Fire & Ice (19 page)

She looked at him for a long, endless moment. “Reno-chan,” she said gently in Japanese, “I understood almost every word you were saying.”

He'd been cool, almost off-hand, but now he looked shattered. “Your Japanese isn't that good.”

“It's good enough to know you offered to die for me. Why?”

“Don't complicate my life further, Ji-chan. It's family honor. They say they've got Taka, and my grandfather's life is at stake
....
”

“You don't think they have Taka?”

“Not necessarily. But we can't count on him showing up. Right now it's up to me, and I don't need difficult questions or you to distract me.”

And then it hit her, with blinding simplicity. He cared about her. It was the last thing he wanted, the reason why he kept pushing her away. But the bottom line was, he cared about her, whether he would admit it or not.

“What are you smiling for?” he demanded, indignant. “We'll probably be dead in another hour.”

“Yes,” she said, leaning forward and kissing him lightly on his beautiful mouth. He was too astonished to duck. “But you love me.” “Don't be insane
....
”

“We're going to die, Reno. You shouldn't die with a lie on your lips. You care about me, and you don't want to. It's that simple and so obvious I should have realized it before. You love me.”

“And you've lost your mind,” he said, exasperated. “I don't blame you—you aren't used to this kind of life. If we somehow manage to survive, you'll realize how ridiculous that is.”

And if we don't survive?” she asked, surprisingly calm and happy.

“Then you can die believing I love you,” he snapped. “In the meantime, keep your head down.” He turned and started for the door, keeping a hold of her hand, and then, at the very last minute he stopped, turning back.

“I don't love you,” he said. And he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, a kiss of passion and desperation, a kiss of deep currents and longing. “I don't love you,” he said again.

“Of course you don't,” she murmured happily. And she followed him out the door, into the lion's den.

Hitomi-san and his small army were waiting in the hallway with surprising patience. Jilly had long ago lost track of what day or what time it was; the interior corridors of the old warehouse didn't give her a clue, and she suspected that the yakuza didn't keep regular hours. It felt like the black side of midnight, or the approach of a dark, rainy dawn. It was a time when people were murdered, and babies were born. And as far as she knew, no one was pregnant.

They trudged through the dark corridors, and Reno still kept her hand tight in his. As long as he held on, they weren't going to die, she told herself. If he let go, anything could happen.

The oyabun's rooms were on the top floor of the warehouse. For some reason Jilly had thought they'd be taken back to the room where she'd first met him, but the black-lacquered doors were different from the red ones of the throne room.

Two armed men were stationed outside the door. They were older, and when Hitomi approached them they blocked the way, even as they bowed politely. “The oyabun is not receiving.”

“The oyabun will receive me. I have his grandson and his gaijin girlfriend, and I'll cut both their throats if he doesn't agree to talk with me.”

The guard didn't blink. Now that Jilly had a chance to look at him she realized he was very old, maybe as old as Ojiisan himself, and his companion wasn't much younger, whereas Hitomi's men were all in their twenties and thirties. Even Hitomi had to be in his forties at the most. The elderly yakuza pulled a cell phone from his pocket, and to Jilly's astonishment it was decorated with tiny charms hanging off it, just like a Japanese schoolgirl's. The man punched in a text message, then folded his arms and waited.

Hitomi-san stood there, seemingly peaceful, while a skinny young man beside him began cleaning his fingernails with a very large knife. The knife that was supposed to slash their throats? She only hoped it was sharp and fast.

Reno must have sensed her tension, because he squeezed her hand, a small gesture of reassurance that was so unlike her bad-boy Reno that she was even more convinced they were going to die. She only hoped they killed her first. She really didn't want to see Reno die, his red blood mixing with his flame-red hair on the cement floor.

The older yakuza picked up his phone and squinted at the screen. He moved it closer to his eyes, then farther away, and

Hitomi's patience seemed to be slipping, as evidenced from the tapping of his foot on the floor. Finally, the elderly guard reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and set them on his nose. Then he took them off again, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the lenses. She felt a faint tremor run through Reno, and if it weren't an impossibility , she would have thought he was laughing.

Finally the old man seemed able to read the screen. “The oyabun is ready to receive you,” he said, opening the door behind him. “Follow me.”

A gesture from the knife-wielding yakuza made it clear they were to proceed. Maybe as a human shield—they couldn't shoot Hitomi if Reno and a gaijin stood between them. Could they?

She almost couldn't believe the suite of rooms belonged in the warehouse. The carpeting was thick beneath her feet, and she realized that everyone—assassin, guard and gangster alike—was taking off their shoes. She kicked off her sneakers, and her toes sank into the thick plush. It was white—the blood would make a terrible mess.

The furniture was white leather with black accents, the paintings on the wall were modem and abstract. There were at least a dozen men lined up against the far wall, all of them elderly, dressed in dark suits, their hands clasped in front of them. She wondered how many fingers they had among them.

In the middle sat the oyabun. Reno's grandfather looked even more tiny than he had three days ago…or was it four? He seemed to have shrunk, and the lines in his face were set into even deeper grooves as he surveyed the newcomers. Kobayashi's massive form was directly behind him, a watchful presence.

Hitomi-san moved forward, past Reno and Jilly, and gave Ojiisan a deep bow, one that might have denoted humility if he weren't trying to overthrow the old man.

“Oyabun,” he said, “we have a great many things to talk about.”

“I fail to see it, Hitomi-san. You're a cheap gangster with no honor or values. I have nothing to say to you.”

Hitomi straightened, and his face showed no emotion whatsoever. “You have no choice in the matter, Oyabun. We have matters to discuss, and if you refuse, we must use force. I don't think you want to see your grandson die before your eyes.”

“I will if I must. He's been raised to live and die with honor. A concept that must be strange to you.” Even in Japanese, the old man's tones were withering.

“You live in the past, old man,” Hitomi said, dropping his attempt at courtesy.

“Your men are sick of it. You've denied them opportunities that would enrich them and their families. You've betrayed your kobun by your old-fashioned ways.”

“Because I refuse to get in the drug trade, Hitomi-san? Because I find intimidation and the murder of innocent people to be a betrayal of all our organization has stood for? We are one of the oldest families, and we have always looked out for the welfare of the common people.”

“Oh, cut the Robin Hood crap,” Hitomi-said, and even Reno was startled. “The yakuza haven't been the protector of the average family since before the war. The power is being taken by gangs like the Yamaguchi-gumi and other gurentai.

There is no room for old-fashioned baku- to —the world has changed, and the yakuza has changed with it.”

“I have not changed,” the oyabun said with great dignity. “And I will not. Nor will my men.”

“You mean, the old men who still listen to you? Their time is past. The young men have allied themselves with me, and we will take over the running of the organization. You will be treated with the honor and respect owed to our elders, but you will no longer be able to tell them what they can do.”

The old man didn't look impressed. And my grandson and his friend? And my nephew, Takashi?”

“Your grandson and nephew will have a choice. They can follow me, pledge their loyalty to the new order, or they can die.”

“Fuck you,” Reno said in English. The phrase was universal, and Hitomi shot him a cool look.

“Behave yourself , Grandson,” the old man said calmly. “I believe Hitomi-san has the controlling hand today.”

“And you think he means a word of what he says? Even if I wanted to be a part of his gangster army, it would do no good—he'll see to our deaths the first chance he gets.”

“So little trust,” Hitomi-san said sadly. “The girl, however, is a problem.”

“You could let her go,” the old man suggested in that calm, controlled voice. “She is no harm to you. She doesn't understand a word you're saying, and even if she could get someone to listen to her, they'd never believe her. Just drop her off at the American consulate and she will no longer be a problem to you.”

“Your grandson tried to convince me of the same thing. I'm afraid I am too thorough a man to let small details slip my attention. I can promise we can make her death fast. Miyavi-san is very experienced.”

The man with the knife looked up and grinned, an evil expression that was far too cheerful. Jilly moved a little farther behind Reno, and she couldn't help it; she pressed up against him, needing to feel him, his warmth and strength. They weren't getting out of this, she knew it. And damn, her mother was going to be pissed.

“Kobayashi-san,” Hitomi said, and the huge man moved to the center of the room. “Now is the time to show your loyalty to the new order. Hiromasa-san is correct—we would never be able to trust him. I want you to hold him while Miyavi-san finishes the gaijin. If he struggles, kill him.”

Jilly waited for Reno's grandfather to protest, but the old man said nothing, bowing his head and putting his hands together. Reno's hand tightened for a moment, and then released her; instead, he pulled her arms around his waist so that she was plastered up against his back, and his grip was unbreakable.

“Touch her and you die,” Reno snarled.

“And how are you going to manage that, young hothead? You have no weapons, you're outnumbered. Miyavi, Kobayashi, do as I ordered. Unless the oyabun has something to say.”

Hidden behind Reno's back she could barely see a thing, but the old man gave a slight, imperceptible nod that might have been a reprieve. Except that the nasty-looking Miyavi kept coming, and Kobayashi was approaching, as well, and she and Reno were both going to die.

With a swift push, she went flying backward, into Kobayashi's waiting arms, and Reno kicked out in a blur of motion, knocking the knife out of Miyavi's hand, another kick landing to the side of his head. He collapsed in a boneless heap, and Reno scooped up the knife, grabbed Hitomi and pressed it against his throat before the rest of his men could make a move.

She didn't understand his barked-out words, but the message was clear. Come any closer and Hitomi would die.

Kobayashi released her, setting her carefully aside, and moved back to the oyabun, his head lowered in an attitude of obedience.

“You should never underestimate the house of Shinoda, Hitomi-san,” the old man said in a quiet, commanding voice. “We don't take well to threats, whether our honor or our women are threatened.”

She understood that statement well enough, and so did Reno, and she half expected him to push Hitomi away and announce to the world and to her that she wasn't his woman. But Reno didn't move, his face a blank mask of rage, and there was a thin trickle of blood beginning to slide down Hitomi's neck and onto his expensive shirt.

“It won't do any good to kill me, Oyabun,” Hitomi said in a cool voice. “There will be others who follow me. Your time is done —the world has changed and there's no place for you in it. Hiromasa will only have time to kill me before my men open fire, and then you will all be dead, and...”

She saw the movement of the oyabun 's hand. Even Ojiisan was missing parts of his fingers, and she watched with stunned detachment as he brought his hand down. And then everything was a blur of noise and fire and blood—moving so swiftly her brain couldn't comprehend it, moving so slowly every moment was etched on her eyeballs.

Reno drew the knife across Hitomi's throat, slicing deep, letting the body drop as he jumped out of the way as the oyabun’s old men opened fire.

Someone pushed her down on the floor—she wasn't sure who, and she lay facedown on the thick white carpeting, her arms over her head, trying to shut out the noise, the smell of death that filled the air with such a miasma of dark evil that she wanted to choke. She thought she was screaming, but noise thundered around her and she may have only whimpered.

The gunfire suddenly stopped, and all was eerily silent. Someone was on top of her, and when he released her, she didn't move, didn't want to see. From a distance she heard Reno's voice, talking to his grandfather in frantic Japanese.

If she just stayed like this, she wouldn't have to see, she told herself. The guns had stopped—no one was likely to shoot her at this point. If she didn't move...

“Get up,” Taka said, and the sound of his voice was enough of a surprise that she lifted her head. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

The room looked like a scene out of Hamlet. Bodies were everywhere, staining the deep white carpet with dark pools of blood. She let Taka pull her to her feet, looking for Reno amid the carnage.

He was kneeling by his grandfather, who lay across the leather couch, held in loving arms by the loyal Kobayashi, who had tears streaming down his broad face. The old man's suit was dark with blood, but there was a peaceful expression on his face, and Reno leaned forward to catch his soft words, nodding and answering just as quietly.

“We need to get out of here, Jilly,” Taka said, impatient. “The rest of Hitomi's men are on their way—I blocked the elevator but it won't take them that long to make it up the stairs.”

“But Reno...” she protested.

Reno must have heard her voice. He looked away from his grandfather, into her eyes, and it was the face of a stranger. A dealer of death.

“Take her,” he said.

Taka clamped his hand on her arm, but instead of dragging her away, he took her over to face the dying oyabun. He bowed low, and out of instinct Jilly did, too, her eyes filling with tears.

The old man smiled faintly, and he murmured something, but it was too soft for Jilly to hear or understand, and then Taka was pulling her away, and there were tears running down his face, her cool, emotionless brother-in-law.

And then she didn't have time to think, or to cry, or even to breathe, as Taka dragged her through the back of the room, out into a darkened corridor.

She didn't waste her time arguing. She could smell the chemical odor of gasoline and something else, and she knew, even without asking, what was going to happen. There was no pulling away from Taka's iron grip, and when they reached the bottom of the endless flights of stairs and crashed out into the bright winter dawn light, she collapsed in the dirty, packed snow.

“Reno...?” She was gasping for breath. “You left him behind!”

“Summer would kill me if anything happened to you,” Taka said, not even winded. “And Reno can take care of himself. We've got to keep moving. The place is going to blow. Uncle had charges set all over the place.”