Yashakiden: The Demon Princess, Volume 2 (20 page)

“As for the charges. Pretty serious stuff. Comes down to bumping off five brokers in Arakimachi and bombing a daycare center in Kamiochiai.”

“That is pretty serious stuff,” Setsura conceded, staring up at the ceiling of the car.

Six months before, a certain “Mr. T,” a currency broker, was gunned down in Arakimachi along with four of his associates. It seemed cult-related. Their bodies were riddled with 9 mm parabellum rounds and then devoured—except for the heads. The corpses—or rather, the leftovers—were scattered across the interior of the business like a carpet of red roses.

The wise guys in Shinjuku's Nichome—”crime central”—offered up a healthy reward for the thugs who'd bombed the daycare center. If word got out that Setsura had voluntarily turned himself in, even as a suspect, the hundreds of bounty hunters on the case would be mad enough to spit fire.

“It hadn't occurred to me that I might be a homicidal maniac,” Setsura observed blandly.

Endou laughed in a hoarse voice. “Yeah, you keep your nose clean. Threw me for a loop too. And yet you climbed in here without a fuss. But I figured that's because you and the squad leader go way back.”

“Thanks.”

Endou addressed his fellow officers. “I hate to keep harping on this, but you've got the wrong guy.”

“The idea didn't just pop into our heads,” the younger of the uniformed cops said. “The Chief authorized the APB himself. Just following orders.”

“It's not like it's our job to go around picking up innocent people.” Endou patted him on the shoulder with his club-like fist, hard enough to wrinkle the cop's body armor.

“Yeah, that's enough,” said the driver, who'd been quiet until now. “We're almost there. But I've never heard the Chief give a direct order like that, not in the last ten years. Still, strange things have been going on lately.”

“What kind of strange things?” Setsura leaned forward.

The driver glanced up at the rearview mirror and coughed. He did his best to mask his state of mind when looking at Setsura's face. “Oh, this and that.”

“What kind of this and that?” Setsura asked again, looking at the driver in the rearview mirror.

“Hey!”

Endou reached over and grabbed the steering wheel. The vehicle was riding up on the shoulder of the road. The driver tore his eyes away from the rearview mirror.

“Sorry.”

“No problem. I'm not surprised, what with this lady-killer in the back.”

“Yeah.”

These two were rugged and battle-tested. The two in the back, holding onto their seats for dear life, looked like they were about to lose their lunches. That kind of lily-livered reaction disqualified them as candidates for the mobile police. They had to have the nerves to blow away a water demon passing as an exact replica of a human, based only on gut instincts only. The kind of
savoir faire
to take a smoking break in a room full of dynamite and casually flick away the burning match.

Before Setsura could resume his questioning, the shadow of a rectangular building eclipsed them on the right. The closest police station, Totsuka Station.

Setsura walked willingly into the holding cell on the first floor. Along with the X-ray machines and metal detectors, prisoners were administered special drugs to exorcise any demonic beings lurking inside them.

The monkey cages were at the very back of the station, located behind three heavy steel doors. The isolation cells were reserved for the most violent criminals. The bars were made from high-tensile alloy steel, each over an inch in diameter. The foundations consisted of hardened concrete as resilient as a Cold War era atomic bomb shelter.

Setsura had gone along with the charade this far in order to smoke out his enemy and force them to make the first move. What the raven told him at Nuvenberg's house and the behavior of the police right now fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

The mayor's secretary had turned the Chief of Police, but for some reason he hadn't ordered Setsura killed on sight. Perhaps because that was an order few cops would obey. In any case, now that he'd been confined here, he intended to wait out the assassins sure to come when night fell.

There were plenty of other things to think through in the meantime. Takako's condition. Her mother's. What Yakou and his gang were up to. What Mephisto was up to. Mephisto had always been an unknowable quality. When he got like this, it was hard not to think he was a lot closer to
them
than he was to
us
.

Setsura hadn't told him about being bit, but he couldn't count on Ryuuki or Shuuran not to spill the beans. When that happened, there was no telling how Mephisto would react. He sensed it wouldn't be pleasant. So he kept mum. But his current situation meant he had to leave everything else to Mephisto's discretion.

The only step he'd taken was to ask Endou what time he got off work, and ask him to stop by with a care package. Endou was agreeable to the proposition.

The next few hours passed without incident. Then Endou appeared, accompanied by a guard carrying a shotgun. “Long time, no see,” he joked in a strangely formal tone of voice. He stood in front of the cell, pretty much blocking the view.

Including the isolation cells, shared cells and the holding pens, there were fifty monkey cages in the Totsuka Station lockup. Thirty were single-occupancy. There weren't many concerns about housing petty thieves and purse snatchers together. The reason for the disparity was the large number of criminals who would just as soon kill their bunkmates as say hello.

Setsura's first-class cell was one of ten, five on either side of a narrow corridor. Oddly enough, he was the only one there.

“Here you go,” Endou said, holding out a paper bag.

Setsura looked inside and smiled wryly. Thick, baked
senbei
. Tea in a styrofoam cup, the kind sold at fast-food joints.

“The squad leader told me once that
senbei
was a specialty of yours. The driver got the tea. He says it's good for you. He added to give him a call if you're in the mood for a jailbreak.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Setsura said with a nod.

In another context, the gesture might have been taken for that of a spoiled scion who'd never broken a sweat in his life. Even the jail clerk was a bit taken aback.

“The sun sets soon,” said Endou, glancing at his watch.

“That concern you?”

“Ah—” He hesitated. “The driver didn't get around to saying it, but I know where he's coming from. One way or another, nighttime around here is just plain scary. When you see that fat red ball of the setting sun, you can't help but feel a chill down the spine. Hey, laugh if you want, but what's going on right now is a first for me.”

“Just you?”

The commando cop grimaced in response to Setsura's question. The rugged man shook his head. “Back at Division, I brought up the subject in a roundabout way. I'd say it pretty much applies to everybody.”

He looked at Setsura. At some point, the handsome prisoner had taken a bite out of the
senbei
.
An innocent man—
the realization struck Endou like a blow to the back of the head. This young man belonged to a completely different species. He was a magician possessed by a fierce and supernatural spirit.

Endou broke out in a cold sweat.

“I've tasted better,” Setsura said in a carefree tone of voice.

It was enough to break the spell holding Endou. The crunching of
senbei
reached his ears. “Not to your liking?”

“They're using low-grade rice, probably cast-off material diverted into the black market. The baking temperature wasn't carefully controlled either.”

“Yeah, businessmen don't take pride in their work anymore.”

“I wouldn't blame the businessmen. Selling is their job. This is a manufacturing problem.”

There was something vast and indeterminable in the young man's remarks that made the commando cop hang on his every word. The jail clerk was equally entranced.

Perhaps wishing to wash the bad taste out of his mouth, Setsura downed the tea in a single gulp. “Hey, can I ask you something,” he said to the jail clerk.

“What?” Enthralled, the clerk blinked. The sternness in his voice was entirely forced.

“Any unusual changes in the disposition of my case?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing from the Chief?”

“There was a call from Division a short time ago. A team from special investigations was coming to take custody. And that will be that. Par for the course.”

“How long ago?”

The clerk checked his watch. “Say, thirty minutes.”

Setsura turned to face the door. The two men looked back at him. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

“What?” asked Endou.

As if in answer to the question, a light above the secured entranceway to the cell block lit up. A buzzer sounded.

“Speak of the devil. We have visitors. I'll give you your coat when we hand you over.”

“Stop.”

“What?”

Endou and the jail clerk eyed the
senbei
shop owner suspiciously. The clerk stepped forward to unlock the cell. He scowled, his body came to a halt, spun like a top, and was flung down to the end of the corridor.

The door to the cell block slid open to the right. Led by another officer, four shadows slipped inside the cell block like a pool of ink oozing around a jam. One of them, pushed by their escort, whipped out a billy club and slammed it against the back of his head. The cop collapsed quietly to the floor.

Endou pointed his right hand down the corridor. The laser gun attached to his arm hummed on its turret, aiming at the chest of the first assailant.

The shadowy hand of the assailant spit fire. Endou sprawled forward. The action seemed at once natural and somehow awkward. But the bullets zipped over his head and thudded into the wall.

A red beam shot up from the floor intersecting both the man's chest and the wall behind him. As his back belched fire and blue smoke, the man lowered the muzzle toward Endou. Endou threw himself to the side. Sparks erupted from the concrete floor where he'd just been.

He braced himself against the ricochets pounding into his helmet and shoulder pads and steadied himself to return fire.

A strange scene unfolded before his eyes.

The narrow corridor forced the assailants into a single file. The arms and legs of the first two dropped off like sliced radishes. Blood gushed from their gaping mouths. Endou caught the flashes of light off their grossly elongated canines.

Undeterred by the ghastly fate of their companions, the two behind them advanced, pressing their hands against their torsos in order to stanch the gushing black blood. Their faces pale, their lips alone red—the faces of demons.

They sprang forward a good ten feet. As the first one swooped down on him, Endou grabbed him by the lapels, planted his heel against his chest and sent him tumbling backwards. The man tucked in his head and rolled, lashing out with his foot at the back of Endou's head.

The loud thud that followed was not a crushing contact with his head. As soon as Endou had crossed his arms in a defensive measure, a blast sent the man flying.

The jail clerk who'd been thrown to the end of the corridor had returned with a shotgun.

The assailant flipped over Endou's head and pancaked onto the floor. Endou went into a protective crouch. He had no naïve expectations, even though each shell contained nine explosive pellets. The fuses lit upon impact. The explosive force was equal to a hand grenade.

The jail clerk shouted. The man was getting up, hands pressed against his chest, his body disintegrating on the spot.

“Don't even think it, buddy,” Endou said, assuming a fighting stance.

Then he realized that the man wasn't looking at him. Setsura was standing next to him. The door of the isolation cell was open. The lock was severed as if by a hot knife through a stick of butter. The last assailant was splayed out on the ground next to it. His head sat several inches away from his stretched-out arms, like a football player who'd leapt forward to make a catch and missed. The mouth opened and closed silently, mimicking a stranded fish.

“So you expected nobody to be armed in here? Ah, some people never learn.”

The second he heard Setsura's voice, the remaining man's determination wavered. As he bolted for the door, his back split open like an overripe tomato. Dark blood sprayed out. He pushed through the door and took off.

“What the hell is going on?” asked the jail clerk with wide eyes, cradling the shotgun. “Assassins?”

Endou checked over the man's head and torso, and then pulled an ID from his suit coat pocket. “He's a special investigations detective from Division.”

“What—what is it?”

“A vampire?” asked Endou, looking up at Setsura.

Setsura didn't answer the question. He said, “Just say exactly what you saw,” and walked toward the open door.

“Hey, wait—” both men called out at the same time.

The comely figure stopped and looked back at them.

“You gotta get back in the cell,” said the jail clerk, leveling the shotgun.

“How'd you kill them?” the command cop asked. “You must have been packing some kind of heat.”

“Sorry, but I can't stick around,” Setsura said to the jail clerk. To Endou, “When we parted ways in the lobby, I left my weapon in your pocket for safekeeping. When you came with the tea and
senbei
, I retrieved it.”

Endou reflexively reached into his pocket, but stopped himself. This was why Setsura had asked when he got off patrol. Knowing that it was before sunset must have been a relief. That was when the vampires came out.

“What if I'd gotten involved in a case and was delayed? I'm just a cop in the mobile police, after all. Trouble is my business.” A startled look of self-realization rose to Endou's face. It gradually dissolved into a more enigmatic look. “Yeah, I see—you—you didn't have any doubts—you're a helluva confident man. Because you knew loverboy would be chomping at the bit the whole time.”