Daughter of the Sword Read Online Free PDF

sat, halffell into it. Mariko hadn’t noticed earlier, but the man smelled like the bottom of a laundry hamper.
    She took her customary seat on the opposite side of the room’s lone table, which, like the chairs, was of a vintage that made Mariko think of the wooden furniture in her grade school’s library. She was led to believe that furniture like this wouldn’t have lasted long in the interrogation rooms of New York’s or Chicago’s PDs, but this was Tokyo, and perps could be expected to show a certain degree of civility.
    All the same, Bumps was amped. His fingers drummed out a hummingbird rhythm against his belt buckle, and while Mariko could have done with a nap, Bumps looked like he was ready for another fifty-meter dash. She slipped her right hand into her purse to wrap around the haft of her Cheetah.
    “What have you got for me, Bumps?”
    “Huh?”
    “You said you’re valuable to me,” Mariko said. “Right now that’s true: you’re another arrest I can tell my LT about. Unless you’ve got something else for me, I’ll just book you and call it a night.”
    “No. I got information. Good information.”
    “Well?”
    Bumps shook his head, his stiff blond hair following a half second behind. “No way. I want a deal first. I don’t want to go to jail.”
    “Neither do I,” said Mariko. “That’s why I don’t walk around with twenty-two grams of crystal methamphetamine on me. That’s an intent to distribute charge, Bumps. You’ve also been selling that shit to my sister, and that makes me want to kick you in the nuts and throw you in the worst prison we’ve got. So spill this info you say you have before I come to my senses and start kicking.”
    “Uh,” said Bumps. “Okay. Well, word is there’s a new mover in town. Not dealing yet—just testing the market, if you know what I mean.”
    “Not good enough. I can find a dealer under any sewer grate in Tokyo.”
    “Not like this guy. Says he’s going to sell cocaine. Says it’s going to hit Japan like Godzilla, and he wants to know who’s in line to be his distributors.”
    Mariko didn’t let it show, but for a brief moment she felt gratitude toward Bumps Ryota. Until now he’d only inspired feelings of revulsion and vengeance in her, but this was big. “You got a name for me?”
    “No, but I do know he rolls with the Kamaguchi-gumi.”
    “You’re high, Bumps. Yakuzas don’t go in for coke.”
    “Like I said, he’s not selling yet. Laying the groundwork, though, I’m telling you.”
    He looked at her expectantly, the bags under his eyes a curious shade of purple in the light of the ceiling’s twin fluorescent tubes. Mariko thought about her service weapon, about how she’d only ever drawn it once in her four years on the force, about how much she’d enjoy drawing it now and giving Bumps a good long look right down the barrel. It was the wrong thing to feel. Not because he didn’t deserve it—he did, and so did everyone else in his profession—but she wanted to hurt him because of what he did to Saori, and at the end of the day she knew the one who did it to Saori was Saori. Even if Mariko shot him right here and now, Saori would find another dealer.
    Shove her pistol in his face. Cram the Cheetah right in his gray, wasted mouth and pull the trigger. Those were the urges she suppressed as she withdrew her hand from her purse, slipped it into her jacket pocket, and passed Bumps Ryota a thin stack of folded papers held together by the clippy-thing of a ballpoint pen. “These are CI papers. You know what a CI is?”
    “Yeah, but—”
    “But what? You’d prefer to face charges of possession? Intent to distribute? Evading arrest? I don’t think so. I think you and I both win if you sign on as a confidential informant. You’re never selling meth again; those days are over. Your choices now are to start selling blowjobs while you’re in prison or to start selling information to me.”
    Bumps’s shoulders slumped. He