XI: The Messenger
“We have an eyewitness account,” Light was saying excitedly as I attempted to flag down a taxi. Rem had not done us the courtesy of calling a cab for us. “We have a description and an address—if he was walking it probably means he either lives or works near there. What we should do next is—“
“Light.” I had flagged down a cab. “Go back with Matsuda.”
I had finally made Light seem uncomfortable. The accomplishment only amused me in the most vague of ways.
“You aren’t a detective, Light,” I continued. “I’ll call you tomorrow with whatever progress I’ve made. Go home.”
I got into the cab and we drove off, leaving Light on the sidewalk, staring after us—or so I imagine. I didn’t look back.
The sun was setting as I arrived at the doorstep of the complex housing my office (which doubled as my home, though I tried not to advertise that fact.) The sky was a mess of purple and orange, as if God had given a 5-year-old two crayons and told him to go at it. If an artist had painted that sky in a landscape, I’d have dismissed it as unrealistic, the same way I’d dismiss this day had it happened to anyone else.
A suspiciously unremarkable black car sat parked outside the complex, and an equally bland black-haired man stood waiting outside my office. He was very tall, he had a rough, almost neanderthalic facial structure, and he had a gun concealed under his jacket.
“Can I help you?” I asked as I evaluated my chances of winning a fight against this man. I could probably disarm him, but doing so would bring me within his arm’s reach, and I doubted I could win a battle of pure strength. The way he held his body certainly hinted that he knew how to fight.
“I’ve been asked to bring you to speak with my boss,” he said, surprisingly polite.
“And if I decide I don’t want to speak with your boss?”
His hand brushed his jacket pocket; he was intelligent enough to know that I could tell he was armed. It was times like these that I almost regretted not carrying a weapon. “I was told to give you the option of coming voluntarily, and I was told to make certain you came.”
The order struck a familiar chord with me. “Is your boss Aizawa?”
If his face were capable of expressing emotion, I could have sworn he looked surprised. “Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
I nodded my head. “Okay, Mogi. Let’s go.”Next chapter