Neil clicked his phone shut. “He bought it,” he said. “There’s a jet coming for me tonight.”
Neil was in his kitchen, surrounded by his friends. He’d shown them the pomegranates in The Chef. Jones said he couldn’t see how Neil could notice the difference in such a tiny drawing. Neil reminded him which of the two was a chef and which was a human retaining wall. Jones was about to remind him of the same thing, with his knuckles, when Nakamura coughed and shook his head.
Isabella had been distracted by the skimpy outfit on the heroine and had muttered something like, “If Larry isn’t dead, he’ll soon wish he were.” Angel, on the other hand, had seen a glimmer of truth in Neil’s assessment and dialed Nori from Neil’s cell phone.
Neil smirked. “He seemed pretty confident that I wasn’t going to be coming back here. I guess I’d better pack more than my knives.”
Angel gave a loud sigh. “This is not good.”
Isabella and Jones nodded in agreement.
Neil ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t have time to think of a better plan. And this is going to work: Nori believes that I don’t want to go, and he’s willing to pay. That’s the important thing.” Well, maybe there were some other important things too. No matter. He had a ten-hour flight ahead of him to figure them out.
Angel folded his arms. “I’ve helped you because I knew I couldn’t change your mind. But Nori is a criminal, a very dangerous criminal. He has his hands in almost every illegal transaction in the culinary world. Olive oil imports, endangered species, tuna smuggling, underground duels. You must be careful.”
Nakamura snapped his fingers. “I’ve got a good idea. Stop looking so skeptical, Nose. I’ll go undercover as your translator. That way you’ve got some protection and maybe I can help look for Larry if you’re tied up. That’s a figure of speech.”
“You’re a police officer. Won’t that be suspicious?” Isabella asked.
“As Neil may remember from the thirty or so undercover assignments we’ve done together, I can wear a disguise pretty well.”
Neil had to admit this was true. Nakamura had also given him advice on staying incognito on their recent trip to Mexico City.
“I’ll ditch the cop clothes, especially the comfortable shoes, shave my mustache . . .”
There was a gasp from everyone.
“That would be . . . amazing,” Neil said, grateful and a little shocked. Nakamura without facial hair was a bit like a curry with no ginger.
“I’ll go pack as well, and I’ll get one of my, er, traveling passports. I’ll see you at the airport . . . boss.” He left through the dining room. “When I get there, call me Hachiko.”
Neil had always suspected there was a shadier side to Nakamura’s police work than he let on; he resolved to ask him more about it later.
Gary arrived at the back door, carrying his bike on his shoulder. “That was the best funeral I’ve ever been to! Leave it to Larry to throw a posthumous party! More of my friends should croak!”
Neil walked up to Gary. “He’s not dead.”
Gary smiled and winked. “I know that. He’s in the sky, looking down on us.”
“No, I mean he’s really not dead. I’m going to look for him for a while. Don’t tell anyone. I need you to help Angel run the restaurant while I’m away. Try not to go broke, okay? We’re about one bad night away from missing a bank payment.”
Gary nodded slowly. “If he’s not dead, do you think he’ll mind that I was hitting on that organist with the cool hair? Cause she and I hit it off really well. We’re going to a concert tomorrow, actually.”
Neil rubbed his temples. Gary had somehow missed the point. He was eerily like Larry. “Gary, I honestly think he’d be angrier if you were using his coffeemaker.”
“Whew. Excellent. Now, what was the bit about the restaurant?”
“Don’t let it go bankrupt.”
Gary laughed. “Is that a joke? I mean, thanks for the confidence, but have you seen me with money? I’ll probably run the place into the ground by the weekend! Me, run a restaurant?” Gary started laughing so hard he doubled over, grabbing his ribs.
This was not the response Neil was looking for. Great, he thought, now I really need to win this stupid duel.
“Angel will cook the other entrees and the twins will handle the money, then,” Neil said, his eyes shut and his temples throbbing. “Just make sure you’re here for work and keep bringing in those great fish.”
Gary managed to give a thumbs-up while now sliding onto the floor. Neil just shook his head sadly. “I need to get ready and I need to tell my parents I’m leaving.” He hugged everyone and then walked out back and rode away on his bike.
* * *
Isabella sat at her worktable, staring blankly at the rows and rows of test tubes and beakers. She’d been using orchid and cherry blossom extract for her latest series of flower-inspired perfumes. But all the combinations and oils she’d been able to buy smelled too bland. Isabella’s reputation was based on subtlety, not invisibility.
It wasn’t the wasted money that was bothering her now—it was Neil’s crazy trip to Japan to look for his cousin. “Why does he keep taking off on these stupido adventures?” Isabella said, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms.
“Because he’s an idiot, from a long line of idiots,” Jones said, not taking his eyes off his wilderness survival magazine.
“And a duel!” she huffed. Isabella hated duels. Her father had died in one. “Neil promised to avoid them and here he goes to fight another!”
Jones sighed and put down the magazine. Clearly Isabella felt like talking. “Has it occurred to you that Neil likes duels? He seems to find an excuse to break his promise to you at the drop of a chef’s hat.”
“Are all men stupid thrill seekers?” she said, glaring at the cover of his magazine, which showed a group of hikers jumping off the side of a cliff to escape a pack of wolves.
“Yes,” Jones said calmly. “We are.”
Isabella huffed. “What do we know about this Nori anyway? I’m sure you’ve done a background check.”
Jones nodded. “Angel told us some of the broad strokes. He’s a crook for sure. He owns a fleet of illegal whaling ships. He also owns a series of restaurants that sell illegally caught fish. He bought a frozen woolly mammoth last month and has been selling it for top dollar at one of his Tokyo clubs as ‘aged wagyu beef’.”
“Stupid.”
“Once a year he even holds a big dinner where the richest men in the world get to catch and eat their own endangered species.”
“Disgusting,” Isabella said.
“It’s a thrill seeker’s delight because sometimes the species catch and eat the hunter. That’s why Panko Pharmaceuticals needed a new president last year.”
“Sick,” Isabella added.
Jones nodded. “Angel and he used to run a series of underground duels. This was before Nori developed his taste for giant panda, but that duel that claimed your dad was bankrolled by Nori and his friends in the Italian mob.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips so tightly they turned white. “I hate this man.”
Jones nodded. “Join the club.”
Isabella sat up so suddenly she almost spilled a beaker of perfume. “You say this horrible man, this brutto, fishes illegally?”
“Yes,” Jones said, looking a little worried by Isabella’s anger. “Why?”
Isabella smacked her forehead. “Idiota. I have been so stupid. This Nori is Larry’s killer!”
“What, why . . . what? I thought Larry wasn’t dead?”
“Dead or not, his ship was sunk. What if he and Hiro were not going sightseeing but were going to protest illegal fishing. Their boat was bombed, or rammed, just like his parents’ boat . . . and this Nori gave the order. This was all designed to lure Neil to Japan. And Neil is walking right into his clutches!”
“Slow down. I didn’t see any evidence of any of that,” Jones said, holding up his hands in the universal sign for whoa.
Isabella was now pacing up and down the floor of her lab. “We have to warn him. No, he is too pigheaded to turn back now.” She stopped in the middle of the floor and turned to face Jones. “It is simple. We must go to Japan. I will help look for Larry. You will help look after Neil.”
Jones started to interrupt, but Isabella raced on. “You’re right. We will not tell Neil. I have the perfect excuse to go there.” She reached for a vial of scented oil and poured it on the floor. “I am in desperate need of better ingredients. Do you think we can get plane tickets for tomorrow morning?”
Jones now lifted his hands in the equally universal sign for I surrender.
“I take it that’s not a real question?” he asked, knowing his wasn’t a real question either.
Isabella smiled. “And don’t forget to book us a nice hotel in Tokyo. We’ll figure out how to make our paths cross with Neil once we get there.” Then she walked out the door.
“Now who’s the thrill seeker?” Jones mumbled under his breath as he typed in the number for his travel agent.