Deliverance (Book 1)

Job Four: Nobody Rides For Free

Sitting with his hands steepled, staring into the video player on his computer, Detective Araki did not see the attractive photo of a white 300ZX beneath a neon palm tree which he'd set as its background image. He saw only the moments of the chase he had just watched, and re-watched. It was Deliverance, and yet it wasn't.

That was their taxi, rampaging through Kobe; he recognised the little pop-up spoiler. But it seemed they had a new driver. And this was the Lancia driver from the other night, or at least it looked that way. The way they downshifted, and the flicks of the steering in the tight corners; no judge would swallow it, but no judge had the expertise that came from being the record-holding pursuit driver for the Metro Highway Patrol, either.

There were gaps in the footage Kobe traffic had sent. Not everywhere had traffic cameras; he needed to get a better picture of what was going on, how this had gone down, before he was ready to proceed. He had to get some idea of how they'd managed to take out a three-ton armoured G-Wagen with a taxi, and two AMGs with probably twice the horsepower, and two police Crowns and a CX-5, and then fade into the evening like vapour. He'd seen some of that. The way they drew the AMG out and trapped it into hitting the CX-5, that was just genius. He'd never say that aloud, but it was true. But to understand, he needed to join the dots.

He tore his attention away, shifting his eyes instead to the documents spread over his desk. On top, the newest: the lab reports from the crowbar and hammer that the highway maintenance boys had managed to dig up, with paint particles still attached. That was key. If this driver really was the Lancia driver, then they could maybe tie them to a murder.

Then, of course, the autopsy report. The guy was a mystery. Not Japanese; looked eastern European, the pathologist guessed. The shot to the face was obviously what killed him, but the damage to his suit had injured him too, and that apparently had occurred at least two hours earlier; healing and scabbing was too advanced for it to be directly after the expressway fight. So the Delta loses the bike, the bike picks them up again at the Skytree, they fire a shot... and then meet up for coffee and murder two hours later? It was weird. Probably not the Delta, but the timeline meant they couldn't be left out of the frame either. No Delta-compatible tyre tracks there either. A single 9mm Para cartridge case, and that wasn't like Deliverance, they used a .380ACP usually.

And then there was the taxi passenger. You couldn't make them out from the video footage, and Kobe didn't know for sure who it was, but smart money said either Yamashita or Hirokawa. The two met; enough people saw that. Then there was shooting and they both disappeared. Faded like vapour.

He watched it again.

Before he'd finished, movement caught his eye, and his superior walked in. "Boss," he called. "I have to go to Kobe."

– – – –

The BMW driver had continued down the hill until he'd heard the gunfire. He mightn't be a gun person, but he knew the massive fusillade that drifted up the mountain toward him was not from the truck full of heavies that waited below. Things were going wrong again. He had abruptly swivelled on his heel, stuffed the gun back in his bag and gone back up towards the wreck, swearing blue murder under his breath.

The BMW was burning sullenly in its wrecked heap when he reached the other road. He crossed the bridge at a crouch, but there was nothing to hide from. There didn't seem to be any cops on the scene; he was not really surprised. They probably had instructions not to interfere; a burning wreck above Takagamine was likely not to be a particularly new thing for the local cops. Nevertheless, he was cautious. There was always the possibility of the unbribable straight-arrow types showing up anyway. Not the people to meet, in the circumstances. He took up position behind bushes on the other side of the road, waiting for someone to stop.