Peter liked how they were making casual chat of his lateness, a show to pacify Yamaguchi, face like a disgruntled catfish. 'I'll tell her you asked for her.'
Ken, the lawyer with the shaved head, kept his eyes on his notes. 'A wife and two mistresses and still thinks he has time for one more.'
'Women are my only pleasure,' said Taro. 'Maybe weekend gambling.'
Yamaguchi rasped a cough. 'We're not here to gamble, especially with my time and money.'
The Tokyo boss could have been around seventy. Maybe he was younger and time and the way of the world had dealt him a bad hand. He sounded old and tired. Peter said calmly, 'So what's the problem?'
'No problem,' said Taro, making that fake smile that said he was hiding something. 'Making sure we have all the facts. Everybody knows now that this is the last ship. After this we're on our own. Security has tightened at the airport since the riots and we need to be sure that nothing has changed. Where's Fernandez right now?'
'He'll be at the gallery. Some of his art still needs to be packed for shipment.'
'How much?' asked Yamaguchi. 'We have a deal to fill a shipment compartment.'
Peter said, 'You'll have ninety percent of the space, as agreed.'
Yamaguchi moved on his chair and Peter could see the person sat next to him was a woman.
'What will happen to the art left behind?' asked Yamaguchi.
'Art?' Peter tried not to laugh. 'The man's an idiot. Deluded and talentless. It will be sold on the black market, anything left will be destroyed.'
'Good, good.'
'There'll be a lot of media attention when he lands,' said Peter. 'How are you going to explain most of his paintings and photography disappearing?'
'It won't be reported,' Yamaguchi answered. He didn't seem comfortable answering Peter's questions. 'He'll be under the control of Kagoshima-san or he'll disappear himself.' He listened to the woman sat next to him for a moment, her lips close to his ear. 'I trust you understand the importance of what we're doing. We're preserving a way of life, our culture. The world we know is shrinking. Artefacts, swords, art of cultural significance and other items will be preserved, not left behind to rot with the scum who might survive to the end.'
Peter knew what they were smuggling, priceless relics from Kagoshima's personal collection, stolen or taken illegally from the badlands. The rest pictures and documents to reinforce the yakuza mythos, like most gangs promoting noble origins. The way Peter saw it, if you were in a gang you were a thug, didn't matter if you were a foot soldier, lawyer or a boss. He could see Yamaguchi on the projection watching him, waiting for a response.
He paused a moment, said, 'I'll do whatever I can,' waving his hand like it meant nothing to him. 'All you have to do is make it worth my time. They still execute people for interfering with Off World immigration.'
'I should think giving you control over Hiroshima, not to mention pulling all of my interests out of Malaysia, would be more than enough.'
'We'll give you all the support we can,' said Taro quickly. 'Once the container is on its way the Hiroshima bosses will pull out.'
'To where?'
'Some to Tokyo, some will retire.'
Yamaguchi coughed again. 'Never mind where they will go.' He listened to the woman, said thoughtfully, 'It all depends on Fernandez.'
The old boss worried too much, as if his failure to get the container to the New World would cost him more than money. It wasn't good to show weakness. Peter had read the same thing in Sato, days before a car bomb had ended his life.
'I'm his sponsor,' said Peter, sounding confident, 'he'll do what he's told.'
'And the tickets?' asked Taro.
'They'll be going with Fernandez. All you have to do is have your goods waiting at the airport in the packing cases provided.'
'Good, good. That's all,' said Yamaguchi, and the projection vanished.
'Thank you for your time, Mr. Yang,' said Taro.
Peter got up, said, 'Anything else, gentlemen, please contact my assistant.'
It helped to be polite. In the past putting a gun to a man's head might have made an impression, chopping off a thumb or an ear, but in the world where gangsters looked like businessmen you had to go along with the game.
•
The drive to the hospital had been deliberately slow, Peter unsure if he wanted to visit.
Kameko was almost finished. The night technician had said she'd be out of the nanobot tank in the morning, maybe ready for collection by late afternoon. Peter watched her floating, suspended in the liquid that looked pink in places. He tried to feel something, a connection to her, but part of him held back, seeing the simulant and not the woman. It wasn't easy to pretend that Kameko was still alive with all those tubes and wires attached to her.
Travis clicked his tongue, gazing straight ahead. He'd brought a scruffy-looking white guy with him called Benz, waiting outside.
'Why do you do this?' asked Travis.
The room was silent, only the soft breathing of the machines. She seemed to be aware of them. 'Do what?'
'Come and look at her every day, like it's gonna make a difference.' Travis paused. 'Sorry, I wasn't thinking.'
Peter watched the tiny bots working, surgeons in microcosm. 'I came to look at a beautiful woman.'
An autodoc wheezed and pressed a probe against the tank.
Travis swallowed, clicked his tongue. 'I was thinking you were hoping Tomoko would show. There's a good chance things'll never be the same after you asked her to kill her own mother, even if she is a simulant.'
'I hired you because you're not afraid to speak your mind. Although you should also know when to shut up. What's the latest?'
'We don't know where she is. She might have the tickets, but at least she doesn't know what they are. She thinks they're important, that's why she took them.'
The bots were moving in a circular motion now, swimming around Kameko's waist.
'You never met Saigo, Tomoko's father. In a lot of ways they're the same. He trained her how to fight, how to kill. He taught her to plan ahead and get into inaccessible places without been seen. The mind and the body are powerful weapons, Travis, and Tomoko has the best of both.' Looking down, Peter noticed a button missing from his suit coat, realising it must have been lost during his dive to avoid the shots that killed Baker. 'Did nobody notice I had a button missing from my jacket? I went to see Yamaguchi looking like a fucking tramp.'
30
Water Rats
The problem, Shing Yoon-Ngan would one day realise, was being at the bottom of the food chain. Ten years later he’d change his name to Peter Yang, but right now, climbing up the side of a cargo ship deep in the South China Sea, all he cared about was finding the crew and making some fast money.
At only nineteen, he didn't care about anyone or anything. The leader of the gang below him hissed between yellow teeth to move his scrawny ass faster.
He dropped to the deck lightly, moving into the darkness and quickly making his way toward the lookout. He hadn’t seen him yet, but the man heard Fai groaning as he heaved himself over the rail. The rifle came off his shoulder fast, and Shing made his move, the machete spitting sparks when it struck the barrel. He had to be furious, fearless. The blood looked black in the darkness, jetting from his neck and splashing against the wall.
'Good,' said Fai. Shing felt himself being patted on the back. 'Find the others and keep quiet.'
There were ten of them in the gang, moving like black rats through the ship to hunt out the crew. The roster said there would be twenty-three crew members on board the Cheung Son, most likely sleeping at this time and easy to round up.
They met up with four others who'd been dropped off by fast launch at the starboard side. They exchanged few words, a final snarled command from Fai before they broke up, one group heading for the bridge, others to the galley and the sleeping quarters. Shing had his gun ready now, just like the others, all of them knowing that unfamiliar footsteps would alert th
e crew to invaders. They had entered the ship through the first hatch, Shing surprised by the dull drone of the engines.
They stopped at the sound of voices from somewhere ahead.
Brother Lo caught a bullet in the gut and Shing charged forward with the others. They must have shot the guy a dozen times between them.
It took them maybe twenty minutes to find all the crew, a mad chase through the ship, shouts, screams and the crack of gunfire echoing down the corridors and the metal compartments.
Heavy work fell to Shing, the dirty jobs, like weighting the bodies and heaving them over the side, washing away the blood, carrying the stuff they'd need from the launch to the ship. That was Shing's role, his place in the gang. After a couple of years, he'd be able to put his feet up while somebody else did the work. Criminals were naturally lazy, work a fool's game, but Shing set to the tasks humming a tune from a soap he liked to watch on Channel Fifty.
Fai was the boss, so naturally he'd get the highest gross of the profits, two sub-bosses below him taking the next biggest cut, then the rest would get an equal share. Fai had to pay a boss in Hong Kong, bribe a few officials, but that came out of his own pocket. When Shing needed work he'd been told to go see Fai at a bar on Luan Street, two blocks down from the Greater Hong Kong police station. They had a few drinks, and within twenty minutes Fai had unrolled a huge bundle of notes and was handing over a couple of thousand dollars. That's how it worked in a gang, didn't matter if it was triad, yakuza or whatever. You needed money, you got money. Any scams going on were shared with another gang member if he needed a break. If you needed a place to stay somebody had a bed or a floor to sleep on. Food was free at eating places where they knew your face. The boss never asked for anything in return, respect and loyalty were expected without question.
They'd searched the ship and found a cargo that would be worth a fair amount on the black market, an assortment of electrical goods, toys, scooters, and machine parts.
There are different types of crooks in this game, Fai had said. Those who just want to empty the ship's safe, and those who take the entire ship. It seemed to be professional pride that separated one from the other. The safe breakers were small time and that's all they were good for. They'd make their way to a port where a contact waited, who'd already found a shipping agent with expired letters of credit.
Then they would offer their services, load up with whatever they wanted shipping, and set sail for a port where another contact waited, who would pay them for the stolen cargo. So they would sell the original cargo, sell the new cargo, then sell the ship for scrap or to another shipping agent once they had a new registration, acquired at some consulate or other where bribes were easy. It was all professional, Fai kept saying, adding that the gang had fake offices and members who could pass for smart business types. Shing liked the idea of wearing a suit, thinking that once this trip was over and he'd proven himself he'd convince Fai to let him work with the gang members who stayed on land.
After three days doing nothing but painting the ship a new colour and racing the scooters up and down the deck, they were ready for some action.
'So now what do we do?' asked Shing.
Fai spat on the deck, looking at the distant lights of the city across the water. 'What else do you do when you've got a pocket full of money?'
There was alcohol, lots of it, and whores from every country you could imagine. Blonde Swedish girls, redheads from Ireland, girls from Africa. There was always a new girl to tempt him, pretty and slim.
He returned to the ship one night, so drunk he could barely stand, collapsed onto a hammock, the stars overheard swirling in time with the pulsing in his head. Shing wasn't alone, at least six of them had done the same. Tom, the only Western man in the gang, snored like a pig. Fai asked Shing for a cigarette. He threw him a packet and a box of matches.
'My balls ache,' said Wai.
'Start worrying if they itch,' said Po Sin.
'I know a good doctor,' said Pun. He coughed and held his hand out for the cigarettes.
'You got itchy balls, Shing?' asked Fai.
Shing turned slightly on the hammock. 'No, but I think I'll lay off the girls and booze for a few days.' He felt sick, had a funny taste at the back of his throat, maybe from that fat Latino who'd sat in his face. You like chica, she'd said. He'd just nodded and let her do her stuff.
'You can try.'
'Doesn't matter,' said Po Sin. 'You won't know you've caught anything until a few days after.'
The cigarettes had worked their way round to Yu, hanging out of his hammock to reach for the matches. 'I know a good doctor in Kobe. You'll be fine. He'll take this huge needle and stick it right down your dick.'
Tom Sniggered, went back to snoring.
'Don't listen to him,' said Fai. 'You can take a pill and some cream.'
The hammocks rocked gently for a time. Shing could hear the faint sounds of the city, traffic, car horns, the hum of civilisation. He'd sleep for a few minutes, then wake up, feeling like he needed to piss but knowing he'd be unable to leave the hammock without falling out of it and landing on his face. He still had the cigarette in his hand, took a few drags and made smoke that looked like low clouds under the stars.
Wai coughed, said, 'A policeman in the town was asking questions.'
'What did you tell him?' asked Fai.
'I told him it was my birthday and bought him a couple of drinks.'
'You give him any money?'
'He's coming to the ship in the morning with his brother-in-law to take a dozen televisions and anything else that catches his eye.'
Fai sniffed. 'Fair enough. We should be more careful.'
Shing fell asleep, at least the kind of sleep that alcohol allows.
Piracy wasn't the kind of job that Shing ever imagined himself doing, for starters it involved more hard labour than he ever liked to do, and this activity was punished by death. No trial, no jury. You see, piracy, as Fai had put it, was for the tougher criminals, the smarter ones, the men who'd clawed their way from poverty and had a taste for adventure. Yu-qiang, God of the ocean waves, looks out for everybody, including the sharks and the turtles. Then he'd gone on for almost an hour explaining the nature of the sea and how they were simply taking what somebody else would take if they didn't get there first.
Yu-qiang probably wouldn't grant them any special favours, but Shing just went along with it when they made an alcove in the Captain's office for an effigy and some flowers. Now and then one of them would light a stick of incense and say a prayer, then go back on deck to continue drinking or tearing open the crates in the hold. Shing reckoned they needed something to believe in, so one day Fai had chosen a god that seemed to best suit their needs. Po Sin did the cooking and there was always some rice put aside for an offering.
Shing still needed to piss, unsure if that's what was keeping him awake. Either that or the rocking of the ship and the waves smashing against the hull. He found himself on the deck, too drunk to realise how badly the ship was listing, the wailing of the ocean too loud to hear the screeching of metal torn apart by rocks and coral. He saw three of the gang washed over the side by black water, then he was in the sea clinging to a chunk of splintered decking.
31
Blood Patterns
9.30 a.m, Peter Yang had been at the hospital for just under an hour. He’d sat for most of the time, answered three calls, one from Giselle, two from Travis. Now he stood, taking a sip of cold coffee from a paper cup, watching Kameko from behind a glass screen.
Tomoko had picked up some traits from her mother. Physically they were similar, Kameko tall, but not as tall as Tomoko, willowy figure, dark eyes, that way of looking at you like she was about to ask a question, but she never did.
Kameko sat on a chair, machines and technicians busy monitoring. He wondered what he should say to her when they got back home, thought how she’d react if he told her the truth. They’d argued, said things that made him realise she could never be the Kameko h
e’d loved twenty years ago. Only the day before she was like a habit he needed to end, a reminder of what he’d lost.
He’d keep this Kameko, he’d grown accustomed to her, to the differences between her and the Kameko from Hiroshima he’d first seen in Nara, at the feet of the giant bronze Buddha. She was with Saigo that day, a guy who wasn't much to look at, maybe a little too confident for his own good. That was the only time they’d ever shaken hands, after he’d taken a photograph of them together, Buddha in the background.
He’d just been allowed to open his own gambling place on the river, giving the local boss fifty percent, except money from the restaurant in the back. He remembered the crazy Filipino who'd done the cooking, not much of a chef but he'd made everybody laugh. He'd be a good man to have around now, his loyalty had been unflinching.
He thought about Tomoko again, what he should do. She’d become too dangerous to keep around, too determined now to follow her own path. He should have killed her when she was younger, caught her off guard, same as Jimmy had done when he’d shot Saigo through the head. Little Kid, that’s what Jimmy called her. She wasn’t a kid any more and she wasn’t little, she was a trained killer thinking every day about putting a knife in his chest. She’d try to get back to Japan, she’d try to kill him.
He moved his eyes up the graceful lines of Kameko’s body, met her gaze for an instant and looked away. He tapped his finger on the observation window and indicated to her that he had to go.
Peter Yang had a lot on his mind. Tomoko prowling the streets somewhere, Yamaguchi expecting a deal for Off World cargo space through his connections, and Kameko back in his life after he'd changed his mind about removing her.
Each one had complications that had to be dealt with, mostly Tomoko since he couldn't do anything for Yamaguchi without those Off World tickets. Life was supposed to be easier when you were a boss, preparing to wind down a career and spend the rest of your days drinking wine on a veranda, playing golf, and sex twice a week with a high-class mistress.
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