Читать книгу Redback - Lindy Cameron - Страница 17

Tokyo, Japan

Tuesday 8.30 pm

Scott Dreher fought his attacker for only a moment. The scent that graced his assailant was decidedly female. It was enough to tell Scott that he was probably being rescued not assaulted. Besides, Hiroyuki Kaga's mistress was unexpectedly and exceptionally strong for someone so slight.

He now stood beside her in the dark while she, face pressed against a painted glass panel in the door, kept watch on the alley. When he felt her flinch he leant forward to peer through the scratched paintwork.

It was another heartbeat before the alley light flickered on again.

Yep, there he was - one very large bald gaijin, definitely looking for someone. He was being quite thorough about it too, checking every door and all the dumpsters.

Holy shit. Whoever he was, and murderer or not, the dude's black jeans, black shirt and black leather overcoat were pure overkill.

Scott ticked off the black combat boots too, while wondering vaguely where the gaijin's rollerblades were, then slapped himself mentally as he finally thought to ask himself, What the hell is actually going on here?

Because, although he was undeniably in some kind of serious shit now, he couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if he'd stayed put in the noodle bar. Would that guy out there simply have run right by him, oblivious to his very existence, and just gone after Kaisha?

Oh man. Scott hated these little existential brain farts of his, especially when they threw up the whole alternate universe theory of never knowing what might've gone down from any given choice, because you're no longer there to witness what else might have been.

Nevertheless, as usual, he still wondered if he'd done nothing or done something else, where would he be now? Okay, so he might be feeling guilty about leaving Kaisha to her own fate. Or, yes possibly, he might even have chased after the big bald guy chasing the petite young woman, but…

Face it, Scotty-boy, you made a stupid mistake this time. There is a huge likelihood that the big dude out there and the beautiful mistress in here actually have nothing to do with why you're even in Tokyo.

Kaisha was fumbling for his hand.

Except that you are now irretrievably involved in whatever it is, and that guy out there won't care why.

'We must go,' she whispered in his ear.

Of course we must. Scott allowed her to lead him further into the dark. A moment later they heard the bad guy, for want of a better designation, thumping his body against the unyielding door. Then Scott fell over something.

'You want him to catch us?' Kaisha hissed.

'Sorry, next time I'll hurt myself quietly,' Scott said, getting to his feet. 'Where are we going anyway?'

'Don't know where we are. Can't say where we're going.'

'That's very enigmatic Kaisha, but it doesn't instil a lot of confidence.'

'I'm not here to boost your ego, Mr Dreher.' A sliver of light briefly illuminated the right side of Kaisha's face. She'd apparently found a door that opened, and then closed it again.

'Then call me Scott,' he said.

'Why?'

'Why not?' He shrugged into the dark. 'What's in there?'

'Internet café,' she reported. 'Wait here.'

'Wait for what?' Scott asked, but Kaisha had already gone, shutting the door behind her again.

It suddenly occurred to him that this mess he'd been dragged into might just be a domestic argument. Okay, a really bloody one, if Kaisha's clothes were any indication. But given what he knew - or rather everything he didn't - this could be the violent payoff for a sexual convergence gone wrong. And that meant that this was none of his business. Baldy out there could be the third wheel in some kind of threesome, or even a four-way kink, if Hiro's wife counted for anything.

It was probably all unrelated to The Plot, as Scott had dubbed this latest investigative crusade. It was likely his reason for being in Japan, and for organising a secret rendezvous with a computer game creator, had merely collided with a domestic situation that was running its own course. Yep. Love and betrayal smashes headlong into international terrorist plot - happens every day.

Except that Hiroyuki Kaga was dead.

And that's what The Plot was all about. Except that Scott had assumed the targets would be high-profile politicians not software designers.

Whoa buddy, hang on. Hiro was only allegedly dead. What's more, it was only according to Hiro's alleged mistress that he even was no longer living, and that his purported end had not come about by natural causes.

Perfect, Scott! You're hiding in the dark with a woman you've never laid eyes on before, who tells you that a man you've never met, but were supposed to, was brutally murdered, possibly by the thug currently out hunting you both in the alley.

Death stalks indeed.

And another thing, she's not actually here any more.

The door opened suddenly, all the way this time, making Scott jump back.

Kaisha was standing there with a dweeby teenager wearing a Stargate T-shirt and SG1 vest, the pockets of which held at least five computer gizmos and a couple of cell phones.

Scott recognised his younger self in the kid before him. Even Japanese nerds look like nerds.

'You coming?' Kaisha asked.

'Again - where?'

'Again, Scott, don't know but I plan to go far away from this place. Spaceboy here said he will check the street for the Bad Arsehole, so we can leave. But you can stay if you want.'

'No, no, I'm with you, Kaisha,' Scott surrendered. 'Lead on Spaceboy.'

Kaisha nodded to the kid who weaved ahead towards the front of the noisy and crowded café which was, conveniently for them, lit only by computer monitors, video game consoles and plasma screens.

'Bad Arsehole?' Scott said in Kaisha's ear, when Spaceboy indicated they should stop and wait till he returned.

'Very Bad Arsehole,' she qualified.

Dargo emerged from the alley into the side street, just around the corner from where he'd seen her make contact. The drizzling rain, running off his bald head and down the back of his shirt, was only marginally less irritating than not being able to find the stupid woman. She - they - were not in the alley, and if they'd gotten through one of the other doors they could be anywhere.

But, if they'd reached this street… No, there was no parting of the throngs to his left to indicate they were fleeing in that direction. On the other hand, if they had any sense they'd have taken the short route back around the nearest corner and out of sight. Again they'd be long gone.

Dargo headed right just in case but, as he expected, found nothing out of the ordinary. He sat down on the same stool the woman had chosen in the noodle shop and ordered a sake and some sushi.

Silently cursing the universe for the unforseen fuckups that played havoc with his Work and messed with his equilibrium, he pulled his vid-phone from one of the inside pockets of his coat and dialled the Client.

'Mark number four has been reached,' he said when the call was answered.

'Excellent.'

'There may be a problem.'

'But you never have problems, my friend.'

'Not that I admit to,' Dargo said. 'This one is a woman, a local. His mistress.'

'Is she a witness?'

'No. But she was there, post meeting, and may have information.' Dargo acknowledged the delivery of his food and drink with a nod.

Two men sat on the stools next to Dargo. They ordered loudly then conversed at the same volume.

'She then met with a non-native,' Dargo continued moving his phone to his left ear.

'Interesting. Description?'

'A white guy. English, American or the like. Fortyish, six foot, dark wavy hair.'

'Ah.'

'They ran away.'

'From you?' The Client seemed amused.

'Perhaps,' Dargo scowled. 'She ran first, then he followed. Now they're gone.'

'It's okay. We will monitor the situation. If the mistress presents a problem we will know and either recall you or have her dealt with.'

'Do not recall me. You know my position on repairs.'

'Ah right, only if imperative during the commission and never after the fact,' the Client said. 'I've just sent the file of your next destination and the open e-ticket info.'

Dargo's phone began vibrating. 'It's incoming,' he said and quickly read the message. 'How lovely, I haven't been there in a while.'

The Japanese guy on the stool next to him had no concept of personal space or privacy. He was eyeballing the vid-phone as if he had shares in it. Language proved no barrier to Dargo, as there was no mistaking the look on his face. It said 'get lost, or die where you sit.' The young man turned back to his friend.

Dargo put the phone to his ear. 'I'll get a flight out there in the morning,' he said.

'Good. I'll be in touch with the details when you get there.'

The Client disconnected without further ado. Dargo pocketed his phone and turned his attention to his food.