trusted adults involved here, coconspirators, but Mariko couldn’t let her thoughts wander that way. That was police thinking. There would already be over a hundred detectives tasked with identifying the kidnappers and figuring out how they were connected. It would take weeks to reach the conclusion Mariko already had in hand: they were all members of the Divine Wind. What she needed to know was where the hell they went, and that was where she was drawing a blank.
Furukawa was right: Mariko was in a position unlike any of his other operatives. Very few people could move as fluidly between the police and the criminal element. Any cop who knew of Mariko’s suspension also knew it was a major indiscretion to keep her up to date on the details of the kidnapping investigations, but Han didn’t care about rules like that. She had connections he didn’t, so for him it was a simple quid pro quo. At the same time, she wasn’t handcuffed by everything that usually limited a detective on duty. She could harass CIs with open-ended questions that had nothing to do with a real live case. She could even coerce them if she felt like it, and most importantly, if she broke any laws she could only be charged as a civilian. It was impossible to charge her with official misconduct, the felony that would end her career.
She pulled the Beemer into the parking garage of a posh Ebisu high-rise and slid it on squealing tires next to a giant red Land Rover. A hulking, sour-faced man was waiting for her. His arms were big enough to test the tensile strength of his ill-fitting suit jacket, and his chest was even bulkier. Mariko saw not just muscles there but also the outlines of an armored vest under his shirt. She got out of the car and said, “Hi, Bullet. Where’s your boss?”
A darkly tinted window rolled down in the backseat of the Land Rover, revealing the broad, square-jawed face of Kamaguchi Hanzo. It was his ruthless tenacity, not just his sharp teeth and pronounced underbite, that had earned him the nickname the Bulldog. He maintained that reputation by never backing down from a fight, and by ripping people’s throats out when they crossed him. Even by yakuza standards he was a bloodthirsty brute.
“Well, look at you,” he said. “My little gokudo cop. Someone kick your ass, honey? You look beat to hell.”
“Thanks.”
“Come around this way. Let me see if you been keeping that tight little ass in shape.”
There was a reason Mariko kept her car between herself and the man she’d come to see. The Bulldog was unpredictable, prone to fits of anger. She wouldn’t get within arm’s reach if she didn’t have to. The fact that he couldn’t ogle her as easily was just an unexpected perk.
“You know why I’m here,” she said. “Kidnapped children. I want to know where they went.”
“Depends. What are they worth?”
“What?”
“Can I buy them? Can I sell them? No. So I don’t give a shit where they are.”
Lovely. He was every bit as charming as she remembered. “Don’t be naive,” she said. “Thirteen hundred kids is a hell of a lot. You want to tell me not one yakuza’s kid is in there? I thought you people took care of your own.”
“Not my kid, not my problem. Plus, your friend did his homework. He didn’t touch anyone who shouldn’t be touched.”
Go figure, Mariko thought. Joko Daishi had planned for everything. And he probably used the Wind’s resources to do it. She still couldn’t believe she’d gotten into bed with Furukawa.
“Look,” she said, “you have a lot of people in this town. Someone has to have seen something. Help me this one time.” Hating herself for saying it, she added, “I’ll owe you one.”
“Owe me one? What do you think you got? I hear you’re on the outs with the cops.”
Mariko flashed her badge. “I’m back in. Why else would I be investigating the kids?”
“Beats me. Maybe it’s got something to do with those sweet wheels.” His mouth widened into a smile, a hideous expression on such a cruel face. “Is that a real badge? Get over here and give me a closer look.”
“Go fuck yourself, Bulldog.”
“Heh. Still think you’re pretty gokudo, huh?”
Not today, Mariko thought. She could use a little badass mojo. But when dealing with a bulldog, if you didn’t have it, you had to fake it. “You know what I think? I think you’re not holding out on me