Second Skin (60 page)

Behind the wheel, the
kobun
dropped the gun on the seat beside him so he could grip the wheel with both hands, then slammed on the brakes. He was gratified to see Nicholas hurtling off the roof into the alley in front of him. He grabbed for the gun, but by that time Nicholas was running directly at him. The
kobun
stamped on the accelerator. In this cramped spot there was nowhere for Nicholas to hide. In a tenth of a second, Nicholas would be plowed under the vehicle. The
kobun
liked the sound rushing steel made when it hit a human body, but he liked the feel of it even more. There was a rush of power so strong...

Then he jerked back reflexively as Nicholas slammed heels first into the windshield. The safety glass spiderwebbed, collapsing inward but holding together. The
kobun
heard Hatta screaming from the backseat and was distracted long enough for Nicholas to make a second powerful kick that broke through the safety film and showered the
kobun
with glass fragments. His finger closed around the trigger of the gun and he fired point-blank at the figure coming at him.

Nicholas felt the searing heat of the bullet even while his ears rang from the percussion of the shot. He felt something tear through the shoulder of his jacket, just as if he’d snagged it on barbed wire. Then he had slid halfway into the seat. The
kobun
slammed on the brakes, as much for self-preservation as for an offensive maneuver, hurtling Nicholas into the padded dashboard. The back of his head smashed into the CD player, and his legs got tangled up in the gearshift.

Pain exploded in his ribs and he grunted. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, and he felt the second blow through a veil of pain and growing numbness creeping up his side. He tried to roll out of the way of the blows, fetched up hard against the glove compartment for his efforts.

The
kobun’s
eyes were glossy, fever bright as he brought more and more adrenaline into his system. He was a young man in his early twenties, with a shaven head and veins popping along the curve of his shiny skull. Nicholas could see by the dilation of his pupils that he was on something, possibly cocaine. His strength was superhuman.

Another blow descended, this one more vicious, intended to crack a couple of vertebrae. Nicholas did not try to evade or ward off the blow, but instead reached out and caught the
kobun’s
hand. In the process, the sleeve of the
kobun’s
jacket rode up to his forearm, and Nicholas could see the beginning of the complex
irezumi,
the tattooing almost all Yakuza wore like a uniform. If he could see more of it, he’d know to which clan this man belonged.

Right now, however, he had other, more immediate considerations. The
kobun
bent forward from the waist, using the superior leverage of his position to pin Nicholas on his side back into the footwell of the front seat. He applied more and more pressure, exerting it slowly, inexorably, with the full knowledge of his advantage.

An expression almost of curiosity crossed his face as Nicholas uncoiled his upper leg, smashing his kneecap into the leading point of the
kobun’s
ribs. There was a sharp cracking sound. Curiosity metamorphosed into disbelief and then into a kind of disappointment bordering on astonishment as the
kobun
realized that his ribs were broken.

A bloom of pure rage shot through him, aided and abetted by the drugs he had ingested. He clamped down on the pain, went after Nicholas with the switchblade he kept in his waistband.

Nicholas took a slash to his shoulder before jamming an elbow into the
kobun’s
Adam’s apple. He twisted away as the
kobun,
already beginning to gag, stabbed out in desperate reflex. The gearshift moved and the blade, bouncing off, buried itself in the polished leather of the seatback. Then Nicholas used his lower body against the
kobun.

It was a mistake. The
kobun’s
foot slipped off the brake, pushed down spastically on the accelerator. The Mercedes shot forward with a ragged spray of blue and white sparks, careening off one wall, then another, hurtling out of the alley with terrifying speed.

Hatta screamed from the backseat. Nicholas made a desperate grab to take control of the wheel, and the
kobun
managed to jerk the switchblade free and made another attempt to disembowel Nicholas.

The Mercedes, more or less out of control, slammed into the rear end of a Nissan. Careening sideways, its tires screeching, it hit the opposite curb and, half-righted, kept on going, jumping the sidewalk. Pedestrians scattered, shouting through the massed blare of horns.

The edge of the blade came so close to Nicholas’s neck it felt as hot as a furnace. Then, with a ragged wrench, Nicholas broke the
kobun’s
wrist. As he yelped in pain, Nicholas used his elbow to smash the
kobun’s
nose flat against his cheeks. The
kobun
rocketed back in the seat in a welter of blood, collapsing upon the wheel.

Nicholas hauled the
kobun’s
torso backward, trying to kick his foot clear of the accelerator. He managed to steer the Mercedes back onto the street, but it was no safer there, since they were now headed down the street the wrong way, toward oncoming traffic and an intersection with the wide Meiji-dōri.

Sweat broke out on Nicholas’s face as he tried to get to the accelerator or brake, but the
kobun’s
feet were wedged tight. Nicholas felt dizzy, a buzzing in his brain.
No!
he screamed silently.
Not now!
He fought down the oncoming Kshira seizure. Had he blacked out for an instant? The broad side of a trailer truck coming into the intersection rushed up at them with frightening speed. Nicholas abandoned his efforts to get to the pedals, instead threw the gearshift into neutral, switched off the engine.

The side of the truck looked as large as a building facade as they shot toward it. The engine was off but the momentum of the car continued to propel it forward. Nicholas pulled hard on the wheel and the Mercedes did a one-eighty. Blood rushed to his head as centrifugal force kicked in. Hatta continued his terrified screaming from the backseat, and the world became one long blur. Colors streaked by, then merged, images elongating, then disappearing altogether into this new and curiously exhilarating reality. All of this happened in a tenth of a second, but the sense of being so out of control was liberating. Nicholas felt his heart beating fast and close inside his chest. No sense of danger or of imminent death occurred to him.

Then the car came out of it, they were rear-ended, not hard but enough to throw Hatta against the back of the front seats and to make Nicholas’s molars click together. But now, with the engine dead, much of their momentum was dissipated, and Nicholas was able, at last, to guide the Mercedes to a gradual stop curbside.

There was a sour stench inside the car. The sound of the hot engine ticking over was slowly overtaken by the scream of sirens, the pounding of running feet. With an effort, Nicholas turned around, saw Hatta crouched half-off the seat, heaving. He had vomited all over the backseat.

The sound of the sirens was increasing. Quickly, Nicholas took up the knife and slit open the
kobun’s
jacket and shirt to reveal the fantastic
irezumi.
Noting the
kobun’s
clan affiliation, he got out of the car, went around to the back, opened the door. By this time, the cops had arrived and he produced Tanaka Gin’s wallet and flashed them the credentials. Invoking prosecutor’s privilege, he hauled the cowering Hatta out of the backseat.

Rain light as an angel’s kiss fell on Nicholas’s face, clearing his mind. The police lights were flashing, merry as a carnival in full swing, and a crowd had begun to form. Some of the officers went to disperse the onlookers and to direct traffic, which was backed up all along the avenue. Others were waiting for Nicholas to make a statement. An ambulance drew up, its lights adding to the dark carnival atmosphere, but no one suggested Nicholas get in. Paramedics disembarked and, peering into the Mercedes, prepared to extract the twisted form of the
kobun
from behind the wheel.

Nicholas noticed skid marks on the tarmac, dark as scars against the rain-slicked surface, and only slowly realized they had been made by him. His mind was beginning to function normally again. He sucked deeply of the night air. As he did so, he leaned in toward Hatta and whispered, ‘You’re mine now, traitor. Unless you want me to hand you over to the police this instant, you’ll do and say exactly as I tell you. Is that clear?’

Hatta nodded, white-faced and utterly spent, and Nicholas turned to the patiently waiting sergeant. ‘I’m ready to make my statement now.’

Two burly men with .38 revolvers in their armpits burst into Room 421 of the Aquamarine Hotel in South Beach. By the time they had taken a single step into the room, their guns were drawn. One took the bathroom, the other the closets. One looked under the bed while the other stepped into the hallway and gave a signal.

Caesare Leonforte strode into the room, Vesper just behind him. ‘Where’s that little weasel?’

None of them, not even Vesper, knew whether he was referring to the kid or Paul Chiaramonte.

‘Fuck they get past you?’ Caesare asked one of the burly men. He had oily, curly hair and eyes too close together.

‘He told us the kid wanted a diet Coke an’ she slipped him inna kitchen of the guesthouse,’ the man said. He was still panting from having taken four flights of stairs while his boss and the girlfriend took the elevator. He was sweating heavily and was pissed off they had found no one. He waved his pistol around as if looking for someone to plug.

‘Put that fuckin’ heat away,’ Caesare said. ‘What’re you gonna shoot, the fuckin’ roaches?’

‘Okay, so we start inna kitchen ova guesthouse,’ the man said, sliding his .38 into his sweaty armpit. ‘We find nothin’ inna kitchen so we go inside. The guys, the dogs, no one’s seen shit.’ He threw out his arms at the same time he hunched his shoulders. ‘So whatta we s’posed t’do?’

Caesare couldn’t be bothered replying to this sad tale; he was staring at the empties atop the minibar. ‘Cokes and diet Cokes,’ he said softly. ‘They were here, all right.’

‘But no one saw them leave,’ Vesper said.

‘Yeah.’ Caesare nodded. His brow furrowed. ‘Fuck they’re in such a hurry now?’

‘Let’s get after them,’ one of the burly men said. He was itching to use his pistol.

‘We got the airports, the bus terminals, train stations, all covered,’ Caesare said as if to himself. ‘The rental cars know t’call if a man of Paul’s description tries t’rent. The only other possibilities – stealing wheels or buying a used one – I’d rule out. Paul’d be an idiot to risk the cops, an’ I know he doesn’t have the bread to buy.’

‘You don’t even know whether he’s taken the kid or he’s trying to find her,’ Vesper said.

Caesare pointed to the empty cans. ‘They’re t’gether all right,’ he said in his nastiest voice. ‘I don’t know what the fuck Paul thinks he’s up to, but you can be damn sure I’ll make him wish he’d never thought of it.’ He made a curt gesture. ‘You two take to the streets round here. Make sure you check the cans in alla bars an’ restaurants. Also, the hotels. Stick to an eight-block square. If the hotel still thinks they’re holed up here, they haven’t been gone long.’

‘Akinaga isn’t talking calls; he can’t be disturbed,’ Hatta said, putting down the public phone. He jammed his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders as his shoes scuffed against the sidewalk. ‘That means he’s at Both Ends Burning.’

‘I want Akinaga and I want him tonight,’ Nicholas said. ‘And believe me, I won’t let you out of my sight until you’ve gotten me near him.’

Nicholas, standing near the Shinjuku intersection of Meiji-dōri and Yasukuni-dōri, was watching the rain distort the neon colors in the wide avenues, sending them floating off the dark surfaces like kites on Boys’ Day. ‘What is Both Ends Burning, S&M club, gay bar?’

Hatta hesitated until Nicholas swung around, shot him a menacing glance. ‘S&M membership-only club, yes, but it’s a very special place. All the top people are members.’

Nicholas was on the lookout for big shiny cars driven by Yakuza
kobun.
Having encountered one tonight had been more than enough, but he was taking no chances. Hatta was being protected, and now that the primary protection had broken down, perhaps a backup was somewhere out there waiting for a chance to take him back. Nicholas was also thinking of the name Both Ends Burning. That was the club outside which Ise Ikuzo had been slaughtered as an example, perhaps by Michael Leonforte. An odd kind of coincidence. ‘Top people?’ Nicholas echoed.

That tiny hesitation again. Hatta’s appearance was disheveled and he smelled terrible. By design, Nicholas had given him no opportunity to clean himself up. There were times, Nicholas believed, when humiliation cleansed the soul as nothing else could.

Then Hatta nodded his head. ‘You know. Politicos, bureaucrats, businessmen. No salarymen allowed.’ Meaning no low- or middle-level management people. ‘Both Ends Burning skims off the very top, and everyone with influence wants it. That’s why Akinaga makes it a kind of unofficial home away from home.’

Nicholas was thinking. Something had been nagging at him ever since Hatta had confessed his sleazy relationship with Tetsuo Akinaga. Akinaga was
oyabun
of the Shikei clan, but as he noted from the pattern of the
irezumi,
the
kobun
who had been protecting Hatta was from the Yamauchi clan. Ever since its last
oyabun,
Tachi Shidare, had been killed, the Yamauchi had been run by a triumvirate of under
-oyabun
because none of them had enough backing within the clan to consolidate power. Was Akinaga making a bid to take over the Yamauchi? There had been rumors that he had been trying to run Shidare. In any event, Akinaga had tried at least once to have Nicholas killed. Nicholas now said, ‘If Akinaga hangs out at Both Ends Burning, what about other Yakuza
oyabun?’