The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters (35 page)

The road was winding and treacherous. The wheels of the Bluebird screeched on the ground as Fuminari accelerated from one corner to the next. Every now and again the undercarriage would spark, grinding over bumps in the road. It was too dangerous to stop without increasing his distance from the car behind. He guessed at least two of them would be armed, making him an easy target if they caught up with him when he stopped. He needed a window of five, maybe six seconds to escape into the night after stopping the car. Plenty of time for a bullet to hit him.

He checked the rearview mirror and saw a man leaning out of the rear passenger-side window, one arm pointed at the Bluebird. Fuminari couldn’t see it in the dark, but it was obvious enough that the man was aiming a gun. The man was only visible through the backwash of other car’s headlights. He heard a gunshot. There was a metallic impact, the bullet had hit the car. Whoever made the shot had removed their silencer to increase the power of the gun.

Or...maybe they weren’t the type to use silencers to begin with. True, it was unlikely the shots would be heard out here, but the approach was a little crude either way. They were speeding down a bumpy road littered with corners, odds were low that they would hit their target from a moving car.
The Shinmeikai?
Fuminari considered the possibility. He knew the Yakuza organization had connections to Kurogosho. That would, at least, explain their rough-and-ready aggression. The Shinmeikai preferred to let their guns do the talking. They probably saw themselves as dogs hunting a rabbit. But their prey this time was no rabbit. Fuminari was an unrestrained lion.

Another gunshot. Fuminari lost control of the wheel in the same moment it sounded. The shot had punctured one of the car’s rear tires. Fuminari nudged open the driver’s side door, using his left hand to steady the wheel. Forest spread out to either side of the road. He swung the door wide open and jumped clean from the vehicle. Rolling as he landed, he tumbled into the undergrowth. More shots followed, one ricocheting off the ground next to him. His prodigious frame continued to tumble until he crashed back-first into a tree, coming to an immediate stop. Fuminari was back in motion instantaneously, diving for cover to the side. A bullet exploded into the bark of the tree, right where he had been.

A moment slower and the bullet would have been in his chest. He felt two distinct shimmers of pain; one in his back from where he had hit the tree, the other over his left knee--he must have crashed into something when landing earlier. But it was nothing that would slow him in a fight. His car was motionless, having crashed into the trees other side of the road. The headlights shone bright in the deep undergrowth. He would no longer be visible to the other car.

He ducked lower into the undergrowth, slipping a hand into his back pocket. He had stuffed one of the guns there when he left Natsuyo’s apartment.

“Bastard!”

“Show yourself!”

The men had gotten out of their car and had begun to shout through the dark in the direction Fuminari was hiding.

“Idiots!”

A third man scolded them and they fell silent, perhaps realising the folly of shouting randomly into the dark. They might as well have been broadcasting their positions to Fuminari. Regardless, he had them in plain sight. They had forgotten to switch off their own car’s headlights. Fuminari raised the gun above the grass and fixed his sights on one of them. He was aiming for a non-lethal shot, there was no need to aim for the head. A leg, maybe, someone’s ass, it didn’t matter. Any kind of hit would be enough to put one of them out of contention. It was funny how a bullet tended to sap a man’s will to fight.

He fired. From a distance the sound was a popping of fireworks, but the power of the noise at close range was enough to surprise even Fuminari. The gun recoiled backwards as one of the men lurched backwards.

“Get down!”

“Bastard’s got a gun.”

The men reacted, fear flooding their voices as they hit the ground. Fuminari prowled through the darkness, the powerful stink of foliage tickling his nose. The blood-like smell brought about a sense of nostalgia. Fuminari sped up, pacing through the night air with the freedom of a beast out of its cage. He felt a rush of euphoria from being in motion, an animal thrill stretched over his spine.

“He’s on the move.”

The men could hear the rustling of his behemoth frame in the grass. Someone switched off the headlights. They had finally realized the danger of standing too close to the light. In the dark, they were his. He wouldn’t need the gun. He could sneak up behind them, settle this in one fell swoop like a trained predator. The only question left was the number of guns they had.

Just then Fuminari heard a car engine, it was coming in their direction, following the route they had come down.

“Car!”

One of the men announced the fact. The engine noise was bearing down on them, and fast. It should have been visible from this distance, the driver had apparently killed the headlights. The engine’s vibration was right on top of them. Fuminari recognized it as the low growl of a diesel engine, just as two dazzling beams of light punched through the darkness like a predator opening its eyes. The beams closed in on the group of Yakuza. The vehicle was a Land Cruiser. It accelerated. The men were back on their feet, confused as to what was happening. They would be mown down if they didn’t move quickly. Fuminari burst massively into action, like a tightly-coiled spring regaining freedom. His attack commenced just as the Land Cruiser careened into the rear bumper of the gangster’s vehicle.

He punched his right fist through two of the men’s jaws, shattering them instantly before sending both legs into the stomachs of the remaining two men. The men crumpled in the wake of Fuminari’s four blows, dispatched with an ease that was almost disappointing,

“Nicely done.”

Fuminari registered the familiar, cool voice. He saw Biku’s stunning features smiling across at him from the driver’s side window of the Land Cruiser.

4

“I hope you don’t expect my thanks. It may have taken a little longer, but I was ready to dish those guys up by myself,” Fuminari growled, his voice rough.

“I know.” As Biku answered, Fuminari detected a hint of a woman’s perfume on him. His eyes narrowed, questioning. Biku picked up on this and explained, “Ah, I had to dress as a woman for a while.”

“Dress as a woman?”

“I’ll cover the details later.” Biku smiled.

Fuminari continued to question him, “How did you find me here?”

“Two cars overtook me a while ago, both speeding like crazy. I noticed that the front car was yours.”

“So you followed us?”

“Yes. I saw you enter this mountain road so I killed the lights and held back a bit, then I heard an
untoward
racket. I stopped the car and came over to see what was happening. It looked pretty obvious so I thought I’d offer my help and save you a bit of hassle.”

“What were you doing out here in the first place?”

“Actually, I was on my way to your lodge.”

“Place is all boarded up now.”

“Huh. Well it looks like I owe thanks to this little coincidence.”

“And? What was it you wanted?” Fuminari walked closer to the Land Cruiser from which Biku was sticking out his head.

“I was bringing you a souvenir.”

“A souvenir?”

“Here you go.” Biku held out a sheet of paper, folded in three. Fuminari took it from him as Biku flicked on the Land Cruiser’s inside light.

“This is...” Fuminari swallowed hard. On the front, printed in bold were the words, ‘Life: The One True Light.’

“Yes, Munakata Yoichi’s pamphlet, the one that went missing from Ryoko’s apartment.”

“Where did you find it?” Fuminari asked.

Biku’s crimson lips drew into a narrow smile. Instead of answering Fuminari’s question, he continued “Open it first, take a look.”

Fuminari opened the pamphlet. It contained details of the L.L.S., propaganda to reel in new believers. At the top, towards the center, was a photo stamp bearing a woman’s face. The woman was in her seventies, the text to the right revealed her as the founder of the L.L.S., Miwa Ishibashi. Below it was a larger picture of some kind of gathering, a group of people all facing the same direction.

“Off to the left. Someone’s been circled with red pencil, right?” Biku continued.

He was right. There was a man standing to the left of the group. His face was half concealed, but there was a distinct line pencilled around him. And he was the only one among them looking downwards. Fuminari recognized the face immediately.

“Shutaro Toyama,” he muttered.

“Just so,” Biku agreed.

“Where did you get it?” Fuminari asked again.

Biku just smiled.

“I have another souvenir; this one’s human. Can you see the back seat?”

Fuminari peered into the rear of the cruiser and saw a man there, lying on his side with his hands tied up behind him.

“This is Jotaro Itsuki, General Director of the L.L.S. I got the pamphlet from him.”

“What the?”

“I thought it might be beneficial for us to work together again. So, I decided to make my trip out here.”

Biku smiled as he watched Fuminari, the night breeze ruffling through his soft hair.

Eighteen

Pack Wolves: The Front Line

1

They were in a motel room near the Gotenba Interchange off the Tomei Expressway.

Fuminari had perched himself on the edge of the room’s rounded bed, thick arms crossed, staring at the man before him. The other man stood there with a radiant smile on his face, his features resembling those of the Kujaku Myo’o. The man was Biku. His smile was faint, but the otherworldly beauty of his features accentuated the gesture, intensifying its effect. The smile showed no signs of faltering under Fuminari’s heavy scowl. The smile was a sign to Fuminari that Biku was waiting for him to break the silence first.

The time was one in the morning. Barely an hour had passed since the trouble they had faced on the road to from Minami Ashigara to Hakone. They had come up to the room five minutes earlier, having parked the Land Cruiser below. They had hardly spoken the whole time. The General Director of the L.L.S., Jotaro Itsuki, was still tied up in the back of the car. Fuminari’s Bluebird was in the lot for the adjacent room.

The circular bed sank under Fuminari’s immense weight. The bed was big enough for a couple to mess around in, but it resembled nothing more than a largish sofa under him. The effect was a testament to the man’s gargantuan size.

“Okay then,” Fuminari said to Biku. The impression was not that he had been the first to break under the silence, more that he had been waiting until he determined the silence had been suitably long, perhaps letting it dwell a fraction beyond comfortable levels, before opening his mouth to speak. “So you have some information for me?” His voice was deep and a little rough.

“Yes,” Biku answered, maintaining the smile as he nodded.

The expression projected an impression of naiveté not unlike that of an innocent young girl. Fuminari suspected that Biku was not fully aware of this. The smile was probably a default, unconscious--his most natural state. Fuminari occasionally caught in it glimpses of the smile seen on Buddhist statues; a smile that was not quite a smile. Perfect for a man that had no conception of pain. His features were a sharp counterpoint to the heavy-set, stony toughness of Fuminari’s.

“When did you pick up that guy downstairs, Jotaro Itsuki?”

“This evening.”

“You did it alone?”

“I took a few colleagues, though I had them wait in the car outside.”

“There weren’t any Shinmeikai hanging around?”

“Oh there were, like the ones that were following you.”

“How did you pull it off?”

“I disguised myself as a woman and snuck into Itsuki’s room.”

“You cross-dressed?”

“It turns out that Itsuki has a habit of bringing girls back to his office in the L.L.S. headquarters. It was quite the place, even had a bathroom and bedroom attached.”

“Huh.”

“It was rather unpleasant, impersonating a woman. And lipstick tastes awful.”

“Right.” Fuminari guessed that Biku would be genuinely alluring if he dressed as a woman.

“The Shinmeikai goons don’t enter his office. I knocked him out and used a rope to lower him out of the window. The whole thing got me in a cold sweat.”

“Sure.”

“I noticed the pamphlet before leaving.” Biku glanced to a table in the corner of the room. He had put the pamphlet on it when they had come into the room.

“You said it was Munakata’s.”

“I discovered that after asking Itsuki.”

“So Itsuki knew...”

“He told me everything I needed to know before I’d even finished peeling off his second toenail. It was nothing like the hassle I had with Iba,” he said flatly.

Hosuke had already told Fuminari how Biku got Iba to talk. Fuminari knew that Biku would have been smiling the whole time he had been pulling the man’s nails, curious like a child peeling wings from a butterfly.

“Okay,” Fuminari said, arms folded, keeping completely still. He had employed similarly barbaric techniques only a few hours ago to get Toyama to talk. He had smashed in the man’s teeth, crushed the cartilage in his nose. It was not so different from what Biku had done.

“And how about you? You went after Toyama?” It was Biku’s turn to question Fuminari now.

“He’s dead.”

“Dead!?”

“Yeah, shot by the Shinmeikai thugs. Everyone dies the same, Ministers just as easily as Yakuza.”

Fuminari continued, summarizing the events of the last few hours.

“It really does appear that we met at an opportune moment,” Biku said after he had finished.

“You’ve got more to tell me. You mentioned they had stolen the pamphlet from Ryoko’s place.”

“Yes.”

“Why did they want it back?”

“You know that Munakata had previously been asked to run a job for a major newspaper, to research an article on religion.”

“Yeah.”

“He came across the pamphlet during his research for that article.”

“Huh.”

“He was getting nowhere after you had tasked him to research religious cults, so he had decided to look through some of his old materials. That was when he rediscovered the pamphlet.”

“Right.”

“He noticed a couple of factors that made it stand out. The first was that Shutaro Toyama was among the people in the photograph, the man he highlighted in red. The second,” Biku walked over to the table and took the pamphlet in his hand, “was the presence of Miwa Ishibashi.” He cut his explanation short, waiting for Fuminari’s reaction.

“Keep going,” Fuminari barked the words like rocks.

“He hadn’t noticed Toyama’s presence in the photo the first time. It was only blind chance that he did this time. Shutaro Toyama was never meant to be in the photo.”

Biku opened the pamphlet for Fuminari to see. The photograph showed a group of followers gathered together in a hall, looking up towards the right. Toyama was positioned behind them. While everyone else was looking upwards, his face alone was angled slightly down. The photo had been cropped so that only the front of his head was visible. Behind it was something like a half-open door. It was almost completely outside of the photograph, but just about recognizable as a door.

“Do you see it? It looks like he had just come through the door to check on the hall, just for a moment, the exact moment the exposure was made.”

“Yeah,” Fuminari agreed.

“It would not do, of course, for a Minister of the Conservative Party to be discovered attending meetings at the L.L.S., let alone that he might be lobbying for their interests.” Biku produced another pamphlet from his inside pocket. “Take a look at this,” he said. The second pamphlet looked like an exact copy of the first, except for a single difference.

“Toyama’s not there,” Fuminari said.

The Minister’s figure was absent from the photo in the second pamphlet. It was a different photograph, likely chosen from another exposure made at the time.

“The one in which Toyama is present was from the first batch.”

“So they realized Toyama was in the photo and rushed out a second batch.”

“Exactly.”

“How did Munakata get hold of this one?”

“During his research for the newspaper. He had visited the L.L.S. before they noticed Toyama was in the photo. They gave him this pamphlet, fresh off the printing press. It wasn’t until later that they realized Toyama was there.”

“What about Miwa Ishibashi then?”

“Munakata had already read her book, ‘The Hidden Sangha of India,’ although he hadn’t remembered the author’s name. He re-read it after receiving your commission. Later, he would make the connection between her and the L.L.S. when he rediscovered the L.L.S. pamphlet, that she was none other than its founder.” Biku smiled again, relatively conventionally. “Itsuki and the others had already reclaimed a number of the pamphlets that had been distributed; they gathered them together and burned them. But there was a single pamphlet that they couldn’t get back, the one they’d passed on to Munakata.”

“They didn’t want to make a fuss, get on the bad side of a reporter.”

“Most likely.”

“And that ended up backfiring for them.”

“Yes, Munakata’s instincts as a reporter told him something was up. He started digging, so they picked him up and disposed of him.”

“How much had he found out?”

“Itsuki was not privy to that level of detail. He had ordered the Shinmeikai to pick him up and deliver him to Panshigaru. He suspected they would kill him, of course, but he didn’t seem to know for sure until I told him.”

“Munakata knew Panshigaru’s name, at the very least.”

“At first, he had taken the pamphlet to confront Miwa Ishibashi. He had been unable to meet her directly, in the end, but he had met with Itsuki and told him of the ritual you outlined. He asked Itsuki if there were any religious organizations in modern-day Japan that might try anything like that. Munakata had already surmised, then, that the sectioning of men and women on the ground drew a kind of mandala. So his thinking had been to seek the author of ‘The Hidden Sangha of India,’ Ishibashi, believing that she might be able to give him a lead to work on.”

“Hmm.”

“Itsuki reported their meeting to Miwa Ishibashi. He told me she had expressed only mild interest, said nothing much about it.”

“Huh.”

“What she did do was order him, however, to keep quiet if Munakata came back with any more questions.”

“To keep quiet?”

“About the pamphlet and Panshigaru, I assume.”

“It was at this stage that Munakata began to approach L.L.S. members on an individual basis. That was how he obtained a copy of the
reprinted
pamphlet. He quickly noticed that Toyama was missing. This was when it appears Munakata stopped thinking of the assignment in terms of it being your commission--it became his own.”

“He said as much?”

“Yes. Part of the confession he made during his torture. Itsuki had apparently been there, in person. Munakata told them how he had left the pamphlet in Ryoko’s room and the reason he had become so interested in Panshigaru’s affairs.”

“The reason being?”

“Because he knew that Miwa Ishibashi had, during the travels of her youth, been attacked by a group of
phansigars
somewhere between the Middle East and India. And that she had been taken into their captivity, living among them for over a year.”

“You’re saying they still exist?” Fuminari’s voice was getting louder.

“If the story is to be taken at face value, it appears so,” Biku answered flatly.

“Where had Munakata heard that?”

“Inside the manager’s office at the L.L.S.’s Kanagawa chapter, from a man named Takizawa Kunio.”

“Really?”

“Munakata offered Takizawa almost a third of the money you gave him in return for the information. Takizawa told Munakata that he had discovered the existence of another organization lurking behind the front of the L.L.S. This was two days before Munakata disappeared.”

“I see...”

“Only Itsuki seems to know that Takizawa was referring to Panshigaru. And Itsuki seems to know very little of the organization itself. L.L.S. has five chapters, managed by people like Takizawa that know some kind of organization exists underneath it. But that’s all they know. Ah, I said five, but the current number, for accuracy’s sake,is four.”

“Four?”

“Takizawa is dead. A car accident.”

“They had him killed,” Fuminari bit down on his thick lip.

2

Fuminari and Biku sat on either side of the small table facing each other.

On the table were a couple of glasses of whiskey with ice floating inside; the glasses were already beading with condensation. An equal measure had been poured into each. Neither Fuminari nor Biku had taken a drink.

The ice was from the fridge in the motel room, already melted to half its original size. The faint sound of water flowing came through the bathroom door. By now, Itsuki’s corpse would be afloat in the bathtub. Fuminari had grilled him for information, then strangled the life from him. He could still hear Itsuki’s crying, his pleading. The sound of flowing water felt like a curse originating from the strangled man’s corpse. It weighed heavy in Fuminari’s stomach, like a bitter aftertaste.

He had killed before, but this was the first time he had felt anything resembling bitterness following the act. Itsuki’s body had convulsed in its dying throes; the impression lingered, still fresh in Fuminari’s hands. Each time he killed someone outside of combat, it felt as though some kind of illness was taking hold inside him.

“What do you think?” Fuminari asked, trying to rid himself of the thought. He was sitting with his arms folded; he refrained from looking up at Biku, keeping his eyes fixed on his glass.

“About what?”

“All of this crap,” Fuminari spat the words, coming out in jagged pieces.

“Specifically?”

“All this shit about Kukai still being alive, about immortality.” He had taken on a contemplative tone, as though he was speaking his mind. It was hugely uncharacteristic.

Biku’s crimson lips reacted, smiling.

“Why the fucking smile?”

“Oh nothing, just that I had assumed your interest in this as being limited to getting Hanko’s head on a stick.”

“You think this is funny?” Fuminari’s tone remained unchanged.