“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 cars 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.