The two men met in the examination room. Outside the room, patients came and went in a constant hubbub of activity. Every hospital in Demon City was open twenty-four seven, constantly taking emergency cases and referrals from the rest of Tokyo as well.
“You’re sure in a good mood,” Setsura wryly remarked. His always indifferent demeanor made the occasional hint of disagreeableness all the more striking.
“All thanks to you,” Mephisto said, lightly deflecting the expected criticism.
“Hyota filled me in. A helluva friend you are.”
“You’re hardly the one to talk,” he said with a piercing side glance. Jealousy suffused his gaze. Those who knew the cool-headedness of the hospital director would surely have been thrown for a loop.
“What have you been up to?” Setsura countered, looking the other way.
“Doctor-patient confidentiality prevents me from revealing such details. I have been compensated for my services.”
“So you’ll do anything for money, eh? Quack.”
“Morally inflexible people get on my nerves. In any case, I called you here in order to deliver a message.”
“About what?”
“The deal will go down tomorrow evening at ten o’clock at the altar on Yasukuni Avenue. The terms are Sasaki in exchange for—”
“Mayumi.”
“Precisely. So now you know. Whether you show up or not is up to you. If anybody gets hurt in the process, be sure to bring them here.”
“You’re a cold man.”
“And proud of it.”
Setsura sighed and sat back on the couch. “So what do you know about the girl?”
“In pathological terms, not a thing,” Mephisto said without hesitation. He propped his elbows on the table between them and tented his fingers. The ring on the middle finger of his left hand glittered.
Setsura narrowed his eyes slightly. “How about in other terms?”
“It might be best to alter our diagnostic approach and consider a field of study in the mystical arts.”
“Witch doctoring is your specialty.”
“That line was getting old a long time ago.”
“So what will it get us?”
“I do not know. Except that the odds of success should prove better than the current course of treatment.”
Setsura stared at the ceiling. A long pause later he said, “Well, this complicates things. Hand her over and for all I know, Gento will get some real witch doctor to cut her open.”
“Probably. But if she is worth as much to him as to you, there may be less cause for concern. No matter how strange the disease, if it spreads, more harm than good will be the result.”
“And if we can crack the secret before more harm than good is done, then the rest doesn’t matter. Any guarantees that you can figure out what this seal business is about without you doing more harm than good?”
“The seal has nothing to do with me,” Mephisto said, a touch of temper in his voice. “In any case, you are the only person who can offer this patient any guarantees. Leave her in this hospital and no one else shall lay a finger on her. Take her elsewhere and I won’t stop you. That choice is up to you.”
Setsura grimaced. The remark hit home. “So, tomorrow evening.”
“Tomorrow evening. You have plenty of time to think things over.”
“You’re still not interested in uncovering your patient’s secrets?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Hey, you’d get to keep me company for the night.”
“This particular you interests me not at all,” Mephisto said crisply.
Setsura stared at the ceiling and sighed.
“Seeing as you’ve come all the way here,” Mephisto said, as if the previous conversation hadn’t happened, “I might as well check you out.”
He got up and examined Setsura’s right hand. Not only had the bite wound he’d received at the Coliseum not healed, but using his hand to lop off Hyota’s head had bruised the tendons and bone. It was too good of an opportunity to let pass.
The examination was over in ten minutes. Setsura got out of the MRI machine, changed back into his street clothes and returned to the exam room. Mephisto’s attention was focused on the wall screen display.
“Something turn up? Cancer?”
Mephisto didn’t move.
“Hey.” Now Mephisto turned around. Sensing a flicker of something in the otherwise placid face, Setsura said, “What’s up?”
“Nothing, or so I would like to say. But the poker face is not my forte for good reasons. Have you felt anything amiss of late?”
“Not besides the obvious.”
“Has anything unusual been happening to you lately? Besides the obvious, of course. In short, have you found yourself capable of performing some activity you hadn’t been able to before?”
Setsura shook his head. “How about you get to the point?”
“Just as well,” Mephisto muttered, tapping his index finger against his forehead. “Just as well. That would fit. But hardly surprising if so. Such a development—”
“What?”
“There are no changes in your individual organs. However, looking at the gestalt of your physiology, certain abnormalities are showing up.”
“There’s nothing wrong with all the parts, but the whole is changing. Could you at least give me a hint?”
“I don’t know. The mainframe is working on it as we speak. As things stand now, we may have to access the supercomputer at the Ministry of Defense. Come back in if you don’t hear from me first. The analysis should be complete by tomorrow evening.”
“Perhaps the situation is the same with Gento, too?”
Mephisto looked at Setsura with shining eyes, the light of an implacable tenacity. “Ah, him. I had expected that we would meet at some later date. It may come sooner than expected.”
Setsura returned the look. He alone could peer beneath the Demon Physician’s emotionless facade and see the regret lingering there. Whatever reason Gento had summoned Mephisto for had nothing to do with his own “growth.”
The target was coming into focus. Which generated a whole new batch of questions. What sort of shock, to turn things around, would induce him to divulge a patient’s secrets to a third party? What changes were also taking place in Setsura’s body?
The two comely countenances had both donned demeanors of deep thought when the intercom rang. Mephisto’s ring blinked. Another display screen appeared on the wall.
“They’re here for you, I believe,” he said, glancing from the image of the five men in suits standing just inside the automatic lobby doors to Setsura. He looked pleased.
“Some rent-a-cops have been keeping an eye on the hospital. Hyota dispatched two of them this morning. Acquaintances of yours?”
“Now that you mention it, a couple have been hanging around. I pretend to be out.”
A man with a bald head like an octopus was speaking to the receptionist. With a flick of her finger, her voice flowed through the speakers. “Yoshihiro Asai-san, a senior director for the Shinjuku Restoration Society.”
The sparkle in Mephisto’s eyes grew all the more intense. “The Shinjuku Restoration Society is the godfather of the criminal syndicates. How do you wish to proceed?”
Setsura started toward the door. “That baldy looks like he means business.”
Behind him, Mephisto got to his feet. “It’s been a while since your threads have revealed themselves in all their dexterous glory.”
The prospect of seeing this killing technique in action practically made him shake with joy. Compared to these two, the lackeys of these mob bosses were pretty damned ordinary.