the little screen a closer look, then studied Mariko’s face, as if trying to replay how the mask must have struck her to leave the marks that it did. She could tell by his wince the moment he noticed the stitches in her scalp. “Please tell me you wrote ‘head-butted by demon’ on your injury report.”
Mariko laughed, relieved that he was ready to joke about it. That meant they could put any further conversation about her injuries behind them. “How are things coming with Haneda?”
“Never ending. This one’s going into extra innings for sure. That’s why I dragged your ass out of bed so early; I have to be back out there by ten o’clock.”
“It’s okay. I just wanted to talk about Yamada-sensei’s notes with you. I’ve been doing some reading—”
“Me too.”
“I figured. I was hoping we could kick around some ideas together.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
Mariko sipped her coffee. “You remember the first time I had you come to my place to read these books with me?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I think a lot of that stuff has to do with Haneda. Remember the stuff Yamada-sensei wrote about the Divine Wind?”
“Are you kidding?” Han bounced in his seat like a little kid. “How could I forget? A five-hundred-year-old ninja clan in my own hometown? That’s the coolest thing ever.”
“Grow up, Han.”
That wasn’t going to happen. The best he could do was to slow the bouncing a bit. “See, I was rereading some of those notes too. I’ve got a theory about the woman who mugged you—”
“You think she’s a ninja.”
That stopped him short. “Uh . . . what?”
“You think she’s a ninja, because that’s what it would take to do what she did.” Mariko said it as if she were reading instructions from a recipe.
“No way. You think she’s a ninja too?”
“I think she received highly specialized training. As you’re so fond of reminding me, she kicked my ass. Hell, Han, she made it look easy. Plus—and here’s the part that really pisses me off—she outran me. I work harder at running than any other event in the tri. If you can out-swim me, fine. You out-ride me, fine. Even hit me in the face if you want, but do not fucking outrun me.” Mariko found herself leaning toward him, punctuating the last few words by stabbing her finger at him like a weapon.
“Uh, okay.”
“Sorry.” Her face flushed and she backed off a bit. Other patrons were staring, and the waitress looked like she was trying to decide whether or not to call the police. Mariko gave them all a weak, embarrassed smile. To Han she whispered, “Sorry. Got a little heated there. It’s kind of a sore spot for me.”
“I gathered that, yeah.”
Outside, a gaggle of teenage girls passed by wearing identical Burberry scarves and black Bulgari backpacks. Half of them chattered in rapid conversation while the other half walked head down, entranced by their phones. “Are you seeing this?” Han said. “I can’t believe their parents allow them out of the house in skirts that short.”
“Stop staring, Han.”
“What are they doing up so early, anyway? When I was in high school, Saturdays were for sleeping in.”
“Who knows? Giggling. Texting. Whatever teenagers do. Hell, these days they probably share tips on how to give a better blow job.”
“Oh, how times have changed,” Han said. “And oh, what I wouldn’t give to be in high school today. Do you know how old I was when I got my first—?”
“We’re not having that conversation.”
Han laughed and scratched the back of his head. It called Mariko’s attention to his short hair, which she still hadn’t gotten used to. “Sorry,” he said. “Back to your ninja chick. I think someone sent her after you, and I don’t think it was Joko Daishi.”
“Seriously? You think this was a hit?”
“Maybe not a hit exactly, but maybe she was sending a message. The important part is that it wasn’t from Joko Daishi.”
“How do you figure?”
“He went to great lengths to steal this mask, neh? Like, from the most bloodthirsty yakuza in Tokyo.”
“Yeah.” Mariko could picture his face: the Bulldog, Kamaguchi Hanzo, brutal even by the standards of organized crime.
“Okay,” said Han, “so Joko Daishi steals the mask, and a few days later we arrest him and he loses it again. A few days after that, we lose the mask to the Bulldog, and not long after that, the Bulldog sells it back to Joko Daishi. Now he thinks he’s got his hands on it for good, but then bam, some