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.