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The timer on Byrne's waffle maker dinged, and Tyrell opened it up and retrieved the pink strawberry-flavored waffle. "Now... do you want it with syrup... or without?"
Kay stared at the waffle for a few seconds. "No syrup, but you have to put on whipped cream."
Tyrell hadn't actually offered her whipped cream, but he wasn't about to complain. The happier Kay was about the waffles, the less likely it was that she'd think too hard about what Byrne was doing. Also, whipped cream was delicious, and now that she'd suggested it he wanted it on his waffle too.
Tyrell sprayed a large dollop on top of her waffle, then passed the plate over to her. "Strawberries are in the bowl... if you want them."
Kay spooned a large helping of chopped strawberries onto her plate, giggling as half of them fell off her waffle. She looked at the strawberries, then the bowl, then Tyrell. "Do I need to save some for Daddy?"
Tyrell shook his head. "Byrne is... busy with work," he said. "He won't be back... until past your bedtime."
Kay looked down at the table with a pout. "His work should stop being so mean," she said. "It's not fair."
Tyrell tried to keep his expression sympathetic rather than guilty. It wasn't really the Prosecutor's Office that was keeping Byrne out so late, but they couldn't afford the risk that she'd decide to tell one of her classmates, let alone one of Byrne or Tyrell's coworkers, that her father was the Yatagarasu. They had almost closed in on the ring, Calisto thought, but that meant more long nights out, and Byrne was usually the one actually handling the missions.
Tyrell poured the rest of the batter into the waffle iron, closed it, and flipped it back over to cook.
His phone vibrated — the burner phone, with its ringtone permanently silent, not the regular one he used for ordinary calls.
"Make sure... the waffles don't burn," said Tyrell, ducking out of the room.
The call was from Byrne's burner phone, though Tyrell had programmed the number into his burner under a completely different name. (Byrne's regular phone was safely in Tyrell's house; as far as anyone looking at the location data would know, Byrne had come straight home after work and stayed there all evening.)
Tyrell closed the door to Byrne's bedroom — both of theirs, really, but on some level it still felt like Byrne's house, even though he'd been living here for nearly a year — and picked up the phone call. Before he could say a word, Byrne was talking on the other end.
"Listen, things here were more crowded than I thought." (That is, there were guards on-site that didn't line up with the plans they'd gotten from Calisto.) "I'm not sure I can drive home tonight. Can you give me a lift?"
"Traffic's... going to be bad," said Tyrell neutrally. That was a passphrase — if Byrne was placing the call of his own free will, the response was I heard about the accident on I-5, and if he was being held hostage, the response was I can wait, text me when you get here.
"I heard about the accident on I-5," said Byrne.
Tyrell nodded, even though no one could see him. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
Tyrell sat down across from Kay. He wasn't thrilled about the idea of leaving her alone, but if Byrne was injured near the location of their planned mission, he needed to get there as soon as he reasonably could. That left him with no time to get Calisto to stand in for him.
He must have given something away with his expression, because Kay was staring up at him with wide eyes and a tiny frown.
"Your father... had an accident," he started.
"Is he going to be okay?" asked Kay.
Tyrell nodded. "I think so... but he needs me... to pick him up. Do you think... you'll be alright... on your own?"
Kay nodded. "I'm ten, Uncle Badd, I can be responsible."
"I'm... glad," said Tyrell. "Listen... your father's job can be dangerous. You need to... keep this secret... alright? Can you... do that?"
It would have been nice to give her an explanation that was closer to the truth, but he'd settle for one that was plausible. In any case, it wasn't entirely false. Lawyers were murdered sometimes — a few years back, a defense attorney Tyrell had worked with briefly had been killed by a court bailiff, of all people.
Kay bit her lip. "I think so," she said. "But you have to make sure he's okay, you understand?" She mimed animal claws at him.
"I'll... do my best," said Tyrell. "I should be back... in about an hour."
Behind him, the waffle maker dinged.
"...And," Kay added with a giggle, "I get that waffle too. With whipped cream"
Tyrell pulled up a few blocks away from the location Byrne had given him, squinting at the map by the light of his dashboard. Looking up directions online would leave a record in his search history, which left him with physical maps. Usually he'd just use a flashlight, but he didn't want to draw unnecessary attention under the circumstances — cars drove through the area all the time, but the flashlight would be more unusual.
From what Byrne had said, he was hiding out in the men's bathroom at a nearby library. It didn't actually close until eight PM, which left them with a few minutes to spare. Tyrell supposed it was lucky, in a sense, that Byrne had gotten injured early enough in the mission that the library was still an option. Nearly anywhere else in the area would have expected Byrne to buy something, and paying in cash might have raised some suspicion. The library had security cameras, in theory, but as both of them had had the misfortune of learning on one of their regular cases last year, entirely unrelated to the Yatagarasu, the security cameras had been malfunctioning for the past six months and no one had bothered to replace them.
Still, there was no reason to lose time. Tyrell folded up the map, turned off his car, and slipped out into the streets.
The library was nearly deserted at this hour, with only a single librarian staffing the front desk. Tyrell ignored her perky Can I help you find anything? The winter book club doesn't meet until tomorrow, but we've got lots of perfect books for your New Year's Resolution! — it was safest if she never heard his voice, and he certainly couldn't afford to leave a record by checking anything out — and made his way towards the men's restroom.
"Are you... there?" he said quietly. On the off-chance someone had bothered to fix the cameras, there was no reason to risk saying Byrne's name aloud.
"In here," said Byrne's voice from one of the stalls. There was a metallic sliding sound, and the stall door swung open.
"Let me see," said Tyrell.
He undid the buttons on Byrne's navy-blue suit — one stage of tonight's mission had called for impersonating a middle manager at the target location — followed by the waistcoat, followed by the pale green shirt underneath. The right sleeve was caked with half-dried blood, standing out against the green of the shirt, and from this angle he could see that it had soaked through into the underside of the suit jacket. As he pulled off the shirt, he could see that Byrne's upper arm was covered with deep purple bruises, though mercifully the wound itself seemed to have stopped bleeding.
Byrne grimaced. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said.
"It looks... pretty awful," said Tyrell.
He'd been hoping to get out of the library as soon as possible, but it was probably worth doing some rudimentary first aid first. It would be easier here than in the car, at any rate, and the last thing he wanted was to have to explain away an infection.
He unwrapped a lollipop and handed it to Byrne. "This might... hurt," he said.
He held Byrne's arm under the sink for a few seconds, washing away as much of the blood as he could. Byrne grit his teeth and nearly bit through the lollipop's stick as Tyrell rubbed in some soap from the soap dispenser, dried off the wound with the edge of Byrne's ruined shirt, and applied Neosporin.
Byrne was right, thankfully, that it didn't seem quite as bad with most of the blood out of the way. Tyrell wrapped up the wound in gauze tape, then buttoned the dress shirt back over it. After a second of pause, he buttoned the shirt up too — there was no sense in leaving traces of evidence around.
"Let's... get out of here," he said, and Byrne nodded.
As soon as they were back in Tyrell's car, Tyrell handed him a plastic bag. "Take off... your shirt."
Byrne laughed. "You know, you'd think that could wait until we get home," he said, flashing Tyrell a slightly-pained smile.
Tyrell suppressed his own laugh, forcing himself to give Byrne an unamused look. "I don't want... your blood... on my car."
Byrne nodded. "More seriously, I'm going to need some help," he said with a wince. "It still hurts to move it. At least it's only my right arm..."
Tyrell carefully peeled Byrne's clothing back off, making sure not to disturb his arm, and stuck it in his bag. It was hard to tell for sure in the light, but Byrne looked... uncomfortable, somehow, which didn't entirely make sense. It wasn't like Tyrell hadn't seen him shirtless too many times to count. He was shaking a little bit too, which was strange. He'd been perfectly calm in the library, which was much more dangerous.
...Actually, now that Tyrell thought about it, it was the middle of January, and even in Los Angeles it wasn't especially pleasant to be shirtless.
Tyrell retrieved his overcoat from the back seat. He'd taken it off for the mission — it was too distinctive — but that wasn't an issue inside Tyrell's car. He slipped it over Byrne's shoulders and positioned one side over the other.
"Are you sure?" asked Byrne. "I don't want to bleed on your coat."
"I'm sure... that gauze isn't going to soak through," said Tyrell. "Wouldn't risk it... otherwise." An innocent explanation for how Byrne's blood got on his overcoat wouldn't be impossible to come by, but it still wouldn't be ideal.
"Well, thank you."
"Do you know... what happened?" asked Tyrell.
Byrne shook his head. "Just what I told you already. Calisto's information must have been out of date, or something. I abandoned the mission as soon as I realized, but I'd already been spotted."
"Do you think... they identified you?"
Byrne hesitated a few moments. "I don't think so. ...But you should keep an eye out tomorrow, just in case."
"I will," said Tyrell.
He stepped on the gas and started the drive home. He wished he knew why so many of their missions lately were going sour, but for now, the biggest priority was ensuring that Byrne was safe. Figuring out what to do next could come later.