“They haven’t brought the meat yet?” Redford said, resuming his seat and following Charlie’s gaze over to the next table for a moment, as Charlie shook his head and took a sip of his beer.
“Careful who you’re staring at in here,” Redford added quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“I think your friend’s a member of the society for a better Japan, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do …” Charlie stopped speaking as the waitress arrived and deposited a large plate with a selection of thinly sliced meats and an assortment of bowls containing chopped vegetables. He waited until she had left before he continued his thought. “What do you mean — a society for a better Japan?” he asked, keeping an eye on the two men at the other table, now occupied with grilling their food.
“That’s what they like to call themselves.… Everyone else calls them yakuza. You didn’t notice the left pinky?”
“Is that for real? Cutting off their little fingers?”
Redford nodded and took a sip of his beer. “Sure, though there’s less of it with the younger generation.” He gestured to the grill in the centre of the table. “Here, let’s get this thing started.” He pointed to four cuts of meat that had a slightly different texture than the others. “Put a couple of slices of that on the grill.”
“What is it?” Charlie asked, arranging two of the larger pieces on the grill while Redford put some broccoli and mushrooms on the other side.
“Best you don’t know,” Redford said, eliciting a look of alarm from Charlie. “I’m kidding! It’s just different cuts of beef. How the hell do I know which is which?”
Charlie laughed and took another pull on his cold beer, which was going down very well. “So, are they common?” he said, lowering his voice.
“What, our fingerless friends?” Redford chuckled. “Sure, they’re around. Not like they used to be, of course. They pretty much ran things back before the real estate bubble, and even had the tacit support of the cops. But then the bottom fell out and a lot of people blamed them. So much bad debt in the marketplace, plus they were getting out of hand, executing people in broad daylight. It was pretty crazy.” Redford shook his head, as though remembering the times.
“And now?”
“They’ve had to diversify, get creative, even blend in. They’re like any organized crime group anywhere, I suppose. Some of their business is the usual stuff — prostitution, drugs, gambling, and such, but they’re into international finance as well. There was even a story that a Yakuza-backed outfit had conned $350 million from Lehman Brothers before it went under.” Redford paused to flag down the waitress and point to their nearly-empty beer glasses before continuing. “But they pretty much keep to themselves. I’ve been working here for thirty years and I’ve never crossed paths with them.”
“Would they be involved in the Rohypnol stuff that goes on in Roppongi?”
“You mean, what they think might have happened to this Seger fellow? Naw,” Redford gave a dismissive wave. “Too lowbrow for them, and attracts too much attention from the boys in blue. Speaking of which, there’s no break in that case, is there?”
Charlie shook his head. “The best guess still seems to be a fleecing gone wrong,” he said, unsure whether to reveal the autopsy results that showed that there was no Rohypnol in Seger’s system after all.
Redford drained his beer and stared at Charlie. “You don’t seem convinced.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. I hardly knew Seger, but he struck me as the kind of guy who might have seen a few sticky situations in his time. Maybe his luck just ran out.”
“That’s done,” Redford said, pointing to the lightly charred meat on the grill, plucking a piece off with his chopsticks, and depositing it on his plate. Charlie followed suit, though less adroitly.
“Mmm,” Charlie said as they both chewed the succulent meat.
“Good, isn’t it? Tongue’s my favourite.”
“Tongue? I thought you didn’t know which cut was which.”
“Some people get turned off by the idea of eating tongue.” He paused and smiled as Charlie resumed chewing.
“Well, whatever it is, it sure tastes good.”
They debated Lepage’s prospects for release for a while, then chatted about life in Tokyo as they gradually made their way through the meat and vegetables before them.
“So, you’re a single guy in Tokyo. How’ve you been making out with the ladies?” Redford asked, with a wolfish grin. Charlie laughed. He knew Redford enough to know that he liked to play the part of the scoundrel, though he was apparently very happily married to a Japanese woman.
“I haven’t really had much of a chance to wade into the dating pool, what with work, and getting sett—”
“We both know that’s a crock of shit,” Redford cut in. “There’s only one priority for a single man, and it sounds like you’ve been ignoring it. We’ve got to do something about that right away,” he added, as the waitress arrived at the table. They waved off her offer of dessert and Redford continued. “Seriously though, have you got something going at work?” he persisted. “The last time I was at the embassy there were some pretty fine-looking women.”
Charlie sipped the last of his beer and thought of Karen Fraser, and the sharp feeling of disappointment at meeting her handsome, wealthy husband. Perhaps he had been thinking there was a glimmer of hope there for him when he first met her. “No, nothing like that.”
“Okay, so we’ve got to get you out.”
“I don’t know.” Charlie preferred not to mention his last outing, which gave him the impression that he might be doomed to singledom in Tokyo. “Japanese women seem kind of … aloof.”
“So much to learn, so little time,” Redford said with a mock frown. “I told you, it’s all a facade. It’s like everything else in this place — there’s the exterior and then there’s the reality below — the two are completely unrelated. Polar opposites, you might say. I guarantee you, once you’ve spent the night with a Japanese woman, you’ll understand.”
Charlie nodded. “I know you mentioned the facade thing,” he said as an image of Chikako Kobayashi popped into his head. Actually, it was more than an image, because he had smelled her perfume as they had stood close together on the crowded subway car. He had to make an effort to break away from the memory and return to reality. “It just seems like it’s hard to break through.”
“That’s what sake’s for.”
Charlie laughed, but Redford seemed dead serious. “I mean it. You just need the right environment, that’s all. You leave it to me. But first things first, let’s pay a visit to the mysterious Ms. Kimura.”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“Why not? Besides, she doesn’t know what I look like, so I can go in and check it out while you wait downstairs, if you like.”
They paid the bill and then headed out into the street, which had become more crowded in the hour or so since they had entered the restaurant.
After a short ride on the Metro from Shinjuku, they emerged from Roppongi Station and Redford lit up. Charlie rarely craved cigarettes anymore but, with a couple of beers aboard, the smell of a freshly lit Marlboro stirred a longing that he had trouble quelling.
They zigzagged through a maze of connecting streets, and the farther they got from the Metro station, the narrower the streets became. Young women dressed in what looked like cartoon costumes offered flyers to passersby. Charlie soon recognized the street he had followed Kimura to and, though the guy who had thrust the flyer for Kimura’s establishment into his hand the other night wasn’t there when they arrived at the address, someone else was doing the same job. Redford had a quick exchange with him in Japanese, and then was about to walk up the steps when he abruptly turned around and yanked Charlie by the arm, pulling him back onto the street, away from the building.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just keep moving,” Redford said tersely, as Charlie
caught a glimpse of two older Japanese men emerging from the building, both in the standard charcoal suits and white shirts. Both had sombre ties, loosened at the collar. The man on the right’s dark hair was streaked with grey. Redford didn’t speak again until they had rounded the corner and he had assured himself that they were alone again.
“That was Yasuo Kato,” he finally said as they came to the end of the quiet lane, joined up with a more populated street, and headed back in the direction they had come from. “He’s one of the senior execs at Nippon Kasuga.”
“The guy with the grey streaks in his hair?”
“No, the other one. I’ve met him before, on the building management board.”
Charlie nodded. “So bumping into him outside a strip club would be awkward, then?”
Redford smiled. “Now you’re getting it. In the shame culture, it’s not about whether you’ve done something, it’s whether you get caught.”
“Preserving the facade?”
“Precisely. Here.” Redford stopped at a designated smoking area with a little screen and an oversized ashtray. “I’ll have a smoke while he clears out, then we can head back.”
“I have to say,” Charlie said as Redford lit up. “I don’t really understand the whole shame culture thing. I mean, if everyone knows that everyone does stuff like go to strip clubs, then what’s the big deal?”
Redford laughed as he exhaled a blue cloud of tobacco smoke. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t understand it. I’ve been here for thirty years and I still don’t have it all figured out. It can seem really fucked up sometimes, but there actually is a system.” He paused to take another drag of the cigarette before continuing. “Let’s say I did bump into Mr. Kato back there. He would have been nothing but polite and charming. The problem would be if we bump into each other a week from now, at a business meeting.”
Charlie shrugged. “You wouldn’t just give each other a knowing wink and move on?”
“No!” Redford said, almost choking on the smoke as he was midway through another inhale. “That’s just it. There’s no knowing wink here, just repressed shame.”
“So he avoids you instead.”
“Exactly, and that’s bad for business.”
“I guess I get it.”
Redford took a few last puffs before tossing the rest of the cigarette into the ashtray. “We should be good now, come on.” They headed back toward the club and as they arrived at the familiar building, Redford pointed across the street.
“You wait there. I’ll go up and check it out. If I’m not out in thirty minutes, call in the cavalry, or come up and join me for a drink or something.” Redford chuckled as he headed up the steps and into the entrance. Charlie crossed the street and slid into the shadows, so as not to draw the attention of the flyer guy, who was working the other end of the street. He was only there for fifteen minutes before Redford re-emerged, lighting another cigarette as he came out of the building.
“So?” Charlie met him on the sidewalk.
“I don’t know if our friend was up there,” Redford began, setting off in the direction of the Metro station, “but if that is where she works, I’m pretty sure it’s not as a candy-striper, and I didn’t see any phones. It’s definitely a cathouse — pretty pricey, too, from what I could tell. They wanted twenty thousand yen for a private dance. God knows what the full Monty goes for in there.”
“Is it possible Rob doesn’t know?”
Redford shrugged. “Anything’s possible, I suppose.”
“Do I tell him?”
“I’m not sure how you slip that into the conversation. ‘Hey, Rob, did you know that when your girlfriend’s not at the hospital, she’s turning tricks in Roppongi?’”
Charlie frowned, thinking Redford might have a point. If Lepage did know, it would seem judgmental, and if he didn’t, it would come as quite a shock, and Charlie had a feeling Lepage didn’t know.
“I’ll have to figure out how to bring it up without making a big deal of it,” he finally said.
Redford shrugged. “I’ll ask around at work, see if anyone’s heard of the place. It’s possible she’s just a hostess, I suppose.”
They made their way back to the station and split up to head off in different directions; Redford to his apartment in Omote-sando, not far from Lepage’s building, and Charlie back to Akasaka. All he could think about on the way back was how incongruous Kimura and Lepage seemed as a couple. As he emerged from Gaiemmae Station and walked down Aoyama-dori toward the embassy complex, his thoughts turned to Elizabeth Farnsworth and their lunch date for the following day. He was intrigued as to what she wanted to talk about. He decided to swing by his office on the way home and pick up a draft report that he was supposed to submit to Denault first thing in the morning. He should really give it another read, he told himself. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to miss flipping through one unintelligible television show after another. He walked down the half-lit hallway to his office and found the report, then paused at the flashing red light on his phone. He was halfway to the door when he decided to go back and check the message. It was Kobayashi, to say that she had gotten back to Tokyo earlier than expected and just wanted to give him an update, asking him to call her in the morning. He would make her his first order of business.
He left the embassy building and made the short walk to his apartment with his thoughts divided between Farnsworth and Kobayashi. In some ways, as different as two people could be, but both undeniably attractive. It was a shame he wasn’t meeting either of them under less formal circumstances. As he fell into a chair and stared at the cover of the draft report, he thought of Redford’s comment about Japanese women, and his insistence that Charlie get out a bit. All in good time, he thought with a sigh, as he picked up the report and started reading.
CHAPTER 18
Charlie was reading an email on a change in consular policy when he saw an incoming message from the ambassador’s assistant. His heart raced when he realized Westwood was asking to be briefed on the property file. Either he had read the report that Charlie had sent out first thing this morning and had questions, or he hadn’t, and wanted a verbal update. He checked the clock on his computer and realized Westwood wanted to meet in fifteen minutes. Denault, who would normally be the go-between, was in Osaka for the day, so Charlie was on his own. He gathered his notes from the Miton meeting, which had gone pretty much as Charlie had expected and had focused on the broad strokes of an exchange of properties, with details to follow. He printed off a copy of the proposal, then headed upstairs for the meeting. After a brief wait in the secure zone reception area, he was waved in by the ambassador’s formidable assistant. Westwood was sitting at his desk, staring at something on his computer monitor, when Charlie took tentative steps into his office.
“Charlie, come on in,” Westwood said, coming out from behind his desk and motioning to the leather sofas arranged around a glass coffee table. Charlie took a seat at the end of one of the couches, while Westwood sat in a matching chair near him. Whereas Charlie sat ramrod straight, Westwood assumed a casual air, leaning back as though he were sitting in a Muskoka chair. “Thanks for agreeing to meet on short notice.” Charlie nodded, though he wasn’t sure he had the option of refusing the meeting. “I read your report on the property development file,” Westwood continued, tapping a file folder on the table in front of him. “You obviously know how to write a report,” he added, with a smile that made Charlie wonder whether he was giving him a compliment or a gentle dig. He soon realized it was the latter. “But I’m more interested in what you really think.”
“About the property file?”
“Yes. I thought it might be good to get your unfiltered view. I know Louis is very keen on the idea, but I wanted to know if it’s something we should be actively pursuing … objectively.”
Charlie nodded again. So Westwood had called the meeting knowing full well that Denault was out of town. His suspicion that Westwood was less obsessed with the
project than Denault suddenly seemed confirmed. “Well, it’s a bit early to say for sure, but I think there are some challenges, mostly around the financials.”
“Really?” Westwood ran a finger over his top lip. “Louis seemed to think they were prepared to throw money at us, as well as build us a new residential complex for free.”
Charlie picked up the report. He had to tread very carefully here — Denault was his immediate supervisor and he wasn’t out to make him look bad, but after looking at the numbers it seemed pretty obvious that the developer was low-balling the value of the Canadian property they were looking to take in exchange for the new development in a less expensive area. “Well, if you factor in the cost of construction for what we’re going to want them to deliver in exchange, it’s hard to see how there’s going to be much left over.”
“You mean if they try to screw us on the value of our property,” Westwood said with an assured tone that suggested he was thinking exactly the same thing about the overall viability of the deal.
“In theory, it could still work,” Charlie said, taking the high road and passing up the opportunity to make Denault look like a stooge. “But I’ve asked them to provide detailed financials and an appraisal next week. I’ll be sure to flesh out what it is they’re offering, and how they got to their numbers. I’d be happy to debrief you after.”
Westwood nodded, then asked a few more questions about the report, which made it clear that he had actually read it. When they had dealt with those, Westwood flipped the file folder shut, but rather than stand and bring an end to the meeting as expected, he gave Charlie a quizzical look.
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