At nine o'clock the next morning, Alexis and Jigen were standing outside the storage company. They smiled and nodded at Katsu as he passed them on his way out of the building. He inclined his head politely in return, then waved down a taxi and hopped in. As the cab drove away, Alexis made a face.

"That was a little too close," she said grimly.

Jigen shrugged. "He didn't recognise us. That's the important thing." He pulled a set of lock picks from his pocket as they moved down a long, echoing hall towards the back of the building. "His locker is back here."

Alexis frowned. "How do you know?" she asked, looking behind them. There was nowhere in the hallway to hide, no way Jigen could have followed Katsu in such close quarters without being spotted.

"They keep records in the office," Jigen said with a smirk. He lifted the padlock on the door of Katsu's storage unit and examined it. "Cheap imports," he muttered to himself, pulling out a stainless-steel pick and a small tension wrench. In a matter of minutes, the lock was off, and they stepped into the closet-sized room.

The storage locker was nearly bare. A high window permitted just enough light to see by. Inside the locker was a table, a watering can, a plant mister - and the Tokyo Rose.

"Well," Alexis said, putting her hands on her hips. "That answers that question."

"Yeah, but it raises a whole bunch of new ones," Jigen said, tucking away his lock picks.

Alexis walked up to the little green plant. It looked so unassuming. "So this is what all the bother is about, eh?" she said, bending down to peer at it. She glanced over her shoulder at Jigen. "Should we take it with us?"

Jigen shook his head and pulled out a cigarette. "Bad idea," he said, lighting up. "We don't want to tip our hand."

"Well, we have to take something back with us," Alexis said. She dug her hand into the pocket of her heavy cotton jacket and pulled out an object that looked like a gold Zippo lighter.

"You still have that friggin' thing?" Jigen said, grinning. "It takes terrible pictures."

Alexis stuck out her tongue and snapped open the camera. "They're good enough for what we want them to do," she said, photographing the plant from a low angle. "Which is prove to Wakahisa that this plant wasn't stolen by your foxhole buddy."

Jigen snorted softly and leaned against the door frame. He watched Alexis as she took a few more pictures.

"That will have to do," Alexis said, sliding the camera closed and tucking it into her pocket. "Please tell me that we have access to a darkroom," she said, turning to Jigen. "I don't want to have to explain this to a one-hour photo shop."

Jigen nodded. "Yeah, there's a darkroom at the house," he said. Alexis nodded briskly and followed him out of the building towards the car.

There was, indeed, a darkroom at the safe house. Alexis knew only the very basic requirements for developing a colour photograph, and it was awkward working in the dark, but with Jigen offering advice from his position on a high stool in one corner of the room, the two of them managed to turn out three reasonably good prints. Alexis hung them to dry and murmured her approval as Jigen hit the light switch.

"Not bad," Alexis said, looking critically at the four-by-fives. The light from the red bulb cast an eerie glow over the photos. She leaned in and peered at each of them in turn. "I'll never be Mark Denton, but they'll do nicely."

Jigen raised one eyebrow. "Mark Denton?" he said, standing and moving to the door. He slouched in the doorway, lifting one long leg and resting his foot against the opposite side of the door frame.

Alexis glanced over her shoulder. "He's a British photographer," she said, smirking at Jigen as he cracked the door open. "Do you prefer Ansel Adams?"

"I don't follow photographers," he said, pulling out a fresh cigarette. He frowned at Alexis as she blew gently on the hanging photos. "Don't fuck with them," Jigen said. "They'll dry on their own." He lit his cigarette and blew a thin stream of smoke into the air.

Alexis tossed him a dark look. "Well, pardon me for being so bloody impatient," she shot back. "In case you hadn't noticed, your friend has less than two days left to live." She stepped towards the door. Jigen held his position, his leg blocking the exit.

"Do you mind?" Alexis said, tapping his knee with one finger.

Jigen watched her, smoke curling around his hat. He said nothing.

Alexis raised one eyebrow. "Well?"

Jigen lifted the brim of his hat with one finger. "Why are you doing this, angel?" he said softly.

Alexis blinked and stepped back. "Doing what?"

Jigen nodded towards the line of drying photographs. "Getting involved," he said, drawing on his cigarette. "You don't even know Goemon. What's in this for you?"

Alexis' heart throbbed furiously in her chest as she narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you not have enough to occupy your time without questioning my motives?" She tossed her hair, hoping that Jigen would mistake her nervousness for annoyance. "Just because I don't know him well doesn't mean I haven't any respect for him." She waved one hand at the photos. "Doesn't it bother you that he's been blamed for something that wasn't his fault?"

"Of course it friggin' bothers me." Jigen glared at her. "But I'm his friend. You're just -" He bit his tongue against the words, but it was too late.

Alexis glanced sharply at Jigen, her eyes flashing. "Just .. what? Just some stupid bint who doesn't know when to keep her nose out?" She growled softly. "I like a good painting as much as anyone," she said, her voice growing cold, "but I really hate an ugly frame."

Jigen studied Alexis for a long moment. She met his gaze defiantly, as though daring him to press the issue. At last, Jigen took a final drag from his cigarette and lowered his leg.

"Get the photos," he said, turning away from her. "We gotta bounce."

Alexis watched him leave, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She would be damned if she'd admit her motives to anyone, least of all Jigen. With deliberate slowness, Alexis gathered up the three photographs, all the while trying to even her breathing and slow her racing pulse. Slipping the pictures into a thin plastic envelope, she stepped into the hall and closed the darkroom door behind her.