Read Storm Front: A Derrick Storm Thriller for Free Online Page B

girlfriends looked like a Benetton ad, but he never kept the same one for more than a few weeks.”
    “Commitment issues,” Storm said, knowingly.
    “Something like that,” Bryan said. “He certainly had the money to afford the best. He had recently cashed in a stock option that netted him a hundred and six million. That was on top of the millions he had already made in salary and bonuses. But it still wasn’t enough for him. His unofficial motto was ‘Work hard, play hard.’ He was legendary for being able to work a sixteen-hour day then hit the town until the early morning, sleep for maybe an hour or two, then go right back to his desk.”
    “I assume he did drugs to keep him going?”
    “Not that anyone is aware of. Unless you count pussy as a drug. Women were his only vice and he chased them relentlessly. All he ever seemed to do was get laid and make money. Colleagues described him as indefatigable in both pursuits.”
    “I note you’re using the past tense,” Storm said.
    “That’s right. He lived in the pent house of a sixty-story luxury condo, a real high-end place. Three days ago his house keeper entered his place to do her usual cleaning. She came three times a week, and she was used to finding some pretty weird stuff—naked girls passed out on the couch, French maid costumes tossed about, erotic asphyxiation rigs, you name it. Instead, she found this.”
    An image of Motoshige’s lifeless body appeared on the screen. His throat had been slashed in a neat line. The blood had poured down from the line like a scarlet bib.
    “No gunshot wound?” Storm asked.
    “It can be hard to find firearms in Tokyo, even if you’re a criminal,” Bryan said. “The Japanese just don’t do guns like we do here in the Wild West. Plus, this was a high-density living situation. Someone might have heard a gunshot, even if it had a silencer.”
    “Right. High-density living situation. A luxury condo with, presumably, at least one doorman. So how did the perps get in?”
    “From above. They rappelled down from the roof and cut a circular hole in his living room window. That was pretty much the only trace they left behind—well, other than Motoshige’s body.”
    “How did they get up on the roof?”
    “The Tokyo police are still trying to figure that out. There’s a tower being constructed next door. It’s possible they could have attached a zip line from one building to the other.”
    “Either that or we’re looking for a crew that includes Spider-Man,” Storm said. “I assume Mr. Motoshige was tortured as well?”
    “Yep. He held out a little longer than Kornblum did. In addition to the fingernails on his right hand, he was also missing the fingernails on his left. There was also a slash mark on his face. That must have been what caused him to acquiesce to their demands: He didn’t want his pretty face to be ruined.”
    “But I assume we have no clue as to what those demands may have been?”
    “Nothing yet. We still don’t know whether it was information or something tangible, like a document or a safe deposit box keyor what,” Bryan confirmed. “The Japanese authorities pretty much wrote off the whole thing as being an outcropping of Motoshige’s overactive penis. They assumed Motoshige pissed off some girl’s boyfriend or husband or brother and that he finally got what was coming to him. There were too many suspects to even begin to narrow it down.”
    “A husband or brother is going to rappel from the roof to kill the guy?” Storm asked.
    “Our thought exactly. But apparently no one at Nippon Financial was pushing real hard for an investigation. The higher-ups at the bank were deeply embarrassed by Motoshige’s lifestyle, and they didn’t want to risk bringing any attention to this. They’ve managed to keep it hushed up in the media so far. Japanese culture is all about saving face and not acting in a way that disgraces your company. High level bank executives just aren’t supposed to