wouldnât be guilty of anything. Pull it too late and sheâd have no choice but to arrest him
and
Saori. Within her thirty-second window, she had another window of one, maybe two seconds where she could nail Bumps Ryota and still let Saori walk.
There was the other option too. She could choose not to pull the trigger at all. Let them go. Tell Ko his plan was a pooch screw from the get-go, then set up a new sting on Bumps and another buyer. Or just let Saori walk and then hit Bumps, hoping he was carrying enough to nail him on intent to distribute.
âOn your toes, boys,â she said into the Bluetooth. âWe go on my signal.â
Saori and Bumps were still talking. Saoriâs hair was longer than Mariko remembered, dyed peroxide orange. Bumps had long hair too, shoulder length, straight pressed, and tawny like a lionâs. Both were bone skinny, their clothes hanging off them like sails from a mast in dead air. Their image in Marikoâs hand mirror trembled. It was hard to tell if either had passed anything to the other.
âWhat are we waiting for, Sergeant?â
âZip it, Three. We donât have a bust if he doesnât sell her anything.â
There. Had their hands touched? In the trembling mirror it was hard to tell. Mariko turned around to get a better look. Bumps was definitely putting something into his jacket pocket. What about Saori? Mariko could only see her back. Saoriâs hands were in front of her belly, her skeletally skinny elbows winging out on either side.
âHell with it,â Mariko muttered. Then full volume, âMove, move, move!â
Bumps Ryota locked eyes with her. They were jumpy, his eyes, but despite the fact that he was amped, he froze in place for one full second before he bolted.
One second was enough time for Mariko to clear the heavy Taser from her belt line, not enough time to close within firing range. Bumps took off like a rabbit on speed.
Toyoda was on an intercept course with him. Mishima bore down on Saori, just on the fringe of Marikoâs peripheral vision. Bumps juked right and put a bench between himself and Toyoda. Instead of vaulting it, Toyoda went around. That was all the breakaway Bumps needed.
Mariko bounded over the bench, dashing past Toyoda and not sparing the breath to call him a jackass. She wasnât going to catch Bumps. Five more strides and heâd be out of the dry neon mouth of the mall and into the slick, busy darkness of the streets.
Whether out of inspiration or desperation, Mariko couldnât say, but she chucked the Taser. It wheeled end over end, almost in slow motion, and Mariko was sure she hadnât put enough into the throw. The thing was heavy; it wasnât going to make it. But then it hit Bumps in the base of the neck. He stutter-stepped, stumbled, regained his footing. It was enough.
Like so many others in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, Mariko had taken the departmentâs aikido course. In the heat of the moment, she couldnât remember a single technique. She grabbed a fistful of Bumpsâs stiff, tawny hair. Bumps kept running. She stopped.
In the next instant Bumps was on his ass. âStay down,â Mariko said, panting, fumbling for her cuffs with her shaky, sweaty left hand.
One of those newer-model Toyotas hissed by, the kind that looked like a pregnant roller skate. A raindrop thwacked heavily on Marikoâs scalp. She felt it roll through the forest of her choppy hair, tracing a cold line down the back of her head toward the collar of her blouse. Overhead, the low-hanging clouds glowed white, the way they could only do in a city the size of Tokyo. Every building in sight was the same height, nine or ten stories before disappearing into the haze. The sole exception was the mall, with its roof like rows and rows of mannequin tits, the drumming of fat, heavy raindrops beating against them, loud as a low-flying 747 that wouldnât leave Marikoâs
and
Saori. Within her thirty-second window, she had another window of one, maybe two seconds where she could nail Bumps Ryota and still let Saori walk.
There was the other option too. She could choose not to pull the trigger at all. Let them go. Tell Ko his plan was a pooch screw from the get-go, then set up a new sting on Bumps and another buyer. Or just let Saori walk and then hit Bumps, hoping he was carrying enough to nail him on intent to distribute.
âOn your toes, boys,â she said into the Bluetooth. âWe go on my signal.â
Saori and Bumps were still talking. Saoriâs hair was longer than Mariko remembered, dyed peroxide orange. Bumps had long hair too, shoulder length, straight pressed, and tawny like a lionâs. Both were bone skinny, their clothes hanging off them like sails from a mast in dead air. Their image in Marikoâs hand mirror trembled. It was hard to tell if either had passed anything to the other.
âWhat are we waiting for, Sergeant?â
âZip it, Three. We donât have a bust if he doesnât sell her anything.â
There. Had their hands touched? In the trembling mirror it was hard to tell. Mariko turned around to get a better look. Bumps was definitely putting something into his jacket pocket. What about Saori? Mariko could only see her back. Saoriâs hands were in front of her belly, her skeletally skinny elbows winging out on either side.
âHell with it,â Mariko muttered. Then full volume, âMove, move, move!â
Bumps Ryota locked eyes with her. They were jumpy, his eyes, but despite the fact that he was amped, he froze in place for one full second before he bolted.
One second was enough time for Mariko to clear the heavy Taser from her belt line, not enough time to close within firing range. Bumps took off like a rabbit on speed.
Toyoda was on an intercept course with him. Mishima bore down on Saori, just on the fringe of Marikoâs peripheral vision. Bumps juked right and put a bench between himself and Toyoda. Instead of vaulting it, Toyoda went around. That was all the breakaway Bumps needed.
Mariko bounded over the bench, dashing past Toyoda and not sparing the breath to call him a jackass. She wasnât going to catch Bumps. Five more strides and heâd be out of the dry neon mouth of the mall and into the slick, busy darkness of the streets.
Whether out of inspiration or desperation, Mariko couldnât say, but she chucked the Taser. It wheeled end over end, almost in slow motion, and Mariko was sure she hadnât put enough into the throw. The thing was heavy; it wasnât going to make it. But then it hit Bumps in the base of the neck. He stutter-stepped, stumbled, regained his footing. It was enough.
Like so many others in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, Mariko had taken the departmentâs aikido course. In the heat of the moment, she couldnât remember a single technique. She grabbed a fistful of Bumpsâs stiff, tawny hair. Bumps kept running. She stopped.
In the next instant Bumps was on his ass. âStay down,â Mariko said, panting, fumbling for her cuffs with her shaky, sweaty left hand.
One of those newer-model Toyotas hissed by, the kind that looked like a pregnant roller skate. A raindrop thwacked heavily on Marikoâs scalp. She felt it roll through the forest of her choppy hair, tracing a cold line down the back of her head toward the collar of her blouse. Overhead, the low-hanging clouds glowed white, the way they could only do in a city the size of Tokyo. Every building in sight was the same height, nine or ten stories before disappearing into the haze. The sole exception was the mall, with its roof like rows and rows of mannequin tits, the drumming of fat, heavy raindrops beating against them, loud as a low-flying 747 that wouldnât leave Marikoâs
Similar Books
