The Floating Girl: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mystery #4) (22 page)

Fearing it was an explosive, I jumped out of my hiding place and sprinted toward the house. I didn’t even know whether Natsumi had left the front door unlocked or if I could reach it before the motorcycle gang. As I ran past the parked line of motorcycles, someone called to me, rather drunkenly, “Hey, big sister!”

I faked a smile and ran all the faster. I was getting close to the stone steps leading to the front door. I was ten feet away from Takeo’s front door when it slid open. A huge dark figure clad only in a shower cap and towel stepped out.

“Marcellus, watch out!” I called in English.

But Marcellus stood firm with his legs planted widely on the front step. Mirrored sunglasses shielded his eyes, and in fact, they made him look pretty scary. He was a powerfully built man, with the kind of biceps and pectorals that come from heavy lifting.

“What the  ‘eck is goin’ on?” Marcellus bellowed in his stagy accent, a perfect blending of France-via-Senegal-via-California.

The first rider in line shouted to his minions and revved his engine ominously. This was going to be a disaster. Ten men in leather and helmets against one man in a towel.

But to my shock, the first motorcycle rider drove forward, executed a wheelie turn, and roared back down the driveway to the gate. The other motorcyclists made similar turns, and within two minutes, all had left, spraying pebbles everywhere and leaving a horrible smell of gasoline exhaust.

I tottered up the steps to Marcellus. “I don’t know how you knew what to say, but it worked. Thank God.”

“Everywhere I go in this country, men are afraid of me. I just have to show my face.” He sounded sad, and I reached out to squeeze his hand.

“Where have you been?” Takeo came out of the entrance hall holding a teapot. He was still clad in a bathrobe over pajama pants. He looked like somebody’s father, and he was frowning at the sight of me holding Marcellus’s hand.

“There’s no time for tea,” I said to Takeo. “There might be an explosive in the moss garden. We’ve got to evacuate.”

“Are you sure? I’ll turn on the garden lights and see what’s there.” Takeo went back into the house with the teapot and carefully placed it on a trivet, making me seethe with impatience. Then he played around with a panel of light switches in the entryway. I looked out the main door and, lo and behold, soft lights went on all over the garden, including the mossy patch where the motorcyclist had tossed the unknown object.

“Now all I have to do is get a good, safe view. I can do that from the roof.” He took his bird-watching binoculars from the entryway table. “This will be handy. Rei, why don’t you stand by with the cordless telephone in case we need to call the police?”

“You can’t call the police! Father will hear about it from the neighbors.” Natsumi, dressed in a sheer pink baby-doll nightie, had come into the entry hall, rubbing her eyes as if she had been asleep for ages and not just waltzed home with Marcellus twenty minutes prior. The nighttime raid had metamorphosed into a rather bizarre pajama party.

Takeo stuck his feet in some rubber gardening boots and tromped around to the side of the house overlooking the moss garden. The aluminum ladder had been folded and left lying on some stones; together we extended it so the top reached the house’s tiled roof, about twenty-five feet above the ground. I was glad it wasn’t a two-story house. Takeo climbed as confidently as the firemen doing their exhibition ladder tricks at my neighborhood festival each year, but I was still nervous.

“I’ve got something that looks like a brown envelope. Let me focus, and I’ll tell you what it looks like.” Takeo tinkered with the binoculars and said after a few seconds, “I can see it clearly. It’s a small package that’s stapled closed.”

“A package? How silly to get everyone out of bed for it. Rei, just go and pick it up if you’re so worried,” Natsumi ordered.

“There still might be danger. I will check it for you,” Marcellus volunteered, hips swaying as he set off. You could take the man out of the dance club, but you couldn’t take the dance club out of the man.

“Don’t get hurt,” Natsumi called tenderly after him. She didn’t give a damn if my hand was blown off, but she didn’t want the stranger she’d picked up to suffer.

“So, has Marcellus told you about his job?” I asked her, keeping my expression bland.

“He did not need to say anything. It doesn’t matter one bit, because I’m not looking for a provider, like some I can think of.”

If she knew how awkward things were for Takeo and me, she’d be elated. I ignored her smirk and kept my eyes on the dark garden. Marcellus had slipped out of my view, and that made me anxious. I wondered what might be in the package. A poison gas capsule. A snake. I thought of a few more horrible possibilities.

But within a few seconds Marcellus was back, holding the package carefully in both of his hands. He was studying it, so engrossed that he bumped into my favorite rock. As Marcellus pitched forward, his tiny towel slipped, too.

Natsumi screamed at me, “Don’t look at what you shouldn’t!”

“I’ve seen it before,” I snapped at Natsumi, and her face fell. Too late I thought of Takeo on the roof, taking in every word. I glanced up at him, and he glowered.

“No problem, no problem,” Marcellus said, rising and retying his towel without any embarrassment.

Takeo practically slid down the ladder, he was moving so fast. “Let me look at the package. There’s still a chance of danger.”

Marcellus waved the document at me and said, “It’s for you. Your name is on the envelope!”

“How do you even know her name?” Natsumi demanded.

“You explain, if you like,” I said to Marcellus. He didn’t.

“I think we should call the bomb squad before you open it,” Takeo said.

“Why such a change in attitude?” I asked.

“There are probably half a dozen bomb safety experts within a two-minute drive. With the emperor’s villa practically next door, there is always a team on hand, with dogs, in the event of any disturbance.”

I looked at the envelope, which Marcellus had placed on the house’s doorstep. The thickness of it suggested there was a small book inside. I thought about the things that were supposed to give evidence of a letter bomb—oil leaking from a corner, smudges of gunpowder—and didn’t see them.

True, my name was not written by hand, but made up of pasted-on letters that had been cut from a magazine. The
S
and
A
used in my surname, Shimura, looked familiar.

“Will you bring a copy of
Showa Story
to me?” I asked Takeo.

“Okay, but please think more about the bomb squad,” he said.

When he came out, I realized that my suspicion had proved correct. The
S
and
A
had been cut out of a
Showa Story
masthead.

“It’s extremely doubtful that cartoonists would know how to make a bomb,” I said, pointing out the lettering to Takeo. Marcellus and Natsumi weren’t around to hear; they had drifted away to argue in the moss garden.

“So you’re going to open it.” Takeo sighed heavily. “Can I at least suggest this as a safety precaution?” He handed me a pair of gardening gloves and a small, sickle-like instrument that he normally used for weeding. I put on the gloves and used the sickle to tear open the envelope edge.

I recognized the worn green cover immediately. It was my address book.

Takeo stared at it. “That looks familiar. I feel as if I’ve seen it somewhere.”

“Yes. It’s my address book.”

“The one I was supposed to retrieve from Bojo?”

“That’s right.” I paged through the book, stopping at page one, where my information was listed—name, fax number, address—in case it was lost. With all that, the Fish had chosen to have the book brought in a spectacular fashion to Takeo’s house. He was flipping his tail at me, or something.

“I wonder if Marcellus should see this,” I mused.

“Why? Of all the people in the world to confide in, why are you choosing Natsumi’s fling?”

“Marcellus has a connection. He danced in the same bar as Nicky.”

“That friend of Natsumi’s is a professional… dancer?” Takeo’s voice cracked. I nodded.

Takeo exhaled. “Oh. Now I understand why you said you’d seen his body.”

“Exactly.” I was relieved that I didn’t have to defend myself. “When I went looking for the
Showa Story
office, that address turned out to be a ladies-only nightclub. Marcellus was on stage.”

“I shouldn’t care about such things.” Takeo sounded pensive. “But somehow, I’d rather my sister’s boyfriend be a house painter or taxi driver than a person who takes off his clothing in front of others.”

“The pay for dancers is good,” I pointed out. “It’s actually more than you or I earn. But the conditions aren’t pleasant.” I thought about Chiyo’s dragon-lady nails tapping the bar impatiently and her shouting at Nicky to clean up spilled drinks. And later, Chiyo’s lack of worry about Nicky’s disappearance—just a quick, angry assumption that he had gone AWOL to work at another bar.

We settled down at the low walnut tea table in the living room. As I continued to page through the book, a photograph fell out. It was of Takeo’s Range Rover, easily identified by the license plates.

“So that’s how the motorcycle gang got in tonight,” I said. “They’d spied on you earlier and figured out the code.”

“When I drove back from the tile shop to the house last Saturday, some men were standing alongside the road with a variety of cameras. They were dressed in black leather. I remember thinking that they were probably a magazine crew from the city.”

I pondered the photograph until Marcellus and Natsumi trooped into the room. They were holding hands and had obviously made up, given that Natsumi was giggling. Marcellus was wearing the cotton
yukata
that I’d worn earlier and left hanging in the bathroom.

“And when you saw those bad men… they ran right away!” Natsumi exclaimed to Marcellus. “Why do you think that was?”

“There is a terror of people from different cultures,” Marcellus said.

“I have no terror. Only delight.” Natsumi’s face coquettishly vanished for a moment behind her smooth curtain of hair. She shook her hair back and smiled up at Marcellus, and I looked at Takeo.

He seemed tense, and I wondered if it was because of more than the fact his sister was about to go to bed with a male dancer. Finding out that he’d been stalked by gangsters must have been at least part of the problem. I wondered if I should have told him about the Fish. But I didn’t want to bring that up now, not in front of Marcellus and Natsumi. I had a few questions for them first.

“Where were you last Saturday?” I addressed my question to Natsumi, but to my surprise, Marcellus answered.

“I was dancing at the club. It’s my usual Saturday night plan. I’m here tonight only because I have one evening per week free.”

“That’s when we met. Last Saturday night.” Natsumi’s eyes glittered.

So Marcellus and Natsumi had a new, but preexisting relationship. They’d probably made plans for a weekend beach rendezvous, and Takeo’s showing up with me had almost foiled their plan. This was interesting information on its own, but I had other business to straighten out first.

“Natsumi, last Saturday were you visiting here in Hayama? Did you see any men in black leather?”

Natsumi answered, “No. As I said earlier, this is my first trip to the country in ages, and black leather boys are more likely in the city, aren’t they? I’m going to my room now. It’s very late.”

“I can’t speak for Rei, but I’m not going to bed,” Takeo said coldly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, our property was invaded. It’s my duty to stay awake and see nobody comes back.”

“I’ll stay up with you,” I said.

“How paranoid you are!” Natsumi rolled her eyes. “Now they’ve delivered their envelope, they’re done. Isn’t that what you told me, Marcellus-chan?”

I stared at Marcellus, who was looking uncomfortable in his tiny robe. He said quietly, “I don’t know about these men in particular, but I think that’s how gangsters work. I have witnessed some rather dramatic deliveries of letters and such in my work.”

“I’d like to hear about that,” Takeo said. “Could you sit down for just a second and tell us about it?”

Marcellus looked even more nervous. “Will you tell me what was in the envelope first?”

“I’m afraid it’s confidential,” Takeo said.

“My address book,” I said at the same time.

Takeo sighed heavily.

I said to him, “Marcellus was brave enough to pick up the package. He deserves to know what’s in it.”

“Are you saying that the motorcycle gang delivered something that belongs to you, Rei?” Marcellus looked shocked.

“Aren’t you coming with me to the room?” Natsumi asked him pointedly.

“Later,
cherie.
I want to learn the reason for this trouble.”

“Well, I’m too tired for all this! I’m going to relax in the bedroom,” Natsumi announced.

When Marcellus didn’t respond, she made an elaborate sighing sound almost identical to Takeo’s before slamming out of the room. You could tell, for once, that they were twins.

Takeo opened the doors of an antique paulownia cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of sake and three small glasses.

“No alcohol for me.” Marcellus screwed up his handsome, beaky nose. “Alcohol dehydrates. It is terrible for my skin.”

“I’ll take it,” I said. I needed something to aid me in unwinding after the fright of the motorcycle gangsters. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of mineral water for Marcellus and ice cubes for Takeo’s and my glasses. Sake was usually served warm, but I’d developed a taste for it over ice, especially in the summer heat.

Sipping the powerful, cool fluid, I asked Marcellus, “Would you tell me about the gangsters you’ve seen at the bar? Did they look like everyday toughs, or were they more… regular?” I asked, thinking of the Fish.

“The tough-looking ones come by to collect money every month, but it was not that way in the beginning. A middle-aged gentleman in a suit was the first one to come.”

“What time of day? Were the dancers around?” I asked.

“Nicky wasn’t there, if that’s what you are thinking. It was early one afternoon. I had duty at the door that day, so I saw him go in. I was curious what business a straight-looking salaryman would have with the place; actually, I suspected that he might be a husband of one of our patrons. An angry husband.” Marcellus smiled ruefully. “I was wrong. What I overheard was just business talk.”

“Can you remember the conversation?” Takeo asked.

“Just what I heard, and to be honest, understanding men’s Japanese is more difficult for me than women’s.”

“What do you mean?” Takeo said. “You seem to understand me.”

“Regular Japanese men, in everyday conversation, speak more roughly,” I explained to Takeo. “They use verb forms that foreigners don’t learn right away in language classes.”

“I agree, Rei-san. And for me, it is very difficult because while we are in the bar, we are encouraged to speak very politely to women, and that becomes our standard form of Japanese. Anyway, I was listening as carefully as I could, and what I believe the man was talking about was taxes. He said that Chiyo’s business made money that she didn’t report to the government.”

“Is that true?” I asked.

“Well, we boys are allowed to keep the tips the ladies give us. And there’s a back room where, well, sometimes very private things happen. We give Chiyo half of what the girls give us. I don’t think she’d declare that money to the government… how would she explain it?”

“I see the problem.” I paused. “Nicky liked working in the back room, didn’t he?”

Marcellus raised his eyebrows. “Very much so. He was very happy that he could get paid for pleasure. I refused to do it. Chiyo said that was okay with her. She understood.”

“Let’s get back to the gangsters,” Takeo said tersely. The conversation’s abrupt veering into matters of male sexuality was probably too much for him.

“What more can I say?” Marcellus sighed heavily. “Chiyo made an agreement to pay him. I think that many people in the floating world pay these fees.”

The floating world. I hadn’t heard that expression in a while. It was a historic term used to talk about the business of courtesans, their customers, and the middlemen who put them together. I supposed that Marcellus and other hosts and hostesses were the closest thing left to courtesans.

“Lots of people in Japan have had problems with
yakuza,”
Takeo said. “We’ve had to turn them away from the Kayama School.”

“Are you talking about the school where your sister will become the chief executive officer?” Marcellus asked.

“You haven’t wasted time finding out what she’s worth, have you?” Takeo sounded as if his worst fears had come to bear fruit.

“She told me right away,” Marcellus said. “In fact, it was a group of lady teachers from your family’s flower school who came for a celebration last Saturday.”

“What trouble have the Kayamas had with organized crime?” I asked, trying to get back on track.

“During my grandfather’s and father’s time, the
yakuza
bosses have come calling, trying to start a ‘partnership,’ as they called it, infusing money into the school in exchange for a share of the profits. Even when times were very hard, right after the Second World War, my family refused the help. As punishment, they kidnapped one of my great-aunts.”

“How terrible,” I said.

“My grandfather refused to pay the ransom. He would have paid if the ransom had been just cash. But the
yakuza
asked again for status as a business partner. So he couldn’t. And my great- aunt suffered.”

I couldn’t bring myself to ask Takeo what happened. He took a sip of sake and said, “The family arranged for her to take a cure in Switzerland, but there was a problem with her transit there during wartime, and she died during the trip. Some of my relatives say it was an accident, but my father thinks she committed suicide.”

“Revenge,” Marcellus murmured. “Perhaps our Nicky was killed in retaliation for something Chiyo-san did?”

“Yes, maybe she stopped paying them protection money, and the
yakuza
sent her a message by killing a dancer!” I was so excited that I knocked my sake glass sideways.

Takeo caught it and said, “Hold on. You’ve always had the theory that the killing was related to the comic book group. If you lose that, you’ve lost your story.”

I thought that Takeo had a point. If there was no comic connection, there was no money coming in for me from the
Gaijin Times.
Did that matter, though, in the context of the terrible things that had happened? The sinister motorcyclists might have been given the simple job of delivering photos, but by coming onto Kayama land, they had invaded a place I thought would be safe. Similarly, the story Takeo had told about his great-aunt had also stolen something precious from me. For so long, I’d studied Japanese antiques and old-fashioned culture; this was the reason that I’d admired the
Showa Story
series. Now the comic book was illustrating rape in graphic detail, and I’d learned that Takeo’s grandfather had kept his school pure at a terrible human cost.

“It is the truth that matters,” Marcellus said softly. “Not any story.”

“You’re right,” Takeo and I both said in unison, but the damage had been done. I’d selfishly voiced my desire to write something that would earn me money, and that had scared Marcellus into standing up, belting his
yukata
a little tighter, and storming off down the hall to Natsumi’s room.

I ran after him and grabbed the sleeve of his robe. He stopped.

“What?” He sounded exasperated.

“Why are you sleeping with Natsumi?” I asked.

“You’ll put it in your article.” Marcellus pulled away.

”No, I promise I won’t. I just need to know, as your friend.”

“The same reason you’re with the brother,
cherie.
Economic survival.”

I flushed. “That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?” Marcellus sighed. “Well, how lucky you are. The fact is, if I make dates with women, my salary doubles. But after a night like this one, I may just stick to my regular profession.”

“Good night,” I said softly, and he walked off. I’d thought he had gone in to sleep with her, but a few minutes later, there was a gliding sound. I figured out he’d made good on his word about returning to his regular profession.

“There’s something you left out,” Takeo said as we settled down on his futon. It was 6 a.m., and we both doubted the
bousouzoku
would come back at such an early hour.

“I can barely think at this point. Can we talk about it tomorrow?” I asked, yawning.

“It is tomorrow. I want to know more about the gangster who spoke to you. The one who said he wasn’t involved in Nicky’s death.”

“They say they aren’t involved, but with the performance we witnessed tonight, who knows?”

“Now you say
they,
but before you said
he.
I’m confused. You see, you were talking earlier to two men in the bar, two men who I assumed were the gangsters who provided this information. Now you’re talking about one man. Was he even at that table?”

“I was told not to say anything to you directly right now.”

“You are keeping something from me!” Takeo exclaimed.

“I think… the idea was that you would get hotheaded and seek revenge. I was in a semidangerous situation, you see.”

Takeo stared at me. “You mean to say that when you were struggling in the water, it had something to do with the
yakuza?”

“Yes,” I confessed. “A gangster pulled me underwater, but that was just to get my attention. After he stood me up, we talked for a few minutes. It ended with him saying that he’d return my address book, which he’d taken from the bar. I had no idea he’d send it to your house with
bousouzoku.”

“I looked through my binoculars.” Takeo sounded frustrated. “All I saw was you having a conversation with a completely ordinary-looking man. I mean, I thought he might be trying to make a date with you, but I didn’t suspect him of anything else.”

“He’s a family man. He was strictly business. He knew what information I was after, and he wanted to make clear that he had nothing to do with Nicky’s death. He even said I could quote him in the article.”

“But not to tell me?”

“No. I guess he didn’t want a scene on the beach.”

“How sensitive,” Takeo said, grimacing. “And why don’t you think he killed Nicky? He sounds like the most qualified person to do it, if you ask me.”

I shook my head. “I believe him. He told me he was disgusted with the lack of professionalism in that execution. He would have done it differently.”

“This is getting scary, Rei.”

“I agree.” I paused. “So does this mean we stay up longer?”

“You sleep,” Takeo said. “You’ve got to be at the convention in a few hours. I don’t.”