Sign of the Dragon (Tatsu Yamada Book 1), Niall Teasdale [books for 20 year olds .txt] 📗

lived in the Tokyo–Yokohama–Chiba metropolitan area. But to look at, the two districts were poles apart. Chiba was a sullen place, all dark colours and grubby metalwork, brightened only by shop signs and advertisements. Shibuya gleamed in the July morning sunlight.

The huge, black, almost insect-like motorcycle which drew up outside one of the gleaming tower blocks looked out of place. It was pretty much impossible to drive out of Chiba and accidently end up here, but that was what you might have thought had happened on first examination. However, the rider seemed to be all purpose as she dismounted and stowed her helmet away under the seat. She regarded the doorman hurrying toward her in a suit so tightly pressed you could have cut fog with it and waited.

‘You can’t park that there!’ The doorman’s eyes scanned up and down Tatsu’s one hundred and seventy centimetres with a look of solid disapproval. She could not entirely blame him; it was not like she had gone out of her way to blend in. It was not like she had taken any effort at all. She was, according to relatively unbiased opinion, an attractive woman. Not beautiful, maybe, but certainly attractive. Her long legs were made longer by twenty centimetres of heel decorating purple thigh-high boots. Her hips could have been wider; her waist was quite narrow enough. There was muscle apparent wherever flesh was exposed and the high-hipped, purple leotard she wore exposed a reasonable amount of flesh. Her large breasts showed through the glossy material the leotard was made from. The doorman’s eyes had lingered there briefly, and he had had even more difficulty maintaining his composure. Over the leotard, she wore tight, black shorts, a shrug which appeared to be armoured leather over her shoulders and forearms, and a sort of jacket which covered her back and the sides of her breasts but left the front entirely exposed. Her personal weapon, a four-millimetre gauss machine pistol, was attached to a clip on the side of this harness/jacket. Her face was angular, her jawline strong. She had a straight nose which was a little on the flat side, full lips painted purple, and catlike eyes coloured a silvery blue highlighted by purple eyeshadow. Her hair was cut into a short bob, longer over her cheeks, and it was coloured in various shades of purple. She looked absolutely nothing like a resident of the high-rent building she had arrived at.

‘I can,’ Tatsu said, ‘and I have. And you’ll leave it right where it is until I come out.’

‘Hoodlums–’ he began, stopping as Tatsu produced her ID and pushed it into his face.

‘I won’t necessarily disagree about that description, but I’m a hoodlum with a badge. Leave the bike where it is.’ She started toward the lobby of the tower, hanging her ID in her cleavage as she went. ‘Oh, the security system is… aggressive. If you do try to move it, I won’t be responsible for your safety.’

The message that had dragged Tatsu down from Chiba had indicated that she was to attend apartment 3205. Not right at the top, but taking the stairs was out. She walked through the bright, airy foyer ignoring the glares of the people at the reception desk to go on to where there was a bank of elevators. Her badge got her a car to ride up to the thirty-second floor and the apartment was pretty obvious as soon as she stepped out: it would be the one with the two uniformed officers standing outside it.

The apartment made hers look like a shoe box. She was guessing at three bedrooms, but the lounge by itself had ten times the floor space of her entire home. It was plush. Lots of light colours in the paintwork and furniture, and there was a massive picture window looking out toward Yoyogi Park. There was a huge screen mounted on one wall and a massive painting mounted on another. The latter was a nude of a very attractive woman with blonde hair who Tatsu thought she should recognise. She was not coming up with an immediate identity, however, so she set a search running.

The room had more than its share of cops in it too. Technicians were examining everything there was to examine, a couple of uniforms were standing by in case they were needed, and there were men and women in suits wearing police armbands, all of them seemingly deferring to one man in a grey suit. Tatsu gave him a few seconds to see whether he would notice her. He did not, and none of the others seemed to want to mention the woman in the risqué outfit who had walked in.

‘What the hell am I doing here, Nakano?’ Tatsu asked loudly. ‘My beat’s Chiba and this place is so far from there it might as well be on the moon.’

Sergeant Kenzo Nakano looked around and gave Tatsu a scowl. ‘You couldn’t have worn something suitable, Yamada?’

‘This is suitable. For where I’m supposed to be. Why am I here?’

‘Right.’ He stepped closer, reaching into a pocket for a plastic evidence bag. Nakano was a bit of a stiff. He was thirty-four, according to his records, and a career detective. He had studied criminology at university, and he had been climbing the ranks ever since. He was good-looking, fit, and firmly muscled under that suit. His hair was jet black, his eyes were dark brown, and he kept himself well-groomed. Even his tie was subdued. All that being said, he was a good detective. If he could lighten up even once, Tatsu might have liked him.

He held up the bag and Tatsu found herself looking at a business card with a handwritten message on the back: This vile foreigner deserved much worse. Okay… Nakano flipped the bag around and Tatsu found herself looking at her name. Well, the only thing on the face of the