Watching the well behaved audience of reporters, Crawford wondered again at how Takatori, who couldn't handle one skittish teenager, could so well manage a crowd. Sometimes he thought Reiji had some talent. A variant of empathy, perhaps.
There would be some editorial disapproval. The left naturally disliked Takatori's agenda. The women's magazines disliked his lack of a wife and family to gush over, or at least a glamorously elegible bacherlorhood. But the journalists who'd come to scoff at the law-and-order politician who employed a thief, found themselves listening, with as near respect as they got, to someone who'd been betrayed by a family retainer. Crawford wondered what the Fujimiyas, who were, when it came down to it, of bluer blood than the Takatoris, would have felt about that.
This was merely a preliminary to one of Takatori's standard nationalistic, law and order speeches. Takatori liked to keep Schuldig out of the way for those. It wasn't only that he was so obviously unJapanese, it was that his face never seemed quite right while Takatoi was talking about needing respect for authority. Besides Crawford's Nisei heritage, he impressed with his air of competent professionalism.
Takatori concluded this speech as usual, by proclaiming himself a man of Japan, first and foremost. He was independent of either international socialism or international finance.
Crawford tensed when the journalists crowded round asking questions afterward. Crawford's politics might need Reiji Takatori. His talent simply couldn't be persuaded that outstanding pain was necessary to the health or happiness of Brad Crawford.
As the chaos didn't seem to be ebbing, he caught the eye of one of his more intelligent subordinates and nodded.
Towards the back of the crowd a rough looking fellow started threatening Takatori and waving a revolver. The gun was unloaded. Takatori had thought a few wild shots would add nicely to the effect, and had even been prepared to offer the names of a couple of papers he wouldn't mind seeing lose a reporter. Crawford, however, preferred no shooting at all.
Smooth looking guards hustled away the roughneck, who was shouting Communist slogans at the top of his voice. That last was a nice touch. Crawford hoped the guy wouldn't have to be shot while escaping, he didn't like wasting a good tool.
More guards hustled Takatori to his waiting car. Crawford didn't need Schuldig to tell him a few of the reporters would be pretty sceptical, but they would be glad of the simple, dramatic story to print, and they would print it.
Perhaps Takatori's gift wasn't psychic, after all.
Takatori frowned at the car. One of the guards said deprecatingly, "Jaeger-san took the limousine."
It was experience, not precognition, which made Crawford decide to skip the scene he could see coming. "With your permission, Takatori-san, I will stay here and check things out." Which things, both he and his employer knew, was Takatori's reports to Essett.
One thing about Takatori, thought Crawford, sitting in Takatori's comfortable desk chair and stretching out his legs under the wide desk. He didn't use dinky little furniture. He was feeling more charitable with the politician than he had for some time when the most private phone rang. It was either the Palace, the Prime Minister, or Takatori himself.
Not surprisingly, it turned out to be Takatori. He was pleased with himself. A prominent opponent in the House had rung up to offer his sympathy.
Crawford was so relieved it wasn't a Hirofumi or Masafumi disaster it took him a moment to realise this could be the most important gain of all. "That was good of him."
"'Course, I told him where to get off. He's just trying to rub it in. I remember..."
Perhaps it would be easier just to have Takatori proclaimed Emperor.
Takatori's grumbling voice finally tailed away, and he rang off. Crawford hung up the telephone in a calm, careful and controlled manner. He just refrained from taking a bite out of the receiver.
Sometimes he thought he and Schuldig weren't enough. Coping with the Takatoris' enemies was easy enough. He and Schuldig could handle any physical enemy -
There was a sharp twinge in his temple. Real, stereoscopic in-colour prevision was short term, generally within five minutes. However, Crawford had hunches sometimes. He'd learned to listen to them.
Then there could be someone out there the two of them couldn't walk over. Worth knowing, but Crawford had no more idea about them than that. He was confident he could deal with them when the time came.
At the moment he was still more worried about coping with the Takatoris themselves. What he wanted was someone to help him cope with office work, handle computers, deal diplomatically with Elders and other megalomaniacs. And, if it was superhumanly possible, rein in Schuldig.
Talking of the devil's henchman...
As if summoned by Crawford's look at the office door, Schuldig limped through. He'd lost his bandana, his sunglasses and much of his composure. Crawford had already had time to get over his surprise, but he had to ask, "What were they? And how many?"
"Reporters. And more of a mass than a multitude." Collapsing onto the nearest chair, "Wasn't that suicide note a bit much?"
Crawford smirked slightly. "If Fujimiya junior won't be of use in one way, then he will in another. This crime took place too near to Takatori to keep him out altogether. If he can't be the avenger of his innocent servant, he can be the victim of a crooked one. Not that any publicity is good for Takatori."
"He's got the clout to weather a lot worse than that."
"I suppose you'd have blown up the whole family?"
Schuldig returned his smirk. "And invited Takatori to watch."
Crawford picked up a piece of paper scrawled with a distinctively awful kanji Schuldig recognised. He winced even before Crawford spoke. "Well, I'm giving you your free rein on this job. Masafumi's latest toy is showing signs of remembering who she was before he got his hands on her. Under all this self puffery," he hefted the paper to show how heavy it was, "he admits he doesn't know what he's doing and wants you to bail him out."
"The family motto."
"Schuldig!" Crawford had warned him before. They couldn't be sure they weren't being overheard by someone who spoke German. They didn't even always speak German, finding themselves speaking Japanese unintentionally. Another of the joys of telepathic language dumps.
Schuldig took the paper and read its backhanded scrawl easily, which is a lot more than some professors of Japanese literature would have been able to do. Masafumi Takatori might depart from the normal doctor in some respects, but he had the bad handwriting part down pat.
His sharp voice sharpened further, to a whine. " Right away? But, B- , Massuh Crawford, suh, I gotta help the Fujimiyas pack to go back to Hokkaido. They'll be leaving in a couple of days. Otherwise, you don't know how long it'll be. You don't want the widow hanging round proclaiming hubbie's innocence to all and sundry, do you? Specially since it was you who so discreetly left her alive?"
Crawford thought it over. He didn't really think the widow much threat. Schuldig could always arrange for her to go over the edge from shock. But Schuldig was getting a bit bored and on edge.
Schuldig had watched the red-headed kid with more interest than he'd shown anything lately, apart from pure mischief. If he had a couple of days to play around with someone who wasn't Takaori's bought tail, he'd do better work afterward. And Crawford would have to listen to a lot less whining.
The last was probably what induced him to say, "Well, a couple of days won't hurt. But see the Fujimiyas are gone by then. All of them!"
"How about a week?"
Crawford didn't need telepathy to read Schuldig meant to extend that week if he got it. "Top. After that it's over."
Perhaps someone to keep Schuldig amused was the more urgent.