Bill unthinkingly rubbed himself where Charlie’s boot had done the most damage.
“Please tell me why this is,” continued Mr Matsumoto.
“Helene asked me not to.”
“Ah, so?” said Mr Matsumoto raising his eyebrows in polite disbelief.
Charlie saw that he needed to expand on his answer.
“Helene is a good person: she is not a murderer. She is not... like us.”
“I ain’t no murderer!” yelled Bill, leaning threateningly towards Charlie. “That’s a goddam lie! I never killed no-one that didn’t need killing.”
A hidden signal sent the two bodyguards lunging towards Bill. At that point he completely lost control: he was spitting and swearing, his eyes rolling in his head like a jellied pinball machine.
Mr Matsumoto stared at him in some distaste as the bodyguards forced him to his knees.
“The issue is one of loyalty,” said Mr Matsumoto calmly, pulling his eyes from Bill as if the sight contaminated his vision. “Bill has confirmed in his own words that he took part in this ‘job’ you have described – at a time when he was employed by me. I am not happy that he, as you might say, was moonlighting. And now he has brought his shame to my door. He has brought both of you to my door – and I must decide what to do with you.”
He turned to Helene.
“I would like you to wait outside, Miss La Borde. Mr Paget, please remain where you are.”
“Oh, but...” Helene looked in panic at Charlie.
“Yes, go,” he said, gently. “It’ll be okay.”
Helene’s legs didn’t feel up to the job of getting her out of the room but she managed to stagger to the door and half fall through it. She stumbled to one of the futon couches and sat shaking, tears running down her face.
She heard a single shot and her heart jolted painfully.
Chapter 12
Seconds stretched intolerably as Helene waited. She was barely aware that her nails were leaving half-moon gouges in the palms of her hands, violent tremors making her body shudder.
The door slid open. Helene could hardly bear to look up.
The first bodyguard walked out backwards and the second followed. Between them swung a carcass, wrapped in the rather good rug that had decorated Mr Matsumoto’s office floor. Helene’s eyes were drawn hypnotically to the swinging body.
After a short absence, the lighter of the bodyguards returned and jerked his head authoritatively at Helene. She was to go back in.
Her knees felt oddly liquid and she held onto the wall for support, her heart pounding.
The room was much as she had left it. Mr Matsumoto was seated behind the desk, the lone heavy took his place, guarding the door... and Charlie was finishing his tea. Of Bill there was no sight.
Helene tried to take in what she was seeing but her body was having trouble processing the scene. Charlie stood up swiftly and gently led her back to the chair.
Mr Matsumoto waited until she was seated again and then spoke.
“My family has built up our business interests over several generations. Loyalty is rewarded: employees who go into business for themselves are... discouraged. Those who bring the business into disrepute are dealt with.”
It was clearly an explanation for Bill’s absence. Helene’s eyes fluttered to a spot on the floor where a few spots of a dark liquid had been hastily wiped away.
“A pity,” said Mr Matsumoto, following her eyes. “The rug was commissioned by my father.”
Helene didn’t know if this was some attempt at humour but questions unborn died in her throat. This man, sitting here so calmly, had just taken – or ordered to be taken – a human life. Helene had seen death in the hot fire of battle, in sudden and terrifying conflagrations of metal and flesh: she had never before witnessed murder. Except, of course, Mr Matsumoto had been careful in that respect. She had witnessed nothing and thus had nothing to report – or regret.
“You look unwell, Miss La Borde,” he said, solicitously. “Perhaps you would like some more tea?”
Mr Matsumoto indicated towards the teapot and Helene realised that she was still gripping the sides of her chair, her knuckles white, her face frozen with shock.
Charlie leaned forward and poured some of the fragrant green tea into Helene’s eggshell thin cup, earning a small frown from Mr Matsumoto.
“I have been having a most interesting conversation with Mr Paget,” said Mr Matsumoto, looking away from Helene’s shaking hands. “I believe I can help you… both of you.”
“Why?”
Helene stuttered out the word before she realised she had spoken.
“Why, Miss La Borde?” he replied, raising his eyebrows. “Because you are a guest in my home and in my country. And because I can. And, if I am truthful, because your search does not impinge on my business interests.”
He paused, cocking his head to one side like a small bird, the black eyes watching her thoughtfully.
“Do you not wish for my help?”
Helene wanted to scream out, No! You’re a murderer! A crime lord! I want nothing to do with you or your kind.
Instead she mumbled numbly, “Thank you. That is very… kind.”
Her brain felt anaesthetised, but it was enough for Mr Matsumoto. He nodded.
“I am a businessman, Miss La Borde. That is all. The sooner your business is concluded, the sooner I can again concentrate on mine.”
Charlie made her jump when he reached over to squeeze her hand softly.
“Mr Matsumoto is going to help us, Helene. Tomorrow we’ll visit the shrine. If the priests know anything, Mr Matsumoto says they will tell us. okay?”
Helene nodded dumbly.
Mr Matsumoto clapped his hands. Business was over.
“And now,” he said, “I understand that you would like to try our delightful tradition of onsen bathing. We have some of the best hot springs on the island. I would be happy for you to be my guest this evening. You will find everything you need in your rooms.”
He stood up and held out his hand in the western style.
“It has been a pleasure to meet you, Miss La Borde, Mr Paget. I trust you will spend a pleasant night in my ryokan.”
They shook hands and were escorted from the room.
Helene was having trouble remembering to breathe. Her skin felt unpleasantly moist and a sheen of sweat glistened on her face.
“What… what happened in there, Charlie?”
He looked at her carefully.
“A loose end was tied up. That’s all.”
She stared at him.
“How can you be so calm? A man was murdered in front of your eyes and… and…”
“And what, Helene?” he said, in a sharp whisper. “Would you rather it had been me… or you?”
Helene looked appalled at the thought.
“No! Of course not, but…”
“But nothing. Bill was a murderer, a rapist and a bad businessman. There was nothing either of us could do for him. Jesus, Helene, you gave him one big, fat chance when we left him alone in Hawaii but he didn’t take it. You just can’t help some people. No, forget about Bill and just be grateful that we’re standing here having this conversation instead of you waving me a fond farewell as you sail towards St Peter’s Gate – and I don’t.”
Helene wasn’t sure how serious he was being but she could see he was trying to help her.
“I’ll put in a good word for you with St Peter,” she said, trying to match his easy tone – and failing miserably.
Even to her own ears her voice sounded shaky and strained.
Charlie shrugged, smiling slightly.
“Doesn’t matter: I have friends and family in both directions.”
Mr Matsumoto had given them a pair of rooms that were next door to each other, windows looking out towards Kompira-san.
Helene found a pretty, cotton yukata dressing gown and pair of wooden clogs in her room. Her grab bag had been laid carefully on a low table. In a corner of the room w
as a small, recessed shrine. If there was an earthquake the shrine would most likely survive, even if the occupying guest didn’t. How very Japanese.
She couldn’t see a bed, so Helene’s best guess was that a futon was stored in one of the cupboards. She hoped it would be laid out for her when she returned from bathing; she felt too tired and weak to wrestle with a heavy mattress. If it wasn’t laid out for her, she decided she’d simply sleep on the floor.
There was a knock on the wall. It meant Charlie was ready and would be waiting outside for her.
Helene flung off her dirty clothes and slipped on the yukata which felt cool against her hot skin. She grabbed her wash bag and plodded across the room, her clogs making her sound like a lame horse. She was looking forward to being clean but her mind was in such a ferment she hardly knew who she was, let alone what she felt. At the last minute she remembered to pull off her wig. She didn’t bother to look in the mirror.
Charlie was leaning against the wall, looking cool and elegant in his brightly coloured gown.
“Ready?”
Helene nodded, unable to trust her voice.
A smiling woman directed them to the bathrooms with many smiles and gesticulations. There were separate changing rooms for men and women as well as segregated bathing areas. With a grin and a wave Charlie disappeared and Helene watched as the door swung closed between them.
She felt old and tired and burdened with an intolerable weight. She pushed open the door to the women’s changing room and inside saw a small cabinet of six lockers with baskets for the yukata and clogs. There was a pile of fresh towels – none of them much larger than a face cloth. Instead of feeling a flush of embarrassment she mechanically removed her gown, placing it in the locker with the clogs, and slowly washed herself using the wooden bucket and western style shower. To preserve some modesty, she hung the small towel over her arm and let it hang in front of her, then she opened the only other door in the cubicle, assuming it must lead to the onsen.
A slight smell of sulphur hung on the air and steam drifted across the surface of the hot spa.
Only one other woman was present, an elderly lady who myopically greeted her, “Konbanwa!”
Helene replied awkwardly before draping her towel over a rock and sliding into the hot, spring water. The air was warm and almost spicy; she closed her eyes as the heat relaxed her aching joints.
The old woman frowned and, when she realised she was sharing her bath with a gaijin, promptly rose up like an aging Venus and clip-clopped from the onsen muttering to herself.
Helene had no idea if she’d committed some unforgiveable breach of onsen etiquette or whether the old woman detested the idea of sharing with a dirty foreigner. Too bad: the water was marvellously soothing.
The men’s onsen was on the other side of the ryokan. Helene felt relief that Charlie was some distance away from her. Her brain was whirling with unwanted images, ideas, thoughts. The refrain of a hymn kept circling round and around:
I danced on a Friday when the sky turned black;
It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.
Is that what I’m doing? she asked herself. Am I dancing with the devil?
She didn’t know the answer.
Helene sat for so long that she was almost asleep; she sat up with a jolt when she realised that stars were beginning to appear and she could no longer pick out the image of the heron mosaic on the tiles. She felt emotionally drained but her mind had been eased and she had made a decision: she had to go on. Whatever Charlie was, whoever he was, this game had to be played out.
She didn’t doubt that larger powers were at work: the pond was very large and she was a very, very small fish.
Helene pulled herself out of the onsen feeling slightly shrivelled. She had barely noticed the arrival and departure of two younger women. Was it onsen etiquette to acknowledge leavers and new arrivals? She didn’t know. Nor care much.
Back in the changing rooms she pulled on her yukata. It felt good to be clean again. She was pleased that Charlie hadn’t waited for her, although she did think she felt ready to face him. But as soon as she returned to her room, he knocked on her door.
She shuffled to the door.
“Howdy pardner,” he said, smiling although she noted his eyes were careful. “You were gone for hours: I was beginning to wonder if you’d done a bunk.”
“And miss out on all this fun?” said Helene, raising an eyebrow.
He smiled broadly, clearly relieved at the return of a degree of her equanimity.
“I’ve ordered some food,” he announced. “I asked them to send up one of everything on the menu to my room – I thought you’d be hungry… and I don’t want you getting grumpy.”
“Marvellous,” said Helene. “Just give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll be right over.”
In truth she didn’t feel very hungry but his thoughtfulness was touching.
She dressed quickly, pulling on a T-shirt and pair of wrinkled harem trousers. Then she plodded to his room in her wooden clogs. She really wished she’d packed the flip-flops that she’d worn in Hawaii.
He opened the door before she’d even knocked.
“No chance of a stealthy approach in those,” he said.
Helene smiled wryly.
“Maybe that’s why they give them out: not very ninja-like, are they?”
Charlie stood back so she could enter. Spread out on the low table was a mouth-watering buffet. He’d been true to his word and ordered one of everything: prawn tempura rolls; salmon skin rolls; fried tofu; salmon teriyaki; dishes of rice; a plate of sashimi; yakiniku grilled meat; some lightly seared fish; thick, white udon noodles; rice crackers; something that looked a bit like chicken curry; miso soup; and two flasks of the green O-cha.
Helene sank onto the cushions arranged around the table and sat cross-legged, more or less comfortably.
Silently he filled a small bowl and handed it to her.
She held one of the tempura rolls between her chopsticks and chewed thoughtfully.
“You’re very quiet tonight,” he said.
She looked up, meeting his gaze.
“I was thinking about Bill.”
Charlie sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“We have knowledge of a murder,” said Helene, “and if we don’t report it we’re complicit in it.”
“So? What do you want to do?” he frowned. “Report it to the local police, hope they’re not connected to the ryokan – and hope that we wake up alive in the morning?”
Helene shook her head.
“No, of course not, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll ignore it. Do you understand what I mean?”
Charlie stared at her.
“I suppose you mean you’ll write about him in the story for your agent. No holds barred – even about me.”
Helene stared back.
“I’ll protect your name, Charlie, but that’s all I can promise.”
He hesitated then nodded.
“I suppose that’s about what I’d imagined you’d say.” He shrugged. “You’ve got to do what you think is right, Helene, I know that. But I’ll do what I have to do to protect myself, too.”
Helene wasn’t sure what that meant but she had no choice but to agree. Even so, she felt relieved that things were in the open between them. After a fashion.
Back in her own room, her stomach uncomfortably full, Helene discovered that the futon had been laid out for her with two hard pillows and a thick quilt. Another flask of hot water had also been left together with a pot of the powdered matcha tea that she found too bitter.
Relieved that she wasn’t going to be sleeping on a hard tatami mat, she flopped down onto the futon and pulled the quilt over her. Curled up, she listened to the boards creaking in the room next door as Charlie paced up and down. It seemed to go on for hours and Helene started to feel tense again. When the pacing finally stopped, Helene fell into an uneasy sleep.
The sun was some way advance
d when she woke suddenly and precisely. For the first time in several days she felt refreshed and alert. The feeling was surprising.
She glanced at the dirty clothes still in a pile on the floor where she had dropped them. Hopefully the ryokan would have a laundry somewhere: her meagre stock of clean clothes had just run out. She bundled up the washing and left it in a plastic bag by her door. If she could bear it, she’d ask Mayumi what to do.
Charlie’s room was already empty, so she made her way along the narrow corridor to find that breakfast was held in another large room in the ryokan. The morning meal didn’t differ substantially from the evening meal except for some fermented soya beans, rice porridge, plus more grilled fish.
Charlie had acquired a map of the shrine and he was just pointing out the route to her when Mayumi arrived. Today she was wearing jeans and carrying a pair of well-used hiking boots.
“Dad’s asked me to take you up to the shrine,” she said, cheerfully. “He’s arranged for you to speak to someone who can help you – tell you what you need to know.”
“Thanks,” said Charlie. “Give us five minutes and we’ll be with you.”
Helene nodded coldly and Mayumi left. She didn’t mention the washing.
“She’s helping us,” said Charlie leaning towards her. “It wouldn’t kill you to be polite to the boss’s daughter.”
Helene nodded irritably.
“I know: it just makes me uncomfortable knowing that she’s Yakuza.”
Charlie looked equally annoyed.
“They don’t call themselves that,” he said standing up. “They’re known here as ninkyō dantai. I thought you’d like to know: you don’t want to go getting your facts wrong in your article.”
He stood up in one fluid motion and stalked off.
Helene followed him with her eyes, thoughtful.
When they met up outside, he was working hard to seem like his old self, but Helene thought she detected a new wariness about him.
Mayumi led the way through a shopping arcade filled with souvenir shops and udon eateries, chatting easily to Charlie and all but ignoring Helene.
As they left the small town behind them, the path began to climb the side of the mountain, twisting through a dense forest. It gave them shade from the heat promised by the early morning sun and Helene was grateful for that. After 15 minutes of hiking uphill, Helene’s calves started to protest but Mayumi and Charlie continued to climb steadily, talking with animation about the scenery and the history of the shrine.
Exposure Page 14