Tokyo Kill

by Barry Lancet

  Seeing my unmasked skepticism, she added, “After all that has happened, I just had to go abroad, so I came on alone. Well, not completely alone,” she said, kicking up the wattage of her smile. “Ken-chan’s my chaperone.” She mussed the boy’s hair. If he noticed, there was no sign. His eyes remained glued to the pool activity, their glazed aspect unchanged.

  “And a fine chaperone he is,” I said, my glance making a barefaced sweep of the table.

  In front of her was a half-eaten lobster salad sandwich. In front of Ken, a child’s plate of deep-fried chicken fillets and a glass of chocolate milk. In front of me sat an empty plate and an empty tumbler.

  Mrs. Miura’s smile flickered. “All my friends thought my coming here was just the bravest thing.” She leaned forward to confide in me. “You know Yoji’s original plan was to go to one of those Caribbean island places with all those native people in half-dress, but I’m not comfortable with that. I don’t understand their culture or their music or anything, so I’ll probably stay in Miami.”

  “You’ve come in Yoji’s memory, then?”

  “That’s it, yes.”

  Her smile stabilized and I smiled along with her. Then dropped my bomb. “So you’re not here with a boyfriend looking for the treasure?”

  I lifted the empty tumbler and waggled it at her.

  She blushed violently, which pretty much gave up the game, but she made a valiant attempt to extract herself despite the tell.

  “You speak Japanese so well,” she said with a winning smile, “but you are far too frank for a new acquaintance.” She gave an infectious laugh. She flirted modestly. “Such a fascinating job you have. I bet you travel to places like this all the time. Miami’s just routine for you, isn’t it?” Unadulterated admiration seeped into her tone.

  She’d shifted the conversation sideways. Glossed over my probe. There had been no direct denial of a lover. No curiosity about the treasure I’d mentioned. She’d glided magnanimously past both, forgiving my impertinence with a teasing look, then falling back on her womanly charms.

  Which were potent.

  Her smile grew fuller and more enticing. Her eyes brightened and locked onto me as if I were the most fascinating man she’d run across in ages. They extended a vague promise that was hard to miss. She was a beautiful woman. No less so than her husband’s mistress, though higher up the age scale.

  “My apologies. In my business you hear things,” I said, leaving it open-ended.

  Which is where it stayed.

  And died.

  Her smile stretched to the limit. Her jaw firmed. She shut down. “I find gossip and innuendo so degrading, don’t you? And I guess you’re still in the employ of that man.”

  Her eyes darkened with her last words and seemed to demand an answer—with a fetchingly arched eyebrow so I would know her to be serious but would not take offense.

  “If I’m one thing, it’s constant,” I said, summoning up an engaging smile of my own.

  It didn’t work.

  Her eyes flared. “Then it’s just as I told you at the house. I will not, under any circumstances, help that man. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way I feel. I don’t really mean to be impolite, but we are on a real vacation and I will not have that man spoiling our fun. There’s been so little of it lately.”

  “I understand.”

  “I hope you do. We need the break. Me more than Ken-chan, but even he, in his little world, senses the strain. He looks around for his father every day,” she said, her smile sagging. I glimpsed genuine hurt.

  My heart went out to the kid. He may have been only half present, as they say, but he immediately sensed the mood change in his mother and tilted his head up and back to stare adoringly into her eyes. He raised his hands in an attempt to stroke her cheeks but instead his appendages flapped and fluttered and slapped at her face. She bore his awkward caresses nobly, accepting the offering for a few moments before gently guiding his flailing extremities back down to his lap and kissing him on the forehead. He smiled sloppily and went back to gazing at the kids in the pool.

  “I love Miami,” she said, her eyes moist now. “Don’t you? Sun, beach, fresh air, good food, nice people. I could live here forever.”

  The rhythm of her words was upbeat and syncopated. Ken perked up immediately. He rotated his head up at her again and smiled. She kissed his forehead once more. He looked back out across the pool and began rocking blissfully in her lap.

  “Yes,” I said. “I like it a lot. Are you staying at the Biltmore?”

  She looked at her watch. “I’m planning to show Ken-chan the manatees. He has a thing for elephants, you see, and manatees are water elephants. At least that’s what I’ve told him. He’s all excited. So we have to be going.”

  I tried one last time. “Are you sure there isn’t anything you could tell me? It could really help me find the . . . the . . . culprit.”

  “Culprit” sounded so false. So staged. I wanted to say killer or murderer, but to the Japanese ear, and mine in this instance, both words and any of their close substitutes sounded too blunt, despite the boldness of my earlier assault.

  “You’re sweet to ask,” Mrs. Miura said. “Really, you are. Don’t give up. I want you to find the man responsible. I just can’t bring myself to help Yoji’s father. He never wanted us to marry, you know. Did I mention that?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “Water elephants, Mommy,” her son said.

  “He’s got a perfect sense of time,” Mrs. Miura confided. “I don’t know why, but if you tell him ‘two hours’ he knows when the time’s up. Say, I have an idea. Why don’t you join us?”

  “No, no, I—”

  “Water elephants, Mommy,” Ken said again, staring in my direction, his eyes wide.

  Mrs. Miura gave her son a mother’s special smile. “Ken is going to need another man around. I mean for today,” she added, blushing. “You’re strong. You speak Japanese. Do you want to come?”

  “I’m flattered, really, but I’ve got people waiting for me.”

  She smiled brightly, imbuing her latest effort with another potent dose of womanly warmth and understanding. “Well, then,” she said, hoisting Ken up as she stood and bowing briefly. “It’s been fun.”

  I rose with her, then watched her walk away. Her smile held until she turned, fading in the half-profile to a mean frown she thought I couldn’t see.

  Mentally, I berated myself. I’d arrived at her table with sharpened claws, ready for the inevitable sparring. And yet I’d gained nothing but two distinct impressions. First, that even with a problem child in hand, she’d played me better than she had any right to and second, that there were deeper waters to be plumbed.

  DAY 13

  CHOKE POINT

  CHAPTER 69

  I AWOKE to thunderous pounding on my door at seven thirty the following morning.

  My initial thought was Inoki has tracked me down, but I axed the idea the next instant. The former Japanese special forces soldier operated in stealth mode. Announcing his presence was not his style. My follow-up thought was The police want me for the Biltmore shooting. After all, the hotel offered the city’s premier lodgings, and an unsolved shooting might sully its five-star image.

  Then an overbearing Japanese voice issued a command. “Brodie, get your ass dressed and downstairs in ten minutes. Orders from Tokyo.”

  Every trace of sleep evaporated. With the kendo club charges hanging over my head, I was at Tokyo’s beck and call.

  Then I heard a pounding on Noda’s door and a repeat of the same one-sided conversation. The Tokyo police department’s alpha watchdog had arrived, barking testosterone-infused orders into all corners to mark his territory.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later I meandered out of my room. Since Rie was also scheduled to arrive with Inspector Kato and the MPD’s boy wonder, a shower and shave were in order. I ran into Noda at the elevator, stifling a yawn.


  “That was some alarm clock,” I said.

  Noda grunted. “Guys like that is why I never took a city badge.”

  “Guys like that ought to be taken out and shot.”

  We boarded the elevator. We hadn’t conspired to arrive ten minutes “late.” We just did. Neither of us took marching orders from loudmouthed Japanese police bureaucrats who had no more authority in Miami than a polar bear. Even with the threat of the B&E charge in Tokyo hanging over me.

  In the lobby the white-haired Cuban was back at the front desk. This morning he wore a lime-green shirt and a gray fedora. He smiled. “You have many friends, señor?”

  “Ask me again in five minutes,” I said.

  He chuckled and busied himself with some paperwork.

  The troops from Tokyo were lingering near the hotel entryway. Kato, Rie, the door banger, and a fourth man, of Latino descent. The MPD’s hound dog wore a dark blue suit, white dress shirt, and muted blue tie. Probably the only tie in all of Coconut Grove. In the muggy Miami weather, he had to be uncomfortable.

  “I’m Jim Brodie and this is Kunio Noda. Glad to meet you,” I said in English. Glad might have been overstating the case, but polite has always been my watchword unless provoked beyond the point of no return.

  “Inspector Shin Yano,” the human alarm clock announced. “I know who you are, even though I’d be infinitely happier if ignorance were an acceptable option. We’re officially checked in with the Miami police, so this is now my operation. You and your man”—he flung a disdainful chin wave in Noda’s direction—“are to follow my lead. We’ve a liaison officer present, and I’ve agreed to clear everything through him.”

  “Very efficient,” I said.

  “Professional, as it should be,” Yano snapped back, an official slap down to impress the local badge. Another condition for releasing my passport was that I accept leadership from whomever the Tokyo police department sent.

  I waited for an introduction to the fourth man, but when Yano wasn’t forthcoming I stuck out my hand. “Miami PD liaison would be you?”

  “Juan Moreno. Yes.”

  We shook hands.

  “Low man on the totem pole?” I said.

  “In this dump on a Sunday? I climb five flights maybe I reach the bottom of the pole.”

  I smiled appreciatively.

  Rie was proper and official in a navy-blue suit and white blouse that echoed her police uniform. I ignored her. If a dunking in the Sumida River could put a damper on her career, any sign of the friendship between us in front of Inspector Yano would torpedo it.

  The minute I didn’t look at her, relief suffused her features.

  Yano said, “Have you made contact with Inoki?”

  Yet another condition required us to give the inspector a full report of everything we might have uncovered in his absence. In hindsight, I might have conceded too much control to the MPD.

  Noda preempted me. “Still looking.”

  “Was your Mr. Fitch not able to come up with anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Have you had contact with anyone else concerning the case?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any new suspects?”

  “No.”

  While Noda fended off Yano, I wondered about Durgan’s progress. He’d called last night to say Inoki and the Kuang brothers had not returned to their suite at the Biltmore. Their belongings, which amounted to three wheeled pieces of carry-on luggage, remained unclaimed.

  “From a reliable source?” I’d asked.

  “Friend on the force.”

  “Good enough.”

  * * *

  After Mrs. Miura had strutted off in her dazzling white beach dress to ready herself for her swamp romp, I’d rejoined Noda and Durgan in the Biltmore parking lot, and our man in Miami led us to one of his favorite restaurants, in an attempt to boost morale.

  “You get shot at and live, that’s a victory in our profession. You got to treat yourself. This one’s on me. Best Spanish restaurant in town.”

  It was a nice gesture, and I accepted gratefully. While his partner and two others scoured Miami for any sign of Inoki, Durgan ordered up a feast at Los Gallegos, an untrumpeted tapas restaurant on a nondescript stretch of Bird Road.

  Durgan grinned happily. “Finding your boy again is going to take time, but the good news is that in a town as small as Miami, three’s an army. My tech guy will poke around online. The other two will spread the word. We’ll have eyes everywhere. We’re tracking three Asians. One’s an octogenarian and the other two are brothers who could pass as twins at a distance. They might as well be hauling around the Hollywood sign on their backs. If they’re dumb enough to show themselves in public, we’ll nab them. Meanwhile, dig in.”

  The waiter brought a bottle of red wine, then a string of colorful home-style tapas—chorizo sizzling in a hot skillet, bacalao croquettes, garbanzo beans, garlic shrimp. There were worse ways to go.

  “Sorry about the extra work,” I said.

  “Happens.”

  “Shouldn’t have.”

  Noda grunted. I wasn’t sure if the noise was a confirmation of my comment or an appreciation of the calamares fritos he’d just spooned into this mouth.

  “Not your fault,” Durgan said. “Nothing tougher than an old pro. Even one from the last century.”

  “Anything we can do to help?”

  “Enjoy the tapas and let my boys do what they do best.”

  Ouch.

  * * *

  Yano was shaking his head at Noda’s string of negatives. “Incompetence is a given when dealing with you guys, isn’t it?”

  Noda went very still. Given his profession, Yano should know how to read people. Especially fellow detectives. It didn’t take a genius to see that Noda was not the kind of man you could insult and walk away from unscathed. If his stocky bulldog frame, gruff manner, and dark piercing eyes didn’t clue you in, the scar bisecting his eyebrow should have.

  My cell phone rang. I said, “Mind if I take this?” and hit the connect button without waiting for Yano’s answer.

  “Pack your sunblock,” Durgan said.

  “You found them and they’re on the move?”

  “Yep. Inoki and his Chinese bookends caught the final flight out last night to a certain tropical paradise.” He told me the name.

  Yoji’s original plan was to go to one of those Caribbean island places with all those native people in half-dress, but I’m not comfortable with that.

  Looked like Yoji’s partners had stayed the course.

  “Makes sense. Good work.”

  “You need backup over there?”

  I stared ruefully at the Tokyo police contingent in the hotel lobby. “Thanks, but no. We have reinforcements big-time.”

  “If that’s as bad as it sounds, I could run interference.”

  “Tempting, but I’ll pass this time.”

  “Knowing what I know, I went ahead and booked you two for the next flight out. Usual procedure. Leaves in three hours. Work for you?”

  “Perfect,” I said.

  “Anything else?”

  “No. You do good work, Fitch.”

  “You already said that. And it’s Abercrombie to you.” He disconnected.

  I shoved my phone back in my pocket, and Yano glared at me with knitted brow. “That was your Fitch?”

  Ah, his shining detective instincts were on full display.

  “Yes,” I said. “We’ve got a flight out. I suggest you try to keep up this time.” I turned to our liaison. “Moreno, it’s your lucky day.”

  “How’s that, amigo?”

  “You’re about to get the afternoon off.” To Yano I said, “I hope you’ve brought your diplomatic chops. You’re going to have to do your liaison dance with another police department.”

  “Police department where?”

  “Barbados.”

  CHAPTER 70

  RARELY does revenge arrive so swiftly and so sweetly.

  W
ith blank expressions, Noda and I watched Yano’s face implode like a human sinkhole of despair. He would have to scramble if he wanted to book seats on the same flight and arrange for official police cooperation at our new destination.

  But the worst was yet to come and we knew it, as did Yano.

  It was a little after nine at night in Tokyo. His master was most likely out drinking and schmoozing and otherwise groveling his way to the top of the MPD power structure. Yano had no choice but to interrupt his lord’s brown-nosing to enlist his aid in smoothing the pathway with the Barbados police. Otherwise, if things blew up, the designated golden boy would become the sacrificial tuna—scaled, sliced, and served up to the Japanese press and the Tokyo MPD higher-ups.

  The corners of Noda’s mouth flickered as Yano hurriedly pulled out his mobile and punched in a number. I suspect my expression echoed my partner’s. Rie stepped behind her boss to hide her widening grin.

  “What are you two looking at?” the MPD detective snapped at us. Fortunately for Rie, she and Kato stood behind Yano.

  “Dog meat,” Noda said.

  Yano scowled and showed us his back. Rie popped to attention.

  * * *

  The Tokyo MPD contingent made the cutoff for boarding by ninety seconds.

  Yano looked aggrieved but satisfied. Our plane had only one entrance. Boarding required all passengers to pass through the front part of the economy section, where we sat. Yano stopped by to say he’d see us on the other side, then walked smartly on into business class. Kato and Rie followed. Kato turned back and winked. Once her boss was looking forward again, Rie glanced at us and gave a half bow.

  Signs of a thaw. Rie might still harbor some anger toward me, but to have an overbearing MPD babysitter who had contributed nothing to the case snap at Noda and me for no reason would make her madder still. After all, it was our joint footwork that gave the Tokyo police its first solid lead on the home invasions—Noda’s digging around the edges to unearth Rie’s Chinese connection; hers to get us to Chinatown; and mine in dredging up the old wartime photos for Wu to identify Inoki.