by John Greet
‘What?’
‘Call that diplomat guy and tell him you’ve managed to find Paolo’s family in Rio. Maybe you could say they visited the hotel in Bali once and you phoned and got their address from the hotel registrar.’
‘Could work,’ I said. I was keeping up the pretence, but at the same time warming up to the idea of having Paolo’s body returned to his family.
‘I’ll give you a phone number they can call. My family, our Mama … Paolo was her favourite. I can’t tell them. I tried, but I can’t do it. It is better they hear it from the Embassy.’
‘Okay, I’ll do that. I’ll call tomorrow … have you contacted Satchimoto?’ I asked after a moment’s pause.
‘He moved from the place where he used to live. But I gonna find him, man, trust me.’
I left the conversation there; I didn’t like the tone of Geno’s voice. We left the coffee shop and took the subway to Shinjuku. We walked around Kabukicho and stopped at a sushi shop with a revolving bar to drink some warm sake. Back out in the cold night air, under a blaze of flashing neon and the rattle of pachinko parlours, I asked Geno where he was staying.
‘I stay at love hotels. They don’t ask for I.D., and they charge by the hour, and I can change hotels every night. Hey man, I gonna go. Can you make that call tomorrow?’
‘Okay.’
‘Is there a number I can call you at?’
I hesitated at first but then gave Geno the number of the school where I taught, and I reminded him that he’d have to ask for Michael Brown.
‘Okay, Michael Brown. I gonna be in touch.’
I took the subway back to Akebonobashi. When I reached home, I changed into a kimono and went to the local bathhouse. The hot water stung my skin until my body adjusted to the temperature.
I didn’t know what it was that I wanted from Geno. Perhaps it was simply the fact that I could finally see him for who he really was, and that gave me some kind of satisfaction. For some odd reason I thought of the Spanish guy whom Geno had robbed. Then Paolo came to mind; his loyalty to his brother had cost him his life. I pushed away the image of his body in the morgue when I made the call to the Brazilian Embassy the following day.
‘Thank you for the information,’ said the diplomat. ‘I’m sure his family will be very grateful. We will take directions from them as to how they would like to proceed.’
* * *
I had found myself a peaceful place to unwind on the rooftop of my school building. Curved glass barriers sheltered the area from the wind, and bamboo grew from glazed pots. There was a slatted bench against the barrier where, between lessons, I would come and read or gaze out over the city. After a full day’s teaching at the school, I would walk home to Akebonobashi, stopping at sake taverns along the way. These tiny wooden drinking-houses that specialised only in warm rice wine brought back the memories of a bygone era. Beneath the glitter and neon shine of modern-day Tokyo, most of the old Japanese traditions still remained: like the communal gathering at the local bathhouses, where corporate businessmen chatted freely with tattooed Yakuza, or the gold-and-gilded Shinto shrines, often found wedged between a fish shop and a fruit seller, where men and women dresses in kimonos would toss in a coin, pull the bell chord and pray. I was fascinated by the city. But even as I moved amidst the teeming mass of people, all jammed together in these confined spaces and narrow alleys, going about their business with extreme politeness, I knew I could never live here. I missed the warm tropical nights of Bali. I missed Wayan’s cooking, the surf, the sunsets, the laughter and Janna. Every time I thought of her, my heart would beat harder.
* * *
Two weeks later, I got a phone call from the Brazilian Embassy, informing me that the family had chosen to have Paolo’s body returned to Rio for a full Catholic burial. The casket with the body had left on a flight to Brazil yesterday.
Then Geno called. ‘Hey, man, we have to meet. Tell me where you are.’ I didn’t want to give him my address, so I agreed to meet him that night at the revolving table sushi shop in Kabukicho.
I made my way past the gaudy strip joints, where doormen with punched permed hair and pointed white shoes tried to palm cards with pictures of hostesses into my hand. Groups of young Japanese boys stood lined up at peep-show parlours or checking out the mind-boggling sex toys arranged in shop windows.
As I took a seat in the sushi shop, Geno came in brimming with excitement. ‘Let’s walk, man. I don’t like to talk here,’ he said.
We walked out into the teeming crowds.
‘I’ve found Satchimoto.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s back in the travel business, runs an agency in Ginza.’
‘How did you find him?’
‘Don’t ask, man, don’t ask,’ said Geno. ‘Here, look at this.’ He handed me a key, a large brass key with a series of evenly indented lines running lengthways and an edge with a complicated cut, resembling a small saw. ‘There are two of these,’ said Geno. ‘I keep this motherfucking key in my asshole, along with my crucifix, the whole time I was in the Polda, and also in Kerobokan. There is another key. Satchimoto has it, and together they open a safety box in the bank of Tokyo in Ginza. You need both keys to open that box. There’s one million and two hundred thousand American dollars in that safety box.’ He paused to gauge the expression on my face. We’d stopped at the doorway of a pachinko parlour. The rattle and hum from inside had almost drowned his words.
‘That’s twelve hundred thousand dollars,’ he said louder. ‘That’s how we kept our money, you know. When it came to money, we didn’t trust each other. We would both show up together, each with our own key, and open that thing.’
I didn’t say anything. I knew there was more coming.
‘I want you to call him. You tell him Geno is dead, shot by Indonesian Police when resisting arrest. That before he escape from Kerobokan, he give you this key and told you what’s in the safety box. You’re here in Tokyo, man, and you gonna negotiate price for the key.’
‘Geno, I …’ I couldn’t speak. I was trying to act dumb, trying to do and say what Geno would expect from the old Adam. But it was becoming harder and harder. My anger and hatred threatened to burst through my façade. I’d got into the habit of keeping the carpet knife in my pocket. My hand was gripping its plastic handle now, nearly crushing it while Geno continued speaking. ‘Just hear me out okay? You ask to meet Satchimoto, tell him to come alone and bring along the key so you can be sure he still have it. He will come. You can count on that, man.’
‘Man, I …’ Geno didn’t let me speak.
‘Negotiate a price, maybe twenty-five percent. Don’t give him the key, but go to the safety box with him, open the thing and take your money.’
‘And where are you going to be while I’m doing this?’ I had my anger in check. All I had to do was humour him. Geno was so involved in making his plan that he hadn’t noticed me nearly lose it. I eased my grip on the carpet knife.
‘I gonna get the money. I gonna follow Satchimoto and take it from him. You can keep yours.’ His absolute gall and certainty that I would be willing to participate again in one of his mad plans made me laugh. He looked at me curiously.
‘So, is that a yes or a no?’ he asked.
‘It’s a no, a big fucking no. You must know that, man?’
‘Hey, what do I know? I know you need money, am I right?’
‘Yeah. I do, but I’m not going to do this.’
Geno remained quiet for some time. We eased our way through the mass of people, pushing towards Shinjuku Station. ‘Look, I gonna call you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Maybe you change your mind. Think it over, man.’ We parted under the Studio Alta screen.
* * *
Geno rang the following day.
‘Yes, I’m prepared to negotiate with Satchimoto. Come to my school,’ I said.
‘Exactly, man, exactly. Now give me the address.’
I met him in the crowded lobby on the ground floor of my building. We
walked to the bank of lifts. I pushed the button for the express lift to the thirty-fourth floor. Only Geno and I remained in the lift as it rose through the last twelve floors to the roof. It opened into a small lobby. We walked up a set of stairs and into the doorway that led out to the roof.
‘Hey, this is beautiful, man, but what the fuck are we doing here?’ Geno asked, looking down through the glass suicide-barriers.
‘I’ll call Satchimoto and ask him to come here. I’ll tell him you’re dead, like you suggested and that I have the second key and want to negotiate with him. I’ll insist he brings his key. I’m going to bring him here to this roof. We will set a time, and you will be here too. You can hide down the stairwell, out of sight until you see us go through, and if there’s anybody up here then the deal’s off. Understood?’
‘Of course, man, of course.’
‘You take the key from Satchimoto and walk away.’
Geno looked at me suspiciously. ‘That motherfucker kill my brother,’ the words were spat out like bullets.
I felt my fists tighten at the mention of Paolo. I had to turn away in case my contempt showed. Yes, it was indeed Satchimoto who’d had Paolo killed, but it was Geno who had put him in that situation, who had ruined his own brother. I steadied my breathing and managed to regain control. I turned again to face Geno.
‘I know,’ I answered, trying to inject sympathy into my tone, but it sounded false even to my own ears and my voice cracked a little. Geno’s eyes narrowed as he looked hard at me.
Panic set in. My heart thumped. I was afraid that he knew what I was up to and that I was bullshitting. I opened the carpet knife in my pocket and felt the sharp blade with my thumb and forced myself to continue. ‘When he sees you and knows you’re alive, he’s going to have to spend the rest of his life in hiding, knowing that at any time you might appear and cut his throat. You take the keys and leave.’ My voice steadied as I slipped back into character.
‘You liked my brother Paolo, eh?’ said Geno curiously.
‘Yes, I did,’ I said, uncertain about where this exchange was headed.
‘And you wish it was me dead, not Paolo. Am I right?’
‘I don’t wish anybody dead … Not you or Paolo,’ I said, pushing my free hand into my pocket to stop it from shaking. Desperate moments passed between us. Geno turned away. He had his head down and was shuffling his feet. I felt my face burn, felt sweat break out on my brow. My throat tightened.
‘And what do you want?’ asked Geno finally. I exhaled slowly. He was normal again. I could see his suspicion had passed and he was struggling to grasp the reason for my proposal.
‘Nothing,’ I answered. ‘You get the money, all of it, and Satchimoto gets to live in fear for the rest of his days.’
Geno sat silently on a slatted bench, then said, ‘You’re a strange man, Adam. You’re a good man, you know. I love my brother too, eh. We got that in common. And Satchimoto walks away?’
‘Yes.’
Geno put his head in his hands. ‘Okay, we do it your way. I agree to that for you, man, not for that piece of shit. I let Satchimoto go for you.’
‘Deal,’ I said, and we shook hands. Geno handed me the key along with Satchimoto’s number, and we descended the thirty-four floors in the express lift.
29
I called Satchimoto immediately. I wasn’t sure that I could handle any more of this. My anxiety levels were going through the roof, threatening to break through my composure. I needed to act fast or I was likely to pull out. It had been a close call with Geno on the rooftop. I dialled the number. A receptionist put me straight through.
‘Satchimoto, it’s me, Adam from Bali. I’m in Tokyo.’ I heard a grunt that told me he was listening. ‘Geno is dead, shot while resisting arrest after his escape.’
This news brought forth an immediate response. ‘When did that happen?’ he asked.
‘Recently.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I was asked to identify the body.’
‘What do you want from me?’ Satchimoto’s voice was flat.
‘Before he escaped from prison, Geno gave me a key. He said you have the other one. Do you know what I’m talking about?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’m here to negotiate. The Sandika needs money urgently; its survival depends on it. Anak’s lost heavily in the cockfights and mortgaged the place. If I don’t get the money, we’ll be bankrupt,’ I said, making it all up as I went along. I heard Satchimoto laugh, a staggered sarcastic goat-like laugh that indicated he believed my story.
‘Where do you want to meet?’ he asked.
I gave him the address of my building and arranged to meet him in the lobby the following day. ‘Come at two thirty. And bring your key … I want to see it.’
‘Of course, and you bring yours too. I want to make sure it’s the correct key as well.’
I cautioned that he must come alone, adding that I would also be alone. He grunted in agreement. As Satchimoto hung up, I knew he’d bought my story. I was a person he trusted. After all, when Satchimoto had confessed about his drug-smuggling operation to me, I’d kept silent, which had allowed him to leave Bali. I knew he’d be there on time and that he’d come alone.
I hardly slept that night; panic and fear made it difficult to breathe. The hot baths failed to calm me, and the sake did nothing to soothe my nerves. I woke up early, got dressed in a linen suit and walked to work. The morning class was a group of beginners, about ten students in all. At twelve I received a phone call from Geno; I made it brief and said, ‘Two thirty today.’ Geno hung up without answering.
My afternoon class was a group of businessmen from a local I.T. firm. They were advanced English speakers and the weekly class revolved mostly around having conversations, learning the more obscure tenses, memorising irregular verbs and so on. I would often give them exercises to do and leave the room for short periods. As the time approached, I found myself sweating even though the air conditioning was on. I set my students an exercise of memorising twenty irregular verbs and writing sentences using the past participle and then excused myself, saying I needed to use the bathroom.
* * *
I had forgotten how short Satchimoto was until I met him in the lobby. He wore a suit that had obviously been tailored to fit his tiny frame, along with a blue shirt and white tie. But something was different about him. What was it? He smiled as he shook my hand, and I saw he had the most brilliant set of pearly-white false teeth. He appeared relaxed as we walked towards the bank of lifts.
‘I know a private place where we can talk.’ I led him into the express lift and hit the button for the top floor.
‘And how is everyone at the Sandika?’ he asked as the lift doors closed.
I didn’t answer. I took out of my pocket the key Geno had given me and showed it to Satchimoto. He responded by showing me the key he had. They were definitely a pair; both were engraved with the same box number.
We were now speeding past the tenth floor, and I had to move fast. As floors twenty-two to thirty-four were mostly apartments, there was very little lift traffic, but I wanted to get my message across to Satchimoto before then. I positioned myself in front of the lift controls and steadied my voice. ‘Geno is alive and well. He is waiting for you at the top floor. He will take your key and cut your throat with a carpet knife.’
I waited a second. Satchimoto smiled as if he thought I was joking. His false teeth flashed white for an instant, then he took in the seriousness of my face and turned pale, his eyes flaring with fear. ‘Stop the lift!’ he stammered, pushing at me, trying to get at the controls.
I shoved him away. We’d just passed floor twenty-two.
‘Geno has a gun to my head. He forced me to make the call to you. I don’t want to do this, but I have no choice. He’ll kill me too if I don’t.’ The lift was fast approaching the top floor. ‘There’s a way out of this. We have one chance. I know that the money is more important to Geno than your life. Give
me your key. If you don’t have the key, he won’t kill you. I’m sure of that.’ The lift had reached the top floor. Satchimoto was scared witless and with a trembling hand, he gave me his key. I put it in my jacket pocket. ‘And whatever happens, whatever he does, don’t tell him I’ve got the keys. Or we’re both dead. Do you understand?’
He nodded, his body shaking. The lift doors opened, but he remained glued to the back of the lift and I had to pull him away and shove him up the stairs and out onto the roof.
Geno moved swiftly. He was through the door instantly, charging at Satchimoto. He slapped his face, knocking him to the floor. ‘Give me my key, motherfucker!’
‘I haven’t got it. It’s back at the office,’ pleaded Satchimoto as he got up. Geno looked at me for affirmation.
‘That’s what he said.’ I shrugged.
‘You didn’t bring it, you piece of shit. You kill my brother, you kill my brother Paolo.’
Just as Satchimoto regained his footing, Geno slapped him so hard on the other side of his face that his false teeth shot out of his mouth and landed at my feet. Satchimoto staggered and fell again, close to the glass barrier. Geno was out of control, possessed by a rage so violent that all reason had left him. ‘You think I care about money, you murdering motherfucker? You think I’m like you? You kill my brother, like you think you can do anything, and you come here with no key …’
Satchimoto lay where he’d landed. Geno took him by both wrists and began to whirl him around in circles. He whirled him faster and faster until Satchimoto was horizontal; Geno was a powerfully built athlete, and Satchimoto a tiny Japanese man. Around and around they went.
There was nothing I could do. Geno was spinning Satchimoto around with such force, I would’ve been knocked down had I tried to stop them. After a couple of powerful circles, Geno let Satchimoto go. Like a discus thrower, arms extended in a final thrust, Geno heaved him upwards. Satchimoto’s body went flying over the curved glass suicide barrier. His hand shot out to catch the edge of the glass, but he missed. Satchimoto started to fall. I caught a last glimpse of his toothless face, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. He slid faster and in an instant he was gone. The only evidence that he’d been there was a thin trail of snot that ran down the glass and a pair of false teeth on the roof. Then Geno came at me. His face was furious and wild, still possessed by the power of his rage. I could tell he didn’t recognise me. A carpet knife appeared in his hand. His thumb pushed the razor-sharp blade out of its plastic socket.