Rules of Honour (15 page)

Guessing it would be some time until anyone found their way inside the boutique, I sat down on a stack of boxes and pulled out my cellphone. Prior to the crash I’d already brought my friend up to speed on what had happened at Takumi’s house.

‘Rink?’

‘You rang me, Hunter. Who else did you expect?’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Someone just took a shot at me.’

‘You OK?’

‘I am, but I doubt the rental company is going to be happy when we return the car.’

‘The hell has happened now, Hunter?’

‘Let’s say that things might take a bit of straightening out down at the precinct.’

‘Shit! The cops have taken you in?’

‘Not yet, but I’m thinking it’s kind of inevitable if Jones and Tyler turn up.’ I told him what had happened and about the resulting destruction. Earlier I was worried about the welfare of the cattle in the trailer; I hadn’t stopped to consider if there were any human casualties. It appeared that the lingerie boutique must have closed for the lunch hour, because there were no staff around, but I couldn’t be sure of the other shops that had been destroyed. I hoped everyone had made it through the crash unharmed.

‘Someone shot at you, you said?’ Rink went on. ‘Same guy that was at Takumi’s?’

‘Has to be, from what I glimpsed of him,’ I said. ‘At least we’ve learned something about the killer. I’m guessing he isn’t a pro. He wouldn’t have aimed through the windscreen at me if he was, he’d have waited for a better shot.’

‘You’re sure it was him and not one of Chaney’s mob?’

‘How would any of Chaney’s guys know where to wait for me? I think the bastard followed me from Takumi’s, got ahead of me, then laid in ambush. I should’ve noticed him. Maybe I did . . .’

‘How’s that?’

‘He was wearing some kind of uniform. I’m pretty sure the bastard was in a vehicle alongside mine at one point. It’s when I was talking to you about what happened at Takumi’s. Hate to admit it, Rink, but I was kind of distracted. I made a mistake dropping my guard like that.’

‘Hey, we’re not all perfect. Even I made a mistake going after Chaney.’

‘Maybe I shouldn’t complain, then? Not if even you are fallible.’

Rink grunted, almost a laugh.

‘At least he tried for me this time and not one of the others. I’m happy about that.’

‘You enjoy being shot at?’

‘Helps keep the blood moving, Rink.’

‘So long as it’s not moving across the goddamn floor.’

There was a ruckus from outside, the sounds of vehicles, men and women shouting, some officiously, some not. San Francisco’s finest were on the scene.

‘Look, Rink. I don’t see a way out of this other than cooperating with the cops.’

‘You’re gonna tell them someone tried to put a bullet in your head? You know where that’ll lead them: right back to the murders again. They’ll demand answers this time, Hunter.’

‘They can demand all they like. I’m going to tell them about the wasp that flew in my open window, and how I’m frightened of the nasty little critters.’

‘Yellow jacket,’ Rink corrected me. ‘We call them yellow jackets here.’

‘Whatever they’re called it buzzed right by my ear and out of panic I lost control of the vehicle.’

‘And that lame story would work for you with the cops over in England?’

‘Probably not, but it’s all Gar Jones will get from me. Something
did
buzz by my ear, so I’ll be able to make it sound plausible.’

‘Except he’ll know you’re talking bullshit.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, considering how fond Detective Jones was of the term. ‘What could I be looking at here, if he tries to push things?’

‘Just hope that nobody was killed or you could go down for ten years.’

‘I’m pretty sure there was no one injured.’ I thought about the truck driver and how I hadn’t heard anything from him after the collision. Hopefully he was OK, but if not then I’d have trouble keeping quiet about the shooter. That was something I would rather avoid, because it would ultimately lead back to Yukiko and the events of forty years ago. ‘Otherwise I’m going to have to go with the Fifth Amendment. What’s he going to do, rubber hose the truth from me?’

‘Last I want is you locked up, Hunter. You came here to support me and my mom, I never expected you’d end up in this crap.’

‘If it happens, it happens. I’m not going to say a word that will get your mom in trouble – the problem is, I’m kind of stuck now for getting to Takumi in time. I can’t guarantee he won’t speak once he comes round.’

I heard talking in the background, Yukiko saying something, but Rink placed his hand over the receiver and I couldn’t make out her words. When Rink came back on seconds later, there was something in his voice I didn’t like. ‘I don’t think we need worry about Takumi, Hunter. He’s kept the secret all these years, and he’s not going to say anything now.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘My mom’s just taken a call from Melissa. Sorry to tell you this, brother. But everything you did was for nothing. Takumi was pronounced dead on arrival at hospital. The bastard got another one of them.’

Chapter 19

The rental car was a complete wreck. All I took from it were a couple of discs I’d slotted into the CD player when Rink wasn’t around: Howling Wolf and Doris Day – talk about two opposite ends of a spectrum. Then I rooted around with the tip of my fingers and dug the bullet out of the upholstery in back. I dropped it surreptitiously in my pocket so that the guy from the auto shop didn’t see, then went to scrawl my signature on the obligatory paperwork. While he was busy processing the documents, I excused myself and returned to the car. A little pushing and shoving later, and I managed to yank free my SIG; I concealed it under the tail of my jacket. Thankfully, Homicide Detectives Jones and Tyler were still tied up at Takumi’s place, and it was down to regular patrol cops to deal with the multiple pile-ups: if I was lucky the detectives would never hear of my involvement in the smash.

When I walked away I wasn’t doing as well as when the cops had put me through their sobriety tests earlier. Back then I could walk in a straight line, but I was still riding on adrenalin. Now, a couple of hours later, my muscles were cramping up and it felt as if my spine had been replaced with rubber. My head was thumping as well, and not all of it was down to caffeine withdrawal. I wondered if I’d suffered whiplash during the crash. I’d been thrown all over by the numerous collisions and vaguely remembered my head rattling around. Somehow, I thought, the pain would get worse before it eased.

On foot, I crossed to a drugstore and stocked up on Tylenol before seeking the solace of a nearby Starbucks. After the cops arrived on scene and we’d gone through the obligatory tests, I’d been interviewed into a notebook, where I’d made no mention of the mystery shooter. The cop had slapped me a ticket of some kind that I shoved in my pocket. It looked as if my ‘wasp defence’ wouldn’t get me out of this one, but, because there were no casualties involved, I wasn’t looking at prison time. I didn’t expect that any charges would actually be laid and this would end up a matter for the respective insurance companies involved. Because there had been no hint of an actual crime, I wasn’t arrested or the vehicle searched, so my weapon didn’t become an issue. No one came forward to report hearing a gunshot, or seeing the shooter, but that didn’t surprise me: any bang following the gunshot would have been lost among the racket of the subsequent collision.

Left to my own devices, I’d hailed a tow truck to remove the rental from the shop front, before calling Rink with an update. I told him I’d get a cab back to his mom’s place, but he was adamant he was coming to fetch me. When he gets that way, it’s pointless arguing. I told him which auto shop was towing me and to look for the nearest coffee shop to it.

On entering the coffee shop, I’d caught a couple of uneasy looks from the barista, and I’d made my apologies for my state of dress, telling him I’d just been in a car wreck. After that he was more sympathetic and offered me my first coffee on the house. I made use of the bathroom, washing the soot and blood from my face, and was a little more presentable when collecting my coffee. I splashed it with some half-and-half to add a hint of colour then downed a trio of painkillers. The first cup barely hit the sides of my parched throat. I ordered another cup but went without whitener this time.

I sat nursing my brew while I waited for Rink to come and collect me. All of the tables were taken so I was sitting on a stool in the window, but that suited me. I’d see when Rink arrived. There was a narrow ledge to settle my cup on and I dumped the CDs beside it, hiding Doris under Howling Wolf: my street cred protected. The bullet I’d prised out of the back seat was a weight in my pocket that niggled at me, and, though it probably wasn’t the ideal location for an examination, I dug it out. Bouncing it in my palm, I concluded that it was a standard nine mm commercially produced round. So what did that mean? It reinforced my theory that the shooter wasn’t a pro and more likely to be some punk who’d got his hands on the first available handgun. But then I had to consider the sound suppressor fixed to that gun, they weren’t readily available, which meant he had some kind of connections.

I thought of the clothing the man was wearing. Recalling the jacket and cap, they both were emblazoned with motifs or badges, though too far away for me to identify. It struck me as a uniform, but not one I was familiar with. It was similar to a cop’s uniform but that wasn’t it. Could it have been the uniform of a security company? Some private security guards carried sidearms, and were often ex-cops or military personnel, with possible access to contacts capable of supplying a suppressor. Then again, men of either profession would most likely have done a better job of shooting me. They’d have waited until I was adjacent to them, then shot through the side window where there was less chance of missing, before firing off a few more rounds to make sure I was dead. The man who targeted me had done so in a rush and afterwards he’d made himself scarce before the cops arrived. Considering it was a good half-hour following the crash before I was back out on the street, there was a firm possibility the gunman was unaware he’d missed killing me. If that was so it gave me a distinct advantage.

I peered through the coffee-shop window, wishing that Rink would hurry up, because the advantage would only last for so long. Pretty soon my would-be killer could check on the number of reported casualties and realise his poor excuse for a hit had failed.

My second coffee was finished and a third on the shelf by the time Rink pulled up outside the shop. His usual mode of travel tends to lean towards sporty model cars, but he arrived in a modest saloon. I watched him climb from it, as languid as a big cat. He caught admiring glances from a duo of office girls walking by. Rink winked and flashed them a grin that was pearly against his tawny skin. Beats me why the girls found him attractive: dressed in a bright orange bowling shirt with alternating cobalt blue panels down the front, he made my eyes sore looking at him. Rink never fails to amaze me. Visit his home, his office, or anywhere else associated with him, and you’ll see a space so minimalist that you’d think he’d never moved in. But when it comes to his choice of clothing and flashy cars . . . well. No one would guess he was in mourning.

But then, first impressions can be deceiving and Rink was living proof. He came forward, hitching his jeans on his lean waist. His hooded eyes cut through the glare off the window and settled on me, and I saw his grin slide back to be replaced by the face of a man in grief. I held up my cup and got a shake of his head in reproof.

‘You want a refill?’ he asked, grabbing a bottle of something from a cooler as he came inside.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ I said, downing the dregs of my current cup.

‘Gonna have to peel you off the ceiling before long,’ he said.

Rink believes I drink too much coffee. He’s probably right, but it’s one of the few comforts I’ll allow myself in an otherwise spartan lifestyle. That and the occasional Corona are my only vices these days. He came back from the counter with his bottled smoothie and another brew for me. He settled them on the shelf and dragged a stool closer. I saw him regard the CDs then use a thick finger to shove Howling Wolf off Doris Day. He raised an eyebrow at my choice in music. OK, so I have more guilty pleasures than coffee and Corona. Call me a sucker for ‘Secret Love’ as well.

Settling on the stool, he angled himself so he could get a view of who was coming and going through the door. I had also instinctively sat so that no one could surprise me with a sudden appearance. Perched dead centre of a plate glass window wasn’t ideal when there was a gunman out there, but how else would I be able to watch the road and buildings opposite? Not that I expected trouble here; it was like I’d assumed already, that the killer had bailed long before the cops showed up.

‘I think it’s time we step things up a notch.’ Rink twisted the cap off his smoothie and leaned back to drain the bottle. He placed the empty bottle on the shelf, then gave me a quick glance, wondering at my silence.

‘It’d be a little easier if we knew who we were up against,’ I said.

‘I vote we go find out.’

‘Yeah. I agree. But who’s going to tell us? Your mom’s already made it clear she has no idea who’s behind this.’

‘Now that Takumi is dead, there are only two other guys who know what happened back at Rohwer. I think we should start with them.’