Back from the Undead Page 12

  “I believe you,” I say. “But you understand that I can’t exactly trust you now.”

  “I know. I do not expect you to.”

  “What are you doing here, Tanaka?”

  “I … am attempting to regain my honor.”

  “How? By leaping from the trees like a kung fu version of Tarzan and saving my life?” I pause. “Wait. That’s not it, is it? You haven’t been shadowing me and looking for excuses to play hero, have you?”

  He sighs. “Yes, that’s it. You know that woman you buy coffee from every day? That’s me. The new receptionist at work? Also me. I am very cunning.”

  Good Lord, Tanaka’s grown a sense of humor. “Okay, okay. So why are you here?”

  “Isamu.”

  That stops me. Isamu is the name of the Yakuza oyabun who tried to turn me into the same kind of blood cow we found in that hemoglobin factory. Charlie and Tanaka disabused him of the idea, killing his prime assassin in the process. I was warned that Isamu would eventually come after me, but the last I heard he was embroiled in some kind of local turf war in Japan that was keeping him too busy to bother with petty things like revenge. Of course, I was also warned that centuries-old vampire crime lords tended to have extremely long memories …

  “Isamu,” I say. “What’s he got to do with this?”

  “The Yakuza supposedly has a blood farm in this park. I was attempting to locate it.”

  “So this is a coincidence?”

  “Not exactly. I was conducting surveillance on a local thrope tribe that has an alliance with the Yakuza. When a scout reported the presence of a human woman and an enforcement lem, I knew who it must be. I trailed them to where they encountered you.”

  In the darkness, Tanaka is only a black blur beside me. I wish I could see his face. “Well … thanks for the assist.”

  “I am glad I could help.”

  “And that blood farm you were looking for? I can give you directions if you’d like—but after tonight it’ll no longer be in operation. More like in pieces.”

  “I cannot say I am surprised. You have a knack for destruction.”

  I wonder if I should mention Stoker, then think better of it. I still don’t know whether or not Tanaka deserves my trust, and I’m not about to give it to him just because he may have saved my life. Charlie and I could have taken that pack. Maybe. “So the NSIB is after Isamu, huh?”

  “No. This is a personal mission.”

  I frown. “Sorry? What does that—”

  “After the events of the Ghatanothoa affair, I felt it was my responsibility to neutralize the threat to your life posed by Isamu, as I knew he would not let it go. I attempted to persuade my employers of the rightness of this course of action, but they disagreed. I resigned.”

  “Wait. You’re not a cop anymore?”

  “I still serve the cause of justice, Jace. But I no longer answer to those whose political loyalties run deeper than their morality.”

  I’m not sure what to make of that. “So you quit your job because of me?”

  “You saved our world, Jace, despite what it has done to your kind. In return, I betrayed you. I could not—will not—let an amoral monster like Isamu destroy you. You deserve our eternal thanks, while I—” He breaks off.

  “You think you need to atone.”

  “My needs are irrelevant.”

  Ohhhh, boy. Nobody does the martyrdom-for-the-good-of-all bit better than the Japanese. If I told Tanaka, right now, to pull out his sword and fall on it for me, the only question he’d probably ask would be if I minded setting him on fire first. You know, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.

  But I can’t just tell him to stop, either. I have a psych degree—framed certificate and everything—and I know that someone like Tanaka won’t just give up. He’ll gladly throw himself under a train for me, but anything less noble and more rational won’t do it for him. This is less about me and more about him; he needs to atone for what he’s done, and eliminating the threat to my life may not be enough. He’s convinced himself he needs to suffer, too … the only thing I’m not sure about is just how much. If I want to find out, I’m going to have to get him to talk.

  “A debt of honor, then,” I say. I nod. “I understand.”

  He glances toward me, then away. “I’m … thank you. I thought you would be angry.”

  “You don’t know me as well as you think, Tanaka.”

  “Perhaps I do not. I have been mistaken about many things.”

  “No. You made a single error. One helluva big one, granted, but it was made honestly, in the interests of your country. Don’t belittle yourself—you did the best you could. It wasn’t a moral lapse.”

  “It is not a decision you would have made.”

  “Exactly. So you had a pretty good chance of being right.”

  I hear a low chuckle. “Now who’s belittling herself?”

  “Hey, I’ve practically turned self-denigration into an art.”

  “That’s very Japanese of you.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “I guess. But even I would think twice about taking on the Yakuza on my own.”

  He holds up a hand for silence and we all freeze. A few seconds tiptoe past while Tanaka listens intently to something beyond the range of my merely human senses. When he motions that we can proceed again, it’s another few minutes before I feel like it’s safe to speak. “So how exactly are you planning on doing that?”

  “I will find Isamu, and kill him.”

  “Sure. Because it’s not like he’ll have bodyguards or anything.”

  “He will be well protected.”

  “And easy to find. You can just look up a list of his public appearances on the Net.”

  “He will no doubt take pains to conceal himself from any possible attack. He will use sorcery as well as cunning.”

  “And being in charge of a criminal empire for hundreds of years, it’s not like anyone has ever tried this before.”

  “He has buried many unsuccessful assassins—”

  I snort in annoyance. “Will you please stop doing that?”

  “What?”

  “Agreeing with me. It’s really getting on my nerves.”

  “I have considered all the possible obstacles, and prepared for them. They will not prevent me from completing my task.”

  “Uh-huh. You’ve got resolve, Tanaka, I’ll give you that. But I’d feel better about your plans if you could provide me with something concrete, as opposed to steely-eyed determination.”

  He pauses, and turns around. “Very well. I don’t want you needlessly worrying about me, Jace; I will do my best to allay your fears.” He tugs down his mask so that I can see his face. “What do you know of the history of Imperial Japan?”

  “Not much. Warlords, emperors, feuding clans of samurai—”

  His eyebrows go up. “You know about samurai?”

  “Only what I’ve learned from movies and TV.”

  He shakes his head. “Most curious … here, they have largely been forgotten. The samurai clans embraced the way of the wolf many centuries ago, valuing not only their strength and fierceness but also their loyalty. However, when vampires infiltrated the Imperial Court and turned the emperor, he saw the samurai as a threat, and tried to have them destroyed. He very nearly succeeded, though it took many years. But the undying can afford to be patient …

  “It was called the War of the River Swallowing the Stone, a long, slow battle of attrition. Eventually, all the samurai clans were hunted down and killed—all except one. They went into hiding, surviving by posing as a roving nomad pack, never staying in one place too long. They kept the traditions and practices of their kind alive in secret, until the very idea of the samurai had passed into legend.”

  He meets my eyes, unblinking. “The name of that clan was Tanaka.”

  I study him. He’s dead serious. “So you’re telling me you’re what, the last living samurai?”

  “I did not say I was the last. But the members of my
clan are the only samurai left—and I have learned their lessons well.”

  “That’s very impressive, but—”

  “It is not meant to impress you. It is simply a statement of fact. The Tanaka clan has survived for centuries, despite being ruthlessly hunted for many of them. We, quite simply, refuse to give in to circumstances. Isamu will die at my hand; I have sworn it. Can you not see this is the truth?”

  What I see on his face is more than calm resolve; it’s the complete and total focus of an obsessive. “Yes,” I say. “I can see that.”

  “Then we need discuss it no more.” He slips his mask back on and stalks into the shadows ahead, making no sound at all.

  “That guy,” Charlie says, “is going to be trouble.”

  “No kidding…”

  We reach the edge of the park in another few minutes, but keep going until we’re at least a block away. Tanaka turns to me as we stride down the sidewalk, pulling down his mask and hood. “I suppose our truce is concluded. Do you wish to take me into custody?”

  “Don’t see how I could. I don’t have any jurisdiction here. But as far as I’m concerned, our truce is still active—I don’t hold your past actions against you, all right?”

  He gives me a slight bow as we walk along. “Thank you. Your forgiveness means a great deal to me.”

  “Look, we’re staying at the Clarion hotel. Maybe we should think about pooling our resources.”

  He hesitates. “I will contact you if I obtain any information I think you might find useful.”

  “Fine—we’ll do the same. Where are you—”

  But I’m talking to myself. I only took my eyes off him for a second as we walked along, but he’s vanished—probably slipped into that alley we just passed. I know it’ll be empty if I bother to check, so I don’t.

  “Guy moves fast,” Charlie notes. “You sure know how to scare ’em off.”

  “I wish that were true,” I murmur. “But he’s not going anywhere until he does what he came to do.”

  “Kill Isamu?”

  “Or himself…”

  Great. So now I have an obsessed, self-destructive thrope to worry about, too, one who’s determined to regain his honor by killing an ancient Yakuza overlord. I also have to worry about said overlord, who holds a very definite grudge against yours truly. Maybe if I’m lucky they’ll take each other out and I can ignore the whole thing.

  Yeah, right.

  Damn it, Tanaka. Why is it ex-lovers always pick the worst possible time to show up? I mean, yes, it is good that he has my back when it comes to Isamu, and yes, he’s very capable, and I’ll even admit that it’s nice to have another friendly face around in a dangerous environment, but he’s a distraction. I don’t need to worry about his safety, I don’t need to think about when or if he’s going to call, I don’t need to have those soulful brown eyes reminding me of that one night we spent together …

  No. Oh, hell no.

  TEN

  When we get back to the hotel, I get on the phone to Gretch while Charlie fills Eisfanger in. I’m doing my best to plunge into full-on work mode, because the realization that I’m still attracted to Tanaka is almost as disconcerting as learning he’s in town in the first place.

  “Hemo,” I tell Gretch. “That’s the name of the business Stoker gave me. He says it’s connected to the disappearance of the pire kids.”

  Gretch sounds concerned. “Do you think there’s any credence to his story? Considering how he used you?”

  “At this point I don’t know what to think. He claims he isn’t even working with the Free Human Resistance anymore, but clearly at least some of his goals haven’t changed.”

  “Mmm. Well, shutting down an operation like that is a good thing, Jace. If nothing else, at least that’s done.”

  “Yeah. But that’s not the only surprise that popped up.” I tell her about Tanaka, and why he’s here.

  “I’ll try to confirm that with our Japanese counterparts, though they haven’t been exactly forthcoming since the Ghatanothoa debacle. I’ll let you know what I find out when I ring you back with the Hemo data.”

  She hangs up. I knock on Charlie’s door, tell him and Eisfanger I’m going to have a long bath and go to bed.

  Most people have baths to relax, but I find I can often do some good brainstorming while surrounded by hot water and suds. My bathroom holds stacks of water-stained notebooks as opposed to candles, and I prefer a nice cold scotch on the rocks to a glass of wine. I fill up the tub, ease myself in, close my eyes, and start to think.

  The first question nagging at me is What did Stoker give Zevon in return for our freedom? Maybe he offered to kill someone—he’s very good at that, after all.

  Or maybe the whole thing was an elaborate con, designed to make me think I owe Stoker a favor. That doesn’t really ring true, though—too much work for too little payoff. I mean, if he’d really gone to that much trouble to trap me in a Japanese Hell, I doubt he’d let me go that easily.

  And what am I going to do about Tanaka? My imagination throws out a few interesting possibilities, which I hastily suppress. If there’s one thing I can rely on, it’s my own brain’s ability to screw up my love life. I think it’s in cahoots with a number of my glands, too.

  With an effort, I push myself into a more business-like frame of mind. The pire kids. If they are disappearing, who’s taking them, and why?

  Maybe it has something to do with the whole time-debt issue. The kids aren’t aging—but maybe they’d like to. That could make attractive bait for a childnapper.

  Is it actually possible? I know another pire can volunteer to share the time-debt, like Cassius did with Anna after her father was killed, but who would do that for a stranger?

  The solution, when it pops up, seems blindingly obvious. Another pire kid, of course. Normally the time-debt is shared between the parents, who each age at half speed, but it’s entirely possible to do it with one taking on the whole load. I reach out, find my phone on the counter, and call Eisfanger. He answers on the third ring.

  “Jace? What’s up?”

  I ask him about my theory. He disappoints me. “Sorry, but that wouldn’t work. You need at least one parent in the loop—the debt can be shared, but not transferred entirely.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I sigh and hang up.

  Well, if it’s being used as bait, it doesn’t have to work—you just have to convince the kids it does. The real question is, what are the kids being used for?

  I know it doesn’t have to be anything sorcerous. It could be as simple and ugly as it appears, that the kids are being abused or killed or both. If they’re being murdered, I’m probably hunting a pire; serial killers tend to stay within their own race. But if I’m after a child molester, that broadens my parameters by an order of magnitude; they can come from any walk of life, be any age, any race. About the only factor I could rely on was that they’d probably be male, and even that wasn’t guaranteed.

  The phone rings. I wipe my hand dry on a towel and answer it.

  It’s Gretch. “Mr. Tanaka has indeed left the employ of the NSIB. Hemo is the name of a corporation that specializes in blood products; specifically, they import and distribute a number of products from Japan—a popular drink called Gorilla Happiness Plus is their big seller. And yes, it does contain actual primate blood, though most of it comes from macaque or green monkeys.”

  “The Japanese blood trade. Interesting.”

  “My sources say they have definite ties to the Yakuza, though Hemo has never been directly implicated in any criminal activity. What is interesting, though, is the fact that a great deal of their annual budget goes into research and development.”

  “Trying to build a juicier monkey?”

  “That would make sense—but no. They seem to spend it all on computer equipment and experts in machine code.”

  I frown. “What for?”

  “I have no idea. Perhaps you could ask them, when you speak to their CEO.”

  �
�Who is?”

  “Robert Mizagi. You have an appointment to see him today at four.”

  I groan. “I’m guessing that’s AM?”

  “He is a pire.”

  “Suppose I should try to get a few hours of sleep, then.”

  Yeah, that would be a good idea. Unfortunately—even after the bath and getting beneath the covers—I’m too wound up to find the offramp to dreamland. And if I had, the phone would have woken me up anyway.

  The screen tells me it’s an unknown caller. “Hello?”

  “It’s Stoker. Sorry if I woke you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You have another wild goose for me to chase, or is this call more about my chain and the method you’re going to use to yank it?”

  “I’ve got what you asked for. Sending you some pictures now.”

  And he does—half a dozen photos, it looks like. “Before I look at these, what are they?”

  “Evidence. Have you checked out Hemo yet?”

  “I have someone working on that, yes. They’re a Yak front. So?”

  “So I tracked down a homeless thrope kid who not only saw one of his pire friends get into a car, he snapped a few shots with his phone.”

  “He get a plate number?”

  “Better. He went half-were and followed the vehicle until it pulled into the secured lot of a building. Guess which one?”

  “The same one I’m visiting tomorrow?”

  “Good luck.” He hangs up.

  I study the photos. None of them is very good—they’re all either blurred, taken from a bad angle, or both—but I can plainly see what looks like a pre-adolescent girl getting into the back of a black sedan. Plates aren’t visible in any of the shots, but I can’t blame the cameraman for that—he was busy chasing a car through city traffic while running at full speed.

  There’s one photo that’s better than the others, though. I can see a hand reaching out of the backseat, helping the child in, and on one finger is a very distinctive ring. Carved jade in a gold setting, looks like, though I can’t make out much detail. I send the photos to Gretch—she’ll do a much better job at analyzing them.

  Now I’m thoroughly awake. I decide to clean my gun, a ritual I’ve used before to calm myself. I know it sounds a little weird, but there’s a peaceful, Zen quality to doing something purely physical that you’ve done a thousand times before.