayaka, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never thought—”
“You never thought what?”
“That any of this would affect you. I thought I could keep it all separate. But they tracked me here. They want to get to me through you.”
“I knew it was something like this. Your ‘jam.’ I knew it.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to kill someone, kill all of them. I fought to keep a lid on it. “I’m sorry. I was so stupid. I’m sorry.”
“What are you going to do?”
