by Barry Lancet
“I remember.”
“What . . . about now?”
There was a long silence at the other end. “Sometimes I’m wrong.”
My throat felt scratchy and dry. I had sensed Noda mentally stretching for an answer that would ease my apprehension. Problem was, he didn’t sound convincing.
By-the-Book Robert DeMonde tapped on Renna’s door and stuck his head in. He wore a three-piece blue pinstripe and a red silk tie. A straight arrow, down to his wardrobe. I had trouble picturing him as the city’s next mayor after Hurwitz. He seemed too tightly wound for San Francisco.
Into the phone, I said, “Gotta go. You know how to reach me.”
“Yeah,” Noda said, and the line went dead.
DeMonde said, “Brodie, I heard what happened. I’m sorry. If anyone can get her back, our department can. Frank, are Miriam and the kids okay?”
“Yes, thanks, Bob. You want to join us?”
“No, but I’ll need a word directly after. Boss’s orders. And Gail wants to talk too. Something about toning down the department press releases.” DeMonde gave Renna a significant look, nodded at me, and strode away with crisp steps.
“What’s that about?”
“The mayor believes things have spun out of control. He wants full-time eyes inside and By-the-Book’s his man.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“As hard as it is to believe, I’d take him over Gail Wong any day. Officially, she’s only his spokesperson, but she rules that office. Nobody crosses her and lives.”
Then Renna gave me the rest of it. The only reason he still oversaw the Japantown team was because no sane person would step up to the plate. After what had happened out at the safe house, the volunteer pool had evaporated. No one wanted to put their family at risk. Immediate or extended. Everyone of consequence had read Renna’s briefs of my findings, and once they grasped the vindictive side of Soga, not to mention the extent of their expertise, the career climbers went elsewhere. With public pressure building, the mayor’s office opted to monitor the task force’s progress close-up until the community outcries rose beyond bearable, at which time Renna would be offered up.
“Sorry, Frank.”
“Not your fault. Knew this one could be tough when I took it on. If anything, I owe you an apology.”
“How so?”
“For the idiot who yanked the boys off Jenny. That was a class-A fuckup. As big as they come.”
Having revised my view on the mishap, I shrugged dismissively. “Better they weren’t there.”
Renna stared at me. “You don’t mean that?”
“I do. Soga are pros.”
Pride kindled a fire in his eyes. “What are we? Dim sum?”
“Of course not. But murder, assassination, and kidnapping are routine for these guys. If your boys were there, Soga would have run over three of your people instead of one.”
“Not so.”
“You ever think about what might have happened to Miriam if the trunk had not been conveniently open?”
For the first time in all the years I’d known him, Renna blanched. His steel-gray eyes teetered on the edge. The next instant the reaction was gone.
“I see your point. We underestimated them. Big-time.”
“That we did.”
“This thing, normal rules don’t apply.”
“Won’t get any argument from me.”
Renna leaned back in his chair. Marbles rolled. “But you know what? These bastards will go down just like any other scumbags. They’re going to pay you a visit. We’ll wire your place, put some shooters on the rooftops, undercover in the street, and nail their asses to the wall.”
“Won’t work.”
“I’ll put my best people on it.”
“They’ll spot ’em. They know your playbook.”
“You got a better idea?”
“Just let Soga come and lay out their cards.”
“Too dangerous.”
“They took Jenny, then put a gun in my back at the FBI safe house in front of forty people, not to mention half a dozen cops. They don’t miss a trick, and if we don’t keep that in mind, Jenny will suffer.”
Renna rolled his marbles and frowned. “Not how I’d handle it, but you know these dirtbags better than any of us.”
“And there’s Jenny.”
Renna nodded. “First and foremost.”
Back in Tokyo I’d promised I’d get Renna to watch my back. But Jenny’s abduction called for a change in plans. Narazaki wouldn’t like it, but the stakes had risen.
“One more thing,” Renna said.
“What’s that?”
“With an aggressive revenge kidnapping like this, chances are you’ll hear from them sooner rather than later. So be ready.”
DAY 8
LOST
CHAPTER 58
WHEN they walked into my antiques shop the next morning brandishing identical Glocks, I gathered they weren’t in the market for art.
There were two of them. Homeboy and a sleek, muscular man in his mid-thirties.
I reached for the weapon under the register. Gone. I pressed the silent alarm. Deactivated. Abers and I were penned in behind the counter at the front of the store, trapped. Fanned for three strikes in a flash. I’d called it right: the SFPD wouldn’t have stood a chance with these guys.
The new man placed the muzzle of his gun in the middle of my forehead. “If you wish to live through the next thirty seconds, Mr. Brodie, stay absolutely still.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t speak.
Homeboy raised his gun and squeezed off a round into the rear of my shop, swung the muzzle to the right, and released a second bullet.
I remained still.
The new man shifted his gun from the center of my forehead to the center of Abers’s. “Look around, Mr. Brodie, but keep your feet planted.”
Twisting at the hips, I examined the wall to my left then the back of the shop. With two shots of supreme accuracy, Homeboy had turned an eighteenth-century Shigaraki vase to powder and opened a hole in an Edo-period hanging scroll. They happened to be the two most expensive items in my store. Soga was pointedly demonstrating their unequivocal mastery of every aspect of my private and public life. Gun, alarm, shop, daughter. The simmering rage of yesterday unfolded itself and spread its curdled heat to every corner of my soul.
Homeboy’s partner said, “Do we have your attention yet?” His hands were slim and manicured, his eyes penetrating brown disks. A holster burdened his shoulder under a black jacket.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Good. Now, if you wish to live out the minute, you’ll take seats over there. My colleague is going to handcuff you both. Then we’ll talk.”
He took a step back and leveled the Glock at my chest. His movements were efficient, his English impeccable. He held the weapon with a languid casualness that told me he was beyond good. There was an elastic grace to his movements that came from pursuing martial arts with a singular dedication. He’d be good at that, too. Homeboy was dangerous, and I’d barely held him off. His partner would demolish me.
Abers sat, but I lingered near the counter, watching for an opening.
“Dermott, I believe Mr. Brodie has other ideas. Please disillusion him.”
Dermott pointed his gun at Abers and pulled the trigger.
A bullet tore into the wall two inches above Abers’s left shoulder, and he jumped, his eyes wild.
I raised my hands in surrender and took the chair beside my assistant.
“As you seem to have a disregard for your own life, Mr. Brodie, my gun will be on Mr. Abers while my colleague handcuffs you both. Should you make a play for Dermott and succeed in distracting him for even a moment or two, I will shoot Mr. Abers first, then deal with you. Dermott tells me your reflexes are extraordinarily good. Such talent often leads to overconfidence and foolish behavior, so rest assured that a fraction of a second after you make your attempt, I will pump three bulle
ts into your associate. My shots will be nicely clustered and his death will be instantaneous. Best-case scenario, you overpower us both and Mr. Abers will be dead. Worst case, you get a punch in and Mr. Abers will be dead. Any movement on your part will see Mr. Abers dead. Are we clear?”
I nodded. He spoke in the manner of someone used to dealing out orders and having them followed.
“Good. Dermott.”
Dermott turned the deadbolt on the front door, flipped over the shop sign, and lowered the blinds. Then he approached, threaded cuffs through the chair spindles of the eighteenth-century comb-back Windsors we occupied and locked the metal bracelets around my wrists. He repeated his performance behind Abers’s back.
“Excellent. Now, let’s get the pleasantries out of the way. I’m Lawrence Casey, and my associate, whom you had the pleasure of meeting once before at your residence, is Dermott Summers.”
Sneering and cocky at our first encounter, Dermott became the attentive lackey behind Lawrence Casey, which I could understand. Casey commanded allegiance. His bearing was loose-limbed and princely, as if he were above it all. Every strand of his hair was pulled back and gathered into a ponytail of inhuman symmetry, suggesting exacting precision. He wore a well-tailored black suit and matching turtleneck, each fashioned of the same material our attackers donned in Soga, only a shade thicker. Dermott wore a variation of the same suit, but with wider lapels to accommodate his huskiness. Both men wore identical black loafers that were soft-soled and soundless. Both men were Japanese.
“Dermott? Casey?” I said with lingering disbelief considering their Japanese origins.
“They’re our working names.” Slipping his piece into his shoulder holster, Casey shrugged to set the lay of the suit.
“Now, can we talk about my daughter?” I asked.
Casey’s look was humorless. “Are you dictating the rules, Mr. Brodie?”
“No, I simply—”
“We wouldn’t want to keep you waiting, now would we? Dermott, start the clock.”
Clock?
Before I could respond, Dermott raised his gun and shot Abers.
CHAPTER 59
ABERS rocked back in his seat, jaw plunging open in shock. His left thigh bled freely.
“Brodie,” he muttered.
“Hold on, Bill.” I fired an icy glare at Casey. “What the hell are you doing? You have us handcuffed.”
Casey’s face darkened. “You’ve meddled far too much in our affairs, Mr. Brodie. I’ve had to make a special trip back to San Francisco, which is not only a waste of my time but violates . . . our rules. It seems only fitting that we disturb you in equal measure. Dermott has grazed the femoral artery. Blood is pumping from Mr. Abers’s body at a calculable rate. He will be dead in twelve to fifteen minutes unless the bleeding is stopped. With your hands cuffed behind your back, you cannot offer aid. We hold the key. Do you have any more requests?”
“None,” I said, biting my lip. I glanced at Abers. The pain etched crags across his forehead.
Casey smiled. “A wise answer. Now we may begin. Our proposition is simple. We wish to defuse the present situation. Taking your daughter is the first step. Normally, we’d just kill you and be done with it, but your involvement with the SFPD and Brodie Security complicates matters. So here we are. The woman cop is dead so you’ll know we’re serious. What we require of you is one thing—drop Hara’s case. You will fade away without fanfare, Mr. Brodie, like a bad sunset. If your firm backs off, and the police investigation flounders, then your daughter lives. We’d like you to go through the motions for a few more days to satisfy your client and the police. Then you will come up empty-handed. Your daughter’s life depends on it.”
“I’m listening,” I said, thinking, Jenny stays alive as long as I’m a threat. But Casey scared me. He was ruthless, methodical, and intelligent. Worst of all, he was frighteningly unpredictable. Even as I strove to bolster my spirits, I felt my confidence seep away under Casey’s frigid gaze.
“Good. Aimless activity should fill your hours. At the top of your list will be a second interview with Ms. Lizza Hara. You will fly to New York. Understood?”
“Easy enough.”
“Next, we want you to send Mr. Suzuki and Mr. Noda globetrotting on a few unrelated errands under a pretext of your own devising. Just make it convincing.”
“Not a problem,” I said, glancing over at Abers. “Can we hurry this along?”
“Pardon?”
Dermott took aim at Abers’s other leg, his grin far too eager. Jesus.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Go on. Please.”
Casey nodded approvingly. “From here on in, Mr. Brodie, neither you, nor anyone in your employ, must stray from the plan. We can and will strike at any time if we’re dissatisfied with your performance. Family and friends will be our targets. Nedayashi ni suru zo. Do you understand me?”
Nedayashi ni suru zo. Literally, we’ll cut off your roots. Meaning your entire family. Casey was talking about one of the most terrifying weapons of war in a country swimming with gruesome warrior traditions. It was the feudal custom of killing every member of your enemy’s family in the belief that even small children could come after you later in life when they reached adulthood, as had happened throughout Japanese history. As a matter of honor, the survivors would seek revenge, so only the extermination of an entire clan assured safety. The implications paralyzed me. I floundered for an answer that would not trigger another violent response, and settled for a simple nod.
“Good, because we have practiced nedayashi with great success for three centuries. It has proved itself an unparalleled persuader. Know that we won’t kill just you, we will wipe out your family and closest friends.” He snapped his fingers. “Dermott?”
“Sandra Fandino, 1713 Fremont Avenue, Apt B, Mill Valley.”
“My old girlfriend? She doesn’t know I’m alive.”
“She’s kept a number of mementoes and still has pictures of you on her refrigerator.”
“She’s got dozens of photos there. Probably just hasn’t bothered to weed mine out.”
“Their prominence indicates otherwise.”
In truth, friends had mentioned that she still carried a torch, but we hadn’t spoken in years. I feigned disinterest. “It’s news to me.”
“Fine. Then you won’t miss her. Consider her a warm-up.” He snapped his fingers again.
Dermott leered. “Done. She’ll be dead by tomorrow in a hit-and-run during her early morning jog.”
Jesus . . . Sandra . . . My heart dropped down a black well. In an unsteady voice that betrayed me, I said, “I’ve seen your work. I don’t need another example.”
Casey peered at me through narrowed eyes. “But I think you do. You are far too argumentative for my taste.”
Argumentative? After the initial hesitation to sit, my resistance had been all but nonexistent. I’d kept my words neutral and few, and still he was unhappy. These guys liked killing.
“Call him off, Casey.”
“Too late.”
“Call him off.” I struggled against my restraints and heard a chair spindle crack. Casey watched me for signs of fear. They weren’t hard to find. Only a fool would be fearless in this situation—fearless and soon dead.
Casey relented. “This one time only, I will acquiesce to your request, Mr. Brodie. But I have to know if we understand each other. Do we?”
“Yes.”
“Truly understand each other?”
“Count on it.”
“Good, because Mr. Abers is looking noticeably distressed. If there is another outbreak, I will not reverse myself. I dislike rescinding an order. It weakens the chain of command. The next mistake, Sandra Fandino will be sacrificed to your stubbornness, as well as the next person on our list. And mark my word, there will be no further negotiation.” Once more, Casey snapped his fingers.
“Jenny’s babysitter.” Dermott said. “The Meyers broad upstairs.”
My face drained of colo
r.
“A close neighbor. That sounds promising,” Casey said. “Any ideas?”
“Drop her drugged and partially unclothed in a bad part of town late at night where they like white women and—”
Abers’s head lulled to the left and his eyelids flickered. “Brodie, I—”
Casey glanced at his watch. “Our timepiece seems a little fast. Pity. Jenny will follow unless you deliver, Mr. Brodie. With or without police backing, we will take you out if we must. We can reach you and your friends any way, any time. If anyone takes a step in our direction, your daughter dies, you die, they all die.”
Casey squatted down to my level.
“Mr. Abers is in a lot of pain right now. Pain you caused with your persistence here and in Tokyo. I trust I need not say more.”
He turned and strode out the door without looking back.
Easing away, Dermott waved his Glock in my direction. “See you around, Brodie.”
He dropped the handcuff key at his feet, slipping out the door with a grin. Eyes glued to the key, I scooted forward, the handcuffs cutting into my wrists, then tipped myself over on my flank. An armrest cracked in the fall and I heard a side stretcher snap. So much for a rare matched set. A third investment irreparably damaged.
Propelling myself forward with the edge of my foot, I inched up alongside the key, then rolled over on my back and felt around with my fingers. Abers groaned, his face white, a pool of blood below him expanding at an alarming rate. I found the key, wrapped my fingers around it, and rocked back and forth until I had enough momentum to flip back onto my side.
I probed the steel bracelets behind my back for a keyhole, found one, inserted the key, and heard the lock snap open. I slid free, undid the other bracelet, then uncuffed Abers. I laid him out on the ground, propped the wounded leg in the air to lessen the bleeding, and made a tourniquet of a nearby blue kimono obi, wrapping the excess around the wound itself. As I tightened the impromptu bandage, Abers let out a low moan.
After dialing 911, I stooped over my unconscious friend and slapped him, first across one cheek, then the other.
“Bill, can you hear me?”