Page 312 of Mercy Written in Blood

Haruki looked at him.

"We bring them out," he said. "Then we finish the argument."

Renji released his wrist.

"Yes."

It was not reassurance. It was the nearest thing either could offer.

The depot had three visible entrances. Haruki divided the Ishida men between them. Ken took the southern door with four others. Haruki chose the loading entrance shown in the photograph. Renji remained beside him beneath the shallow overhang while rain struck the concrete yard in sheets.

A floodlight above them flickered. The bulb buzzed. Water ran from Haruki's hair down the side of his face. He wore no hat. No armour Renji could see beneath his coat. That fact irritated him.

"Vest?" Renji asked.

"Yes."

"Firearm?"

"Yes."

"Medical supplies?"

"Ken has them."

"You should carry your own."

"I'm beginning to understand why the hospital staff avoid you."

"They do not."

"They hide when they see you coming."

"They are busy."

Haruki's mouth moved faintly. The expression vanished before it became a smile. For one moment, the division between them thinned.

Then a sound came from inside. A cry cut short. Haruki turned. The loading door stood partly open. Darkness beyond. He drew his weapon.

Renji listened. Six human heartbeats close together. Rapid. One irregular. At least nine others spread through the building.

"Eleven inside," he whispered. "Possibly more."

Haruki signalled to the men behind them. Two entered first. Renji followed Haruki before he could object.

The interior smelled of oil, rust and wet concrete. Emergency lights cast narrow red strips along the walls. The main floor opened before them, filled with disused municipal vehicles — salt spreaders, road sweepers, a crane truck with one wheel removed. Rain hammered against the metal roof, the noise fractured, every other sound.

Haruki moved between the vehicles. Renji stayed close. Too close, perhaps. Haruki glanced back once but said nothing.

A man emerged from behind the crane. Young. Human. Black clothing. A white cloth tied around one arm. Unveiled. He raised a pistol. Haruki fired first. The shot struck the man's shoulder. He spun and fell. Alive. Haruki crossed the distance, kicked the weapon away and pressed one knee against the man's back.

"Where are the hostages?"

The man laughed into the concrete.

"You came."

Haruki tightened his grip.