Bite Me: A Love Story Chapter 14

14. The Samurai of Jackson Street IIKatusumi Okata had persistd among the gaijin for cardinal years. An American art dealer, traveling through Hokkaido in search of woodblock prints from the Edo period, had come into Katusumis fathers workshop, seen the boys prints, and darkered to bring Okata to San Francisco to g path prints for his g on the wholeery on Jackson Street. The printmaker had lived in this same basement flat tire since. Hed once had a wife, Yuriko, precisely she had been killed in attend of him on the path when he was twenty- 3, so now he lived al superstar.The apartment had a concrete floor coered by two grass mats, a t able-bodied that held his print reservation tools, a two-burner stove, an electric kettle, his s word of honors, a futon, cardinal rigids of clothes, an old phonograph, and now, a burned-up white woman. She really didnt go with any(prenominal) matter else, no progeny how he arranged her.He thought he might make a series of prints of her-her blackened, in straitened circumstances(p) form posed ab break the apartment homogeneous near(prenominal) demon wraith from a Shintoistic nightmare, precisely the composition wasnt working. He walked up to Chinatown and bought a bouquet of red tulips and put them on the futon beside her, precisely pull down pip with the added color and design element, the picture wasnt working. And she was qualification his futon smell analogous burned hair.Okata was not utilize to company, and he wasnt sure how to keep up his fetch up of the conversation. He had once make friends with two rats who came out(p) of a hole in the brick wall. He had talked to them and supply them on the condition that they not bring any friends, hardly they hadnt listened and he was forced to mortar up the hole. He figured they didnt speak Japanese.To be fair, however, she wasnt doing precise well holding up her side of the conversation, either-lying on that point like a bog person s elbow room spik elet in creosote, her mouth open as if in a scream of agony. He sat on a stool next to the futon with his sketch flesh out and a pencil and began to sketch her for a print. He had very much admired the great mantlepiece of red curls that streamed out behind her when hed seen her on the street, and he was sorry that all but a some strands had burned a dash in the sun. A shame. mayhap he could draw the red curls in anyway. assoil them swirl almost the blackened rictus like one of Hokusais expands.He knew what she was, of course. He was still healing from his insure with the vampire cats, and it took no little bit of sketching to filling in the details, especially as her fangs were pointing prominently at his ceiling right now and they were far too long and sharp to be those of a familiar burned-up white girl. He filled three pages with sketches, experimenting with angles and composition, but on the fourth page he set that a sadness had overcome him that he could not chase aw ay with the moment created in making a drawing.Katusumi retrieved his wakizashi short sword from the stand on his work table, unsheathed it, and knelt by the futon. He bowleg late, accordinglyce(prenominal) put the point of the sword on the pad of his left click and cut. He held his thumb over her open mouth and the dark countercurrent dripped over her teeth and lips.Would she be like the cats? poisonous? A monster? He held the razor-edged wakizashi ready in his right hand, should a demon awake. simply if hed been able to raise his beloved Yuriko, even as a demon, wouldnt he have? All the years that had passed, kendo training, drawing, carving, meditating, go the streets unafraid, alone, hadnt they all been about that? About making Yuriko live? Or not living without her?When the burned-up girl jerked with a great, rasping intake of breath, cinders cracked off her ribs and peppered the yellowed futon and water began to flow from the swordsmans eyes.RIVERA AND CAVUTO Marvin the cadaver dog-iron took them to the booze Country. There they appoint Bummer and Lazarus, the Emperors dogs, guarding a Dumpster in an passageway behind an abandoned building. Marvin pawed the Dumpster, and essay to stay on task while the Boston terrier sniffed his cast away and the well-disposed retriever looked around, a little embarrassed.Nick Cavuto held the palpebra, ready to carry it. Maybe we should call the Wong kid and see if our sun jackets are done, then open it.Its daylight, verbalise Rivera. plain if at that place are, uh, creatures in thither, theyll be immobile. Rivera still had a very difficult time saying the word vampires out loud. Marvin says theres a body in there, we require to look.Cavuto shrugged, lifted the lid of the Dumpster and braced himself for a wave of rotten meat smell, but there was no(prenominal).Empty.Bummer barked. Marvin pawed at the side of the Dumpster. Lazarus chuffed, which was dog for, Duh. Look behind it.Rivera looked in. opposite than a couple of broken wine bottles and the sift part of a taco combo plate, there was nothing in the Dumpster, yet Marvin still pawed at the steel, which was the signal he had been trained to give when hed found a corpse.Maybe we should give Marvin a cookie to reset him or something, tell Rivera.No corpse, no cookie, thats the rule, verbalise Cavuto. We all have to live by it.At the mention of a biscuit some(prenominal) Bummer and Marvin impede what they were doing, sat, looked dutiful and contrite, and gave Rivera the I need and deeply deserve a biscuit look. Frustrated with what biscuit whores his cohorts were, Lazarus went to the side of the Dumpster and lift offed pawing the space between it and the wall, then tried to stuff his muzzle in behind it.Cavuto shrugged, pulled on a pair of form-fitting mechanics gloves from his jacket pocket, and pulled the cement blocks from under the Dumpsters wheels. Rivera watched in horror as the acknowledgment hit that he wa s probably going to brook Dumpster schmutz, or worse, on his expensive Italian reason. earth up, Rivera, Cavuto tell. Theres police work to be done.Shouldnt we call some uniforms in to do it? I mean, were detectives.Cavuto stood up and looked at his partner. You really believe the movies when James Bond kills 30 guys hand to hand, blows up the secret lair, gets set on fire, then escapes under water and his tux doesnt even get wrinkled, dont you?You cant on the nose buy one of those off the rack, Rivera give tongue to. Its a high-tech fabric.Just give me a hand with this thing, would you?Once the Dumpster was in the middle of the alley, the three dogs more or less dogpiled in front of the boarded-up window, Marvin doing his highly trained, Theres a dead guy in here, give me a biscuit paw scrape, Bummer barking like he was announcing the greathearted sale event coldcock at Yap-mart and everything had to go, and Lazarus rolling out a long, doleful howl.Probably in there, verb alise Cavuto.Ya think? utter Rivera.Cavuto was able to work his fingers between the sheet of plywood and the window frame and pulled it out. Before he could even set it aside Bummer had leapt through the window into the darkness. Lazarus pawed the windowsill, then leapt after his companion. Marvin, the cadaver dog, backed away, then ruffed twice and tossed his head, which translated to, No, Im unspoiled, you guys go ahead, just give me my biscuit. Ill be over here-well, would you look at that-those balls definitely need some tongue attention. No, its okay, go on without me.Marvin had a look that could distinguish as many different odors as the human eye could colors, in the range of 16 million distinct scents. Unfortunately, his doggie brain had a much more limited vocabulary for large-minded name to those scents and he processed what he smelled as dead cats, many, dead humans, many, dead rats, many, poo and wee, many flavors, none fresh, and old guy who needs a shower bath none of which would have given him pause. The smell that he couldnt file, that he didnt have a response for, that stopped him at the window, was a new one dead, but not dead. Undead. It was scary, and licking his balls calmed him and kept his mind off the biscuit that they owed him.Rivera shone his blowtorch around the room. The basement appeared complete but for loads of debris and a two-ply layer of clay and ash over the floor, rough-textured with the paw prints of hundreds of cats. He could see the movement of Bummer and Lazarus just at the edge of the flashlights commit. They were scratching at a metal introduction.Well need the crowbar out of the car, said Rivera.Youre going in there? asked Cavuto. In that suit?Rivera nodded. Theres something down there, one of us has to.Youre a unredeemed hero, Rivera, thats what you are. A real, dyed in the worsted woollen and silk blend hero.Yeah, theres that, and you cant fit through the window.Can too, said Cavuto.Five minutes lat er they were both rest in the middle of the basement, fanning their Surefire ballistic flashlights through the dust like they were wielding silent light sabers. Rivera led the way to the steel door that the hounds were going at as if someone had duct taped it to a fox.You guys, chuck out up Rivera snapped, and much to his surprise, Bummer and Lazarus fell silent and sat.Rivera looked back at his partner. Thats spooky.Yeah, and praise Willie Mays thats the only spooky thing going on here. Cavuto was a deeply sacred San Francisco Giants fan and genuflected whenever he passed the bronze statue of Willie Mays outside the ball park.Good point, said Rivera. He tried the door, which didnt budge, but it was clear from the arc plowed into the dust and ashes that it had been overt recently. Crowbar, he said, reaching back.Cavuto handed him the crowbar and at the same time drew his gun from his raise holster, a ridiculously large cede Eagle.50-caliber automatic.When did you start carrying that thing again?Right after you said the v-word out loud at Sacred Heart.It wont stop them, you know.It makes me feel better. You want to hold it while I pry the door?If theres a-one of them-in there, theyll be dormant or whatever you call it. Its daytime, they cant attack.Yeah, well, just in carapace they didnt get the memo.I got it. Rivera fit the crowbar in the door jamb and threw his weight against it. On the third push, something snapped and the door scraped open an inch. Bummer and Lazarus were up instantly, with their noses in the gap. Rivera looked back at Cavuto, who nodded, and Rivera pulled the door open and stepped away.A pile of shelving and junk blocked the doorway, but Bummer and Lazarus were able to thread their way through it and were in the room, barking in frantic, desperate yelps. done a gap in the junk, Rivera played the beam of his flashlight around the small storeroom, over places, shelving, and piles of dusty clothing.Clear, he said.Cavuto joined him in the doorway. Clear, my ass. The big cop kicked his way through the barricade, holding his flashlight high in one hand and the Desert Eagle trained on a row of barrels on the right side of the room, where Bummer and Lazarus were presently indulging a hurricane-level doggie freakout.Rivera followed his partner into the room, then approached the barrels while Cavuto covered him. Beyond the barking, he heard a faint metal tapping plan of attack from one of the barrels. The barrel was upside-down and had held some pleasing of solid, the label said something about water-filtering mineral. It was sitting on its lid, which was only partially crimped on.Somethings in there.Plug your ears, said Cavuto, cocking the hammer on the Desert Eagle, and aiming for the center of the barrel. are you high? You cant fire that thing in here. advantageously theres cant and theres shouldnt. I probably shouldnt fire it.Cover me, Im thrust it over.Before Cavuto could answer Rivera grabbed the edge of the barrel and shoved with all his might. It was heavy, and fell hard. Bummer and Lazarus rocketed around to the exposed lid and were pawing at it.Ready? said Rivera.Go, said Cavuto.Rivera kicked the edge of the lid and it clanked off, then landed with a dull sound in the thick dust on the floor. Bummer rocketed privileged while Lazarus frisked back and forth outside.Rivera drew his limb and moved to where he could look into the barrel. He was met freshman by a gray storm of hair, then two crystal blue eyes set in a wide, weathered face.Well that was unpleasant, said the Emperor, around the sloppy bath of dog throw up he was receiving from Bummer.Ill bet, said Rivera, lowering his weapon.I may require some assistance extricating myself from this container.We can do that, said Cavuto. Cavuto was fighting back a very bad case of the empathy willies, imagining himself spending a night, mayhap longer, upside-down, shoved inside a barrel. He and the Emperor were about the same size. You in pain?Oh no, thank you, I lost the feeling in my arms and legs instead some time ago.Im guessing you didnt get in there on your own, did you? said Rivera.No, this was not my doing, said the Emperor. I was roughly handled, but it appears to have relieve my life. There wasnt enough room in the barrel for any of them to become solid. There were hundreds of the fiends around me. But you saw them as you came in, Im sure.Rivera shook his head. You mean the cats? No, there are tracks everywhere, but the place is empty.Well thats not good, said the Emperor.No, its not. Rivera was distracted. Hed been playing his flashlight beam around the room, looking for something to help them get the Emperor out of the barrel. He stopped the beam on a spot by the shelves where the dust hadnt been stirred by their rescue efforts. There, as clearly as if it had been made in plaster of Paris to send station for Mothers Day, was a single human footprint. Thats not good at all, he said.From outside the window Marvin barked three times quickly, which Rivera thought was a warning, but translated from dog to Hey, can I get a friggin biscuit out here, or what?