Chapter 48 — The One-Billion-Yen Bank Heist
Out of nowhere, Xia Xi noticed that the newspaper also carried a report on the one-billion-yen robbery that had taken place at Beika Bank just yesterday.
So Akemi Miyano had finally made her move. Which meant it was time to give some serious thought to exactly how she intended to meddle in this affair.
The truth was, Xia Xi wanted to intercept that billion yen for herself. She had no intention of returning it to the bank, and she certainly wasn't about to let the Black Organization get its hands on it. It wasn't as if she was short on money these days, but really, who ever complained about having more? And with the syndicate still in its infancy, there were expenses everywhere she looked — a cool billion yen would go a very long way.
Then again, come to think of it — wasn't there something she'd forgotten?
Xia Xi had the nagging sense that something had slipped her mind, but no matter how she turned it over, she couldn't recall what. Well, if it was forgettable enough to be forgotten in the first place, it probably wasn't all that important.
Far away in Yokohama, Matsuda Jinpei sneezed and began to wonder if he was coming down with a cold. He was half tempted to go pay his respects at a shrine lately — nothing had been going right anywhere. The person he'd been trying to track down never seemed to have a free moment, and now here he was, shipped off to some backwater posting for a so-called technical exchange.
"Finally got it done!" At his computer, Cointreau stretched with a long yawn, then eyed the photo of Xia Xi that the media had been preparing to publish and let out a sigh. "So she really is a sister who never gives me a moment's peace, huh. Honestly — parading around that conspicuously. Do you have any idea how much effort it took to scrub your information without leaving a trace?"
With that, he pulled up a Metropolitan Police Department transfer order on his screen. Right there in plain text was the notice: Matsuda Jinpei, reassigned to Yokohama on a three-month exchange posting.
Cointreau stared at the face he'd last seen three years ago and found himself wondering whether that spur-of-the-moment rescue hadn't been a mistake — all it had done was pile more work onto his plate.
Couldn't the man have just stayed quietly in the Bomb Disposal Unit? Why on earth did he have to request a transfer out of nowhere? Cointreau hadn't prepared for this. Now was hardly the right time for Lumine to start learning about certain things.
And speaking of which — were the police really this incompetent? Three years, and they still hadn't caught the bomber. No, wait. Cointreau pulled up his research, and by his reckoning of the date Hagiwara Kenji had died... it had been seven years.
Seven years, and not a single lead on the bomber. As a member of an underground organization himself, Cointreau honestly couldn't decide whether he ought to be pleased about that.
Just then, the phone at his hand rang.
He checked the caller ID — Gin, of course.
"Hello? What do you want? You've finished cleaning up every trace at the Cointreau bar?"
"The place no longer exists. Have you figured out what happened with Tequila?" Gin wasted no words. The moment he'd delivered the report, he cut straight to asking for the cause of the incident.
Cointreau relayed the results of his investigation and delivered his conclusion: Tequila had run into trouble because he was unlucky — and incompetent.
"......"
Gin fell silent on the line for a long moment, apparently at a loss for how to evaluate so farcical a cause of death. In the end, he simply changed the subject.
"You're aware of the terms Akemi Miyano set with the Organization, I take it?"
Cointreau answered without a flicker of expression. "Mm, I'm aware. So you're planning to move on her, then."
"If I recall, you knew her parents, didn't you? What's the matter — feeling soft?"
"Quit probing me. You said it yourself — I only knew her parents. That doesn't mean I owed them any loyalty. Besides, I've never had the slightest interest in immortality. Akemi Miyano? Forget her. Even if it were Sherry you were going after, it would make no difference to me. At the end of the day, they're all just people who don't matter."
As he spoke, Cointreau glanced at the clock on his computer and realized how late it had gotten. "Was there anything else? If not, I'm hanging up. Cleaning up after Tequila has taken long enough — I need rest."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he heard the dial tone on the other end, and he could only stare at the phone, speechless. I didn't complain about your rambling and hang up on you, Gin — and you hang up on me first?
Shaking his head, he set the phone down and prepared to turn in for the night.
Meanwhile, some time had passed since the "Full Heaven" game announcement, and Conan had finally managed to shake off the frustration of that trail gone cold — the leads breaking off just when he'd been one step away from those men in black.
But he hadn't given up. He believed, without a doubt, that one day he would find them — and pry out of them the way to become a high schooler again.
Now, however, was no time for such thoughts. Just yesterday, when Conan had accompanied Mouri Kogoro to the bank to deposit some money, they had happened upon the robbery of a bank armored car — the very billion-yen heist splashed across today's paper.
Conan had pegged a Miss Masami Hirota as suspicious, but today he'd learned from Uncle Mouri that the robbers from that heist had all been gunned down — and a single lipstick belonging to Masami Hirota had been left at the scene. He realized at once that besides the robbers, there had been a second group — the ones who'd killed the robbers and framed Masami Hirota for it.
He obtained her address from Inspector Megure and, searching her home, found the key to a rented safe-deposit box. But in a moment of carelessness, he'd taken a blow to the back of the neck from Masami Hirota herself, leaving his head swimming.
Fortunately, Conan had gritted his teeth through the pain and stuck a tracking device to her car before she drove off. And the moment his head had cleared, he'd hopped on his solar-powered skateboard and chased after the signal.
Dusk. A warehouse by the sea.
Masami Hirota — no, Akemi Miyano — drove to the location Gin's message had specified. She drew the pistol from her purse and walked into the warehouse.
Inside, she found that waiting for her were not only Gin and Vodka, but one more man as well — a figure standing back in the shadows, his silhouette and features swallowed by the dark.
Akemi Miyano had no attention to spare for any of that. There was only one thing on her mind now: the terms Gin had promised her. But the truth was plain — Gin had deceived her. From the very beginning, he had never intended to let Sherry go.
Gin fired a single, clean shot into her chest, then ordered Vodka to retrieve the safe-deposit key from her body.
Cointreau, who had been standing silently to the side the entire time, felt the humidity in the air tick subtly upward. His eyes flicked — so smoothly it was nearly invisible — toward one corner of the warehouse, and he sighed, helpless. Let's just be grateful this is the seaside, he thought. The air is already thick with moisture. A little extra hardly makes a difference.
Gin caught the sound of that sigh and asked, with a trace of mockery, "What's this? Remembering your friendship with her parents — feeling merciful after all?"
"No. We have the key, so let's go." Without waiting for Gin to respond, he walked straight out the door.
Better not to let Gin and the others linger here a moment longer than necessary — lest they stumble across something they weren't meant to find.