XIII: Mack the Knife
The ride back was smooth and impersonal. When I exited, I complimented Mogi on his professionalism. He had none of the inherent cruelty of most men in his position, the sort of casual love of violence. When I told him this he didn't smile, but his face took on a certain formality, like a soldier addressing a superior officer.
I wondered why someone like him would be involved with organized crime, the same way I wondered about the surprisingly honorable Aizawa. After a moment I dismissed both thoughts—there were only so many mysteries I could solve at one time, and right now I would concentrate on the one I was being paid to solve.
The sun had finished setting by that point, and dusk had long faded into night. The streetlamp flickered, shadows twitching in and out of definition. A particular shadow was drawing close to me, though I could barely hear the footsteps. I half-turned to see what was behind me.
That was when I was struck.
As I fell, I caught a glimpse of a face—sharp smile, fierce eyes, a man more shark than human. Then his face went dark and all sounds became silent and the world was gone.Next chapter