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“His are a bit more…personal. Just don’t let him get to you, and I’ll make him behave.”
Not the words to instill confidence, she thought, stepping through the automatic doors and taking her first breath of fresh air in God knows how long. She could smell the sea. She stood for a moment, breathing it in, when Taka spoke.
“There he is.”
She turned, and the first thing she saw was the white limo—just like the ones used by the Shirosama and his crew. Summer froze, ready to make a run for it, when she caught sight of the figure leaning against the side of the car.
Not one of the Shirosama’s brethren. He was dressed entirely in black leather, sunglasses covering most of his face, and he had red hair. Bright crimson, a shade not found in nature, and as he pushed away from the car she could see the hair hanging down past his waist.
He push
ed his sunglasses up in a gesture of supreme arrogance, taking in Summer from head to toe, and she could see the tattoos around his eyes. Teardrops, but they were red. Like tears of blood.
He obviously wasn’t impressed with what he saw. He dropped the sunglasses, turned to Taka and embraced him, still looking at Summer as if she were an unpleasant annoyance.
“How’s Uncle?” Taka asked in English.
Reno shrugged, answering him in Japanese, and leaned over to pick up the golf case. Taka stopped him. “I’ll keep this with me. You can give my wife a hand with her suitcase.”
Reno’s mouth curved in a smirk, and he muttered something no doubt highly unflattering. Taka compounded it by laughing, and Summer started thinking she might prefer the Shirosama, after all. Then Taka turned to her.
“Su-chan, this is my disreputable cousin Reno, grandson of my great-uncle Hiro. Reno has no manners, but I’m sure he welcomes you to the family.”
She assumed Reno didn’t speak English, but he made a universally derisive sound. He picked up her suitcase and strolled around to the back of the limo. The trunk popped open, seemingly of its own accord, and Summer glanced around for the übermobile phone that seemed to serve as a remote control for the world. It was nowhere in sight, and then she realized someone was sitting in driver’s seat of the limo, barely visible behind the smoked windows. A chauffeur who stayed in the car and didn’t help with luggage was peculiar indeed, and visions of the Shirosama began intruding once more. She glanced at Taka. If he was going to turn her over to His Sliminess he would have done so in the U.S. He wouldn’t have brought her all this way to do it.
Besides, there was no way the brethren would include an exotic creature like the disapproving Reno.
The interior of the limo was huge, and Summer climbed in, trying to deal with the short dress and the high heels as she scrambled to the far corner. She didn’t even see the man sitting across from her until Taka, following her inside, greeted him, knuckles together, bowing low as he sat on the leather bench seat beside her.
“Uncle,” he murmured.
“Welcome home, Great-nephew,” the man said. Dressed with the same impeccable care as Taka, he was very old, with wrinkles creasing his face, and almost bald. His perfectly manicured hands were missing two fingers.
Yakuza. A Japanese godfather, for all his benevolent smile. He gave Reno a fondly disapproving look when he climbed in and closed the limo door, and Summer took a surreptitious look at his fingers. Black fingernail polish, but all his digits intact. Which, according to Taka, just meant he hadn’t screwed up yet.
She would have thought his appearance alone would be worth a thumb at least—he was a far cry from the Yakuza dress code, if Taka and his great-uncle were any indication. But that was not her concern.
“And you must be Dr. Hawthorne,” the old man said pleasantly. “Welcome to our country. I hope my nephew hasn’t been giving you too much trouble.”
Summer cast a nervous glance at Taka. Trouble was the least of it. “He’s been very kind,” she said, automatically polite.
She felt Taka start beside her. “I’ve kept her alive, Uncle. Apart from that, kindness hasn’t been foremost on my mind.”
Reno leaned back against the side bench of the limo, and even behind the sunglasses, she could imagine the contempt in his eyes. He said something to his grandfather, clearly disparaging, but the old man replied in English. “It’s rude to speak Japanese in front of a visitor, Grandson. We will speak English.”
Apparently the old man even managed to cow Reno. He said nothing, crossing his arms across his chest in silent disdain.
“Taka-san, we have a problem,” the old man said. “I hesitate to discuss business in front of your friend, but I’m afraid I cannot take you back to my house. People are watching.”
She could feel the sudden tension in Taka’s body. He was sitting closer to her than he needed to—the interior of the limo was huge, with his uncle at the far end, Reno lounging on the side, and the entire back seat for the two of them. But he was next to her, not actually touching, yet close enough so that she could feel his body heat, feel his reactions. Feel a certain irrational comfort from him, her one ally.
“Our contact in the Japanese government has informed me that they’ve decided not to have anything to do with the entire Hayashi affair. Things are too volatile with the new religions, and there’s been a lot of criticism about recent crackdowns. They’ve decided that the threat is exaggerated, and that the followers of the Shirosama are just harmless fanatics.”
“And how many people will have to die on the Tokyo subways this time for them to change their minds, Uncle?”
The old man shook his head. “They and I both know that no one will die. You and the people you work for will see to it, and our government need never get involved. For that matter, the Japanese people will never know how close they came to a major disaster.”
“Not just the Japanese people this time, Uncle. The Shirosama is planning attacks on all the major transportations systems in world.”
