One of the men walked over to the glowing pool and stretched his

hand out towards, the bubbling liquid.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, ” Modred cautioned him. “It

could be acid.”

The man jerked his hand back as if he had been bitten.

“Well, it seems that we have found the killer’s hiding place, ” said

the Yakuza leader. “We’ll simply wait for him to return. ” He

glanced at Modred and smiled. “It looks as if Don Kobayashi won’t

be needing your services, after all.”

“Don’t be a fool, ” said Fugisawa.

“And you have become superfluous, as well, ” the man said,

gazing at Fugisawa coldly. “This is all very convenient. We won’t

even have to worry about disposing of the bodies. No one will ever

find you down here.”

“You’re being dangerously overconfident, ” said Modred calmly.

“If you should kill us, I can promise you that you will never get out

of here alive. None of you. You are no match for Kanno. Or for his

mistress.”

The Yakuza man frowned. “His mistress? What are you talking

about?”

One of the other men suddenly cried out and pointed. A woman

was coming toward them from the far end of the mall. A young

Japanese woman dressed in a long, white, diaphanous gown. She

seemed to be wearing nothing underneath it. She was barefoot and

she moved toward them with a slow, peculiar gait. There was

something wrong with her. Something jerky and mechanical about

her movements.

“You!” shouted the Yakuza leader. “Stop where you are! Who are

you?”

But the woman made no response. She simply kept on coming,

oblivious of the guns pointed at her. Her face seemed vacant.

Lifeless. Her eyes were dark, glazed, expressionless pools.

“I said, stop where you are! Who are you? Answer me!”

“I don’t think she can hear you, ” Modred said. “She’s dead.”