“You’re being straight with me?” Kelly asked.
“Absolutely,” Carlucci replied. “So what’s bothering you so much?”
“I don’t know,” Kelly answered, shaking his head. “I’ve just got a bad feeling.”
“What can you tell me about Cancer Cell?”
“Ah, hell, I don’t know. It’s one of those things. I’ll be working on something else, maybe trying to track down the pipeline for black market pharmaceuticals coming down from New Hong Kong, and I’ll be going through files on different people, this case or that, and the name comes up. Maybe someone mentions Cancer Cell in a recorded conversation, or an arrest interview. A couple of years ago someone, I don’t remember who now, referred to them as ‘medico-terrorists.’ But what the hell does that mean? Do they try to block medical research, or are they running around performing experimental operations on people who don’t want them?” He shook his head again. “Everything I ran across went nowhere.”
“That’s it?” Carlucci said. “That’s all you can tell me?”
Kelly hesitated a long time before answering. Carlucci had the feeling the CID man was still trying to make some decision about him.
“I’m not the one to talk to,” Kelly finally said.
“Who, then?”
Kelly looked down into his coffee cup, then pushed it away and leaned back in his chair. “Maybe two, three months ago, I ran across someone who seems to know something about Cancer Cell. She wouldn’t tell me anything, but it was clear she had some hard data. She told me that if the time came that I really needed to know more, an important case, something like that, then maybe she’d be willing to talk to me some more. But maybe not even then.”
“And what about when Monk sent that query? You tell him about her?”
“No, I didn’t give him shit. Fuck the slugs.”
“Who is she?”
Kelly hesitated one final time, then frowned and took one of his cards and a pen from his coat, jotted something on the back of the card, then slid the card across the table. Carlucci picked up the card and put it inside his shirt pocket without looking at it.
“Thanks, Kelly.”
“Keep me hip on this thing, will you?”
Carlucci had to smile at that word. What decade did Kelly live in? What century? “I will,” he promised.
He left the building to make the phone call. He walked several blocks, then stopped at a phone booth and looked at the back of Martin Kelly’s card. Scribbled on it was the name Naomi Katsuda, and under that, Mishima Investments. He knew that name from somewhere. A Financial District company, he was sure of that, but why else was it familiar?
He used his dead-account card to activate the phone, called up the city directory, then clicked and scrolled through it until he found the number. He selected it, and someone answered immediately.
“Mishima Investments.” A disembodied, sexless voice.
“Naomi Katsuda, please.”
“One moment, sir.”
The line went silently dead, then came back alive with a gentle, muted ring.
“Naomi Katsuda’s office.” A real person’s voice this time, definitely male.
“I’d like to speak to Naomi Katsuda, please.” With a place like Mishima, it was best to be as polite as possible.
“And who is calling, please?”
“Frank Carlucci.”
“Ms. Katsuda is occupied at the moment, Mr. Carlucci. If you could leave me your number and the nature of your business, Ms. Katsuda will get back to you when she can.”
Carlucci looked at the phone. It wouldn’t take incoming calls, but that didn’t really matter. What was he going to do, hang out here all afternoon waiting for a call that might not come?
“Sorry, I won’t be reachable. I’ll try back later.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Carlucci hung up, then crossed the street and went into Bongo’s Heaven. All the tables were occupied, but he found a stool at the counter. He was beat, still recovering from the damn vaccination, and wasn’t too sure about stomaching a Bongo Burger. So he ordered a bowl of the split pea, which was always good, and iced tea.
As he ate, he thought about Caroline, and Tito Moraleja, and his conversation with Martin Kelly, and Mishima Investments. He tried to remember where he knew that company from. Something from years before, maybe. But what? Then it finally snapped into focus, and he knew. Mishima Investments was one of New Hong Kong’s two official Earth-based financial arms. The other was China Moon Ltd., which was headquartered directly across the street from Mishima in the heart of the Financial District. One Japanese arm, and one Chinese.
New Hong Kong. Carlucci had pissed off the orbital three years earlier, and he was sure they hadn’t forgotten. He had been partially responsible for the public revelation that the medical research teams up in New Hong Kong were working on serious long-term life extension and that their research involved, among other things, abductions of people from Earth, forced experimentation, vivisection, political bribery, corruption, and murder. In the long run, there had been no serious consequences for New Hong Kong, more annoyance for them than anything else, but he suspected they still didn’t care much for him.
When he was done with lunch, Carlucci went back to the phone across the street and called Mishima Investments. He got the same man, and the same noise about Naomi Katsuda’s unavailability.
“All right,” Carlucci said. “When will Ms. Katsuda be available? It’s important I talk to her.”
“If you could leave a number…”
“I told you before, that’s not possible. When should I call back?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carlucci.” A slightly condescending tone had worked its way into the man’s voice. “Ms. Katsuda says she does not know you. If you would leave a number and tell me the nature of your business with her, perhaps Ms. Katsuda would be willing to return your call. Otherwise we cannot help you.”
“I am Lieutenant Frank Carlucci, with the San Francisco Police Department, and I would appreciate your cooperation. I will not be available at my office, and I need to talk to Ms. Katsuda. So if you could please give me a specific time when I can call back and talk to her…” He left it at that.
There was a long pause, then the man said, “If you would hold just a moment, Lieutenant Carlucci.”
“Sure.”
Dead air, then the man’s voice returned. “I’m putting you through to Ms. Katsuda.”
“Thanks.” But the man was already gone.
“Lieutenant Carlucci. Naomi Katsuda here. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to talk to you.”
“Talk away, Lieutenant.”
“In person, I think.”
She laughed softly. “That’s dramatic. What about?”
“Martin Kelly gave me your name.”
There was a slight pause, then she said, “Martin Kelly.”
“Yes.”
There was a longer pause. “I’m not sure I can help you,” she said.
“I’m not sure, either, but I’d like to find out.”
“I don’t think you understand me,” Naomi Katsuda said. “I’m not sure I want to help you, even if I can.”
“I understood you,” Carlucci said.
He waited through a long silence, trying to hear her breathing, some sign of life.
“Would tomorrow afternoon be all right?” she finally asked.
“Sure. Whatever works.”
“Call tomorrow morning, then, and Tim will tell you where and when.”
“Your secretary?”
“My assistant. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant.”
The line went dead again. Permanently, this time. Carlucci hung up the receiver and stood there beside the phone for a while, gazing at the street around him.
He should just let this Cancer Cell stuff go. It felt like trouble. But he couldn’t, not yet anyway. His daughter had asked for his help, and he couldn’t refuse.
5
“Hey, sis,” she said.
“Hi, Cari.” Tina was the only one who called her that anymore. She stood up and they hugged each other.
“What’s up?” Caroline asked.
Tina shrugged, smiling. “I just decided I wanted to see you. I thought maybe we could spend the evening together, sit around and talk and like that.” She bent over, picked up the bag, then straightened, smile broadening into a grin. “I brought rum and Coke.”
“Oh, no,” Caroline said.
“Oh, yes. You’re off work tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid so.” She could not keep from smiling at her younger sister.
“Then let’s get shitfaced.”
Caroline was fairly drunk, but was trying to pace herself. Tina wasn’t trying to pace herself, and she’d also smoked half a joint; now she had the giggles. Caroline had made a pot of tea, which they drank between glasses of rum and Coke. They were both going to pay for this the next morning, but Caroline didn’t really care; she was relaxed and content and she hadn’t had a good time like this in a long while.
“Have you seen Mom and Dad recently?” Tina asked. She was sitting on Caroline’s bed, leaning back into a pile of cushions and pillows propped against the wall, holding her rum and Coke in her lap with both hands. On the nightstand beside her was a mug filled with tea and an ashtray with the remaining half joint.
Caroline was settled into her old overstuffed chair, feet propped on a cushioned ottoman that leaked bits of foam on all sides. She felt incredibly comfortable, her muscles slack. She had no desire to move. She managed to sip at her drink and nod at her sister.
“Saw Papa a couple days ago. At the house. He looked like crap.” She smiled. “He’d just had his spring vaccination cocktail.”
Tina picked up the joint, stuck it in her mouth, but didn’t light up. She spoke with her lips pressed together, the joint wiggling up and down. “He’d better not make a surprise visit,” she said, “or he’ll have to bust our asses for possession.” She giggled and the joint spit out of her mouth, slid off her body stocking and onto the bedspread. She picked it up and put it back in the ashtray.
Caroline’s apartment was a large, spacious studio—one large room with a small kitchen separated from it by a counter and ceiling cabinets. She really couldn’t afford it here in the Noe Valley Corridor, but her parents kicked in some money each month so she could live in a relatively safe part of the city. It made them a little crazy that Tina lived on the fringes of the Mission.
There was a scratching at the back door, in the kitchen alcove. Caroline tried to ignore it, but when it sounded again, more insistent this time, Tina sat forward, looking toward the kitchen.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“That’s just Lucas,” Caroline said. “Ignore him. He’ll go away.”
“Who’s Lucas?”
“Stray cat. He was hanging out a lot on the back stairs, and I made the mistake of feeding him a few times.” She shook her head. “He was so skinny, all beat up and scrawny. I felt sorry for him. Now he’s in better shape, all fattened up, and he won’t go away. I try to discourage him.”
“Why?” Tina asked. “You like cats. You should take him in.”
Caroline shook her head again. “No. I don’t want anything to be dependent on me.” She paused, then looked away from Tina. “I mean, what would happen to him when I die?”
The room got very quiet. She hadn’t meant to be that direct with Tina. Or maybe she had. She turned back to her younger sister, who looked like she was about to cry. Caroline smiled and shrugged.
“Is that why you stopped seeing Bryan?” Tina eventually asked.
Caroline gave a short laugh. “No. I slammed Bryan because he was a jerk.” Lucas scratched at the back door again and Caroline grinned. “He was just like that damn cat, always scratching to get in.”
Tina laughed, rocking forward and almost spilling her drink. She took a long, deep swallow and giggled.
“I need another drink.” A glance up at Caroline, a sloppy grin. “You?”
“Not yet.” Pacing, Caroline thought. One of us has to stay conscious.
She’d been feeling lonely again lately, and tried not to think about it too much. She almost missed Bryan. But she knew it wasn’t Bryan she missed; she missed the company, affection, having someone to talk to; she missed the presence of another person, someone she cared for, and who cared for her. She’d never really had that with Bryan, but she felt as if she’d sensed hints of what that would be like. At times it depressed her that she probably would never know what love truly was. Tina, at least, would have years to find it.
She finished off her rum and Coke, but wasn’t sure about another one, and she set her glass on the coffee table. She was already feeling a little bit out of control, and now her left eye was acting up again. It felt as if a kind of film had formed over it, not quite blurring her vision. She blinked several times, trying to clear it.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Tina asked.
“Nothing. Just a twitch.” Caroline kept blinking, but couldn’t get rid of the strange sensation.
“How come you didn’t see Mom the other day?” Tina’s eyes were almost completely closed now, and her head and shoulders were swaying, as if she were listening to some music that Caroline couldn’t hear.
“She was at work,” Caroline said. “It was Papa I wanted to see, anyway. I wanted to ask him for a favor.”
Tina opened her eyes, interested. “What kind of favor?”
“I’ve got a friend who has AIDS, and he’s living in a death house in the DMZ. He’s disappeared, and it looks like someone may have kidnapped him. I was just asking Papa if he could check into it, maybe help find out what happened.”
“Why would anyone want to kidnap someone who’s dying?” Tina asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Did Dad find out anything?”
“I haven’t heard from him, so I guess not yet.”
Tina made a face. “Are the death houses as bad as I hear?”
Caroline nodded. She hoped Tina wouldn’t ask for details; she didn’t want to talk about it.
Tina didn’t say anything for a long time, just sipped steadily at her drink, staring at Caroline, her mouth beginning to tremble.
“What is it, Tina?”
“You’re not going to end up in one of those places, are you?”
Caroline tried to brush it off, smiling and shaking her head. “Of course not.”
Tina took another long drink from her glass, put it down on the nightstand, hiccupped, then covered her face with her hands and started crying.
Caroline shut down. She couldn’t take this, and so she cut off all feeling. It was something she had learned to do during the past couple of years, a kind of emotional survival strategy. Bang, bang, bang, bang went the barriers, and she simply stopped feeling anything at all.
She stood and deliberately walked over to the bed. Her left eye still threatened to blur out on her. She stopped beside the bed for a minute, watching Tina cry, then sat beside her younger sister.
Tina twisted around and reached out for Caroline, hugged her, and cried even harder. “I don’t want you to die,” she managed to get out between sobs.
“I’m not even close to being dead,” Caroline whispered. She brushed at Tina’s hair with her fingers, over and over, sensing vaguely that she was trying to comfort her little sister, but not really feeling it. “I’ve got a few years at least,” she said. It might even be true.
They sat together on the bed for a long time, holding each other, Tina crying a
nd Caroline running her hand along Tina’s hair. The smell of bitter incense wafted in through the open window, followed by someone’s laughter out on the street. Caroline wanted to go out on the street right now, walk up and down the corridor, the night sky above her, colored light all around. Move in and out of the crowds, look at people sitting inside cafés and bars or touring through entertainment arcades. She did not want to be in this room thinking about her own death.
“I’m sorry,” Tina finally said. She’d pretty much stopped crying, though she still held tightly onto Caroline.
Jesus, Caroline thought, maybe I do need another drink. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. She eased her sister away so Tina would look at her. Caroline smiled. “Why don’t you smoke the rest of that joint and I’ll have another drink. All right? We’re supposed to be having fun.”
Tina nodded, trying to smile back. But her hands shook as she picked up the joint.
Caroline got up from the bed and started across the room. She’d only taken a few steps when the vision in her left eye darkened, like a hand cupping her eye. She froze, afraid to move, but a few moments later her vision cleared. Even the filmy sensation was gone. She continued forward, slowly now; she picked up her glass from the coffee table and headed for the kitchen counter.
Halfway to the kitchen, she lost control of her left leg. It buckled under her, and she stumbled, pitched forward, and sprawled across the floor. Somehow she managed to hang onto the glass, though the ice cubes scattered across the rug.
“Cari, are you okay?”
Caroline nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just tripped.”
“Maybe you don’t need another drink,” Tina said, giggling.
“Yeah.” But she knew it wasn’t the alcohol. Elbows burning, she slowly, carefully got to her feet, using her right leg for support. Her left leg seemed okay now, and she took a tentative step forward on it. Fine. Then another. Still fine. She turned back, knelt on the floor, and scooped the ice cubes into her glass. Every motion was slow and deliberate. She stood, skirted the counter, dumped the ice cubes into the sink, and rinsed out the glass.
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