“Maid Café Domino has finally gone under,” the manager told Marina, his black suit stark against the dim light.
“It held out longer than I expected.”
“A real domino effect,” Marina replied.
“Your puns are as cliché as they come. Anyway, we’ve bought the place as-is. It’s becoming the ‘Mini-Skirt Cop Bar Domino.'”
“You certainly move fast.”
“Alisa recommended you. So, Marina-chan, would you be interested in being a mini-skirt cop?”
“Hmph. Not a bad idea.”
Marina had lost her stiffness; she had fully blended into the atmosphere of the Luise Group.
“As you probably know, the service style is different from Luise. Domino was originally an adult entertainment business, and we’re keeping that model. You’ll be in the lounge, sitting next to customers and pouring their drinks.”
“So, basically a hostess club.”
“Exactly. If you move to Domino, you’re not a maid anymore—you’re effectively a hostess. The allowance is much higher, though. I expect your makeup to be flawless.”
“And I assume the clientele will be different.”
“They will. But we’ll protect you. That’s how it works in any club.”
So all the know-how I built up as a maid is useless? Marina thought. Just when I was finally getting the hang of duetting anime songs.
“What about Alisa-san?”
“She’s already decided to move.”
Fine then. I’ll do whatever it takes, Marina thought, a bit reckless now. If I’m stuck, I’ll just ask Alisa.
“Count me in.”
“Good. I hope you two get along over there.”
Since Marina was the expert on costumes, the design was left to her. She learned that “mini-skirt cops” were based on the American comic Lady Cop. US female officers wore blue or navy uniforms and carried little more than a baton. When she consulted the manager, he told her a baton was too plain and that her gun should be a
“Magnum.”
Marina tried to explain that “Magnum” refers to the cartridge, not the gun itself, but he brushed her off. So, she and Alisa spent the day scouring shops in Akihabara and under the Ueno tracks. She considered a Smith & Wesson or a New Nambu revolver, but that felt too boring. Instead, she chose the Bond Arms Mama Bear. It could hold two .357 Magnum rounds. It looked like a toy, but it was a genuine Magnum. .357s are for hunting; they might struggle with a huge bear or a moose, but they’d drop a human in one shot. The power was incomparable to the concealed Beretta. It had pink wooden grips with an engraving of a mother bear. As for the uniform and handcuffs, the official police issue would be too obvious, so she ordered some on Amazon and picked up a few party-store props at the Mega Don Quijote in Akihabara.
Alisa, however, had acquired a professional-grade telescopic baton. It extended to three times its length.
Perhaps it was her second-dan kendo blood stirring.
The permanent staff at Domino consisted of Alisa, Marina, and two men in black suits. A few staff members from Tomino’s era remained on shift, still in their maid uniforms. On rare occasions when the place was packed, help would arrive from Luise. And occasionally, the owner, Catherine, would visit.
Catherine always wore a Chinese qipao in orange or deep crimson. She was tall and slender, with a slightly unisex aura. Marina always felt her heart skip a beat looking at Catherine’s elegant profile, and she couldn’t help but feel envious of Catherine’s beauty compared to her own plump cheeks and small nose.
Catherine wanted to turn Domino into something like a “shooting bar.” These were trending in certain circles, and she was sure it would become an Akihabara landmark. Once the renovations were done, Catherine invited Marina and Alisa for a tour. Marina had been here once before, back when Tomino owned the place, brought by Kudo. The
manager had called it a “turnkey” acquisition, but to Marina’s eyes, the place looked entirely different. It was amazing how a few changes could shift the entire atmosphere.
The remnants of the Showa era—the gorgeous chandeliers, mirror balls, and gaudy spotlights—were gone. The red carpet had been stripped away, replaced by chic black walls. The only light came from indirect LED strips recessed into the walls, shifting colors slowly like a rainbow, giving the place a pop, futuristic feel.
Bottles and glasses were hidden in built-in shelves and refrigerators. The counter was minimalist, featuring only two draft beer taps.
“Displaying bottles like a trophy case is tacky, don’t you think? It’s unsettling. Drinks should be brought to the table on a wagon,” Catherine remarked. This was the hallmark of a high-end night lounge. It required wide gaps between tables and significant floor space for storage. Most shops wouldn’t bother. It was an extravagance.
As for the “shooting” part, Catherine had no interest in simple BB guns. Instead, she had bought a large arcade cabinet with gun controllers from some game center in Akihabara and modified it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? This is a latest-gen Micro LED panel,” Catherine boasted.
“What’s a Micro LED?”
“The next step after LCD and OLED.”
“Wow. The color depth is incredible. It’s in a different league than LCD,” Alisa added.
“And the power consumption is ridiculously low, even for a screen this size,” Catherine continued. “Better image quality than OLED without the heat or the power drain. It’s a dream display. Each pixel is an independent LED. A bargain for a business like this. I fell in love with it.”
The screen served as both the shooting game and the karaoke display. In front of it, guests and hostesses would shoot or sing. The game itself was retro: a man escaping a Nazi castle (Wolfenstein), stealing weapons and gunning down German soldiers in Hakenkreuz armbands.
“Catherine-san, this has nothing to do with mini-skirt cops,” Alisa complained.
“But the controller is a Luger P08, and it’s gorgeous,” Marina noted. “The single-action mechanism and texture are perfectly reproduced. The Luger was the favorite of the Gestapo, and even after the shift to the Walther P38,
it remained popular as a war trophy for the US Army.”
“You’re quite the expert, Marina-chan,” Catherine said, subtly brushing her hand against Marina’s “maple-leaf” hand.
Catherine, Alisa, and Marina grew quite close. Among the three, Catherine was the best at Wolfenstein. Marina was the worst. She had never once defeated the final boss, Hitler, and escaped the castle.
“Auf Wiedersehen, Marina,” Catherine would laugh, imitating Hitler’s voice every time Marina died.
“This can’t be happening.”
No matter how many times she tried, Marina couldn’t beat Catherine’s high score.
“Marina-chan, is your back curved? Or maybe you’re too tense in the shoulders?” Again, Catherine touched her. It seemed Alisa wasn’t the only one with a bit of a lesbian streak. It was troublesome. But Catherine was a beauty that could make even another woman swoon. Her full lips always looked moist; she looked like she might be
mixed-race. Her scent—a mix of perfume and a slightly foreign body odor—was intoxicating. Marina feared she might actually be swayed by the atmosphere.
“Ten years of Aikido and I’m getting my posture corrected. Humiliating! And I’m still not hitting anything!”
“She’s cheating, obviously,” Alisa whispered. “Look at her. She’s firing randomly, but her score keeps climbing.”
“You’re right.”
From then on, Marina started firing randomly. Surprisingly, her score improved. She was even praised by customers for “looking like a real cop,” which only made her feel more pathetic. At least they don’t suspect I actually am one, she thought.
The Akihabara otaku didn’t visit Domino. It wasn’t a members-only club, but it was mostly used for private bookings. When a reservation arrived, the staff would go to the entrance to greet them. Black cars would pull up, and imposing men would step out. They never used the stairs; they took the elevator down a single floor. Since
Domino was right next to the elevator hall, they never crossed paths with the ordinary drunks. They drank expensive liquor and were served by Alisa and Marina.
Alisa’s baton occasionally served as a “selfie stick.” She would clip her glittery smartphone to the end and take photos with the “barcode old men” sitting next to her.
“Come on, Marina-chan, let’s take a commemorative photo, the three of us.”
The three of them would snap a photo, with the old man in the middle.
“Send it to me too.”
“Sure. Sent.”
“Got it.”
“I’m having a wonderful time today.”
“Why is that?”
“I wonder. Maybe because you’re beauties?”
“That’s part of it, I suppose.”
“But honestly, the hostesses in Ginza and Akasaka all sound the same. It’s like they have a manual. The art of capturing a customer’s heart, the secrets to being nominated, how to keep a sophisticated conversation going…
it’s all so transparent. Like a set of fixed moves in shogi or go.”
“Exactly. Like a straight-A student in a job interview. It’s a turn-off.”
“I guess that’s how it is in Ginza. But we’re in Akihabara.”
“Don’t you have a manual too?”
“We do things su—natural. Luise doesn’t use the point-slide system for nominations, and there are no bottle-back commissions. We just do our thing.”
“Heh. A shop without those constraints is rare these days.”
“We don’t have manuals or automatics. We were just maids in a maid café, after all. We have no interest in learning the ‘abc’s’ of hostessing.”
“Maybe it’s not about the city. Maybe Catherine just has a great eye. She only hires naturally interesting girls.”
“Are we ‘natural’?”
“Oh, you’re not farmed hamachi in a tank, that’s for sure.”
“Excuse me? Who are you calling farmed?”
Just then, Catherine entered the floor, her tall frame wrapped in a pale-red changpao. Large black pearl earrings peeked through her short, bobbed hair. Her lipstick was applied to create a small, delicate mouth.
“I’ve worked in Ginza and Roppongi too,” Catherine said, crossing her legs on the sofa. “Because of those point systems and back-commissions, every shop and every service ends up sounding the same. It’s boring. No individuality. I hate fitting into those boxes. Ginza is the worst. The madams, the customers—everyone is flat
and pretentious.”
“Haha. I know the feeling.”
“And I can’t stand the women who claim they ‘trained in Ginza’ and then act like Ginza madams in the countryside.
They look down on locals and treat them like servants, all while they’re just fishing for a big fish or a young, rich boy because they’ve got nothing else.”
“Akihabara is just the right amount of urban. No strings attached. You can just be yourself. It’s refreshing.”
Catherine looked genuinely happy.
Every time Catherine shifted her legs, a glimpse of her white, hairless thigh peeked through the slit of her dress.
“That’s a costly leg,” Alisa whispered to Marina. “Perfect medical laser hair removal.”
“What’s that?”
“The hair follicles are completely destroyed. And not just that. To get it that smooth…”
Alisa seemed to have a switch flipped. She launched into a detailed lecture on hair removal.
“Marina, have you done it?”
“Hair removal? No, not really. I was a student until recently.”
“Ever thought about it?”
“I have. I’m a professional nightlife worker now, so I get an allowance. I go to an aesthetic salon once a week,
and they always recommend full-body laser. ‘Do it all, make everything smooth,’ they say.”
“Ah, the full package. Armpits, arms, legs, and the ‘down there’ areas.”
“Exactly. A monthly plan. They say it’s much better than doing it bit by bit.”
“You should just do it.”
“I don’t know… just talking about V-lines and O-lines makes me blush.”
“Hmph. Being ‘hairless’ is the mainstream now.”
“Really?”
“In America and Europe, it’s been common for ages. Trends from there always hit Japan eventually.”
“So, are you hairless, Alisa-san?”
“Of course. It’s much easier.”
“Easier?”
“Yeah. Once the hair is gone, the maintenance is minimal.”
“And you used… medical laser?”
“Medical laser? Yeah. At a clinic, done by a doctor.”
“Wait, you go to a doctor for that?”
“Cosmetic surgery clinics. Ginza hostesses all do it. Face sculpting, wrinkle removal, Botox, liposuction. The whole works. They are fully armed. They don’t go to salons.”
“Is Catherine-san also ‘sculpted’?”
“Hmm,” Alisa hummed. “Highly likely. If she’s in her twenties, it could be natural beauty. But if she’s in her forties, she’s definitely had a total overhaul. If so, her doctor is a genius. Usually, surgical faces look unnatural, but Catherine looks like a real beauty. She must have paid a fortune to a world-class surgeon. In
cash, of course—no insurance for that.”
“Cosmetic surgery today is different from the old days. It used to be about turning an ugly woman into a beauty, or a black person into a white person. Now, it’s about beauty maintaining her beauty and youth. The most beautiful women in the world—idols, actresses, Ginza madams—they use surgery to stay exactly as they were when
they were at their peak. They blend into society so perfectly that no one suspects a thing. But the most stunning women are often the most modified.”
“I guess it’s true. Some actresses in their thirties and forties look exactly as they did at twenty. Their skin is plump and glowing. It’s unnatural.”
“Surgeons love to brag about those patients, but they have strict confidentiality agreements. They can’t say a word.”
Hearing this, Marina stared intently at Catherine’s profile. Whether natural or man-made, she is an incredibly expensive beauty.
“And you, Alisa-san? Are you medical-grade?”
“Me? No. I’m strictly against medical surgery and laser. Including hair removal.”
“Why?”
“First, it hurts. It’s not for me.”
“I can imagine. At my salon, I can hear people in the next room screaming ‘Ouch!’ It scares me.”
“That’s weird. Salon removal shouldn’t hurt that much.”
“Really? Then you use a salon?”
“No. I do it myself.”
“There she goes again!” Marina sighed. Alisa is a total perfectionist. She has to do everything herself—hair, hair removal, everything.
“Listen. I just researched the best method for my skin type, and I found that doing it myself was the most effective.”
“You could probably work at a salon, Alisa-san.”
“Maybe.”
One of the men tried to reach for Catherine’s thigh, but she slapped his hand away with a sharp thwack.
“No touching. I only keep virgins here.”
“Virgins?” the customer laughed. “Since when are there virgins in the nightlife industry?”
Another added, “No ‘cheek time’ either?”
“Be satisfied with holding hands and singing a duet.”
“That’s incredibly wholesome.”
“And this is a nightclub?”
“Sorry. That’s just how we operate.”
Catherine took a sommelier knife and a bottle of Maker’s Mark from the cart and began scraping away the wax seal.
Most Maker’s Marks have a red seal, but this one was gold—the most expensive version, no longer in production.
“So you just sit here, have drinks poured, and watch girls you’ve never met? Is that the appeal?”
“Is there any greater pleasure than watching an innocent girl you don’t know?”
“The pinnacle of fetishism.”
“Surely Catherine, you can’t be a virgin too?”
Catherine laughed. “That’s right. Not a single man has ever possessed me.”
“Heh. Maybe no men, but maybe women have.”
“Is Catherine a lesbian?”
“Probably the ‘butch’ role.”
Catherine narrowed her eyes, her moist lips curving into a faint smile, and let out a tiny, playful chuckle.
“I’ll bring you a souvenir next time. What do you want?”
As the men stood up to leave, the staff escorted them to the elevator.
“Your sentiment is enough,” Alisa said coldly.
“Don’t be modest. How about a watch? Chanel? Longines?”
“How much does a Chanel watch cost?” Marina’s eyes sparkled.
“Depends. Gold, platinum, diamonds, ceramics. If it’s a mechanical movement, the price skyrockets. Vintage is even more. Rolex, for example. There’s basically no ceiling.”
“Stop that. Stop hitting on my girl,” Catherine snapped, glaring at the man. “Nothing is more expensive than a ‘free’ gift, Marina-chan.”
“You’re as stiff as ever, Catherine.”
“No. Marina is special. Hey, Marina, if you want to ask for something, you can ask me for anything. How about a raspberry pink ring that would suit those plump, cute fingers of yours?”
Catherine subtly wrapped an arm around Marina’s waist, interlaced their fingers, and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. Marina felt a shiver.
Wait, was the conversation between Catherine and the guest earlier… Is Catherine really a lesbian?
“Haha. You’ve really taken a liking to this girl,” the man said. “I’m getting interested too, young lady. Let’s talk properly when your ‘mother-in-law’ isn’t around.”
The men climbed into a black limousine and drove away.
“I feel like I’m working in a high-end Ginza club, Alisa-san.”
“True, Marina-chan.”
“I wonder who those people are. They seem incredibly rich.”
“They’re a completely different breed from the otaku. They’re dangerous. Everything they wear is top-tier. Like Catherine said, if you accept a watch from someone like that, you’ll pay for it later.”
Alisa’s eyes glinted with a warning.
As usual, Marina reported to Kudo by phone.
“I think Catherine opened Luise specifically to destroy Domino.”
“Why do you think that?”
“She didn’t have the know-how for adult entertainment. She wanted the shop and the staff as a package deal.”
“The Luise Group has run snacks and hostess clubs for years.”
“But Catherine was acting like she was a complete novice.”
“Hoh? And?”
“And?”
“It means there’s another manager in the Luise Group who handles the adult business, and Catherine only recently started her own venture.”
“Is that important?”
“A lot of useless information becomes meaningful when you pile it up. For instance, Catherine is the owner, but she rarely visited Luise. Why is she suddenly visiting Domino so often?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she just likes the place.”
“No, she’s obsessed with me.”
“With you?”
“Yes. She always says I’m her favorite.”
“Seriously?”
“I think so. She touches me every time we play Wolfenstein.”
“Wolfenstein?”
“The shooting game. And she found ‘Morizo-kun’ tucked in my garter. She must have been checking under my skirt this whole time.”
“Morizo-kun?”
“The nickname I gave the Taser Inspector Kidera gave me.”
“I see. And what happened when she found it?”
“I let her see it. She said it ‘felt warm against the skin,’ which gave me the creeps. But she didn’t realize it was a stun gun.”
“Impressive. A true First Division custom piece.”
“And I think Catherine might be LGBT.”
“What’s an ‘L’ something?”
“Oh, come on. You don’t know? Homosexual. Specifically, a lesbian.”
“Heh.”
One day, Alisa was off. The men in black had vanished. Marina found herself alone in the shop with Catherine.
“Marina. Come sit by me.”
“Yes.”
“Want some Evan?”
Catherine usually drank single-barrel bourbons like Evan Williams or Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.
“Yes, but with soda, please.”
Marina brought a stainless tumbler, ice, and several bottles of Wilkinson soda. She wasn’t a light drinker, but in this situation, drinking a neat bourbon would be dangerous. She’d had a few too many in the past and blacked out. She intended to dilute it so much it was basically colored water. If she filled her stomach with water, the alcohol wouldn’t hit her as hard.
They clinked their glasses.
“A quiet night.”
Marina looked at Catherine’s beautiful face and those thick, pink lips. Whether it was surgery or natural, it didn’t matter anymore. But if it were natural… what a luxury.
A single red orchid stood in a blue porcelain vase on the counter. The scent of organic coconut oil wafted from a lamp, mixing with the aroma of bourbon and Catherine’s unique scent. Marina felt intoxicated. The BGM was a quiet classical piece—a cello sonata with piano. Rachmaninoff, perhaps?
God, this feels good. I almost want to give in, she thought, forcing her reason to take over as she nibbled on a Kiss chocolate.
“Yeah. No more customers are coming, so maybe we should close early.”
“It’s still business hours. I need you here.”
“Shall I wash the glasses and plates?”
“No. Stay here. Keep me company.”
“You… and me?”
“Yes. Actually, I wanted to talk to you, just the two of us. That’s why I sent everyone home.”
Here it comes!
“I’m a third-dan in Aikido, by the way!”
“Why are you shouting all of a sudden? Hahaha. You think I’m a lesbian.”
“Then what is it?!”
“I want you to listen to my troubles.”
“What kind of troubles?”
“It’s bad. I’m in a bad way.”
“What’s bad? The business?”
“The business, my mental state… everything is bad.” As she spoke, Catherine stroked the soft flesh of Marina’s back.
“Stop it, that’s sexual harassment! This isn’t that kind of shop!”
“I’m not a customer. I’m your employer.”
“Then it’s definitely harassment!”
She’s trying to seduce me under the guise of a consultation, Marina thought, though she was becoming increasingly flustered. Up close, Catherine was a miracle of beauty. If a woman felt this, a man would be driven wild.
“When the day comes, will you run away with me? Just the two of us, to a place where no one knows us, and live happily until we die. Where should we go? Singapore? Dubai? An uninhabited island in the Aegean?”
“Stop it! You’re moving too fast. We’re both women. I told you I’m not a lesbian.”
“It’s okay.”
“What is?”
“Do you remember the first day we met?”
“What? The day I transferred from Luise to Domino?”
“No. We met long before that.”
“When?”
“You were distributing tissues on the street before Luise.”
“Hmph.”
“At that time, you met a man who worked at a place called Templeton.”
“Templeton? Oh, him. The guy who did the magic trick and emptied my box.”
“Do I look like him?”
“What?”
Marina stared intently at Catherine’s face. Now that she thought about it, there was a resemblance.
“Is he your brother? Or your younger brother?”
“No. That was me. I am that man.”
“What?!”
The man had been wearing makeup and looking like a typical host; his true face had been impossible to imagine.
“That was our fated encounter.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“Then… is your name Hiroshi?”
“Yes. Thank you for remembering. I’m Hiroshi. A real man. It’s a secret between us.”
Catherine then let Marina touch her crotch. Something warm and fleshy pressed against her hand.
“Eww!”
Still in her mini-skirt police outfit, Marina bolted out of the building.
“So that’s what happened,” Marina told Kudo over the phone.
“Heh. Lucky you. Popular with the ladies.”
“It is NOT lucky!”
“But to think the owner of the Luise Group, Catherine, was a man. I always thought she was a woman. So his name is Hiroshi.”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s probably a stage name anyway.”
“Well, this might be the turning point.”
“What do you mean?”
“Anyway, make sure you show up for work tomorrow. Got it?”
“I was sexually harassed! Can’t I quit?”
“We’re in the home stretch. You’ll regret it if you quit now.”
“But he might suspect me. That I have feelings for him.”
“Let him suspect you. As long as your identity isn’t blown.”
“It isn’t.”
The next day, the customers were different. It was a private booking, but they weren’t wealthy seniors. The main guest was a delusional “Italian” wannabe, acting like a young Michael Corleone, accompanied by two hulking bodyguards.
Marina observed them.
Black suit, black shirt, khaki tie. A maroon handkerchief in the breast pocket. An unnecessarily large, chunky watch. Purple enamel shoes. His outfit was a disaster of over-sexualization, creating an aura of madness. He looked like a host, but his pomaded hair and calculated stubble gave him the air of a stage actor. He looked like
he might burst into a song by Prince. But Marina suspected that once the makeup came off, he was just an average Japanese man.
The bodyguards wore rugged suits that looked like military uniforms with the rank stripped off. Their ethnicity was unclear—tanned and looking Arab, but likely Caucasian. They smelled like the trade. FBI? CIA? Operators?
Terrorists? Regardless, their movements screamed “martial artists.” Marina concentrated, embodying the essence of Aikido: relaxing her muscles, hiding her gaze, and erasing her presence.
A decorative fruit cake was brought in. A special order for today. Crackers popped, ten bottles of champagne opened simultaneously, and a tower of glasses was filled with pale pink liquid.
“Catherine. Happy birthday. A modest present from me.”
“Happy birthday, Catherine,” Alisa said, glass in hand.
“Happy… birthday,” Marina whispered, her voice trembling with tension.
“Thank you. Everyone, drink up. Arnold is paying; don’t be shy.”
The Italian’s name was Arnold.
For a while, they had a festive party. Arnold seemed like Catherine’s boyfriend or husband. They performed a ballroom dance to moody music. A perfect couple.
But it was an illusion. Catherine was a man. And even if they were a couple, neither of them was smiling with their eyes. They looked like they were walking toward a grave.
“Catherine, how old are you now?”
“Asking a woman her age. How boorish.”
“I think you’re six… no, seven years younger than me.”
“If you say any more of that in front of everyone, I’ll kill you, Arnold.”
The bodyguards flinched. Arnold raised a hand to stop them.
“I only said it because I wanted to see your angry face. Forgive me.”
“You want to see me angry?”
“Yes. It’s beautiful.”
“Then why not make me angrier? I might become even more beautiful.”
“I’ll pass. Even if I could see your most beautiful face, it’s not worth my life.”
This is it, Marina sensed. Something is about to happen. Now.
Was this man Sasai? Or Sasai’s makeup? Would a councilor look like this? Or was he a henchman? Likely the latter.
Should she call Kidera for backup? But if she moved too soon, the operation would end. You have to let the fish swallow the hook before you pull. Still, she needed to establish contact.
“Excuse me, restroom.”
Marina stood up and signaled Alisa with her eyes. After a short delay, Alisa followed.
“Alisa-san.”
“What?”
“Today is the day. It’s going down.”
“Seems so.”
“Just in case, I’ve prepared two real Bond Arms pistols. Swap your model guns for these.”
“Real ones?”
“Yes. Catherine’s behavior has been erratic. It’s time. I applied for a firearm permit and got the carry authorization.”
“How did you even get those in Japan?”
“There are places. Collections of every gun imaginable.”
“For what purpose?”
“Like the National Diet Library collects every book, some people collect every gun.”
“I’m not a cop. I’m not qualified to carry a real gun. You’ll be in deep trouble.”
“Life is more important than a report, Alisa-san. How’s the gun? Do you know how to use it?”
“Hmm. Very retro. Hammer-cocked, single-action, right? But I’m not sure how to load it.” Alisa looked at it with curiosity.
“Listen. It’s a break-action. The barrel folds down, opposite to a hunting rifle. It’s not designed for quick reloading. It’s a small concealed gun, but since it’s a Magnum, the power is immense. Only two rounds. Together, we have four. If a shootout starts, that’s all we’ve got. Use it for self-defense, or if you run out of
confidence, throw it to me. Here’s the safety. You have to aim carefully.”
“Got it. I’ll try.”
In reality, the barrels were so short that accuracy was terrible. It was mostly a psychological comfort.
“Sorry for the wait. I suddenly felt unwell.”
Marina covered her mouth with a handkerchief, and Alisa rubbed her back. Together, they returned to sit beside Arnold.
Marina looked around. The men in black and the maids had vanished. The room was deathly silent.
“Catherine. This shop has some fine women. Though the finest is you.”
“Still as smooth-tongued as ever.”
“Your name is…?” Arnold reached for the woman next to him.
“Alisa.”
“Beautiful eyes. How long have you been here?”
“About a year and a half since I moved to Catherine-san’s shop.”
“I see. And you?”
“I’m Marina. I’ve only been here about three months.”
“Ho. A rookie, then.”
“Yes. I hope you’ll favor me.”
“I hear you’re quite the favorite of Catherine’s.”
“I am?”
“Indeed. ‘Beauty is a sin,’ as they say.”
“A sin? I don’t believe I’ve done anything that would offend the heavens.”
“You have a sense of humor. I think I’m starting to like you.”
“I’m honored.”
“I wonder if Catherine will be jealous.”
Sparks were flying between Arnold and Catherine, whether out of jealousy or murderous intent.
“I’m glad I could celebrate your birthday. I’ve been patient, waiting for this day. Catherine. You’re fired.”
Arnold gave a thumbs-up and made a cutting motion across his throat.
“Why?”
Catherine remained still, legs crossed.
“You’re finished. I’ve brought two retired Spetsnaz operators for you today.”
Spetsnaz. Russian Special Forces. Professional assassins. Two of them. Marina’s blood boiled. They were here to bury them in the dark.
“Stay quiet and I’ll make it a painless death. You won’t even notice when you’re gone. You grew Luise. You opened new shops. You contributed greatly. But we aren’t law-abiding citizens. Why build such ‘proper’ shops? Just make a killing and run. Your meticulousness is what got you caught. These two bitches are just the police’s lapdogs,”
Arnold declared.
Alisa immediately drew her baton. “Stop your useless resistance. The police have already surrounded the building.”
A bluff. Marina had called the Bansei station, but they weren’t scheduled to breach yet.
Arnold laughed. “Do it.”
He snapped his fingers. One of the guards stepped forward, intercepted Alisa, and twisted her arm. Alisa struggled, but a blow to the face sent her crashing to the floor, unconscious.
Marina acted. Using the champagne tower as a distraction, she performed a spinning kick, sweeping the table.
Glass shards flew and the fruity aroma of sparkling rosé filled the air. In the chaos, she kicked the sofa, vaulted over the counter, and began throwing whiskey bottles at the enemy.
The two guards drew guns. Point-blank range. Marina drew her weapon and fired. The first shot took the man in the right eye. He spun and collapsed.
The second guard fired back. Mirrors shattered, bottles exploded, the expensive LED panel was ruined, and Catherine’s prized porcelain vase was smashed to pieces.
The enemy had backups. They kept firing.
Stay calm. I have the cover of the counter. Marina shifted rapidly from side to side, using a beer server as a shield, and fired her final round into the man’s heart.
The .357 Magnum did its job; the huge man was slammed against the wall, dead.
“Marina!”
Alisa woke up and tried to throw her gun to Marina, but Arnold drove a sommelier knife into Alisa’s solar plexus.
Alisa screamed, and the gun slid across the floor, where Catherine picked it up.
“A double-derringer. First time seeing a real one.”
Catherine expertly removed the safety and cocked the hammer.
“You idiot. Look what you’ve done to my shop.”
Catherine fired a lead slug into Arnold’s gut. Arnold groaned and recoiled.
“Oh. Looks like there’s one round left.”
Catherine cocked the hammer again and aimed the gun at the counter.
“You’re out of ammo over there. Now, quietly, hands up, and come out. Don’t try anything funny.”
Marina raised her hands and stepped out. She stepped on a shard of glass, which crunched under her boot.
“Marina. You’ve got a good arm for a rookie. You really were a cop, weren’t you? I can’t believe I didn’t notice.
Careless of me.”
“Surrender, Catherine. No, Hiroshi-san. You aren’t a bad person.”
Catherine smiled faintly.
“It doesn’t work that way.”
Catherine looked at Marina and pressed the gun to his own temple.
“I loved you, Marina. I really did. It wasn’t a lie. From the moment I saw you on that street in Akihabara. I, of all people, fell in love at first sight.”
Instinctively, Marina drew “Morizo-kun” from her belt. The electrode needles fired, striking Catherine in the chest. A hundred thousand volts of high-voltage current surged through, and Catherine rolled her eyes and collapsed.
Marina glanced at her Paul Smith watch—a stylish turquoise blue one Alisa had recommended—and noted the time.
“Two-twenty-three! You are under arrest on suspicion of a firearms and sword violation and attempted suicide!” she declared, clicking the handcuffs onto Catherine.
Soon, Kidera, the First Division officers, and Kudo arrived. Amidst the smell of gunpowder and blood, only Marina stood still. Kudo patted her on the shoulder, and she sank into the sofa, exhausted. Her battle mode was over.
Akihabara was enveloped in the roar of sirens and the shouts of onlookers.