A Dog in Water (13 page)

They had broken into Takeda’s house and kidnapped his son two days prior. Takeda had told them last night that he had the hundred million he’d promised.

Just as Yoichi was about to give instructions to Takeda for the hand-off, Kanemitsu snatched away the prepaid cell phone to say into it, “We’re raisin’ the ransom, get another hundred million by tomorrow for your precious son’s sake,” and hung up. Yoichi flew into a rage. He had wanted to conclude the entire affair while Takeda was still in the mood to obey and pay.

“If he got a hundred mil that quick then it means he’s got more where that came from. If another day gets us another hundred million, it’d be like leaving money on the table,” Kanemitsu observed full of confidence. People hopped up on stimulants like meth, coke or crack temporarily lost all fear. Brimming with confidence, they believed that the world bent to their will. It was no use trying to talk to anyone who was in the throes of that intense exuberance.

“Then why not drag it out for a month and go for three billion?” spat Yoichi.

“Don’t get greedy, moron,” Kanemitsu laughed.

I ought to kill you
, Yoichi thought. But it was no time to be falling
out with his partner in crime, and he viciously tamped down his anger.

Then, today, that incident occurred in the afternoon. Cop cars flooded the city thanks to some jackass offing a woman right in a police station. Even around their place bordering on Kanagawa the sirens had blared non-stop. Kanemitsu intensely worried about the police since then. It was the hallmark persecution complex of a meth head, but to begin with he had absolutely no guts if he didn’t rely on drugs.

“F-Fine. Get that gun outta my face. I’ll do as you say,” Kanemitsu said fearfully.

Yoichi clucked his tongue and tucked his gun away. The moment his right hand released the grip, his partner whipped out his own Glock. By the time Yoichi hurriedly reached back for his gun, a blast of fire had erupted from Kanemitsu’s. The terrific report echoed in the narrow office. His thigh pierced by a bullet, Yoichi dropped his gun and fell to the floor. As he groaned and clutched the wound with both hands, Kanemitsu picked up Yoichi’s gun and stuck it under his own belt.

The detective, standing next to the office’s doorframe, picked up an abandoned nut from a shelf of tools and threw it. The nut made contact with a piece of machinery several yards away with a metallic clang. He clutched his revolver and waited. After a while, the door opened a crack. A right hand clasping a gun emerged and extended in the direction of the sound. Kanemitsu’s head followed suit, moving out of the shadow of the door. The detective moved behind him and pressed the mouth of the revolver into his neck.

“Don’t move.”

Kanemitsu froze.

The detective pushed him back into the office. “Throw your gun away.”

Kanemitsu hesitated, so the detective drove the revolver further into his neck until he dropped his Glock onto the floor. Yoichi, curled with both hands pressed to his bloodied thigh, looked up at him,
astonished. The unexpected turn of events seemed to shock him into forgetting his pain.

“Kneel,” said the detective. His left hand grasped the back of Kanemitsu’s collar.

“Who the fuck are you?” Kanemitsu didn’t budge. “You here to kill me? Is that it?”

“I said kneel!”

The detective kicked the back of his right knee. Kanemitsu collapsed onto his knees, the detective’s gun never leaving his neck. “I’m a private detective. I’m here on behalf of Miyuki Yoshino.”

“Miyuki?” Yoichi looked surprised.

“He’s lying! What detective uses shit like this?” Kanemitsu said, craning his neck back against the revolver. Yoichi eyed the detective suspiciously.

“Had to risk my life tracking you down.” Just as the detective spoke, Kanemitsu’s right hand moved.

“I’ll shoot the kid!” He pulled out Yoichi’s Glock. “Drop your gun. Or don’t you care if I shoot ’im? I’m too close to miss!” His right arm extended directly towards the boy’s head where he sat just six feet away.

“Shoot him and I’ll kill you.”

“You think I won’t do it? Wanna see me blow his brains out?” He looked ready to pull the trigger at any moment. “Drop your gun before I count to three or I’m gonna shoot him!”

There was no way to talk sense to this man.
I should just kill him now
, the detective realized. But he couldn’t pull the trigger. If Kanemitsu’s gun went off when the detective shot him, the boy could be killed, too.

“One!”

The detective moved, bringing his revolver down to strike Kanemitsu’s right arm. The impact caused Kanemitsu to fire. Bits of flooring and dust plumed around the boy’s feet. The detective pulled the trigger, red flames bursting out with a roar, but the head was no longer there. Turning, Kanemitsu swung his right arm at the detective’s own
head. Though he reflexively tried to sway, he was too late. The Glock slammed into his temple, his mind went blank, and he crumpled to the floor.

When Kanemitsu’s heavy boot came down on his right hand, it let go of the revolver. Kanemitsu kicked the gun, and the shadows beneath the metal desk swallowed it up. Blood dripped from the detective’s head, lining the floor beneath. Kanemitsu retrieved his own Glock from where it had fallen near the door.

“Got you at last …” Kanemitsu, armed with two Glocks, looked down at the detective. “So it was you who was watching me.”

The words didn’t reach the detective’s ears.

Kanemitsu pressed the pump and withdrew the needle from the bulging vein on the back of his left hand. He used the knife he’d taken from Yoichi to slice off the bind on his wrist. The white vinyl band sprang free and tumbled across the steel desk. He felt something cold slide through his blood vessels. He held still for a few seconds.

Here comes the rush!

An electric current coursed through his entire body. It was far more intense than when he took drugs by freebasing or snorting.

His pupils dilated. The room turned dazzlingly bright. The rocks of crystal meth sparkled like jewels before his eyes.

He gave a satisfied sigh. An easy smile spread across his mouth. He tenderly sealed the ziplock bag that held a few more grams of meth and returned it to its lunchbox-sized metal storage case.

The case contained a bundle of sterile-packaged single-use syringes, a bottle of distilled water sold for use with contact lenses, several plastic cups and small measuring spoons, along with more than a dozen meth cigarettes handmade by Kanemitsu himself. He’d taken unfiltered cigarettes, carefully removed the tobacco leaves, mixed it with meth and stuffed it back inside. Taking care to avoid tearing the thin paper rolls while slowly packing the leaves back in with a Q-tip required concentration and patience, but he could make these for hours so long as he was already high. They were less effective and wore off
faster than directly injected meth, but it was a huge plus to be able to get a quick, convenient hit. He had an important job to do tonight: Meet with Takeda for the trade. It was unlikely he’d be able to shoot up where they were going. He needed to make sure he could have his meth whatever the circumstances.

Kanemitsu picked up Yoichi’s cigarettes. Marlboros. He threw out the contents and placed his meth-laced cigarettes inside. He closed the lid and placed the pack in his jacket pocket along with Yoichi’s lighter. He retrieved the box of Federal rounds and two empty magazines from the drawer in the steel desk. The Dutchman from whom he’d bought the Glocks had thrown one in for free with each gun.

He loaded the 9mm Luger rounds into them. The plastic magazine of the Glock 9mm Model 17 housed seventeen bullets. Once he was done filling them up, he put them in his trouser pockets and poured all of the remaining rounds into his coat pocket. He tucked in the two Glocks on either side of his waist and stood up.

Okay. Now I can take on anyone, anywhere, anytime
.

Yoichi had turned his T-shirt into a tourniquet. The shirt was already thoroughly saturated with his blood. He was slumped against the lockers next to the boy and appeared to be fading in and out of consciousness. The detective’s body had been rolled towards the window that faced outside. Kanemitsu approached him with a relaxed gait. The detective was awake. The right side of his face covered with blood, he stared fixedly at Kanemitsu.

Kanemitsu drew a gun with his right hand. “Who the hell are you?”

The detective tilted back his head and looked up at him. “A detective …”

Yano stepped onto the grounds of the ironworks. His patience had run out. It had been more than an hour since the detective got out of the car. He was sick of sitting there waiting for him.
It’s not that I’m worried about the Dick or anything, I just want to check and see if he’s still alive
.

A white car was parked in front of the building. It was the same
car he’d spotted earlier—an old model Hyundai four-door sedan. The license plate looked like it had been switched out. So, a stolen car.

Yano walked around to the side of the building. He could see light spilling out from a window ahead. He heard dull gunfire. Yano drew his Beretta and started running. The weeds that covered the ground absorbed his footfalls. He slid underneath the window frame and listened for noises from the interior.

“Ung … Urgh …” It was the detective. It was more of a growl than a moan.

“Talk straight or I’ll kill ya,” laughed another man. The room was brightly lit, but outside it was pitch dark. Surmising that poking his head up a little wouldn’t garner any attention, Yano risked taking a look through the glass.

He saw the back of a man standing with a gun dangling from his right hand. The man walked towards the back of the room to where lay a young man with a blood-soaked cloth wrapped around his thigh and a grade school-aged boy wearing a blindfold. Yano raised himself higher, searching for the detective. He looked down. There he was, curled on the floor right below the window. He was gripping his left wrist with his right hand and rocking back and forth. A hole in the back of his hand where a bullet must have ripped through was bleeding profusely.

The man with the gun turned around. Yano recognized the familiar look of a meth head. He recalled the detective’s conversation with Izumi.
So he must be Kanemitsu
. He was grinning, saying something to the detective.

I should kill him right now
, Yano judged. He aimed for Kanemitsu’s head and fired. The top half of the guy’s left ear went flying, and he fell to the floor behind a steel desk out of Yano’s sight. A tremendous yell went up, followed by gunshots. Yano crouched down beneath the window. The glass shattered as bullets screamed past, the shards falling onto Yano. Kanemitsu was firing off rounds recklessly. One shot struck the ceiling light, plunging the room into darkness. Abruptly the gunfire stopped. The only sound was the wind.

He didn’t know what was going on. His left ear felt like it was on fire. He could feel blood streaming down his neck.

Dammit! Why do I have to suffer this? Dammit, dammit, dammit!

The Glock in his right hand was empty, the slide slung back. He drew the other Glock with his left hand, pushed down the slide stop on the Glock in his right hand and tucked it away over his belly. He switched the loaded gun to his right hand and aimed it at Yoichi.

“Pick up the kid and run to the car!”

Yoichi showed no signs of moving. Kanemitsu couldn’t read his expression in the darkness.

The hell is he waiting for?
Kanemitsu was about to shout at Yoichi again when he sat up, took the boy in his arms and crawled towards the door.

Kanemitsu moved slowly forward with a steel desk as his cover. When he reached his destination he stood up quickly and fired three rounds through the window. He then grabbed the metal case from the desk and hit the floor. A bullet whizzed in through the window and sparked against the lockers. Kanemitsu crawled toward the door. He saw Yoichi, his right leg dragging, carry the boy out of the office. He stood up, fired two shots through the window and ran for the door.

Yano fired another shot into the room but this time there was no return gunfire. He got up, reached through the ruined window and unlocked it from the inside. When he opened it glass fragments crashed loudly to the floor. He could see the detective had taken shelter under a steel desk.

“What the hell are you up to?!”

Yano jumped through the window into the room. The detective picked up his revolver, stood up and dashed in the door’s direction.

“Ah—hey!”

Yano rushed after the detective. They left the office and cut across the factory floor. The entrance had been left open, and the detective flew out. No gunshots came. Yano followed. Kanemitsu and the others
were gone from the passage by the building. At some point Yano outstripped the detective. He heard the sound of a car door closing up ahead and ran around the corner of the building just in time to see the Hyundai peel out. He aimed for a tire. He missed. The Hyundai sped off ferociously kicking up gravel as it went.

The BMW’s engine growled to life. Yano was shifting the car into drive when the detective opened the passenger door and slid in. Yano hit the gas and pursued the Hyundai.

Once they got on the main road, red taillights grew visible far ahead. Yano floored the accelerator.

“Who the hell are they?” he asked.

“None of your concern.” The detective was binding the wound on his left hand with a handkerchief. A groan slipped from his lips. Half of his face was coated with blood.

“What more do you want?”

“To save the kid.” The detective pulled a vial of medicine out of his jacket pocket and opened the lid. He poured out white powder into his palm and snorted it.

“What is that?”

The detective didn’t reply. He closed his eyes and bore the pain.

“What can you do in that state?” Yano raised his voice.

“I’ve only got until morning to live,” noted the detective, his eyes still closed. “I’ll do as I please.”

Yano fell silent. The taillights before him steadily drew closer.