"Angels With Two Faces", Chapter Four
Title: Angels With Two Faces
Chapter: 4/??
Fandom: Arashi
Character, Pairing(s): none
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence and language
Summary: "I'm Kazu Ninomiya. I'm 26 years old, and I'm here to catch a murderer. Let me tell you about Los Angeles."
Maybe it's California- the whole thing, the whole damn state. Maybe it's getting under my skin like a splinter and festering there. It's all corruption and deceit and an entangled mess the likes of which I've never seen before, and yet I can't get myself out of it. I'd put myself in the pit and now I'm paying for it; the hold is too strong.
And we're stuck, completely stuck- no leads, no confession, and one more murder on our hands. I don't know what Sakurai thinks he is going to do. He's barely holding the station together, and even that is starting to slip through his fingers. Can't keep news like a serial killer under wraps for long in the sun-lit paths that led straight to Hollywood's doorstep.
Hollywood has eyes, you know? Eyes everywhere.
It's only a matter of time before it starts to fall apart even more- it's like a sweater with loose thread that unravels faster the more it disintegrates on itself. And I just want it to be over so I can leave, can get away from the dirt that won't come out from underneath my fingernails and the officer I had allowed in.
Christ, California is a shit place to be. A right good state to find myself in. Cesspools and vermin-infested streets and dark, serious, romantic eyes that are everything Hollywood craves to be, standing one step behind me.
He's got to stop looking at me like that- like he knows me. Like he understands me. Matsumoto doesn't understand shit, doesn't know me at all-
-but he might be starting to.
--
Three days later, and walking into the station was like walking into a barely contained riot. There were officers everywhere- shouting, running, waving things at each other. It was only because of Matsumoto's confused expression that Nino let the notion pass that it was somehow about him. Something had happened- just happened, by the looks of things, and they'd managed to walk in during the thick of it.
He had half a brain to turn right around and go back out to the car. He didn't want to hear about another body with a gaping hole in its chest. He didn't need to hear about yet another victim who died because he couldn't extract a confession from the cockroaches of a suspect list they had.
His heart was in his throat when the officer nearest the door noticed them. "Matsumoto- lieutenant wants you in his office."
That was it. It was another body, and another quart of blood on Nino's hands. He swallowed back the flood of disappointment as he followed Jun into Sakurai's door and let it shut behind him. The man behind the desk looked like he was past exhaustion- past coherency, most like, past even caring about anything he couldn't focus his eyes on.
"There's another one," Matsumoto said without preamble, echoing Nino's thoughts.
Sakurai let his hands smooth back errant hairs from his face, sighing. "Not related."
"You sure?" Nino interjected. "Could be a decoy, or a trap. Could be set up to look different just to get us off the trail- maybe we're sniffing too close. Somebody's gettin' scared."
"No," Sakurai said. "Just a robbery down on Magnolia Blvd. Homeowner shot the intruder, and now we got a body on our hands."
There was a moment of silence, and Matsumoto frowned, sneaking a glance in Nino's direction. Nino couldn't quite read the expression on the sergeant's face. "That cut and dried? Seems too easy."
"Still a body, still a homicide."
"Sir, we got a serial killer on our hands-"
"What do you want me to do?" Sho exclaimed, palms slamming down into the wood of his desk. Whole thing shook with the force of the impact- Nino wondered how much pressure the legs had taken from things like that before. "I can't ignore it. We're stretched thin as it is with all the cuts and this damn slew of murders. We're under a microscope now, Matsumoto, do you understand that? FBI is breathing down my neck."
Either Sho had forgotten Nino was present, or didn't care, but either way, his tirade stole most of Matsumoto's thunder. The sergeant deflated visibly, shoulders shifting forward a bit.
After a very long, tense succession of ticks from the clock on the far wall, Matsumoto sighed heavily. "What do you want me to do?"
"Take care of it," Sakurai said. He all but collapsed back in his chair. "Take Aiba."
"What about me?" Nino asked. He didn't much appreciate being ignored, especially not when he was clearly standing just behind Jun. It might not be related- but one never knew for certain, not until the details were delved into and torn apart piece by piece.
Matsumoto didn't even give Sakurai much time to respond. He just turned and grabbed Nino's elbow roughly, pulling him back out the office door with him. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"Magnolia," Aiba said, practically materializing in front of them. He looked- excited. Sakurai obviously didn't put the corporal on many field cases, because Aiba was practically chomping at the bit at the chance to prove his worth. He pulled out a folder with paper sticking out the end, scanning through the information. "Just past the intersection with Lankershim."
"Residential?" Matsumoto asked.
"Mm," Aiba confirmed, nodding. "Family unit. Man shot the intruder with his own gun when he found him on the stairs."
Cut and dry, indeed.
"Let's get a move on," Nino sighed.
--
The house was easy to find- lights were flashing on the curb just outside, with officers milling around waiting for homicide to show up. No one had bothered to move the body, either; it was crumpled at the bottom of the stairs where it had landed, one leg two steps up and one arm falling against the foyer floor. The blood stains were at the top, sprayed across the back wall.
At least the scene lined up with the information they'd gotten from the initial report.
"Detective Matsumoto," Jun said, flashing his badge at the family standing out on the lawn. "Sir, I'm going to need to get another report from you, just to make things official. We'll be taking care of things from here on out."
The man nodded several times. He didn't look like much- kind of short, oily. The type of guy who probably checked out the racetrack a few times a month and left without really winning or losing anything substantial, the type to smoke knock-off cigars at the bar while drinking the cheapest beer. Unobtrusive, irrelevant. Hardly a threat- at least that's what the intruder would have thought, looking at him.
Behind him was his wife and a young boy, watching the scene unfold. Aiba approached them immediately, dropping down to his knees.
"You didn't know the intruder, correct?" Jun was asking.
"No," the man said. "And he broke in the window- we woke when we heard the glass."
"Did he have anything? Valuables?" Nino asked.
The man shook his head again. "All the valuables are in our bedroom. He was heading up that way."
"And you shot him when he reached the top of the stairwell?" Jun continued. He was jotting quick, furious notes in his pad.
"No."
Nino motioned towards the open front door. "Blood spray indicates he was at the top and toppled back down once he was hit."
"Are you saying you didn't shoot him there?" Jun inquired.
The man looked flustered. "No, I mean I didn't shoot him."
"So he shot himself?" Nino asked. "In the head?"
"My wife shot him."
Well, that was a twist. Dame who knew how to use a weapon like that? Nino looked back over at the woman and child once more, who were responding to whatever Aiba was saying- he had his hand out to do something with the boy's hair, making pieces of it stick straight up out the sides. The kid was laughing, so Aiba was doing something right. And on second glance, the woman was big- burly. Like one would be flattened if she got any speed rushing.
"Your wife shot the burglar?" Matsumoto repeated.
Nino started laughing, unable to stop himself. He threw a hand up over his mouth, but both heard him; Matsumoto shot him a dark look, but the man didn't seem that upset. Maybe he was used to it. Had to be, marrying a woman as thick and solid as that, didn't he?
"Yes."
Jun made a little affirmative noise in the back of his throat. "What's your last name, sir?"
"Jaguar."
Nino definitely couldn't hold the second guffaw in. He couldn't even pretend to cover it with a cough. Wife kills burglar- husband thrilled. What a story for the local paper.
But he sincerely doubted it was connected to the heart-carving killer they had on the loose, and he wasn't sure if the realization made him feel better or worse. Still, a body was a body, and clean-up was clean-up.
And clean-up was what the FBI did best.
--
It was late when the three of them finally got a chance to eat. Aiba had insisted on treating - Nino had no problem with that. The diner was a dive, but the coffee was hot and the club sandwich was more than he’d had all day.
The following day, Jun and Aiba would have to sequester themselves in the station, get the typewriter going to get the Jaguar case written up to departmental standard. Another day lost with an open and shut case. Matsumoto was poking at his mashed potatoes with a frown. Aiba gave him a punch in the arm.
“You and Kazu have a lot of work to do on the serial case, right? Come on, Jun, leave the report to me,” Aiba insisted.
Jun shook his head. Nino expected as much. Work was the most important thing in Jun’s life. He took it seriously no matter how cut and dried it might have been. “No, Lieutenant put us both on this. I’m doing my part.”
“But there’s a psychopath out there,” Aiba reminded them.
“Got it under control,” Nino interrupted, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I’ll take your car, Matsumoto. Go back to pester Watanabe.”
“Not taking my car,” Jun grumbled.
“It’s LAPD property,” Aiba said with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m sure the L.T. won’t mind signing it over to our new federal friend for a few hours. Results are results, right?”
If there’d be any results. The officers examining Nishikido’s car had found nothing. No fingerprints that didn’t belong to the dead man. And all the friendly chats with suspects in the world weren’t doing them any good. Sure, he’d go to the track in the morning - but he wouldn’t be there to chat up Watanabe. If LAPD didn’t have the manpower to tail a guy for a while, then Nino was going to have to do so himself.
A man’s actions spoke a hell of a lot louder than words out here.
He was getting sick of watching Jun eat so damn slow, and he picked up his fork and helped himself to the man’s mashed potatoes. Matsumoto could only glare as Nino let the buttery spuds hit his tongue. “I was going to eat those,” Jun complained.
Nino had another forkful. Jun didn’t like people in his personal space much, and he was so damned particular. It obviously extended to his food. It was easy to know just how to make his skin crawl. “I only have enough cash for the sandwich and the coffee.” He pointed the fork at Matsumoto. “Don’t stop eating on my account. I’m not diseased or anything.”
Jun shoved the plate at Nino with a disgusted noise. “I don’t know how the hell you survive in D.C. You leech off people there, too?”
He shrugged. “I’ll let that remain a mystery.”
Aiba chuckled. “You two are a piece of work, you know that?”
Jun glared, grabbing his hat and scooting out of the booth. He took out a few bills from his wallet and tossed them on the table. “I’ll see you in the morning, Masaki. You can take this joker back to his hotel. I’m done.”
“Cranky,” Aiba laughed as Jun left. He grabbed the coffee pot and refilled both of their mugs. “Just when I thought you two were getting along.”
Nino pulled the plate to his side of the table and started finishing off the potatoes. They were pretty damn good. “Jun’s got a problem with sharing.”
Aiba smiled. “You trying to use all that psychology stuff on him? Getting inside his head?”
Always. You always had to know the people you were working with - didn’t have to get along, but you sure as hell had to see where every piece in the puzzle fit. Where allegiances lay and all that. He’d been trying to crack Jun from day one. “Nah, I just think he’s funny when he’s angry.”
The corporal dumped out some ketchup on his baked potato, and Nino wrinkled his nose. “Well, psychology wouldn’t work too well on me.” Aiba knocked his fist against his head. “They’re always saying there’s not much up in my head.”
But he’d seen the way Aiba had tried to comfort the child at the crime scene. He’s seen the way Aiba looked after the harried lieutenant, keeping a close eye to make sure he had enough coffee to make it through another pile of paperwork. Detective Aiba might not have been the best at his actual job, but he had a different kind of intelligence - one Nino didn’t see in cops all that often.
“How’s the lieutenant holding up?” he asked, knowing Aiba had also been noticing how much more stressed Sho had been as the days continued.
Aiba frowned. “Not good. Other night I had to force him to go home. You don’t know how many nights he just sleeps in his chair. If he sleeps at all.”
“Under a lot of pressure, I get that,” Nino agreed. He’d seen local PD crack dozens of times on dozens of cases. It was remarkable Sho got anything done with half the city’s officials breathing down his neck and other homicides to deal with - Nino had seen men crumble a lot quicker. “We need to get something, anything on this guy soon.”
“I’m sure we will.”
They finished up their meal quietly. Three unsolved cases, three brutal cases, and the guy running the whole operation in North Hollywood wasn’t all that much older than Nino himself. He’d tail Watanabe - hell, he’d tail them all if he could. If Sakurai went down, if the building pressure got to him, they were fucked. The floodgates would open, the press would have their noses in everything, and the killer would get the attention he really seemed to want.
The bastard didn’t deserve attention or praise. He deserved a date with the gas chamber.
--
Watanabe was a sneaky bastard, and slippery, too. Man operated under the assumption that he was always being tailed by somebody; maybe he was. Wouldn't be unusual given the number of dealings that went on underground that he somehow had his hands in. But at his own track, he could control the security, and it was difficult to work around.
He came and went with a posse of big men no doubt picked to look intimidating. If push came to shove, they would be- they had more than enough muscle to do some serious pushing around. Watanabe entered and left the premises without spending too much time outside in the open air. If he was afraid of anything, it was obviously gunfire. That alone spoke volumes about his paranoia and what it was aimed at- gang crimes, no doubt. He was afraid of being taken out by a single smoking bullet.
Man got up early; obvious self-starter type. But Nino had been prepared for that, and had gotten up earlier. If the FBI had taught him nothing, it was to stay one step ahead of the target and well ahead of the curve.
He just wished that this would work more on Matsumoto.
Fortunately, he was not sitting in a slightly dented old police car across the way in a bank parking lot to think about his partner. He was there to observe Watanabe and his usual habits through a pair of government issue binoculars- sometimes being a G-man had its definite perks. They were years better than the cracked pair Aiba had attempted to give him the night before.
So far, he had nothing.
Watanabe got up early in a house worth more than the whole of LA put together, especially given the stock market crash. He rode to the track in a gleaming Cadillac Fleetwood V16 with jarring crimson paint, and settled into his desk on the top floor to work on god only knew what. Luckily, the man had been obsessed with aesthetics and had the entire north side of his office done in windows. Unfortunately, he had the habit of looking out them a lot.
Nino had gathered very little during the day other than that Mr. Watanabe chewed on the ends of his writing utensils, stared at his fish tank when thinking, and employed more bodyguards than Hoover himself did.
He followed him anyway, when the track owner left the premises and started down the street, making sure to stay a few cars behind. He wasn't heading towards his sprawling home- he was heading down towards the business district. Probably towards a club; a far more useful area for Nino to gather information from.
Finally. Nino's back was killing him, slouched down in the driver's seat.
The club Watanabe finally went into wasn't a flash establishment, it was just barely a hole in the wall, with a door that swung off its hinges slightly and squeaked with every entrance. The faded sign outside said "Roy's Riverside ---" something, the words so scratched and worn that Nino couldn't read the last bit. He waited five minutes before going inside and finding a shadowy stool at the bar in the corner. When he lit a cigarette, the haze helped to hide his face- make his features less recognizable later.
He only had to wait about fifteen minutes before the person Watanabe was waiting to see strode in.
Nino just hadn't expected it to be Sakurai.
The Lieutenant didn't look happy- he looked disheveled and worn and bristling, like a cat near a large body of water. He also didn't take the seat offered across the table, preferring to stand by the side. Nino could see his face, but couldn't make out any of the words.
Sakurai had a habit of using his hands to help speak when he was agitated, and his arms were moving everywhere. Nino leaned in as best he could, but couldn't even get a snippet of the conversation with the din of the post-work crowd.
"Slow night," the bartender said, and Nino ignored him, hoping he looked like he was drowning his sorrows and not watching the two men across the way like a hawk over the rim of his glass. Watanabe didn't look any happier than Sakurai did- but he continued looking smug, in any sense. The conversation was brief and clipped, and at one point Sakurai ran a hand through his hair in obvious agitation, and within ten minutes the entire thing was concluded, and the lieutenant was back out the door again.
"You from around here?"
Nino tapped the ash from the butt of his cigarette to the ground and sighed. "No."
The bartender motioned towards Watanabe, still seated and still glaring at the door Sakurai had departed from. "Let me give you a tip, then. Stay away from that one. Fact, stay away from half this club."
"Thanks," Nino said, dryly. "What is he, leader of a gang?"
"Worse," the bartender said. He snorted, and started wiping down glasses.
Nino drained his scotch, and motioned for the glass to be refilled. "Worse as in killed a man?"
"Probably," was the answer. "Got a particularly nasty form of retribution. Makes his lackeys go out with baseball bats. Heard one man who didn't settle his debt with the house was found tied to a tree with both knee caps busted up."
Harsh, but violent vengeance was violent vengeance- and it just might put them one step closer to finding the responsible party for the missing hearts. Watanabe hadn't seemed to enjoy his encounter with the lieutenant; maybe Sakurai was onto the same thing. A shop visit? Sakurai's continued attempts to get Mr. Watanabe to crack?
Nino's glass came back with two fingers of amber liquid in it, and he swirled the ice cubes around a little, chewing on his own thoughts.
"Where you from, son?"
Indignation made the liquor taste more bitter than it usually did, but he bit it back. "Ohio."
"Pretty far away, ain't it?"
And felt infinitely longer sometimes, given everything that had gone down. "You have no idea."
Watanabe left a half hour later and Nino stayed behind, too tired to continue trailing the man back to his house. He just let the bartender refill his glass, and drank until oblivion was the only possible path.
--
Jun had actually brought him coffee. He wondered if it was just the hangover playing tricks on his mind, but the cup was piping hot and like the drink of the gods. “You look like shit,” Matsumoto said as he pulled out of the hotel parking lot.
“Feel like it, too.”
The sun was far too bright as they headed back north to the station. “You come out here to investigate a case or drink until your liver cries uncle?”
Nino snorted. “Watanabe wouldn’t see me,” he lied. “Nobody at the track would talk to me. Talk about a waste of time.”
“Could have told you that,” Jun said. They drove in silence and when they arrived, the blinds in Sakurai’s office were drawn.
“Who…”
“Kimura. Chief of Police. Tearing him a new one I suspect.”
Nino helped himself to more coffee, perching himself on Jun’s desk. While Matsumoto’s attention was on Sho’s office, his eyes trying in vain to see through the blinds, Nino took the pencils Jun had arranged and adjusted them slightly.
Kimura had come all the way up from downtown. This was serious. He wondered if Kimura’s lackeys had been trailing Sakurai? Just what the hell had that conversation been about yesterday? Was Sho trying to get a confession out of Watanabe? Was he trying to get Watanabe to finger someone else?
Finally, the office door opened. The chief of the LAPD had a pretty face like Jun - he wondered what secrets he was hiding. How many cops in his employ were on the take - was Kimura on the take too?
“Don’t think I won’t bump your ass down, Sakurai,” Kimura was saying, loud enough for the whole squad room to hear. It was obviously intentional, to shame the lieutenant in front of his subordinates. It was an asshole move, one Ninomiya saw again and again. There was always someone higher up on the food chain. Always someone who could take it all away from you.
Sakurai appeared behind him, looking stern. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his trousers, probably to hide his fists. Sho looked ready to kick and shout. Nino would probably feel the same - cases like these weren’t exactly easy. Sure, Kimura probably had the mayor breathing down his neck, and it was just trickling down. But they couldn’t lose Sakurai. Not now.
Kimura grabbed his hat and departed. As soon as the chief was out of eyesight, Sakurai’s shoulders slumped down in defeat. Jun was across the room already, and Nino hopped off the desk to hurry after him.
Sho slammed the office door as soon as the two of them were inside. Sakurai was holding his head. “Bastard. That fucking bastard.”
“Calm down,” Jun said, grabbing his pacing superior and shoving him down into his desk chair before he broke something. “What’s the problem now?”
“Me. I’m the problem,” Sho grumbled. “No results, he says. Obviously not ready to run homicide here, he says.”
Nino parked himself on the small couch in the office. The pressure from the top was building. But didn’t they get it? It was a tangled web - the individual threads were too knotted to be untangled quickly. They wanted to put more pressure on their suspects - they were denied. How the hell else were they supposed to get results?
“You’re working your ass off, sir,” Jun said obediently. This wasn’t in front of the squad room. This wasn’t just to show all the other boys that the lieutenant deserved their allegiance. These were Jun’s true feelings. Just what the hell had Sho done to help Matsumoto out during the academy? The bond between them ran deep.
“Not enough I guess,” Sho remarked with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve got until the end of the month. If we don’t make some kind of break, I’m out.” He gave Jun a weak smile. “Bumped down to sergeant. You won’t get to call me sir. I think I’ll miss that.”
Jun shook his head. “That’s bullshit. What the hell does he mean by some kind of break?”
“It means,” Nino interjected, “that Kimura probably doesn’t actually have anyone to replace him with. Not now at least. Not when he’s got enough problems at headquarters. I think you’re safe, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t feel safe,” Sho grumbled. “Where the hell is Aiba?”
Matsumoto smirked. Well, they’d cooked something up for this morning it seemed. “Probably still on his way back. Maybe he drove the wrong way.”
There was a loud noise in the hallway before a knock came on Sho’s door. “Or maybe that’s him now,” Sakurai mused, sounding far less irritated than he had.
The door opened and sure enough, it was Detective Aiba. Nino was confused to see him in cropped trousers, a sweater, and a cap. And hauling a golf bag, the contents of which he’d just spilled out over the squad room floor. “Morning!”
Matsumoto rolled his eyes and went to help Aiba pick up the remaining clubs. “Do I even want to know?” Nino asked.
Sho got up, leaning against the desk with a grin. “It seems our Dr. Ohno is a member of the Bel Air Country Club. Today, Detectives Aiba and Matsumoto will be accompanying him.”
“And this means something to me how?”
Jun added a 7-iron back to the bag. “Coincidentally, Mayor Ogura is set to tee off in about an hour.”
Nino sighed. “Ah, right.” This wasn’t going to get them anywhere. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of golf shoes for me.”
Aiba winked. “We’ll rent you some at the clubhouse. Come on!”
--
"Is that him, over there?" Nino asked, pointing across the practice green to the tee of the first hole. "Nice sweater."
Mayor Ogura wasn't alone- he had two lackeys, his caddy, and his golfing partner, who had a large fedora on that shaded most of his face. They were talking animatedly amongst one another, taking practice swings at the short grass. There wasn't anything unusual yet, except for the tacky sweater the mayor himself was sporting.
Nino's spikes were slipping into the wet dirt. He felt like an idiot- the others were at least dressed for the occasion, and he was standing just outside the pro shop with his dress slacks and button-down sleeves rolled up. Even Dr. Ohno had mismatched golf attire on, and he kept adjusting the hat on his head while looking thoughtfully down at his clubs.
"We tee off behind them," Aiba said.
"Guess it's the best we can do," Nino agreed. The pro shop had rented him a bag of clubs, but they were too tall. He was going to have to do some serious adjusting to even manage to hit the ball with the damn set.
Ogura's tee-off faded hard, disappearing somewhere into the trees, and he laughed with his party until they had each taken their turn, and then started out down the fairway in search of the lost balls. Aiba ushered the group up towards the tee box and readied his own, waiting until Ogura's party was safely on the green before beginning.
Aiba was a good golfer- Nino was impressed. Ohno wasn't bad either, though Nino had a hunch it tended to stem from lack of caring rather than anything else. Nino hadn't golfed in years, but he still managed to get at least a hundred yards.
Matsumoto was a different story.
"Jesus, have you ever golfed before in your life?" Nino cried, when his partner managed to whiff the ball completely on his first shot. "You're holding the club like a god damn baseball bat!"
"Shut up," Jun shot back, and managed to make contact the second time.
It was hard to keep an eye on the foursome in front of them, but they were given a lot of extra time with Matsumoto had to stop every twenty yards to hit again. By the third hole, Nino had taken to loitering up near the curve, so he was closer when Ogura's party came around the fourth fairway. It wasn't until the sun shifted overhead, elongating the shadows, that he got a good look at the faceless member of the outing.
Nakai. What did a radio personality have that was so important he merited inclusion in the mayor's golf foursome?
Nino relayed this information at the fifth tee box to the others, adjusting his glove. "Any ideas?"
"It's 423 yards," Aiba said, grabbing for a club from his bag. "I'd use your driver."
"I meant about Nakai and Ogura," Nino said, staring at the other man. The way his mind worked was beyond comprehension sometimes. And he knew he should use his driver- it was a par 5.
Ohno nodded. "Nakai was talking about Erika Toda's new movie on his show yesterday."
"You listen to that crap?" Matsumoto asked. Aiba teed his ball and managed a good shot, hooking just a little and sailing down the fairway. All four watched with their hands over their eyes until it dropped to the grass a hundred yards out from the green.
The doctor teed up after, shrugging a bit. "It's interesting."
"Interesting in a way that contributes absolutely nothing to the case," Nino sighed. He was getting irritated- he was already 4 above par for the front nine. And they were moving too slowly, Ogura's party was getting further and further ahead, and the foursome behind them were getting restless.
"Well, isn't the movie produced by Mizushima?" Aiba commented.
Nino stepped back from teeing his own ball. It's possible that Erika was the connecting link there- the one Mizushima had been so determined to keep under wraps. Wasn't she recently married? Was the reason Mizushima got her in one of his movies because he was sleeping with her on the side?
His shot went wide right, and he kicked at the grass a bit. "Dammit."
He couldn't see Ogura and Nakai's party past the green anymore, they were obscured behind a scattering of palm trees. And the web- well, it was just tangling even more than it already was, hopelessly knotted.
"On the sixth tee box, we'll come up right next to them," Ohno said, glancing down at the scorecard and the tiny map printed on the backside.
Matsumoto was teeing up. "Maybe we should accidentally throw a club at them."
"You don't need to accidentally do that," Aiba said, as Jun readied his stance. "Wait, wait, fix your hands- interlock your index and pinky finger when you grip, just like-"
Apparently, trying to fix Matsumoto's swing was the wrong thing to attempt, because he ended up getting frustrated- and flustered, most likely- and pulled his arms so far back the head of the driver barely clipped the ball's side. It shot the orb at a sharp right angle- which just happened to be where Nino was standing.
He was down on the ground before he had even registered what happened, his entire head throbbing.
"Shit!" Jun exclaimed. Nino's vision was going oddly red, but he could see enough to know it was Matsumoto standing over him, reaching for the sides of his face. "Shit, Kazu, I'm sorry-"
"Did you just hit him?!" Aiba exclaimed.
As his temples ached, Nino's first thought was that they were definitely going to lose Ogura- and the foursome behind them was going to have to play through. And then he was able to focus on Matsumoto's fingers at the side of his jaw, gentle and reassuring and-
-wait.
"Did you just hit me?" Nino croaked out.
Ohno's face appeared over Matsumoto's shoulder, looking mildly concerned. "Think I should wave the boys behind us through?"
At least someone was on the same wavelength that Nino was.
And Matsumoto's hands were still against his face, as if examining the damage. Aiba was waving the group behind them through with large, overdone gestures, and Ohno pulled at Nino's arm to get him on his feet.
"We should get him to the clubhouse," the doctor said. Standing just made Nino's head hurt worse. Jun took his other arm, and Aiba grabbed the clubs- how, Nino didn't know, because there was no way the man could carry four bags, but he wasn't in much of a position to really watch and see how it was done. He just let himself be half-carried back to the clubhouse, to the chairs and tables outside the pro shop where he was deposited.
Ohno started poking at his head. "Where does it hurt?"
"Everywhere," Nino groaned. It was only then he realized that Jun was still holding onto his elbow, and hadn't let go- and he didn't shake the man's fingers loose.
"Does it hurt when I press here?" Ohno asked.
"Ow!" Nino cried, jumping a little. "Yes, yes it hurts there! Jesus."
Ohno kept prodding with little regard, until Nino had to wave the man's hands away. "Doc, look- stick to the morgue, okay? The corpses aren't in pain when you poke them."
Aiba came through the door, breathless and flushed. "We totally lost Ogura and Nakai, I don't know what hole they are on now."
Christ. "Maybe we should call it a day," Matsumoto said. His hand was still wrapped around Nino's arm.
Ohno got some ice from the bartender and Nino pressed it against his aching head.
"This is the worst golf outing ever," he sighed.
--
It had been a long afternoon of laying down, hurting. Propping himself against the pillows, hurting. And no alcohol, Dr. Ohno had ordered him. He didn’t have a concussion, but Jun’s golf ball had hit him hard enough to raise a nice bump that would hopefully go down in a while. On the doctor’s orders, he was off the case the rest of the day and confined to his room.
Matsumoto and Aiba were busy trying to poke around Mizushima’s home, looking for any connections between the producer and Nishikido. The man had sold cars, just one of the things he had done for Kusanagi. Watanabe’s car came from Nishikido’s lot - so did the Mayor’s brand new coupe. Sure, that was a connection - but the killing. Were any of these threads enough to lead to murder?
It was already after 10 PM, and he was sick of being in his room. He’d already been hungover and the golf ball to the skull hadn’t helped matters any, but no matter how sore he was it wasn’t enough to keep from thinking. There was a piano in the hotel lobby, but it was occupied when he got off the elevator. That was out.
He just had to get out. He was awake now, had a splitting headache and no desire to sit at the hotel bar with a ginger ale. Nino pulled his coat on and went out into the night, flagging down a cab. He leaned back against the seat and sighed as the driver pulled away from the curb.
Oguri - now that they’d cleared him of suspicion, maybe he’d talk. But he’d need some sort of incentive, wouldn’t he? A man like him didn’t chit chat about his lowlife acquaintances without good reason. Maybe they could find some sort of code violation - his club had been nasty enough.
The club owner had been at the track that night. Maybe he’d seen Yokoyama arguing with someone. Or maybe he’d had Nishikido as a patron here and there. The mayor and Nakai and Kusanagi were too wealthy, had too many people watching their backs. But Oguri was his own man, looking out for number one on his own terms.
Maybe Oguri knew what sort of business Ken Watanabe had with North Hollywood homicide’s young lieutenant.
He had the cab drop him about a block from the station. The night air was crisp but not too cold. The jostling cab ride hadn’t helped his headache any, but he’d experienced worse. The station only had Yamashita on duty when he came in. “Paperwork,” he claimed as the officer waved him on in.
Sakurai’s lights were off - maybe Aiba had finally gotten the man to go home and relax. After the business with Chief Kimura, he was probably still smarting. He needed rest, real rest, if he was going to stay on the case and keep his proper judgment. Not that Nino was following his own advice, he realized as he opened the door to the basement and headed for the morgue.
It was quiet, not that he expected it to be a boisterous party room when he arrived. He left his coat on - the refrigeration system keeping the bodies cool kept the room chilly. Nino approached the little door that led to Nishikido, all cut up and sewn back together by Dr. Ohno with precision.
He leaned his head against the metal, and it felt almost nice. Even though there was a dead man on the other side, it soothed his headache a bit. “Ryo Ryo Ryo,” he mumbled, tapping his fingers against the handle. “Why’d you roll your window down?”
And where were you? Where were you when the guy made you roll it down? How far did he drive your body, Ryo? Why didn’t anyone think it was strange?
Nino sighed. “Dead men tell no tales, huh?”
“You have a strange habit of talking to yourself.”
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Jun’s voice, turning to see Matsumoto sitting in the dark corner near one of Dr. Ohno’s sinks. Bastard was lying in wait for him. “Jesus, Matsumoto.”
Jun grinned. “Supposed to be in bed.”
“Was you who put me there,” Nino reminded him, his head still throbbing. “Don’t do so well with orders from doctors.”
“Don’t you mean orders from anyone?”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back against the metal wall. “That too.”
Jun stretched, his lanky arms raised over his head. He really should have been a movie star. “Called your hotel, wanted to tell you when I’d be there tomorrow. You weren’t there.”
Nino just stared at him. “And how the hell did you know I’d come here?”
“You’re not the only one good at his job.” Jun smiled, heading for the door. “Come on, this place gives me the creeps.”
He reluctantly followed Matsumoto from the morgue. He opened Sho’s empty office, closing the door behind them. Nino decided the boss’ chair looked pretty cozy, and Jun just made a face when he sat down. The other man took the couch. It was stuffier than the morgue, but there weren’t any bodies in there.
“Didn’t like your house arrest?” Jun asked.
“You hit me in the head. With a golf ball, Walter Hagen.”
“Look, I apologized, okay?” Jun snapped back. Nino shut his eyes, trying not to remember Matsumoto’s fingers on his face, fingers that were better suited to piano keys than his own.
He had to focus on the case.
“Oguri,” he mumbled.
“Cleared him already. He was very visible the night Nishikido died.”
“I know that,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Would you let me finish?” Matsumoto was quiet. “We tell him he’s in the clear. Maybe he’ll talk.”
“And maybe he won’t. He’s only interested in his own profits.”
“Do you have any other ideas? Because my golf-ball injured head is a bit pressed for them.”
“You always like this?” Jun asked, voice low and irritated.
He opened his eyes, met Matsumoto’s in challenge. “Only with people I really like.”
Jun sighed. “Alright, alright. Ideas. Ideas to do our jobs, like we’re being paid for.” He took a breath, and Nino watched him run his hands through his dark hair. “Okay, so talking to these assholes over and over is just a waste of time. We don’t have the manpower to tail each of them.”
“And Takizawa’s busy investigating your department, so he’s not sparing anyone either.”
“Wonderful. Let’s go back to square one. Our three guys, same way of killing. Dumped in North Hollywood. Still think it’s a vigilante or someone who fancies himself as one?”
Nino nodded. What else could it be? Such a brutal way of killing had to be a message - catch me if you can. “All three of them were lowlifes, god rest their souls,” he snitted. “Someone thinks they’re taking out the trash. Or wants it to look that way while they get rid of people they see as a threat.”
“So we need to know the guys - how they tie to each of our beloved suspects,” Jun continued. “We need strong links. Not just…”
“That Nishikido sold them a car,” Nino finished.
Jun’s cheeks turned a bit pink. “You are really creepy with that.”
Nino looked away. They were both getting creepy. He didn’t need to be finishing the guy’s sentences and vice versa. “Well, Lieutenant’s got Nishikido cleared for when?”
“End of the week,” Jun answered. “Body’s getting released for the funeral.”
“Thinking what I am?”
Jun nodded. “Be interesting to see who shows up…”
“…and who doesn’t.”
Matsumoto’s cheeks were redder than a tomato. He got off the couch and headed for the door. “Well, Mr. Ninomiya. Would you like to attend the funeral for a crook?”
He got out of Sho’s chair, giving the desk a hearty thump. “Be my pleasure, Mr. Matsumoto.”
Chapter: 4/??
Fandom: Arashi
Character, Pairing(s): none
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence and language
Summary: "I'm Kazu Ninomiya. I'm 26 years old, and I'm here to catch a murderer. Let me tell you about Los Angeles."
Maybe it's California- the whole thing, the whole damn state. Maybe it's getting under my skin like a splinter and festering there. It's all corruption and deceit and an entangled mess the likes of which I've never seen before, and yet I can't get myself out of it. I'd put myself in the pit and now I'm paying for it; the hold is too strong.
And we're stuck, completely stuck- no leads, no confession, and one more murder on our hands. I don't know what Sakurai thinks he is going to do. He's barely holding the station together, and even that is starting to slip through his fingers. Can't keep news like a serial killer under wraps for long in the sun-lit paths that led straight to Hollywood's doorstep.
Hollywood has eyes, you know? Eyes everywhere.
It's only a matter of time before it starts to fall apart even more- it's like a sweater with loose thread that unravels faster the more it disintegrates on itself. And I just want it to be over so I can leave, can get away from the dirt that won't come out from underneath my fingernails and the officer I had allowed in.
Christ, California is a shit place to be. A right good state to find myself in. Cesspools and vermin-infested streets and dark, serious, romantic eyes that are everything Hollywood craves to be, standing one step behind me.
He's got to stop looking at me like that- like he knows me. Like he understands me. Matsumoto doesn't understand shit, doesn't know me at all-
-but he might be starting to.
--
Three days later, and walking into the station was like walking into a barely contained riot. There were officers everywhere- shouting, running, waving things at each other. It was only because of Matsumoto's confused expression that Nino let the notion pass that it was somehow about him. Something had happened- just happened, by the looks of things, and they'd managed to walk in during the thick of it.
He had half a brain to turn right around and go back out to the car. He didn't want to hear about another body with a gaping hole in its chest. He didn't need to hear about yet another victim who died because he couldn't extract a confession from the cockroaches of a suspect list they had.
His heart was in his throat when the officer nearest the door noticed them. "Matsumoto- lieutenant wants you in his office."
That was it. It was another body, and another quart of blood on Nino's hands. He swallowed back the flood of disappointment as he followed Jun into Sakurai's door and let it shut behind him. The man behind the desk looked like he was past exhaustion- past coherency, most like, past even caring about anything he couldn't focus his eyes on.
"There's another one," Matsumoto said without preamble, echoing Nino's thoughts.
Sakurai let his hands smooth back errant hairs from his face, sighing. "Not related."
"You sure?" Nino interjected. "Could be a decoy, or a trap. Could be set up to look different just to get us off the trail- maybe we're sniffing too close. Somebody's gettin' scared."
"No," Sakurai said. "Just a robbery down on Magnolia Blvd. Homeowner shot the intruder, and now we got a body on our hands."
There was a moment of silence, and Matsumoto frowned, sneaking a glance in Nino's direction. Nino couldn't quite read the expression on the sergeant's face. "That cut and dried? Seems too easy."
"Still a body, still a homicide."
"Sir, we got a serial killer on our hands-"
"What do you want me to do?" Sho exclaimed, palms slamming down into the wood of his desk. Whole thing shook with the force of the impact- Nino wondered how much pressure the legs had taken from things like that before. "I can't ignore it. We're stretched thin as it is with all the cuts and this damn slew of murders. We're under a microscope now, Matsumoto, do you understand that? FBI is breathing down my neck."
Either Sho had forgotten Nino was present, or didn't care, but either way, his tirade stole most of Matsumoto's thunder. The sergeant deflated visibly, shoulders shifting forward a bit.
After a very long, tense succession of ticks from the clock on the far wall, Matsumoto sighed heavily. "What do you want me to do?"
"Take care of it," Sakurai said. He all but collapsed back in his chair. "Take Aiba."
"What about me?" Nino asked. He didn't much appreciate being ignored, especially not when he was clearly standing just behind Jun. It might not be related- but one never knew for certain, not until the details were delved into and torn apart piece by piece.
Matsumoto didn't even give Sakurai much time to respond. He just turned and grabbed Nino's elbow roughly, pulling him back out the office door with him. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"Magnolia," Aiba said, practically materializing in front of them. He looked- excited. Sakurai obviously didn't put the corporal on many field cases, because Aiba was practically chomping at the bit at the chance to prove his worth. He pulled out a folder with paper sticking out the end, scanning through the information. "Just past the intersection with Lankershim."
"Residential?" Matsumoto asked.
"Mm," Aiba confirmed, nodding. "Family unit. Man shot the intruder with his own gun when he found him on the stairs."
Cut and dry, indeed.
"Let's get a move on," Nino sighed.
--
The house was easy to find- lights were flashing on the curb just outside, with officers milling around waiting for homicide to show up. No one had bothered to move the body, either; it was crumpled at the bottom of the stairs where it had landed, one leg two steps up and one arm falling against the foyer floor. The blood stains were at the top, sprayed across the back wall.
At least the scene lined up with the information they'd gotten from the initial report.
"Detective Matsumoto," Jun said, flashing his badge at the family standing out on the lawn. "Sir, I'm going to need to get another report from you, just to make things official. We'll be taking care of things from here on out."
The man nodded several times. He didn't look like much- kind of short, oily. The type of guy who probably checked out the racetrack a few times a month and left without really winning or losing anything substantial, the type to smoke knock-off cigars at the bar while drinking the cheapest beer. Unobtrusive, irrelevant. Hardly a threat- at least that's what the intruder would have thought, looking at him.
Behind him was his wife and a young boy, watching the scene unfold. Aiba approached them immediately, dropping down to his knees.
"You didn't know the intruder, correct?" Jun was asking.
"No," the man said. "And he broke in the window- we woke when we heard the glass."
"Did he have anything? Valuables?" Nino asked.
The man shook his head again. "All the valuables are in our bedroom. He was heading up that way."
"And you shot him when he reached the top of the stairwell?" Jun continued. He was jotting quick, furious notes in his pad.
"No."
Nino motioned towards the open front door. "Blood spray indicates he was at the top and toppled back down once he was hit."
"Are you saying you didn't shoot him there?" Jun inquired.
The man looked flustered. "No, I mean I didn't shoot him."
"So he shot himself?" Nino asked. "In the head?"
"My wife shot him."
Well, that was a twist. Dame who knew how to use a weapon like that? Nino looked back over at the woman and child once more, who were responding to whatever Aiba was saying- he had his hand out to do something with the boy's hair, making pieces of it stick straight up out the sides. The kid was laughing, so Aiba was doing something right. And on second glance, the woman was big- burly. Like one would be flattened if she got any speed rushing.
"Your wife shot the burglar?" Matsumoto repeated.
Nino started laughing, unable to stop himself. He threw a hand up over his mouth, but both heard him; Matsumoto shot him a dark look, but the man didn't seem that upset. Maybe he was used to it. Had to be, marrying a woman as thick and solid as that, didn't he?
"Yes."
Jun made a little affirmative noise in the back of his throat. "What's your last name, sir?"
"Jaguar."
Nino definitely couldn't hold the second guffaw in. He couldn't even pretend to cover it with a cough. Wife kills burglar- husband thrilled. What a story for the local paper.
But he sincerely doubted it was connected to the heart-carving killer they had on the loose, and he wasn't sure if the realization made him feel better or worse. Still, a body was a body, and clean-up was clean-up.
And clean-up was what the FBI did best.
--
It was late when the three of them finally got a chance to eat. Aiba had insisted on treating - Nino had no problem with that. The diner was a dive, but the coffee was hot and the club sandwich was more than he’d had all day.
The following day, Jun and Aiba would have to sequester themselves in the station, get the typewriter going to get the Jaguar case written up to departmental standard. Another day lost with an open and shut case. Matsumoto was poking at his mashed potatoes with a frown. Aiba gave him a punch in the arm.
“You and Kazu have a lot of work to do on the serial case, right? Come on, Jun, leave the report to me,” Aiba insisted.
Jun shook his head. Nino expected as much. Work was the most important thing in Jun’s life. He took it seriously no matter how cut and dried it might have been. “No, Lieutenant put us both on this. I’m doing my part.”
“But there’s a psychopath out there,” Aiba reminded them.
“Got it under control,” Nino interrupted, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I’ll take your car, Matsumoto. Go back to pester Watanabe.”
“Not taking my car,” Jun grumbled.
“It’s LAPD property,” Aiba said with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m sure the L.T. won’t mind signing it over to our new federal friend for a few hours. Results are results, right?”
If there’d be any results. The officers examining Nishikido’s car had found nothing. No fingerprints that didn’t belong to the dead man. And all the friendly chats with suspects in the world weren’t doing them any good. Sure, he’d go to the track in the morning - but he wouldn’t be there to chat up Watanabe. If LAPD didn’t have the manpower to tail a guy for a while, then Nino was going to have to do so himself.
A man’s actions spoke a hell of a lot louder than words out here.
He was getting sick of watching Jun eat so damn slow, and he picked up his fork and helped himself to the man’s mashed potatoes. Matsumoto could only glare as Nino let the buttery spuds hit his tongue. “I was going to eat those,” Jun complained.
Nino had another forkful. Jun didn’t like people in his personal space much, and he was so damned particular. It obviously extended to his food. It was easy to know just how to make his skin crawl. “I only have enough cash for the sandwich and the coffee.” He pointed the fork at Matsumoto. “Don’t stop eating on my account. I’m not diseased or anything.”
Jun shoved the plate at Nino with a disgusted noise. “I don’t know how the hell you survive in D.C. You leech off people there, too?”
He shrugged. “I’ll let that remain a mystery.”
Aiba chuckled. “You two are a piece of work, you know that?”
Jun glared, grabbing his hat and scooting out of the booth. He took out a few bills from his wallet and tossed them on the table. “I’ll see you in the morning, Masaki. You can take this joker back to his hotel. I’m done.”
“Cranky,” Aiba laughed as Jun left. He grabbed the coffee pot and refilled both of their mugs. “Just when I thought you two were getting along.”
Nino pulled the plate to his side of the table and started finishing off the potatoes. They were pretty damn good. “Jun’s got a problem with sharing.”
Aiba smiled. “You trying to use all that psychology stuff on him? Getting inside his head?”
Always. You always had to know the people you were working with - didn’t have to get along, but you sure as hell had to see where every piece in the puzzle fit. Where allegiances lay and all that. He’d been trying to crack Jun from day one. “Nah, I just think he’s funny when he’s angry.”
The corporal dumped out some ketchup on his baked potato, and Nino wrinkled his nose. “Well, psychology wouldn’t work too well on me.” Aiba knocked his fist against his head. “They’re always saying there’s not much up in my head.”
But he’d seen the way Aiba had tried to comfort the child at the crime scene. He’s seen the way Aiba looked after the harried lieutenant, keeping a close eye to make sure he had enough coffee to make it through another pile of paperwork. Detective Aiba might not have been the best at his actual job, but he had a different kind of intelligence - one Nino didn’t see in cops all that often.
“How’s the lieutenant holding up?” he asked, knowing Aiba had also been noticing how much more stressed Sho had been as the days continued.
Aiba frowned. “Not good. Other night I had to force him to go home. You don’t know how many nights he just sleeps in his chair. If he sleeps at all.”
“Under a lot of pressure, I get that,” Nino agreed. He’d seen local PD crack dozens of times on dozens of cases. It was remarkable Sho got anything done with half the city’s officials breathing down his neck and other homicides to deal with - Nino had seen men crumble a lot quicker. “We need to get something, anything on this guy soon.”
“I’m sure we will.”
They finished up their meal quietly. Three unsolved cases, three brutal cases, and the guy running the whole operation in North Hollywood wasn’t all that much older than Nino himself. He’d tail Watanabe - hell, he’d tail them all if he could. If Sakurai went down, if the building pressure got to him, they were fucked. The floodgates would open, the press would have their noses in everything, and the killer would get the attention he really seemed to want.
The bastard didn’t deserve attention or praise. He deserved a date with the gas chamber.
--
Watanabe was a sneaky bastard, and slippery, too. Man operated under the assumption that he was always being tailed by somebody; maybe he was. Wouldn't be unusual given the number of dealings that went on underground that he somehow had his hands in. But at his own track, he could control the security, and it was difficult to work around.
He came and went with a posse of big men no doubt picked to look intimidating. If push came to shove, they would be- they had more than enough muscle to do some serious pushing around. Watanabe entered and left the premises without spending too much time outside in the open air. If he was afraid of anything, it was obviously gunfire. That alone spoke volumes about his paranoia and what it was aimed at- gang crimes, no doubt. He was afraid of being taken out by a single smoking bullet.
Man got up early; obvious self-starter type. But Nino had been prepared for that, and had gotten up earlier. If the FBI had taught him nothing, it was to stay one step ahead of the target and well ahead of the curve.
He just wished that this would work more on Matsumoto.
Fortunately, he was not sitting in a slightly dented old police car across the way in a bank parking lot to think about his partner. He was there to observe Watanabe and his usual habits through a pair of government issue binoculars- sometimes being a G-man had its definite perks. They were years better than the cracked pair Aiba had attempted to give him the night before.
So far, he had nothing.
Watanabe got up early in a house worth more than the whole of LA put together, especially given the stock market crash. He rode to the track in a gleaming Cadillac Fleetwood V16 with jarring crimson paint, and settled into his desk on the top floor to work on god only knew what. Luckily, the man had been obsessed with aesthetics and had the entire north side of his office done in windows. Unfortunately, he had the habit of looking out them a lot.
Nino had gathered very little during the day other than that Mr. Watanabe chewed on the ends of his writing utensils, stared at his fish tank when thinking, and employed more bodyguards than Hoover himself did.
He followed him anyway, when the track owner left the premises and started down the street, making sure to stay a few cars behind. He wasn't heading towards his sprawling home- he was heading down towards the business district. Probably towards a club; a far more useful area for Nino to gather information from.
Finally. Nino's back was killing him, slouched down in the driver's seat.
The club Watanabe finally went into wasn't a flash establishment, it was just barely a hole in the wall, with a door that swung off its hinges slightly and squeaked with every entrance. The faded sign outside said "Roy's Riverside ---" something, the words so scratched and worn that Nino couldn't read the last bit. He waited five minutes before going inside and finding a shadowy stool at the bar in the corner. When he lit a cigarette, the haze helped to hide his face- make his features less recognizable later.
He only had to wait about fifteen minutes before the person Watanabe was waiting to see strode in.
Nino just hadn't expected it to be Sakurai.
The Lieutenant didn't look happy- he looked disheveled and worn and bristling, like a cat near a large body of water. He also didn't take the seat offered across the table, preferring to stand by the side. Nino could see his face, but couldn't make out any of the words.
Sakurai had a habit of using his hands to help speak when he was agitated, and his arms were moving everywhere. Nino leaned in as best he could, but couldn't even get a snippet of the conversation with the din of the post-work crowd.
"Slow night," the bartender said, and Nino ignored him, hoping he looked like he was drowning his sorrows and not watching the two men across the way like a hawk over the rim of his glass. Watanabe didn't look any happier than Sakurai did- but he continued looking smug, in any sense. The conversation was brief and clipped, and at one point Sakurai ran a hand through his hair in obvious agitation, and within ten minutes the entire thing was concluded, and the lieutenant was back out the door again.
"You from around here?"
Nino tapped the ash from the butt of his cigarette to the ground and sighed. "No."
The bartender motioned towards Watanabe, still seated and still glaring at the door Sakurai had departed from. "Let me give you a tip, then. Stay away from that one. Fact, stay away from half this club."
"Thanks," Nino said, dryly. "What is he, leader of a gang?"
"Worse," the bartender said. He snorted, and started wiping down glasses.
Nino drained his scotch, and motioned for the glass to be refilled. "Worse as in killed a man?"
"Probably," was the answer. "Got a particularly nasty form of retribution. Makes his lackeys go out with baseball bats. Heard one man who didn't settle his debt with the house was found tied to a tree with both knee caps busted up."
Harsh, but violent vengeance was violent vengeance- and it just might put them one step closer to finding the responsible party for the missing hearts. Watanabe hadn't seemed to enjoy his encounter with the lieutenant; maybe Sakurai was onto the same thing. A shop visit? Sakurai's continued attempts to get Mr. Watanabe to crack?
Nino's glass came back with two fingers of amber liquid in it, and he swirled the ice cubes around a little, chewing on his own thoughts.
"Where you from, son?"
Indignation made the liquor taste more bitter than it usually did, but he bit it back. "Ohio."
"Pretty far away, ain't it?"
And felt infinitely longer sometimes, given everything that had gone down. "You have no idea."
Watanabe left a half hour later and Nino stayed behind, too tired to continue trailing the man back to his house. He just let the bartender refill his glass, and drank until oblivion was the only possible path.
--
Jun had actually brought him coffee. He wondered if it was just the hangover playing tricks on his mind, but the cup was piping hot and like the drink of the gods. “You look like shit,” Matsumoto said as he pulled out of the hotel parking lot.
“Feel like it, too.”
The sun was far too bright as they headed back north to the station. “You come out here to investigate a case or drink until your liver cries uncle?”
Nino snorted. “Watanabe wouldn’t see me,” he lied. “Nobody at the track would talk to me. Talk about a waste of time.”
“Could have told you that,” Jun said. They drove in silence and when they arrived, the blinds in Sakurai’s office were drawn.
“Who…”
“Kimura. Chief of Police. Tearing him a new one I suspect.”
Nino helped himself to more coffee, perching himself on Jun’s desk. While Matsumoto’s attention was on Sho’s office, his eyes trying in vain to see through the blinds, Nino took the pencils Jun had arranged and adjusted them slightly.
Kimura had come all the way up from downtown. This was serious. He wondered if Kimura’s lackeys had been trailing Sakurai? Just what the hell had that conversation been about yesterday? Was Sho trying to get a confession out of Watanabe? Was he trying to get Watanabe to finger someone else?
Finally, the office door opened. The chief of the LAPD had a pretty face like Jun - he wondered what secrets he was hiding. How many cops in his employ were on the take - was Kimura on the take too?
“Don’t think I won’t bump your ass down, Sakurai,” Kimura was saying, loud enough for the whole squad room to hear. It was obviously intentional, to shame the lieutenant in front of his subordinates. It was an asshole move, one Ninomiya saw again and again. There was always someone higher up on the food chain. Always someone who could take it all away from you.
Sakurai appeared behind him, looking stern. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his trousers, probably to hide his fists. Sho looked ready to kick and shout. Nino would probably feel the same - cases like these weren’t exactly easy. Sure, Kimura probably had the mayor breathing down his neck, and it was just trickling down. But they couldn’t lose Sakurai. Not now.
Kimura grabbed his hat and departed. As soon as the chief was out of eyesight, Sakurai’s shoulders slumped down in defeat. Jun was across the room already, and Nino hopped off the desk to hurry after him.
Sho slammed the office door as soon as the two of them were inside. Sakurai was holding his head. “Bastard. That fucking bastard.”
“Calm down,” Jun said, grabbing his pacing superior and shoving him down into his desk chair before he broke something. “What’s the problem now?”
“Me. I’m the problem,” Sho grumbled. “No results, he says. Obviously not ready to run homicide here, he says.”
Nino parked himself on the small couch in the office. The pressure from the top was building. But didn’t they get it? It was a tangled web - the individual threads were too knotted to be untangled quickly. They wanted to put more pressure on their suspects - they were denied. How the hell else were they supposed to get results?
“You’re working your ass off, sir,” Jun said obediently. This wasn’t in front of the squad room. This wasn’t just to show all the other boys that the lieutenant deserved their allegiance. These were Jun’s true feelings. Just what the hell had Sho done to help Matsumoto out during the academy? The bond between them ran deep.
“Not enough I guess,” Sho remarked with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve got until the end of the month. If we don’t make some kind of break, I’m out.” He gave Jun a weak smile. “Bumped down to sergeant. You won’t get to call me sir. I think I’ll miss that.”
Jun shook his head. “That’s bullshit. What the hell does he mean by some kind of break?”
“It means,” Nino interjected, “that Kimura probably doesn’t actually have anyone to replace him with. Not now at least. Not when he’s got enough problems at headquarters. I think you’re safe, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t feel safe,” Sho grumbled. “Where the hell is Aiba?”
Matsumoto smirked. Well, they’d cooked something up for this morning it seemed. “Probably still on his way back. Maybe he drove the wrong way.”
There was a loud noise in the hallway before a knock came on Sho’s door. “Or maybe that’s him now,” Sakurai mused, sounding far less irritated than he had.
The door opened and sure enough, it was Detective Aiba. Nino was confused to see him in cropped trousers, a sweater, and a cap. And hauling a golf bag, the contents of which he’d just spilled out over the squad room floor. “Morning!”
Matsumoto rolled his eyes and went to help Aiba pick up the remaining clubs. “Do I even want to know?” Nino asked.
Sho got up, leaning against the desk with a grin. “It seems our Dr. Ohno is a member of the Bel Air Country Club. Today, Detectives Aiba and Matsumoto will be accompanying him.”
“And this means something to me how?”
Jun added a 7-iron back to the bag. “Coincidentally, Mayor Ogura is set to tee off in about an hour.”
Nino sighed. “Ah, right.” This wasn’t going to get them anywhere. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of golf shoes for me.”
Aiba winked. “We’ll rent you some at the clubhouse. Come on!”
--
"Is that him, over there?" Nino asked, pointing across the practice green to the tee of the first hole. "Nice sweater."
Mayor Ogura wasn't alone- he had two lackeys, his caddy, and his golfing partner, who had a large fedora on that shaded most of his face. They were talking animatedly amongst one another, taking practice swings at the short grass. There wasn't anything unusual yet, except for the tacky sweater the mayor himself was sporting.
Nino's spikes were slipping into the wet dirt. He felt like an idiot- the others were at least dressed for the occasion, and he was standing just outside the pro shop with his dress slacks and button-down sleeves rolled up. Even Dr. Ohno had mismatched golf attire on, and he kept adjusting the hat on his head while looking thoughtfully down at his clubs.
"We tee off behind them," Aiba said.
"Guess it's the best we can do," Nino agreed. The pro shop had rented him a bag of clubs, but they were too tall. He was going to have to do some serious adjusting to even manage to hit the ball with the damn set.
Ogura's tee-off faded hard, disappearing somewhere into the trees, and he laughed with his party until they had each taken their turn, and then started out down the fairway in search of the lost balls. Aiba ushered the group up towards the tee box and readied his own, waiting until Ogura's party was safely on the green before beginning.
Aiba was a good golfer- Nino was impressed. Ohno wasn't bad either, though Nino had a hunch it tended to stem from lack of caring rather than anything else. Nino hadn't golfed in years, but he still managed to get at least a hundred yards.
Matsumoto was a different story.
"Jesus, have you ever golfed before in your life?" Nino cried, when his partner managed to whiff the ball completely on his first shot. "You're holding the club like a god damn baseball bat!"
"Shut up," Jun shot back, and managed to make contact the second time.
It was hard to keep an eye on the foursome in front of them, but they were given a lot of extra time with Matsumoto had to stop every twenty yards to hit again. By the third hole, Nino had taken to loitering up near the curve, so he was closer when Ogura's party came around the fourth fairway. It wasn't until the sun shifted overhead, elongating the shadows, that he got a good look at the faceless member of the outing.
Nakai. What did a radio personality have that was so important he merited inclusion in the mayor's golf foursome?
Nino relayed this information at the fifth tee box to the others, adjusting his glove. "Any ideas?"
"It's 423 yards," Aiba said, grabbing for a club from his bag. "I'd use your driver."
"I meant about Nakai and Ogura," Nino said, staring at the other man. The way his mind worked was beyond comprehension sometimes. And he knew he should use his driver- it was a par 5.
Ohno nodded. "Nakai was talking about Erika Toda's new movie on his show yesterday."
"You listen to that crap?" Matsumoto asked. Aiba teed his ball and managed a good shot, hooking just a little and sailing down the fairway. All four watched with their hands over their eyes until it dropped to the grass a hundred yards out from the green.
The doctor teed up after, shrugging a bit. "It's interesting."
"Interesting in a way that contributes absolutely nothing to the case," Nino sighed. He was getting irritated- he was already 4 above par for the front nine. And they were moving too slowly, Ogura's party was getting further and further ahead, and the foursome behind them were getting restless.
"Well, isn't the movie produced by Mizushima?" Aiba commented.
Nino stepped back from teeing his own ball. It's possible that Erika was the connecting link there- the one Mizushima had been so determined to keep under wraps. Wasn't she recently married? Was the reason Mizushima got her in one of his movies because he was sleeping with her on the side?
His shot went wide right, and he kicked at the grass a bit. "Dammit."
He couldn't see Ogura and Nakai's party past the green anymore, they were obscured behind a scattering of palm trees. And the web- well, it was just tangling even more than it already was, hopelessly knotted.
"On the sixth tee box, we'll come up right next to them," Ohno said, glancing down at the scorecard and the tiny map printed on the backside.
Matsumoto was teeing up. "Maybe we should accidentally throw a club at them."
"You don't need to accidentally do that," Aiba said, as Jun readied his stance. "Wait, wait, fix your hands- interlock your index and pinky finger when you grip, just like-"
Apparently, trying to fix Matsumoto's swing was the wrong thing to attempt, because he ended up getting frustrated- and flustered, most likely- and pulled his arms so far back the head of the driver barely clipped the ball's side. It shot the orb at a sharp right angle- which just happened to be where Nino was standing.
He was down on the ground before he had even registered what happened, his entire head throbbing.
"Shit!" Jun exclaimed. Nino's vision was going oddly red, but he could see enough to know it was Matsumoto standing over him, reaching for the sides of his face. "Shit, Kazu, I'm sorry-"
"Did you just hit him?!" Aiba exclaimed.
As his temples ached, Nino's first thought was that they were definitely going to lose Ogura- and the foursome behind them was going to have to play through. And then he was able to focus on Matsumoto's fingers at the side of his jaw, gentle and reassuring and-
-wait.
"Did you just hit me?" Nino croaked out.
Ohno's face appeared over Matsumoto's shoulder, looking mildly concerned. "Think I should wave the boys behind us through?"
At least someone was on the same wavelength that Nino was.
And Matsumoto's hands were still against his face, as if examining the damage. Aiba was waving the group behind them through with large, overdone gestures, and Ohno pulled at Nino's arm to get him on his feet.
"We should get him to the clubhouse," the doctor said. Standing just made Nino's head hurt worse. Jun took his other arm, and Aiba grabbed the clubs- how, Nino didn't know, because there was no way the man could carry four bags, but he wasn't in much of a position to really watch and see how it was done. He just let himself be half-carried back to the clubhouse, to the chairs and tables outside the pro shop where he was deposited.
Ohno started poking at his head. "Where does it hurt?"
"Everywhere," Nino groaned. It was only then he realized that Jun was still holding onto his elbow, and hadn't let go- and he didn't shake the man's fingers loose.
"Does it hurt when I press here?" Ohno asked.
"Ow!" Nino cried, jumping a little. "Yes, yes it hurts there! Jesus."
Ohno kept prodding with little regard, until Nino had to wave the man's hands away. "Doc, look- stick to the morgue, okay? The corpses aren't in pain when you poke them."
Aiba came through the door, breathless and flushed. "We totally lost Ogura and Nakai, I don't know what hole they are on now."
Christ. "Maybe we should call it a day," Matsumoto said. His hand was still wrapped around Nino's arm.
Ohno got some ice from the bartender and Nino pressed it against his aching head.
"This is the worst golf outing ever," he sighed.
--
It had been a long afternoon of laying down, hurting. Propping himself against the pillows, hurting. And no alcohol, Dr. Ohno had ordered him. He didn’t have a concussion, but Jun’s golf ball had hit him hard enough to raise a nice bump that would hopefully go down in a while. On the doctor’s orders, he was off the case the rest of the day and confined to his room.
Matsumoto and Aiba were busy trying to poke around Mizushima’s home, looking for any connections between the producer and Nishikido. The man had sold cars, just one of the things he had done for Kusanagi. Watanabe’s car came from Nishikido’s lot - so did the Mayor’s brand new coupe. Sure, that was a connection - but the killing. Were any of these threads enough to lead to murder?
It was already after 10 PM, and he was sick of being in his room. He’d already been hungover and the golf ball to the skull hadn’t helped matters any, but no matter how sore he was it wasn’t enough to keep from thinking. There was a piano in the hotel lobby, but it was occupied when he got off the elevator. That was out.
He just had to get out. He was awake now, had a splitting headache and no desire to sit at the hotel bar with a ginger ale. Nino pulled his coat on and went out into the night, flagging down a cab. He leaned back against the seat and sighed as the driver pulled away from the curb.
Oguri - now that they’d cleared him of suspicion, maybe he’d talk. But he’d need some sort of incentive, wouldn’t he? A man like him didn’t chit chat about his lowlife acquaintances without good reason. Maybe they could find some sort of code violation - his club had been nasty enough.
The club owner had been at the track that night. Maybe he’d seen Yokoyama arguing with someone. Or maybe he’d had Nishikido as a patron here and there. The mayor and Nakai and Kusanagi were too wealthy, had too many people watching their backs. But Oguri was his own man, looking out for number one on his own terms.
Maybe Oguri knew what sort of business Ken Watanabe had with North Hollywood homicide’s young lieutenant.
He had the cab drop him about a block from the station. The night air was crisp but not too cold. The jostling cab ride hadn’t helped his headache any, but he’d experienced worse. The station only had Yamashita on duty when he came in. “Paperwork,” he claimed as the officer waved him on in.
Sakurai’s lights were off - maybe Aiba had finally gotten the man to go home and relax. After the business with Chief Kimura, he was probably still smarting. He needed rest, real rest, if he was going to stay on the case and keep his proper judgment. Not that Nino was following his own advice, he realized as he opened the door to the basement and headed for the morgue.
It was quiet, not that he expected it to be a boisterous party room when he arrived. He left his coat on - the refrigeration system keeping the bodies cool kept the room chilly. Nino approached the little door that led to Nishikido, all cut up and sewn back together by Dr. Ohno with precision.
He leaned his head against the metal, and it felt almost nice. Even though there was a dead man on the other side, it soothed his headache a bit. “Ryo Ryo Ryo,” he mumbled, tapping his fingers against the handle. “Why’d you roll your window down?”
And where were you? Where were you when the guy made you roll it down? How far did he drive your body, Ryo? Why didn’t anyone think it was strange?
Nino sighed. “Dead men tell no tales, huh?”
“You have a strange habit of talking to yourself.”
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Jun’s voice, turning to see Matsumoto sitting in the dark corner near one of Dr. Ohno’s sinks. Bastard was lying in wait for him. “Jesus, Matsumoto.”
Jun grinned. “Supposed to be in bed.”
“Was you who put me there,” Nino reminded him, his head still throbbing. “Don’t do so well with orders from doctors.”
“Don’t you mean orders from anyone?”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back against the metal wall. “That too.”
Jun stretched, his lanky arms raised over his head. He really should have been a movie star. “Called your hotel, wanted to tell you when I’d be there tomorrow. You weren’t there.”
Nino just stared at him. “And how the hell did you know I’d come here?”
“You’re not the only one good at his job.” Jun smiled, heading for the door. “Come on, this place gives me the creeps.”
He reluctantly followed Matsumoto from the morgue. He opened Sho’s empty office, closing the door behind them. Nino decided the boss’ chair looked pretty cozy, and Jun just made a face when he sat down. The other man took the couch. It was stuffier than the morgue, but there weren’t any bodies in there.
“Didn’t like your house arrest?” Jun asked.
“You hit me in the head. With a golf ball, Walter Hagen.”
“Look, I apologized, okay?” Jun snapped back. Nino shut his eyes, trying not to remember Matsumoto’s fingers on his face, fingers that were better suited to piano keys than his own.
He had to focus on the case.
“Oguri,” he mumbled.
“Cleared him already. He was very visible the night Nishikido died.”
“I know that,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Would you let me finish?” Matsumoto was quiet. “We tell him he’s in the clear. Maybe he’ll talk.”
“And maybe he won’t. He’s only interested in his own profits.”
“Do you have any other ideas? Because my golf-ball injured head is a bit pressed for them.”
“You always like this?” Jun asked, voice low and irritated.
He opened his eyes, met Matsumoto’s in challenge. “Only with people I really like.”
Jun sighed. “Alright, alright. Ideas. Ideas to do our jobs, like we’re being paid for.” He took a breath, and Nino watched him run his hands through his dark hair. “Okay, so talking to these assholes over and over is just a waste of time. We don’t have the manpower to tail each of them.”
“And Takizawa’s busy investigating your department, so he’s not sparing anyone either.”
“Wonderful. Let’s go back to square one. Our three guys, same way of killing. Dumped in North Hollywood. Still think it’s a vigilante or someone who fancies himself as one?”
Nino nodded. What else could it be? Such a brutal way of killing had to be a message - catch me if you can. “All three of them were lowlifes, god rest their souls,” he snitted. “Someone thinks they’re taking out the trash. Or wants it to look that way while they get rid of people they see as a threat.”
“So we need to know the guys - how they tie to each of our beloved suspects,” Jun continued. “We need strong links. Not just…”
“That Nishikido sold them a car,” Nino finished.
Jun’s cheeks turned a bit pink. “You are really creepy with that.”
Nino looked away. They were both getting creepy. He didn’t need to be finishing the guy’s sentences and vice versa. “Well, Lieutenant’s got Nishikido cleared for when?”
“End of the week,” Jun answered. “Body’s getting released for the funeral.”
“Thinking what I am?”
Jun nodded. “Be interesting to see who shows up…”
“…and who doesn’t.”
Matsumoto’s cheeks were redder than a tomato. He got off the couch and headed for the door. “Well, Mr. Ninomiya. Would you like to attend the funeral for a crook?”
He got out of Sho’s chair, giving the desk a hearty thump. “Be my pleasure, Mr. Matsumoto.”