The Devouring God (12 page)

Takuda stiffened, and Mori stopped squirming. Suzuki looked up from the package.

“She's waiting for you at Fair or Cloudy. She might be next door at the sister establishment by now, singing
chanson
with the owner's wife. Hurry up and get into your suit,” Endo said, smiling like a benevolent uncle. “You don't want to leave her alone with this jelly­fish killer on the loose.”

 

CHAPTER 23

Sunday Evening

T
he blindfolds came off, and the security guards melted into the shadows of the little park.

Takuda brushed off his fine new suit, and Suzuki clutched his packet of spicy pickled cod roe. Mori aimed a kick at the Hakata doll, large and square in its silk bundling cloth, but Suzuki edged in to block the kick. “No, no, no,” he moaned. “That's a nice doll. It's a week's groceries if we can get cash back for it.”

Takuda scooped the doll up under his arm. “I'm done for the day,” he said. “I have to go find Yumi.”

“We were set up,” Mori growled. “This little jaunt to Club Sexychat, the satellite mental health center, the job with Ota Southern Protection Ser­vices, everything.”

Takuda nodded. “They even want us to know where their offices are. They took the same route, coming and going.” He watched Mori cataloging the information.
He knows something, but he isn't ready to tell us.
“We'll catch up tomorrow. Meet me at the Lotus Café for breakfast. You've got the overnight shift at the satellite office, though it will be pretty grim for you without Miss Nabeshima there. I'm sorry about that.” He bowed politely to let them know he was really going. “Good evening.” And he turned on his heel and left.

He hoped Suzuki could take care of himself with Mori, but it was out of his control. Takuda had to catch up with Yumi. Counselor Endo's threat about the jellyfish killer was not a direct threat, and Endo knew that hurting Yumi would bring war. Endo didn't want that. Endo had Zenkoku at his beck and call, but Takuda had more power at his command, somehow, though he wasn't sure exactly what it was. Or how he could use it to feed himself.

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.”