Chapter Four: Best Enemy

That afternoon, the snow on the pavements had turned to slush. Tiny clumps survived, clinging to life in corners or around the bases of lampposts. They had lost the pure white of the night and the morning, turning a dull grey as it was tainted by the muck from the streets.

Youji and Sakai found themselves in Shibuya, walking around like good friends. As they navigated the waxing currents of the rush hour, Youji watched Sakai take in the faces of the people they passed. Every face was compared to the massive file in the cop's memory. If he saw the same person more than once, Youji knew he'd know.

Sakai smoked to keep the rest of his mind and his body occupied. Youji wanted a cigarette, but kept his hands in his pockets as he told his lies.

"She wants the written report in seventy-two hours."

"Three days? You said we'd have four."

Youji shrugged. "I guess my powers are waning. But that still gives our business enough time. One day to arrange the exchange, one day to get the money, and you can be out of the country by the time I make the report. Easy. By the time they figure out I was involved, I'll be packed and gone too."

"Where?"

"You let me worry about that."

Sakai stopped, dropped his cigarette, and ground it contemptuously beneath his foot. "I'll give you something to worry about, Kudou. We're being followed."

"Unless it's a gorgeous brunette in a short skirt, it's no one I know," Youji said.

Ken Hidaka wasn't exactly subtle. On a street of people whose entire look could have come from the same mould, a kid in a leather jacket with his hair in his eyes really stood out. Youji turned to examine a vending machine as if he had no other cares in the world, using the moment to watch Ken moving through the crowd with all the elegance and subtlety of a super tanker. For someone who looked as much like everyone else as Ken did, being this obvious must have been taking a lot of effort.

"Well, I think we both know he can't be with either of us. We'd have hired someone better at tailing someone than that," Youji muttered.

Sakai sighed. "You're right. This way."

Youji shook his head calmly and indicated the junction in front of them. "You go ahead," he said. "Maybe I can reason with him."

Sakai dropped back into the crowd without another word. He bobbed in and out of sight, riding the currents until he was swept into the side street to the left. Youji made no effort to follow the patterns, forcing them to part around him as he walked forward and stood at the junction. He opened his coat and let the cold breeze slip inside. Sakai was still in sight, peeping out from behind a phone box like a nervous child. Youji took off his sunglasses and his hat, stuck his hands in his pockets and waited for Ken.

Ken stopped in front of Youji. He put his hands on his hips and didn't speak. His eyes were waiting. His body was still, but like a spring waiting to uncoil.

"Let's make this look convincing," Youji said.

The Bullet Train hit him in the stomach. It certainly felt like the Bullet Train, it might just have been Ken's fist, Youji wasn't sure. He nearly doubled over, recapturing his lost air in a great gasp that hurt just as much as losing it in the first place. Someone nearby was screaming, but for all Youji knew, that might just have been him.

"Not... that... convincing."

Ken had to punch up to hit him, that was all that saved him. Youji stumbled backwards and the next blow went wide, though not through any effort on Ken's part. Youji hit Ken in the stomach, which knocked Ken back two steps but he looked like he'd forgotten he was supposed to feel it. He came forward again and threw his whole weight behind a blow that should have had Youji placing a lost and found request for his head. The only reason it didn't was because Youji knew Ken and knew the move. He blocked the iron bar Ken seemed to be using inside his arm and tried to save his friend the trouble of apologising for punching all the way through him by hitting Ken as hard as he could.

It nearly broke Youji's arm. His hand went numb all the way up to the wrist. Ken just had time to give him an angry glare and then crashed to the ground on his face. Youji thought that Ken had been hit in the head so many times that he ought to be used to it by now.

Sakai grabbed Youji by the arm. The street was suddenly empty as the crowds had vanished into the gathering dusk. Before Youji knew it he was half way down the street, away from the circle that was forming around his friend. No one had looked at them twice, and if the witnesses made statements to the police they might have seen any of five different men fighting. Kritiker would take care of the rest.

"What happened?" Sakai demanded.

"He hit me," Youji responded. "I didn't ask why."

"We have to split up," Sakai said. "Whoever they are, that'll make it harder for them to find us. Meet me back at your hotel in three hours."

Youji nodded. "I'll see you back there. Be careful."

"Thank you," Sakai muttered.

Then he was gone. Youji crossed the road, pulling his hair into a ponytail. Then he walked back to the junction and put his shades back on. He did up his coat and pushed his way through the people slowing down around Ken. None of them were doing anything to help, assuming someone else must have done something. When Youji knelt down, even the curious started moving. It wasn't their concern any longer.

"You alright, Ken?"

Ken rolled over. His eyes were half open. He seemed to be working out which of the Youjis he was seeing was the one he was supposed to talk to.

"Go to hell, Kudou."

He hauled Ken to his feet. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd done that too. At least there was no blood this time. Not much, anyway. The bruise under his hairline would be nasty, but he'd had much, much worse. He'd be hell to live with after this, Youji felt sorry for Omi and Aya. Well, maybe not Aya.

"Taxi!" Youji shouted.

The first one might have gone past if it hadn't been held up by a red sports car, giving Youji enough time to dump Ken in the back. "Take him to the nearest hospital," Youji said, giving the driver a handful of bills. "He slipped in the snow and hit his head."

"I really hate you, Youji," Ken muttered.

"I love you too, Kenken."

The taxi struggled away into the rising tide of traffic. Youji stood on the corner and watched until it was just enough blur of brake lights in the dusk. He looked at his watch. It was half past five. He stood on the street corner and rubbed his right hand, looking at the bruises left by his friend's head to protect a man he was going to kill. The plan that brought this about had been his own.

"I'm sorry, Ken," he murmured. "I'm sorry, Daisuke."

He replaced his hat, lit a cigarette and walked away into the dusk.