Demon City Shinjuku: The Complete Edition (9 page)

“Whoa, you got me. I'm a four-hundred-year-old
tanuki
from Kabuki-cho,” he said, referring to the lecherous shape-shifting raccoons from Japanese fairy tales. “I'll take the lady, if you don't mind.”

A bad joke like that should go over anywhere, but he was wrong. The girl screamed again. The bartender yelled and rushed him, swinging the blade down from above his right shoulder.

Kyoya dodged to the right, unleashing a sweeping kick to the man's solar plexus with his left leg, checking the force of the blow.

He doubled over with a grunt. Kyoya reached around his back and wrenched the sword from him, then turned him around to face the others, using him as a shield. There was no need.

The guy with the gun restrained his companions. “That was a Shorin Kenpo turning kick, something I do know a little about. No way any monster around here would.” He tucked the gun into his belt. “Our bad,” he apologized. “We're a little on edge, you know? I'll buy you a round. The Moon wine's good.”

“I appreciate it. But I'm a teetotaler these days. Got any Deimos beer?”

The name notwithstanding, Deimos beer was a soft drink made on the Martian moon. A mineral mined only on Deimos lent it its special taste and properties. For the past five years, it had beat out even Coca-Cola in sales. It was a favorite of Kyoya's.

“Sure, we got that,” said the bartender. “Let go of me and I'll get you one.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Kyoya released his hold.

“This way,” said the bartender. To the guy, “That's okay, you'd better stick with Yuko-chan.”

The guy returned to the table where the girl was sitting. Kyoya sat down across from the bartender, who set a glass topped with the green liquid down in front of him.

“There you go.”

With a soft hissing sound, the bubbles gathered into a head. Kyoya downed it in a single swig. The cool liquid tingled all the way down to his stomach.

“Man. That hits the spot.”

“Yeah? Well, due to our little misunderstanding, it's on the house. But I'm still gonna have to ask you to leave as soon as possible. Things are going to get real iffy around here pretty soon.”

“What that other guy said. You expecting to mix it up with a monster?” Kyoya's eyes glowed with a fearless light. He was itching to get down to business with the demon element around here.

“Well, you sure look like an outsider, but this is Shinjuku. The last thing you'd expect is the first thing you should expect, things you're better off not knowing about. So you should get going while the going's good. Keep on going down the street out front and you'll run into Waseda Boulevard. Take a right and after a twenty-minute walk, you'll end up in Takada no Baba. You can find cheap lodgings there.”

“That's cold, man. I'm a coward, see. When the sun goes down, my feet turn to jelly. Chase me out of here now and I wouldn't be able to take another step.”

“How'd you get here in the first place, then?”

“Closed my eyes. With a little light to guide me, though, I really come on strong. You saw, right?”

The bartender shrugged. He jerked his chin at the young woman. “What's after that girl, no bunch of chopsocky is gonna stop.”

“And what good's some antique handgun and a bunch of sharpies a quack surgeon wouldn't bother with?”

The bartender flashed a look of annoyance at Kyoya's quip, then smiled. “You're a strange one. So what exactly can you do?”

“Leave it to me,” Kyoya said with an exaggerated nod. “Jesus Christ at your service.”

The bartender sighed. He must be thinking the kid was some sort of scatterbrained thug. He said under his breath, “Fine. I'll let you in on it. Because once you hear what I have to say, you'll be running home to mama.”

“I'm sure I will,” he said, as surely as he knew he wasn't.

The bartender leaned on his elbows and said, “That bunch over there, they work at a supermarket down the street. Good people, especially the girl in the middle.”

“Nice looking, too. What, she a D-cup? What's her name?”

“Yuko Sano. Hey, you're too young to look at women like that. Well, whatever. She is a babe. And just to keep our facts straight, that's a double-D.”

Kyoya grinned. “And?”

“What it looks like. Hot-to-trot youngsters like yourself going in there and just
looking
. Lately there's been more punks in the neighborhood than regular folks. Gives the place a bad feeling, you know?”

“Figures.”

“But Yuko-chan don't give a damn about any of them players. She's got her own true love, Susumu. The kid who picked you out before.”

“Well, I'm jealous.”

“They're gonna get married and run the shop together. Their friends got their backs. Sure, they all wanted Yuko for themselves, but they're stand-up guys when it comes to doing the right thing. Nobody's looking to cuckold Susumu.”

“Yeah, but a man's still a man. Old-fashioned chivalry is rare these days.”

The bartender answered with a fierce expression. “They may be young, but they got better character than you. Anyways, a month ago, Yuko-chan got a strange letter. Like that old parchment, you know, made out of animal skins or whatnot. The letter says:
A month from now, we will come for you. You cannot run. You cannot hide. Speak of this to no one
. No return address.”

“Got it. And today's the day? That's kind of a leap, isn't it? Thinking it was a monster at work?”

The bartender rolled up his right sleeve and showed Kyoya the inside of his upper arm. “As soon as she read it, the letter attached itself to her arm, right here. Nothing can remove it. The doctors say it's sheepskin, all right, and it's been assimilated right into the arm. They'd have to remove the flesh to get it off. So there it stays.”

He added in a hushed voice, “I've been running this establishment since the big earthquake. Ever since, every month, a pair of girls go missing, minimum. And there's a definite pattern. Some young babe gets a letter just like Yuko did. Then no matter how many cops and bodyguards, exactly a month later, she goes missing.”

“You don't say.”

“Fact is, nobody knows what the hell is going on. Nobody in charge is talking. The rumors say that five years ago the daughter of a gang boss in Yotsuya was targeted. He stuck by her side, surrounded by a hundred of his heavily armed henchmen. What do you think happened?”

“I'd hazard none of 'em were ever seen again.”

The bartender nodded, which surprised Kyoya. Nobody had a sense of humor in this place.

“Not hide nor hair,” the bartender said under his breath. “It's been going on nonstop ever since. Every time, no matter what steps are taken, nobody can protect the targeted girl. No matter where she ran, or where her parents might hide her—every attempt to leave Shinjuku would be mysteriously frustrated—on the appointed day she would disappear. Nothing but a monster could pull off something like that.”

“Sure sounds like it. But has anybody actually seen them in action?”

“They have. But whenever any try to talk about it, they get hit by bad luck or an accident, so they keep mum. According to the story I heard, on that day at three in the morning, a funeral wagon pulled by a skin and bones black horse comes for the girl. And the coachman is—”

“The Grim Reaper?” Kyoya grinned at the image. “A letter written on parchment, a funeral wagon at three in the morning—whoever's behind it must be old school in a big way. Sounds like something a crazy man would concoct.”

The bartender said sullenly, “Just because it's a rumor don't mean it's not true. He ain't carrying a sickle, but he sure as hell is the God of Death, all dressed in black and all. Nowadays, the sound of a horse's hooves is a bad omen. When the time approaches, everybody in the neighborhood of a targeted girl closes the shutters and bars the doors and waits for the danger to pass. It's harsh, but that's what fear does to people.”

“It's the smartest thing to do. But why aren't you? Go out on a limb for her, and you'll go down with it when it's sawn off.”

The bartender flushed with rage. “As soon as Yuko-chan saw that letter, she knew her fate was sealed, 'cause I'd told her what I just told you. From then until the day before yesterday, she kept it to herself. Didn't say nothing to nobody. Her parents died in the Devil Quake. And if she told Susumu, she knew he'd die defending her. Didn't see any reason for more pointless deaths. Susumu only found out because one day when they were all out together, he noticed the letter on her arm. Nobody's so cold-hearted that they could run away saying it didn't have anything to do with them. Even when they came here to talk about it, she cried and said she didn't want to get me involved in something like this. She wouldn't put her own self ahead of us. As long as there's a girl like that left in a city like this, there's still hope, you know? There's no way we can let the likes of you waltz in here and do as you please, no matter what the odds.”

The bartender paused, and added in a barely audible voice, “Fact is, I've got a thing for her myself.”

“You're a good man,” Kyoya softly replied.

He slid off the stool. The bartender held out his hand. “See you around, kid. I know we haven't known each other long, but keep the little bar in your thoughts.”

“Save the goodbyes,” said Kyoya, waving off the handshake. He picked up Asura from where he'd leaned it against the counter and turned to the table where the four others were sitting.

“Hey!”

“Don't worry, don't worry. Good intentions, okay? There's nothing you can do for her. Leave it to me, old man.”

He spoke in a purposely loud voice. The four looked at him with surprised expressions. Susumu said in an angry voice, “What are you doing here? Get your jollies somewhere else.”

Kyoya calmly stood in front of him and clapped him on the shoulders. “Take it easy. A hot-blooded man has got to know when to play it cool. That's what the girls fall for. You're a popular one, I bet. Got a whole harem on the side, eh? C'mon, you can tell me. Don't hold back.”

Yuko looked at Susumu with sad eyes. “Is that true?”

“D-don't be silly. He's joking, he's joking! Hey, what's your problem?”

Kyoya got a chair from another table and sat down next to Yuko. Ignoring Susumu, he took her slender hand in his. The letter was fused into the fleshy part of her upper arm, above the right elbow, covering about four by six inches long of skin. Just as the bartender had said, dark red letters were etched into a charcoal brown background.

“The blood of a lamb on lambskin,” Kyoya muttered. “Still doing it the medieval way. The Demon Realm sure isn't one to embrace progress.”

He placed his right hand on the letter and closed his eyes and swiped his hand down her arm, as if brushing off a piece of lint.

“Ah!” Yuko cried out, her voice shaking the heavy gloom. “It's gone. Not a trace left!”

“I guess that means you're free. Congratulations.”

Four pairs of eyes stared at Kyoya in amazement. He smiled like a craftsman being praised for his wares.

“How in the world did you do that?” said the bartender. “Who are you?”

“Like I told you, I'm an exorcist.”

“You said you were Jesus Christ.”

“Either way. The techniques I use to help people are industrial secrets. Don't ask me who I am. No time for explanations, except that the bad guys use this letter to home in on the victim, like a GPS tracking system. Erase it and Yuko-chan should be safe. They'll grab me instead.”

They all stared at him.

The way Kyoya planned it, he'd disguise himself as Yuko and steal into the enemy's hideout. He had no idea who'd be waiting for him there, but they were kidnapping young women in order to perform some sort of human sacrifice, so he was pretty sure the Sorcerer would reveal himself. He'd turn the tables and grab him instead, bust a few chops and get the mark of the
Nidom
deleted.

However, he had to wonder about the odds of sneaking into the heart of enemy territory and making it out alive. Or whether that would even save the president's life. What would become of the world afterwards was beyond a high school student's knowledge.

“Well. Sorry about this, Yuko-chan, but perhaps I could borrow your blouse and dress? I'm not exactly the feminine type. I'll need a disguise. Not like it's gonna fit. No matter, I'll just drape it on. Maybe some lipstick and go heavy with the face powder? We're talking about a bunch of hell beasts, not like they could tell the difference. Wait a minute—I'm making this way too complicated. You got a jacket or something I could wear?”

“In the back room. But with the letter gone, there's no reason for them to show up here.”

“Yes, that would be a problem. Which is why I got it right here.”

Kyoya rolled up his sleeve. Everybody gasped again. The abominable parchment was affixed to his bicep. As Yuko wordlessly watched, he glanced at his watch and said, “It's ten to three. My ride should be arriving. Give me your jacket. What are you looking at? Am I that scary?”

“No.” Yuko shook her head back and forth. “No. But who are you? Why did you come here? Why are you trying to save us?”

“The old man put you up to this?”

“Naw. Truth is, I'm a sucker for any babe sporting an impressive pair like that.”

Kyoya grinned like a wolf. Susumu struck a threatening pose. Kyoya paid him no mind. Instead, he presented his right cheek to Yuko. “I'll take a payment in kind.”

As expected, Yuko turned to Susumu. Seeing his flustered state, she made up her own mind, flung her arms around Kyoya's neck and gave him a smooch on the cheek. The image of only one face rose up in the back of his mind—long hair hanging down to the waist, tears welling up in earnest black eyes even as she held them back.