Tokyo Noir: The Complete First Season

by J. Scott Matthews

  Yoshii locked his office and began heading downstairs to the main floor. He didn’t like this one bit. If it was a raid, the police would have come in force, dressed up in their finest riot gear with reporters in tow. In such instances, the police got some footage on the evening news of them being tough on crime while wearing their pseudo-army gear. A few of the foreign girls were rounded up and deported, while the local girls were fined. And he got a slap-on-the-wrist fine and was tacitly allowed to go on operating after a few days. A mild inconvenience, but just the cost of doing business. This was different, however.

  A single detective here on her own wasn’t a good sign. There were a few possible reasons she could be here, but if it was about what he suspected it was about, things might have to get ugly soon.

  When he emerged, the bouncer was already standing in the bar area with the cop. She was looking around the room. It was a large, open floor space with clusters of couches and seats scattered about. These were mostly occupied by small groups of men flirting with his girls, with the occasional couple here and there.

  “Hello, Officer,” Yoshii said as he approached. Yes, I know what you are was the comment’s implied meaning.

  “Hello, I’m Detective Kimura. And who might you be?”

  “Manabu Yoshii, I’m the owner of this establishment.”

  “Would you mind answering a few questions regarding an ongoing investigation?”

  “Not at all. In case you’re wondering, I have all the proper licenses and permits. All up to date, of course, plus—”

  “I don’t care about your titty joint.”

  “We like to think of ourselves as a hostess club for the discriminating gentleman. Not a ‘titty joint.’”

  She nodded. “I’ll be sure to include that in my write-up. I’m investigating the disappearance of Alyona Petrov in connection with the larger Shibuya serial killer case. Our investigation has revealed that she was working here.”

  She paused here and looked at Yoshii. He had seen this trick before. Plenty of times. It was an old standard in the police tool kit. Pause frequently so the other person would get uncomfortable with the silence and start talking to fill it. But Yoshii was just fine with silence, especially where cops were concerned. He remained silent until she resumed talking. He relaxed somewhat too, as the move pegged her as an amateur. One who watched too many cop movies, perhaps.

  “Do you have any information regarding the deceased that may be of assistance?”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as why you didn’t report her missing, for starters. Or why you didn’t come forward when you knew she was part of an ongoing investigation.”

  “As to your first question, the girls here come and go all the time, especially the foreigners. It’s not uncommon for them to just stop showing up. As to your second question, you can see why a business owner in my position might be reluctant to involve the police.”

  “Why’s that? Doing anything illegal here?”

  “No, but that doesn’t stop the police from shaking me down. Demanding bribes or comp’d tabs not to raid me or write me up on false charges. If you ask me, they’re worse than the gangsters in this city.”

  “Spare me the put-upon, struggling business owner nonsense. If you have information that could lead to the arrest of this madman, you should have reported it.”

  “Well, happy to do that now. Ask away.”

  “Did you notice any suspicious activity before Ms. Petrov’s disappearance?”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything in her demeanor indicating that she was afraid? Any unusual customers hanging around her?”

  “I don’t interact with the girls that much. But I didn’t notice anything suspicious. She was popular with the customers. Real bubbly.”

  “Did you ever see her with this man?” Mei said, holding up a photo. “His name is Masahiro Shiku, Masa for short.”

  Yoshii looked at the photo as if he didn’t already know who Masa was. He hoped the recognition wouldn’t show in his eyes as he shook his head and handed the photo back. “Never seen him around before.”

  “So he’s never been here before?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’ve just never seen him myself.”

  “Are you involved in the club’s daily operations much?”

  “I own a number of establishments in the area. I take something of a hands-off management approach.”

  “I’m sure the girls appreciate it.”

  “Yes, you’re very clever.”

  “Do you have any information on where she was staying?”

  “Afraid I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Uh-huh. How about anything about what she did when she wasn’t here?”

  “Hands off,” Yoshii said, holding his hands up and out with a smile.

  “Okay, how about her visa status?”

  The smile died on Yoshii’s lips. His guard went right back up. Maybe she wasn’t the amateur he had pegged her for. Her questioning was getting more focused, more aggressive.

  “Because if she was just here on a tourist visa, she wouldn’t have been able to hold a job.”

  “Yes. I’m quite aware. I believe she had a working visa.”

  “You don’t know for sure? Any records on that?”

  “Generally we don’t ask unless we have reason to suspect they don’t. If they come here looking for work, we assume they have the proper—”

  “What can you tell me about STK Modeling? They a company you work with?”

  Yoshii was starting to get rattled, but he tried not to show it. How the fuck did she know about that?

  “No, never heard of it.”

  “So I’m to believe you don't own it?”

  Yoshii was getting nervous. How much did she know, versus how much was she guessing here? He assumed she was just bluffing him here.

  “I do not. Never heard of it.”

  “It’s the agency that bought her plane ticket over here. Right before she arrived here on a tourist visa.”

  “I see, I wasn’t—”

  “These other girls, they deal with STK Modeling too?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Detective. To be honest, I’ve never—”

  “Never heard of them, sure, sure,” she said, interrupting him again. “I’m wondering if any of these other girls might have heard of them?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. Like I—”

  “So you never heard of them?”

  “No, I—”

  “So you use a different agency?”

  “We don’t go through any—”

  “Just straight recruitment, then?”

  “The girls find us through their contacts and they—”

  “So the girls are close? Maybe I could talk to some of them?”

  “If you like I could arrange for you to speak with some of them. But I’m afraid that during business hours, it would be quite impossible to—”

  “Hi, everyone!” the woman shouted to the room. All eyes turned her way. “I’m Detective Kimura with the Shibuya Police Department!”

  Yoshii noticed several men discretely get up and begin making their way towards the door.

  “I’m looking for anyone that knows anything about Alyona Petrov. She used to work here. If you have any information about her death, please call me at the Shibuya Station and ask for Kimura! They’ll patch it through. Thanks!”

  Yoshii eyed her furiously. “Are we done here?”

  She nodded, smiled sweetly, then patted him on the cheek and made for the door. Yoshii eyed her as she walked away. Once she was in the stairway down to the front entrance, he took out his phone and dialed one of his lieutenants.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “When this woman leaves the front, I want her followed. Carefully and discreetly.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Just how much do you know, Detective Kimura?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Fucking Tengu,” Kameko said into her radio handset. “That informatio
n of his better be accurate.”

  “If it is, that means the professor’s going to get attacked,” came Jeremy’s voice over the speaker.

  “Well …”

  “But that’s not going to happen, right?” the Toymaker’s voice crackled next.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Jeremy said.

  “Thanks, dawg. I knew you’d have my back.”

  “No doubt.”

  “I’m just saying,” Kameko said. “Instead of pulling guard duty here, I could be back at the house right now, getting …”

  “Yes?” Jeremy and the Toymaker said at the same time.

  “Something to eat,” Kameko finished sweetly, catching herself.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Jun said from right beside her.

  She smiled. Having spent most of her waking moments in close proximity to Jun for the last few years, Kameko had developed a keen ability to read him. Whereas most people saw a quiet, taciturn robot, Kameko had learned to pick up on the subtle differences in his behavior. Cracking a joke for Jun meant it was a particularly good day.

  She and Jun were situated on top of a three-story office building with a view of the back alley where Jeremy was waiting in the van. The Toymaker was in one of the offices up in the building fronting the alley, doing what he did best.

  “Nice to see you’re in a good mood.”

  “Well, looks like we might be about to catch our killers. I’ll be glad to put all this behind us.”

  “Me too,” Kameko said. “But we haven’t caught them yet.”

  “Yeah, but there’s no way they can get in without us knowing. Then we’ve got them.”

  “Then we’ve got them,” she agreed, looking over at him. Something caught her eye, and she looked down at the gun along his leg. “You sure you want to go in there with that canon?”

  “What, this?” His weapon of choice for the evening was one of the Toymaker’s own creations. A slightly modified version of the massive Desert Eagle handgun, only with less recoil. She had seen it used a few times, always with devastating results.

  “Seeing someone’s head explode always freaks people out, throws them off their game. With multiple opponents, that’ll be important. Plus, if they’re pros, they’ll have bulletproof vests too. This will punch through them at close range. Or at least break their ribs.”

  Kameko shook her head. “I dunno. Seems dangerous at close quarters.”

  Jun shrugged. “Speak softly and carry a big gun. That’s what I always say.”

  “Or at least you would, if you ever talked.”

  He smiled and turned back to the building.

  Atsushi Yamada, aka the Toymaker, splashed water on his face. He stared into his tired, sagging eyes in the bathroom mirror, then gave himself a sharp slap across each cheek. These late nights were starting to get to him. The big man had them working overtime to pump out extra weapons, focusing mostly on ammunition. Vasili apparently envisioned a coming battle that would require unlimited ammo. Or else, Vasili wanted to stock up because he foresaw a scenario in which his source of ammo would be cut off. Atsushi shivered at that, considering what it meant for him. He turned off the light in the bathroom and walked down the short hallway back to the office.

  He walked past rows of temporary partition walls that divided the rooms into cubicles. He could see flashes of light from his printing apparatus off in the corner that illuminated the wall behind it. Even from here, he could hear the familiar whir of the machinery as the arm spread out the steel powder, followed by the sound of the sintering laser.

  He stopped to look in at one of the empty cubicles. There he saw printouts of office rules, a few photos of a man with a wife and two young kids (none of which showed the man smiling), some cut-rate office humor, and a few plastic action figures. He shook his head. What lives of quiet desperation these people must lead, he thought. Bound to the clock, forced to do what someone else tells them, no freedom or autonomy. Not like me, who … fuck, he thought, just as realization hit him. Well, at least I get a change of scenery every now and then.

  He walked on. Just as he was about to round the last corner, the printer suddenly finished its run and fell quiet. That’s when he heard them. Voices. Whispering. He froze in his tracks. Did he hear right? He listened carefully.

  Yes. No doubt this time. Two voices, male, whispering back by his workstation. He tried to listen in but couldn’t hear what they were saying. He was about to back out towards the hallway where he had just come from. Back where the elevators were located. But he stopped in his tracks when he heard motion coming from that direction. Someone was there, and they were approaching the corner where his printer was. He dove into the closest cubicle.

  “You hear that?” one said, followed by a pause.

  “Naw, must be taking a piss. He’ll be back soon.”

  Atsushi held his breath, certain that every sound he made was ten times louder than it actually was. He was surprised they weren’t able to hear his heart as it jackhammered away in his chest. As quietly as he could, he reached for his radio handset, only to remember that he had left it by the printer. Well, shit.

  He was so close to it. If he could just get them to move, he might be able to get it and call for help. Still crouching down, he waddled over to the desk and picked up a stapler. He wedged himself in behind a file cabinet so that he couldn’t be seen from the aisle, then tossed the stapler as far as he could. It landed with a satisfying clatter a few rows over.

  “That must be him there. Let’s go!”

  He saw two shadows run by at a crouch, then he rolled out of his hiding spot and around the corner. He grabbed the radio handset off the table and sprinted away from the corner as fast as he could while moving at a crouch himself.

  “I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” he heard someone say from a few rows down.

  “Maybe it was a rat?” the other said from closer.

  When he heard them, he ducked into the nearest cubicle and hunkered down, trying to get out of sight from the aisle way. He turned the volume dial on the radio handset all the way down. He was about to (quietly) call for help, when he heard someone pass by in the aisle. He waited until he was sure there was some distance between them, then tried again.

  “Mayday! Mayday! They’re in the building! Three of them! At least!”

  He released the button and looked at the device. The blinking light told him that a response had been sent, but he couldn’t hear it with the volume off.

  Now he just had to sit tight and hope Jeremy and the Twins found him before the killers did.

  He held his breath and waited.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Pork turned out alright.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good.”

  “The salad’s just okay. I don’t think I got the dressing right.”

  “I think it’s good.”

  “I like it better the way you make it. One part soy sauce to one part sesame oil, right?”

  “Vinegar, sesame oil, soy sauce. One, one, and one.”

  “That’s what I did wrong.”

  “Tastes fine.”

  Pause.

  “So … how are you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  “No problems with the …”

  “Some. It’s better, though.”

  “That’s good.”

  Pause.

  “When’s your next appointment over the … uh, over the placental … adruption?”

  “Placental abruption. And it’s next week.”

  Pause.

  Satoshi looked down. He smeared a slice of pork through the sauce on his plate, then let it drop. The tension between them was palpable. He was trying to be upbeat, but no amount of strained, well-intentioned conversation in cheerful tones was going to mend the void between them. That would take time.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Satoshi said on the couch after dinner.

  “We’ve been talking about it.”

  “Rig
ht. But I feel like you’re … like you’re still … I dunno.”

  “What? Pissed at you? I am. But you placating me again isn’t going to solve that.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’ll get over it. What other choice do I have?”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “It’s true, though. I could have lost this child. Our child. And you weren’t even there.”

  Satoshi looked down. The shame he felt was so strong it hurt physically.

  “Do you know what the last thing my father ever did was?” Hisoka asked suddenly.

  Satoshi shook his head. “You never talked much about them.”

  “He climbed a utility pole, with me in his arms. I was six then. Anyway, he climbed up there and he used his belt to tie me to it up by the streetlights. He …”

  Hisoka was tearing up. Satoshi put his arm around her, and she continued.

  “We were caught on the street when the wave came. He knew he couldn’t get us to safety. So he shimmied up the pole and lashed me to it. He’d just finished cinching me in when the water came crashing through Edogawa. Some people mad with fear grabbed onto him, and he … he couldn’t hold on. I watched him get swept away. But the cinch he made for me held.”

  Tears were streaming down her face now.

  “I was up there for the rest of the day and most of the next. Watching people swept away with cars and bicycles and whatever else was there. Then watching corpses floating by as the water began to recede.”

  “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like.”

  “I never told you about it because I don’t like to remember. But the point is, the last thing my father ever did was sacrifice himself for me. That’s dedication.”

  Satoshi just hung his head again. “I think I know where you’re going with this.”

  “I’m not saying everyone should or even could live up to that. But he had something worth more to him than his own life. I want that. I want something that gives my life—our life—meaning.”