a wreck. They want her home.”
Mickey took a breath, but Art held up a calming hand. “Let’s walk through this step by step, Connor, OK?” I nodded in agreement.
Art came out of his slouch and sat forward. “They would like her found, yes?”
“Yes,” I said.
Art nodded. “Fair enough. But why come to you? There are any number of people who do this professionally.” He placed a big freckled hand on my arm. “And I don’t like to hurt your feelings, Connor, but they can probably do this better than you can.” Across the table, Mickey snorted in agreement.
“Look,” I said, “I pointed that out to them. But it’s a Japanese thing. It has to do with family reputation. They don’t want some stranger involved.”
“You are a stranger, you idiot,” my brother pointed out.
“No, I’m not. I’m Yamashita’s senior student and he’s got some connection with them. He owes them.”
“How? Why?” Mickey was skeptical.
“I’m not entirely sure,” I said.
“OK, leave that for a minute,” Art continued. “It might be useful to know more, but you know what you know. Let’s get to the heart of things here.” He leaned forward and took a sip of his martini. “Mmm. Shaken, not stirred.”
Mickey looked suddenly alert, and I knew we were about to take a detour into the odd version of Trivial Pursuit they had developed over years of stakeouts. “You mean, ‘shaken and not stirred,’” he said, eyes gleaming.
Art appeared affronted. “Surely you jest. The movie Goldfinger, my man—1964. Check it out.”
Mickey smiled wickedly. “And yet, when we go to the source, Ian Fleming himself wrote the phrase ‘shaken and not stirred.’ First uttered in the book Dr. No in 1958. They left the word ‘and’ out in the movies.”
Art was not impressed. “Like you’ve ever read a book, Mick.”
The two of them had an almost inexhaustible interest in pop culture trivia, especially when it came to action flicks. I let the bickering go on for a while, and then interrupted them.
“You know my favorite line by James Bond about martinis?” They stopped arguing and looked at me with the disapproval you give to people who let themselves in on a conversation without being invited. “Casino Royale, 2006,” I continued. “Someone asks Bond if he wants his drink shaken or stirred. Know what he says?”
Art smiled, his eyes crinkling almost shut. “Sure. He says, ‘Do I look like I give a damn?’”
“Exactly,” I said, pausing for effect before I continued. “Let me just say he speaks for many of us.”
Art looked at Mickey. “It seems not everyone shares our interests.”
“Go figure,” Mickey said. “Too busy getting tangled up in half-assed schemes, probably.”
“Well, it appears that I digress,” Art commented, and took another swallow of his drink. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. What do these guys really want?”
“They want her found,” I answered.
Art smiled. “Oh, my boy. So easily misled. Yes, they want her found, but that’s just the prelude. Once you find her, what then?”
“They want her to come home.”
Mickey leaned in. “But they’ve had this conversation with her, haven’t they? And she’s not home, is she?”
“She’s messed up, Mick,” I told him.
“Doesn’t matter,” Art said, shaking his head. “She’s not a minor. She’s not being held under duress that we know of. She’s free to be as messed up as she wants.”
“Which means,” Mickey put in, “what they want you to do is not just find her. They want you to take her. Against her will. And deliver her to them.” He looked at Art. “Now why would they want someone to do that for them, Art?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
“Hmm, good question, Mick.” Art rested his chin in his hand, miming deep thought. “Perhaps because, hmmm, let me see, perhaps because, oh, I don’t know …”
“Because it’s kidnapping, you asshole,” Mickey hissed at me. “A federal offense. They want it done, but they don’t want to get their hands dirty doing it. They won’t hire someone to do it because they can’t trust them not to roll over if they get pinched.”
“I would,” Art said.
Mickey looked at me. His eyes are grey and can be terribly cold. “So they sell you a line about honor and favors owed by Yamashita and figure you’ll get it done for them.”
“Why would they ask me to do it, if I’m such an amateur?”
Art smiled. “Now, Connor. Don’t be sullen. You’re very capable in your own special way.” He paused to scan the room once more. “I also imagine these people are very well informed about your skills. Your persistence.”
“Your incredible knack for generating shit storms,” Mickey added.
“An unpleasant point, but true,” Art concluded. “And they are connected to the Kunaicho, which means they have a good line to various intelligence agencies.”
“Which means they know about us,” Mickey said. “We do enough work with the NYPD’s intelligence bureau to be known. They figure you can use us as an asset to locate the girl. Then you swoop in and get her. There may be some heads need knocking. Which, I have to admit, you can do.” The admission that I had any sort of competence seemed to pain him. “Once that happens, they can have her loaded on a private jet and out of the country well before anyone raises a stink.”
Art held up a finger. “Although a stink will be raised.” He nodded somberly at me.
“And you, you moron, will be left holding the bag,” my brother concluded.
I said nothing. I knew deep down they were right. But I also knew they didn’t get the whole picture.
“Walk away, buddy boy,” my brother urged.
“I agree, Connor,” Art said quietly. “We’re gonna pass on this one. You should too.” Nobody said much after that. Art looked down at his glass. It was empty. So was mine.
Even in a crowded room, Osorio seemed alone. It wasn’t just the minders who watched, unblinking, from the corners of the room. It wasn’t the regal solitude of the man as he sat at the best table in the house, savoring the bouquet that swirled from a brandy snifter. There was a space around Osorio at all times, a zone filled with threat and innuendo and the memories of old violence.
“Dr. Burke,” he said, smiling. His face was lined like old leather, his teeth square and strong looking. He swirled the brandy around the crystal glass, watching the languid wash of the liquid with deep appreciation. I stood a pace away from him, hands held at rest by my sides.
