City of Halves (22 page)

Micky looked at him sadly. ‘I'm sorry, mate, I really am—'

‘Thanks, Micky. It's okay, really.' Regan's smile was tight.

Micky pulled his gloves back on and leant on the butcher's block. He looked around his scorched refrigerator; shreds of singed paper blew gently on a corkboard and black marks streaked the white roof and walls.

‘Sorry,' Regan said.

Micky waved his gloved hand. ‘Don't be daft. What's a fireball in the workplace between friends? Now that there's a war on.' He looked at Lily. ‘I suppose, soon, it won't matter anyway.'

Lily mopped the congealing blood from her wrist with the piece of blue paper towel Micky passed her.

‘Thanks,' Regan said.

‘Any time.'

Lily ducked her head, mumbling her thanks. Micky picked up his clipboard again, then frowned at the order form, now reduced to ashes, still attached to it. As they reached the door, he spoke. ‘You know Hori's back, don't you? You should see him, if this is it.'

‘What do you mean, this is it?' Lily looked up. ‘You make it sound like there's no hope.'

Regan turned. ‘Back from Japan?'

‘Yeah. Saw Jake in the street the other day. Apparently the old man couldn't stick it there. He remembered it all as wooden palaces and those girls with the socks and the flip-flops.'

‘Geishas,' Lily and Regan said at the same time.

‘That's them.' Micky shook his head and chuckled. ‘Senile old coot. What did he expect?'

Regan grinned. ‘Thanks, Micky.'

Micky saluted with one gloved hand. ‘Good luck.'

Outside they walked down to the Farringdon Road. ‘Who's Hori?' Lily asked.

‘You'll find out.'

‘Why the big mystery?'

Regan smiled. ‘This one you need to see for yourself.'

The number seventeen bus drew into the stop just ahead of them, heading for King's Cross.

Lily sat on the bus feeling uncomfortable inside and out. Her clothes were creaky and the bus was crowded. She was sitting above the heater, hot air pumping out against her legs, making her jeans muggy. Regan had led her to a seat at the back of the bus but then remained standing, leaning against the window, his hands in his jeans pockets and his coat swept behind him. Most of the time he looked slightly down, his face unreadable. Lily tried not to watch him, and failed. People made space around him for no apparent reason.

She had hated Micky's fatalism, and knew Regan was avoiding discussing it.
‘This is it'? How can this be it?
Lily looked around her at the people making their way to work on an ordinary January morning. Cold, gloomy, preoccupied. She shook her head to herself in defiance, and looked out of the window at the grey, frozen streets.

At the top of the Gray's Inn Road, Regan pushed the stop button. The once run-down area of King's Cross had been smartened up with the rebuilding of the station, but pockets of the old seediness remained. The freeze took hold of Lily's clothes again. She followed Regan without speaking. On a street between a shuttered fried-chicken shop and a betting
place sat a tattoo parlour, the windows blacked out with bubbled, peeling film. A large pink transfer on the glass announced
BEST TATTOO
.

‘Are they open at this time of day?' Lily asked.

Regan pulled the door for her. ‘They're always open.'

Inside the shop were large padded chairs and a massage table, its padding cracked and split. An array of tattoo equipment was lined up on a bench. In a corner a plastic fountain in the shape of a Zen rock pile trickled water noisily. A young man with a round stomach was sitting on a stool near the table, blearily drinking coffee from a paper cup. He was at least half Japanese, and tattooed on every visible part of his body with koi carp swimming in elegant circles, rising to the surface of the water. Even the ripples were perfectly visible. Lily stared.

He got up. ‘Regan.' He grinned as they shook hands and bumped shoulders in a complicated fashion.

‘Hi, Jake. Is Hori up yet?'

The boy yawned. ‘Only been back two days and hasn't gone to bed yet. Just sits and waits for the right customer.' He pointed to Lily. ‘Candidate?'

Regan shook his head. ‘No, but I was hoping Hori might be able to do some divining for us.'

Jake shrugged. ‘You know what he is. Maybe, maybe not. Should warn you, he'll try to persuade you to have more work. He's never got over the experience. If he wasn't such an old git I'd have sworn he'd fallen in love.'

The corner of Regan's mouth kinked in a smile. ‘He's out of luck, but I'm flattered. How's business?'

‘Pretty good thanks. We are – y'know – the best.'

‘I know.'

‘Got to be, when the old man won't take a penny for his work. Got to make a living.'

Pointing to a door at the back, Regan asked, ‘May we?'

Jake waved his paper cup languidly. ‘Go ahead,' he said through a yawn.

Regan led Lily down a long corridor hung with rice-paper lanterns. ‘Horiyoshi. He's a Tenome,' he explained. ‘A Japanese version of the divining spirit.'

‘And he did your tattoo?'

‘The big one, yes.' He touched the letter on his neck with his left hand. ‘This and these rooks are by Jake.'

‘How long did the big one take?'

‘A long time.'

‘Time to change your mind, then.'

‘Half a full body tattoo would look even worse than a whole one. Besides, he decides what you get and if you get it. This is what I got.'

‘He decides?'

‘You'll understand when you see.'

They arrived in a light and peaceful room with very simple furnishings, including a large table padded with white leather. It was as clean and spartan as the front shop was shabby and cramped. An ancient, bald Japanese man in a silk robe was seated at a wooden workbench, gnarled fingers arranging a set of long bamboo-handled tools with sharp tips.

‘Master Lupescar.' He did not turn around, but continued to run his hands over the tools, straightening them gently.

‘I didn't know you'd come back,' Regan said. ‘Had to hear it from Micky.'

‘Glad to hear the news of my return has filtered down to the
very bottom,' Hori said sourly.

Regan laughed. ‘He's glad to see you back, I think. Perhaps he likes the competition.'

The old man sniffed. ‘I had thought to live out a quiet retirement. Perhaps a little work now and again, if there was a fitting candidate. But the place was so busy. Noodle bars and nightclubs. Too much rush.' He sighed, still fondling his tools. ‘And then word got out and I couldn't move for Yakuza wanting to be tattooed like their heroes. Silly little boys, most of them, wanting to look like men. As if a pattern on their skin could make it so.' He tutted. ‘You must be very busy at the moment. I hear the dragons are waking.'

‘Yes.'

‘Too busy for more work?' the old man asked hopefully.

‘I don't need any more, thanks, Hori. I just brought someone to see you, that's all.'

‘Shame,' the old man said, not looking at them. ‘He is my favourite canvas, you know. One of my finest
irezumi
. Beautiful. Powerful. A true meeting of subject material and design.' He made a graceful motion in the air.

‘You're forgetting the bit where you neglected to tell me exactly how big this design was going to be.'

Hori shrugged without remorse.

‘We need you to divine for us.'

‘No work?'

‘No, not this time.'

He sighed. ‘But subjects are so few and far between these days. I have not had a decent candidate in almost two months.'

‘Maybe you're too picky,' Regan laughed.

The old man's hands stilled on the tools. ‘I do not waste my
work. Any of it.'

‘Sir,' Lily piped up, ‘there's something in my blood. Something the Agency wants. We need to know what it is.'

‘What did the butcher say?' Hori sniffed. ‘As you went to him first.'

‘I only went to him because I didn't know you were back. He said we should come and see you. After Lily's blood set the place on fire.'

‘Did it indeed?' He turned, suddenly interested. Lily was shocked to see his eyes were completely clouded over. ‘She is surprised, your little friend,' he said to Regan.

‘I forgot to say, Hori's blind.'

‘Well?' His blank eyes stared straight at Lily. ‘What do you think of my work on Master Lupescar here?'

‘It's very . . .' Lily stuttered. ‘I've never seen anything like it.'

‘I should think not,' the old man said haughtily. ‘Would you like one for yourself? Yours, of course, would be different. It would reflect your own qualities.'

‘No! Well, I never thought . . . but no. Plus I'd rather not be grounded until I'm forty-seven. But thank you.'

Hori turned to Regan. ‘What is she talking about?'

‘Human stuff.'

The old man's worn eyebrows rose in crescent moons, stretching the folds of skin over his eyes. ‘Come, child, come here to me,' he said abruptly.

Lily walked over. He reached for her hands. On each of his palms was tattooed a large eye. He grasped her fingers in his own. A shock ran up Lily's arms, into her shoulders, rendering her unconscious instantly. As she slumped towards the floor, Regan caught her.

‘
Hori
—'

‘She is like a tuning fork!' Hori said gleefully, turning away and picking up a tool before pulling a stone dish of ink pigment towards him.

‘I don't think—'

‘Place her on the bench. It is the work of a moment.' He rubbed his hands together.

‘We just—' Regan protested.

‘Place her on the bench, my boy. We can talk as I work. There is so much to tell you! So much.' The old man slipped from the stool like an otter into water, an array of tools clutched in his knotted hand. ‘Just a little
kakushibori
, a hidden carving, nothing obvious.' He smiled, eager and toothless.

Lily shook her head to clear it. Regan was sitting on a low table in front of her chair. She turned over her wrist to look at her watch; less than fifteen minutes had passed. The movement made her aware of something on the inside of her left elbow. The sleeve of her top was pushed right up and a gauze wadding plaster was stuck to her skin. Over the cut on her wrist was another large plaster. She saw the screwed-up paper wrappers in Regan's hand.

‘Oh please. You
are
joking,' she said in dismay.

‘It was sort of part of the deal for him telling us anything.' He lobbed the wrappers at the waste-paper basket.

‘You didn't say I'd end up tattooed! Knocked out and
tattooed
,' Lily groaned. ‘Dad will kill me. I mean
kill
me.' She began to pick at the edge of the plaster inside her elbow.

He stilled her hand. ‘They look awful just after they're done, even on me. Come on, we'd better get back to your place.'

‘What did he tell you?'

Regan hesitated.

Lily caught his hand. ‘What?'

‘I'll tell you. But later.'

She dug her heels in and held on to his hand, even though it made her head spin. ‘Tell me now.'

He opened his mouth. To the sound of crashing glass.

Dragging Lily to her feet, Regan hauled her from the back room. As they reached the room with the bench, he pulled her into a cupboard containing Hori's few possessions and clothes. He had to stoop to fit the space, curving his long body over hers. Still dizzy, Lily could only watch through the slats as men in black combat gear spilled through the long corridor, invading the peaceful space. Hori, who had been resting on a white reclining chair in the corner, attempted to get up. The agent Lily was now becoming familiar with grabbed the old man by the scruff of his robe like a bundle of twigs. Lily took a breath in protest. Regan's hand clamped over her mouth.

‘What did you do?' the agent hissed. ‘What did you do, old man?'

Hori cowered, holding up his tattooed hands.

‘Where is she?'

‘I don't know. They went. I fell asleep. The . . . work tires me,' Hori managed.

The agent glanced around. ‘Look at this place.' He glanced at the tools on the workbench. ‘Like something from the Dark Ages. What did you use on her? These?'

‘They are bamboo and the finest Japanese steel,' Hori said proudly.

Another agent began packing the tools into a bag.

‘No!' Hori said. ‘You do not understand. They—'

‘She's probably septic by now,' the first agent sneered. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Bring the inks too. Just in case.'

Hori made a grab for the bag. The agent struck him across the temple with huge force, and the old man collapsed into a heap on the floor, clearly dead.

Regan burst from the cupboard, felling the nearest agent, then another who came from the corridor behind him. But the agent who had killed Hori was faster, his reflexes superhuman. He pulled out a knife and a gun from a shoulder holster, and squared up to Regan. Faster than Lily could see, he'd landed a blow on Regan's chest, a swift stab. Regan was already responding, but scarlet bloomed across his torso. The agent raised the gun and shot him, point blank in the chest, three times.

The sound thundered through the small space and Lily covered her ears with a cry. The agent ran to the cupboard as Regan fell. He caught Lily's arm, then recoiled from the talisman. The flesh of his snakeskin-covered hand was actually smoking this time.

She stood taller, lifting her arm. Behind him, Regan got to his feet and silently drew a slim, curved Japanese sword from a black lacquer sheath. He spun it once for balance. The next spin detached the agent's arm at the shoulder. The man fell to his knees.

Lily jumped back, out of the blood spray, and watched in horror as the arm began to regrow, tiny bud-like fingers emerging rapidly from the gore. The radio strapped to the agent's combat vest crackled.