Charlie frowned. “You say that as if you don’t believe him.”
Another shrug and a little pout. “I’m not sure what to believe. His memory loss seems a bit … selective, shall we say. He swears he remembers everything about us and nothing about Kimura. I know that’s a lie to appease me — I’m not completely naive.”
Charlie frowned. “Where did he say he was going, after he talked to you?”
“Going?” She looked perplexed. He had decided not to mention the fact that Lepage was officially AWOL since the previous night.
“Did he have any plans?”
She shook her head, then looked at Charlie for a long moment. “Do you think he’s in danger?”
He deflected the question. “Is there anything else you can tell me about the time before Rob’s accident? Anything out of the ordinary?” She shook her head again, but he could tell by the way that she averted his eyes that she was holding something back. “Anything at all, Elizabeth — it could be important.”
“It’s just …” she began.
“What?”
“Call it woman’s intuition — I really am becoming quite a cliché after all.”
“What did your intuition tell you about Rob, before his accident?”
She paused, fidgeting with her hands, then she looked up at him, fixing him with those deep green eyes, tinged with red. “That he was getting ready to leave me.”
Charlie got off the subway car at Ueno Station and joined the flow of passengers headed up to street level. Unlike the last time he was there, it was dark, but he had no problem spotting the familiar arch with the giant red lantern hanging from the middle. The pedestrian street that lay beyond was much less crowded than when he had last been there, due to the fact that most of the stalls were closed. As he made his way toward the temple, he could see the flashes of cameras as tourists took photos on the steps leading up to the shrine. He was nearing the bottom step when he spotted Kobayashi off to the side, waving him over.
“Come with me.” She led him around to the right of the main steps and into the nearest side street. At first he thought they were headed to the same restaurant where they had lunched, but after about five hundred feet, she gestured to a small building and led him inside. Adjusting to the dim light, Charlie made out what was either a tiny restaurant or a small bar. Kobayashi led the way to the rear, and after a brief exchange in Japanese with what looked to be the owner or a waiter, she removed her shoes and slid her legs effortlessly under the low table, waiting for him to do the same. He kicked off his shoes and, after considerable effort and with a lot less grace, he had managed to squeeze his large frame into position on the opposite side of the table. His knees were already screaming but he gritted his teeth as Kobayashi smiled indulgently.
“You are quite a bit bigger than the average Japanese man,” she said. “I apologize if it is not very comfortable.”
He gave a dismissive wave and ignored the stabbing pain in his ankle as he adjusted himself to alleviate a similar pain in his knee. “I’m still trying to get used to sitting on the floor. I guess it takes some practice.”
“I am very sorry for this morning,” she began, causing him to debate whether to cut in and pre-empt any further apologies, but she soon got to the point. “I was concerned about sharing too much information with you there.”
He nodded. “No problem. I thought that might have had something to do with it. We were talking about the man in the photo,” he said, waiting for her to retrieve the same buff file folder from her purse that she had shown him this morning. She was reaching for it when the waiter appeared.
“Would you like some sake? Or perhaps something to eat?” Kobayashi asked.
“Sake’s fine.”
She placed the order and then reached into her purse once they were alone again. She pulled out the second photo and set it on the table between them. “Are you sure you recognize this man?” she said, tapping her finger on the photo of the man standing next to Kimura. Charlie looked closely again, to be sure, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was the same man he had seen outside Kimura’s club with the Nippon Kasuga executive that Cliff Redford had been so keen to avoid.
“Yes, I’m sure. Who is he?”
“His name is Hiroki Miyamoto. He is a senior member of the Inagawa-kai.” She let the fact sink in, until it became clear that Charlie had no idea what she was talking about. “It’s the largest Tokyo-based organized crime group.”
“You mean yakuza?”
She nodded. “Yamaguchi-gumi is larger. They are based in Kobe, though they have been moving into some parts of Tokyo in recent years.”
“So the yakuza’s for real then,” he added, though saying the words made him sound hopelessly naive, even to his own ears. He could only imagine what Kobayashi was thinking.
“The Inagawa-kai are involved in many different types of criminal activity here. Protection, gambling, drugs … prostitution.”
Charlie considered the last one and any possibility that Kimura’s misrepresentation of her work could have a legitimate explanation evaporated. “You said he’s senior. How senior?”
“My colleague in the 3rd Division — organized crime — is much more familiar with the hierarchy, which is quite complicated, but Miyamoto is one of a handful at the very top.”
“So, what’s he doing hanging out with the guy from Nippon Kasuga?”
Kobayashi paused as their waiter delivered a tray with a large pot of steaming sake and two little earthenware bowls, then disappeared with a bow.
“I don’t know,” she said, pouring the sake into the bowls. “I mentioned Nippon Kasuga to my colleague, and he was not aware of any connection to organized crime. It may not mean anything.”
“Or it may mean they’re mobbed up,” he said, tapping his bowl off hers. “Cheers.”
“Mobbed up?” she said, after taking a sip of the clear liquid.
“Connected … to the yakuza.”
She nodded. “Yes, that is another possibility. That’s why you must be careful.”
He nodded, taking another sip of the sake. He couldn’t say he had really acquired a taste for it yet, but it felt warm as it made its way down his throat and into his stomach, making him feel a pleasant numbness that suited the dim light of the bar perfectly. Kobayashi was watching him with her inquisitive look.
“What?”
“I want you to promise me that you’ll let me look into Kimura,” she said. “That you won’t take any unnecessary risks.”
He spread his palms in a gesture of submission. “But I thought there wasn’t an investigation?”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t follow up on some matters.” She put her cup down. “On my own time, of course.” He had to admire her resolve. She was probably taking a significant risk by disobeying a superior. But he had the feeling she could handle herself just fine. “Do you promise?”
“I won’t try to follow Kimura again. I promise,” he said as she eyed him and tried to assess whether he was telling the truth. He had no intention of following Kimura again — he didn’t need to. That didn’t mean he didn’t intend to dig a little into the potential connection with Nippon Kasuga. “Tell me something,” he said, if only to change the subject. “Is it true about members of the Yakuza cutting off their fingers?”
Kobayashi’s face broke into a smile — a real one, so full and bright that it lit up her whole face. “You have seen too many movies, Charlie.”
“So it’s a myth?”
“No, the practice — it’s called yubitsume — is an old tradition. It was an offering to the oyabun … the boss, to atone for a mistake.” She held her left little finger between the index and thumb of her right hand. “It would start with a piece of this finger. A second time might cost the whole finger.”
Charlie frowned. “Why the left pinkie?”
“It goes back to samurai times. The left hand held the sword, and the grip would be weakened by the loss of the little finger. If the pe
rson was unfortunate enough, he might lose the third finger as well, making his grip so weak that he would have to rely on the group for protection. It was a form of submission.”
“And what’s the equivalent now?” he asked.
She shrugged and let out a snuff of disdain. “Money, probably. There’s no honour today. And as for marking themselves, they use irezumi … tattoos, though most of them are concealed by clothing.” She took another sip of sake. “Yakuza members have had to become experts at camouflage — many of them wear suits and look like any other Japanese businessmen.”
“Because they’re involved in white-collar crime now.”
She nodded. “Exactly, though they still have their traditional activities as well.”
They finished the sake, trading theories on how Kimura and Lepage had come to be together, or whether they were together at all. When the waiter returned and offered more, Kobayashi shook her head.
“I should go. I will see what else I can find out tomorrow and we can meet again.”
Charlie nodded. He planned on doing some research of his own. It was Friday tomorrow and his day was pretty clear. “Maybe we can touch base … I mean, maybe I can call you tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes, that would be fine. Do you have plans for the weekend?” she added, as they settled the bill by splitting it evenly. The question was innocent enough, but it sounded intimate, somehow, coming from her. She busied herself with her purse and he sensed that maybe she was thinking the same thing.
“Nothing major. I was going to check out the fish market on Saturday.”
“Make sure you go early. It will be very busy.”
They walked back out to the alley and Kobayashi accompanied him to the end, directing him back to the main pedestrian street leading away from the temple and toward Ueno Station.
“I’m going this way,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction.
“Thanks for meeting me. I guess we’ll talk tomorrow?”
She smiled and bowed, reminding him to do the same, then they went their separate ways. Whether it was the sake in his belly or the lingering scent of her perfume in his nostrils, Charlie felt a warm glow as he headed back to the Metro. But he only got to enjoy it for a few minutes before it was interrupted by the shrill ring of his phone.
“Hello?”
“Charlie, it’s Rob.”
He stopped in his tracks at the sound of Lepage’s voice. “Rob? Where … how are you?”
“I’m fine. Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday. I’ve just been getting used to being out of hospital, you know, and it sort of slipped my mind.” Lepage gave a little laugh in the pause that followed. “Sorry, bad turn of phrase.”
“Have you talked to Dr. Yamaguchi or Cliff? They’re both worried sick.”
“I just got off the phone with the doc, and Cliff’s my next call, believe me.”
“I dropped by your place this morning.”
“I must have been out … getting groceries. The cupboards were pretty bare, you know what I mean?”
From what Charlie had seen of Lepage’s apartment, he didn’t eat in much, so the idea of him filling the fridge and cupboards with groceries seemed odd, but he listened to Lepage’s voice for any hint of deception or duress, and detected none. He sounded like his usual laid-back self. Maybe Redford had been right not to worry. “I’m just about to hop on the Metro now. I could drop by your place — we could go for a drink or a coffee or something, if you like.”
“I’m really beat tonight. I’m just gonna crash,” Lepage said.
Charlie checked his watch and noted it was barely past nine, but decided not to press. He supposed Lepage’s energy levels were a little out of whack after lying in a hospital bed for a couple of weeks. “How about lunch tomorrow?”
“Love to,” Lepage replied airily, “but I’ve got some follow-up tests with Yamaguchi at eleven and it could be a while. Maybe Sunday?”
Charlie made a mental note to talk to Yamaguchi. “Sure, sounds good. So, how are you doing?”
“I feel good. Well, as good as can be expected, I guess. I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to do long-term, you know?”
“Have you been to the office?”
“Naw, I was going to give myself the weekend to think and then go see them on Monday.”
Again, Charlie was listening hard, wishing he could see Lepage’s face. Something told him he was holding back. “Probably a good idea. How about Aiko?”
There was a pause and a small sigh on the line as Charlie waited for a response. “I think we’re done. I can’t say I blame her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charlie lied. This time, he was glad he wasn’t facing Lepage when he said the words. “How’s the memory?”
“I think it’s improving. I don’t know if it’s being back in my apartment, or out on the street that’s doing it, but I’m definitely starting to remember more and more from before the accident.”
“That’s a good sign.”
“I guess Yamaguchi will be the judge of that. I should probably get a hold of Cliff now.”
“Yeah, do that. And give me a call tomorrow so we can set up lunch on Sunday. I look forward to it.”
Charlie ended the call and stared at the phone. Was Lepage lying? Charlie didn’t think so, and he liked to think he could read people pretty well. But Lepage was definitely not telling him everything. He should have pushed for a meeting tomorrow night, he thought, as he slid his phone into his pocket and resumed his walk toward Ueno Station. Still, Lepage had made contact and seemed to be in good shape. As he reached the station and descended to platform level, Charlie told himself to take his cue from Redford and stop worrying.
CHAPTER 22
The warm breeze cooled the sweat on his forehead as he sat up on his towel and looked out over the glittering Caribbean. He watched as her head broke the surface, then followed her progress into shallower water. Her shoulders emerged next, covered in long, black hair that she flung back with both hands as her torso surfaced from the gentle surf, droplets of water glistening in the late afternoon sun as she headed up the beach toward him. As she approached, the delicate features of her face sharpened into focus — the ivory skin, jet-black hair in contrast to the flash of white teeth as she smiled at him. He stood to shake the sand out of her towel, but she discarded it when he offered it to her and pressed her slender body, still cool from the ocean, into his, staring up at him with a sensual look in those deep eyes.
Charlie awoke to his bed shaking. Sitting up abruptly and looking around, it took him a moment to realize that he was in Tokyo, not Havana. The digital display on his clock radio wobbled, and the water in the glass on his bedside table threatened to breach the rim. Terror filled his heart as he sat there, frozen on the bed as the world threatened to collapse around him. And then it was over. He took a moment to collect himself, to ensure he wasn’t still dreaming, then ran to the window and looked outside. It was a bright, sunny morning. He watched a gardener pruning a shrub, going about his business as if nothing had happened. Perhaps he had imagined it.
Charlie was still getting his bearings when his phone went off. Recognizing the number, he hit the answer button and heard Cliff Redford’s gruff baritone.
“Hope I’m not calling too early.”
“No.” Charlie noticed the time on the bedside clock and realized he had slept in. It was almost eight thirty.
“I’m heading into a long meeting, but I wanted to know if you’re free for lunch today.”
Charlie did a quick mental inventory of the day ahead. “Um, yeah, I think I’m free.”
“I’ve got a meeting in Asakusa this afternoon, so I thought we’d do the City Club. Twelve thirty work for you?”
“Sure. Anything particular on your mind?”
“Just catching up. You talked to Rob yesterday?”
Charlie rubbed his eyes. “He said he was going to call you after we spoke. I assume he did?”
“Ye
ah, yeah. It’s all good, but I wanted to run something by you. Listen, I’d better be going. We’ll talk at lunch.”
“Okay … wait, Cliff?”
“Yeah?”
“Was there an … earthquake … just before you called?”
“You felt it, huh?” Redford was laughing. “Just a baby. A knee-trembler.”
“So it wasn’t, like … a big one. No damage or anything?”
“We get them all the time. I’d say that was a four point O. Nothing to worry about, believe me.”
“Right, see you at lunch.”
Charlie hung up and tossed the phone on the bed. He was still rattled by the quake, despite having been fully briefed on the fact that they occurred regularly in Japan, and on emergency procedures in the event of a big one, like the one that triggered the tsunami in 2011 and took out the Fukushima nuclear plant. But he was also preoccupied by the vivid dream, particularly Kobayashi’s prominence, in Havana of all places. He shrugged it off and headed to the shower.
Charlie arrived a few minutes late to the club located in the basement of the Canadian embassy building, which featured a large dining area, as well as screened rooms for more private meals at traditional Japanese tables. Charlie was relieved, for his knees’ sake, to see Redford sitting at a conventional table at the rear of the main area when he arrived.
“Hi, Cliff.”
“Four point nine.” Redford plucked his phone off the table and pointed at the screen. It took Charlie a second to figure out his meaning as he took a seat and glanced at the little screen. “This morning’s quake,” Redford added.
“I knew it felt like more than a four. Should we be finding a doorway to huddle under?”
“Actually, aftershocks are pretty common.” Redford’s expression remained grave just long enough for Charlie to realize his leg was being pulled.
“Very funny.”
“You get used to them after a while,” Redford said. “To the point that something like this morning doesn’t even register.”
Charlie smiled. “Yes, I noticed no one else seemed particularly bothered by it, but I have to say I found it a little … unsettling.”
Remember Tokyo Page 18