by Barry Eisler
Well, we were going to find out how profound that sentiment really was. And how permanent.
I headed up Sixth Avenue all the way to Christopher, where I made a left. Of course I had already familiarized myself with these routes using various Internet maps, but there's never a substitute for direct experience with the local terrain. There it was, on the other side of the street, a seventeen-story building, prewar, from the look of it, with a doorman in a long coat standing under a green awning out front. In this light and these clothes, and with the umbrella held low against the weather, I wasn't worried about being spotted, and I slowed. I looked at the building and imagined where I might set up if I were the one waiting here for myself. There weren't a lot of great spots. There was no parking on this section of the street, so vehicle surveillance was out. And the restaurants and gay bars Christopher Street is known for were too far from the apartment to be useful.
There was the doorman, of course. It wasn't impossible that someone had gotten to him, bribed him to keep an eye out for the Asian man in some file photo. I filed him for later consideration.
I kept walking. The bars at the end of the street had some people in front of them, mostly smokers, but no one who was in a position to watch Midori's building or who otherwise felt wrong to me. I noted that several of the places offered live music, and wondered if Midori had chosen the neighborhood in part because of its proximity to her nightly gigs. Probably she had. I thought about taking a look inside, just to see if anyone caused a radar ping, but as always there was a cost-benefit equation at work and this time it argued against being too thorough. Anyone who was here to watch Midori would have to do so from close by her apartment, not from within one of the neighborhood watering holes. And if there were anyone relevant in one of these places, he could as easily spot me as I could spot him. Indoors, I wouldn't have the windbreaker and umbrella to hide behind.
I zigzagged my way south. It was hard to say what it meant that I hadn't spotted anyone tonight. It could be they were focusing more on her public performances, or that she was out at the moment and they knew it. I'd have to know more before I could safely close in.
I stopped at a SoHo bistro for a quick dinner and moved on. According to her website, Midori had a four-night appearance coming up at a jazz club called Zinc Bar on the corner of Houston and La Guardia. The club took me a minute to find, even though I knew the address. It was hidden below street level at the bottom of a steep set of stairs, and the gold letters announcing its existence were only visible when you were directly in front of the place.
I walked down, went through the red curtains, paid the five-dollar cover, and moved inside.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark, but when they had I was pleased to see that the place was exactly what I was hoping for. The room was a long rectangle with a bar to one side and tables along the other. The stage was set up at the far end. If someone were here watching Midori, Dox would have no trouble spotting him.
I hadn't planned to stay, but I liked the guy who was playing, a guitarist and vocalist named Ansel Matthews, so I ordered an eighteen-year-old Macallan, then sat listening and musing in the semidarkness. I pictured Midori playing in this very room just a few nights hence, and my heart kicked faster.
I spent the next three days walking ceaselessly through lower Manhattan, getting comfortable with the rhythms of its neighborhoods, reacquainting myself with the layout of the streets. The city felt remarkably safe these days. A few times, very late at night, I passed some rough-looking individuals, but my vibe was different without Delilah by my side, and the natives here had no trouble reading it and steering clear as a result.
On one of these excursions, on a garbage-strewn, graffiti-covered street on the Lower East Side at close to two in the morning, I passed an unmarked door just as a well-dressed couple was leaving it. I realized there was a bar or club inside, and, on uncharacteristic impulse, I pressed the buzzer on the building's façade. A moment later there was the sound of a lock releasing, and I pulled the door open. It was pitch-dark beyond, and it took me a moment to realize I was looking at a curtain. I moved past it and encountered another. I parted this one as well, and found myself standing at the far end of a quietly spectacular bar.
It was a single room, with a brick wall on one side and plaster and some sort of hammered metal on the other. There were about eight booths, lit mostly by candlelight, with a small wood and metal bar in between them. Soft music I couldn't identify but immediately liked played in the background, mingling with quiet laughter and conversation. The bartender, a pretty woman in her mid-twenties, asked if I had a reservation. I admitted I didn't, but she told me it was fine, I could have a seat at the bar anyway.
The place, I learned, was called Milk & Honey. The bartender, who introduced herself as Christi, asked me what I did, and I found I didn't want to lie to her. I told her I'd rather hear about the bar, and she and a colleague, Chad, explained that Milk & Honey existed to provide the best cocktails in Manhattan and the right atmosphere in which to enjoy them. They squeezed their own juice and prepared their own tinctures and even carved their own ice — it was that kind of place. I enjoyed myself so much that I wound up staying for three of their stunning mixes — including a caipirinha made with Pot Still rum and infused with muddled concord grapes. All were prepared with a level of care and enthusiasm I had never seen outside Japan.
I imagined taking Midori here, with no reason or circumstance other than our desire to be together. We'd never had that before, I realized. Initially, I'd used her for information about her father. Then I'd gone on the run with her, protecting her from the people who'd hired me to kill him. Finally, when she was safe, she'd hunted me down to confront me over her suspicions about who I was and what I had done. All of it had been so intense, we'd never had a chance to just relax, to see what it was between us.
What it was between us? I thought. You killed her father.
Jesus. What the hell was I thinking? I was never going to be able to take her here, here or anywhere else. This was crazy, it was never going to work.
I wanted to get out, get the next plane to anywhere and forget that Midori lived here, forget everything. What I had with Delilah was good. I was an idiot for doing anything to risk it.
But I had to see the child. I had to know.
The problem was, it wasn't just Delilah I was risking. It was much more than that, and I knew it.
But I couldn't think of the stakes now. I couldn't fully face them.
5
I called Dox Monday evening as we had discussed. He had already arrived and checked in at 60 Thompson in SoHo, and at his suggestion we met at a place called The Ear Inn, on Spring between Washington and Greenwich. It was about a half-hour walk from the Ritz and the weather was cold and crisp, so I strolled north along the river, then cut east to the restaurant. I went inside and liked what I saw: a dark, unpretentious room of wood and brick with a palpable sense of history. There was a long bar and a dozen wooden tables scattered throughout.
I looked around and there was Dox, big as a linebacker and still as the Buddha, sitting at a corner table with a view of the entrance. When he saw me, he got up, strode over, and gave me one of his bear hugs. Other than the momentary inability to breathe it induced, it felt good, I had to admit, and I found myself hugging him awkwardly back.
'Good to see you, man,' he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. 'And in the Big Apple, of all places.'
I scanned the room and saw an odd but somehow natural mix of what I classified as teamsters and hipsters. No one was posturing, no one was using a cell phone, no one was paying us any attention. People were just enjoying themselves. No one set off my radar.
'It's good to see you, too,' I told him. 'No goatee today?'
He grinned and rubbed his chin. 'You heard Delilah, partner. When she told me in Hong Kong I had good bones, my facial hair was gone forever.'
I laughed. We walked back to his table so we could wat
ch the room and talk more privately.
'You just fly in today?' I asked.
'Nah, I drove in. Been away a lot and wanted to spend a few days seeing the country go by. Plus there's so much security in airports these days. I hate to choose between death by paperwork on the one hand and disarmament on the other just to travel a little, you know what I mean?'
'You mean they wouldn't let you bring a rifle on the plane with you? There's no justice, Dox.'
He laughed. 'Well, there's always a workaround. Got my trusty M40A1 in the trunk, just in case. Like they say in the ads, don't leave home without it.'
We ordered burgers and Guinness stouts. While we ate, I briefed him on everything: Midori, and my role in her father's death; my last night with her in Tokyo; Tatsu's revelation about the baby; what was going on with Delilah. Everything.
'Damn, man, my first impulse is to congratulate you,' he said, when I was done. 'But you seem so ambivalent I don't know what to say.'
'How would you react?'
'Well, that's a fair question. I've had a few scares along the way, but they all seemed to resolve themselves before I really had a chance to panic'
'So you were on the verge of panic at the prospect, and you're giving me a hard time for being ambivalent at the reality?'
He smiled. 'Not a hard time. Just trying to be sensitive to what you're going through. Underneath this rugged exterior I'm actually a caring and compassionate man.'
'I don't know what I'm going through.'
'Well, what do you want to do?'
'I need to see her. And the baby. But with Yamaoto's people watching her… it's complicated.'
'What's with you and this Yamaoto again?'
'He's a politician with his fingers in everything in Japan — construction kickbacks, bribery, prostitution, narcotics, extortion, you name it. Close ties to the yakuza. In fact, he is yakuza. They take orders from him, not the other way around. The politics is just a hobby he can use to indulge his right-wing convictions and convince himself that all the crime is really for a noble purpose.'
He scratched his head. 'And you met Midori through him?'
'Sort of. He was the one who hired me to take out her father, although at the time I didn't even know I was on his payroll. I met Midori by a coincidence after that, and when I learned Yamaoto was gunning for her, too, I stopped him. Midori and I… for a while we were on the run together. It was… I don't know, it was just one of those crazy things that happen.'
He nodded. 'Yeah, I've had a few of those.'
'Anyway, apparently Yamaoto is still unhappy about the damage I did to him when we locked horns. It's become a grudge.'
'He's in Japan but he's got people here?'
'He's getting help from the triads. The Chinese mob has a bigger presence in New York than the yakuza.'
'Haven't those triad boys been moving into Japan, too?'
'Yeah. There's a long-running struggle in Tokyo between the yakuza and the triads there. They both want the drug and prostitution trades for themselves. Yamaoto must be ceding something to the triads in Tokyo in return for their watching Midori in New York.'
'All right, I get it. And you want me to help you identify the surveillance so you can circumvent it.'
'Exactly.'
'Well, hell, this isn't even much of a favor. When you first called, I figured it was because you wanted to send someone on a Valhalla vacation.'
'If that's all it were, I could take care of it myself.'
'Yeah, I expect you could.' He took a swallow of beer. 'You know, the surveillance doesn't really bother me. I reckon we can spot the gaps easily enough and slip you through one of them.'
'Okay, good.'
'But, have you thought about… you know.'
'No, what?'
He finished his beer and signaled the waitress to bring us a couple more. 'I mean, she knows you killed her old man. I expect that's a hard thing for a person to get over. It sure would be for me.'
'Well, what am I supposed to do? Just pretend I don't know there's a child?'
'No, I guess you can't do that, either. It's a complicated situation, I'll give you that.'
The waitress brought our beers and moved off.
'They've been watching her since when?' Dox asked.
'Since they learned about the baby. About a year. That's what convinced them I'd come back to her.'
He looked at me, half amused, half concerned. 'Well, looks like they might have been on to something there.'
I shrugged.
'You thought about calling her first?' he asked. 'Or sending an e-mail?'
I shook my head. 'I don't think it's a good idea.'
'You worried they're monitoring her electronically?'
'No, Tatsu told me they're not. But I don't know how she'll react to hearing from me. It's better if I do it in person.'
He nodded and drained a third from the mug. 'Well, she's a jazz pianist, right? Her schedule's public. If you wanted to get to her, that's where you'd most likely start.'
'Right. So we can expect surveillance at her performances. But the photos Tatsu acquired weren't taken at a performance. She was at an outdoor cafe somewhere, with the baby. Daytime.'
'If it was daytime, my guess is they followed her from where she lives.'
'Agreed.'
'You know, sending a foot soldier to take in a public jazz performance from time to time is one thing. But if they're giving Yamaoto enough local manpower to watch Midori's apartment, too, that's a pretty big favor he must be doing them in return.'
'Told you he's got a grudge.'
'I swear, man, you've got an uncanny knack for getting people pissed at you. You ever considered charm school?'
'Yeah, it's on my to-do list.'
He paused as though considering. 'One thing we might not have thought of. Has her building got a doorman? Those boys aren't paid the best wages in the world, and…'
'Yeah, I've thought about that, too. There is a doorman, and it's possible someone got to him. But I think the odds of that are low. If Yamaoto had the doorman in his employ, why would he need to bother with the Chinese? We know they're costing him more than a bribed doorman.'
He nodded. 'Well, what does all this mean for you and Delilah?'
I hesitated. 'I don't know.'
'Guess you couldn't ask for her help on this one, under the circumstances.'
'Very funny.'
'If she dumps you for me, you won't be bitter, will you? She's bound to get tired of your Hamlet routine, and I can tell she's secretly in love with me.'
I looked at him, but he didn't flinch. Dox always liked to push things.
'I'll find a way to adjust,' I said.
He laughed. 'All right, I'll remember you said that. Now, what's the plan?'
'We start with the public performances. They're the easiest approach. It's where they'll be expecting me, so we'll know to expect them.'
'And who are we looking for, exactly?'
'My guess would be a lone Chinese man, age eighteen to thirty. At any given performance, you'll find only a relatively small percentage of Asians. Among them, a smaller percentage of males in the right age range. Among those, if you see a guy by himself, he's the one we want.'
'What about you?'
'I'm the one they're looking for, so I can't go in. But you can. We'll get you an escort from one of the services so you'll have a date and won't stand out.'
He grinned. 'I'm liking the sound of this more and more.'
'I'll wait outside. If we see our man, we'll follow him after the performance to learn more about who we're dealing with and what kind of coverage they're employing. We'll get you a digital camera, something that works well in low light. If you can take his picture, we can send it to Tatsu. He might be able to match it to something in a database.'
'He'll be able to recognize a lowly foot soldier?'
I shrugged. 'What Tatsu doesn't know, he always knows where to ask.'
'What about commo?'
>
'I don't have the gear we were using in Hong Kong, but we ought to be able to manage with cell phones and wireless earpieces. Here.' I pulled out one set of the equipment I had picked up and slid it across the table to him. 'That's a prepaid unit. Sterile, for now. I've got one like it. Just to be on the safe side, let's stay off your personal phone.'
'Yeah, I've learned my lesson there. Still, I'll have to insist on one thing.'
'What?'
'I get to choose the escort.'
'Absolutely. But I think she ought to be female this time. It'll be lower profile.'
We both laughed, remembering Dox's accidental come-on to a katoey, or lady-boy, in Bangkok. I planned to harass him about it as long as there was breath in my lungs.
'Yeah, poor Tiara,' he said. 'I reckon she's pining for me still. She was a near miss. "Near miss," you get it?'
I closed my eyes as though in pain and nodded. 'I get it,' I said.
He chuckled. 'All right, where's the first performance?'
'Zinc Bar. Just a few blocks from here. She's there four nights in a row starting tomorrow, two sets every night. I've already checked the place out and it'll work for us. We'll show up for the second set tomorrow, at midnight. I want to see what happens when she's done for the evening.'
'Sounds good.'
'Make sure you spend time learning the area first. The streets, the alleys, everything.'
'Yes, Mom.'
I looked at him, but there was just no arguing with that irrepressible grin.
We spent another hour going over the plan. When we were done, Dox went off to find an escort, and I went back to the hotel, alone.
6
At midnight the following evening, I sat in a second-floor window seat at a place called Pegu Club, a bar at the corner of Houston and Wooster, kitty-corner to Zinc. I nursed the eponymous cocktail, an admittedly tasty gin-based infusion, snacked on some of their light fare, and read a copy of The Economist so I wouldn't look like a guy on a stakeout.
At twelve-thirty, I saw Dox emerge from the stairway. He had the Nokia out. Mine vibrated a moment later. I was already wearing the earpiece and pressed the receive button after the first buzz.