Of Cinder and Bone

by Kyoko M

  He nudged her with his shoulder. “How about you? Want an awesome private garden in that castle you’re going to buy?”

  Kamala grinned. “Of course. Where else will we grow our marijuana?”

  “My God, you think of everything, don’t you?”

  “Oy,” Fujioka said sharply, glancing over her shoulder. “We’re almost there. Eyes and ears on, kodomo.”

  “Right,” Jack said. “What’s the guy’s name again?”

  “Sōsuke Iwamoto. If any of the wait staff or patrons appear to be eavesdropping, signal me by scratching your nose with two fingers. If I tap the table twice, it means someone’s onto us and we need to go.”

  “Did anyone follow us into the park?” Kamala asked.

  Fujioka cast her eagle eye behind them for a handful of seconds. “No. Or not yet, rather. Stay close.”

  They walked into the tea house and greeted one of the waiters, who found them somewhere to sit. Fujioka requested somewhere in the corner—a measure to control her vantage point and reduce the opportunity of being snuck up on—and they sat. Fujioka sat with a careful grace to her. Kamala mirrored her, but her shoulders were straight and tense. Jack was positively bubbling over with nervous energy, bouncing his leg up and down until Fujioka glared at him.

  A moment later, a young man of no more than twenty-three appeared. He wore a hoodie, jeans so wrinkle-free they could tell they’d been ironed, and loafers. He glanced around before spotting their party and walked with hesitant steps towards them.

  He stopped and cleared his throat, addressing Fujioka first. “Sumimasen. Anata wa Fujioka-san desu ka?”

  She nodded and bowed her head. “Iwamoto-san?”

  “Hai.”

  “Hajimemashite. Dōzo osuwari kudasai.”

  “Hajimemashite. Arigato.” The boy sat next to Jack, his hands still tucked in his pockets.

  Fujioka gestured to Kamala and then Jack. “Kore ga Anjali-sensei to Jackson-sensei desu.”

  Iwamoto nodded to each of them and they did the same. Fujioka flicked her thumb across the surface of her phone and showed it to Iwamoto briefly. The boy’s eyes widened as she explained something in Japanese and he responded eagerly.

  “He’s agreed to help,” Fujioka told the pair of scientists afterward.

  “Does he speak English?” Jack asked.

  “Not much.”

  “Okay, then I guess we’d better get started. Ask him to describe everything he saw that night Pete came in through customs.”

  Fujioka folded her hands on the table. “Anata ga mita mono o shiete kudasai.”

  Iwamoto licked his lips and drank the green tea the waitress had brought for him a moment ago. He warmed his hands on the ceramic mug and then spoke in a low, hesitant voice. Fujioka listened for a couple of minutes and then began to recount the tale for them in English.

  “Iwamoto-san wasn’t supposed to be on shift that night. He had a friend who was in a bike accident, so he covered for him. He remembers a very odd sound coming from the cargo hold of one of the planes. He’s seen live animals moved before, so that wasn’t unusual, but the sound of the dragon was unique. He said… it sounded like crying. Not whimpering or chirping. Crying. Very weak, but he says it shook him to the bone. He asked his supervisor what was making that sound, but he was told to shut up and get back to work in his area. It bothered him, so he waited until the other workers were busy and snuck towards where he heard the cries. The dragon was being held in a clear container with holes, something that couldn’t be shattered or immolated in a fire. One of the holes had a glove, so they could inject her with sedatives, and that’s what they were trying to do. Iwamoto thinks she woke up after they landed, so they sedated her again and she went back to sleep. They loaded her onto the back of an eighteen-wheeler with two men and drove away. He didn’t see a license plate, but he thinks that it was definitely a truck used to ship Sugimoto Pharmaceuticals. It had a red logo with the kanji for ‘heal’ in the center.”

  “Did he see in which direction they were headed?” Kamala asked.

  Fujioka translated the question. Iwamoto shook his head.

  “Did he get a good look at the men who loaded the dragon onto the truck?”

  Fujioka asked. Iwamoto paused before answering.

  “He says they weren’t men who worked at customs. He thinks they paid off his supervisor and whoever landed the cargo plane to stay quiet. He saw a couple of tattoos on the men’s arms and shoulders.”

  “Ask if he can draw them for us.”

  Fujioka asked and Iwamoto nodded. Jack reached into his jacket and withdrew a small pad and pencil, offering them to Iwamoto. He took them, glancing this way and that, and then drew.

  “I’ve read that the tattoos can be very distinctive for yakuza,” Kamala said. “Do you think it can give us a way to identify them?”

  “Perhaps,” Fujioka answered, watching the boy. “It can at least eliminate certain people from the suspect pool. There is a difference between modern tattoos and irezumi. Irezumi are done by hand and it requires incredible skill and time. Tattoos aren’t considered very acceptable, and so it’s hard to find someone to do them for you. Each artist has their own style and no two are alike. We might be able to find out who did the ones for these men and narrow down who transported the dragon.”

  Iwamoto handed the two drawings to Fujioka. The first was a caricature of a woman in a kimono holding an umbrella with sakura petals falling all around her. The second was of a man in full samurai armor fighting a dragon. Fujioka tucked them into the inner pocket of her jacket.

  Jack scooted forward a bit. “Can you ask him how large the dragon was when he saw it?”

  Fujioka lifted an eyebrow, but complied. Iwamoto held his hands about three feet apart, and then about a foot high. Jack smiled faintly at Kamala. “Our little girl is growing up.”

  “Time flies,” she agreed. “Can you ask him if he saw Okegawa or any of his associates?”

  Fujioka went through her phone again and showed the photos to Iwamoto, who shook his head at each one. “Figures. Okegawa wouldn’t be dumb enough to collect the dragon himself if the heat was still on him when he left the States. He’ll be at a secure location setting up security and waiting for orders from Yagami.”

  “One last thing,” Jack said. “Can you ask him why he decided to help us? He’s putting himself at great risk for a couple of strangers.”

  Fujioka asked. Iwamoto’s demeanor changed. He actually smiled shyly and twiddled his thumbs a bit, staring into his tea as he spoke.

  “He says he saw the press conference you gave about the dragon. Someone in his lineage was a dragon hunter, and so he was intrigued to follow the story’s developments. He says he’s lived an ordinary life and being reminded of his ancestry lifted his spirits. He hopes very much that you’re able to find your dragon.”

  “Arigato,” Kamala said, gently touching his hand. Iwamoto blushed and nodded to her.

  “Is there anything else you want to ask him?”

  “No, he’s been more than helpful.” Jack tilted his head to the boy. “Arigato gozai mashita.”

  “Dō itashimashite. Kōun wo. Sayonara.” Iwamoto finished his tea, rose, bowed once more, and left the tea house, his hood raised over his head as he stepped out into the sunlight.

  Fujioka took pictures of the drawings with her phone and started texting. “I’ll send these to some of my former clients and contacts to see if anything pops. I don’t have the clearance to get us into the customs facility, and we wouldn’t want to do that anyway. Attacking the investigation head-on would be asking for trouble. We’ll get in the area and see if your tracker can tell us where Pete is. If not, then finding the irezumi artist is our best lead for now. Let’s go.”

  The trio left the tea house and headed back towards the exit. About five minutes into their journey, Fujioka slowed up until she was walking with Jack and Kamala on eit
her side of her. She smiled, but her voice came out low and emotionless.

  “Turn right at that bridge up ahead and then stop. Hold hands.”

  “What?” Jack asked.

  “We’re being followed. I need to isolate our tail. Act like you’re a couple. Smooches, cuddling, giggling, flirting, the whole nine yards. Don’t look around. I’ll come get you once I’ve taken care of him.”

  Fujioka then laughed loudly and slapped Jack in the arm as if he’d made a joke, and then pointed to the bridge. She headed towards a path on their left and disappeared from sight. “Well, that escalated quickly,” Jack muttered, holding his hand out to Kamala. She took it and they walked to the bridge overlooking the water.

  “You know, I’ve always wondered what extras talk about when they’re on camera in movies,” Jack said, leaning over the edge to stare into the shimmering water. “Are they saying nonsense to each other or actually talking?”

  “No idea. Why?”

  “I kind of feel like that’s what we’re doing. I can talk to you about anything, but now that I’m under pressure, I can’t think of something to say.”

  “I can recite song lyrics in Hindi if you wish.”

  Jack grinned, though it was nervous around the edges. “That’ll get his attention alright.”

  Kamala squinted up at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing before.”

  “Not unless you were in the shower with me, no. And trust me, it’s a good thing. I’m tone deaf.”

  “Well, we are supposed to be the distraction. Sing something for me.”

  “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

  She pouted. “Don’t you love me, Jack, darling?”

  Jack’s heart threatened to jettison out of his chest cavity. “Of course, I do, smoochie-boochie.”

  Kamala smothered laughter behind her palm. “Smoochie?”

  He brought her other hand up between them, playing with her fingers and stroking the inside of her wrist. “No dice, huh? What would you prefer? Pookums? Babydoll? Sugar woogums?”

  Giggles shook Kamala’s entire upper body. “Please tell me you don’t give your significant other silly pet names in real life.”

  “Not usually, but you’re special.” He winked to complete the effect of his boyfriend charade. “What about me? What’s my ridiculous pet name?”

  “If we were married, pati is the word for ‘husband’ in Hindi, but I’d want to give you something more personal.” She tapped her chin, thinking. “I’d probably call you yoddha. It means ‘knight.’”

  He snorted. “In what world am I a knight?”

  “It’s not obvious at first sight, but you have a tendency to want to protect the people around you at great cost. I think it fits.”

  “Mm. Interesting. Not what I would have guessed, honestly.”

  “Why? What do you think I would call you?”

  “Your dragon.”

  Kamala’s breath caught for a second. “Why do you think I’d call you my dragon?”

  He shrugged. “I lurk in darkness, growl a lot, and follow you around.”

  She laughed gently. “True, but that’s pretty self-deprecating. Doesn’t ‘knight’ have a much more positive connotation?”

  “Probably. But you don’t strike me as the type that needs saving, so maybe I am your dragon instead.”

  “At last, you’re finally getting the picture. There is hope for you yet, Jack.”

  “Well, you were so subtle in teaching me. How could I not learn?”

  She sniffed. “Hmph. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, because everyone sits on their best friend’s chest and threatens to dismember them.”

  “Says the guy who broke my roommate’s ex-boyfriend’s nose.”

  Jack grinned again. “Man, I’m so subtle. I should’ve been a wizard.”

  The grin faded a moment later as he noticed someone behind Kamala. A man in his early-thirties with a high powered camera around his neck and non-descript clothing, stared at them from several yards away beneath a cluster of trees. He lifted the camera and snapped some shots.

  Jack swallowed and resisted the urge to keeping looking at the man. Cold sweat gathered under his coat and itched along the nape of his neck. His grip on Kamala’s hand tightened reflexively.

  “What?” Kamala asked softly.

  “I think our tail is coming this way. Fujioka didn’t say how long she wants us to keep up the ruse. Maybe we should split. I don’t want to get you in any more—”

  Kamala reached up and kissed him on the mouth.

  Jack briefly imagined his heart being loaded into a grenade launcher and then ejected into tiny flaming pieces all over the peaceful cherry blossom tree across from them.

  He forgot about the possible member of the yakuza tailing them, the bounty attached to his head, the gun digging underneath his armpit, the missing baby dragon, and pretty much anything in the world that wasn’t Kamala’s soft, warm, full lips on his. It wasn’t like the first time when he’d been deliriously excited that she’d caught Okegawa. That kiss had been a mere millisecond of sensation, it barely registered until much later that night, and once he was alone, he’d slapped himself in the face realizing what he’d done. His head spun like a Tilt-a-Whirl from the simple pleasure of the kiss, how she cupped the side of his cheek, how she leaned into it, how the faint scent of her daffodil perfume brushed his nostrils and filled his senses with everything that was her.

  She pulled away several heartbeats later and the remaining word in Jack’s sentence tumbled out.

  “—trouble,” Jack breathed, his voice—and knees—weak.

  Kamala smiled faintly at the completely dazed expression on his face. “Better?”

  Jack licked his lips. “…yeah, that’s one word for it.”

  He couldn’t dwell on what had transpired for long. The man with the camera was walking towards them now. Adrenaline shot through Jack’s veins. He stood to full height and moved in front of Kamala, sliding one hand beneath his coat.

  The man reached them… and stuck out his hand in greeting, beaming. “Sumimasen, Rhett Jackson desu ka?”

  Jack watched him warily. “Hai. Nande desu ka?”

  The man’s smile widened and he launched into an explanation then, telling him that he had seen the press conference about the dragon and he couldn’t believe it was actually him. Jack gleaned from the conversation that the man was a photographer who specialized in plants and wildlife and he’d been a collector of dragon’s teeth for many years. By the time the man started showing him pictures of his collection, Jack figured out that it had been a false alarm.

  The two scientists wished him well as he left and Fujioka reappeared a minute later, still walking in a brisk pace. Her hair was ruffled, but she appeared no worse for wear.

  “So, what happened?” Jack asked.

  Fujioka beckoned them as she kept walking towards the exit. “We came to an understanding.”

  “And that’s code for what exactly?”

  “I kicked his teeth in.”

  “Ah. How diplomatic of you.”

  “That’s why we’re walking fast. We’d better get going before someone finds where I stuffed him.”

  They exited the park and got back on the train, heading for the station nearest to Tokyo Customs Headquarters. Jack and Kamala calibrated the dragon tracker on the way, keeping their voices to low murmurs so as not to disturb the other riders.

  They arrived at Telecom Center station and were greeted with the sight of the massive Telecom Center nearby: a shiny glass building shaped like a staple standing on its own. The station also put them nearby the Tokyo Wangan police station, which was a far-cry from most of the stations in the States. It sat as an island surrounded by a few trees and bushes with a crisp, modern grey to its impeccable walls.
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  The port was also visible from the train station and they could hear the low-pitched horns of docking freighters every so often. Once they reached the sidewalk, Kamala pulled out one of Pete’s scales for Jack to scan so they can start their search. They examined a three-block radius, but didn’t find any sign of Pete.

  Fujioka brandished her cell phone. “Thankfully, we might finally have some good news. An old client of mine said he recognized the samurai tattoo on one of the yakuza. There’s an irezumi artist in Kabukicho who has a small shop. She likes to be called Yuzuki. Let’s go shake the tree.”