Demon City Shinjuku: The Complete Edition Page 7

  “How’d you get here in the first place, then?”

  “Closed my eyes. With a little light to guide me, though, I really come on strong. You saw, right?”

  The bartender shrugged. He jerked his chin at the young woman. “What’s after that girl, no bunch of chopsocky is gonna stop.”

  “And what good’s some antique handgun and a bunch of sharpies a quack surgeon wouldn’t bother with?”

  The bartender flashed a look of annoyance at Kyoya’s quip, then smiled. “You’re a strange one. So what exactly can you do?”

  “Leave it to me,” Kyoya said with an exaggerated nod. “Jesus Christ at your service.”

  The bartender sighed. He must be thinking the kid was some sort of scatterbrained thug. He said under his breath, “Fine. I’ll let you in on it. Because once you hear what I have to say, you’ll be running home to mama.”

  “I’m sure I will,” he said, as surely as he knew he wasn’t.

  The bartender leaned on his elbows and said, “That bunch over there, they work at a supermarket down the street. Good people, especially the girl in the middle.”

  “Nice looking, too. What, she a D-cup? What’s her name?”

  “Yuko Sano. Hey, you’re too young to look at women like that. Well, whatever. She is a babe. And just to keep our facts straight, that’s a double-D.”

  Kyoya grinned. “And?”

  “What it looks like. Hot-to-trot youngsters like yourself going in there and just looking. Lately there’s been more punks in the neighborhood than regular folks. Gives the place a bad feeling, you know?”

  “Figures.”

  “But Yuko-chan don’t give a damn about any of them players. She’s got her own true love, Susumu. The kid who picked you out before.”

  “Well, I’m jealous.”

  “They’re gonna get married and run the shop together. Their friends got their backs. Sure, they all wanted Yuko for themselves, but they’re stand-up guys when it comes to doing the right thing. Nobody’s looking to cuckold Susumu.”

  “Yeah, but a man’s still a man. Old-fashioned chivalry is rare these days.”

  The bartender answered with a fierce expression. “They may be young, but they got better character than you. Anyways, a month ago, Yuko-chan got a strange letter. Like that old parchment, you know, made out of animal skins or whatnot. The letter says: A month from now, we will come for you. You cannot run. You cannot hide. Speak of this to no one. No return address.”

  “Got it. And today’s the day? That’s kind of a leap, isn’t it? Thinking it was a monster at work?”

  The bartender rolled up his right sleeve and showed Kyoya the inside of his upper arm. “As soon as she read it, the letter attached itself to her arm, right here. Nothing can remove it. The doctors say it’s sheepskin, all right, and it’s been assimilated right into the arm. They’d have to remove the flesh to get it off. So there it stays.”

  He added in a hushed voice, “I’ve been running this establishment since the big earthquake. Ever since, every month, a pair of girls go missing, minimum. And there’s a definite pattern. Some young babe gets a letter just like Yuko did. Then no matter how many cops and bodyguards, exactly a month later, she goes missing.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Fact is, nobody knows what the hell is going on. Nobody in charge is talking. The rumors say that five years ago the daughter of a gang boss in Yotsuya was targeted. He stuck by her side, surrounded by a hundred of his heavily armed henchmen. What do you think happened?”

  “I’d hazard none of ’em were ever seen again.”

  The bartender nodded, which surprised Kyoya. Nobody had a sense of humor in this place.

  “Not hide nor hair,” the bartender said under his breath. “It’s been going on nonstop ever since. Every time, no matter what steps are taken, nobody can protect the targeted girl. No matter where she ran, or where her parents might hide her—every attempt to leave Shinjuku would be mysteriously frustrated—on the appointed day she would disappear. Nothing but a monster could pull off something like that.”

  “Sure sounds like it. But has anybody actually seen them in action?”

  “They have. But whenever any try to talk about it, they get hit by bad luck or an accident, so they keep mum. According to the story I heard, on that day at three in the morning, a funeral wagon pulled by a skin and bones black horse comes for the girl. And the coachman is—”

  “The Grim Reaper?” Kyoya grinned at the image. “A letter written on parchment, a funeral wagon at three in the morning—whoever’s behind it must be old school in a big way. Sounds like something a crazy man would concoct.”

  The bartender said sullenly, “Just because it’s a rumor don’t mean it’s not true. He ain’t carrying a sickle, but he sure as hell is the God of Death, all dressed in black and all. Nowadays, the sound of a horse’s hooves is a bad omen. When the time approaches, everybody in the neighborhood of a targeted girl closes the shutters and bars the doors and waits for the danger to pass. It’s harsh, but that’s what fear does to people.”

  “It’s the smartest thing to do. But why aren’t you? Go out on a limb for her, and you’ll go down with it when it’s sawn off.”

  The bartender flushed with rage. “As soon as Yuko-chan saw that letter, she knew her fate was sealed, ’cause I’d told her what I just told you. From then until the day before yesterday, she kept it to herself. Didn’t say nothing to nobody. Her parents died in the Devil Quake. And if she told Susumu, she knew he’d die defending her. Didn’t see any reason for more pointless deaths. Susumu only found out because one day when they were all out together, he noticed the letter on her arm. Nobody’s so cold-hearted that they could run away saying it didn’t have anything to do with them. Even when they came here to talk about it, she cried and said she didn’t want to get me involved in something like this. She wouldn’t put her own self ahead of us. As long as there’s a girl like that left in a city like this, there’s still hope, you know? There’s no way we can let the likes of you waltz in here and do as you please, no matter what the odds.”

  The bartender paused, and added in a barely audible voice, “Fact is, I’ve got a thing for her myself.”

  “You’re a good man,” Kyoya softly replied.

  He slid off the stool. The bartender held out his hand. “See you around, kid. I know we haven’t known each other long, but keep the little bar in your thoughts.”

  “Save the goodbyes,” said Kyoya, waving off the handshake. He picked up Asura from where he’d leaned it against the counter and turned to the table where the four others were sitting.

  “Hey!”

  “Don’t worry, don’t worry. Good intentions, okay? There’s nothing you can do for her. Leave it to me, old man.”

  He spoke in a purposely loud voice. The four looked at him with surprised expressions. Susumu said in an angry voice, “What are you doing here? Get your jollies somewhere else.”

  Kyoya calmly stood in front of him and clapped him on the shoulders. “Take it easy. A hot-blooded man has got to know when to play it cool. That’s what the girls fall for. You’re a popular one, I bet. Got a whole harem on the side, eh? C’mon, you can tell me. Don’t hold back.”

  Yuko looked at Susumu with sad eyes. “Is that true?”

  “D-don’t be silly. He’s joking, he’s joking! Hey, what’s your problem?”

  Kyoya got a chair from another table and sat down next to Yuko. Ignoring Susumu, he took her slender hand in his. The letter was fused into the fleshy part of her upper arm, above the right elbow, covering about four by six inches long of skin. Just as the bartender had said, dark red letters were etched into a charcoal brown background.

  “The blood of a lamb on lambskin,” Kyoya muttered. “Still doing it the medieval way. The Demon Realm sure isn’t one to embrace progress.”

  He placed his right hand on the letter and closed his eyes and swiped his hand down her arm, as if brushing off a piece of lint.

&n
bsp; “Ah!” Yuko cried out, her voice shaking the heavy gloom. “It’s gone. Not a trace left!”

  “I guess that means you’re free. Congratulations.”

  Four pairs of eyes stared at Kyoya in amazement. He smiled like a craftsman being praised for his wares.

  “How in the world did you do that?” said the bartender. “Who are you?”

  “Like I told you, I’m an exorcist.”

  “You said you were Jesus Christ.”

  “Either way. The techniques I use to help people are industrial secrets. Don’t ask me who I am. No time for explanations, except that the bad guys use this letter to home in on the victim, like a GPS tracking system. Erase it and Yuko-chan should be safe. They’ll grab me instead.”

  They all stared at him.

  The way Kyoya planned it, he’d disguise himself as Yuko and steal into the enemy’s hideout. He had no idea who’d be waiting for him there, but they were kidnapping young women in order to perform some sort of human sacrifice, so he was pretty sure the Sorcerer would reveal himself. He’d turn the tables and grab him instead, bust a few chops and get the mark of the Nidom deleted.

  However, he had to wonder about the odds of sneaking into the heart of enemy territory and making it out alive. Or whether that would even save the president’s life. What would become of the world afterwards was beyond a high school student’s knowledge.

  “Well. Sorry about this, Yuko-chan, but perhaps I could borrow your blouse and dress? I’m not exactly the feminine type. I’ll need a disguise. Not like it’s gonna fit. No matter, I’ll just drape it on. Maybe some lipstick and go heavy with the face powder? We’re talking about a bunch of hell beasts, not like they could tell the difference. Wait a minute—I’m making this way too complicated. You got a jacket or something I could wear?”

  “In the back room. But with the letter gone, there’s no reason for them to show up here.”

  “Yes, that would be a problem. Which is why I got it right here.”

  Kyoya rolled up his sleeve. Everybody gasped again. The abominable parchment was affixed to his bicep. As Yuko wordlessly watched, he glanced at his watch and said, “It’s ten to three. My ride should be arriving. Give me your jacket. What are you looking at? Am I that scary?”

  “No.” Yuko shook her head back and forth. “No. But who are you? Why did you come here? Why are you trying to save us?”

  “The old man put you up to this?”

  “Naw. Truth is, I’m a sucker for any babe sporting an impressive pair like that.”

  Kyoya grinned like a wolf. Susumu struck a threatening pose. Kyoya paid him no mind. Instead, he presented his right cheek to Yuko. “I’ll take a payment in kind.”

  As expected, Yuko turned to Susumu. Seeing his flustered state, she made up her own mind, flung her arms around Kyoya’s neck and gave him a smooch on the cheek. The image of only one face rose up in the back of his mind—long hair hanging down to the waist, tears welling up in earnest black eyes even as she held them back.

  Why her—he felt a painful twinge in his chest. He gently pushed Yuko away. “Thanks. If I ever make it back here, I’ll be sure to—”

  He didn’t finish the sentence.

  With a dull whoosh, what looked like a plastic bag fell onto Asura’s hilt. It’d been flung across the room. Kyoya reached for Asura, propped up next to him, taking in the situation before him.

  Except there should be no one else in the place, let alone sitting at the table opposite them. Their eyes all focused on that dimly-lit corner of the room. A shadow floated there at the table.

  Asura’s sheath fell to the floor. This time, Kyoya assumed a true fighting stance. He didn’t sense magic in the air, so he didn’t think this the doings of the Sorcerer. Except that anything or anybody that could steal into this bar without him noticing could be no ordinary customer.

  The shadow slowly turned towards them. The pale face of a young man, his long forelocks hanging down around his face. The dim lighting made his cheeks appear drawn and narrow. He looked around twenty. A black cape covered him down to his ankles. His turtleneck and slacks were black as well. Together with his somehow refined countenance this created the image of an elegant mage.

  “Who are you? When did you come in here?” The bartender’s voice trembled, clearly suspecting him to be a demon.

  “I am Doctor Mephisto,” the shadow answered readily. “I was passing by. The door was open. So I came in. Excuse me for intruding, but I happened to overhear the entirety of your conversation.”

  Aside from Kyoya, the five gasped. They were more startled than when Kyoya removed the tattooed letter. The name seemed to strike a bell.

  Kyoya asked, not taking his eyes off the man, “Barkeep, who is this highfalutin’ Dracula? Looks Japanese, but that’s no Japanese name.”

  “Word is, the same man who took on a bad-ass gang of cyborgs in Kabuki-cho. They called themselves the Freaks, as I recall. He wiped them out single-handedly. Can’t vouch for him myself, but in a dangerous world, his is a name that carries a lot of weight.”

  There was a touch of awe in the bartender’s voice.

  “Huh. A big man at his age. Well, if he pipes down and doesn’t get in my way, then I’ve got no problem with him taking up space. We’ve got ourselves a bit of a situation here.”

  He was about to toss back the bag when Mephisto stopped him. “You had better hold onto that. A token of our new friendship.”

  “You’ve got weird tastes. A box of Yoneya yokan jellies would be more my thing.”

  “That is a shape-shifting mask, made from specially-engineered macromolecule polymers. Put it on and look at the person you wish to become, and in five seconds it will adapt its shape to match. I can’t speak to the matter with great precision, but even with switching ownership of the letter, your foes should have no trouble telling the difference between boys and girls.”

  Kyoya looked back at Mephisto, and then at his watch. It was five before three. “What are you giving me this thing for? Don’t count on getting it back.”

  The silhouette laughed silently. “My, aren’t you the gallant one when the suffering of a lady is concerned. I do not know what your purposes are, though it seems you wish to infiltrate a den of vipers. I doubt that will happen if you reveal your true nature here. They would still go after her. You’d best don the mask. It will take care of the rest.”

  Kyoya hadn’t the slightest idea how trustworthy this chap was, but had to come to a decision. “I’ll take you up on that.”

  He turned and drew the mask over his head and looked at Yuko. Aside from eyeholes, there wasn’t a mouth or nose. But it affixed itself to his face like a living thing. In a flash, it assumed Yuko’s colors and contours.

  “Even the hair is the same!” Susumu blurted out. In less than thirty seconds, Yuko’s face at least had a twin.

  “Till we meet again,” came a quiet farewell from the door.

  They all turned. A gust of September wind swirled in as the door opened and closed. The black-clad young man vanished into the night.

  “That was an odd one,” Kyoya said to himself. “Wouldn’t mind running into him again.”

  In his ear, he heard the sound of hooves. Yuko hugged her arms across her chest. More than the outside breeze, the chilling demonic miasma filled the bar.

  “Sounds like they’re on their way. We’ll wait here. You’d better lay low for now.”

  The face was that of a pretty girl, but the utterly incongruous voice was that of a young warrior looking to throw down with a very bad lot.

  The metronomic clop clop clop of the hooves and creak of the wagon wheels came to a stop in front of the bar. Four pairs of eyes focused on the door. Yuko and Susumu had retreated deeper inside.

  What sort of creature would present itself? The door didn’t open, but in it came. From Kyoya’s upper arm directly to his brain: Open the door and come out. You have been chosen as the tribute to be offered up in the rite. Resistance is useless.

&nb
sp; Not a voice, but pure thought. And not the thoughts of anything in this world. No sooner had they stolen into his head but Kyoya felt their repressing presence eating away at his will.

  No matter how firm his spirit and mighty his resolve, a human being could do nothing in the face of the dictates of the Demon Realm but obey—like a marionette dangling from the devil’s string—that was how simultaneously terrifying and numbing these thoughts were.

  Even as he checked their progress within the walls of his own intention, Kyoya could not help but be amazed. Perhaps the letter executed a kind of mind-control circuitry. A clever trick. Human beings could be induced to flip out and go on mad killing sprees or commit suicide upon receipt of such a “letter.” Who was to say such things hadn’t happened in the past?

  The beckoning call intensified. If he was tardy, they might get suspicious. Kyoya tucked Asura back into its sheath and held it against his chest and set off with a pigeon-toed gait. He’d left his day pack in the back. All he had in his pocket was his wallet. He had to travel light. Yuko’s jacket was on the tight side, leaving not much room for anything else.

  “Wait a second,” said Susumu. Kyoya turned around and he continued, “You going? At least tell us your name.”

  “Oh, please,” he said in a woman’s voice. “I’m Yuko.”

  “Thank you,” Susumu said, a bit confused by his appearance but meaning it from the heart. “Be sure to make it back in one piece.”

  “Of course.” And he giggled daintily.

  “Hope to see you again,” came the bartender’s heartfelt voice.

  With a final wave, Kyoya—wearing Yuko’s face—opened the door and left. The magical miasmas mingled with the wind and danced down the street. Just like the stories said, a wagon pulled by black horses was waiting. It wasn’t a funeral wagon but a fashionable nineteenth-century European model called a barouche, an open-topped coach drawn by a pair of horses.

  Not that Kyoya would be familiar with that degree of detail. What he did know was that the driver perched high on the coachman’s seat was casting off the ghostly wind. Though his monk’s garb and hood lent him a human appearance, there was no question that this was a demon.