Body Guard (28 page)

He made a few notes to himself and sighed and heaved out of the gasping chair. It was time to protect Miss Humphries/ Watanabe/Saito.

Bunch’s inspection of the house’s perimeter defenses was perfunctory and routine. He had other things on his mind. Gleaming and fluid in a silver spandex exercise suit, Mitsuko was taking advantage of the warm October sun. On a corner of the brick patio outside the sliding glass doors of the dining room, she bent and stretched and twisted. Bunch settled on an empty chaise lounge to watch.

“You’ve got some nice moves, Watanabe-san.”

The full lips curved in a smile and she made a gliding, rolling motion with her pelvis. “That’s one I learned in Hawaii. It’s good for the spine.”

Bunch figured it was good for two spines: hers and the guy riding. “Humphries is a surprising man.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t look like a great lover. But he must have something.” He watched the spandex divide into legs as she bent and reached her arms between them. “Is it his money?”

A dark eye tilted toward him. “Jealous?”

“Nah. Just curious. The guy doesn’t seem like an imaginative bed partner.”

She exhaled and stood slowly, inhaling all the way, and then held the pose for a long count before sighing her breath out. “He doesn’t have to be. Besides, he’s learning.”

“A little different from screwing a yakuza?”

She looked up from a deep bend that pressed the curves of her torso against a straight leg. “A who?”

“Yakuza. Kim Soon. The man who wants to kill Humphries and take you back.”

Slowly, she straightened, surprise slacking her face and rounding her eyes. “How—? What do you know—?”

Bunch shrugged. “I’m a detective. I detect, remember? Now why don’t you just tell me what the hell’s going on?”

She stared without answering.

“Was the guy on the motorcycle Kim Soon?”

A nod. A shrug. “I think so.”

“And the note was from him too.”

Another shrug.

“And you’re not Watanabe’s daughter but his ex-mistress.”

This time she said nothing; her eyes said it all.

Bunch leaned forward. “You still think Humphries is going to marry you?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. No … maybe—”

“But he thinks you’re Watanabe’s daughter.”

“Yes.”

“And if he finds out you’re not, you’re out on your sweet ass?”

“Please don’t tell him, Mr. Bunchcroft.”

“But that was your plan, right?”

“Yes. He would never marry a … geisha. But perhaps if he thought I was someone important … From a family even more important than his own …”

“Kim Soon found out you were in New York?”

“It was only a matter of time. He searched—he discovered what flight I took.” A sigh. “I called my sister. To let her know I was alive. Kim Soon visited her. He threatened her and her husband and children if she didn’t tell him where I was.”

“That’s who you called when you told Humphries you telephoned home?”

“Yes.”

“But New York’s a big place. You could’ve hid there.”

She shook her head. “Not for a Japanese national. And there are yakuza in New York.”

“So you met Humphries.”

“He was at a cocktail party. I was there with Lawrence and I remembered meeting him in Japan when I was with Watanabe-san.” She smiled slightly. “Roland assumed I was his daughter. Watanabe said I was. He didn’t want to lose face with Roland. Roland didn’t understand that in Japan a gentleman’s wife or daughters don’t go to that kind of public conference.”

“And then came Kim Soon.”

She looked at the ground, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Watanabe owed Kim Soon. I was what he wanted.”

“But not what you wanted.”

When she looked up, the hurt had been replaced by anger. “The woman of a gangster? I, who had been first mistress to one of Japan’s most powerful men, given like a dog to that man!”

So she ran, skating on the thin ice of hope and lies and terror. She was tough, and Bunch admired that. “Suppose Humphries does marry you? He still thinks you’re Watanabe’s daughter. How’re you going to keep up that role?”

She shrugged. “I would be a daughter Watanabe refuses to acknowledge. One who could never go home again.”

Bunch grunted. “And he wouldn’t ever want to see Humphries, either.”

“Yes.”

Bunch sighed. It might work; it was a long shot, but it looked like the only shot she had. “So where’s Kim Soon?”

“What?”

“Kim Soon. He gave you a note, said you should do what’s right. He must have told you how to get in touch with him so you could do it.”

Her black eyes stared at Bunch. “If you go to him, Roland will find out everything.”

“If I don’t go to him, you and Roland are both dead. Mitsi— Is that your real name, Mitsi?”

“Yes. That much is true.”

“Mitsi, we can’t keep you safe against that guy forever. We’ve got to change his mind about what he wants to do.”

“No.” She shook her head. “He won’t. He can’t, now.”

“What about Humphries paying the guy off? He’s got plenty of money.” Bunch smiled. “Call it a new kind of head tax.”

Her head shook again. “Money won’t be enough now. He’s made a public gesture.”

“You mean by coming to the States?”

“Yes. Bushido. He must return with his vengeance satisfied.”

Bunch whistled a crooked little tune between his teeth. “I think I better talk to him anyway.”

The woman’s eyes widened in fear. “He is a very dangerous man, Mr. Bunchcroft. A hired killer!”

“Yeah, you told me: yojimbo.”

“A trained warrior, Mr. Bunchcroft. A professional. That’s the reason he’s here!”

Bunch smiled. “Sounds like my kind of guy. Now where do I find him?”

“I still don’t see how you let him get away.”

Bunch drove and Devlin tried to keep still against the pull of stiff, hot flesh beneath its gauze pad. He’d telephoned ahead to let Bunch know when the flight would arrive from Pensacola and to give him the bad news. “Maybe you could have done better, Bunch.”

“I didn’t say that.” He added, “But then I don’t have to.”

“I gave his name and description to the DEA before I left. They weren’t all that excited about it—you know how those people are. But they did pick up Hall and Schuler and said they might put Pierson on their hot list.”

“Might?”

“Might. Hall and Schuler they have confessions from, so DEA didn’t have to work. Pierson calls for a little effort on their behalf. So ‘might.’ “

“You know he’s got a getaway stash somewhere. He’s probably on the Riviera or down in Argentina by now.”

Devlin winced as Bunch swerved to avoid a pothole and angled onto Martin Luther King Boulevard. It led across the sprawling residential section of north Denver toward their office in lower downtown. “But he’s an ex-con,” added Bunch. “Maybe he couldn’t get a passport.”

“Maybe.”

“Then again, maybe he’ll come looking for you. Scotty Martin thought he was crazy enough to do something like that.”

Devlin grunted. “Fine. I’d like another shot at him.”

The Bronco jolted and rattled past the black neighborhoods and Devlin watched a handful of kids chase each other through the rainbow arc of a water sprinkler on somebody’s front yard. Their wet, dark bodies glittered in an afternoon sun that was unseasonably warm for late October. As they ran and jumped he tried to remember what it felt like to find that much excitement and joy in the simple act of motion and in the shock of cold water on sun-heated skin.

“I turned Scotty over to Sergeant Kiefer in homicide,” said Bunch. “He sent a request to Florida for the arrest of Pierson on that charge.” He sighed. “Kiefer was really happy.”

Kiefer was happy. Reznick was happy. Even the Pensacola DEA office had been a little bit happy to have a solved case complete with confessions dropped in their laps to enhance their statistics. Devlin wasn’t happy. He wanted Pierson and had missed his chance. Despite the official termination of the case, it still didn’t seem finished with Pierson off and running. The guilty memory of Chris Newman’s body dangling in that bloody bag hadn’t been satisfied by merely fighting with his killer and then letting him escape. But life had a lot of loose threads. Devlin knew. And he was beginning to learn that sometimes a standoff was the best one could expect. “Did Kiefer say what the chances are of finding Pierson?”

“Kiefer doesn’t know about it yet. I talked to him last night when you thought you had the bastard wrapped and delivered to the Pensacola PD.” Bunch shook his head. “I’ll call him when we get to the office, and tell him to put Pierson on the FBI wire. He won’t like it, but there’s not much else to do now.”

They pulled into the parking lot behind the office and Devlin stifled a grunt and slid stiffly out of the Bronco’s high front seat.

“What’s the matter, Dev? You move like you’re pregnant.”

On the way upstairs, he told Bunch about the knife.

“Jesus—guns and knives, both. You keep this up, your insurance’ll be out of sight and we’ll both have to listen to Uncle Wyn preach to us.”

“We don’t tell him. There’s no sense worrying him over nothing.”

“Okay by me.” Bunch picked up the telephone and punched in a number from memory. After a few seconds, he asked for Sergeant Kiefer. “Dave? Bunchcroft here. I got some sad, bad news.”

He told the homicide detective about Pierson’s escape, holding the receiver off his ear as it squawked angrily. “No, if he’d brought in the local cops, the guy wouldn’t have showed at all. You know that, so quit your bitching. It was a good try, and a pretty good fight, too. And I got to tell you, old Dev’s pretty cut up over it.” He winked happily at Kirk. “No, my guess is he’s either out of the country or holed up so deep he might as well be. Maybe the FBI can come up with something … . Yeah, yeah, I know how much help they are. But what else do we have? … Okay, let us know.” He hung up the receiver and shook his head. “Pissed, Dev. The good sergeant is really steamed.”

“I don’t give a damn if he’s parboiled.” The cut along Devlin’s ribs was throbbing slightly, a sign that infection hadn’t been entirely overcome by the doctor’s swab and a needle full of anti-tetanus serum. “I’m going to figure Reznick’s bill and then I’m going home to sleep.”

“Uh, Dev, as long as you’re feeling so depressed and all …”

“What?”

“We’re off the Jean Truman case. Allen Schute called—he says he can’t afford to lose any more money on her.”

“Is he getting another agency?”

“He didn’t say that exactly. Just that he was surprised to see Kirk and Associates outsmarted.”

“Crap.”

“Hey, look on the bright side: no more squatting in that Subaru.”

“Probably no more insurance cases, either.”

“Nah, Schute wasn’t all that pissed. He’ll just make sure we get the dumb ones from now on.” Bunch began pulling on his jacket as Devlin punched up the Advantage file. “I’ll see you in the morning, Dev.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Got a date. My busy social life.”

I
T WASN’T EXACTLY
a social date, but Devlin didn’t have to know that. He looked tired enough to fall asleep up against the computer screen, but if he knew where Bunch was headed, he’d insist on coming along. And that was all Bunch needed: someone else to look after if things got sticky with the yojimbo.

Mitsuko hadn’t wanted to give him the address. Her face held a mixture of hope and fear. The hope, of course, was that Bunch could somehow convince the Korean to return to Japan without either killing Humphries or telling him about Mitsuko’s real relationship to Watanabe. The fear was that Bunch would fail. And even, she said softly, that he would be killed.

“Kim Soon has earned high respect in Japan. For being one of the best of the yakuza.”

“Was respected.”

“He wants that back.”

“He can lie. He can tell his buddies he took care of both of you and go home with a lot of Humphries’ money too.”

She thought about that. “It’s possible. It might work.”

“Then tell me where he is.”

She told him, and when Humphries, baggy-eyed and nervous, was convoyed home, Bunch, leaving out some details, told him the plan.

“You think he’ll do it?” Humphries looked first at Bunch and then at Mitsuko. “I’m willing, if you think it’ll work.”

“Can’t hurt to try. He can tell Watanabe he killed his daughter and take home a few bucks too.”

“It sounds so bizarre—so … .”

“Hey, having the guy after you is bizarre, right? This is a way to end it without hurting anybody.”

“But, Mitsi—you’ll have to give up your family! They’ll think you’re dead.”

“My father wants me dead, doesn’t he?” She shrugged. “And I don’t want to go back.”

Humphries looked at her for a long moment, studying the downcast face, the body whose touch he never seemed to get enough of. Maybe it would work. God, what a sacrifice she was making for him. While he … . He turned to the big man who waited patiently. “You really think it has a chance?”

“Sure. Give it a try—it’s just money.”

And compared to what Mitsi was surrendering, compared to the Japanese reverence for ancestors and family, fifty thousand wasn’t much. “Okay.” He went to his desk.

Bunch cruised past the motel a couple times before pulling out of traffic onto the trashy shoulder of the busy highway. It was one of those old-fashioned collections of look-alike cottages that used to line the dirt sides of South Santa Fe before that road was supplanted by 1-25 a few decades ago. Bunch couldn’t count the times he’d driven this stretch of road, but he’d never noticed this cluster of brown, fiat-roofed units. They were pinched between a salesroom for hot tubs and a rug dealer whose Day-Glo orange sign screamed Factory Outlet. The motel had a name—Mesa Land Oasis—and it looked like something out of one of those black-and-white movies where the lovely blonde in trouble picks up a tough but honest hitchhiker who falls in love with her. And they drive away in a ‘38 Mercury convertible with bulbous fenders.

Cars were parked here and there on the dusty gravel that formed a quiet square back from the busy thoroughfare. Most of the cars looked as if they had coasted to a final rest at the Mesa Land Oasis, and in their weary silence seemed grateful for the shelter provided by the surrounding cottages. A semi’s tractor, dark and bulky, loomed like a powerful sleeping animal. Bunch walked past it to the unit whose tiny porch caught the glare of passing headlights. Under the unlit Mesa Land Oasis sign, a smaller sign said “Office.” It, too, was faded and the paint cracked. Above a doorbell someone had penciled the word “Manager.” Above that, “Weekly and Monthly Rates Available. Ask Within.”