The Devouring God

by James Kendley

  Takuda sped down Oyafuko, though his new shoes pinched in the heels. He was slowed by the crowd coming back from the fireworks display near the castle ruins.

  Fair or Cloudy was homey and cluttered, even at the entrance, a hodgepodge of primitive art mostly by the owner’s wife. At the door, he had to wait for one patron, a genially drunken businessman who balked at exiting and clutched at the sliding door as if the club and the sidewalk were moving at different speeds. When he had passed unsteadily onward, Takuda ducked into Fair or Cloudy to a chorus of welcome from the staff.

  The owner bowed, beaming. He wore a bandanna on his head, with a brocade vest and jeans, like a cross between an American biker and a Southeast Asian hippie. Takuda thought he would be comfortable wherever he landed.

  “Our massive security guard is here,” the owner said. “We’re safer already! And look at this splendid suit!” He laughed aloud as he bowed again, gesturing for Takuda to follow him. “Please come this way. Your lovely wife is in the stern.”

  Half the pub, the raised platform tables, had been built with cedar timbers to resemble the prow, midship, and stern of a ship. The owner stopped in consternation when he saw the stern table occupied by a quartet of young women in summer kimonos, all fanning themselves and getting settled in after the long walk from the fireworks display.

  The manager, a brown, sharp-­eyed little man, came to the rescue. “She’s next door, singing with Madame,” he said. “Right this way, please.”

  “Oho,” said the owner, bowing with delight. “We have two songbirds tonight. I’ll come over in a few minutes to make sure everything is all right.”

  Takuda followed the manager into the kitchen and up a narrow stairwell. “I hope you don’t mind going up the back way, but really, you’re part of the family,” the manager said.

  “That’s okay,” Takuda said, looking over his shoulder to watch a bearded cook peel a radish he held in midair, reeling a paper-­thin, translucent sheet of radish onto a waiting platter of grilled mackerel. “I always find the kitchen interesting.”

  “I also wanted a quiet place to tell you,” the manager said, turning to face him on the stairs.

  Takuda shifted the Hakata doll to free his right hand. He liked these ­people, but he hated being trapped on the stairs.

  “Your evening here is on the house,” the manager said. “Really, truly. Anything and everything you want, don’t hesitate. And I’m preparing a basket to carry home.” He looked Takuda in the eye. “Seriously. Don’t be shy. It’s taken care of tonight.”

  Takuda bowed and tried to smile. Counselor Endo is trying to be very generous.

  Yumi was still singing with the owner’s wife. Her voice was husky with the echo of a suicide attempt that had damaged her vocal cords, but it was somehow perfect for the evening. Outside it was a summer celebration, but inside this restaurant it was all in French, very breathy and airy and full of Edith Piaf, and Takuda didn’t understand a third of it. It reminded him of Club Sexychat, but he wasn’t going to let that bother him. He sat in a booth beneath a ratty old ball gown turned into a canopy, and he raised his glass to Yumi when she seemed to be looking in his direction.

  Ota, his boss, appeared with a jug of cold sake and an oversized earthen cup for sharing. “Security Guard Takuda! I waved like a madman from across the room, and you didn’t see me!”

  Takuda wasn’t even surprised. Everyone was out tonight. “I was watching my wife singing.”

  Ota’s gaze jerked to the little platform. “Which one, the redhead?”

  Takuda smiled. “The brunette.”

  “Oho,” Ota said, passing Takuda the sake cup. “Nothing against the older one, but you did well for yourself.”

  “I’m a lucky man,” he said as Ota plopped down on the matting and poured for him.

  Ota sighed. “Takuda, you’re lucky, but you’re killing me. Really killing me. Why didn’t you tell me about this monster-­hunting thing you’ve been doing on the side?”

  Takuda drained the cup before he answered. “You’ve been very generous to us. Now, please feel free to tell clients that I misled you, or that I gave you false information.”

  “What? You come into town to ruin my business, and you tell me to lie my way out of it?” Ota shook his head. “Why don’t you lie a little bit? It would probably be less trouble for everyone if you started.”

  Takuda didn’t bow. “I’ll have the uniforms back to you tomorrow,” he said.

  “Wait just a minute,” Ota said. “I haven’t cut you yet.”

  Takuda poured for Ota, bowing with gratitude even though he had no idea what Ota was going to say.

  “You know how I found out about all this?” Ota said after he drained the cup. “Zenkoku called me. Our biggest account, of course. What the hell did you do to them?”

  Takuda sighed. One of the security guards had maced him right in the ear, and it was starting to itch. “Publicly, they say my associates and I forced them to retool an antiquated fiber plant in the valley where I was born.” He worked at his ear with his little finger. “Privately, they told me they used me to clean up a problem in that valley.”

  Ota raised an eyebrow. “Monster problem?”

  Takuda nodded.

  Ota snorted. “Bastards. Shit-­eaters.”

  “That’s what I think of them,” Takuda said.

  “Well, did you know they introduced us to the health office here? They heard the Yoshida woman had a problem, and they recommended us. Isn’t that strange?”

  “Who did the introductions?”

  “Kim, Korean name. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Just shows what a progressive and open-­minded company Zenkoku can be.”

  “For one of the original giants of Japanese industry.”

  “Exactly. Bastards. Shit-­eaters. So they recommend me, and now they start telling me to fire ­people.”

  “They told you to fire me?”

  “You and the genius. They told me to lose you or I would lose the Zenkoku account.”

  The sake hadn’t hit Takuda yet, and he felt stone-­cold sober, unfortunately. “They want me unemployed so I can spend all my time trying to find something for them.”

  “Well, they don’t get it. I told them I would answer them next week. That was so I could scare up a little business to cover the loss of Zenkoku.”

  “You were willing to lose that account?”

  Ota lit a pungent little Japanese cigarette. “They have their own security force. The whole Zenkoku account was a huge retainer, but just a few hours a week for the genius. That’s all. Just reviewing tapes and logging them in, then walking the underground parking lots once between the shifts of their regular security force. Light, useless duty.”

  But it kept Mori in the core of their downtown office, where they could study him. “Did they ask for Mori when they started the account?”

  “No. No, they didn’t. But you know what? They asked for someone just like him. I mean, just like him. Experience, skills, everything. And the request for a proposal came in from them just a week after you guys showed up.”

  Takuda nodded. “You told us that at the time. You were pretty happy about the coincidence.”

  “Well, I’m not happy now. It’s very suspicious. Very suspicious indeed. And then they call me and tell me to fire ­people. Ha! They can all go to hell.”

  Takuda smiled. “You’re not going to fire us.”

  Ota made a rude noise. “They don’t tell me what to do. And I have an iron-­clad contract with them. If they want to break it, I’ll squeeze them for five years’ worth of that monthly retainer. You and Mori, and that priest, you never broke any laws, right?”

  Takuda sighed. “We never hurt any living person, and we’ve never been charged with a crime.”

  “Ha! Never hurt a living person! I get it! Now look, no reason to be
so glum. They can’t touch us. I’m such a small fish that I slip through their net, see? They try to ruin my reputation, I just do more divorces and illicit background checks.”

  “You’ll never make a living doing background checks.”

  “You don’t know the referrals I get, Takuda. I know my business, and I know character. I saw that you and the genius were solid the second I laid eyes on you. I wasn’t so sure about your friend the priest. But I saw you were someone who could stick around. I saw you could last through a little rough weather and still come out okay. I also guessed you knew how to be a team player. A little teamwork goes a long way.”

  Here it comes. Takuda bowed. “Thank you for letting us keep our jobs. We’ve had to move around a lot over the past few years, and it takes a toll on my wife. She’ll be grateful.”

  “It would be nice to give her some long-­term stability, wouldn’t it? Women get tired of financial stress. Who doesn’t?”

  Takuda looked up to see if Ota was working him. Ota met his gaze. His eyes were clear and bright, and his expression was neutral, except for a slight wrinkle between his eyebrows.

  “You’ve been there,” Takuda said.

  Ota didn’t smile. “I’ve been there.” He looked at Yumi. “I had a beautiful wife. And then I didn’t.” He poured for himself, out of turn, and downed it. “Now I’ve got a wife who doesn’t stand for any nonsense. I’m better off, but I did things the hard way.” He belched discreetly. “Long-­term financial stability is better than any romantic rubbish, and smart women know it.”

  Takuda exhaled slowly. “And how do you think we could find such a situation?”

  Ota clapped the cup on the table like an auctioneer’s gavel. “Well, now, are you happy chasing ghosts and monsters all over the country?”

  Takuda frowned. “I’m not even sure how to answer that question.”

  “How would it be to have a home base? A little management? A way to capitalize on your skills?”

  Takuda felt his jaw drop. “You don’t want this. You think you do, but you don’t.”

  Ota leaned forward. “Listen, when I read through this report from Zenkoku, my mind was racing. Were you three crazy? And your wife, too? No. Was it all just a big scam? No. You’re not a scam artist. You’re one of the worst liars I’ve ever met. Really, that’s a handicap we’ll work on.” He reached for the sake. “Anyway, I thought to myself, if he’s not crazy, and it’s not a scam, it’s real.” He handed Takuda the cup. “It’s real, and it’s unique. A unique ser­vice to fill a gap that no one, and I mean no one, is filling in the security market.”

  Takuda managed not to spill as Ota poured.

  “We build a framework for this, see, a separate company with you three as owners, all a subsidiary of a little company of my own. You get the support you need, and my subsidiary does the billing. Steady paycheck for big billing.”

  Takuda didn’t drink. “Do you have any jobs in mind, like solving the jellyfish killings or finding a missing artifact or finding the missing girls from Able English Institute?”

  Ota looked at him as if he had sprouted wings. “Your record’s clean, but you can’t be a consultant, not after you’ve walked away from it. They’ll never listen to you. No, no, no. I’m talking about haunted villages and mountain goblins and goose-­necked ghosts and shape-­shifting foxes.” He put his fingers under Takuda’s drinking hand, raising it gently. “I’m talking about getting rich hunting monsters. Rich!”

  Takuda drank. When he finished, Ota’s eyes shone in the pub’s dim lights. Takuda said, “But really, you don’t believe in all this, do you?”

  Ota made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, the shape of a coin. “I believe in this. You have a ser­vice, and if there’s a ser­vice, there’s value, and if there’s value, we can set prices. You handle the ser­vice, and clients will decide the value. Leave the pricing to me.”

  He was serious. “Not everyone can pay,” Takuda said.

  Ota leaned forward. “That’s the beauty of it. That’s the beauty! Pro bono work is everything. You can’t advertise the ser­vice, not directly. But satisfied customers—­the poorer, the better—­will start the ball rolling.”

  Takuda said, “I’ll think about it.” He glanced at the singing platform where Yumi and the mama-­san were wrapping up. “We’ll think about it.”

  Ota clapped him on the knee, complimented him on his suit (“Stick with me, and you’ll dress like that every day!”), and prepared to go back to his table. Takuda stopped him. “Why did you come here tonight? Why Fair or Cloudy, of all places?”

  Ota said, “Too tired to fight the crowds at the fireworks display, after dealing with these Zenkoku shit-­eaters, and I like the staff here.”

  “Me, too,” Takuda said. “Exactly.”

  Servers swooped down on Takuda when Ota left, and the table was covered with hearty dishes and delicate appetizers by the time Yumi arrived.

  After he complimented her on her singing, she said, “The evening is on the house.”

  He told her he had heard. “You’re not wearing the summer kimono,” he said.

  “I leave that to the Fukuoka flowers who’re trying to find their men,” she said. “I’ve already found mine.”

  She asked about the suit, and about the Hakata doll, and he told her the whole story, all except the Russian pistol. She was silent for a moment, and then she sighed and stretched her legs under the table. “The priest is right,” she said, examining the Hakata doll’s label under the silk wrapping. “A week’s groceries at least.”

  He watched her in the dim light as she examined the box. He hoped they had enough money to go to a hotel that night, even though it would be hard to find a room on the night of the fireworks display. He smiled as he imagined them walking up to a hotel with their silk-­wrapped Hakata doll and the basket from Fair or Cloudy.

  “It’s a pity I can’t return the suit,” he said. “It would at least pay for a night on the town.”

  “Oh, you need a new suit,” she said, caressing the silk bundling cloth on the Hakata doll box. “Your old detective suits are shiny in the seat and baggy in the knees. And there’s no telling when you’ll need a nice suit for a funeral.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Monday Morning

  When Takuda took a seat in the Lotus Café the next morning, Koji the waiter was almost unrecognizable. He stood at attention in the restaurant foyer as a middle-­aged woman leaned forward toward him, whispering with an expression of urgent concern.

  Takuda took the booth nearest, just to eavesdrop. Koji didn’t take his eyes off the woman’s face, but Takuda knew he had been spotted.

  “ . . . and he mentioned you several times as some sort of mentor. I hoped you might know where he is. I think he and his girlfriends went somewhere; none of them have been in classes lately. It’s strange that so many ­people are missing and there’s nothing in the news.”

  “I have noticed that as well,” Koji intoned in a pleasant baritone. Takuda picked up the breakfast menu to hide his amusement.

  “The police say there’s nothing to worry about, and they say most runaways come home within forty-­eight hours, but it’s already been more than that.”

  “Your son is a capable and resourceful young man,” Koji said. “I’m sure he hasn’t done anything foolish.”

  The woman smiled a brittle smile and bowed in agreement and gratitude, but her brows were still lined in concern. “I appreciate your concern and your care,” she said. “Tell me, in just what way were you mentoring my Haruma?”

  “Ah. As I’m sure you know, he is thinking of entering the ser­vice industry. Despite my modest role in this fine establishment, I have solid contacts in the catering and convention planning community here in the city. If he . . .”

  “This is something his father and I have spoken to him about,” she said. “We don’t think h
is aspirations are high enough for his upbringing and his aptitudes. His test scores alone . . .”

  “He could be rich and influential in a booming international city like Fukuoka,” Koji said, ignoring the woman’s exasperated protests. “He’s doing the right things by studying English and finance. He’s got a good plan, and he’s making the contacts to execute his plan. You’re very lucky to have such a son.”

  She bowed without indicating agreement. “I see your point. It’s just that his father and I hoped he would be a professional.”

  Koji smiled. “The real money is in ser­vice, if you have the drive and the charm. Haruma has both.”

  “Yes,” she said with an appraising look at Koji. “I’m just so worried that he and his girlfriends ran off without telling anyone. Haruma’s harem, my husband calls them. And just to think, the fancy-­pants detective that called at our house implied that Haruma might be a homosexual. A detective with hair as long as Yuko Asano’s.”

  Koji chuckled. “Isn’t that always the way? Point your finger at someone, and three fingers are pointing back at you!”

  She laughed and touched his forearm; his expression softened into the proper paternalistic warmth but without a hint of girlish intimacy. Koji stayed in character as he bowed her out of the restaurant. But as he turned from the door, Koji sagged into a dismayed mass. “There’s no telling where that boy is,” he muttered as he sauntered past Takuda’s table, “but I hope he’s run off to Hong Kong. It’ll be twenty years before this is a fit town for a flamboyant fellow like him.”

  “Koji,” Takuda said, “I was interested in your conversation with that boy’s mother.”

  Koji turned with an expression of mild surprise. “Interested? You? You hid it so well.”

  Takuda ignored the sarcasm. “I’m nosy. My friends are nosy. The priest is nosy.”