Japantown (38 page)

“Bob DeMonde,” Renna said, “from the S.F.’s mayor’s office.” Renna ran through everyone’s name for By-the-Book’s benefit and more hands were shaken, at the end of which DeMonde announced, “I won’t get in your way, gentlemen. You’re the pros.” His smile was open and winning.

The straightest of straight arrows, but he’d come down on the right side. Maybe he had a better shot at the mayor’s job than I thought.

McCann grinned. “A pol who likes us
and
won’t interfere. It’s another damn New York miracle. Must be Christmas.”

DeMonde shrugged agreeably. “I have to report it as I see it, but let me assure you that everyone wants this nightmare cleared up.”

Renna said, “The mayor told me he was sending Gail.”

DeMonde coughed into his fist. “Change of strategy. Gary’s got all the confidence in the world in you guys but, ah, he wanted Gail close in case this thing, well, goes south and he needs damage control.”

Renna shot me a fatalistic look.

I shrugged, then addressed the room. “Okay, introductions are over. Final check. You all know the drill. The trigger will be my phone call to Lizza Hara at nine a.m. tomorrow morning. You have tonight for making final arrangements, but by early morning you all need to be in place. I expect Soga will have Lizza’s phone tapped, and another on my hotel line before dawn. Renna, any last-minute snags on your end?”

“As Bob said, they want it wrapped up.”

“McCann?”

“We’re set. Here and with liaison to Jersey, Long Island, and Connecticut. Whichever way it goes, we’re covered.”

“Good.”

“We gonna need all the manpower?” McCann asked.

“I just hope it’s enough,” I said. “We’re also going to need sea cover. Forgot to mention that.”

McCann sent a mournful look Renna’s way. “Damn, Frank, I’m scratching my head here. You and I go way back, but I’ve been on the job twenty-five years and haven’t seen an operation like this one. We already got land and air and more bodies than the Chinese military. It’s just hard to believe.”

I said, “You want proof?”

McCann threw up his hands. “
Something
would be nice.”

I turned to Noda. “You mind?”

Noda shrugged and lowered the edge of his turtleneck. Pinkish-brown scar tissue a shade lighter than Noda’s natural color and about half an inch wide stretched across his neck under his jawline and swung up on both sides to a point under each ear. The line glistened with medication.

McCann said, “I’ll be damned.”

By now they all knew about our reception in the village.

Luke stepped forward. “May I?”

Noda gave a go-ahead nod and Luke moved closer, studied the wound, then frowned.

McCann said, “What?”

“This burn’s from reinforced flexi-cable. Lightweight, thin. Doesn’t snap, can’t be severed without a bolt cutter. High-tech rope that costs about three hundred dollars a foot. I suggest we follow any advice these men may be able to offer.”

—

“Your teams ready?”

“Yes,” said Casey.

“Yes,” said Dermott.

Good, thought Ogi. Eight of my best people on the front line. And eight more for peripheral duties. Sixteen fighters with forty-seven kills between them. With my two apprentices and myself, that means nineteen people on the grounds.

A little extra insurance never hurt. A
lot
of extra insurance constituted a sterling Soga trademark. Maybe it was overkill for an art dealer and his cohorts, but the Japantown job had provided a $2.5-million paycheck. No corners would be cut.

Ogi said, “As before, you two are to handle Brodie personally.”

“Yes, sir,” they said as one.

CHAPTER 63

T
HE
London NYC was a fifty-story wafer of a hotel in midtown Manhattan on West Fifty-fourth Street between Sixth and Seventh. Broadway and the theater district held court to the west, Fifth Avenue and shopping to the east. Once upon a time, when the place was called the RIHGA Royal and owned by a Japanese hotel chain, I’d been a valued customer and received a superb business discount that made staying there cheaper than all but the real dives. The present owners honored the arrangement.

The front desk was a slab of speckled olive-green-and-white Italian marble with ornamental brass lamps and tall fountain pens. Women in long summer gowns glided through the lobby on the arms of well-groomed men in dinner jackets and red ties, a few of the more distinguished men sporting flowers in their lapels. I had Tokyo dust clinging to my jeans.

Standing ramrod erect behind the front desk, a clerk in the hotel’s blazer and necktie eyed me warily. I carried a black sports bag with a yellow Nike swash and wore black jeans, a beige T-shirt from Banana Republic under a black windbreaker, and my ever-loyal black-on-black Reeboks. Not to denigrate my image on arrival, I’d shifted the Browning to the sports bag.

“May I help you, sir?” the clerk said. His white name tag said
ROBERTO

“Reservation for Brodie.”

Roberto tapped a few keys on a computer, glanced indifferently at the screen, then handed me a room card. His machine pinged and
Roberto raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. “You have a message from Ms. Lizza Hara. She asks that you call as soon as you arrive.” He said the name like he knew it.

“I’ll do that.”

“Are you an acquaintance of Ms. Hara’s?”

“She’s a fan.
You
know her?”

“She recommends many guests of Japanese nationality to our establishment.” He glanced at the Nike swash with distaste. “Mostly VIPs.” As an afterthought, the clerk punched up some data on the computer. “In fact, Ms. Hara seems to have booked you an upgrade. I’m afraid the computer’s made a mistake. A large suite has been set aside for you.”

“A computer mistake,” I said. “Imagine that.”

Roberto reddened. “Yes, sir. Here’s your new key card.”

Unhappy that the Hara clan had rerouted my room assignment, I boarded an elevator to the upper reaches of the hotel with a firm frown in place, disembarking on the forty-fifth floor. The hall carpet was plush and the distance between doorways long. Slipping the card into its slot, I swung the door aside and stepped into a sitting room with deep, eggshell-white carpet and a sprawling ivory couch set in front of a wide-screen TV the size of a wall mural. Sitting on the couch and dressed in jeans and a beige cable sweater was Lizza Hara. The glitzy pop star had vanished. She looked like she might be on her way to a girlfriend’s for a sleepover.

“Daddy would never forgive me if I didn’t look after you, so I couldn’t let you stay in an
ordinary
room.”

“I see. Have you talked to your father in the last few days?”

“Only for a minute or two. Why?”

“Did he ask you to arrange the room?”

“Oh, no. It was my idea. Do you like it?”

I wondered if her answers were truthful or only half the story. Wondered too if showing up early was part of a larger scheme.

“Do you?” she pressed.

“It’s very nice,” I said.

“I’m glad you think so. I’ve been so anxious to hear the latest, I decided to wait here. I hope you don’t mind. Have you made any progress?”

“Some.”

Lizza had pulled her hair back and kept her makeup to a minimum. Her eyes were wide and moist. She must have been crying, or been close to it. I could see she wanted to talk. Wanted to share her grief. The pain had wormed its way inside and dimmed her natural effervescence. Unless she was flexing her acting chops, which had grown with her fame.

Normally, I’d give her the benefit of the doubt and accommodate her, but handholding would require more time and energy than I could spare at the moment. Tomorrow, I’d be under Soga’s eye, with Jenny’s life at stake. Lizza’s needs could wait a day or two. I sought a gentle way to ease the excitable singer-starlet out the door.

But before I could make a suitable excuse, she said “I knew you would!” and bounded up off the couch. “You can tell me all about it at the club.”

“Club?”

“A place in TriBeCa I sometimes go to dance. They have quiet alcoves with enough privacy to talk, too.”

“Let’s not and say we did.”

“Oh, come on.” She tugged my arm. “I think we could both use some cheering up. It’s a new spot we hang at. Very exclusive. It doesn’t even have a name yet. Just ‘The Club.’ ”

“I’m not much of a clubber. Besides, I think I have to work on my tan first.”

Lizza was shifting into modest party mode. Her concern over her sister’s case was present and genuine, but so was her determination to have fun. Now. Tonight. Almost desperately so.

“Well, how about the cocktail lounge at the Waldorf? Very quiet and proper. We’ll have all the privacy we need, so you can tell me what you’ve found out. You’ll need a tie, of course. Samson can pull an evening dress from the trunk for me.”

I saw what she was doing. She wanted an update on Japantown, but in surroundings that would bolster her spirits when the inevitable gloom hit. If she couldn’t surround herself with festive, then she wanted the cordial and comforting refinement of a luxurious setting, with the accompanying liquid refreshments to soothe her nerves. Or was it all a pose to draw me out? Had her father sent her fishing for more information?

I also saw the tension at the corners of her mouth, the bags under
her eyes, and the extra layer of makeup to disguise them. Act or not, clearly she wasn’t sleeping well.

Against my better judgment, I agreed to accompany her, telling her I could only spare an hour, no more. Once I’d passed on the same information I’d given her father and patted her hand a couple of times, I’d excuse myself.

But first I needed to clean up. We made plans to meet downstairs in twenty minutes after I showered and changed. Lizza left and I dove under a hot, stinging spray, emerging revived and smiling. I was slipping into a pair of dust-free jeans when the phone rang.

It was Lizza. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to keep a girl waiting?”

“I’m nearly out the door.”

I disconnected, troubled by Lizza’s impatience. As I pulled on a clean shirt and my windbreaker, dropping the gun into the side pocket, a new thought occurred to me. I called reception.

“Front desk, Jonathan speaking.”

“This is room 4507.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m joining Ms. Hara shortly.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“In the tearoom, I believe.”

“Did Miss Lizza meet any, uh, associates?”

“There did seem to be three or four gentlemen of her acquaintance in the lobby.”

“Camera-carrying gentlemen?”

“Why yes, now that you mention it.”

Lizza wanted buddy pictures for posterity and the papers back in Japan. Distraught though she was, old habits died hard. Catering to the Japanese press while she lounged about in the Big Apple was how she kept her lucrative career in Tokyo alive. I’d acquiesced for her peace of mind, and she was about to repay the favor by milking it for all she could. Those indomitable Hara genes. You had to love her, but enough was enough. I’d come to New York to get my daughter back.

“Ever seen Japanese press, Jonathan?”

“Yes, sir. On several occasions.”

“Ms. Hara’s acquaintances, do they remind you of Japanese press?”

“Very much so.”

“I thought as much. Could you pass on a message?”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Tell Ms. Hara I’ve had to leave suddenly on urgent business. She’ll understand.”

“Of course, sir.”

I was combing my hair when the bell rang. Lizza wasn’t going to put up with being stood up. Excuse time.

I walked across the suite and opened the door. “Listen, Lizza, I’ve made—”

That was as far as I got.

Casey stood at the door, wearing a sleek silver-gray suit that looked tailored and holding a gun that looked like my Browning. His hair glistened with oil and his fingernails were small white squares of perfection.

He said, “Postcoital bliss, Mr. Brodie? Sloppy, sloppy.”

Then he shot me.

The weapon spit a small dart into my abdomen. I plucked it out and Casey fired two more at my chest. My vision blurred. Casey put a palm on my forehead and shoved. I stumbled back. I reached for the gun in my pocket, but my hand refused to obey, dropping like a lead weight to my side. Casey glided into the room, Dermott Summers sharp on his heels, pushing an oversize laundry cart. He wore janitor’s blues with the hotel name stitched in red across the breast pocket.

Dermott said, “Surprise, surprise. Don’t have the wrong place this time, do I, Brodie?”

He moved around the cart and pivoted on the ball of his foot.

I saw the kick coming in plenty of time, but neither my arms nor legs responded to the defensive posture I had in mind. I took the blow on the chin and went down.

“Been waiting a
long
time to do that,” Dermott said.

“You’ve had your fun, now we’ve got work to do,” Casey said, and Dermott scooped me off the carpet as if I were a rag doll and dropped me in the laundry basket. Dermott looked down at me with a sneer. “It’s a New York miracle. Must be Christmas.”

McCann’s words two hours ago at the hotel.
Soga had infiltrated our
meet. Someone had betrayed us. But who? Renna and Noda were beyond suspicion. DeMonde was too far out of the loop. McCann and Renna went way back. That left Luke. He had the resources and Kozawa backed him.
Kozawa’s
hara guroi
, a black-hearted one,
Tommy Tomita had told me.
Watch your back, your pocketbook, and don’t trust a word out of that snake’s mouth.
Luke had arrived wearing a wire, the bastard.

In another worthless moment of hindsight, I recalled the informant’s words of caution on the taped interview:
Any men you send should assume their attack to be expected no matter what level of secrecy is employed. If, en route, anything out of the ordinary attracts their attention—a small noise, a shadow, a whisper, an unexpected knock,
anything—
they must shoot first and question later. If they wait for verification, they will be dead.