Sake Bomb (3 page)

With the walk, the clothes, and the
confident attitude, Fay could have been a model. But Fay was far
from a model anything.

Fay was a killer.

She reached the platform just as Julie
settled an Erlenmeyer flask onto the crowded surface. Uncorking the
glass container exposed the liquid inside to the air.

“
I can hold the flowers,
Matushka
?”

“
Yes, baby,” Hiro said. “Please, just
behave a little longer for mommy and we’ll have
wagashi
and
tea.”

Puffs of dark pink filled her vision, and
she took the bouquet, inhaling deeply.

“
They’re not roses, are they? They don’t
smell like roses.”

Hiro ignored her, a rare occurrence,
reverently extracted a container from her purse and cradled it in
her palm.

She knew what it was, had seen so many of
them it wasn’t too curious a sight. But why did
Matushka
bring it here? And what was that liquid inside? Was it dangerous
like in
Matushka’s
lab?

A length of red yarn circled the corked
glass, and she wondered about that too.

Hiro uncorked the flask and nestled it on
the railing between the many flowers and other open bottles; fussed
with the knot in the yarn, turning it just so.

“
You’re gonna leave it there ‘cause you
don’t want it no more?”

Her
matushka
finished murmuring
and stepped back with a shaky sigh.

“
What’s inside of it?”

“
Water,” Hiro croaked. “They were
thirsty. So very thirsty…”

“
Who’s thirsty?”

A bell tolled in the distance and the shared
memory dissolved, a faded picture.

The knot in the yarn around the glass was
askew. Fay turned it so it was perfectly centered. A glance at
Julie, who nodded and then set an origami flower beside the
flask.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Fay said evenly,
eyes fixed on the cenotaph. She’d expected Julie—Julie had a
purpose—but Akari was some 600 miles from home. Best to not be seen
together, especially so close to completion.

On the other side of Julie, Akari had her
face angled away. She didn’t answer,
couldn’t
answer.

Fay circled to the other side, gaze narrowed
on Akari's busy jaws. Her cheeks were full, mouth shifting subtly
as she chewed. Fay brushed at the corners, and then studied the
dark pink crumbs on her fingertips; touched them to her tongue.

Sweet.

Akari’s shoulders slumped. Still chewing,
she dug in her purse once more and removed a bag of treats.

“Courage, strength and…”

“Discipline,” Akari finished. “These are the
marks of a warrior…”

A small nod and Fay took the
wagashi
from Akari’s clutches, dropped them into her purse. Then she hugged
the woman tightly, murmured a firm, “You and I will talk later,”
into Akari’s ear.

Fay spun to Julie, folded the woman in a
warm embrace and delivered a different message meant for her ears
only. Listening intently, Julie nodded, and then Fay pecked her
cheek before they pulled away.

A vintage gold locket hung at Julie’s neck,
the clasp resting just beside the heart-shaped pendant. Fay twisted
the necklace so it was righted, lightly stroking Julie’s
collarbones in the process. “You’ll have to go back tomorrow. I’ve
had the new booking information forwarded.”

“So early? Then it’s true,” Akari blurted,
“the first shin—” Julie whirled on her and the plump woman snapped
off her words. Akari touched her chin to her chest but ventured
another inquiry. To Fay she asked, “And…still nothing of Sumi?”

“Best not to hope.” Fay rested a gentle hand
on the woman’s shoulder. “I know you miss her, we
all
miss
her, but what we do is for her as well.”

“Two gone, and now—”

“Nothing has changed, Akari. We stick to the
plan.”

Julie fixed Akari with a stern look. “Did
you forget your oath after all this time?”

Akari inhaled a breath, recited, “And where
she leads I will follow.” A glance at Fay, back to Julie.
“Apologies.”

Moments later, Fay watched the pair depart.
She definitely needed to have a talk with Akari.

And a cigarette. Life wasn’t right without
smoke in her lungs. But this was Hiroshima, where smoking was
prohibited. At least in Tokyo she could puff in designated
areas…

A test of control. She could handle it.

Fay spun on her heel, gave a light jerk of
the leash. Her dog trotted ahead, leading the way to their
destination at the other end of the park.

Thirty yards away, a young boy of 8- or
9-years-old barreled into a woman with long black hair. He threw
his arms around her waist and squeezed, their co-mingled laughter
riding on the air. He launched into an animated conversation and
the woman listened patiently, wholly focused on the child, a smile
on her face. Fay wondered what warranted such undivided attention,
caught snatches of their chat as she drew nearer.

“…with too much vibration from the water.
So, do you think my robot can win if we—” He angled around the
woman and then cocked his head. “Your hair’s blue. Cool!”

Not expecting the statement, Fay slowed to a
stop. Sure enough her tresses were a vibrant royal, the ends tipped
white as magnesium set aflame. She pushed the strands off her
shoulder, her wayward dog yipping excitedly as it scrabbled up the
pant leg of the other woman.

Fay jerked the leash. “Sit!” The toy fox
terrier didn’t listen, tugging to get back to the target.

The woman chuckled, taking in the sight of
the scarlet lead now wrapped around Fay’s forearm. “Hard to know
which of you is the owner and which the pet.”

Fay cocked her brow, snapped, “Perhaps I
should show you.”

“What’s your dog’s name?” the boy asked,
done with the oddity of Fay’s hair.

“Baya.” Fay’s hard eyes stayed locked on the
other woman who, though considerably shorter, didn’t back down from
the glare. Fay gave her a quick examination: conservative flats,
dark slacks, simple blouse. So very different from Fay’s stylish
clothing. Could have been a rock for all the stand-out appeal she
had.

Oblivious to the tension, the boy crouched
low and scratched behind the dog’s ears, making little cooing
noises as Baya soaked up the attention. “You like me, don’t you,
Baya?” Tail wagging so hard it rocked her rump, Baya licked his
palm and he laughed.

“Jason!”

Angling away, the boy stood and rubbed his
palms on his jeans. Another woman—a bit stockier and in far more
colorful clothing—rushed over, a pretty flush to her cheeks and
relief in her eyes. “Oh, thank goodness, he’s with you, Vanda. I
was afraid he’d just wandered off alone. We couldn’t find him and
he wanted to ring the bell..”

“
I can play with the bell, Matushka?” Her
little hand was in Hiro’s grip as she twisted to and fro, the heart
pendant on the too-large necklace swinging against her
chest…

Vanda cleared her throat, ruffled the boy’s
hair. “I’ve got him, Iris. We’ve just been discussing—”

“His robot,” Iris finished. “Can’t keep his
mind off of it.”

The two women shared a chuckle, and Fay
stood there awkwardly, a peeping Tom to their friendliness.

Then Jason, Iris, and Vanda turned and
started up the path, Vanda commenting, “It’s the determined minds
like Jason’s that change the world.”

A sharp tug and Fay was moving again,
strolling right behind them. The two women nattered about a summer
science program and the children in it, topics Fay had no interest
in but could clearly overhear.

Iris looked back twice, nervously, stepped a
little closer to the boy. The woman named Vanda glanced back too,
held Fay’s gaze with a disinterested look of her own, and then
dropped a protective arm around Jason’s shoulders from the other
side. Still chatting, the trio peeled off the walk, heading the
short distance to the children’s memorial.

Fay didn’t alter her course, she and Baya
strutting toward the building at this end. If the cenotaph was the
heart of the park, the building was the brain and this one was
deteriorating. Massive. Hollowed out. Most of the brick facade had
crumbled, revealing concrete and mortar in various stages of
degeneration. The domed cap was nothing more than exposed steel
bones, the once-copper skin burned clean away.

The hefty edifice looked out of place there
just on the other side of the river, a sentinel of decay fronted by
water and backed by a garden of green. Rows of oleanders grew along
a nearby gate, deep pink petals bathing in the warm sun, but the
cheery-looking terrors weren’t enough to chase the cold from the
depressed structure.

The bell tolled behind her.

Fay dug in her purse for her phone, snapped
a photo of the collapsing pile and captioned it
Privideniye
:
Destroyer of Worlds
.

She studied the carcass again and something
she’d never felt before gripped her young heart. Her eyes narrowed.
“I hate it.”

“
No!” Hiro clasped her small shoulders.
“You will not hate.
Ever
. Am I clear? Not even a
little…Promise me!

“
You must be
shinari.
Say
it.”

“
Shinari,”
Fay echoed solemnly.

Then her head snapped up. A familiar
sensation danced along her skin. She’d felt it before—as a child
back in Moscow…last week at
Ink-Scribed
…leaving the costume
shop—more and more frequently as the day neared. Odd to feel it
here, so far from home…

Fay cast a glance over her shoulder. Jason
stood on the path not ten yards away, eyes riveted to the A-Bomb
Dome’s hollow shell. She saw empathy in the child’s face,
understanding, sorrow.

Nothing like the anger in her blood.

Fay agreed with the boy’s teacher, Vanda:
Determined minds change the world.

Digging into her purse, she gave a gentle
tug to the leach and started the trek to the other side of the
park. She passed by Jason, caught Vanda watching her. Their eyes
met, held a brief moment, and then Fay looked away. No cigarettes,
so she popped a
wagashi
into her mouth and chewed.

As delicious as the little confections were,
Fay had a taste for something much, much sweeter.

Belém do Pará, Brazil

T
wo in the morning,
surrounded by clowns and at the wrong end of a gun. See? Nothing
good ever happened to Kizzie in Belém.

“Up.” Feminine and soft, a stark contrast to
the muzzle pressed into Kizzie’s skull.

9 millimeter? 38 special?

She tried identifying the weapon by the
perceived size of the hole in the muzzle, a pointless endeavor. A
gun’s a gun, and at point blank range even a BB pellet would do
more damage than Kizzie wanted to live with.

“Up…o-or I shoot.” The woman’s breaths came
in short, shallow puffs. She jerked Kizzie’s head forward, shaking
so hard the vibrations transferred.

That trembling brought both relief and
unease. The positive: she wasn’t a trained killer, or a surgeon for
that matter—both required steady hands under pressure. The
negative: Kizzie had her head in the path of a loaded gun being
handled by a frightened civilian.

“Easy.” She raised her empty hands to show
she was no threat.

“Up. Now!”

“Just gonna roll to my knees, okay? Don’t
get crazy with the Cheez Whiz.” She lowered her arms slowly. The
gun pushed into her head again and that plain pissed her off. “You
want me up or not, lady?”

No response. Kizzie shuffled to her feet,
the gun practically a knew appendage on the right side of her head.
It shifted when she moved, digging in at the base as she stood.
Judging by the upward angle, she was slightly taller than the
woman.

Another difference between them: Kizzie
wasn’t shaking.

“Who are you?”

Totally useless information when planning to
kill an intruder.

“Janet Johnson,” Kizzie said, feeding the
woman the same helping of bullshit she’d given Zio. The handle was
as soluble as the ink he’d so frantically searched his hand for.
“And since we’re exchanging pleasantries…?”

Another nudge with the barrel. “I ask the
ques–”

Kizzie curled to her left, turning a tight
circle that brought them face-to-face. In the same instant, she
trapped the gun arm between her shoulder and ear and hooked her
left arm over it.

A high-pitched scream; the gun bucked. Two
quick burps Kizzie hoped hadn’t hit the guy on the floor. A
headbutt dazed the other woman and, yelping, she tipped her chin
up. Kizzie rammed her forearm into the woman’s exposed neck and
drove her against the wall. Another round exploded from the
pistol.

She didn’t relent, digging in until the gun
fell to the floor. In one fluid motion, Kizzie crouched, swooped up
the weapon and aimed. Her left ear played jingle bells; the right
had heavy wheezing on repeat.

Without taking her gaze off the form now
huddled near the bedroom door, she inched back enough to hold her
fingers to Zio’s neck. His pulse was still strong. “Name.”

Silence met her, and she didn’t have time or
patience for that.

Kizzie pulled the trigger; the forehead
exploded.

Screams morphed to a soft whimper, and the
woman opened her eyes to see the butler’s porcelain face splattered
at her bare feet.

“Next one goes in yours.”

“Silvia…M-Moniz.”

“You alone?” Silvia nodded. Kizzie cocked
the hammer back on the gun. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I swear.”

“Are you gonna make me kill you, Silvia
Moniz?”

Clutching her throat, Silvia twisted her
head side to side quickly. She wasn’t a girlfriend—Kizzie had his
dossier and Zio was a ladies’ man—but judging by the white thong
and bra, Silvia planned on being his after party this fine Belémian
morning. Talk about wrong place.