“Hmm …” Kishibe stroked his chin. “Loosen the screws in your head.”
Minami didn’t understand. “The screws … in my head?”
“Yeah. The saner you are, the more terrifying a devil’s attacks seems, and terror gives a devil strength. So get a few screws loose. Forget about sanity. Even devils fear what they can’t understand.”
“You want me to … go crazy?” “Hey, inquiring minds wanna know. Why’d you sign up with Public Safety anyway, kid?” Kishibe held out a skewer of grilled chicken like a microphone.
“Well …” Minami took the skewer, hesitated for a moment, then said, “I was attacked by a devil when I was a schoolkid. A devil hunter saved me. From then on, I wanted to be just like them.”
“Infatuation, huh?” Kishibe summarized. “One of the three most common motivations.”
“What are the other two?” Minami asked.
“A sense of duty and a burning hatred of devils. And in case you’re curious, the next most typical is people with an eye on our plum benefits package.”
Minami hesitated. “Is infatuation … a bad reason?”
“Not necessarily,” responded Kishibe. “But it’s a sane one.”
Minami didn’t say anything, but her cheeks puffed out in a childish sulk. Kishibe might have hit a little too close to home. She whipped the skewer around like a sword, drawing shapes in the air. “How do I loosen the screws, then?”
“This is what helps me,” Kishibe said, gesturing at his beer.
Quanxi sighed. “Ignore Kishibe. He loves to play the grizzled old guru, but drowning his cares in alcohol has fried his brain. Loose? His screws fell out years ago.”
Kishibe grinned. “See, you get me!”
Quanxi sipped her water. “Just don’t overthink things, Minami. The world being what it is, stupid people live much happier lives. Be simpleminded.”
Kishibe nodded. “You heard the woman. Be crazy and be stupid.”
“Don’t act like your advice is equal to mine, you drunk,” Quanxi quipped.
Once again Minami was quiet. She munched on the chicken as she listened to the two snipe at each other. Then, without warning, she sprang up and drained Kishibe’s beer in a single long chug.
“Whoa, hey!” he shouted, but before he could stop her the drink was down her throat, glug glug glug. She slammed the empty mug on the table.
“Mr. Kishibe, I’m n-not much of a drinker, but maybe that will help loosen … my …” That was as far as Minami got before she crumpled to the ground.
Neon signs slipped by in the night. Kishibe watched them speed past the taxi window. From the back seat, Quanxi said irritably, “Kishibe, can you guess what I’m thinking right now?” Minami, her head resting on Quanxi’s knees, snored.
Kishibe didn’t take his eyes off the window. “Nope. No idea.”
“We’ve been friends this long and you don’t know?”
“What do you take me for?” Kishibe looked back. “Of course I know. You’re finally coming around to the idea of going out with me.”
Quanxi wasn’t having it. “If I didn’t have Minami on my lap I’d reach up there, pull your head off, and throw it out the window.”
“The scary part is that you’re not joking.”
“Here’s what I’m thinking—I’m in a taxi taking Minami home, so what the hell are you doing here?” Her voice was soft and even but edged with danger.
Kishibe leaned back in his seat. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “It’s partly my fault that Minami got herself blackout drunk.”
“You were screwing around with my pupil,” Quanxi accused. “What was all that talk about sanity? Are you trying to convince her she’s not cut out for this work?”
“As things stand, I’d say she has six months, tops, before she buys the farm,” Kishibe reasoned. “And you know it.”
Quanxi went silent.
Granted, that huge swig had caught him by surprise, but otherwise Minami was as straight an arrow as they came. She wasn’t physically capable enough to survive on strength alone, and Kishibe doubted whether she had the guts to make a contract with a powerful devil. She was a textbook example of the kind of recruit destined for a short career in Public Safety. For some reason, every year there was a crop of rookies just like her.
Quanxi ran a hand through Minami’s hair as the girl snoozed peacefully on her knees. “I’m not going to let her die.”
Kishibe mustered faux approval. “Well, that’s encouraging. What if she isn’t posted under you?”
“You’re awfully chatty tonight,” Quanxi pointed out, not as if it were a good thing. “I thought you were getting out of dog training for a while.”
“I thought I was too. But I hate to see a partner’s pet pooch go down.”
Again Quanxi was quiet.
“Your turn, Quanxi. What am I thinking right now?”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to know.”
“You’ve been my partner this long and that’s all you have to say? You’re gonna make me cry, here.”
Quanxi scoffed. “You ran out of tears years ago.”
The ghost of a smile crossed Kishibe’s face. The longer you were a devil hunter with Public Safety, the more bodies piled up around you. The pros who’d trained you bit the dust. Your peers bought it. The kids who came after you disappeared into the meat grinder. The dogs you raised kept dying dogs’ deaths.
And all the while, you gave away little pieces of your humanity in contracts with your devils. Until all that was left was … what? Kishibe wondered sometimes. Those were the nights he’d arm himself with enough liquor to take a bath in and drink until he didn’t wonder about anything anymore.
Maybe his philosophy of life wasn’t so different from Quanxi’s. Crazy or ignorant, what was the difference?
Kishibe took a flask out of his pocket to wet his throat. “What I’m thinking is—How do you know where Minami lives?” It was Quanxi, rather than the plastered Minami, who had given the driver the address.