Sake Bomb (19 page)

His eyes darted from Kizzie to the only exit
and back again, realizing he’d painted himself into a corner.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Kizzie assured.
“No one will know we spoke. Just looking for a friend last seen
near your tattoo shop.” That didn’t garner any sympathy. “Okay,
let’s go about it like this. You’ve seen that tattoo before.”

A nod.

“Where?” Still no response. With her body
riding the tailspin from Xander’s hands, Kizzie was high on horny
but perilously low on patience. She dragged a breath through her
nose to keep the urge to snap at bay. “What’s your price?”

Another anxious glance and the man slipped a
hand down the front of his tank, rummaged around the way an
old-school grandmother would search her brassiere for her cash
stash, and then slapped what he’d extracted on the faux wood
counter.

Two flesh-toned half-moons rested by the
sink.

“Uhh…Boobs?” New car, location change,
“medicine,”—those were the usual responses from paid informants.
Silicone implants was a first.

He started on the button to his jeans.
Kizzie’s hand flew up, palm out. “That’s— I see where you’re going
with this. You want to transition?” Another nod and Kizzie said,
“Need a name.”

He shoved the breast enhancers into the hobo
bag hanging from his shoulder. “I go by Yukiko.” The low voice
didn’t match the feminine appearance, but it was a positive for the
man Kizzie met in the back alley of
Ink-Scribed
. “And you
are?”

“Not a threat. So long as the info you give
me is legit.” Kizzie flashed a wry smile. “Where’d you see the
tattoo?”

Yukiko stared back, gaze unsteady. “This
is…”

“I just want to find my friend. You want the
surgery, I can get you money.”

His face brightened. “How much?”

“How much d’you need?”

“$35,000, American.” Said eagerly, and
without hesitation. Yukiko had done his homework.

Kizzie whistled low and long. Not that she
had an extra 35-grand lying around, but if that was the cost per
gender reassignment surgery, was it too late for med-school?
“Five.”

“Not enough.”

“Sounds like five more than what you have,
or do you want to keep cleaning stations and getting barked at by
Toru for the rest of your life?” Yukiko dipped his chin. “Maybe you
can transition in thirty, forty years if you’re lucky…. ” Kizzie
tilted her head to the side and risked a guess. “Think Toru will
wait that long?”

Eyes wide, Yukiko slowly shook his head.
“If…if I looked like them, we wouldn’t have to hide. He wouldn’t
have to trick his family or,” his tone soured, “always flirt with
those women.

“I’ve been saving all my money, but it’s not
enough,” Yukiko explained, perhaps trying to absolve himself of
guilt for betraying the man he loved by holding this meeting. “I’m
just an apprentice. All he lets me do is clean the shop. He won’t
even let me practice yet. How am I supposed to make any real money
if he won’t let me start working?”

Ah, the entanglements of love…

Who’d
let
who do what was messy
business, and yet another reason Kizzie didn’t do feelings. She
nodded in an attempt to appear empathetic. Yukiko’s receding chin
trembled, short nose twitching.

Kizzie sighed. “Look, I
might
be able
to get you more, depending on the info. No promises.” She didn’t
have the five she’d thrown out as a counter-offer, but since this
was Xander’s mess, let him use some of that ill-gotten money to pay
for it. What’s five large to a man with his own yacht and plane?
Hell, she might even make it ten. “The tattoo...?”

A long moment passed before Yukiko spoke
again. “I know her.”

“I’m listening.”

He pushed the tresses of the wig off his
shoulder. “I don’t… remember her name, but if you pay me—”

Kizzie spun on her heel and reached for the
door handle.

“Wait! Please…I…”

“
You
made sure I saw you in the
tattoo shop.
You
wanted me to meet you here.
You
want
to transition. Now
you
are wasting my time.”

“Let me…” he chewed his lip, “If Toru
knew….” Yukiko glanced at Kizzie, fear in his eyes. Clearly he
didn’t get the word that Kizzie and Toru weren’t exactly best
buds.

“She came into the parlor a long time ago,
wanted to get a rope tattooed around her ankle,” Yukiko said. “She
didn’t flirt with Toru, so I liked her. When he was done, she was
so proud of it she wanted another one. But Toru’s schedule was
booked for months—he’s one of the best artists in Tokyo… in the
world
.” He smiled, a brief flash of little white teeth.

“I’ve apprenticed for years under him,”
Yukiko’s cheeks went rosy and he stifled a giggle. “I mean, he’s
taught me so much I knew I could handle such a simple design. So I
offered…”

The truth. The faraway look in Yukiko’s eyes
indicated the recital was from memory.

“What did you give her?”

He blinked, coming back to the present.
“That tattoo from your picture. The In-Yo.”

The dam of anticipation finally broke, and
Kizzie’s grip tightened on the knife. They had Sumi. “How many did
you do?”

“Just one. She only asked for—”

“Did you tattoo any other girls?”

His chin lifted and he titled his head, brow
furrowed. “Others?”

Kizzie abandoned that line of questioning.
“This girl, the one you tattooed, you know where she is?” Yukiko
hesitated; Kizzie popped a brow up, quirked her lips.

His expression turned pleading and his
glossy, pink mouth twisted. “Please understand, this is a dangerous
world you want access to. If Toru finds out—”

“Want the money or not?” Kizzie asked, done
with the game.

The next moment, the bathroom door was
coming at her fast. Kizzie blocked the swing with her booted foot.
Another push, harder. She braced her shoulder against the door,
took the knife from her pocket.

“Friend of yours?”

Yukiko eyed the blade and gasped. He slapped
his hand over his open mouth and shook his head quickly.

“Don’t lie—”

“No, I swear.”

A palm smacked the wood. “Hey! Is somebody
in there? I gotta pee!”

“You’ll take me to her,” Kizzie stated
plainly, nodding her head, coaxing the man to agreement.

“I will meet you in back of the
restaurant.”

“Open the door! I’m going to get the
manager...” the voice on the other side threatened.

“Far stall. Lock it. Don’t leave until
you’re alone. Don’t be seen.”

Yukiko hurried into the last stall and the
lock engaged.

Kizzie waited a beat and stepped away from
the door. It swung open; a teenager on the other side stumbled in,
a flurry of skirts and chunky black boots. Thick mascara matched
her black lipstick, the dark portal parting to tell Kizzie where to
go and how fast to get there.

Hand still in her pocket, Kizzie fixed her
with a look and Little Miss Fluffy Skirts remembered she had to go
without so much as a huff. The second lock clattered into
place.

Kizzie made her way back to the table.

And Xander.

Impassive expression, but chocolate gaze
steady. Didn’t drum his fingers on the table anymore. Anyone
looking might mistake him for relaxed, but Kizzie knew he was far
from it. She sat beside him again, well out of reach of his kung-fu
grip. Somehow, this chewing out would be worse than getting one
from Connolly.

“Had sixty-eight seconds left,” Xander said,
a little too calmly. A couple and their screaming kid went by and
Kizzie watched them, stretching out her silence.

Xander reached for his water and took a slow
sip. When he spoke again his voice was low and lethal. “Don’t ever
run off like that again. I let it slide at the tattoo shop because
I knew what you were up to. For now we’re on the same team. If
there’s a plan, you tell me. Otherwise, I can’t watch your back. We
crystal?”

“I watch my own—” He shot her a look and she
shut her mouth, finishing the back-talk in her head—“
damn
back.”
She could take care of herself—had been doing it just
fine
long
before Xander Duquesne came into the picture.

“Nod.”

She bobbed her head. It wasn’t worth the
argument.

“What the deal?”

Ben returned, hands full, balancing their
food. “Steak for you, sir…” He reached across the table to set the
plate before Xander. “And a burger for the lady. Can I get you two
anything else?”

Kizzie stared down at the food she hadn’t
ordered. A variety of little bowls—each containing a different
condiment—circled the rim. It was exactly what she wanted, but now
she’d never be able to look at a burger again without thinking of
Xander. “Boxes… and the check.”

Ben looked between the pair, pasted on a
smile and set off again. Kizzie turned to Xander, staring into
reserved chocolate pools and remembering that this cheap date just
got a whole lot more expensive. How do you to tell a man you spent
a large chunk of his money and he
still
wasn’t getting in
your pants? Easy: Don’t.

Containers landed on the table and Kizzie
busied herself with filling them, stealing glances at the exit in
between transferring sides from plate to box. She peeked at Xander
again, debated between his side dish and hers, snagged one of his
asparagus spears and crunched into it. She offered the half-eaten
veggie to him with an innocent grin. Now who had the control?

His brow lowered. “27…”

Her lips twitched. If he ever got those last
three spankings in, they would be
so
worth it.

Ben arrived with the check at the same time
Yukiko emerged from the bathroom. Green stalk clenched between her
teeth, Kizzie slid out of the booth. “Come on, big daddy. You’re
getting lucky after all.”

* * * *

X
ander pressed his
ear to the door. No movement from the other side but the faint
sound of a breeze meant a window was open. Scratches around the
lock could’ve come from keys—though modern, this was an older
building that had probably seen its fair share of residents
bumbling around late at night—but with the gouges so deep, he’d bet
money it’d been forced by an amateur. He slipped his hand into his
jacket pocket, gripped the knob and twisted. Locked but loose. Phil
stood as lookout at the end of the hall, and Xander motioned to
him; made a fist for Phil to hold position when Kizzie
crouched.

She fished metal tools from her jacket
pocket and made easy work of the mechanism. Seconds later, the trio
stood inside the apartment. A woman lay unmoving near the desk, a
lamp the only item atop the flat surface. The light was on,
creating a circular pool on the wood that focused on nothing.

Phil remained at the door. Xander and Kizzie
stepped lightly toward the body. The smell was terrible, not
decomposition but purge fluid. Xander had been acquainted with it a
time or two before and found it to be a scent fouler than standard
decomp. It lingered long after the deceased had been moved, stuck
in the nose the way a catchy song stays in the head and each time
it comes on the radio you want to break the damn thing.

In twisted dark slacks and a modestly cut,
beige blouse, the woman lay at an awkward angle, neck wrenched
opposite the direction of her torso, legs and arms akimbo. Judging
by the upended laptop she’d collapsed, dragging the machine with
her. Her face was bruised, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Xander
wondered what, or whom, she’d been staring at when the bell
tolled.

On the bright side—if there
was
a
bright side when dealing with the dead—this wasn’t Sumi.

Kizzie stepped around him and all he could
do was observe as she made a sweep of the small rental. She edged
near the window to be sure no one could see into the living room,
Xander assumed, and then disappeared down a short, dark alcove. A
quick trip and she was back, nodding briskly and confirming what
they’d all suspected: Just the four of them.

Or three and a husk.

The kitchen was next, and she returned from
it with each hand stuffed into a plastic bag. A wad of paper towels
in her grip reeked of harsh cleaner. Xander risked a glance back at
Phil, who subtly shook his head. Five thousand dollars and he was
supposed to stand around and let Kizzie take point?

Suppressing a groan, Xander faced Kizzie,
his stance wide, jaw clenched and arms crossed over his chest. She
stooped near the body, seemingly oblivious to the smell. Pregnant
or not, Naima would have lost her lunch, breakfast, and the prior
night’s dinner by now. Dead bodies were her limit. The things
Kizzie must be capable of…

One bag removed, she pulled her phone from
her pocket, working the screen over with her thumb. She extended
the device toward him accompanied by a hard look that warned him
not to do anything stupid with it.

He took her phone.

The “glove” went back on and she rolled the
stiff onto one side, ripped the shirt where gravity had it stuck to
the shoulder. A slight nod to him and Xander came around to snap
photos before the body resumed its original state. Kizzie checked
ankles and wrists, the protruding belly, abandoned the body and
studied the empty space near the girl’s head.

Turning abruptly, she searched the trash
bin, lifted a black lid out and the broken base it belonged to. He
snapped a couple more photos; she set them back in the garbage. She
glanced at the desk, passed her bagged hand over the surface,
checked it and then moved on.

Watching her work, Xander couldn’t help but
notice the look on her face, or lack thereof. No furrowed brow, no
twisted lips or scrunched nose or grimace. Just a cool detachment
in her eyes. This was just another day, another op, and he again
wondered at everything Kizzie had seen and done.