It was near midnight and Torako sat at Osaka's kitchen table, running the plan through her head to avoid falling asleep. The door to Osaka's apartment opened and Tomo padded in.
"Whew, it's getting chilly," she said, as she walked toward the kitchen.
Torako, sitting in Osaka's merry and tastefully decorated kitchen, barely made a passing glance at Tomo. "Where are your clothes?" she said.
"I'm wearing them," Tomo said.
Torako pointed to Tomo's t-shirt, splotched with the faded pattern of an unfunny sit-com that was canceled mid-season, and her boxer shorts.
"Hey, I live next door," Tomo said, taking a seat. "No big deal. Where's Osaka?"
"She ran out of tea leaves and insisted on running down to the curb store to buy some for us," Torako said. "She should be back shortly."
Tomo picked up Torako's notebook and scanned the contents. "Wait, so we don't talk to them? Just go straight into arrest mode?"
"Yep," Torako said.
Tomo arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. She turned a page. "This is pretty well thought out," she said.
"Yeah, but it assumes too much. Your guy has to be telling the truth, and the two suspicious people will continue to..." Torako trailed off as she searched for the words.
"Keep showing up," Tomo said. "You sound exhausted."
"I don't understand why you aren't," Torako said. "This morning was awful, and then karaoke took a lot out of me. I wish I had half your energy."
"You're just old," Tomo said. She folded a leg underneath her, swinging the other one. "How are we going to recognize the guys when they show up?"
"I'll explain that when Osaka gets back," Torako said, not wanting to tell Tomo that she looked up Jichiro on her own. Torako put her hands on the top of her head and interlaced her fingers. She studied Tomo, and decided to plunge straight into the next subject, the one that had been bothering her since the night they took Monsieur Chien to Asagi's murder scene at the hotel in Ueno.
Torako did the best she could to appear bored. "I noticed Osaka moved the pictures when we came over to eat today."
Tomo, who had been swirling the notebook around like a malfunctioning Tetris piece, stopped and snapped her head toward Torako. "I thought we said we wouldn't talk about that," she said in a low voice.
"We're not," Torako said. "But I'm going to say something. You're going to listen."
Tomo's shirt swelled and dipped with her breathing.
"I'm not going to dig into your private life if you don't want to talk about it. I'm not going to guess why you hid them from me. I'm going to assume you, Osaka, and the girls in the pictures were close. So, I'll say this; in the past year or so since Osaka returned, has she asked you about those girls?"
Torako paused, to wait for an answer or interjection from Tomo. None came, so she continued.
"Has she even mentioned them?"
Torako unraveled her fingers and leaned her elbows on the table. "Do you not think that's the least bit odd? Maybe you need to be the one to talk to her about them?"
Tomo continued her course of non-responsiveness.
"That's it," Torako said.
"Good," Tomo said. "Because you're stupid."
"Wake me up when Osaka gets back," Torako said, laying her head on the table.
...
Earlier that day, Chief Akiyama sat in his office, made stagnant by the closed door, the sealed window, and the shut blinds. He loosened his tie and let the ancient leather recliner take his full weight while he toyed with the idea of taking out his bourbon.
Thelonious Monk was mumbling from the phonograph speakers while his piano made staircase music around Charlie Rouse's eyes-forward tenor sax. The chief, worn out by another wretched day of criminal (and bureaucratic) malfeasance, let his thoughts drift around the music. He felt that odd, false nostalgia for a time he was too young to remember, always brought on by the post-bebop era of Jazz. The Century Series of jet fighters had the same effect.
Monk was Beethoven if the later had lived long enough to write more than thirty-two piano sonatas. A critic once complained that Monk played wrong notes, to which Monk responded by saying that a piano doesn't have wrong notes. Well, in Monk's hands-
"Chief! Chief!" Akiyama jerked out of his reverie as his door burst open, a young office worker gripping the doorknob while he leaned forward and defiled the chief's inner sanctum with his presence.
"What."
"They're back, chief. They broke the vandalism case. They got a wagon bringing in the perpetrators!"
Chief Akiyama stood up and walked toward the ancient phonograph machine. He removed the needle from the record. "What, they can't come up stairs?"
"They're overseeing the suspects being brought in. And, uh... maybe you should go outside and take a look."
The chief walked back behind his desk and opened the top drawer as if it was a cold chamber at a mortuary. He pulled out his prescription antacids, and with one smooth motion popped off the top and poured two tablets into his mouth. He threw the bottle back into the desk after pushing the top back on, and slammed the drawer shut.
"Thanks," he said, as he pushed past the baffled office worker.
...
The convenience store vandalism had exploded into near crime spree proportions the last two days, with several stores being targeted at once, restricting the normally ready tap of police response to a drizzle. The vandals had graduated from baseball bats to explosives, resulting in millions of yen of damage with each attack. The chief had assigned several investigators under Torako and Tomo to help them break the case. Normally, he would be delighted to hear that it had been broken so soon, but having to go outside to see the two fell into the definition of a bad omen.
He exited into the early evening light, saw the two detectives, and knew that he'd have to refill his prescription sooner than expected. A crowd of officers and investigators, murmuring amongst themselves, followed him. Normally there'd be an overflowing of praise and congratulations, but no one wanted to step forward to offer it. It wasn't because of the detectives' dour expressions and exhausted postures, as if they had just won a campaign led by King Pyrrhus. It was because Torako was coated in ash, and Tomo was wearing the bottom half of a violently plaid horse costume.
The chief stood in front of the two with his hands in his pockets. Torako lit a cigarette, snapping her chrome Zippo shut and dropping it in her coat pocket. The lit cigarette, with its wisp of curly smoke, was like a smokestack rising from the sooty Torako.
He took stock of his two detectives. Torako looked no more bored than usual, but Tomo glared into empty space and wouldn't meet the chief's eyes. This was a startling development.
The chief cleared his throat. "Where is your car?"
Tomo jerked her thumb at the black slab of Detroit iron parked behind her. "There," she said, her voice constricted with anger.
"That's my second question," the chief said. "How the hell did you two end up with a 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T?"
"Commandeered it," Torako said. The cigarette bobbed on her thin lips.
"From a friend," Tomo said.
The chief closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He pulled his hand away and blinked. "Okay, back to question number one. Where is the Honda Civic Type-R? Your department assigned vehicle?"
Both were silent for a while, and then Tomo said, "It's coming."
"You two need to speak up," the chief said. "I'm told you guys busted the vandalism case. Great. Now stop acting like kids in a detention center and tell me what went on. Where's the car?"
"It's coming," Torako said, her cigarette bobbing. "Chief, could we just put it in our report? I don't want to talk about it."
"We don't want to talk about it," Tomo said.
The murmuring ripple from the office workers roared to a high tide. The chief palmed his forehead in an exaggerated display of astonishment. "Don't want to talk about it? Seriously?" He pointed at them in preparation to launch into a blistering tirade, but was interrupted when he saw a tow truck pull into the parking lot. Towed behind it was the car in question. A deep, metal-rending gash ran from the driver's door to the back passenger door. The front bumper was missing, and the rear lights were shattered. The trunk displayed an impressive collection of bullet holes.
The tow truck parked next to the crowd. The driver poked his head out of the open window and addressed the chief with an amicable smile.
"Hey, can I use your bathroom?"
"No."
The driver's smile turned to vinegar. He punched a button, dropping the Civic onto the parking lot. It bounced once before rippling still. He hopped out of his tow truck and began to unravel the hooks and latches from the car.
"Let's take a look," the chief said. Torako and Tomo's hesitation to follow him lasted just long enough to appear disagreeable instead of insubordinate. They stood a respectful distance behind the chief while he circled the car, surveying the damage.
"Why wasn't this taken to the shop?" he said.
"Wouldn't accept it," Torako said, her bobbing cigarette mocking the chief like a juvenile delinquent flipping off the school counselor. The chief snatched it from her mouth and dropped it on the parking lot. A twinge of shame welled up inside of him, but Torako showed no reaction.
"Why not?" he said. "It may cost a little bit, but all I see it needs is new lights, a new bumper, a new trunk, and these two doors replaced."
The tow truck operator told him he was leaving, and asked him to sign a minutely typed paper sitting on a clipboard. When the chief obliged him, he drove out of the parking lot.
The chief walked closer to the car, peaking into it by way of his hands folding a corridor over the window. He stood in that position for nearly thirty seconds.
"Why is the backseat filled with cream corn?"
"Don't want to talk about it," Tomo said.
The chief turned around to face the two. Tomo was still staring angrily off into the distance. Torako lit another cigarette.
"Okay, it needs the back seat cleaned of cream corn, then. Big deal. It'll be good as new."
"I don't think so, chief," Torako said. This time, she took the cigarette out of her mouth to speak.
"And why is that?"
The hood to the Civic popped open, and a parade of clucking chickens jumped out onto the parking lot. Feathers floated in a halo of corn-fed filth while the twelve hens clucked and pecked at the ground.
The chief didn't bother to look behind him. "The engine's gone, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Torako said.
"It wouldn't do any good for me to ask what happened, would it?"
Torako shrugged.
The chief sighed. "Okay, write up a report. Do it now. I'll read it, but I swear this." The chief held one commanding finger to the two. "If I have any questions, you will answer them. None of this I don't want to talk about it. Clear?"
Both answered yes sir.
"Good. Now clean yourselves up."
Torako and Tomo slowly made their way through the crowd, heading toward their police headquarters while Torako muttered something about going to the shower. The chief ordered his secretary to call animal control immediately, and to get the chief mechanic on the phone and demand they pick up the car.
The chief became more and more angry watching Tomo and her plaid nightmare of horse pants. "Takino, take that thing off."
Tomo turned to face the chief. "I can't."
"Why, is it stuck to you?"
"No, I'm not wearing anything underneath," Tomo said.
"Why not?"
"Well, we ran out of chocolate syrup and the catapult-"
"Get the hell away from me," the chief said.
Tomo proceeded to get the hell away from the chief. She turned to Torako and said, "Tonight, whatever you do, don't ask to see Osaka's bug collection."
...
Torako stood in front of the drink machines, yawned, and debated calling Tomo again. It was 11:50, and she had yet to appear for their stakeout of the Saigo Takamori statue.
Torako was tired, and she wondered if even Tomo was tired. They broke the vandalism case yesterday, ending it in a white-knuckle hell of high-speed chases and PIT maneuvers. Torako wasn't sentimental, but she regretted the fate of the maroon Honda Civic. It was bad enough its engine exploded, but the chickens and cream corn was an insult it should never have had to bear. Good thing the chief didn't open the trunk, Torako thought. No amount of "I don't want to talk about it" would get them out of that predicament.
The use of the Challenger was a happy accident; the parking garage where it was stored was in the neighborhood, and Osaka gave her blessings on using it. The question of why Osaka, of all people, had this roaring metal coffin of Detroit evil was studiously ignored. It had a Hemi V8, allegedly topping at 425 horse power. Shortly after starting it, Torako quickly realized it had been modified and altered far beyond its specs. A quarter mile in less than nine seconds simply isn't natural. If the frame and suspension hadn't been reinforced to racing specs, the car would have torn itself apart.
Unfortunately, it's a forty-year-old American car, and her skilled opponent escaped in his own modified Skyline. The nimble vehicle cut maneuvers the Challenger was too heavy to attempt, and flew between obstacles the Challenger was too big to take. The driver would have escaped, if the detectives working under Torako and Tomo didn't manage to cut him off and force him to take the highway. There, the Challenger entered its natural element; the straight path. No amount of nitrous burning could escape the grinning specter bearing down on the panicking criminal. Then Torako had to fill out the report, clean up, go to Osaka's house to eat…
Okay, snap out of it. Torako rubbed her eyes. I need to get into the now, she thought, not yesterday. She took a deep breath, and looked around her.
The last several days of clear sunny weather gave Ueno Park a needed face-lift. The dismal puddles had flowed back into the Earth's cistern. The chill autumn wind swept away the mud sliming the walkways. The leaves dressed in crimson war paint, prepared for their final mad assault against the cold hard ground.
Osaka was in eyesight, standing in front of the statue of Saigo Takamori. She was drinking hot chocolate from a brown disposable cup, the cap sealed tightly because of her accident-prone nature. The lunch crowd milling around the statue made Torako nervous. She wanted a clear path toward Osaka in case the plan went wrong, although there may not be a plan if Tomo doesn't show up.
Torako checked her watch. 11:51. She lit a cigarette, mostly to have something to do besides check her watch every minute. She would try calling Tomo again in five minutes.
...
Osaka opened her door and greeted Tomo and Rico in her kind and cheerful manner. Tomo's furtive glances around Osaka's clean but cluttered living room cut like a canyon through her rudimentary greetings, trailing off like an inept boy scout on a camping trip.
"I heard you and Torako solved that vandalism case today," Osaka said.
Tomo stiffened. "Don't want to talk about it," she said.
"Oh, okay," Osaka said. "By the way, did you hear about that shaved goat they found-"
I don't want to talk about it, I said!"
Rico's eyes glazed over the instant he was hit by the smell of nostalgia. He floated toward Osaka's kitchen.
"Osaka," he said. "It smells just like my grandmother's!"
"Don't get all carried away," Osaka said. "I never made moqueca before, so I'm going to need your expert opinion."
Rico went to the stove to check the pot while Tomo and Osaka followed him. He lifted the lid and made appreciative hoots of pleasure while Osaka gave him a spoon to dip in and test.
He was like a young boy with his brother stealing tastes from his grandmother's pot. He groaned in pleasure. "Fantastic," he said.
Tomo leaned against the edge of the sink, her arms folded. "Why do you have to make all those gross noises? It's kinda perverted if you ask me."
Any number of comebacks concerning Tomo's use of perverted flooded his head, but he held back the deluge in deference to his host. "You should try some of this before you start tossing scorn everywhere," Rico said. He smacked his lips while his eyes moved upward in thought. "A little too much cilantro, but it won't kill the dish."
Shortly afterward, Osaka greeted the freshly scrubbed Torako. When Torako entered the kitchen, she and Rico began their elaborate greeting ritual with a high five and ended it with a fist bump.
"Stop wasting time feeling each other up," Tomo said. "It's time to eat."
"Hello to you to," Torako said, taking her seat.
Osaka was laying out the dishes, big bowls for the moqueca and a smaller one for the rice, while Rico and Torako conversed. Tomo eyed Torako warily.
"Well, you cleaned up nice."
"Yeah, I had to use some industrial soap," Torako said. "I still smell like smoke, though."
"So you smell normal then, is what you're saying."
"Osaka, may I look at your bug collection?" Torako said. Tomo harrumphed in anger.
"Sure, I'll get it out for ya, just one second." Osaka retreated to her bedroom.
"I told you not to ask her," Tomo hissed at Torako. "And you," she said to Rico, "can stop grinning."
"Can't," Rico said.
"What, watching me suffer is so great?"
"You gotta be so dramatic about it?" Torako said. Unlike Osaka, Torako had little patience for Tomo and Rico's continuous marital disputes.
Tomo jabbed a finger in Torako's direction. "Look at this! A conspiracy to bring me down! Oh, the humanity!"
"Here's some buganity," Osaka said, entering the kitchen. She held a thin glass case with specimens artfully arranged, lacquered, and pinned.
"That's an impressive display of... bugs," Torako said, inspecting the collection. She heard snickering from across the table, which she ignored. "Those two are different than the rest, though. What are they?"
"This one is named Squishy," Osaka said, pointing at an indiscernible lump of viscera and wings. "This one is Stompy."
Torako pointed at a beetle with a broken leg. "Which one is that?"
"James Wilkes Bug," Osaka said. She pointed at a yellow curl near the bottom of the glass display case. "This is one of those bugs that pretend it's a leaf. I ain't never seen one that looked like that before."
Torako bent down and peered at the target of Osaka's explanation. "That's not a bug, that's a potato chip," Torako said.
"What? Really?" Osaka viewed the chip with eyes shining in newfound admiration. "A potato chip disguised as a bug. What will they think of next?"
"Can we eat now?" Tomo shouted from across the table.
...
Torako was ready to pull out her cell phone when she heard Tomo's voice from behind her.
"Hey Torako, sorry I'm late!"
Torako turned around, ready to issue chastisement, but stopped when she saw the black and tan Monsieur Chien sniffing in her direction.
"You brought the dog," Torako said, a wide frown splitting across her mouth. "Why did you do that?"
"Hey, I figured we could do with some backup," Tomo said. "And if he recognizes the scent from the hotel room, well, that's a bonus, right?"
Torako shook her head. "Tomo, he's not an attack dog. He's a scent hound. Don't you dare let go of his leash."
"Hey, don't worry about it, don't worry about it," Tomo said, flapping her hand at the wrist. "I know what I'm doing."
Torako reached into her pocket to light a cigarette before remembering that she already had one in her mouth. She held it and asked, "How did you get him from Mr. Ichiro?"
"Oh, he had to go to Tokyo Airport to help inspect some new beagles they got in. Some lame office worker was filling in, didn't even want to be there. I didn't even have to sign for him. Anyway, enough of that." She looked toward the statue. "Where's our gal Osaka?"
"Don't draw any attention," Torako whispered. "We're supposed to be strangers."
"Yeah yeah, I know, don't worry about it. Geez, you worry."
"One of us has to," Torako said. She viewed Monsieur Chien with disdain as he lay down on the cold concrete.
...
"Great meal!" Rico said. His bowl contained the remains of his third helping. "I hadn't had a good moqueca in years."
"Quite tasty," Torako said. "Well done."
"Yeah, it was okay," Tomo said. "I mean, it's not as good as Japanese cuisine, but really, what is?"
"You just keep talking," Rico said, peering at Tomo from behind his sharp, pointed finger. "Keep it up."
"I'm glad everybody liked it," Osaka said, "I didn't plan much for an encore or whatnot. I guess we can play cards or a board game."
"Hah, there'll be none of that feeble old stuff tonight!" Tomo said. Osaka leaned toward Torako and said, "Feeble?" Torako shrugged.
"Because tonight," Tomo said, her voice as loud as her grin, "we're going to karaoke!" Tomo ejected herself from her seat and produced four tickets from inside her coat. She held them aloft, two to a hand, like a miraculous collection of aces in a late night poker game.
"Oh my god," Rico said. He leaned back into his seat and groaned. Torako's practiced indifference collapsed into a look of serious dismay. Osaka, however, hoisted a triumphant fist and nodded her head in preparation of future karaoke satisfaction. "That's a great idea, Tomo," Osaka said. "I can't hardly wait!"
"See! Osaka's totally into it!" Tomo put the tickets back into her coat and walked over to Osaka, patting her on the shoulder. "Let's tear 'em up, girl!"
"I ate too much to sing," Rico said, weakly patting his chest. "I'll get indigestion."
"Ha! Gluttony is no excuse! Let this be a lesson to you young padawan, so man up and get ready." Tomo sprinted toward the door and stuffed her feet into her shoes. Osaka followed, her face slathered with a dreamy smile. Predictably, Torako and Rico doddered in their seats.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Tomo said. "Don't make me late, there'll be hell to pay. Like, fifteen hundred yen. A piece. I'm talking to you, Rico, and don't try to hide. I know where you live."
Rico sludged out of his seat. "Fifteen hundred yen? What karaoke is worth that much?"
"Ichi-tan's Palace of Karaoke, that's what. Now chop-chop."
Osaka fell backwards as she tried to work her boot onto her foot. Rico took the wise route of making his wife happy and held his grumbling in check as best he could.
"Need to make a phone call," Torako said, lifting herself out of her seat. "I'll meet you guys outside."
...
"That's the guy," Torako said. Tomo watched as a tall man, wearing a Giants baseball cap and dark shades, sat on the bench at the side of the statue. He was wearing a navy blue anorak with the hood tightened over his head. He had an attaché case sitting next to him.
"That's not a lunch box," Tomo said. "Are you sure it's him?"
"And there's guy number two," Torako said, indicating a man dressed nearly identically, also in a baseball cap and dark sunglasses, although he wore a brown cloth jacket instead.
Torako pulled out her civilian phone and texted Osaka, who was leaning on the iron fence surrounding the statue. She pulled out her cell phone, nodded at it, and then turned around and walked away from the fence.
"Let's get ready," Torako said, putting her cigarette in an ashtray. "Don't let go of him."
"I'm not, calm down," Tomo said. She headed toward the opposite side of the statue, blocking the walkway. Torako stood by the drink machines, watching Osaka.
Osaka turned around to face the statue. She put her cup of hot chocolate on the ground, and pulled out her camera, aiming it at the statue. The brown-coated suspect paid no attention to her or anything else. He idled toward the bench.
The man sitting on the bench stood up to leave, leaving his attaché case behind. With his hands in his pockets, he took short purposeful strides, keeping his head down. The second man closed in on the bench, and reached out to grab the handle of the attaché case.
Osaka screamed.
...
"Yeah! A seventy-two!" Tomo pumped her fist in the air while her voice echoed around the room. "Highest score yet! How's that big 'ol log of victory taste?"
The private karaoke room Tomo rented was small, cramped by a pink cloth L-shaped sofa and a cheap laminated table. The walls were pink, with a string of gold colored trinkets draped around the middle like the remains of a failed arts and crafts project.
"Do you have to shout into the mic?" Rico said, after taking a sip of his cocktail. "Besides, Torako made the highest score."
"An eighty-eight," Torako said. She leaned over the table, grabbed the half-empty pitcher, and poured more beer into her pint glass. On the smaller section of the L-shaped sofa sat Osaka, crouched over the LCD remote and using a stylus to scroll through lines of text in search of the next song she wanted to sing.
"That doesn't count," Tomo said, still talking into the mic. "That wasn't singing, that was talking. Why'd you pick that song? Eyes Without a Face? So stupid."
"Either that or Bowie," Torako said. "Only ones that fit my singing style."
"What, mumbling? Of course, it doesn't count anyway because you cheated."
Rico made an exasperated sound while Torako pulled out her phone to check a text message. The next song began to play.
"Rico, get up here," Tomo said. "This is a duet! And don't you mess me up, or I'll make you do it again. Take the first verse."
"Yes dear," Rico said, as he stumbled past the table and took the stage. The verse rolled across the screen, and Rico began singing in his wavering baritone.
"Ha sucker!" Tomo said, as she dropped the mic and ran back to the pink sofa. She plopped down hard next to Torako. "If you score less than fifty, you buy us all a round of drinks. So don't think about quitting!"
Rico's voice choked on a word, but he recovered and kept singing. He made a throat slitting motion when he met Tomo's eyes.
"See that!" Tomo said. "Violence against women! The swine!"
"We got another guest coming up," Torako said.
"Oh good, the more the merrier," Tomo said. She took a long sip of her banana daiquiri. "I figured you were inviting somebody. Who is it?"
The door opened and Kazumi Kondo, with her silver hair shining and her haughty eyes flashing, entered the room.
"Dammit Torako," Tomo muttered. Osaka lifted her head from the LCD remote, her hair sweeping across the screen.
"Torako, thanks for inviting me," Kazumi said, bowing toward her. She turned toward Tomo and feigned politeness. "Tomo, nice to see you."
"Thanks," Tomo said, crossing her arms.
Kazumi moved around the front of the table to the second part of the couch, sitting between Torako at the curve of the L and Osaka on the outside. Kazumi introduced herself to Osaka.
Osaka met her with a bright smile. "Can you field strip an M4 assault rifle?"
Kazumi's mouth remained opened too long for polite company. "No, I lack that ability."
"Good," Osaka said. She returned to her LCD remote and scrolled further.
Kazumi leaned over toward Torako and Tomo. "So, who's that singing?"
"Rico-
"My husband!"
"-Watanabe," Torako said. "Tomo's husband."
Kazumi and Torako made polite chitchat, with the occasional testy interjection from Tomo. Rico eventually finished his song to lukewarm and sarcastic applause.
"A sixty-one," he said to Tomo. "Your plan failed."
"It got you to sing, though, didn't it?"
"That was my third song!"
"Sorry," Tomo said. "The first two don't count."
Rico and Kazumi introduced themselves, with Kazumi commenting on his height and muscular build. Tomo grabbed Rico by the arm and pulled him down next to her, sitting him between herself and Torako. Torako scooted over to make room, so Kazumi moved over, bumping into the unbudging Osaka.
Kazumi said she knew what song she wanted to sing. She grabbed the extra handheld LCD remote, jabbed the screen with the stylus, and took to the stage. When Kazumi started singing, Tomo leaned across Rico, putting her arm around his neck to support her weight.
"Why did you invite her?" she said to Torako.
"The more the merrier," Torako said. Tomo scowled in response.
"I'm not telling you two to be best friends, or to even like each other," Torako said. "But if the two of you could stop clawing at each other for one day, well, the atmosphere at the office would be a tad less suffocating."
"So why's she here again?"
"So you two can learn to be civil around each other," Torako said. "Or at least come to an accord."
Osaka tossed her remote on the table, making a dull wooden clatter. "I found me the right song! I get to go next." She looked toward the stage and jerked backwards. "Whoa, where'd she come from?"
...
"Thief!" Osaka screamed. "He's stealing your bag! Police, police!"
Osaka cracked the air with her Kansai bombardment. Her fiery vocal assault stunned happy families taking pictures and officer workers on their lunch break, as well as the two suspects. One child started crying.
Tomo played her part, immediately rushing toward Osaka, Monsieur Chien in tow. Tomo pulled out her badge. "I'm a police officer," she said. "Where's the thief?"
"There!" Osaka said, jabbing an accusatory finger at the brown-coated man. Torako came in from the other side, prepared to back up Tomo if it came down to a physical confrontation.
The man in the anorak ran down the walkway into the park. Tomo pocketed her badge and immediately ran after him, Monsieur Chien joining the pursuit.
The man in the brown jacket grabbed the attaché case, and dove up the stairs to exit the park, but Torako stood in front of him and produced her badge.
"Fleeing the scene of the crime?" she said. "You need to fill out a report."
The man smiled like Harry Lime and ran toward the fence.
...
Osaka took the stage after Kazumi had finished her performance.
"Tear it up, Osaka," Tomo said between cupped hands. "Sing us some Round Table."
"Nah, I got something else," Osaka said.
Kazumi leaned in toward Torako. "Is Osaka really her name?"
"Nickname," Torako said.
"I can guess who came up with it," she said. "Before I forget, I'd like to thank you for inviting me. I appreciate it."
Before Torako could answer, a savage sonic assault of evil electric death terrorized the party. Osaka, posed so that her hair draped over her face, lifted the mic to her lips.
"OOOUAHHHAAA GWAAAARAA HAAAAAHRR," she sang. "MUWEAARRGAAHHAA NYAAAAGHA!"
"Oh come on!" Tomo shouted.
Rico began snickering before breaking into a full-bodied laugh. He held his sides as he leaned over the table. Kazumi pressed her hands over her ears.
"She's singing in white noise," Kazumi said, awe and disgust contorting her face. "What is that?"
Torako picked up Osaka's LCD remote and cycled through her selection. "Drudkh," she said.
"What?"
"Black metal. From Ukraine." Torako scrolled further, swiping the screen with her long aristocratic finger. "She's got Alcest and Mael Mordha queued up next."
"More metal? Ugh, why?"
"My guess is because they don't have any Los Tigres Del Norte." Torako noticed the confusion on Kazumi's face. "Don't try to understand it, it's Osaka."
"Hey, what's so funny?" Tomo said, grabbing Rico's shoulder and shaking it. "This is a disaster."
Rico sat up and wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes. "No it's not, it's awesome. Listen to her."
"Are you serious? She's a monster."
"Oh come on, that's a little too far."
"There you go standing up for her again," Tomo said, and the argument was on.
Kazumi observed the couple's bickering. "Are they always like this?" She had to lean in close to Torako, to avoid having to shout over Osaka's unique vocal delivery.
Torako was fixated on Osaka, and had to tear herself away to answer. "Pretty much," she said. "Don't worry about it. Their whole marriage is based around antagonizing each other. The day they don't argue is the day their marriage is in trouble. Annoying as hell, but..." Torako shrugged to finish her thought.
"Well, if it works for them, good," Kazumi said. She turned to watch Osaka and listen to her primeval caterwauling. "I don't know about her, though. She's weird. And a little disturbing."
"Nah," Torako said. "Osaka's a sweetheart."
...
Tomo shouted "Halt!" at the running figure, who dodged between the cringing park visitors while Tomo yelled for someone to stop him. Controlling Monsieur Chien was an added level of difficulty, as he brayed and pulled against his leash, nearly jerking it out of her hand.
The walkway was approaching a clump of azalea bushes that led into a grassy clearing, and Tomo's police instinct told her he was going to break for that. She decided to pull out her badge and shout commands at the civilians to stop him, so she reached into her pocket.
Monsieur Chien tugged at his leash again, and Tomo tripped on a crack in the concrete. Unable to get her balance with her hand in her pocket, the leash jerked out of her hand and she fell onto the concrete, rolling several times before coming to a stop. Monsieur Chien brayed and ran after the criminal in full speed, the dog's leather leash clattering against the walkway.
Tomo felt a dull throb enter her ankle, and warm liquid drip over her eye. She stood up, wiped the blood out of her eye, and pulled out her badge.
"Someone stop that man!" she shouted. The fleeing suspect glanced over his shoulder. He made a sharp left turn off the walkway into a clump of large azalea bushes, and Monsieur Chien bounded after him.
Tomo did the best she could to follow, being careful not to put pressure on her hurt foot. Her nerves began sprouting sensations of pain on her arms, head, and legs. Tomo pushed away people trying to help her as she stumbled toward the suspect's break-off point.
A man screamed in pain. An animal yelped and whimpered.
"Chien!" she shouted. She rushed toward where she saw the two disappear. She turned left, and beat through the azalea bushes.
"Monsieur Chien," she shouted. She pushed through the other side and saw Monsieur Chien lying on the ground, breathing heavily, with blood pooling around his neck. Blood was on his fangs.
Tomo dropped into the dirt, the pain receding into a minor note playing in the back of her head. She reached out to touch Monsieur Chien's head, but pulled away quickly when he tried to nip her. She did not see the fleeing suspect.
"Shit," Torako said behind her.
"Torako," Tomo said. "He got stabbed. Where- did you get your guy?" Tomo wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Got away," Torako said. "Are you okay?"
Tomo nodded.
Torako sighed, pulled out her police radio, and dialed into the Ueno frequency.
"Office down, K-9 unit, knife wound. Need veterinarian assistance immediately." Torako rattled off the co-ordinates listed on the radio's GPS, and looked around to give landmarks.
The smallest edge of fear was in Tomo's voice. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"
Torako pulled out her cigarette and lit it. She inhaled, removed the cigarette, and exhaled. "Yeah," she said. "Can't be helped."
"Good lord," a voice came from behind him. Two Ueno Park police officers showed up in front of them, where the grassy field began. Several people kept a respectful distance. Some parents tried to rush their children away from the sad spectacle of a bleeding dog.
"We got your message, ma'am," one of the guards said. "I put it in to the vet we use, but he ain't going to be here for a while." He looked down at Monsieur Chien. "I'm sorry, but the way he looks, I'm not sure he's going to make it."
The other officer leaned down over Chien. He reached out toward the dog's neck, but Monsieur Chien nipped at his hand too. The guard barely pulled it away in time.
"Someone help him," Tomo said.
"Ma'am, you look like you could use some help yourself," one of the guards said. He pulled out his handkerchief and gave it to Tomo. "Hold it to that gash there on your head. That might need stitches."
Tomo took the handkerchief and blew her nose on it. She shook as she watched the life pass from Monsieur Chien.
"I've got to help him," she said again, in a quiet, childish voice.
Irritation welled up inside Torako's stomach. She turned away and scanned the surrounding area. She heard people talking, and a trumpeting elephant in the distance. Tomo had seen people get hurt and even killed, and made jokes about it. But a dog gets stabbed...
Wait, Torako thought. An elephant?
Torako turned to the standing officer. "Ueno Zoo. Call their vet."
The standing officer snapped his fingers. "Yeah,
Doc Inoue! Why didn't I think of that?" He pulled out his radio and began rattling off the request. He walked around the perimeter of the clearing, keeping the crowd away while he waited for a response.
Torako continued to smoke the cigarette, and noticed the squatting officer peering at her. He stood up.
"You said officer down. Got a badge?"
With the cigarette dangling in her lips, Torako produced her badge. The officer glanced at it.
"This is outside your jurisdiction, ain't it? What are you doing here?"
Torako blew smoke. "My job," she said. "And apparently yours."
"Doc Inoue can't make it," the second officer said, returning from his peripatetic emergency call. "Some kind of breach birth with an orangutan or something. But there's a visiting vet from another clinic, and she's coming right over to fix this little officer up." The second officer switched a glance between his partner, who had turned white and was radiating hate, and the nonchalant Torako. He shrugged and walked over toward Monsieur Chien and squatted down over him, watching his shallow, pained breathing. Tomo jerked her head and stared at Torako.
"Torako," she said. "I can't be here."
Torako, who was staring at the speechless officer, turned toward Tomo. She was going to say something terse, but stopped when she noticed that Tomo herself was turning pale.
"You okay?" Torako said. She surveyed Tomo's damage: a bloody gash on her forehead, blood soaking the elbow of her coat and blood on the left knee of her pants leg. "I think you got hurt more than you realize."
Tomo shook her head. "No, I can't be here, I know who's coming. I can't... I can't see her."
Torako removed her cigarette and grimaced. "What?"
"I see 'em," the officer said. He pointed to a yellow electric cart with the insignia of the Ueno Zoo stamped on the side. The cart had the driver, wearing a blue jumpsuit with the Zoo insignia on the back, and the veterinarian, dressed warmly, and wearing a white lab coat. She hopped out of the cart before it stopped, carrying a large black bag.
She strode toward the group, her long black hair flowing behind her. "Where's the patient?" she said, and stopped short when she saw Tomo. A flash of anger crossed her face, while Tomo only stared upward, expressionless.
Tomo desperately wished she could be somewhere else, instead of being here, seeing Sakaki, for the first time in eight years.