He heard the metal scrape of a crowbar being inserted under the rolling door. Time was running out. He had to use this tragedy to his advantage. He turned the gun towards his left arm and placed the muzzle against the fabric of his expensive black suit. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the trigger.
Once again, his ears rang as the explosive gunshot echoed throughout the room. He screamed as a white hot pain engulfed his arm. The screaming and clattering noise outside intensified, but he could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears.
He stumbled over to the office’s rear entrance, to the side of Isato’s desk. He locked the door, took a step back, and kicked at the doorknob. The wood splintered and gave way as the door flew open. He fired another shot into the hallway, then slid the gun back into his waistband. “Help!” he screamed in Japanese. “He’s getting away!”
He slid down to the cold concrete floor and lay next to his father. He clamped one hand over the wound in his arm, staunching the dark blood that seeped from the bullet hole. He glanced at his father’s corpse. Even in death, the eyes stared at him with an accusing glare. Half open, cold, judging.
He looked away.
There was a metallic crunch, and the door rolled open. His father’s bodyguards poured into the room. Two of them ran to Isato’s side and checked his pulse. Another helped Kenji to his feet.
“Is he okay? That’s my father! Talk to me, damn it!” Kenji shouted.
The man checking Isato looked up and shook his head. “I’m sorry.” Another guard put an arm on Kenji’s shoulder. “Thank God you’re all right. What happened? Who did this? Was it the stinking Shimizu clan?”
Kenji shook his head. “No. It was the gaijin. And I know where he is going. Get the men ready. We move now.”
The guard hesitated. “Hai, if you please, I will contact Ogawa-san. He will—”
“No,” Kenji said with a firm voice as he dusted off his clothes and straightened his blood-soaked blazer. “Koichi is not the oyabun’s son. I am. My father is lying there dead, and you want to talk?”
“No, of course not, but it’s just—”
Kenji grabbed the man by his lapel and yanked him close. With his other hand, he thrust his pistol under the man’s chin. The gun shook, as a tremble of pain from the bullet wound shot through his arm.
“We move now. The gaijin’s going to Asakusa. We will follow him, and I will kill him. Is that clear?”
The guard looked up at him, fearful, desperate. “Hai, I understand, but Koichi is the second in command. He—”
Kenji pulled the trigger. The back of the man’s head spattered across the light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
The other guards stared at Kenji. Strange red shadows swayed back and forth across the room.
“Koichi is second in command. I am the new oyabun. It is my birthright. Does anyone else here disagree?”
The men looked down at the dead guard and back at Kenji.
No one spoke.
Kenji smiled.
“Good. Now, first things first. I understand I need a new car….”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Caine peered out the windshield of a tiny Toyota Aqua. They had stolen the teal green hatchback from an alley, around the corner from the love hotel. On the way to the Hotel Riverside, he made a quick stop at a small, rundown convenience store. He chose one with just a few cars in the lot.
Using the blade of the Spyderco knife in his jacket, he unscrewed the license plate of another Toyota parked in the dark, lonely lot. Then he swapped it with the plate from the Aqua. It wouldn’t fool an inquisitive cop if he ran the numbers, but it would deter anyone searching for the Aqua’s plates. Better safe than sorry, in case the owner reported it stolen before he could ditch it.
They were now parked across the street from a short, nondescript grey building. The capsule hotel had no neon lights or giant billboards proclaiming its existence. The tiny capsules actually occupied the upper floors of another hotel, whose entrance faced the busy street. From the alley, there was nothing to distinguish it from any other building in the area.
Down the building’s side ran a red banner advertising the going rate for one of the tiny capsule rooms stacked in rows inside the hotel. For a small sum of yen, travelers and businessmen could stay the night in one of the tiny capsules. Then they could shower in the morning, eat a quick breakfast in the cafe, and be on their way home. Or more likely, head back to work after a night of heavy drinking.
Mariko sat next to Caine, in the passenger seat. She scanned the alley for signs of danger. Hitomi curled up in the backseat, listening to music on her cellphone through a pair of wireless headphones.
The headphones were topped with tiny triangles that looked like ears. Perched on Hitomi’s head, they made her look like a strange, ghostly cat. Her eyes peered out at something unseen out in the dark night.
Caine shifted in his seat. “Isato said he would send backup,” he said. “They should have been here by now.”
Mariko gave him a sideways glance. “Imagine that. Unreliable yakuza criminals. Maybe you need a higher class of friend.”
“From what I’ve seen, they’ve been more reliable than the local police.”
Mariko made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt, and continued to look out the windshield.
Caine turned around. “Hitomi, are you sure this is the place?”
She looked up at the grungy building and nodded. “Yes, this is where I was staying after Sonny put me in touch with Mr. Naka. I paid cash and rented the capsule for a couple weeks. I figured no one would find me here.”
“It’s not the worst hiding place,” Mariko observed. “Anonymous, quiet, low key….”
“From what I remember, the capsules don’t lock, and you have to check out every day. Where did you leave this drive?”
“There are lockers on the women-only floor. They are outside the showers. I left it there. I still have the key…. I paid the manager extra, told him I would be gone for a while. I think he was sweet on me.”
Hitomi handed Caine a small locker key, which hung from a circle of curled pink plastic. “There is a combination lock on the door to the women’s floor. The code was … let me see … press the one and nine buttons, then the five and three buttons.”
“Got it,” Caine said. He took the key and started to get out of the car.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mariko asked.
“I’m going in. I have a feeling backup’s not coming.”
“Didn’t you hear her? It’s a women-only floor.”
Caine looked down at her. “Trust me. I’ve managed to infiltrate tougher spots than a women’s bathroom.”
“You’re going to cause a fuss. There could be women showering up there! I should go.”
Caine checked his watch. “At this hour? I doubt it. Besides, I need to keep an eye on her.”
“And what happens when a half-naked woman goes screaming to the manager that she was peeped by a dirty gaijin pervert?”
Caine smiled. “Every job has its perks.”
He shut the door and jogged across the street to the building’s shadowy side entrance.
“Buta,” Mariko hissed to herself. Hitomi giggled. Mariko turned back to face her. “What’s so funny?”
“You like him,” Hitomi said in a small but confident voice. “Don’t you know anything about men?”
“What do you mean?”
Hitomi stared at Caine as he crossed the street and entered the door in the alley next to the hotel.
“That one … he is not right for you. Too much pain in both of you. There is no healing there. You and he are like two sides of the same coin. You may touch, but you can never stand side by side.”
“And just how do you know so much about him?” Mariko asked.
She shrugged. “I know how to read men. It’s in their eyes. When this is finished, he will leave here.”
Mariko nodded. “Maybe that’s not so bad,” she said.
“Maybe you will get the chance to find out,” Hitomi replied with a sly smile. Then she turned to look out the window, staring into space. Mariko could hear the faint music playing from her headphones.
She looked back towards the empty street and waited.
Above the side door in the alley hung a small green sign with white kanji writing. In English, the words “Capsule Hotel” flanked the larger Japanese characters.
Caine checked the alley one last time, ensuring he was alone, then pulled the door open. He found himself in a concrete stairwell. On the second floor, he passed through another door, and stepped into a tiny lobby.
The once-white counter of the reception desk was stained a dull grey by age and cigarette smoke. Behind the desk were rows of tiny lockers for personal belongings. A glass cabinet was stocked with toiletries, sake, and other sundries for sale. A wrinkled piece of paper outlining hotel policies was taped to the counter.
The lobby was empty and silent except for the sound of television playing in a back room. Moments later, the wrinkled old desk clerk shuffled out front to greet him. The man mumbled to him in Japanese, and Caine could not quite catch what he said.
Caine pulled out his wallet and lay some yen down on the counter. The old man nodded and took the money. Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a small bundle and set it down before Caine. It was a locker key and a toiletry kit, balanced on top of hotel pajamas. The man gestured with his head towards a curtained changing booth to the left of the desk. Caine grabbed the bundle, thanked the man, and headed into the changing area.
The changing room, like the rest of the hotel, was small. There was just enough room for the two wooden benches that sat in the center of the room. They were surrounded by about forty metal lockers.
Caine located the locker number on his key. He opened it, took off his shoes, and put on a pair of foam slippers. They were comfortable but completely impractical if he had to run. But the last thing he wanted to do was attract attention, and this was the standard custom for these sorts of hotels.
He left the pajamas in the locker and headed back out. The old man saw that he was still dressed in his street clothes. He shrugged, but said nothing.
On the fourth level, Caine found the first of the capsule floors. The dim hallways were narrow, barely wide enough for two men to walk side by side. Brown industrial carpet covered the floor, and it stank of cigarettes and sweat.
On either side of the corridor, the capsules themselves were stacked in rows of two. Each unit was a small plastic cell, just large enough for a grown man to lay down or sit up. A thin mattress covered the floor, and a small TV monitor hung from the ceiling. Some people jokingly referred to them as “coffins” due to their narrow, rectangular shape.
Caine padded down the hall, pretending to look for his unit. As he walked, he checked the ceiling out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t see any security cameras.
Most of the capsules had thin bamboo shades drawn over the entrance. Caine could hear the snoring and grunting noises of the men inside.
He found his capsule. He had rented it only for cover, but he decided he could spare a few minutes to try Rebecca one more time. He had still not been able to report in, and she might have more information for him.
He climbed the short metal ladder to the second row of capsules and slid into his small plastic room. It was white, sterile, and reasonably clean. He turned on the TV and set it to a channel that displayed only late-night static. Then he dialed Rebecca’s number.
The phone rang three times before it picked up. No one spoke.
“Hello?” he said. “It’s me. I finished the Murakami book.”
He could hear faint static on the other end of the line.
Then a voice. A man’s voice.
“I don’t have the proper response, Tom. You’ve got me there.” The voice was raspy and strained, but Caine still recognized the man on the other end of the line.”
“Allan Bernatto.”
“Yes, Tom, it’s me. Glad to hear you’re still alive.”
“Well, Allan, I find that a bit hard to believe. The last time we spoke, you sent a hired killer to finish me off.”
“It was nothing personal, Tom. We’re all expandable in the end. You know that.”
Caine felt trapped by the smooth plastic walls of the tiny room. They were closing in, growing smaller and smaller, giving his rage nowhere to go. It simmered in the small, hot room.
“What are you doing with this phone?” he snapped. “Where’s Rebecca? If you’ve hurt her, I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll do what, Tom? I’m not in Japan, so making threats just makes you look weak at this point. Did you find the girl?”
Caine clenched his teeth. Bernatto was right. There was nothing he could do, but every muscle in his body had one desire: to reach out and strangle the voice on the other end of the phone. He took a deep breath. Get it under control, he told himself.
“No,” he said calmly, “that’s not how this is going to work. First, I want to talk to Rebecca.”
Allan sighed. It sounded like a wheeze. “I suppose I could lie, but sooner or later, I know you’d demand proof of life. The truth is, I don’t have her. Not anymore. I don’t know where she is now. I don’t even know if she’s alive. She caused quite a ruckus in her escape.”
“Then we have nothing to talk about.”
“Did you find Hitomi? Did she give you the drive?”
So Bernatto knew about the drive all along, Caine thought.
“What’s on the drive, Allan? Why do you want it so bad? Leverage against Kusaka? You know who this girl is? What he’s done to her?”
“Arinori’s perversions are none of my concern, but there is certain information on that drive … information I provided him that I need to get back.”
“What information?”
“Arinori and I were working together on something—something big, something that could benefit both our countries. But he’s taken it too far. I need to limit my exposure.”
Caine sat quiet for a moment, processing Bernatto’s words.
“This terrorist attack … it’s real, isn’t it? You planned it with Kusaka? Some sort of false flag operation. What’s the target, Allan?”
“I can’t say any more. Call me when you have the drive. I can clear your record, Tom. I can fix things. You can come back home. Just work with me on this.”
The person in the next cubicle grunted and rolled over on his mattress. He kept his voice a low hiss, so it wouldn’t carry through the thin plastic walls.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Allan. I’m going to get that hard drive. I’m going to stop whatever Kusaka is planning. And then I’m going to find you. Do you hear me? You better pray Rebecca is alive and well. Because if she isn’t, nothing in the world is going to stop me from bleeding you out. You know what kind of man I am, Allan. And you know I can do it.”
“Tom, wait. Just listen for a—”
Caine hung up the phone. He clenched his shaking fist to steady his nerves. After all these years, hearing Bernatto’s voice brought back the years of suffering, the pain, the betrayal. In an instant, nothing else mattered. All he wanted to do now was leave Japan and find the man who had burned him, who had twisted him. The one who had made him a killer. Find him and make him pay.
Bullshit, said the inner voice, the one he could never silence. Bernatto didn’t make you a killer. You were always a killer. That’s why he recruited you. You were just a weapon he used for his own ends.
Caine ran his hands through his hair and breathed out slowly. Enough. He had a mission. Survival meant moving forward. Like a shark, forever swimming against a relentless current.
He raised the shade on his capsule and dropped to the floor. He thought about the push-button lock Hitomi had described, and reached back into the cubicle. He grabbed the small toiletry kit the manager had given him.
Then he made his way back to the stairs, heading for the top floor showers an
d Hitomi’s locker.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Caine stood facing a plain wooden door in a small vestibule on the hotel’s top floor. The doorknob sat below a push-button combination lock, just as Hitomi had described.
He glanced up, again checking the ceiling for security cameras. When he was satisfied that his actions were unseen, he pressed the small silver buttons in the order she had given him. He turned the doorknob.
Nothing happened. The door was still locked.
They must have changed the combination, he thought.
He unzipped the toiletry kit and removed a slim tube of talcum powder. He shook a small amount into the palm of his hand and kneeled in front of the lock. A quick puff of his breath blew the powder into the air, coating the metal buttons with a thin film of white. He gently blew on the lock again to dislodge any lose powder.
His careful dusting revealed masses of fingerprints next to the various buttons. The buttons were numbered 1 through 5. The concentration of prints seemed heaviest at the 1 and 4 buttons. He pressed those two buttons simultaneously, then pressed the 2 button with his other finger.
He heard a soft click, and this time the door opened.
He did not walk through. Instead, he leaned forward to check the area.
He spotted the metal housing of a security camera, mounted to the ceiling on the other side of the door. Keeping his back to the wall, Caine slid into the room. As he moved, he made sure to keep the camera directly above him, staying out of its field of view.
A small cluster of red and black wires led from a hole in the wall to the back of the camera. He gave them a sharp tug, and they yanked loose, cutting off the video feed.
Unlike the men’s floor, the women’s section was not carpeted. The floors were smooth hardwood and much cleaner. The air smelled of perfume and deodorant. The grunts and snores from his floor were replaced by soft sighs, the rustling of sheets.
He was flanked by row after row, chamber after chamber of women, separated from him by only a thin shade of fabric. Caine realized how alone he had been the past few years. How long since he had truly connected with a woman. Now he was surrounded by them. He imagined their bodies tossing, turning, writhing under the thin white sheets, lit from all sides by the harsh, sterile glow of the capsules.
[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black Page 20