Tatsuyama tried to take in everything Shiori was telling him. Yamada, through Haruta, had infiltrated the security department of a major department store. Had he even penetrated Tokyo Metro Police? And what about Naoko—how willing a conspirator was she?
He looked away from her. Keeping his voice as even as possible, he said, “What else can you tell me, Shiori?”
“Later,” she said, “just before the concert, I saw you and Naoko on camera. I noticed you because you’re…well, because you’re big, and because you were with Naoko. I saw the new security guard lead you and Naoko to stand exactly where she and the others had been standing before the band even arrived. What ultimately sealed my suspicion was that the new security officer didn’t go take his place by the stage after escorting you and Naoko in.”
“Did that new security guard have a distinct mole right here?” He pointed to a spot near his nose.
“Hai, he did.”
Tatsuyama nodded. “He never stood anywhere near Akiko. He disappeared into the crowd.”
“Exactly! Then the big man showed up looking drunk. My boss had just returned to the control room. I pointed to the screen and asked, ‘What’s this all about? That’s the same big man who laughed with the policemen earlier. And where’s the new security officer? He’s supposed to be right there beside the stage.’”
“What’d your boss say?”
“He looked flustered and told me he’d go investigate…but my boss never returned that evening. I saw that dirty drunk all over Akiko. I saw you trying to move him aside. By that time I was furious! I tried to radio my boss and other security. I couldn’t believe it—nobody answered my calls. Finally, the exact same two policemen showed up to take you and the drunk away.”
Tatsuyama’s eyes watered. He didn’t try to pretend. The betrayal hurt. And Yamada’s effrontery made his blood boil. He wouldn’t vent in front of Shiori. She was there to help. Besides, Yamada’s goons could still be in the building—perhaps a floor above or a floor below. He breathed deeply.
She momentarily placed her hand on his knee. “I’m sorry…Do you want me to stop talking?”
“You’re very thoughtful,” he said. “But no. Keep going, please.”
“I was so stunned,” Shiori said. “I thought, this has to be some kind of publicity stunt. My mind wouldn’t buy it, though. I knew it was a setup.”
“Did you tell all this to Detective Kobayashi Koji when he came to the store on Friday?” Tatsuyama asked, bewildered. “Because all he told me was that I had allies at Shibuya 109. He said nothing about your story.”
Looking equally puzzled, Shiori said, “I never met a Detective Kobayashi. When did you say he came to the store?”
“I thought it was Friday morning. He said Shibuya 109 security was mostly interested in protecting themselves from liability.”
“On Friday morning my boss sent me to Tokyo Metro Police headquarters in Kasumigaseki with a sealed copy of his official incident report. He wanted me to file the report there instead of at the nearby Shibuya koban. It took forever. I’ll bet he knew Detective Kobayashi was coming,” Shiori said, sounding aggravated. “I’ll bet he didn’t want me there to tell the detective what I had seen.”
“What about your store security officers?” Tatsuyama asked. “How did they explain not answering you when you called them?”
Shiori shook her head. “Every single one of them denied hearing my radio call.”
Tatsuyama pondered briefly, then clapped his hands on his knees. “OK,” he said with resignation. “What happened last Thursday is beginning to make sense. I never saw it coming, though—at least, not from Naoko. Apparently I’m up against a group every bit as ambitious and powerful as Kobayashi warned me—maybe more so.”
Shiori gave a sad smile.
Recalling the secret greeting card Naoko had sent with the schoolgirl, he asked, “By the way, how in the world did you know to come to Hole in the Wall tonight?”
“I was at Shibuya 109 this evening, working again. I was about to get off work, actually,” Shiori said. “I was walking across the sales floor in the young women’s fashion area when I saw Naoko and the man…Hara—”
“Haruta.”
“I saw Naoko and Haruta again. I heard Naoko say, ‘I need something nice to attract him. Something to remind him of the way we were before last Thursday.’”
Tatsuyama pictured Naoko as he had seen her downstairs in Hole in the Wall, before she caught sight of him. The new clothes did look nice on her. Another costume for her playacting?
“I knew I didn’t have much time, but I was determined to follow her. I could see that she was going to try on some outfits in the fitting rooms, so I hurried up to the locker room, changed out of my store uniform, and into these clothes.” She motioned to her cross-buttoned blouse and skirt. “Then I ran down to a spot near the fitting rooms. She came out dressed in the new clothes. Haruta paid for what she wore. When they left, I followed them. Outside, they got into a silver limousine. Another car seemed to be traveling with them. They didn’t notice me in plain clothes, so I hailed a taxi and followed Naoko to Roppongi and Hole in the Wall.”
“And when you saw me come in?” Tatsuyama asked.
“I had to warn you,” Shiori replied.
He gazed at her. Here was this pretty girl, sitting beside him on the floor of a random office suite in Roppongi. She had been sharp enough to pick up on the peculiar circumstances at Shibuya 109. Then she cared enough about him—a stranger—to find him and warn him, even though that decision would put her in great danger. And it all happened, as it turned out, just in the nick of time.
Sitting there in silence, he felt a vague bond with Shiori, as though they had been close for a long time already.
“You’ve been kind to me, Shiori-san.”
She smiled slightly—with her lips and her eyes—and fingered a strand of her hair.
He forced a smile in return. “You know, Yamada could have his people on standby all night at street level, waiting for us to come out.”
“I know. Our best bet for leaving unnoticed will probably come when lots of building employees start to arrive, just before business hours.”
“Are you OK with just staying with me here till then?” he asked.
“Unless you think Naoko’s people might still be doing a floor-by-floor search.”
He went to the window. “We’re probably as safe here as anywhere. They might think we already slipped out when the crowd from Hole in the Wall fled the commotion, but I’m sure they’ll keep watching until after daybreak. Give me a minute for some precautionary measures.”
Shiori waited in the conference room while Tatsuyama quietly made his way through the eighth-floor offices. When he came back a few minutes later, he handed three items to Shiori—a metal letter opener, an aerosol can of air freshener, and a disposable lighter. He kept a can and a lighter for himself.
“I’ve seen you handle a fire extinguisher,” he said with a faint grin. Then his grin faded. “Hope we don’t need these, but just in case…here’s an emergency flamethrower.” He held the lighter below the aerosol spray nozzle. “And the letter opener—I hate to say—would be for close quarters.”
Shiori shuddered. “These people are serious, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “And persistent.”
19
The generic, black-framed clock on the conference room wall read eight minutes past three. Tatsuyama said, “What do you think, Shiori? Are Yamada’s people likely to be searching floor-by-floor for us this long after the fight downstairs?”
“Probably not,” she said. Her dark eyes reflected light from the building across the street. “If the manager of Hole in the Wall called the police, they’ve probably pulled back.”
Tatsuyama stretched out on the floor, resting his shoulders against the wall.
“Getting sleepy?” he asked.
“I’m not that relaxed. Yamada’s people won’t have given up altogether.”
“Then while we wait for daylight, tell me about Saito Shiori.”
“If you like,” she said, shifting from sitting to lying nearby propped up on one elbow. “I’m from Hiroshima. An only child. The daughter of a man who loves crime novels. I earned a degree in criminology—not chasing my life ambition, mind you. I guess I was hoping to please my dad.”
“Is your father pleased?”
There wasn’t much enthusiasm in her nod.
“What about now?” he asked. “Do you like your career?”
She shrugged. “I don’t understand most of my friends,” she said. “For so many of them, life is only about career. OK—career and shopping and nice vacations.”
“But work is important, right?”
“Not to the exclusion of everything else.”
“Like what?”
“People, family…”
“I was raised in a sumo stable—probably more family-like than what most people experience.”
With an inflection devoid of either mirth or malice, she said, “I was raised by the school system.”
“Just like most people, right?”
Tatsuyama followed her gaze as she stared out the conference room door. Computers and phones topped desk after look-alike desk in the work area just outside.
“I guess it hit me when I moved to Tokyo two years ago,” she said. “When I talked to girlfriends here about guys, they ultimately shrugged and said, ‘Mendokusai.’ How crazy is that? If you ‘can’t be bothered’ with meaningful relationships, what else really matters?”
He posed the question that begged to be asked. “So do you want a boyfriend? A husband?”
She sat up, crossed her ankles, and smiled. “It’s complicated. My friends here say that if a woman gets married, her boss’ll assume she’s going to have a baby soon. She’ll quit work. So bosses won’t recommend married women for promotions.”
“Most women do quit work when they have a baby.”
She looked him in the eye. “That’s not the point. Pregnancy isn’t the end of a woman’s career in Tokyo. Marriage is.”
Dozens of questions flooded his mind, any one of which could land him on thin ice. He didn’t want to be on thin ice this soon with Shiori, so he decided to maneuver himself back onto solid ground. “If you could be anything in the world, Shiori, what would you be?”
That brought back a smile punctuated by soft, mischievous laughter. “Two things…”
“Two things,” he said, chuckling.
Still smiling, she said, “Hai. For a while, I would like to play in a taiko drum ensemble.”
“You play taiko?”
“Not in a while. Three years in high school. It was my life.”
“Were you good?”
“Bragging is unbecoming.”
He grinned. “You were good. So what’s the other thing?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she said. “If…”
“If what?”
“If we ever become really close friends. Let’s leave it at that. What about you, Tatsuyama? How long do you plan to stay in sumo?”
“It’s important,” he said. “But it’s not the only thing. I could be happy doing other things. I just don’t want to be driven out by crooks.”
“I’m sorry.” She lowered her chin. “Delicate subject.”
“No problem. Don’t worry about it.” He glanced out the window. Night was transforming itself into predawn. “What do you like to do for fun, Shiori?”
She smiled softly. “I love to go to the karaoke box with my friends, eat pizza, have a drink, and sing until my voice gets hoarse.”
“Believe it or not, I have never been to a karaoke box.”
“ Usooo,” Shiori teased. [You’ve got to be kidding me.] “Everybody’s done karaoke at least once!”
“It sounds fun,” Tatsuyama admitted, “but—”
Right then one of the double wooden doors from the elevator lobby clicked. Tatsuyama tensed. He threw a finger to his lips. Shiori’s eyes widened. He pointed to the aerosol spray can and lighter on the carpet near her knees.
Quietly he crawled to the conference room door, straining to hear every sound.
The elevator lobby door opened several inches, spilling a wedge of fluorescent light into the otherwise dim workspace. Whoever was at the door must have been listening too. They didn’t enter yet.
Tatsuyama felt Shiori drawing closer to him. She tried to slip him the letter opener. Hoping to communicate that she should keep it, he lightly squeezed her hand.
Someone pushed the door open wider. Two figures slipped in. With a muted bump, the second one closed the door, returning the suite to relative darkness.
Tatsuyama’s pulse picked up. They’re still searching each floor after all. Relentless!
The feeble predawn glow outside hadn’t yet gathered strength enough to illumine the office space inside. It would take a minute for the gangsters’ eyes to adjust to the ambient light from surge protectors and tiny LED status indicators.
What to do now? Hide? Run? Or send Yamada a message?
20
Tatsuyama had explored the entire eighth floor while searching for makeshift self-defense weapons. Those searching for him and Shiori probably didn’t know the layout—unless it was the same on every floor.
To Tatsuyama’s left the suite consisted of enclosed executive offices. The offices opened into a U-shaped hallway. Between the conference room—where he and Shiori were—and the elevator lobby, the remainder of the suite was just one large, desk-filled, open-plan workspace.
Hide, run, or fight back—which one made the most sense? Whichever he chose, he wanted a clear advantage. So waiting for the snoops to enter the far end of the hallway, he rolled the dice.
Carpeting should muffle our sound if we move now, he thought.
He reached for Shiori’s hand as he rose to his feet. They would have only seconds to act.
Leading Shiori, he rushed into the nearer hallway entrance and then into the first open office. An interior room. Almost pitch black.
Tatsuyama whispered into her ear, “I’ll take that letter opener after all. Move back a couple steps and stay low, close to the wall.”
Her hair lightly brushed his face, confirming she was nodding.
The office door only opened ninety degrees, stopped by the wall this room shared with the next. He stood waiting with the open doorway to his right and his back nearly against the door.
This’ll be the last office they pass, he reasoned. Hopefully they’ll be lulled into complacency, thinking they’ve almost completed the search of yet another empty floor.
He and Shiori had to keep their presence a mystery until too late for the gangsters to react effectively. Worried that if Yamada’s gangsters approached slowly and quietly enough they might pick up even on the faint whisper of his breath, he shifted to breathing through his mouth. Deliberately, slowly, silently.
A thump came from a center room, then the clatter of plastic against a hard surface. Somebody dampened the noise. For the next few seconds, the only sound was the faint hum of idling electronics.
Tatsuyama wondered whether he and Shiori should make a run for it while the gangsters were deep in the farthest end of the suite. If he and she were to take an elevator, a bell would sound when the elevator reached their floor. Their pursuers would learn exactly where they were. A quick phone call could have others waiting for them as soon as they stepped off the elevator.
He yearned to bolt into action and be done with the suspense. Waiting perfectly still in tomblike darkness wore on him. Stick to the first plan, he told himself.
Long minutes passed. At last he sensed they were close. An indistinct ruffle of clothing was the only clue to their presence. They’d probably removed their shoes to tread undetected.
A slight swish of fabric on fabric told him one of them had just drifted into the next room. Then he sensed the dimmest glimmer of blue light. What were they using to illuminate each room?
&nb
sp; In his mind, he rehearsed what he had to do. The metal of the letter opener had warmed in his hand. Only now did he notice how sweaty his palms had become. He hoped the opener wouldn’t slip in the coming scuffle.
His heart threw jabs at his sternum. Just a second or two more.
The gangsters arrived at his doorway simultaneously.
Sight—dim as it was—overtook sound. Tatsuyama struck as though spring-loaded. He clutched and twisted the nearer mobster’s arm, forcing him to pivot. With his opponent’s arm locked, he pressed the sharp end of the letter opener into the soft spot above the goon’s Adam’s apple.
Yanking Gangster One around to face Gangster Two in the hall, he hissed, “Drop it! Drop what’s in your hands! Now!”
Tatsuyama filled the doorway.
Gangster One cooperated. With muffled thumps, one heavy and one light object hit the carpet.
“You too,” Tatsuyama ordered the other gangster. He pressed the letter opener upward, just enough to remind Gangster One he meant business.
“Hai. Drop it,” Gangster One told his accomplice.
Two more dull thuds sounded from the carpet.
He didn’t trust them. He had no idea what might be under their coats, in pockets, or strapped to their legs.
“This is what’s going to happen,” Tatsuyama said. His pulse was racing. His mouth was dry. “You, the one I’m not holding, are you listening?”
Gangster Two muttered, “Hai.”
“Your friend’s life depends on you doing exactly what I say.” Tatsuyama torqued Gangster One’s arm enough to make him whimper. “Do you understand that?”
“Hai.”
“Take your cell phone out of your pocket. Slowly. Throw it into the open space toward the elevators.”
Gangster Two took something out and tossed it. It sounded right for a cell phone.
Tatsuyama had him do the same with his wallet.
So far, so good. He really didn’t want to hurt anyone. But he would maim without hesitation if he felt any threat whatsoever. He owed it to Shiori to protect her.
“Now, turn to your left and walk till I tell you to stop.”
Sumotori: A 21st Century Samurai Thriller Page 10