Written By

Saki Aida

January 3rd

Blood Type: AB

I thought somehow, I’d finally exercise this year...but I’ve ended up doing nothing more than walk my dog.

Illustrated By

Chiharu Nara

Born: June

Blood Type: O

I’m currently wrapped up in a certain racing game. I’m terribly disappointed it doesn't have a soundtrack.

S Vol.3

S Vol.3-Split-ESU Vol. 3 © SAKI AIDA/CHIHARU NARA. All rights reserved. Original Japanese edition published in 2006 by Taiyoh Tosho Publishing Co., Ltd. English translation copyright © 2008 by DIGITAL MANGA, Inc./ TAIYOH TOSHO CO., LTD. All other material © 2008 by DIGITAL MANGA, Inc. All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the copyright holders. Any likeness of characters, places, and situations featured in this publication to actual persons (living or deceased), events, places, and situations are purely coincidental. All characters depicted in sexually explicit scenes in this publication are at least the age of consent or older. The JUNÉ logo is ™ of DIGITAL MANGA, Inc.

Written by Saki Aida

Illustrated by Chiharu Nara

English translation by Translation By Design

Co-Publishers:

Eiji Koide – Taiyoh Tosho Publishing Co., Inc.

Hikaru Sasahara – Digital Manga, Inc.

English Edition Co-Published by:

TAIYOH TOSHO PUBLISHING CO., LTD.

3-3-9 Nishikanda

Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo  101-0065

Japan

www.bs-garden.com

DIGITAL MANGA PUBLISHING

A division of DIGITAL MANGA, Inc.

1487 W 178th Street, Suite 300

Gardena, CA  90248

USA

www.dmpbooks.com

www.junemanga.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available Upon Request

First Edition: November 2008

ISBN-13: 978-1-56970-708-1

Other novels published by

JUNÉ

Only The Ring Finger Knows vol.1

The Lonely Ring Finger

Don’t Worry Mama

The Man Who Doesn’t

Take Off His Clothes vol.1-2

Cold Sleep

Little Darling

Ai No Kusabi – The Space Between

Vol.1- Stranger

Vol. 2-Destiny

Vol. 3-Nightmare

Sweet Admiration

S vol. 1-2

Gentle Cage

Immoral Darkness

Like A Love Comedy

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 1

"Why, if it isn’t Akira. Long time no see.”

The voice called out to him as he exited Golden Street’s gate, just a little way beyond Shinjuku Kabukicho. Masaki Shiiba stopped in his tracks as he acknowledged the alias name. His gaze fell on a slightly rotund middle-aged woman, who stood there calling his name.

“Mama? What are you doing in a place like this?” he asked.

The familiar merchant, whom everyone called “Mama,” was standing alone outside her store. It was nine o’clock in the evening, still early for this part of town, so there weren’t many drinkers ambling home yet.

“Exactly as you see—” Mama answered, “I’m touting my goods. But this place is totally deserted. Come on in, Akira. You’ll come inside for a drink, right? There’re free snacks!”

“Sorry. I have something I’ve got to do.”

“You mean you’re going for a drink at Nabe’s place again? Surely you don’t have fun in that stuffy old place? Come on inside.”

“I’ll come again another day,” Shiiba promised.

“You always say that, but you never do.” She tugged on his sleeve.

Shiiba pulled himself free and began walking away.

The narrow alley he came to was lined with old houses built with terraces. Every square inch of space was covered in boards and posters that advertised the various shops. The tiny snack bars had adjoining eves that were interlinked in a curious fashion. Everything was in poor shape—relics reminiscent of older days.

Shiiba stopped in front of one of the bars. When he opened the door and stepped inside, Watanabe, the owner, shouted a greeting from his place behind the counter. There wasn’t a single customer in the small, cramped establishment.

“It’s been a while. I thought you might have moved or changed jobs,” Watanabe said.

“As if I could, with the economy as it is,” Shiiba replied.

“Tell me about it.” Watanabe frowned and offered Shiiba a towel. “Civil service work is the best. I really regret quitting the detective agency.”

Shiiba smiled wryly. “I know you don’t mean that.”

He took out a packet of cigarettes from his top pocket. He knew that when Watanabe had quit the police force ten years ago, the man had left that hard, dirty life behind. Shiiba knew more than anyone that Watanabe had no lingering affection for his time on the force.

“You’re going to have at least one drink, right?” Watanabe urged.

Before Shiiba had a chance to reply, Watanabe had placed a glass of whiskey on the table. Shiiba lifted the glass up and examined its amber liquid. Thoughts slowly formed in the recesses of his mind.

Did this count as work? Or was it leisure? Every day, he donned the mask of Akira Shibano; every day, he lived Akira Shibano’s life. He wasn’t sure if he ever spent time as Masaki Shiiba anymore.

He had been in this area for about a month, investigating a certain case. Finally, he’d collected enough information and passed it on to the team inquiring into the recent incidents. Tonight would be the last night he would spend here.

His job was over, so Shiiba guessed right now must be his own private time. Telling himself that, he knocked back the whiskey. He was so tired—trying to work out what he was and who he was, at that very moment, was exhausting.

“Hey ‘Nabe, got any gossip for me?” he asked.

Even though his business here was over, Shiiba couldn’t help himself—his detective instinct was always on high alert.

Watanabe was one of his informants. Two years ago, Shiiba had helped clear Watanabe’s wife of drug charges. Since then, Watanabe had felt indebted to Shiiba. People with gang connections often came to his snack shop for a drink. Whenever Watanabe heard rumors of gun smuggling, he would pass the information on to Shiiba.

Watanabe had quit the force because he’d hated it, yet now, he passed on information to a young detective. Shiiba sympathized with Watanabe’s difficult position, and he didn’t want to probe the man unnecessarily. But he couldn’t ignore the valuable opportunity presented by using such a man.

Shiiba was employed by the Metropolitan Police’s Counter-Organized Crime Department, Unit Five (COC5), which investigated matters related to narcotics and guns. Shiiba had always been in COC5’s counter-arms division beccause he specialized in gun-related crimes. But for all of his hard work, he never saw the limelight. He never actually took part in apprehending criminals or seizing guns. Shiiba was a guns-specialist intelligence agent and, therefore, gathering information was the extent of his job.

The Counter-Arms Division was separated into teams: Incidents and Intelligence. The arrest and prosecution of criminal suspects fell under the domain of the Incidents Team. Shiiba and the other Intelligence detectives worked in the background. Their identities hidden, they infiltrated the various criminal underworlds, gathering information on who was holding guns and what the selling routes were.

There were times when they would become involved with the gangs, or uncover evidence by befriending hardened criminals. For that reason, they couldn’t tell anyone that they were detectives, they couldn’t carry police ID, and they always worked alone.

Watanabe shrugged. “Nothing. All my regulars have been going next door.”

“Oh, they have that big sign. It looks like a young person’s bar.” Shiiba picked the evening paper off the counter and browsed the front page. “All the kids must hang out there. It has that fresh, hip feeling. This area has really changed recently.”

During the height of the bubble economy, many shops went out of business as land prices soared. This area had turned into a ghost town for a while. In 1999, thanks to the passing of new renting laws, bars had begun to spring up again. However, even though several new shops opened up, many remained closed.

“That looks like bad news for you,” Watanabe said, indicating the newspaper.

“Yes. Up to three guns now. The bosses are really on edge.”

They were talking about a gun-related crime that had occurred last month. A young man, covered in blood, had been found collapsed under the Sofu-line bridge. He had been discovered by a white-collar worker from Edokawa, who was taking his dog for a walk that night. The man had dialed emergency services, and the injured victim had been taken to the closest E.R.

There had been bullet wounds in the man’s legs. The doctors immediately realized that his injuries had been caused by a gun, and they reported it to the police straightaway.

The young man was twenty-five. He had no permanent work, but he lived close by. When the police asked him what had happened, he said that he’d merely been testing out a gun when he injured himself. It had happened during rush hour, so the sound of the gunshots had been drowned out by the passing trains. That was why he had gone there for target practice in the first place. But when he had taken the gun out of his pocket, he’d accidentally pulled the trigger.

Just as he’d said, the police recovered cartridges on the scene. They knew that the man must have gotten the gun from an illegal source, but no matter how many times they questioned him, they couldn’t get any solid leads to follow up on—because the young man had ordered it off the Internet. One day, he’d gotten an e-mail from someone he didn’t know asking if he would like to buy a gun. He’d been attracted to the idea of owning a gun. A few days after transferring money to the stranger’s account, he’d been sent a real gun. The address had been from a free Internet e-mail account. When the police traced the IP address, they found out that it had been accessed from an Internet café in the city.

Four days later, the police recovered another bootlegged gun. Late at night, an officer on patrol had stopped three drunken men who were being rowdy. The officer asked them some standard questions. When he did so, one of them turned pale and ran. The officer caught him and then demanded he come to the police box. When the officer started to look through the drunken man’s bag, he pulled out what looked like a gun.

It was immediately referred to COC5’s Incidents Team, which interrogated the man on the spot. His story was similar to the other man’s. One day, he’d suddenly received an e-mail. The two recovered guns were made with the same materials, so the officers on the case decided that the two incidents had to be related. COC5 had started a full-blown investigation.

Yesterday, they had recovered another gun, which had been obtained in a similar manner. This time, it belonged to a twenty-year-old university student. Apparently, his mother had found the gun in her son’s room. She’d known that he was an enthusiast of model guns, but sensing that there was something different about this one, she’d taken it to her local police station to have it checked. There, it had been confirmed as another one of those black-market guns.

The three men didn’t know each other, and they didn’t frequent the same Internet sites. The only thing that connected them all was that e-mail. They had all paid 30,000 yen for their guns. The guns were far too cheap—even for illegal ones—but, surprisingly, each one was very well made. They shot with lethal force and, when tested, they met the same standards as professionally-made guns.

Discovering three illegal guns in the span of one month was big news. What really concerned the police was that all three men had totally clean records. None of them had been involved with any of the Tokyo gangs. They were plain, ordinary citizens. The pieces just didn’t add up. Whoever these guns belonged to, the owner seemed to sell to anyone who had the money.

Shiiba’s bosses had ordered all the Intelligence officers to make this case their top priority.

“Really bad news, selling guns to ordinary kids,” Watanabe commented. “Well, if people want something, then someone will find a way to sell it.”

“Nowadays, you don’t have to be Yakuza to get your hands on weapons,” said Shiiba.

Since 2003, the Metropolitan Police had recovered more guns from ordinary citizens than it had from Yakuza. Things had changed. In this modern day and age, it was far too easy for gun enthusiasts to track down real guns on the Internet.

Every year, over two hundred gun-related crimes were reported. However, in the past few years, the amount of recovered firearms had decreased. Those statistics probably didn’t reflect the fact that there were still countless guns hidden in Japan.

Shiiba had the feeling that the guns the police did find were only the tip of the iceberg. However, if the Metropolitan Police eased up for even one moment, the number of guns on the street would only increase.

“You want another?” Watanabe asked as he reached to take the empty glass from Shiiba’s hand.

“No, I—”

Suddenly, the door swung open. A few young men burst into the snack bar.

“What?! You want to drink in this dump?” one of them complained loudly.

“Why not? This is part of the real Golden Street, right?” another asked, trying to pacify his friend.

They were about five young men in total. They shuffled behind Shiiba and sat around the L-shaped counter. Each of them looked to be in their mid- to late-twenties. Shiiba could see from their bright red faces that they had already had too many drinks.

“Siiir. A bottle! Hennessy!” one of the men (who looked a bit like a hedgehog) rudely shouted to Watanabe. “Just leave some ice and the bottle here. We’ll do it ourselves.”

Watanabe didn’t even try to hide his distaste for these new customers. He put a bottle of whiskey and a bucket of ice in front of them. They didn’t wait for glasses, simply pouring the contents of the bottle into the ice bucket.

“Sasaki, driiiink!” they chanted, goading a large man.

Frowning, the large man said, “I don’t want to. I want to go next door.”

“Drink this. Then, we’ll invite you to Falsare’s VIP room,” another of the young men said persuasively.

That seemed to change the large man’s mind. “Really? Kuro, will you really get me in?” He visibly perked up, lifting the ice bucket.

Watanabe watched, thoroughly disgusted, as the large man started to down the contents of the bucket. When the young man had, quite impressively, managed to slug back the entire thing, his companions clapped and whistled in admiration.

“Well, ‘Nabe, I’m going home,” Shiiba said.

Nabe mouthed the word, “Sorry.”

When Shiiba glanced back at the noisy group of men, he caught the gaze of the large man who had just finished the whiskey.

As Shiiba was about to walk through the door, the large man shouted, “Hey, you! Wait! What are you doing? Running away?!” The man attempted to stand, but, due to all that alcohol, he was unsteady on his feet.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Shiiba apologized. He didn’t want to get caught up in any trouble.

Unfortunately, the man was too drunk to care. He grabbed Shiiba’s shirt and pulled the young detective back. Shiiba could smell the stench of alcohol on the man’s breath.

“You’ve been looking miserable since we came in here,” the man growled. “I don’t like you.”

Shiiba wasn’t stupid enough to start fights with drunks, but he wasn’t going to let himself get beaten up, either.

“You’re imagining things. I apologized, didn’t I? Let me go,” Shiiba calmly ordered, pushing the man’s arm away.

The man’s face twisted up, and he clutched Shiiba’s shirt in a tighter grip. “You bastard.”

The young man named Kuro tried to smooth things over. “Sasaki, leave it.”

He had been the one who had persuaded Sasaki to drink all that alcohol in the first place. He stood up and approached them, but Sasaki didn’t seem to notice. The large man pushed Shiiba back until he was draped across the counter.

“Sasaki, come on now...” Kuro said.

“Shut the hell up! I—ugh!”

Sasaki wasn’t allowed to finish. Kuro had him in a headlock in an instant. A metallic sound rang out.

Shiiba saw something glint in Kuro’s hand, and he knew he had to act fast. “Hey, what are you doing?!”

Kuro smiled. In his hand was a silver switchblade.

“Kuro, stop! I’m sorry. I’ll behave now. Forgive me!” Sasaki begged pathetically.

“Give me a break. If you’re going to pull this crap, do it somewhere else,” Watanabe grumbled.

Kuro shrugged and put away the knife. He whispered into the large man’s ear, “Sasaki, go home. I’m not going to let my night be ruined by a jerk like you. I don’t want to see your ugly face again. Got me?”

To Shiiba, it looked like Kuro was nibbling on Sasaki’s ear.

Sasaki nodded a little and then stumbled out of the bar.

“Sorry, barkeep. We’ll behave ourselves now. Please, let us finish our drinks here.” Kuro gave a Watanabe a huge smile.

Watanabe grimaced, but he was in no position to turn down paying customers.

Kuro faced Shiiba. “We inconvenienced you. Let us get you a drink to say we’re sorry.”

Shiiba wanted to refuse the offer, but he didn’t want to leave Watanabe alone with a bunch of drunks, so he agreed. He sat down next to Kuro, whose friends were drinking away, unperturbed. Shiiba wondered if this sort of thing was a regular occurrence for them. Kuro poured some whiskey into two glasses.

“What’s your name?” Kuro asked.

Shiiba noticed that Kuro had a few facial piercings: one on his eyebrow, one on his nose, and one on his lip. He gave the young man the false name he used while he was working undercover: “Shibano.”

Kuro raised his glass. “I’m Kuro. Shibano, it’s good to meet you. Cheers.”

Lightly chinking their glasses, Kuro gulped the whiskey as if it were water.

Shiiba sipped from his own glass while assessing Kuro from the corner of his eye. On the surface, Kuro looked like any of the other young men who frequented this area, but he carried a concealed knife, which was illegal, so there was no way he could be trusted. He was a little taller than Shiiba, maybe around five-foot, three-inches tall and about one-hundred-fifty pounds. He took care with his appearance. Shiiba noted Kuro’s waxed eyebrows. He had a thin, attractive nose. However, his lips were also thin, which made him look like he was always being sarcastic. He smiled a lot, but Shiiba got the feeling that there was something sinister behind that expression.

“Do you drink here often?” Kuro asked.

“Sometimes. You?”

“Me? I usually hang out in Shibuya. I don’t like Shinjuku, but my friend runs the bar next door. I came here for the opening night.”

One of Kuro’s friends broke into the conversation, waving the newspaper about. “Hey, look at this article. Is that the gun you saw?”

Kuro glanced at the picture and grunted. “Looks like it. But I’m talking, here. Don’t interrupt me.” He didn’t sound happy.

Shiiba put a cigarette in his mouth. He needed to calm his nerves.

Kuro offered his lighter.

Across the counter, Shiiba and Watanabe exchanged glances.

“Did you really see one of those guns?” Shiiba casually inquired.

“Huh? Yeah, I did. The person who had it told me it was real, but I wasn’t sure,” Kuro replied.

“Would you tell me more about it? I’m interested,” Shiiba gently probed, offering up his business card.

Kuro shot him a curious look. On the business card was written “Reporter—Shibano.” It listed an address and a telephone number.

“Oh, you’re a reporter?”

“Yeah. I’ve been looking into the black-market guns case.”

Now that Kuro was convinced Shiiba was a reporter, any suspicions he seemed to have instantly disappeared. Shiiba had used this trick before—with remarkable success.

“Your address is in Shinsencho. Do you live there?” Kuro asked.

“No. I share that office with a colleague.”

It wasn’t the exact truth, but it wasn’t a flat-out lie, either. The address belonged to his friend, Inose, who had rented the place when he started working as a non-fiction writer. Of course, Shiiba had gotten permission before he’d used it as part of his cover.

“When did you see the gun?” Shiiba inquired.

“I was at a party. This guy was showing it off. He called himself Tomo. I don’t know what his real name was.”

“What kind of party was it?”

“Drugs and sex, you know,” Kuro said. “It was at a house in Aoyama. I don’t know whose house it was. A friend invited me.” The young man then started laughing. “When I got there, everyone was already high. But there weren’t enough girls. I just sat on my own in the corner, watching. I saw this guy, he pulled out a gun and asked the girl he was with if she wanted to role-play. He had this massive grin on his face. He told the girl that it was one of the guns that had been in the news recently. Then, he ran its muzzle down her thigh. The girl started crying, but he told her there weren’t any bullets in it. I kept watching because I thought they might do something interesting. Tomo told me that if I wanted one too, his friend could get me one easily.”

“Then what happened?” Shiiba prodded.

“That was it.” Kuro quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t have any real interest in guns. Oh, but he did tell me that it was made in Tokyo.”

Shiiba didn’t know if the gun that Kuro had seen had really been one of the black-market guns. However, the fact that it was supposedly made within the city certainly increased the likelihood of it being the real thing.

Shiiba couldn’t let this go. “I suppose you don’t know anything more about him?”

“Not really. He’s just someone I’ve met in a club a few times.”

“I’d like to talk to him. Will you help me find him?”

Kuro thought for a few moments while he played with Shiiba’s business card. “I don’t know. What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll pay you.”

“Money? I don’t need that. My father is the president of a big company. I’m bored sick with money. I want something more interesting. Will you go out with me?” Kuro peered at Shiiba from under his long eyelashes and grinned.

“Beg pardon?” Shiiba didn’t really understand.

Kuro’s friend, who had been listening during the entire exchange, said, “You’re doing it again. You’re sick in the head.”

“Shut up.” Kuro turned back to Shiiba. “Shibano, I like you. Go out with me. If you do, then I promise I’ll find Tomo for you.”

“Are you gay?” Shiiba was blunt because he wasn’t sure whether he could believe Kuro or not. The young man had to be joking.

“I’m not gay. I just don’t care. I can go out with boys and girls. You’re exactly my type.”

Shiiba could see that Kuro was sincere but still very immature. He didn’t want to date some spoiled rich kid who simply wanted to waste his time.

“Kuro, how old are you?” Shiiba asked.

“Me? I’m twenty-three. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine. I don’t like dating younger people,” Shiiba said gently.

“Screw you,” Kuro muttered.

Shiiba glanced over and caught sight of Kuro’s pout. He sighed. “Ask me for something else.”

There was a glint in Kuro’s eyes. “Fine. A compromise then?”

“What is it? Tell me first.”

“If I find Tomo, you’ll let me give you a piercing.”

“I don’t understand.” Shiiba bit down on the filter of his cigarette. He knew that whatever Kuro was thinking of, it would be weird.

“You’ll get a piercing—on your nipple. It would suit you. It’ll be a really stylish present, from me to you. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Shiiba didn’t understand why a stranger getting a piercing was even remotely interesting for Kuro. To Shiiba, piercings were just another form of self-harm, self expression, or an act of rebellion against society. It was a personal choice. So, Shiiba couldn’t see how Kuro would get a kick out of him doing that.

“Fine. That’s the terms of our deal.” Shiiba figured he could cope with a piercing. He could always take it out later.

Kuro laughed. “It’s a promise, then.”

The entire bargain was ridiculous, as far as Shiiba was concerned. “When you know something, call me on my cell phone.”

Shiiba silently cursed the boy. He downed the melted ice at the bottom of the glass then stood up to go.

Chapter 2

“Phone!”

Along with the sound of the bed springs creaking, Shiiba could hear the phone ringing in the living room. Apparently, it wasn’t going to stop. He sighed and tried to stand up so Munechika could answer it.

“Leave it. I’m busy,” Munechika said, stretching across the bed. He seductively ran his hands over Shiiba’s body, trying to stop him from moving. His fingers worked their way up Shiiba’s chest and then started gently pinching Shiiba’s hard nipples.

“What are you so busy with?” Shiiba asked, grabbing Munechika’s wrists. He pushed the other man back down on the bed.

“I was busy eating you. It’s been two weeks since I’ve had such a delicious meal.” Munechika smiled. He enjoyed it when Shiiba pinned him down.

Shiiba disliked Munechika’s constantly calm attitude. He climbed atop Munechika and began to move back and forth. He felt Munechika’s hard member slip inside him and throb.

Munechika smiled, murmuring, “More like you’re eating me.”

Shiiba stopped when he heard this. A little hesitant, his expression tightened. He drew close to Munechika. “I want you to feel what it’s like sometimes.”

“I feel like I’m going to come hard.”

“I’ll give you that, if you want.” Shiiba tried to sound light-hearted about it, but he really didn’t feel that way. He had two weeks’ worth of sexual tension pent up inside him. He couldn’t control his own body anymore.

As soon as Shiiba had opened the door, Munechika had jumped him. Shiiba had responded immediately. Their first kiss after weeks of separation had been so hard and passionate, it was more like they were biting each other. Bodies had intertwined. They had stumbled their way into the bedroom. Shiiba hadn’t seen Munechika for such a long time, but, rather than dwindling, his feelings for the other man had only become more passionate.

He didn’t care how they did it. All he wanted was Munechika—right now. He wanted to reach the peak of ecstasy together with this man. He couldn’t confess such a thing, though. He couldn’t vocalize his feelings of pure lust for Munechika.

“Mmm...ngh!”

Munechika moaned as Shiiba started to move his hips again. Munechika grabbed Shiiba’s hand and brought those delicate fingers to his mouth. Shiiba tried to pull back, but Munechika held on to his wrist, running his tongue across Shiiba’s palm. Then, one by one, he sucked Shiiba’s fingers.

“Stop,” Shiiba said, but when he felt Munechika’s hot tongue push in between his fingers, his whole body quivered. The shivers coursed over every muscle in his body, he even trembled deep inside.

His heart was so confused. He felt he might lose his composure at any moment and blurt out his true feelings for Munechika. He was trying to use the passionate sex to hide those feelings. He had to use sex as an outlet, otherwise, Shiiba felt that he would go mad.

He closed his eyes and tried to slow down his chaotic heartbeat, hoping to forget his confusion.

Suddenly, Munechika pulled Shiiba close to him, until he was bent over. Munechika lifted himself up and started nibbling on Shiiba’s earlobe. His voice was almost a whisper as he said, “I’m not satisfied yet. The more I’m with you, the more I want you. I don’t think I want to stop this. Not ever...”

Shiiba couldn’t take it anymore. He had to turn away. He knew that Munechika didn’t really mean it, but hearing those words still hurt. Shiiba wanted to say the same things back to him. He wanted to scream. He wanted these needy feelings to go away. He wanted Munechika to release him from the burning passion he’d ignited inside Shiiba.

Munechika slowly started to push into Shiiba, each thrust becoming slightly more aggressive, and Shiiba was penetrated deeper and deeper. He threw his head back in ecstasy. They kissed passionately. It was as if having their bodies connected in only one place wasn’t enough. Shiiba was consumed by the desire to have Munechika inside every single part of him.

He couldn’t shake off the intense feelings. They’d taken over his body. He couldn’t even breathe. It was as if his heart was welling up, blocking his windpipe.

“Munechika...”

Shiiba tried to move his head to get some air, but Munechika didn’t let him go. The man’s kisses moved across his cheek and down his throat.

“Ah.”

He gulped when Munechika planted kisses on his Adam’s apple. The caress of lips was light, teasing—but for some reason, Shiiba worried that Munechika might bite his neck for real.

Shiiba imagined himself gasping for breath, blood running down his neck, pouring from a deep gash. It started to turn him on. He didn’t care if Munechika killed him. He didn’t care if Munechika took his body.

Once again, Shiiba realized the dangerous position his emotions had placed him in.

“You don’t like it?” Munechika asked. “If it hurts, I’ll stop.” He sounded so gentle and concerned.

Shiiba was now overcome with alarm. “Don’t stop,” he urged, desperate for Munechika to keep going.

It was just sex. It was how Shiiba paid for the information that Munechika gave him. They joined physically; they protected each other. Shiiba stabilized his emotions by having sex. “Take me. I want you to have your fill,” he whispered.

Shiiba’s movements became more frantic. Munechika smiled wickedly, as if he were a partner in a crime. It was as if he knew exactly the feelings Shiiba kept locked inside.

“You’re already there...”

Munechika thrust inside Shiiba brutally.

Shiiba reached down and took himself in hand, stroking his cock in time with Munechika’s thrusts. He was so close to climaxing. He was almost at the pinnacle of pleasure. But for some reason, the complicated feelings inside him weren’t subsiding.

Whatever he got, it wasn’t enough. However much Munechika took, it wasn’t enough.

Shiiba didn’t wonder at the origin of these feelings. He knew the reason for them. Deep down, he knew that this wasn’t just sex to him. The comfort that only comes with being in a relationship had swallowed him whole.

They weren’t in love, so this wouldn’t end in betrayal. That was just how it was.

That was why he had no regrets.

So, the more attached he got, the angrier with himself he became. Sometimes, Shiiba felt like Munechika had plunged a knife into his chest and pulled out his still-beating heart. He felt that Munechika had touched his soul. He felt that they were inexplicably linked, now.

But no matter what he wanted, he had vowed to not fall in love. No matter how much his heart cried, Shiiba would never let those feelings out.

“Munechika...I...ah!”

Munechika’s thrusts became even more passionate. Then it came—the moment when everything blurs and breathing isn’t possible. When all the feelings that are burning up inside find an exit.

Shiiba slumped into Munechika’s arms, feeling like his chest would burst at any moment. The protective shell he’d created around his heart was crumbling, bit by bit.

“Ngh.”

Warm, white cum erupted out of his cock, trickling down his shaking hands.

Everything stopped. He had no thoughts and no emotions for an instant. For a brief moment, Shiiba was released from his chains. But a second later, the ecstasy fell away from him.

Shiiba took a shower and dried himself off. He put on a bathrobe and padded into the living room, where he found Munechika relaxing on the sofa with a drink in hand.

Shiiba tiredly plunked himself down next to Munechika.

Munechika looked at him suspiciously.

“What?” Shiiba asked.

“Nothing,” was the only reply.

“Say what’s on your mind. Why did you look at me like that?”

“Don’t worry about it. I was just a little impressed.”

Shiiba couldn’t leave it alone, so he asked Munechika again, “What does that mean? Answer me!”

“You’re so persistent! If you want to know that badly...you’re just too sexy when you look like that. You look so unsatisfied, like you want more.”

And Shiiba realized that Munechika was bantering with him. It always happened whenever Munechika drank. He seemed to enjoy saying exactly whatever would push Shiiba’s buttons, as if Shiiba’s frustration made the alcohol taste better.

“Are you saying what we just did wouldn’t satisfy me? Shut up. You’re just sex-crazed.” Shiiba knew that he sounded like a hothead, but he just had that kind of personality and couldn’t help himself. He glared at Munechika, who remained perfectly cool.

Shiiba took Munechika’s glass and downed the rest of the bourbon. Then, he violently slammed the glass back on the table.

Munechika grinned. “I’m not lying. Since I met you, I’ve found so many things about you to be very sexy. It used to be just in the bedroom. But now, even when I see you sitting here normally, you just ooze sex. If you wanted to, you’d make an excellent male host.”

Munechika had probably said that because he knew Shiiba had recently infiltrated a host club.

Shiiba had heard that one of the men managing a host club in Kabukicho had obtained guns from some gangsters. He’d entered the club by applying for a job advertisement. It hadn’t been for a position as a host, though. He’d applied to be a bartender. He had some experience working at a bar, thanks to a previous undercover assignment, so he knew how to make most of the major cocktails.

Shiiba’s month-long undercover operation had allowed him to confirm with several of the hosts working there that they had seen a gun in the manager’s office. So he’d made a report to his superiors. Soon enough, Incidents would probably raid the place.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Shiiba retorted. “What kind of host club would hire someone my age? As soon as you hit twenty-five in that job, you’re an old man.”

Every night, the young hosts would drink, laugh, and sleep with women. Their hearts were empty, though. Prostituting oneself might be profitable, but the job took its psychological toll in the end.

“You look young enough. I think you could pass,” Munechika argued.

“Thank you for being so concerned about my future career prospects. I’m getting teary-eyed,” Shiiba said sarcastically. He poured some more alcohol into the empty glass, acting as if he didn’t have a care. In truth, he was just trying to distract himself.

After a heavy sex session, Shiiba really enjoyed their conversations. They didn’t talk about anything in particular, but he liked just chatting with Munechika.

Shiiba watched Munechika, who was watching TV through half-closed eyes. He’d examined Munechika’s masculine features so often that he should have been used to it, but, for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off the man.

Keigo Munechika was thirty-three—four years older than Shiiba. He was a competent man who had become successful early on in life, and now lived in a magnificent apartment in Roppongi Hills. Munechika had another side to him, though. He was also a young leader of the Matsukura Group, which was part of the larger Koujin Association.

It was that very position that made Munechika invaluable to Shiiba as an “S.” Once he’d discovered that Munechika was a big-shot in the gang world, Shiiba had offered up his body to get the leads he needed.

“S” was the code that the police gave to civilians who worked with them. It stood for “spy.” S informants were entirely different from a rat. They didn’t simply pass on information to the police, they were more like “cooperators,” and their names were formally registered with the Metropolitan Police as such.

Gathering intelligence from an S (or, in other words, “S-work”) was a common method nowadays. Actually, it was the main practice of the Public Security Police. It took time and patience to carry out S-work. However, to directly contact gang leaders was an extremely dangerous thing for everyone concerned. For that reason, there was a very special training that a detective had to complete before being given S-work.

Still, S-work was not respected. Normal detectives disliked the practice, and it was generally detested by all other police force staff. A lot of the people who worked as an S would betray the organization that employed them in order to cooperate with the police, so it was imperative that the detective they worked with could ensure their safety. The degree of stress that both sides undertook when involved in this kind of work was often mentally damaging.

The danger didn’t come solely from the outside, either. Detectives who took undercover work were cut off from the police force, so, in some cases, their motivation and professionalism slowly dwindled away. Frequently, these detectives, who had to fit in among the worst scum of society, would have to get their hands dirty and commit crimes, as well.

S-work had destroyed a lot of good detectives. There was nothing pretty about it. Detectives who used an S were under constant pressure from all sides.

“Munechika,” Shiiba murmured. “There are some black-market guns circulating in the city. Yesterday, they found a third one.”

Munechika looked at him. “That incident that happened last month? Are they connected?”

“Yeah. They’re not made from model guns, and they’re different from copies imported from abroad. They’re very unique.” Shiiba continued to look at Munechika while he explained the situation. “If you hear anything at all, no matter how trivial, you have to tell me.”

Munechika poured another drink. After some thought, he said, “I have heard rumors lately of cheap but well-made black-market guns. They’re not remodeled and they’re not copies—totally new. But, they’re at half the price of the real deals. Even kids can afford them. But I’ve heard that the guy who was selling them would only sell to gang members, so perhaps it’s not related.”

Bootlegged guns weren’t really unusual. Police recovered fewer of them nowadays, but there were still a fair number of smuggled CRS guns from the Philippines currently in circulation in Japan.

CRS guns were simply copies of real guns, but the recently recovered firearms were entirely original. Every single part of the guns had been designed meticulously. Only a person with the necessary skill and knowledge could accomplish that.

“I’m intrigued that these guns are originals. I want you to ask around,” Shiiba requested.

“I can’t,” Munechika refused flat-out.

Shiiba frowned. “Why? Is there some problem?”

“I’m not chasing urban legends. Anyway, it’s not your case. You don’t have to solve every crime in the city. Let some other detective do it this time.” Munechika sounded annoyed. He had real power in the Tokyo underworld, and he made all the necessary contacts, so it was difficult to complain about him as an S—but he was moody. Some days, the most difficult part of Shiiba’s job was keeping Munechika content.

“That’s not the point. It doesn’t matter whose case it is.” Shiiba’s frown deepened.

“Shiiba, you’re too obsessed with guns.”

“You’re into your work too. What’s your point?” Shiiba could hear himself getting irritated.

“There’s nothing wrong with working hard. But you’re too loyal to your job. You always sacrifice your own well being. You’re not working  hard because you think it’s the right thing to do or because you want a promotion. You don’t have those ambitions, so why do you always have to go the extra mile? Sure, guns kill people. But how many people die from guns in Japan every year? Twenty? Thirty?”

“It’s not about the death count.” Shiiba turned his face away. He didn’t like it when other people questioned his devotion to his work.

His older sister, Yukari, had been the closest relative he’d had while growing up. When she had been killed by a gun, Shiiba began to despise those weapons. He couldn’t deny that he was driven by a personal grudge. However, he couldn’t believe that everything he’d accomplished as a detective was merely a result of his personal feelings. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to think that that was the case.

“I want you to ask around,” Shiiba said again.

Munechika fell silent. He didn’t look happy. Shiiba could always tell when Munechika was displeased because the man would clam up—a sharp contrast from his typically chatty personality and sharp wit.

Shiiba crossed his legs. An awkward silence filled the room. He reached out for the cigarettes on the table and lit up a smoke.

No matter what Shiiba felt for Munechika, he had to prioritize his investigation. Their relationship was first and foremost that of a detective and an S—neither of them could forget that.

Shiiba blew out a stream of smoke.

Finally, Munechika spoke again. “I have one condition.”

“What is it?” Shiiba glanced over.

Munechika looked very serious as he pointed to his lap. “Sit here. Be a good boy.”

Shiiba didn’t understand. “What?”

“Come here and do what I say. Then I’ll find out for you.”

Shiiba wasn’t paying attention so a little bit of ash dropped from his cigarette to the floor. He quickly put the cigarette into the ashtray.

“Munechika, what are you playing at? Don’t give me some crap.” Shiiba thought Munechika was just making fun of him again.

“You think I’m joking? Fine. I’m not doing anything.” Munechika looked away.

Shiiba realized that the other man was being completely serious. He didn’t understand why Munechika wanted him to sit on his lap. What would Munechika get out of that? However, Munechika had the advantage here. Shiiba had to obey.

Internally, Shiiba cursed, but he lifted himself up and then sat down on Munechika’s lap. “Here I am.”

“That’s not all I want.”

“Oh...?” Shiiba said, eyeing Munechika. Sometimes, he really thought they were from different planets.

For a long time, nothing happened, so Shiiba said, “Hmm?”

Munechika’s face was totally expressionless, which meant he was really angry.

Shiiba didn’t want to lose his lead on the guns, so he started trying to placate Munechika. “Please?”

There was another long silence. Shiiba desperately tried to hold himself back from saying anything else, but he still felt humiliated.

“What’s going on?” Shiiba hit Munechika on the chest with his fist. “Enough already. You’re making a fool out of me.” He got off Munechika’s lap, disgusted with himself and the situation.

Munechika said, “I take it back. You’re not sexy at all. That’s your attempt at seduction?”

Shiiba was indignant. His anger quickly overshadowed his original intent. “Like I care what you say! Anyway, you always—” Shiiba was just about to launch into a tirade, when Munechika’s phone rang.

“You’ll have to start again,” Munechika said before picking up the phone. “Yeah, it’s me...no. Motoaki? And...? I see. There’s really nothing that can be done about him. Got it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Shiiba could see that Munechika was irritated as he apologized and hung up.

Motoaki Matsukura was Munechika’s half-brother. Motoaki had inherited the presidency of the Matsukura Group when their father had died. The Matsukura Group was a powerful gang, boasting of over a thousand members, and based in Shinjuku. It was impossible for a young man in his twenties to run such a massive organization, of course, so there were a lot of internal problems.

Munechika was the son of the former president’s mistress, so, in reality, he didn’t really have much business with the Matsukura Group. But he made large financial donations to the organization, and, on the sidelines, he helped his younger brother out.

“What’s the matter with your brother now?” Shiiba asked.

“That’s got nothing to do with you,” Munechika snapped back.

Munechika speaking to him like that hurt Shiiba, but he said nothing and just nodded. Munechika was right, it didn’t have anything to do with him.

Shiiba got up and entered the bedroom. He picked up the clothes that had been scattered across the floor and quickly got dressed. As he covered himself up, his expression altered. He suddenly transformed into a detective.

He opened the door and returned to the living room, preparing to leave.

“You’re going home?” Munechika frowned a little.

“Yeah.”

From the time they had agreed to work together as detective and S, Shiiba had not spent the night at Munechika’s. It might have been silly, but he liked making a clear distinction about their relationship.

As Shiiba headed toward the door, Munechika called him back. “Shiiba, wait.” He didn’t sound happy. Perhaps Munechika thought that he’d hurt Shiiba’s feelings. Well, he had. But he was free to do so. He didn’t have to do everything Shiiba asked of him. “I’m sorry.”

It was a rare occurrence for Munechika to apologize.

Shiiba shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. No one wants people probing into their personal business.”

Munechika had told Shiiba before that his half-brother was someone he simply couldn’t abandon. It was a heavy burden he had to carry. Shiiba had always wondered what had happened in the past to make Munechika feel that way.

Resisting the urge to ask, Shiiba tapped Munechika on the chest. “You don’t have to be suspicious all the time. That’s not the kind of relationship we have, right?” Shiiba wanted to reaffirm their roles. They were detective and S. They slept together merely to build trust between them. They weren’t lovers. “See you later.”

When he tried to step out, though, Munechika pulled him back. Turning Shiiba round to face him, Munechika stole a quick kiss. “I’ll see what I can find out. If I hear anything, I’ll contact you.”

“Thank you.”

Disengaging himself from Munechika’s embrace, Shiiba left. He got off the elevator, walked through the extravagant lobby, and headed down the stairs to the entrance.

The doorman opened the door for him, saying, “See you later, sir.”

Shiiba nodded in acknowledgement and stepped outside. The cold air immediately assaulted him. As he quickly strode toward the station, for a moment, Shiiba wished that he was still in Munechika’s bed. If he had stayed, he would be tucked up and warm, with Munechika beside him. He could sleep until morning. Even though Shiiba knew he was growing soft, he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help wanting that—just a little.

Shiiba smirked at how pathetic he was. He bundled up his black trench coat even tighter around his neck.

If he was so in love, then he should probably quit. Then they could be together as much as they wanted. They could have sex whenever they wanted.

A more comfortable life was enough to tempt any man. Not feeling a constant guilt hanging over his head seemed very alluring to Shiiba. They could make love as much as they wanted and say whatever they wanted to each other, and then...

And then what? Maybe their feelings wouldn’t be as strong, one day. Maybe they would grow tired of each other if they could have sex as much as they wanted. Shiiba knew he probably wouldn’t be able to handle it, anyway. He’d want to get back out in the field again. Perhaps he’d never be able to settle down.

Originally, Shiiba’s career had been on the fast track up through the ranks of the Metropolitan Police, but he’d decided instead to get out on the streets. He’d chosen to live as an undercover police officer. Despite all the pain and trouble he knew awaited such a career choice, he’d leapt at the chance. Never once did he think he’d made a mistake. Now, he was battle-scarred. He was handling a wild S. He chased down his prey like a seasoned hunter. He never had time to look back.

There had been casualties along the way, though.

Half a year ago, one of his colleagues, Nagakura, had been shot right in front of him. Watching that revealed to Shiiba his own weak points. He had come face to face with the very weaknesses that he’d tried to ignore for so long. Finally, he understood how fragile he really was.

Afterward, he’d sobbed in Munechika’s arms and made a vow: he wouldn’t deny his own flaws. Instead, by accepting them, he would grow stronger. He was going to be someone who, by knowing his weaknesses, uncertainties, and angst, would never again cave under pressure.

All he could do was keep moving forward. The only choice he allowed himself was to move forward ...

He opened the door and stepped into a gun shop named Aviz. The manager of the shop was a large, but very kind man named Horibe. He was in the middle of arranging model guns in the showcase.

“Sorry, we’re closed—oh, it’s you, Shibano.” Horibe’s severe expression transformed into a smile. Perhaps it was his thick beard and massive girth, but Horibe always reminded Shiiba of a teddy bear.

“I had something I wanted to talk to you about,” Shiiba said as a greeting.

“Sit down. I’ll make some coffee.” Horibe disappeared into the back of the store.

Shiiba sat down in a chair by the counter and looked around the store. It was jam-packed with replica guns. The shop was closing up, so there weren’t any customers.

Munechika owned the shop. Previously, it had been managed by Shiiba’s old S, Andou. After Andou’s death, Munechika had bought the place out of friendship.

Horibe’s knowledge of replica guns was magnificent, he was well-known in the field, and he knew a lot about what gun enthusiasts were buying these days. He wasn’t connected with the crime world, but Andou had still trusted him, so Shiiba had been honest with Horibe from the start about being a detective. The only thing he hadn’t told Horibe was his real name.

“You like your coffee black, right?” Horibe emerged from the back holding two mugs. He was a gentle man, and he had always been extraordinarily cooperative with Shiiba’s investigations. Time and again, Horibe had given good leads on newcomers to the scene and on black-market guns, so Shiiba made a point to visit him regularly.

“Actually I was planning to call you,” Horibe said.

Shiiba looked up from his mug of coffee.

Horibe was starting up his notebook PC. He clicked the mouse a few times and then signaled Shiiba to take a look. “I got an e-mail from a friend today. Look at the photos.”

It was a gun that Shiiba had never seen before. At first glance, it looked like an M29 by Smith & Wesson, but the body was too short. There were several pictures of the outside and one photo of a metal target that had been shot out, presumably to prove its power and accuracy.

“This gun...” Shiiba murmured.

“Isn’t it one of those bootlegged guns that have been in the papers lately?” said Horibe.

“What?” Surprised, Shiiba looked at the photo again. They weren’t as clear as the ones that his superior had shown him, so he couldn’t be entirely sure. But they definitely shared the same characteristics. “How did your friend get it?”

“They’re being supplied on the Internet to gun fans. Apparently, people are getting them by replying to a spam e-mail.”

The police had suspected that there would be others carrying these illegal guns, but they hadn’t gotten any confirmation until now.

“Do the police know what linked the three guys they caught?” Horibe asked.

“Just that they were all gun fanatics who got the guns off the Internet. None of them had ever met each other. Do you know something?”

Horibe grimaced a little.

Shiiba waited patiently.

“The person who sent me these pictures is an old friend. He has a gun shop in Shinjuku called Gambino. He remembered meeting the second man you guys caught with a gun. He checked his customer list and discovered that the guy was a member of his own gun shop. He looked into it some more and found the boy that you caught recently—the unemployed kid? They caught a third person yesterday, didn’t they? A twenty-year-old university student, wasn’t it?”

“You’re not telling me that kid was a member too?”

“Bingo.”

Shiiba’s breathing became erratic as he became more excited. This was big news! This was a clear link between all three cases.

“My friend was feeling stressed out about it, so he sent me an e-mail,” Horibe continued. “He knew he should tell the police, but he was so scared that his shop might get closed down. I told him that I would talk to a detective I know.”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong, so we won’t shut him down,” Shiiba assured Horibe. “We’ll just want to take a look at his shop records and membership details for the investigation. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to report this.”

“Okay. I’ll tell him to expect a visit from the police.”

“Will this ruin your friendship?” Shiiba couldn’t help it, he would have to report this. But he still felt bad that doing so might hurt Horibe.

“It’s fine. He just doesn’t want to get labeled as a criminal. I’ll let him know that that isn’t going to happen. You don’t have to worry.”

“Thanks.”

Shiiba got the address of the store and the owner’s home information, and then he stood up.

“Ugh, it’s cold,” Horibe said as he opened the door to let Shiiba out. A gust of icy wind flowed in.

“Horibe, have things been difficult since this place changed owners?”

“Nah, not much has changed since Mister Andou was in charge. Once a month, Munechika’s secretary comes around, but he just takes a look at the books and then leaves. Never says anything. His name is Kaname or something.”

Kaname was Munechika’s trusted personal assistant. He was a very reserved man—and frighteningly exact. Shiiba didn’t know how old Kaname was, probably younger than Munechika but older than Shiiba. He always wore a high-collared suit and tied his long hair back in a ponytail.

“Oh, but sometimes Mister Kaname takes a look around the shop,” Horibe added. “I always wonder if he’s interested in replica guns or something.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t look like he would be amused by toys,” Shiiba replied.

Kaname could probably get the real thing easily enough if he wanted to. Shiiba always felt that there was something hidden under that man’s emotionless exterior.

“I’ll be back soon,” Shiiba grunted. “If you hear anything, let me know.”

Horibe nodded. And then, as if he just remembered something, he muttered, “It’s been almost a year.”

Shiiba didn’t have to ask what Horibe was talking about. In November of last year, Andou had been shot dead by the Taiwanese mafia.

Looking up at a passing train on the Ikebukuro line, Horibe got lost in reminiscing. “Sometimes, I see things that remind me of him. Gyoza and takoyaki always bring back memories.”

“Memories of Andou?”

Horibe smiled. “Yeah. He would always bring me a little present. He’d stop by on his way home and tell me to contact you if I heard anything interesting. He always said the same thing...he was a bit of a loner, but he was a good guy.”

As time passed, the shock of what had happened had subsided for Shiiba, but the pain would never go away completely. Andou had been the perfect S. He had always passed on reliable information to Shiiba. They had also developed an unshakable trust and loyalty for each other.

Horibe was lost in his memories, so Shiiba bid him farewell and walked toward the Ikebukuro station.

Eight years ago, his sister, Yukari, had been caught in a gang shoot-out and died. A year ago, his dear partner, Andou, had been shot. Then, half a year ago, it had been Nagakura, his colleague in COC5.

In a country like Japan, which had such strict gun laws, it was really unusual for one person to know three victims of gun-related crimes. Shiiba knew that it was because of his connections with the criminal underworld. He also knew that he always hunted down guns because he’d been so affected by the deaths of those close to him. He felt trapped by gun-related crimes sometimes. Guns seemed to be everywhere he turned. He hated them.

The hatred fed on itself, resulting in anger and sadness. Consumed by negative emotions, Shiiba kept going, kept pushing forward—but it wasn’t a way to live. That much he knew.

But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t rest. It was an addiction he couldn’t break.

The day would come when he’d have no choice but to stop. He might even welcome that day. Or perhaps...

Chapter 3

“Shinozuka. Why are you here?” he called out.

“Hi, Masaki.”

It was Hideyuki Shinozuka, Shiiba’s sister’s widower.

Shinozuka was also a Metropolitan Police employee, but they had drastically different positions within the organization. Shinozuka was thirty-seven and had an excellent career as the director of the Metropolitan Security Bureau’s Planning Division. Shiiba was a regular detective. He had to show respect to Shinozuka, regardless of their family connection.

“Have you been waiting long? If you’d called me, I would have come to meet you,” Shiiba said.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Shinozuka said. “I was only planning to wait ten minutes to see if you’d turn up.”

Shiiba was worried that something might have happened, but when he searched Shinozuka’s face for any sign of trouble, he saw the man’s typical calm smile.

Shiiba invited Shinozuka in. He boiled water for some tea.

Shinozuka looked slightly surprised by Shiiba’s dull and tiny apartment.

It was only the second time Shinozuka had been here. The first time had been three years ago, when Shiiba moved in. His brother-in-law had come to his housewarming party. At that time, Shiiba had had no clue how to act with Shinozuka. He’d always been a little uncomfortable with his brother-in-law after his sister’s death, so he had been slightly upset that Shinozuka had come to his house.

“Here you are.” Shiiba offered the man a cup of tea.

“Thanks.” Shinozuka sat on the floor as Shiiba placed the tea on the low table.

Shinozuka was so calm that, judging by his appearance alone, no one could have known he was an elite member of the police service. However, there was still something rigid about his movements and the way he spoke. Shiiba always found it difficult to completely relax around him. Thankfully, Shinozuka kept his distance, so Shiiba was comfortable enough.

“How is work?” Shinozuka asked. “COC5 must be busy with that gun case.”

“I’ve only just started to work on it.”

After talking about recent events, Shinozuka took out a piece of paper from inside his jacket’s pocket and gently placed it on the table. “I want you to look at this and tell me what you think?”

It was a complicated diagram with small letters. They were all words Shiiba was familiar with.

Target

Preliminary Investigation

Behavior Study

Arrangements

Contact

Acquisition

Management

Cultivation

“Is it the stages of cooperative work?” Shinozuka asked. “Cooperative work” was the formal name for S-work.

Shinozuka nodded. “Yeah. This is the basic framework for choosing a cooperator. When you go through your first round of training, we use this. I assumed that this would be the same lecture given to all detectives.”

“Yes, we were told to follow these stages,” Shiiba answered.

“But in the field,” Shinozuka said, “you can’t follow these rules too strictly. I mean, you’ve heard of all the scandals involving detectives over the past few years. It’s not easy to choose and capably manage a cooperator.” As he spoke, his face remained calm, but Shiiba could feel tension filling the room.

He stared at Shinozuka, wondering what his brother-in-law was getting at.

“Don’t be mistaken,” Shinozuka continued. “I’m not criticizing those who work on the streets. The detectives carry out thorough investigations to select a cooperator. You collect an enormous amount of data on one person, then you make a decision about whether he or she would be a good cooperator. The choice is more difficult than it seems. If you’re not careful, you could find yourself saddled with a double-agent.”

The Public Security detectives were Intelligence agents. They had a surveillance network that spread across the entire country and worked to protect the safety of Japan’s society. They were, by nature, a secretive organization. Many parts of the department’s operations were not made public. For this reason, there were a good number of people who objected to their existence. Regardless of these voices of contention, Public Security still operated at the core of Japan’s police force—and required a large budget to do so. Luckily, there were enough people, who understood the essential role that the department played in maintaining Japan’s social stability, to allocate the proper funds.

“You’re not really detectives in the field because you don’t get orders the way other officers do,” Shinozuka went on. “You’re just told to find whoever can get you the information. It’s very, very easy to get burned.”

“That’s...” Shiiba was at a loss.

Shinozuka was right. His superiors didn’t care who he took as a cooperator, as long as he got accurate information. If a potential informant existed, then Shiiba had to work with him or her, no matter who that person was. Sometimes, detectives dropped everything for a new informant. That meant they’d have to drop whoever their cooperator had previously been. “Use them and lose them” was the motto. Handling an S was a very unstable and dangerous line of work.

“If you don’t choose a cooperator carefully, then you won’t be able to manage that person properly. And you’ll put yourself in danger. If a problem arises, then it’s not unusual for the police system to abandon not only the cooperator but the detective as well. It seems cruel, but for the stability of the organization, it’s a necessary evil. So you need to look after yourself. You can’t put yourself at a risk for the sake of a lead. You have to be careful how you manage your relationship with your S.” Shinozuka looked at Shiiba pointedly as he spoke.

“You mean, it’s bad if your relationship with your S is too close?” Shiiba felt like his heart would stop. Shinozuka’s words felt like a blow.

This was why Shinozuka had visited him tonight, to tell him this. Shiiba wanted to hear what Shinozuka knew. Maybe he knew everything about Shiiba’s relationship with Munechika.

Shiiba couldn’t look away from Shinozuka’s intense stare.

“The only person you can protect is yourself. I need you to be extra careful,” Shinozuka said. Then, he slowly stood up.

Shiiba finally came back to himself and stood as well, walking the other man to the hall.

Shinozuka put his shoes on and then looked up at Shiiba with a pained expression. “Masaki, I don’t want to get in the way of what you do. I’m just worried.”

“I understand. Thank you for your concern,” Shiiba said awkwardly, bowing slightly.

After Yukari had been killed, Shiiba had helped with all the arrangements and legal proceedings. Then, he’d rejected Shinozuka’s friendship, unable to face Shinozuka and all the memories of his sister that the man inevitably carried with him. After eight years, he’d finally gotten over those feelings and had been able to meet with Shinozuka again.

He was thankful to Shinozuka for thinking of him. He didn’t want to push him away now.

Shinozuka placed his hand on the doorknob, but he turned around as if he’d forgotten something. “Masaki.”

“Yes?”

But Shinozuka didn’t say anything. Shiiba had never seen Shinozuka like this before. He was frowning so fiercely, as if he was hiding a great secret behind that scowl.

They remained silent for a few moments and then, with a sigh, Shinozuka decided to finally speak. “Something is going to happen soon...with Human Affairs.”

“Huh?” Shiiba didn’t understand. He gazed at Shinozuka, waiting for more information.

“That’s all I can tell you for now. I’m sorry.”

Shinozuka opened the door and left.

Shiiba stood there, looking down at his own feet as he listened to the sound of Shinozuka walking off into the distance.

A change...something would happen...

Human Affairs primarily functioned as a surveillance department. It investigated cases of internal corruption. It was an elite group, composed of the best men. Its people were pros at spying on and following their targets. They would leave no stone unturned. None of the detectives, even at Public Security, could touch Human Affairs.

Shinozuka was warning him—if Shiiba went too far, Human Affairs would be all over his back. It was indeed a very serious situation and Shinozuka must have risked a lot to tell Shiiba about it. The internal information kept in Human Affairs was top secret. If a leak was discovered, then Shinozuka would be punished severely.

Shiiba jumped into the hallway outside his apartment as if he was a puppet pulled by a string, but Shinozuka was already gone. Shiiba was alone in the empty, dark corridor.

Kuro had told Shiiba to go to a bar on Dougenzaka in Shibuya.

The bar was on the basement floor of a building near the Tokyuu Department Store. When he opened the door, he was greeted by the sounds of George Benson’s “Turn Your Love.” The atmosphere of the place was quiet, but the clientele was young and rowdy.

Shiiba sat down on a barstool and called out to the bartender—a young man with a Mohawk. “Is a guy called Kuro here?”

The bartender looked Shiiba up and down, shook his head, and said, “He’s not here.”

Shiiba was a little early, so he ordered a non-alcoholic drink and then took out his packet of cigarettes.

Late last night, Kuro had called, telling Shiiba he knew more about Tomo. Shiiba didn’t have much faith that that was even remotely true, but he didn’t want to take chances.

“Is Kuro a friend of yours?” the bartender asked. He offered Shiiba a light.

Shiiba took a moment to notice the bartender’s many tattoos, and then accepted the lighter. “No, just an acquaintance. I’ve only met him twice.”

“Thought as much.” The bartender took the lighter back.

“Why?” Shiiba asked.

“You don’t seem his usual sort.”

“Oh? What kind of guy is he?”

“Dangerous. You should be careful. Every time he comes here, he causes trouble. Causes a fuss over the smallest things.”

Shiiba had seen that for himself at Watanabe’s. Kuro had pulled out a knife. It was clear that the young man had quite a short fuse.

Shiiba took a sip of his drink, wondering how to play this right.

“He’s here,” the bartender said.

Shiiba looked behind him.

A group of three young men dressed up for a night out entered the bar. Kuro led the pack. When he saw Shiiba, he smiled. The two young men behind him weren’t the same guys who had accompanied him to Watanabe’s.

“Shibano! So good to see you again!”

Kuro sat down next to Shiiba. His companions looked a little disbelieving.

“Is this old guy a friend of yours?” one of them asked Kuro.

“Yep. I asked him to meet me here. I’m on a date now, so scram,” Kuro said.

“Don’t say that. All four of us can hang out.”

“That’s all right with you, right?” the other guy asked Shiiba.

“Sorry, I wanna talk to him alone,” Shiiba replied.

Kuro smirked. “You heard him. Now get out of our hair. Go home.”

“What the hell is this about?” the guy with the long hair asked.

The complaining started. “Come on, Kuro. Let us join you.”

It was clear they weren’t going to let off easily.

Suddenly, Kuro slapped the guy who had long hair. Then, he kicked the other one in the stomach.

The bartender gave Shiiba a knowing look.

Finally, the two men followed Kuro’s orders and left. At first glance, Shiiba thought the men had been friends, but clearly they followed a pecking order.

“Let’s get a table,” Shiiba said, standing up.

Kuro took a bottle of Singha from the bartender and retreated with Shiiba to a table all the way in the back.

Shiiba got right to the point: “Tell me, then. What did you find out?”

Kuro scowled. “What? Why so quickly? Let’s chat first. I want to know more about you. Don’t you think it would be nice to be friends?”

Shiiba wanted to tell Kuro straight out that he had no interest in getting chummy, but he didn’t want to annoy Kuro, so he managed a smile. “What do you want to know about me?”

“Let me think...do you have a lover?” Kuro gave him a cheeky grin.

“Why do you ask?” Shiiba needed to keep Kuro sweet.

“Don’t tell me you only date older guys. Go out with me. Don’t you think I’m a good catch? I have money. I know all the right people. Plus, I’m a really gentle lover.” As Kuro spoke, he slowly swayed closer to Shiiba.

Shiiba figured Kuro was just another stupid kid with more money than brains. “Hey, Kuro,” he said gently, as if they knew each other intimately, “I’m just not interested in men.”

“You’re lying. You must sleep with men.”

Shiiba immediately scowled. “What makes you think that?”

“You have this sexual vibe going on. It’s the way you look. You’re just too sexy.” Kuro played with the piercing in his ear.

Shiiba didn’t really understand what “vibe” Kuro was talking about—and he didn’t want to know, either. However, if this was how Munechika saw him too, then he wasn’t sure he was happy about it.

Shiiba must have been making a strange expression, because Kuro smacked the table and laughed.

“You don’t look sexy pulling that face.”

He laughed harder.

Shiiba eyed him suspiciously. “Are you high?”

“Huh? What are you talking about? I don’t do drugs. You’re funny, so I’m laughing.” Kuro was shaking with laughter now. Tears formed in his eyes. He may deny it, but Shiiba was certain he was on drugs.

Shiiba had had to interrogate men who were high before. They had to be cajoled and appeased before they would talk. He didn’t like it, but he’d done it over and over again.

“Kuro, can we get to the point?”

Kuro laid his head down on the table as if he was tired of laughing and now wanted to take a nap.

“Tomo’s real name? Do you know where I can find him?” Shiiba asked.

Kuro shook his head. “Who knows?”

Shiiba frowned. Kuro wasn’t taking this seriously. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.”

Shiiba couldn’t control his temper anymore. “Are you screwing with me?!”

Kuro looked surprised. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“If you didn’t know anything, why did you call me?” Shiiba demanded.

“You must know. I wanted to see you again. You look good even when you’re mad.”

Shiiba didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. He smashed his cigarette into the ashtray.

“Don’t be like that,” Kuro whined. “I don’t know anything more about Tomo, but I know he’s going to be at a club. One of my friends called and told me. We could go together. If he’s there, then we can talk to him.”

“Where is it?”

“A club in Roppongi called Falsare. It’s a pretty good place. No annoying kids. I hear celebrities go there too, sometimes.”

Shiiba wasn’t happy about a direct meeting. But this was a lead, and it meant Shiiba would find out who Tomo was, so he decided to go along with this plan.

They quickly left the bar, and Kuro flagged down a taxi. In a very short time, the taxi stopped in front of a building located in Roppongi.

“This is it?” Shiiba asked.

Stenciled on the door in blue was the word “Falsare.” It wasn’t obvious from the exterior that the building was a club.

“Yeah. Let’s go in,” Kuro said, chewing a gum. He pushed the door open.

Walking through the door, Shiiba saw a line of lights on the floor, illuminating the corridor. At the end of the corridor was a huge wooden door. A large black man stood in front of it.

“Hi, juicy,” Kuro greeted the man.

The black man scowled and muttered something. Shiiba couldn’t quite catch it, but he guessed the man had an issue with Shiiba’s clothes.

“No problem. He’s my guest,” Kuro said in English. He patted the black guy on the shoulder and pushed the door open.

As soon as they entered, Shiiba was overwhelmed by the noise. The base thrummed through his body to his organs. “They have a dress code. Is this really okay?” he asked, indicating his outfit.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not supposed to get in wearing jeans, but I’m a friend of the owner. He lets me do what I want most of the time.” Putting an arm around Shiiba, Kuro winked.

They paid the entrance fee, and then a staff led them not into the main room but down a corridor. Kuro really was getting special treatment.

They didn’t pass the dance floor, but, instead, were shown the V.I.P. room. Finally, Kuro and Shiiba found a sofa to sit on.

This room was on a mezzanine floor that overlooked the rest of the bar. From here, they could see the whole of the dance floor. The place was packed, and foreigners comprised at least half of the crowd.

Shiiba had been imagining something of a dump. However, the interior of this club was done in an entirely art deco style, and he had to admit it was pretty tasteful. To be surrounded by tacky dance music in such an attractive environment was a jarring juxtaposition.

Kuro’s phone rang. “Hello? It’s me. I’m in the club. Where’s Tomo...? Huh? You’re kidding me. Oh well. If you find out anything, call me.” He hung up, frowning at Shiiba. “Looks like he went home already. We missed him.” Kuro sounded a little dejected.

Shiiba nodded and asked Kuro to contact him if he found out anything else. He didn’t have any reason to be here now.

“We came all the way here, so why don’t we dance?” Kuro asked him.

“No, I’m going home. You have fun though.”

“Don’t say that. Stay.” Kuro grabbed Shiiba’s arm. “If you don’t want to dance, then have a drink with me downstairs.”

Kuro was an arrogant man. If Shiiba ever wanted to get any information, then he was going to have to play along for a while—that much was clear. So he agreed to one drink and followed Kuro downstairs.

When they got down to the dance floor, people called out to Kuro. White girls. Black guys. Japanese people. Every time someone spoke to Kuro, he would reply with some greeting or joke.

Shiiba sat down at the bar to get another drink, but something captured his interest.

Five men and one woman entered a door in the back of the club. All the men wore suits, but they didn’t look like regular businessmen. They had a familiar, oppressive air about them.

If he had seen them in a high-class hostess club, then he wouldn’t have thought twice about them. But it didn’t seem right for Yakuza to turn up in a dance club.

What caught Shiiba’s attention more than anything was the man at the front of the group. He was in his mid-thirties. A young girl hung on his arm. The man was tall and muscular. His hair was long and slightly wavy. He had a handsome face—but he didn’t look completely Japanese. The girl had hair that hung down to her waist. She wore a dress decorated with black feathers. All eyes were glued on them, but they didn’t react. To Shiiba, they looked like top models.

The couple looked askance at the dancing crowd then headed straight for the V.I.P. area without saying a word.

Kuro returned and hugged Shiiba from behind. “What are you looking at?”

“Oh, them over there.”

Kuro followed Shiiba’s line of sight and scowled.

“Do they come here often?” Shiiba asked.

“I see them here once or twice a month,” Kuro replied. “The guy in front, he’s a relative of the owner. He’s really boring. He never comes down to dance, just sits up there and drinks. The woman sometimes dances, but she won’t talk to anyone. She dances all on her own. If people try to talk to her, one of those guys she’s with scares them off. The regulars know enough to keep away.”

Shiiba’s need to probe for more info surfaced. “They’re Yakuza. Do you know which gang they’re affiliated with?”

“How should I know? Oh, wait...when I saw Tomo here last time, he was talking to the Yakuza in the front. They looked pretty close.”

It was clear that Kuro had no interest with that line of conversation, but Shiiba wasn’t satisfied. He needed to know more about the connection. But he figured asking Kuro wouldn’t get anywhere.

Kuro must have seen the thoughtful look on Shiiba’s face. “Mister Shibano, you mustn’t go and ask that guy about Tomo. Yakuza are scary. If you’re not careful, you can get in big trouble. Why don’t you just come to my room instead? We can carry on drinking somewhere more private.”

Kuro covered Shiiba’s hand with his own, but Shiiba knocked it away. The young man’s persistence was starting to get annoying. “I told you already I’m not interested. There’s loads of cute guys here. Go for one of them.”

“You’re so stubborn. I like that about you.”

Shiiba’s phone beeped. It was a text message, which was a little surprising, because he rarely got messages. It was his friend, Inose: I heard something about Yukari. Message me when you have time.

“They discovered something about Yukari’s death,” Inose revealed. “I thought that you would want to know. I don’t want to talk over the phone. Can you come over?”

“A new discovery?” Sweat ran down Shiiba’s forehead. “Got it. I’m in Roppongi, so I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Shiiba hung up. He peered at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. His reflection looked stressed.

It had been eight years since Yukari’s murder.

The case had been closed when the police had apprehended a criminal who confessed to committing the crime. Shiiba wondered what kind of new information could have been discovered.

He splashed cold water on his face to try and calm his nerves. He heard the door open behind him. He looked up into the mirror again and met the eyes of the newcomer.

It was that man. The Yakuza. He wasn’t easily forgettable. No one was with him. He slowly walked toward the sinks.

Shiiba decided that the man must have a high rank in the criminal world. He was calm and composed. For some reason that he couldn’t place his finger on, the man gave Shiiba the creeps. Like something was crawling all over his skin. Shiiba had felt that way before. It was very similar to the first time he’d seen Munechika. Just being in the same room with such a man made it difficult for Shiiba to breathe. It shook him to his very core.

“You don’t look well.” The man had a beautiful voice—masculine, but soft at the same time.

Shiiba shook a little. He hadn’t expected the man to talk to him. He watched as the man started washing his beautiful hands.

“If you’re not feeling well, I can call one of the staff,” the man offered.

Shiiba hesitated. Perhaps the man wasn’t trying to be kind. Perhaps he was after something. Shiiba had to be careful.

“No. I’m fine. Thank you, though,” Shiiba said, trying to compose himself.

The man flashed Shiiba a smile as he dried his hands. “Take care,” he said as he left the restroom.

Shiiba waited a minute before leaving too. He went back to the dance floor and called out to Kuro, “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

In order to avoid whatever scene Kuro was going to cause, he turned around and left without waiting for an answer.

“MISTER SHIBANO!” Kuro screamed.

With a sigh, Shiiba turned around.

Kuro was smiling. “I’m going to find out everything there is to know about Tomo! So don’t forget me!” He stuck his tongue out. Something on his tongue shined. Shiiba thought it was candy, but it wasn’t.

In the middle of Kuro’s tongue was a stud with a red jewel.

“Glad you came.”

Yuujin Inose’s home office was a few blocks south of Sakae Street. The room in the old apartment complex was exactly as Shiiba remembered it—covered in books and papers. There was barely enough room to stand.

Inose welcomed him. “It’s been a long time. Come in.”

It had been three months since Shiiba had seen Inose.

It was well into November, but Inose was only wearing a t-shirt that revealed his muscular arms. No one could guess Inose was an author just by looking at him.

“I’m sorry for calling you so suddenly. You were working, weren’t you?”

“I was in the middle of trying to get information out of some pierced little brat.”

“Pierced—?” Inose cut himself off.

Shiiba spotted a small sofa amid the mess and perched himself on one end of it. He felt the heat of someone’s glare. Beside him sat Inose’s mean, female, American short-hair cat. He cleared his throat. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh, it’s—the phone’s ringing. Wait a minute.” Inose pushed a pile of papers off his house phone and picked it up. “Yes, is that Mister Iwai? No, I’m sorry. It’s not ready yet. I’ll finish it tonight.”

It sounded like his editor. Shiiba figured that this would take a while, so he went to the kitchen to help himself to some coffee.

In stark contrast to the horrific state of Inose’s room, the kitchen was virtually immaculate. The sink was so clean Shiiba could see his reflection in it. It seemed that Inose was as eccentric as Shiiba remembered him to be.

Inose had been Shiiba’s friend since their university days. In fact, Inose was the only college friend Shiiba had kept in contact with. It wasn’t that they’d been particularly close, but they shared the same views and opinions, so Inose was one of the few people that Shiiba could spend a long time with, despite his antisocial tendencies.

Inose had always planned to be a journalist. After college, he had joined a large newspaper and had been assigned to report on the Metropolitan Police for a time. He then worked for a big television company where he reported on politics. But after forcing some controversial changes to the programming, he fell out with his superiors and decided to do freelance writing. Inose had always felt cheated since then and often complained that the system was never interested in the truth. Shiiba could sympathize with that.

Inose’s writing on folk traditions didn’t interest Shiiba much. In all his other works, however, Inose was a ruthless, hard-line reporter. He would always hunt down the truth, while other journalists shied away from it for fear of reprisal. Shiiba admired that.

Shiiba returned to the main room with two mugs of coffee.

Inose was sitting on the sofa apparently finished with his phone conversation. “Sorry,” he said, taking a mug out of Shiiba’s hand. “Ouch, it’s hot!” He screwed up his face and stuck out his tongue. Shaking his head, he finally got down to business. “Where do I start? I think I should give a bit of a background explanation first. Do you have time?”

“Yeah. Just make it easy for me.”

“Of course.” And Inose started what was clearly going to be a long story. “I’ve been doing some research on Yakuza. I was writing a report for one of the weeklies. I’m not totally decided on where I’m going to take the story, but I think I’m going to focus on Yakuza in business. Should be a popular story. Just need to get some good, juicy details. ‘Course, I can’t keep it totally financial—it’ll be boring. So, I’ve been gathering materials on past Yakuza rivalries and the resulting changes in their power structure.”

Inose was a bit of an expert on Tokyo’s underworld. He’d often found himself in dangerous situations, but that had spurred him on all the more.

“While I was doing my research, I started hearing about this new gang called the Godou Group. They’ve been stealthily increasing their powerbase. Have you heard of them?”

“Only in name. I know that they’re not openly aggressive, but they use money to gain more power,” Shiiba said.

“Exactly right. They don’t even openly recruit. Slowly, over the past year, I’ve been working my way in. They had to trust me before they talked about money. Anyway, Ikkou Society President Kunugi was murdered this year, right? They thought it was the work of the Yagami Group, but actually it was a detective.”

Shiiba swallowed. Nagakura had been shot in front of Shiiba by an Ikkou Society bullet—out of revenge for Kunugi’s death, which had been Nagakura’s work.

“It was a detective from COC5, wasn’t it? Was it an acquaintance of yours?” Inose asked.

“I knew his name and face...why?” Shiiba didn’t really want to know more, but he pushed forward anyway. Nagakura had been a victim of his S-work. The wounds created by Nagakura’s tragic death were still fresh for Shiiba. And it didn’t feel like he’d heal anytime soon.

“When the Ikkou Society lost its head, it was supposed to be incorporated by the Yagami Group. But something happened recently, some kind of quarrel that stopped it. I hear that there’s been some kind of treaty calling for a split of power—and the Yagami Group has accepted it.”

Shiiba had heard that there had been some kind of stalemate, but this was the first he’d heard of reconciliation. “The Kansai Hamane Group supports the Yagami Group. I didn’t think they would back down.”

“They can’t not back down. Because the Hamane Group suddenly cut the Yagami Group off. To top it off, the Godou Group is affiliated to the Ikkou Society. The Godou Group is far superior to them, in terms of power. So, I’ve heard that the Ikkou Society now takes orders from the Godou Group. Which means that the Yagami Group has to accept the compromise.”

“The Ikkou Society was so easily subjugated by a newcomer? This is starting to sound like big business power plays...” Shiiba mused.

“I don’t think anyone could have ever guessed that this would happen. It used to be just three organizations. The newcomers are more flexible and ambitious than the old timers. The Godou Group has some real financial muscle. They’re thinking of profits instead of honor...this is just guesswork, but I think there’s a high possibility that the Godou Group is behind the Hamane Group giving up their plans for Kantou. It would all make sense.”

If what Inose said was true, then the Godou Group had subdued the Ikkou Society and was now pressuring their old rivals, the Yagami Group, effectively wresting power from both.

Shiiba sighed. “While everyone’s preoccupied, they’re moving in. Dirty methods.”

“You’re telling me,” Inose snorted. “I was interested, so I started researching the Godou Group. In the beginning, I found someone who was a bodyguard for the Godou president. Just a hoodlum. He put on a good show, though, and so he was hired as a bodyguard. About a year ago, he was cut off from the crime world. The Godou president is a young man in his mid-thirties called Takanari Godou. He sounds like a very capable man. He has a lot of money and financial assets. I’m not clear on his political leanings, though. I heard rumors that he funded the far left. He’s most likely a very dangerous man. He’s also the child of the Togetsu Group president’s sister. Since the day he was born, he’s lived at the president’s house. The two sons were brought up to be the future leaders of the Togetsu Group.”

“What?” Shiiba couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The person responsible for killing Yukari eight years ago had been caught. He’d been a young member of the Togetsu Group. The Togetsu Group had a wide powerbase but was based in Osaka. At one time, they had been fierce rivals of the Koujin Association—the largest organized crime group in Japan.

Munechika’s gang, the Matsukura Group, was second.

Yukari’s murder investigation had been cleared up quickly after a man from the Togetsu Group came forward, claiming that he had used the president’s son’s gun. However, one of the weekly newspapers had published an article that the president’s son was the true culprit. It looked like the police had accepted the substitute to avoid igniting a full-scale gang war, and to try and bring peace between the Togetsu and Koujin organizations.

The vast majority of articles published in the weeklies were nothing but unsubstantiated trash. After the case was closed, the violence had indeed stopped. A month later, the two groups had reconciled and become partners. Shiiba himself had been suspicious of the whole thing, but he’d been in college at the time and didn’t have any means at his disposal to conduct his own investigation. Shinozuka had adamantly insisted that there had been no mistakes made in the police investigation. But Shiiba could see through it and knew that Shinozuka didn’t totally believe the story the cops had come up with. Shiiba couldn’t help but feel dissatisfied.

The Togetsu Group had two sons. Back then, Inose had related to Shiiba that the eldest son was in Osaka and the younger son was traveling in America. The only theory that they had to go on was that the person who fired the bullet that killed Shiiba’s sister was the president’s son. But years passed, and nothing was resolved...

“The president of the Togetsu Group also has a nephew, who might as well have been called the president’s son,” Inose said.

Shiiba trembled a little in excitement. Finally, after so many years, things were coming together. But there was still more. Inose hadn’t finished yet.

“You must have something else to tell me if you called me here,” Shiiba gently said.

Inose nodded, getting straight to the point: “Godou is a big fan of guns. Not model guns, the real thing. The pieces in his collection are all engraved.”

“Engraved? Y-you mean...”

Shiiba stuttered a little. Part of him yearned to hear more. Another part of him was scared of the answer. If Inose said what Shiiba anticipated he would, then it would open a door. For a long time, Shiiba’s heart had been sealed firmly shut—this news might reawaken some of his bitterness.

Shiiba clenched his fists so tight, his nails dug into the palm of his hands. He told himself it would be all right, that he wouldn’t let himself get sucked in.

“Shiiba,” Inose, looking concerned, called him out of his self-induced trance.

“Sorry. Go on.”

“A butterfly. All his guns have a tiny butterfly motif.”

A butterfly.

Shiiba broke out in a cold sweat. All the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

The gun that had killed Yukari had been engraved—engraved with a butterfly motif. When Shiiba had transferred to Community Safety, he had been able to get into the storage house where all evidence was kept. It had been the first time he’d seen the weapon responsible for taking Yukari’s life.

It had been a well-crafted bootlegged copy of a Colt Bison, decorated with a small butterfly motif. When the police apprehended the man who claimed to have committed the crime, they had asked him how he had obtained the weapon. He would only say that the person he got it from was dead. They were never able to find out more than that.

“Shiiba. However much we find out, we can’t change what happened,” Inose said, picking up his cat. He sat her down on his lap. The cat closed her eyes and enjoyed being petted. “Do you remember that incident where a college kid was run over by a dump truck? The police investigation failed to give his parents the answers that they needed. His parents started a massive campaign for justice and collected tens of thousands of signatures on a petition. It forced the police to re-open the case and bring the criminal to justice. It wouldn’t have happened unless there had been a huge public outcry.”

Shiiba knew it. Only some amazing external pressure would get the police to re-open the case. One voice was simply too easy to ignore.

“I’m supposed to bring these criminals to justice, but I’m totally powerless within the system,” Shiiba muttered weakly.

“There’s nothing you can do. It’s the same for Yukari’s husband. Even if he is at the top of the system—well, it’s exactly because he’s at the top of the system that he can’t do anything to about it,” Inose said sympathetically.

Shiiba knew Inose was right. Shinozuka had had to throw away his personal feelings. Shinozuka should have understood how Shiiba felt, but, in fact, the opposite was true—Shiiba could see the world through his brother-in-law’s eyes.

“Inose, I still need to know the truth,” Shiiba said after some thought. He didn’t think he could change anything. He might even lose all hope in the police force for good. But he had to know. He needed to know. He had no idea what the future might hold if he learned the answer, but he couldn’t quell the burning desire to know.

“I understand, and I feel the same way. So I’m going to keep looking into it,” Inose promised, sounding resolute.

Shiiba had always been jealous of Inose’s ability to keep going despite everything. People who knew Inose often said he was strange, but at least he would stick to his guns. Shiiba had been considered strange too, back when he’d passed up a great career in order to be a regular officer. However, he had done that for a reason. Inose had his reasons, too. They were free from the restraints of most ordinary people.

“When I was reporting on the Metropolitan Police, I saw so many fallacies hidden by the men who should have been uncovering them. One day, I want to write something that shows the police force for what it is—a big organization hiding in the shadows. I think it would cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people.” Inose grinned.

Shiiba thought that this man just might do it, one day. “If you find anything else out, please let me know.” He stood up.

Inose did the same, still holding his cat. “You know, you’re different.”

Shiiba began putting on his shoes. When he heard that, he laughed. “I heard you say that three years ago.”

“You’re right.” Inose laughed too. “When you were a student, you were so young and shy. You hardened up when you entered the police force. Now, though, you’ve changed again.”

Inose might have been right. Shiiba had lost his parents when he was in college, but even then, he’d had his sister to look after him. He had been a little timid and introverted as a student. But after Yukari had been killed, the mass media and public attention had overwhelmed him. He’d even felt betrayed by Shinozuka, the one person who should have been on his side. He had known that from then on he was alone, no matter what happened.

Since then, Shiiba had trusted only himself. That was how he lived—alone. To an outsider, it might seem sad and lonely.

“How am I different now?” Shiiba asked. He wanted to know how others saw him.

“I don’t know,” Inose said. Obviously, he had no good reason to say what he’d said. It was just something he’d felt and blurted out without thinking.

“You must have some idea?” Shiiba prompted.

“You’re just different,” Inose replied. “I don’t know...you just seem more relaxed. But at the same time, you don’t seem happy. It’s sort of scary.”

“Scary?”

Shiiba wasn’t really sure what Inose was getting at. Inose seemed unable to explain it himself.

Shiiba walked out of Inose’s apartment building and made his way down the dark streets, his mind full of thoughts. He must have changed around the time that he’d met Munechika. Before then, he hadn’t been able to let anyone in. He had trusted his old partner, Andou, but he had never been able to be entirely honest. Andou had been used to Shiiba’s ways and hadn’t pushed him.

Munechika had been different. He’d managed to work his way into Shiiba’s heart, delving into the places that Shiiba had wanted to keep hidden. Munechika had been relentless in bringing Shiiba out of himself. The man wouldn’t just stand by. He got involved. Munechika didn’t mind if Shiiba was angry or happy, so long as he felt something. Munechika had softened Shiiba’s heart. Shiiba’s pride had been broken, and he had finally faced up to his own weaknesses.

Inose’s words repeated in Shiiba’s head: “You just seem more relaxed.”

Shiiba had managed to make his weaknesses into strengths. Perhaps this change of heart showed on his face.

Being with Munechika worked for Shiiba. Their relationship involved strengths and weaknesses mixing together. Like a chemical reaction, something between the two of them had been created. What the creation was, exactly, Shiiba didn’t really understand. But now, he didn’t think that his negative emotions were necessarily a bad thing. He accepted everything he was feeling and used it to make himself stronger.

Shiiba remembered Munechika telling him how he would never be able to get enough of Shiiba. He wanted to see Munechika now. He needed Munechika—not as a detective, but as a man, as a lover.

That was why he couldn’t meet Munechika. He mustn’t meet his S feeling like this.

He was once again trapped in his complicated feelings.

Shiiba looked up. There wasn’t a single star in the sky.

Chapter 4

He was informed that when the Incidents Team had performed a search of Gambino Gun Shop in Shinjuku, the owner had gone willingly to the police station and answered their questions.

“All of the shop members’ details were recorded on a disk,” Takasaki told him. “Among them were the e-mail addresses of the men that we’ve already apprehended, but we’re still not clear how their personal contact information was leaked.”

“The owner doesn’t know anything?” Shiba asked.

“The owner is clean. There are lots of part-time workers there, though, and they change frequently. The Incidents Team is going to follow up by looking into the employees’ details.”

Shiiba reported that he had met with Kuro.

Takasaki warned him to be careful. He looked tired.

“Shall we get some coffee?” Shiiba asked.

Takasaki declined with a shake of his head. He was looking intensely at something on the table. “Shiiba.”

“Sir?”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Huh?” Shiiba was a little surprised by this question.

“S-work. COC5. Being in a career with no prospects—despite graduating from Tokyo University. You’re always the one who brings in the leads. Information just seems to find you. Even Matsuda knows it. But people only see results, not the men behind them.”

Shiiba had no idea what this was leading to. “Do I look tired?”

Takasaki grimaced. “No, I’m sorry. I said too much. I’m the tired one...ever since that thing with Nagakura, I’ve been finding it so hard to keep going. I’m getting too old for all this.”

There had been a substantial amount of criticism aimed at Takasaki after the Nagakura incident. Some might have considered it fortunate that he had been allowed to keep his job with only a cut in pay, but it had all still taken an emotional toll on the man.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Takasaki added. “You know, I was a good officer on the field.”

Even if a non-career officer managed to make progress, there was a glass ceiling. This guaranteed that no one would ever surpass the section head. Takasaki had gotten that far, and his career was a success in that respect. But it had taken a toll on him.

“Sir.”

“What is it?”

Shiiba wanted to ask advice on his investigation, but then he wondered if Takasaki was the right person to speak to. He decided he’d consult Shinozuka instead. “It’s nothing. You should rest.”

“Yes. Thanks for all your hard work.” Takasaki’s words, although spoken with solemnity, lacked their usual strength. The man turned around and trudged out of the room.

Shiiba hadn’t managed to spot anyone tailing him, yet. He knew they would—soon. They’d be looking for any dirt on him. Adultery, corruption, debts—anything that could be potentially dangerous to police work.

If Human Affairs had started an investigation, it usually signaled the end of a career. As soon as they had evidence of any infraction, the officer would be forced to retire. If the officer refused, he would be threatened with disciplinary action. If fired, the officer would have to leave without retirement money or a pension, so very few people chose to defend their position.

In reality, Human Affairs didn’t exist to solve problems. It forced people to retire. If the issue of the officer did become public knowledge, the police force wouldn’t have to claim any responsibility, as the person in question had already left. The system wasn’t really intended to keep the police force clean from corruption, it was merely a defense mechanism.

Just because Shiiba held a special role as an undercover agent who conducted S-work didn’t mean he was beyond the reach of Human Affairs. Of course, he was permitted to proceed with certain—technically illegal—activities in order to retain his cover. However, corruption, such as drug dealing and accepting bribes, was strictly prohibited. If Human Affairs found any evidence that he was doing those, then he’d be history.

Shiiba couldn’t think of a reason why they’d suspect him of corruption, though. The only possible issue could be his close relationship with Munechika.

Meeting with your S wasn’t a problem, but a physical relationship wasn’t officially sanctioned. However, the only people who really knew about their relationship were himself, Munechika, and Munechika’s secretary, Kaname. Kaname was completely loyal to Munechika, so Shiiba was confident he hadn’t leaked their secret. So, there must be another reason for the investigation.

Shiiba went to write up his report. He couldn’t think straight, though. He could only think about what Human Affairs had in store for him.

As soon as Shiiba got on the Ooedo line, he sensed that something was wrong. He slowly started to move from the middle car to the front of the train.

When he casually glanced over his shoulder, he saw that a man in a trench coat was doing exactly the same thing. However, the man stopped in the car next to Shiiba’s rather than move forward.

The man could have been any other businessman, but Shiiba saw through the ruse straight away.

That man was watching him. Shiiba wondered how long he had been tailed. He hadn’t noticed anything when he’d left his apartment.

He heard that investigators usually worked in teams. One would keep watch on the officer’s house and then contact another investigator who would be waiting at the nearest station. That was probably how this man started to follow Shiiba.

The train pulled into the station. Shiiba waited until only one second was left before the doors shut, and then he leapt off the train. In the next second, the train left for the next station—the man in the trench coat still on board. Shiiba headed for Sentagaya station on the Soubu line. He turned back, passed Shibuya, and got off at Ogikuba.

He walked for about ten minutes then stopped in front of a silent house. After checking that he wasn’t being followed, he put the key in the lock.

This was Munechika’s home. The property deeds were in someone else’s name, but he knew that Munechika used it as a safe-house whenever it was necessary. Those occasions were rare, but the place was furnished with everything he’d need.

Once, when there had been trouble with a Chinese trader, Shiiba had been taken here. At that time, Munechika had given Shiiba a key and told him he could use it whenever he wanted. This was the first time Shiiba had needed to resort to it.

Shiiba was supposed to be receiving information tonight from Munechika, but he couldn’t go to Roppongi Hills now. The investigators probably knew that Munechika was Shiiba’s S, this late in the game.

They might even be watching Munechika’s apartment at this very moment.

Shiiba sat down at the dining room table and called Munechika on his cell phone.

“Shiiba? What’s up?”

He told Munechika where he was. That was enough for Munechika to know that something was wrong. When Munechika probed him for more information in a voice close to a whisper, Shiiba would only answer, “Sorry. I don’t think it’s serious, but if you come here, you need to be careful that you’re not being followed.”

“Got it.”

As soon as Shiiba hung up, he felt unhappy that he’d said or done anything. His troubles had nothing to do with Munechika. He shouldn’t have involved his S.

Angry, Shiiba beat his fists down on the table. He stood up, walked into the living room, and collapsed on the sofa. Closing his eyes, he began to consider the situation.

If his relationship with his S was proper, then they wouldn’t meet up as often as they did. The two of them had crossed the line, making their situation even more dangerous.

Shiiba slumped over and reprimanded himself silently. Munechika was formally registered as his S. That meant Munechika could meet freely with Shiiba, safe in the knowledge that he would not be charged with criminal offences. This excuse disguised their guilt and made the time they spent together seem more normal. It was his job, after all, to collect information from his S.

He dreamed. In his dream, he was walking down the street with Nagakura.

“Nagakura, are you feeling better?”

“Don’t I look better? I’m on top of the world.” Nagakura shrugged his shoulders and took a drag on his cigarette.

“How is Mao?” Shiiba asked.

“He’s well. Why don’t we all go for dinner sometime? He asked about you too.”

Nagakura would never say anything like that so Shiiba knew this couldn’t be real. Still, just the idea that they could share a meal again put a smile on his face.

“Nagakura, I might have found the man who really killed my sister.”

“Really? That’s great.” Nagakura still wore a cynical smile, even in Shiiba’s dreams.

“Can you say it to me again? The thing you told me...in the end...”

Shiiba remembered. He remembered what happened at the end. He remembered telling Nagakura that he wouldn’t make the same mistake.

“Oh, look at the time. I have to go now. See ya!” When they got to a crossroads, Nagakura suddenly took a right.

“Nagakura!” Shiiba called out to stop him, but Nagakura acted as if he hadn’t heard. “Wait! Nagakura!”

Shiiba couldn’t follow the other man. He couldn’t go that way. Panicked, he tried to run after him.

Nagakura turned around. With a fierce, almost demonic expression, Nagakura yelled at him: “GO BACK! YOU HAVE TO GO THAT WAY!”

Shiiba stopped in his tracks.

“You have to keep going until you get to the end.” Nagakura’s expression started to soften again.

Suddenly, a man dressed entirely in black appeared. He had no face. He fired a few shots at Nagakura.

“NAGAKURA!” Shiiba screamed.

Shiiba was having the same nightmare all over again. The pool of blood under Nagakura’s body spread, staining the street. The red liquid edged toward Shiiba’s feet. A rivulet of blood moved like a dark red snake that was possessed, trying to wrap itself around Shiiba’s legs.

“Ngh!”

It made his skin crawl. Shiiba was experiencing true terror. Then, he heard a metallic sound. It felt as if his head was being hit by a hammer...

Shiiba woke up.

The strange noise persisted. Slowly, the annoying sound quieted, fading, and then disappeared. Shiiba realized it had been the blood in his veins. He had been hearing the pounding of his own blood in his ears.

Shiiba looked at his watch. He must have been asleep for about two hours. The day was coming to an end.

Someone was in the kitchen and he smelled something delicious. He stood up to investigate.

“How long have you been here?” Shiiba asked.

Munechika was stirring something in a pot. He’d taken off his jacket and tie, his sleeves were rolled up. “About thirty minutes. You were sleeping so soundly, I decided not to disturb you...you must be hungry. It’s just about done.”

“You made it?” Shiiba couldn’t hide his surprise.

“Yep,” Munechika replied.

He served the food at the table.

“I thought you had cooked me something amazing. This is just pasta with some sauce over it!” Shiiba said.

“Best homemade food there is. Now eat up, before it gets cold.” Munechika poured some wine into Shiiba’s glass and nodded to begin eating.

Shiiba wrapped the pasta around a fork and then pushed it into his mouth. “Delicious.”

It really was good—better than Shiiba had expected. The pasta wasn’t too soft, and the tomato sauce was exactly to his taste.

“You should thank Kaname. He’s very picky when it comes to food. He always does the shopping.”

Shiiba knew that Munechika had to be joking. Still, the image of Kaname standing in a shopping aisle, carefully choosing the right kind of tomato sauce made Shiiba laugh.

He was still upset by his nightmare, which had embodied all of his fears and anxieties, but seeing Munechika act completely normal calmed Shiiba a little.

It was quiet here. Time seemed to pass slowly. It was a nicely decorated place, but it didn’t have the same sterile feel that Munechika’s luxurious apartment did. Having simple food in a normal house was strangely relaxing.

When they finished eating, Munechika finally asked, “What happened?” His tone was quiet and measured.

“Nothing.”

Now that he had relaxed, Shiiba didn’t feel like talking about it.

“How can you say that? You told me you were being followed.”

Shiiba knew he had to answer somehow. “I’m sorry. I was being too jumpy. There isn’t a problem.”

“Liar. Are you trying to hide something from me?” Munechika scowled fiercely.

Shiiba sighed. He hadn’t wanted to deceive his S. “Human Affairs is following me.”

Munechika looked searchingly at Shiiba. “You’re under surveillance? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Shiiba answered.

Munechika looked even more pained.

“Is it because of me?” he muttered.

“No. You’re my S. It can’t be because of you.”

“Let’s stop meeting for a while,” Munechika suggested.

Shiiba frowned at Munechika. “Why?”

“Obviously, for your sake. I can phone you to give you information. I could get Kaname to meet you, check how you’re doing...”

“No. I won’t let this happen. It’s my job to meet you and gather the information!” Shiiba yelled, striking his fist on the table.

Munechika’s gave him a pained smile. He was always so calm and authoritative. He always managed to hide his fears and worries. He could always handle himself.

Shiiba wasn’t in any position to tell Munechika what to do. “Where do you get your strength from?” he muttered.

“I was born with it.” But Munechika understood how Shiiba felt and didn’t press the issue any further.

After they had cleared up the dishes, Munechika passed on what he had discovered. “I have some information on the bootlegged guns.”

“Tell me.”

“First, come take a shower with me.”

Shiiba pouted, but Munechika just gave him a cheeky smile.

“What’s the matter? Isn’t sleeping with me part of your job too? We can talk all about it in bed.”

“Damn. You never give up,” Shiiba whined a little, then stood up with some enthusiasm.

Just as promised, Munechika told Shiiba the details about the bootlegged guns.

The boss of a construction company called Yasuo Maruoka was selling them. He wasn’t affiliated to any particular crime organization, but he did have links with the criminal underworld in the past and so he was pretty well known in that circle. Apparently, Maruoka’s company, Asahi Construction, was infamous for putting its laborers’ lives in danger, due to various breaches of labor laws.

Maruoka had probably started selling guns to criminals this summer. His bootlegged guns were better than the real thing. His services extended to maintenance and repair. If a buyer paid extra, the gun could even be customized.

“If we conduct a covert investigation, then we’ll probably be able to find out who’s making the guns,” Shiiba muttered to himself.

Then, Munechika said something strange. “You won’t be able to investigate Maruoka.”

“Why? Is he that careful?”

“It’s not that.” Munechika shrugged. His fingers worked on Shiiba’s shoulders, gently massaging away the tension. “Maruoka was hit by a car and killed last night. You can’t spy on a dead person.”

Furious, Shiiba batted Munechika’s hands away. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I just did! Why are you so angry?”

From Munechika’s point of view, it didn’t matter if the man was killed or murdered. But to Shiiba, the man had been his one and only chance to solve the case.

“When is the funeral?” Shiiba demanded.

Munechika frowned.

“The day after tomorrow... hey, you can’t seriously be thinking of going?”

Shiiba stared back at Munechika suspiciously. “What’s the matter with going? Other people involved in the sales of bootlegged guns might attend as well. I just want to check it out. Where is it?”

Munechika didn’t say anything. Instead he sat up, pulled a robe over his naked body, and stood up.

“Hey, Munechika.” Shiiba wasn’t about to let this opportunity go.

“You’re not going. He may not have been a big mafia name, but he wasn’t much different from Yakuza. All the people there are going to be criminals. It’s no place for an undercover detective.” Munechika left the room.

Shiiba could tell that Munechika was in no mood to give him what he needed. Left alone on the bed, he ran his fingers through his hair.

Munechika had told him not to go. He knew that Munechika was only worried about him. But Shiiba had to do something. He had to break the stalemate. He had to work out a plan.

Shiiba walked down Hanamichi Street, which crossed Kabukicho. However, he soon found himself blocked by a group of people standing outside a residential building. He tried to catch a glimpse of what was going on. It looked like there had been a raid on a gang office.

There were plenty of criminal organizations’ offices in this area. Illegal parking outside these offices had caused quite a problem lately, so this crackdown was really welcomed by the area’s residents.

Shiiba was about to walk on when he heard a familiar voice. “Hey. Come out here.”

A uniformed officer dragged out a Yakuza gang member. The officer was Asakawa. Asakawa noticed Shiiba too, but he only gave a passing glance before he moved out of sight. Shiiba knew every inch of Kabukicho like the back of his hand—and that knowledge included the other officers who operated there. Asakawa knew better than to draw attention to an officer in Shiiba’s position.

Shiiba hadn’t had to walk too far before Asakawa phoned him.

Asakawa started by asking if there was somewhere they could talk without being noticed. Shiiba glanced around and gave him the name and address of a nearby café, then hung up.

He only had to wait in the dingy, windowless café for a few minutes before Asakawa joined him.

Asakawa quickly glanced around the place and, after deciding that the few guests there weren’t going to cause a problem, sat down next to Shiiba.

They ordered coffee. After it arrived, Asakawa spoke. “Masaki, I’m sorry.”

“No problem. You were busy. What are you taking them in for?”

Asakawa was part of COC4, whose main target was organized crime. He also associated with some of the higher ups in the force, and he was a friend of Shinozuka’s.

“The gang’s boss is suspected of fraud.”

“Did you get results?”

“Weapons and drugs. We picked up quite a haul.”

For once, Asakawa wasn’t sporting his usual stubble. He was uncharacteristically clean shaven. His white shirt was still a little off-color and his suit was full of creases, though. Shiiba knew that Asakawa was simply too busy with work to care about such minor details. Still, Shiiba couldn’t help but think that if he would take a little more care with his personal appearance, Asakawa could be quite an attractive man. He was probably about thirty-seven—the same age as Shinozuka, but they were totally different in appearance and behavior.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Shiiba asked as he lit a cigarette.

“Yeah, I did.” Asakawa looked away. “You’re being watched, aren’t you?”

Shiiba’s first reaction was one of surprise, but he quickly realized that Shinozuka must have told Asakawa. It seemed Shinozuka let his guard down around his closest friends.

“I was careful when I came in. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”

Asakawa smiled. “They must be having a hard time keeping tabs on you.”

To mark Shiiba, who worked in the gray areas of the law, was no easy task. To really predict Shiiba’s movements would probably require twenty-four hour surveillance.

“You’re very calm about all this. Most detectives would be nervous wrecks at the mere suggestion that they were being watched.” Asakawa sounded tired. He took a large gulp of coffee.

“I’ve got nothing to hide, so why should I be worried? If they can’t get anything on me, then they can’t do anything.”

“You’re right...but have you met with Shino recently?” Asakawa asked urgently.

“I met him late last night,” Shiiba replied, curious.

“How was he?” Asakawa asked. It was an odd question.

“What do you mean? He’s like he always is.”

“Right...” Asakawa trailed off and crossed his arms.

“Has something happened to him?” Now Shiiba was worried.

“No, it’s not that something has happened. He’s just been acting strange lately. He’s jumpy and moody. He flares up at the smallest thing, but then when he should be angry, he acts like a Buddha.”

These words came from a close friend who had known the man for a long time, so Shiiba took them seriously.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen him like this,” Asakawa went on. “He entered the head office’s Personnel Department a little while ago, and I heard that there were sparks between him and the boss there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t really know the details. I just heard parts of it from an acquaintance in the Second Division. Apparently there’s been a bit of ... friction.”

“Because of me?”

Shinozuka couldn’t object to surveillance based on his personal feelings, but he could still be anxious about it.

“It might have a connection, but I think that things are more complicated than that. Anyway, I hear that you’re chasing those bootlegged guns?”

Asakawa changed the topic so quickly that Shiiba didn’t have the chance to probe any further.

“Yeah. You think someone in COC4 is working on the case too?”

“Well, we don’t know if Yakuza are involved yet. We’re keeping an eye on the situation.”

“Do you know Maruoka of Asahi Construction?” Shiiba inquired.

Asakawa’s face changed immediately into the mask of a detective. “You know about him?”

“I suspect that he’s involved in the gun sales, so I’m trying to find out as much as I can. It might not have anything to do with you, though.” Shiiba tried to play down his interest in Maruoka, worried that he might be treading into COC4’s territory. “Do you think the hit-and-run accident was murder?”

“We’re investigating all possibilities,” Asakawa revealed. “There weren’t any signs at the scene that the car had even bothered to brake, so it’s reasonable to assume that he was murdered. This was a man involved with several criminal organizations, and it’s very likely that he got caught up in some kind of trouble. However, selling guns? That’s the first I’ve heard of that. Where did you find this out?”

Shiiba didn’t answer straight away.

“Munechika?” Asakawa suggested grimly. “I’d like to meet him one day. Quiz him on some stuff. He always seems to know what’s going on. I bet he’d be able to help my team too.”

Shiiba suddenly remembered his conversation with Inose. “Apparently the Ikkou Society and the Yagami Group have reconciled.”

“Yeah. Strange, isn’t it? It’s really shaken up the balance of power within the gangs. Groups that have been fighting like cats and dogs are now working together. The smaller organizations that were under the big umbrella are now part of other organizations. To be honest, we really can’t keep up with all these changes.”

If what Inose said was true, then everything was connected with the Godou Group. COC4 was full of detectives experienced with the inner workings of the criminal world and they should have had a good grasp of the situation, but for some reason, Asakawa hadn’t even mentioned the Godou Group. COC4 must not have been able to grasp the extent of the Godou Group’s power yet, Shiiba surmised.

It was all getting to be a bit too much for Shiiba, as well. He was finding it difficult to think. His mind was blank. His body was operating on automatic. When he left Asakawa, he walked aimlessly through the streets.

He took a left on Kuyakusho Street and another left at Golden Street. It was midday so there weren’t many people out. He turned the corner; on the left hand side, he could see Hanazono Police Box. He knew that meant he was leaving the Shinjuku district and entering the Yotsuya district.

Shiiba climbed the stairs in front of him. He was now standing at the compound walls of Hanazono shrine. He walked around and entered the holy grounds.

The place was deserted. Not a person was in sight. It was almost time for the annual open-air-festival. The decorations and tables were already lined up in preparation for the festivities. The place would be bustling with vendors and tourists soon. It was one of Shinjuku’s seasonal traditions to welcome December this way. Every year, over 600,000 visitors came to the shrine.

Shiiba didn’t have any particular religion, but he had come all this way, so he dropped some change into the donation box and then put his hands together to pray.

Shiiba bent his head. He was feeling really mixed up about everything. Maruoka. The Godou Group. Shinozuka was acting so strangely that even Asakawa was worried.

But, no matter what happened, Shiiba had to put his investigation as his first priority. He thought back to what Kuro had said. The brat had boasted that his friend could get as many guns as he wanted. He could have been talking about Maruoka. If that was the case, then why was Maruoka killed? Perhaps there had been some sort of trouble over selling the guns...

Chapter 5

Shiiba got out of the taxi just before reaching his destination. He thought that he’d lost the man tailing him, but Shiiba looked around to be sure.

After walking for five minutes, he saw a funeral hall up ahead. Today was the funeral of Asahi Construction’s President, Maruoka Yasuo.

There was still some time before the ceremony would begin. The black-clad mourners were gathering under the tents outside. Shiiba passed by the guestbook and mingled with the other mourners.

For a company president’s funeral, an extraordinary number of the men attending were very muscular. Shiiba kept his ears perked up to catch the whispered rumors floating around.

“It was a hit-and-run?”

“I heard that they still haven’t found who did it.”

“He had enough enemies who would have liked to see him dead.”

“You mean it was murder?”

He looked at the names on the cards attached to the flowers. One of them stood out—a card with the name “Tokujyuurou Yoshizawa.” Shiiba thought he’d heard the name before, but he couldn’t remember where.

As he was racking his brain for an answer, someone grabbed his arm from behind. Instinctively, Shiiba began to push back, but then he saw that it was someone he knew.

“Come this way, please. The boss asked for you.” The large man who had bent over to whisper in Shiiba’s ear was one of Munechika’s employees. His name was Saikawa. Shiiba had met him several times before.

He followed Saikawa to the funeral hall’s parking lot. Munechika was in the backseat of a black Benz. Saikawa opened the door and Shiiba slipped in next to his S.

“I didn’t know you were attending the funeral. If you had said—”

Munechika cut Shiiba off. “Are you an idiot?”

Shiiba glowered at suddenly being called an idiot.

“I told you not to come,” Munechika continued. “It’s ridiculous for you to be at Maruoka’s funeral. It’s too much of a risk.”

“If I mingle, then no one will know,” Shiiba reasoned out. “And, anyway, there aren’t any detectives who know my face.”

“This is your disguise?” Munechika grabbed Shiiba’s glasses and then messed up his combed-back hair.

Shiiba shook his head and tried to push Munechika away. “Get off! I’m not going to sniff around. I won’t be suspicious. I just want to take a look.”

“You always attract attention. You have to know that.” Munechika was being really aggressive. Shiiba could tell that he was really mad this time. “Kaname, you stay here. Look after this darling princess of ours.”

“Sir.” Kaname was sitting in the driver’s seat of the car. He nodded his acknowledgement.

Saikawa immediately opened the door for his boss. Munechika got out of the car. He then reached into Saikawa’s pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, which he threw at Shiiba. “Stay here until I get back. If you try to step one foot out of this car, I swear I’ll punish you.”

Shiiba put on the glasses, about to bicker, when he was caught off guard by Munechika’s smile.

“Why are you smiling?!” Whenever the other man pulled this sort of thing, Shiiba really lost it.

“You look sexy dressed in all black. I could take you now.”

Shiiba thought about screaming some obscenities, but Munechika was already outside and Saikawa was closing the door.

“Pervert,” Shiiba muttered to himself. When he looked up, he caught Kaname looking at him through the rear view mirror. “Kaname, do I stand out?”

“Yes. Especially somewhere like this.” Kaname’s response was so immediate and straightforward that it didn’t really leave Shiiba any room to argue.

When the ceremony started, the mourners started to filter into the funeral hall. Soon after, Shiiba could hear speeches coming out of the loudspeakers.

When Shiiba had spoken with Munechika about Maruoka before, he hadn’t been able to guess whether the two had a personal relationship.

“They never met face to face,” Kaname answered, “but the former Matsukura Group president was very friendly with Maruoka. The boss is here today to honor that relationship, as the current president is currently indisposed.”

Shiiba asked why the president couldn’t attend, but Kaname shook his head. “I don’t know. That young man is very selfish.”

It was a very rare moment when Kaname said what he truly felt. It seemed that Kaname didn’t think much of Munechika’s half-brother.

“Maybe he doesn’t like funerals?” Shiiba suggested.

“I couldn’t answer for him...” Kaname dodged.

“Kaname, how long have you known Munechika?” Shiiba wanted to take this chance to learn more about his S.

“It’ll be eighteen years this year.”

Shiiba thought he must have misheard so he repeated, “Eighteen years?”

Kaname nodded.

“You’ve been with Munechika since he was fifteen. I know it’s rude to ask, but how old are you?”

“I’m three years older than the boss.”

Shiiba was surprised. He had thought that Kaname was much older than that.

“When the Matsukura Group was increasing its powerbase, there were a lot of fights with the other groups. The old president’s wife was very worried about the boss even so much as walking around outside. I was hired as his bodyguard, and that’s how I came into his service.”

The president’s wife gave birth to their legitimate son, Motoaki. That she would care about her husband’s mistress’ child made Shiiba believe she had been a very kind woman. “The former president’s wife, where is she now?”

Kaname sighed a little. Shiiba could sense that he was feeling a little uncomfortable. “She passed on, unfortunately.”

“I see.” Shiiba wanted to ask more questions, but he hesitated to pry when the person in question was no longer alive. He didn’t want their conversation to stop cold. Even though Shiiba always said he wasn’t in love, it was at times like these that he knew in the bottom of his heart that Munechika was special to him. Everyone had faith in themselves and were weak when confronted with their heart’s desire.

The heart had many walls. Walls kept true feelings in. Walls hid those feelings from any upsetting news. Walls helped to maintain a calm mind. He knew this, but he couldn’t stop lying to himself. He couldn’t stop hiding from what he truly felt.

The ceremony was soon over, and the coffin was carried out. The mourners also started to leave once the hearse had departed. Munechika and Saikawa returned to the car.

Saikawa opened the door for his boss.

“Munechika.” A man standing close by stopped Munechika before he could get in. Three large men stood behind the stranger. “It’s been a while.”

Shiiba inspected them from behind the protection of his sunglasses. It was the same man he had met at the club Kuro had taken him to. The man was in a black suit, but he still stood out from the crowd.

“You’re here instead of Motoaki?” the man asked Munechika.

“What if I am?” Munechika replied.

Shiiba could see immediately that Munechika wasn’t happy at seeing this particular person.

The man ignored Munechika’s obvious contempt. He just smiled and pushed both hands into his pockets. “He hasn’t been working much recently, I hear. He’s sulking because you never see him. He’s always admired you.”

Based solely on outward appearances, anyone would have believed this handsome man with his soft voice and gentle smile had nothing but good intentions—a perfect gentleman. But when Shiiba looked carefully, he could see something dark lurking behind those eyes. The stranger wasn’t a normal man. There was something evil about him.

“I hear you’re doing a good job in my place. You must be tired from babysitting him all the time,” Munechika snapped back.

“I like him. He’s a good kid. I don’t think I could ever get bored of him. I think he likes me too. You don’t have to worry. Even if the Matsukura Group throws him out, I’ll still look after him.”

Saying such a thing was simply outrageous.

“Don’t be so arrogant. Even if you are friends with Motoaki, the Matsukura Group is never going to deal with you. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Munechika’s tone of voice was calm and deliberate, but Shiiba could sense the barely contained rage it carried.

“What are you saying? You’re the one who should be careful. He’s quite astute when it comes to you. He knows that you’ve been spending all your time with your new toy. If I were you, I’d keep that plaything under lock and key...who knows what Motoaki will do if he gets his hands on it.”

Shiiba couldn’t tell if the man remembered him or not.

Munechika got into the car, which broke the staring contest. Saikawa closed the door behind Munechika and then got into the front passenger seat.

Kaname drove off.

“Who was that?” Shiiba asked.

There had been something about that man—something oppressive. Something even Munechika couldn’t wave aside with a smile. Shiiba had noticed it the first time they’d met in that club bathroom. He wanted to know more.

Munechika didn’t speak straight away. He had his arms folded and his eyes closed as if he were in deep thought.

“Munechika?” Shiiba prompted.

“Takanari Godou. President of the Godou Group.”

Shiiba shivered a little. His heart began beating fast, and he could feel goose bumps breaking out over his skin.

Godou—the man who may have murdered Yukari.

“Shiiba?” Munechika had noticed Shiiba’s strange reaction and frowned. “Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing.” Shiiba turned his head to look out the window, but not one bit of scenery registered to him.

“I’ll say goodbye now.” Kaname saw Munechika and Shiiba safely to the apartment, said farewell at the door, and left.

As soon as they were alone, the tension dispersed. Even standing up felt too difficult a task. Weak, Shiiba collapsed onto the sofa.

“Shiiba, you know Godou?” Munechika asked, loosening his tie. He sat down next to Shiiba and waited.

Shiiba didn’t know where to start. He didn’t have the strength to choose the right words. “Eight years ago, my sister was caught up in a gun fight and killed.”

“It was a stray bullet from a gun belonging to a member of the Togetsu Group, wasn’t it?”

Shiiba looked over at Munechika, shocked. “You knew?”

“When I first saw you with Andou, I did a little investigating of my own.”

“I see. You must have looked around a lot. That was eight years ago.” Shiiba was surprised that Munechika knew so much about the case.

“I discovered the connection to your brother-in-law, then I read up on the rest. Well, I didn’t have to investigate much. Even I remember the case where an officer’s wife was killed by Yakuza. It was big news at the time.”

Shiiba didn’t want to think that Munechika knew about his past. His S hadn’t mentioned it, not even once. But that was probably because Munechika wanted to avoid causing Shiiba any unnecessary pain.

“What does that have to do with Godou?”

Shiiba told Munechika what he had found out from Inose.

Munechika was silent for a while. Then, he said, “Godou was indeed raised in the Togetsu Group president’s house. He also likes guns and butterflies. But I don’t think he was in Japan at that time.”

“What?” Shiiba stared at Munechika.

“When Godou graduated from Tokyo University, he went to Hong Kong immediately. He made a lot of money on the futures market, there. He’s an amazing trader. He returned to Japan about five years ago.”

“He could have come back temporarily.”

Munechika tried to debunk Shiiba’s theory: “He could have. But there would have been no reason for him to be involved in the rivalry between the Togetsu Group and the Koujin Association. His relationship with his uncle, the Togetsu Group president, fell apart when he was young.”

Shiiba eyed him suspiciously. “You know a lot. How do you know Godou?”

“I worked with Godou in Hong Kong for a time,” Munechika said straightforwardly.

Shiiba trembled. He didn’t like that Godou and Munechika knew each other more intimately than he had anticipated. “What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing. We just met by coincidence. He asked if I would help him at work, and I said I would. That’s all. We knew each other for about two years. I didn’t really like how he thought or the way he did things, so I took the money I had earned and came home. Your sister must have been murdered just after that.”

“Did Godou ever try to contact you when you came back to Japan?”

“No. I didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Then, a year ago, I bumped into him at the party held to announce that my brother was taking over the Matsukura Group. He was the president of the Godou Group, then.”

Even if they had worked together for a time, Shiiba could tell that Munechika really disliked Godou. That was a relief. If Munechika had some kind of secret relationship with the man who possibly had killed Yukari, then he didn’t think he would be able to bring himself to keep seeing Munechika.

Shiiba couldn’t sit still now. He launched himself off the sofa. Turning around, he looked down at Munechika, his lips pursed. “Munechika, I need the truth. I need to know if the person who killed my sister was Godou or not.” Shiiba stated this with so much force he could hear his pulse beating in his temples.

Munechika grabbed Shiiba’s arms and stared straight into his eyes. “You mustn’t go near him,” he whispered urgently.

“Why?”

“Godou is different from any other criminal you’ve known. He might look like a gentleman, but he will do anything to achieve his ambitions.” Munechika looked so serious, it spooked Shiiba a little.

But it made him angry too.

Surely if it was a question of power, the Matsukura Group was far stronger than the Godou Group. Financial wealth, members, friends, political connections—the Matsukura Group was superior in so many ways.

So why was Munechika so afraid? What kind of man was Godou? What made him so dangerous that even Munechika backed off?

“You mustn’t go near him. Please, promise me you won’t.” Munechika’s voice was quiet and controlled, but there was something desperate in his eyes.

Without any new leads on the bootlegged guns, the entire case was at a standstill. Investigation into Maruoka’s hit-and-run was so difficult, it proceeded slowly. There had been no revelations to help apprehend the criminal.

Shiiba remembered seeing the name “Tokujyuurou Yoshizawa” at Maruoka’s funeral. He also remembered seeing Yoshizawa’s name when he had been looking at records relating to another case more than two years ago. Shiiba was intrigued by that connection. He called the Intelligence Management Division’s Verification Center and asked for a criminal records background check.

Just as he suspected, Yoshizawa had prior convictions—for possession of firearms and the illegal manufacture of firearms. Shiiba couldn’t believe that this was pure coincidence. He asked Takasaki for help, and investigation materials were delivered to his place in Shibuya.

Yoshizawa was sixty-nine years old. He had been arrested twice in the past for criminal offences. Previously, he had worked at a gun manufacturing plant. There, he had learned the skills necessary to make firearms. He had been caught doing it illegally and served two jail sentences of three and then five years.

Shiiba could sympathize a little, considering the background. The man had been asked to perform maintenance work on some guns by Yakuza who hadn’t left him any choice on the matter. The Yakuza had also used his knowledge, forcing him to start manufacturing guns. It had been a plan from the beginning to press Yoshizawa into their service. They threatened his family if he refused to do as they asked. Yoshizawa really had no choice.

He had been compensated well for it, though. He proved to be an excellent craftsman and Yakuza everywhere considered his guns to be some of the best. The guns started selling for high prices and soon were in just as much demand as regular-branded guns.

After attaining permission from Takasaki, Shiiba began surveillance work on Yoshizawa.

Yoshizawa was now operating Yoshizawa Iron Works near Kitajyukken River. He was living with his granddaughter in a house adjacent to the factory. The iron works manufactured machine parts. It was run jointly by Yoshizawa and his nineteen-year-old granddaughter, Kiri Yoshizawa. There were two other employees. It was a very small-scale operation. The records indicated that the factory had previous dealings with Asahi Construction, which had been Maruoka’s enterprise.

The company stayed open until six o’clock in the evening. The latest the employees would leave was eight o’clock. However, the lights were on until very late at night. The sound of active machines could be heard until two in the morning. The noise confirmed that someone was working in the building until that hour.

The replica CRS pistol was mostly assembled by hand, using very simple machinery. It could be done with a drill machine, which meant that most of the small back-street factories in Japan possessed the necessary equipment to make one.

In the past, the gangs had imported skilled Filipino workers to come to Japan to make handguns. Gangs would also place orders for gun parts with different back-street factories and then assemble those. Some gangs had been doing this on a massive scale for years.

Yoshizawa Iron Works would have all the materials and machinery necessary. And Shiiba knew that Yoshizawa had the knowledge and experience. Putting two and two together, it was highly likely that handguns were being manufactured here.

Every day, Shiiba headed to the Yoshizawa Iron Works, wondering how he was going to get the concrete proof that he needed. He realized his limitations immediately. The factory was too small for him to sneak in unnoticed. He spent several days lurking around the outer compound fence, frustrated. Even if he did do something as drastic as breaking in, it wasn’t going to help the investigation. He decided that he would need some more help.

With the intention of wrapping up his spy work that day, he headed to Yoshizawa Iron Works. When he got near the factory, he discovered an old man crouching in the street. Shiiba started to approach the old man, thinking that something might be wrong. When he realized that the old man was Yoshizawa, he stopped in his tracks.

Detectives weren’t supposed to meet the target of their surveillance face to face. If the detective was recognized, then his cover was blown for good. However, Shiiba figured if he was going to wrap the whole case up today, then this could be the very chance he needed.

Shiiba quickly made his mind up—he was going to talk to the old man.

“Is anything wrong? Are you all right?” Shiiba approached Yoshizawa with a concerned look on his face.

Yoshizawa had his hand to his chest. He nodded a little. His face was wrinkled with worry and he was clearly in pain.

“If you’re not well, I could call an ambulance.” Shiiba was starting to become genuinely concerned.

“No, I’m fine. This happens.” Yoshizawa tried to stand up, but he stumbled.