Tokyo Enigma (16 page)

"I said I'd do whatever I can. I won't know what that is until
it happens."

"That sounds like..." Yuri struggled for a translation.
"
Aimai
, it sounds like you're giving yourself a lot of
leeway."

There were a few people I held myself accountable to, but
Sayoko wasn't on the short list. "If she wants guarantees, tell her she
got born into the wrong universe. What did she mean about Maho
protecting this guy?"

"She helped him with money. He had trouble over a loan.
"

"What's that got to do with her death?"

Not much as it turned out. Sayoko believed that Maho had
eventually gotten into trouble over money, because she had been
sharing too much of it with our young man. Loose connection. When
I asked his name and how to contact him, she was evasive. I
persisted. She pressed her arms against her sides, folded her hands
in her lap and stared at them a little too long.

Long enough for me to figure a couple of things out.

"Did you and he... I mean, did it begin before or after
Maho-san was killed?"

"Before."

"And she still gave him money?"

"She didn't know."

In four or five thousand years of recorded history, the
highest evolution of human relations that I could see were poker
buddies. At least you knew who the cheats were.

Yuri stepped in and tried gentle persuasion with Sayoko.
Eventually, we got the guy's name, Jun Eguchi. She also promised to
introduce us. By time we got that settled. I was starved. Yuri checked
with Morimoto and Nozaka and ordered sandwiches. It looked like a
long night. They were still loading video.

When they finished, I grabbed one of the computers and ran
a fast-forward to our confrontation with Yamazaki. It was interesting
to see the expression he wore right when he had figured out the
ruse. Otherwise, all we got were tired eyes and stiff necks, even
though everyone helped out. Even Sayoko was hunched over one of
the monitors.

Around ten o'clock, I'd had as much as I could handle. I
tapped Sayoko on the shoulder and asked her to follow me. We went
into the lobby. The basic Japanese skills I'd learned in the military
had been coming back. They still didn't go far, but they'd have to
do.

"
Tsukaremashita ka
?"

"
Hai
." She rolled her head and rubbed the back of her
neck to show just how tired she was. "But I feel better than after...,"
she tried English and stalled.

"After seeing the apartment," I said. "You need a good rest.
I'm staying in a nice hotel with a big bed and bath. You can take my
room tonight, if you would like."

At first she frowned, then clicked, smiled and held out her
hand for the key. "
To omotta. Yuri-san to
..." She touched one
fist to her heart.

"Yeah, thanks."

It wasn't necessary to suggest calling it a night. When we got
back to the work area, they were already shutting down the
computers. Yuri offered me a ride back to the hotel.

"I asked Sayoko to spend the night in my room. She said
okay." My idea of comic entendre. I thought I might get a rise out of
Yuri, if only for a second. I didn't.

"Watch after her. I'm exhausted."

I stopped stone still.

Yuri kept walking. She didn't even turn around. She just put
her hand over her shoulder palm up and curled her index
finger.

If the concierge was curious about my showing up at the
hotel to pick up Sayoko, he didn't let it show. He just said "good
morning" like he was pleased to see an old friend. Sayoko looked
relaxed.

"Sleep well?"

"Yes, I wouldn't mind staying here again."

Wouldn't mind that myself. I'd have to give Abe a
forwarding phone number to Yuri's place.

Sayoko had set up a meeting for the next day with Jun
Eguchi in Jiyugaoka, a little village of craft shops and oddball
restaurants. We met in one built with post and beam construction,
thick wood planks and Japanese fare. I liked the place.

Eguchi was a third-year college student, about five-eight,
skinny, with an average-looking face. He drank beer and talked
freely. His parents had refused to buy him a motorcycle, so he had
borrowed money from a loan shark, apparently without any idea of
how to pay it back. He met Maho, and she bailed him out, end of
story.

He was a link in events in which two people had died and
Yuri and I had been injured and threatened with weapons. He wasn't
the cause of that, but still I had wanted to hear something else.
Maybe that Maho had given money to an underground radical, an
impassioned young man railing at the Mandarins who had let Japan
rot on the vine for decades, so they could keep their perks.

Or that he was a starving poet.

Or at least a rebel rocker who needed a new Gibson.

I wasn't looking for meaning, just a little more symmetry
than a boy who had bilked a girl for a bike.

"Did Maho ever say anything about a video?" Yuri said in
Japanese.

He wagged his head and slumped further down in his
seat.

"Did she leave anything with you for safekeeping? A small
box or package?"

"
Iya
,
video nan te shiranai
."

"Not just a video, anything at all," I said, and refilled his beer
glass as Yuri translated.

He cocked his head and scratched behind his ear. Then he
reached into his jean's pocket and pulled out a key ring.

"She asked him to keep that, but didn't say why or what it
was to," Yuri translated.

The transfer of that property was as anticlimactic as the
man himself. He slipped the key off the ring anchored by a plastic
Budweiser logo and laid it on the table.

"Thanks," I said. "I guess we can go now."

Sayoko held back and said she wanted to stay.

Yuri looked uneasy, but she couldn't watch over her
indefinitely. We all exchanged mobile phone numbers along with
assurances to check in with one another daily.

Yuri and I headed back to her office.

"I don't understand," I said as much to myself as to
Yuri.

"What?"

"The attraction to that boy, Maho, Sayoko. He acts like he
couldn't make through the day without a guidebook."

"Who were you expecting, Erroll Flynn?"

Yuri had a way of throwing zingers out of left field. "He's
dead."

"Yeah, but he was gorgeous before he got that way. I'm not a
good person to ask. Eguchi's not my type, and the 'P' in my job title
stands for private investigator, not psychologist."

"Right, but..."

"I'm a woman?"

"In spades."

"Not enough of a qualification, but I'll give it a shot. Do you
know
bosei honno
?"

"No."

"It means maternal instinct.
Bosei honno o kusuguru
otoko
is a man who is attractive because he tickles the maternal
instinct of a woman. How do you say that in English?"

"You just did. I expect we have the phenomenon, but as far
as I know, we don't have a name for it."

"Anyway, maybe that's it. Maybe there was a little rivalry
between Maho and Sayoko. You should have asked her."

I didn't really care, except for the symmetry. What I did care
about was the key. It was the original. The manufacturer would be
easy to identify, and it had a serial number stamped on it. It was just
a matter of time before we found whatever lock it fit.

Yuri figured a day, two at the most. "With any luck at
all."

Luck is a two-face.

I wasn't expecting a call, so I had my mobile phone buried in
a coat pocket and the ring set low. Barely heard it. Figured it must be
Abe Granger.

"Sanchez-san?"

Not Abe.

"This is Kuroda."

"The cop who gave Yuri Taen a hard time."

"Forget that. Can you meet me tonight?"

"What time?"

"About eight o'clock. There is a club called the Crocodile
between Shibuya and Harajuku."

"All right, I'll be there. Okay if I bring Taen-san."

"I look forward to seeing you alone."

I see.

When Yuri and I got back to Protect Agency, she looked the
place up and printed out a map for me. Then she went to work on
identifying the key.

I went to my hotel to type up a progress report for Abe.
Actually, it was more of an event report. Things were happening but
not much progress.

Yuri had advised me to give myself an hour to get to the
Crocodile. I didn't have her confidence, so I left at six-thirty. It was
easier than I had expected. The place was on a main street and had a
conspicuous sign in front of a walk-down entrance to a cellar. It was
a "live house," which means they had "
nama
bands."
Nama
means "raw" as in fish or "draft" as in beer. With
bands, it means "in the flesh." I didn't want to think about the word
associations.

There was a long bar that had a bulge at one end, a few rows
of narrowly spaced tables and a pool table with a vinyl cover and
benches around it. The owner wasn't particular about his
decorations. A life-sized plastic reptile was secured to the ceiling, but
it was an alligator, round snout, not a narrow-snout crocodile. A
Texas Swing band was playing "Rose of San Antonio" and Kuroda
was at the bar drinking an Asahi Dry beer out of a longneck bottle.
No matter where in the world you were from, Japan had something
to make you feel at home.

He waved me over. "How's the music?"

"Excellent." It was an eight-piece mini orchestra complete
with strings, brass, woodwind and percussion. If I'd closed my eyes,
I'd have thought I was in Austin. "The only problem is the vocalist.
His voice is too pretty, no Bob Wills twang."

"I'm glad you like it."

The band had a good decibel level. We could hear each other
talk. Even so, I don't think Kuroda understood much of what I said
past "excellent," but that was enough. I ordered a beer and we
clicked longnecks.

The singer looked like he was in his late fifties, about the
same age as most of the customers. I'd liked to have interviewed that
crowd to find out if they were here for the music or just regulars. I
also wanted to know what was going on with Kuroda. I didn't want
to be blunt, so I drank half the beer before I popped the
question.

"What are we doing here, Kuroda-san?"

He looked offended.

"You're from Texas, right?"

"Yeah."

"Relax. Lay back, Luckenbach." He laughed at his own
joke.

Either Kuroda was experimenting with Dr. Jekyll drugs, or
the Metro PD was so short-staffed, he had to do the bad cop, good
cop routine by himself. Whatever his motivation, he'd certainly done
his homework. I didn't think he listened to a lot of Texas classic on
his off time. Things might not have been what they seemed, but there
was no point in letting paranoia spoil a good time. I ordered another
longneck and chatted with Kuroda. The only foreigner in the band
was the double-bass player. During a break, he stopped at the bar,
and we started talking. He said the group was mostly studio
musicians, solid pros who could play anything from Bach to blues.
They liked to kick back once in a while.

"Laid back," I smiled at Kuroda and pointed to the bass
player. Then I pointed to the floor, "Luckenbach."

The bass player switched to Japanese and left me tying to
follow his conversation with Kuroda. After he went back for the
second set, I told Kuroda that it sounded like the guy had been born
here.

"He was. Maybe you should get to know him. He's not so
dangerous as your other friends."

"I don't have friends."

"Yamazaki?"

It looked like Kuroda was finally ready to tell me why we
were here.

"In the park with Taen-san and Mr. Allworth. What was it
you gave to him?" Kuroda asked.

"Nothing."

"But you did."

"Nothing you'd be interested in. It was a canvas satchel with
a deck of cards inside." Kuroda scowled. I didn't give him time for a
follow-up. "It's the truth. Have you been having me followed?"

"No. Why did you give Yamazaki cards?"

"To..."
Find out who planted the bugs in Lance Allworth's
office.
"To confuse him."

"If you're hiding information that I should know, it could be
difficult for you later."

"Same as anywhere. You haven't had me followed?"

"I already said no."

Does that mean the bugs in Lance Allworth's office
belonged to the police? How else would they have known?

"Yamazaki's not my friend, Kuroda-san. Is he yours? Are you
confirming his report on me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm looking for—"

"Justice, I know." I asked the bartender for my check.
"Thanks for the invitation, good band."

"You don't trust me do you, Sanchez-san?"
Kuroda-the-good-cop was smiling.

I didn't answer.

"In the park, you had two men taking videos. There was a
bench about twenty meters from the statue where you met
Yamazaki. It was to your right. One man was sitting on it. He was
reading a newspaper. Did you notice him?"

"No."

"Check your video." Kuroda raised his beer. "See you
around."

It was late, and I was tired. On the way to my hotel, I tried to
figure out Kuroda. I didn't have much success. Maybe it was a
cultural matter, and he was having similar problems with me. He
was probably having even more trouble with Yuri, a Japanese
woman half-reared in the U.S and with a stronger will than a
Missouri mule.

I ran through some scenarios to try to see through the haze.
The only one that made sense was my first conclusion: the Metro PD
had planted the bugs in Lance's office. That by itself might make
sense. What didn't make sense was why a message dropped on the
MPD had brought out Yamazaki. I fluffed up my pillow. A good
night's sleep, a few dreams to sort out events of the day, and things
would be clear in the morning. Right?