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

people talking about Zima’s death. Most of it was ‘have you heard,’ but there was speculation. That fell into two categories: who did it and what happens now. There was little real information going around about the first question. So far, little had leaked about the manner of Zima’s death. It was known that he had been killed in his apartment. Several people seemed to know that his wife had been murdered too. No one had learned how they had died, just that they had. Zima’s apartment had good security, but there were plenty of people around who were sure that they could have got in if they had needed to.

As to the future, it seemed like there was some confusion there. Some said that Zima’s organisation would continue without him. Others said that there was movement among the other groups within Chiba and a turf war was in the offing. Tatsu did not like the thought of that last one; when she had wiped out the tong the year before, it had been necessary but it had resulted in several months of conflict as the balance of power settled.

Up on the eighth floor, the top floor as far as customers were concerned, Tatsu hit paydirt. It was well-dressed dirt, but it was definitely something you would want to clean out from under your fingernails. Grigory Vasilev was sitting at one of the tables which had a cage in the middle of it, surrounded by various other members of Zima’s gang. They were drinking and laughing and ogling the naked dancer in the cage, and if this was a wake, it was a weird one. Vasilev had been one of Zima’s key lieutenants up until this morning. You would have thought he would have a bit more feeling for his deceased boss.

‘Boys!’ Vasilev roared as soon as he saw Tatsu walking over to their table. ‘Another dancer!’ He was speaking Russian. He had a habit of doing that around pretty much anyone who was not Russian, so Tatsu did not feel offended. He knew she would understand him, and she knew that he knew it. Basically, Vasilev was an asshole and had probably been that way while still on breast milk.

‘You don’t seem to be mourning your boss very keenly, Grigory,’ Tatsu said in reply.

‘In Russia, we men celebrate life and leave the lamentations to our women!’ He raised a shot glass of clear liquid. ‘Anastas!’ Everyone drank.

‘Not that many women will lament him with Taisiya gone,’ one of the others commented. ‘Maybe spit on his grave instead.’

‘That is true!’ Vasilev agreed. ‘Even with a hot wife like Taisiya, Anastas was still playing the field.’ Tatsu had heard more than a few rumours about Zima’s mistresses, young and old alike. She doubted any of them would have had him murdered, however. Maybe a boyfriend or husband…

‘Any ideas who ordered the hit?’ Tatsu asked.

Vasilev’s face straightened. ‘You think I would tell you if I had?’

‘Yes, because if you knew and you went after them yourself, you know what I’d do.’

‘You are one woman, dragon lady. You took down some Chinese pussies, sure. You got lucky. You fuck with us–’

‘You can keep thinking that if you want, Grigory. If I decide to fuck with you– No, fucking is the last thing I have any intention of doing with you. If I decide that your organisation is dangerous, you won’t see me coming. If you get anything on the assassin, pick up a phone.’ Tatsu glanced at the dancer briefly before turning and walking away.

‘Fuck you, cop!’ Vasilev called after her, and the others at the table laughed.

Tatsu ignored them and kept on walking.

~~~

It was a little after ten at night and the air was hanging on to the heat of the day well. The alley behind the club where the staff entrance was located was poorly lit and hot. Tatsu leaned against a wall and waited, largely oblivious to both light level and temperature. Her eyes saw in frequencies a lot of people had never heard of and her body could handle a very wide temperature range. She was waiting for someone, and she could be very patient when she felt like it.

The reinforced door opened and a woman stepped through. Even with clothes on, Tatsu recognised her, and her augmented reality software quickly came up with an ID and a lot of personal data. Sachiko Kobayashi, born twentieth November twenty-eighty. Registered profession: dancer. One reprimand on record for underage prostitution. Either she had got out, or she had got better at avoiding police patrols. Her MedStat indicators showed two greens which suggested that she was physically and mentally healthy. She was attractive, maybe ten centimetres taller than Tatsu and long in the leg. Trim figure suggested regular exercise. Moderate bust. Less of the exaggeration sculpted into Tatsu’s frame. Her face was kind of flat with a small nose and deeply curved lips. Her eyes were almost black, and her hair was black not to mention long; long, slightly wavy strands of jet black fell to her hips at front and back. Her fringe almost covered moderately thick, strongly curved eyebrows. She was dressed to impress, or maybe it was for comfort. A black fishnet tank T-shirt showed off the white fishnet bra beneath. Her skirt was white, frilled in two tiers, and failed to cover her behind by a couple of centimetres though it managed to be more concealing at the front. She was also wearing thick thigh-high socks in white with black bands at the top, and transparent plastic stripper shoes with a platform and easily twenty-five centimetres of heel.

Kobayashi did not notice Tatsu initially. It was only when Tatsu stepped forward into the light from the lamp above the door that there was a reaction. The dancer recoiled, got a better look at who was there, and immediately calmed.