Year of the Demon Read Online Free PDF Page A

show on her face. Han ignored him too, for which Mariko was eternally grateful. She didn’t need anyone leaping to her defense as if she were some kind of damsel in distress. There weren’t many cops that understood that—not very many men who understood it—and once again Mariko was glad to have Han as her partner.
    The tactical medic wasn’t as enlightened. He thapped Urano in the forehead with a knuckle and said, “Shut up.”
    Han hopped up in the back of the ambulance and sat down next to Urano. “So,” he said, “I guess you know you’re going to prison for a while.”
    “You got nothing on me,” said Urano.
    “I don’t know about that,” Mariko said. “There’s all that speed in your cornstarch hopper. That’s got to count for something.”
    Urano snorted. “It’s not mine.”
    “Sorry,” Han said, “that’s not the way this works. See, if it’s illegal and it’s in your building, we’ve got you on possession.”
    Mariko nodded. “Felony possession, since our guys are saying you’ve got quite a bit of it in there. How much did they say, Han?”
    “At least fifty kilos,” said Han. “Maybe more.”
    “That’s right. Urano-san, did you know that machine in there has a scale built into it?” He didn’t need her to connect the rest of the dots. There was an inventory log too, and nothing could be easier than checking the weight of what was actually in the machine against the weight of the bags some factory worker had recorded pouring into the machine.
    “You got nothing,” said Urano. “We didn’t pay for it. It’s not ours.”
    “Really?” Han said. “So, what, some guy just came by and decided to donate a whole bunch of speed?”
    “It’s not ours,” said Urano, his patience fading fast. He tried to sit up to look Han in the eye; a jolt of pain slammed him flat on his back. “Not ours,” he grunted. “We told that little shit not to bring it by here. He said you were coming. I told him we’d set up another meet. The dumb bastard came by anyway.”
    “And that’s why you and your boys beat the hell out of him,” said Mariko.
    “So we get to add aggravated battery to the possession charge,” said Han.
    “Not possession. It’s not ours.” Another shot of pain made Urano wince. “Book me on the assault thing. Fine. He deserved it. But we didn’t pay for the shit. We don’t even got any money around here. Go look. You see any big stacks of bills, you tell me; I could use them. But we got nothing. We bought nothing. So you got nothing.”
    “You keep saying that,” said Han. “We’ll have to sit down and chat sometime about how the drug trade works.”
    “But maybe downtown,” said Mariko.
    “Yeah,” said Han, “and maybe after you go see a doctor. You look like someone kicked your ass.”
    Mariko and Han sat on the concrete lip of the dock as they watched the ambulance pull away. Han fished through his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. Lighting up, he said, “You think he’s telling the truth about the cash?”
    “I didn’t see anything.”
    “Me neither.” He said it with a knowing tone. When it came to narcotics, no one wanted to tell the truth. Users, dealers, suppliers, all of them lied—and not just to cops, but to their own loved ones and even to themselves. Mariko knew that all too well, as did anyone with a history of addiction in the family. Mariko prided herself on her ability to detect when someone was lying to her, and if anything, Han was better at it than she was. Eight years on Narcotics meant eight years of seeing through the smokescreens.
    “So what are these guys selling the dope for, if not for cash? A hostage, maybe?”
    “I don’t like it,” Mariko said. “Why piss off the hostage takers? You’ve got to deliver payment on their terms, neh ?”
    “Good point.”
    “But what, then? You can’t have a drug buy with no money.”
    “Yeah,” Han said around his cigarette, “but you’re not supposed to have dealers show up