“Good. Stay out of trouble.”
“Is Hong Kong dangerous? God, where in the world is it safe for women?”
“Figure of speech. You’ll be fine.”
They finished their meal and walked arm in arm down the street looking for a taxi. After a few unoccupied cabs whizzed right by them, a taxi not averse to picking up foreigners stopped. They climbed in the backseat, and Charles barked out their address.
Charles reached around Alison’s shoulders and pulled her close. Traffic crawled through the crowded streets of Roppongi. They weren’t going anywhere fast. Charles felt inside Alison’s overcoat and rubbed his hand up and down her thigh. “No pantyhose,” he said, innocently staring straight ahead in the cab’s back seat while his hand was busy exploring up her leg and under her skirt.
“Charles!” Alison closed her overcoat around her legs.
“Yes?” He moved his hand higher up her leg until his fingers were playing at the top of her inner thigh.
“Really, Charles!”
His fingers slipped under her panties, and he lightly stroked Alison’s clitoris. Her vagina responded with a pleasurable fluttering, and she was instantly wet. Charles massaged her skillfully, and Alison gasped, trying to suppress an orgasm.
“What were you saying, Alison?” Charles asked sweetly, the face of an angel.
Alison closed her eyes in surrender. “Nothing, Charles.” She opened her legs wide in the backseat. “Nothing at all.”
26
“I have to leave Japan, Kiyoshi.”
“What happened?”
“I overstayed my visa.”
“Can you come back?”
“Yeah. But can’t a person make an honest mistake in this country?”
“We try to avoid such things.”
“I’m going to Hong Kong to get a new visa. Have you ever been there?”
“Many times. My company has an office there.”
“Any recommendations?”
“Stay at the Regent. It’s got a great harbor view.”
“What about shopping? Restaurants?”
“I’ll put together a list for you. When do you leave?”
“In two days.”
“OK. Let me know where you’re staying and I’ll fax the list to you in Hong Kong.”
“Thanks, Kiyo.”
“It looks like our friend is leaving us alone tonight.”
“Looks like it. I want to track that little creep down and expose him.”
“Let’s hope he’s gone.”
They ended their chat, and Alison sat looking at her blinking screen. Kiyoshi was such a nice guy. A really nice guy.
Alison stopped by the travel section of the World NetLink network to get information about Hong Kong. Maybe a few sights to see, shopping tips. A little history of the island would be nice. She cruised around the Hong Kong forum for a while, but then she remembered the party.
If she didn’t start inviting people, she’d be stuck playing hostess to Charles’ merry band of investment-banking boys. Heaven help her.
Alison shuffled through her stack of accumulated meishi, looking for potential party guests. She paused when she got to Yamada Yuko’s card. Printed on hand-pressed washi paper with a natural fiber edge, threads of wood pulp added texture. Yamada’s meishi oozed refined elegance. Rubbing her thumb along the uneven surface of the card, Alison noticed her torn nail.
Alison could introduce Charles and Yamada at the party. And Charles, ever the dazzler, would solve Green Space’s international finance problems. And in gratitude, Yamada would offer Alison a bona fide job. And they would all live happily ever after. It could happen.
Alison picked up the phone but paused before dialing. How would she explain to Yamada that her internet research was coming to a screeching halt because of technical difficulties? Like getting booted out of the country.
Maybe a party invitation would defuse Yamada-san from getting angry over Alison’s slow research progress.
She dialed the Green Space office and caught up with Ms. Yamada.
“It is good to hear from you, Alison. How is the website project going?”
“Actually, Yamada-san. I’ve had a little hiccup. With my visa. Nothing big, but I have to dash off to Hong Kong for a few days.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, but I might need a little more time to finish the research.”
“Is it going well?”
“It’s coming together.” Sort of. Alison was going to have to produce huge results quick or return the money. What was left of it. “But the reason I’m calling is because my fiancé and I are having some people over for drinks on Saturday, and I was hoping you could join us.” Alison held her breath. Yamada-san couldn’t be too angry if she accepted Alison’s party invitation.
“Saturday? That sounds wonderful.”
Alison exhaled. “Around eight o’clock. We’re in Nishi-Azabu. I’ll fax you a map.
“By the way, have you had a chance to speak to Charles—” Alison began, but the phone had already gone dead in her ear.
Ms. Yamada seemed like a decent person. She didn’t sound mad when Alison told her about the delay in her work. Why had Kiyoshi expressed those vague cautions about his old high school chum and her organization? The most diligent green groups worked hard to protect the environment, and all they got for gratitude was bad press on the front page. Kiyoshi shouldn’t believe everything he read.
Alison emailed an invitation to Jed, and, for the hell of it because she was so off the beam, left an answering machine message for Zoe. She plumbed her brain trying to think of people to invite, anyone, to save her from the boredom that would otherwise be in store for her. But the one person she most wanted to invite was the one person she couldn’t invite. How could she explain Kiyoshi to Charles? Or Charles to Kiyoshi.
With her whirlwind invitations issued, Alison stood and unkinked her neck and shoulders. Movement outside the bay window caught her eye. Someone was prowling in the bushes across the street. Or maybe it was tree branches caught in a gust. But maybe not.
Alison turned off the lights in the living room. She crouched down and crawled up close to the bay window to have another look across the street. Shadows from the tree limbs and bushes flickered in the dark. But there wasn’t anybody there.
You’re getting paranoid, Crane. Get a grip.
01101101 01100101 00100000 01101001 01100110
He found the perfect perch in the kinmokusei olive trees in the yard of the house across the street. The trees’ dense leaves gave good coverage, yet didn’t interfere with his reception much at all. He could squat down with his cell phone connected to his laptop and pick up the electromagnetic transmissions leaking from across the street. Sometimes he got interference from the satellite television dish behind him, but this evening his computer feed was crystal clear.
He’d hit the jackpot tonight. She was sending out email messages that weren’t encrypted. A party? It’d been a while since he’d been to a party other than for the idiots he worked with. A party would be amusing. He could finally meet her. Really meet her. So much easier than online. And she couldn’t refuse him, not at her party. Couldn’t keep him out.
And she’d like him, he knew she would. Just like all the other gaijin women. Stupid cows. He could be charming when he wanted to. And he could have who he wanted. When he wanted.
A taxi pulled up in front of the house. He snapped his computer case shut and retreated farther back into the cover of shadows behind the trees. A tall Black guy got out of the taxi, walked up to the front door, pulled keys from his pocket, opened the front door.
The front door closed behind the Black guy. A lamp turned on in the house.
He was sure that no one had seen him standing in the trees. Even so, he counted. Waited. And waited some more until moving out of the dark and returning to his surveillance position.
Through his binoculars, he saw the Black guy walk up to that bitch and wrap his ar
ms around her. She smiled and tilted her head up to kiss him. He massaged her stomach, then her breasts, while she kissed him. She stopped. Pointed to the window. The Black guy walked across the room, pulled a cord to rotate the blinds and returned to her.
The blinds were only partially closed, and he still had a good view from his position behind the tree branches.
The Black guy lifted her up and carried her to the couch. He peeled off her sweater, then her pants. Her naked body glowed in the lamplight. The Black guy sat next to her on the couch. He clutched her shoulders and shoved her on her stomach, across his knees. He spanked her ass hard with one hand while he groped her pussy with the other.
From his stakeout in the bushes, he couldn’t hear her. Couldn’t hear if she was moaning, crying or screaming. But from the way her body squirmed, he guessed that she was enjoying it.
Slutty freak. She liked to be spanked. He’d enjoy getting her alone, teaching her some tricks. Making her respond. Like all the other gaijin women. They said they wanted to have fun, and he’d made damn sure they had a time they’d never forget.
She turned herself over and unzipped the Black guy’s pants. Licked his dick like it was a fucking Meiji chocolate bar. She arranged her legs and descended. He saw her smile as she straddled him on the couch.
The Black guy pinched her nipples, tugged on her tits. Head thrown back, she exposed the long line of her neck as she rode him, slow and teasing.
He let his binoculars hang by the neck strap, loosened his pants. Why hadn’t he brought his digital camera? He could’ve recorded the scene. Relived it. Studied it.
Now the woman pumped hard, her head bobbing up and down with an unmistakable rhythm and urgency.
He kneaded his rigid penis, synchronizing the timing with the undulation of her hips and the Black guy’s thrusts.
She twitched in spasm. The Black guy’s body shivered and went still.
He snatched a tissue from his jeans pocket but was too late to catch the squirting stream of semen. He wiped off his dick and tossed the soggy tissue in the bushes.
Those two knew how to put on a show. They didn’t realize it was a ménage a trois.
He loaded up his computer gear and stowed the binoculars in his jacket pocket. In moments, he was another man walking down the streets of Nishi-Azabu.
Next time, he’d bring the digital camera.
27
Alison mixed another batch of margaritas at the bar counter. Had she known that Charles’ intimate little gathering of “around fifteen people” would draw over ten times that many, she would have arranged for help. Or skipped out.
She sampled her concoction, added more triple sec, and hit the frappé button. The noise of the blender competed with the stereo speakers’ blasting David Byrne’s “Burning Down the House.”
Burning down the house? Didn’t sound like such a bad idea, Alison decided. She topped off her own glass with the frozen drink then filled the pitcher.
Alison wandered among the clusters of guests, offering refreshments. A hostess smile smeared across her face. The room full of chattering strangers floated in front of her eyes.
“Hey, Maxwell, you’re Canadian. Why don’t you call in the motherfucking Mounties! They’ll find her disappearing Canuck ass.” A drunken loudmouth and rip-roaring laughter.
Who were these people she was entertaining? The men in their dark suits, the women in their tight-fitting bodycon dresses. Where had they come from?
And where was Ms. Yamada? And Jed? No one Alison invited had shown up. Eyes blurry, she listened to conversations in Japanese and laughed at the words she divined to be the punch line. And drifted on. Charles really owed her.
Floating past the study, she glanced in to see a few revelers in various degrees of stupor. The distinctively sweet aroma of marijuana wafted from the room.
Those idiots had the nerve, the brazen stupidity, to smoke dope in Japan. And in her house. Correction. Charles’ house. Didn’t they know they could get deported? But she was the one that Immigration was booting out of the country. Alison snorted bitterly at the irony.
She left the half-empty pitcher of margaritas on the dining room table. The partygoers could fend for themselves.
Back in the kitchen, Alison popped open a bottle of Perrier-Jouët. With her finger, she traced the spiraling white flowers painted on the champagne bottle. Charles had said that they were Japanese anemones, but how would he know? Then again, Charles seemed to know everything.
She poured herself a glass and roosted on the living room couch. Her efforts at mingling had worn her out. She preferred sitting on the sofa and trying not to look miserable. But not trying too hard.
Alison heard a familiar voice and turned to see Yuko Yamada stepping into the genkan. Ms. Yamada looked stunning in a black and red silk sheath patterned with a jacquard design. A pearl barrette adorned her slicked-back hair.
Thank God Charles was on duty playing host. He shared a belly laugh with Yamada-san who handed him a package intricately wrapped in cloth.
Alison struggled to rise to her feet and greet her guest, the only one she had invited who had actually shown up. The floor shifted slightly. She paused to regain her balance — and to sober up — before going to welcome Ms. Yamada.
Standing in the genkan foyer, Alison reached out to shake Ms. Yamada’s hand, but quickly caught herself. This was Japan. People didn’t shake hands in greeting. A California-style hug was definitely out, so she smiled at Ms. Yamada and bowed.
“I’m so glad you could come, Yamada-san.” Alison touched Charles’ elbow. “Let me introduce you to my fiancé. Yamada-san, this is Charles Gor—”
“We’ve already met,” Charles said. He and Ms. Yamada exchanged a glance.
“Oh. I didn’t know. Well, then. Good. Let me get you a margarita.”
Alison returned from the kitchen and found Charles and Ms. Yamada deep in conversation. It was sweet of Charles to chitchat with Ms. Yamada, to help grease the skids for her to get a job at Green Space.
“Here you go.” Alison extended the margarita to Ms. Yamada. Charles left to hang up Ms. Yamada’s coat.
Ms. Yamada took the glass. “You’re off to Hong Kong. Have you been before?”
“No, this is my first time.”
“If you have a chance, you might want to visit the Green Space office there.”
“I didn’t realize you had an office in Hong Kong. I’d love to stop by.”
Ms. Yamada reached in her bag — tonight it was Prada — and pulled out a business card with the Hong Kong office’s address. “I’ll let them know you might be visiting.”
“Thank you, Yamada-san. I’ll make a point of dropping by.” Yamada-san was showing interest in her. She’d come to the party. Alison’s mood lightened as her probability of employment increased.
“But there is one thing,” Yamada-san said. “If it’s not too much of a bother for you.”
“Not at all, what is it?”
“If you visit the Hong Kong office, would you mind ever so much dropping something off for me? You see, I was planning to go to Hong Kong myself, but things came up, and—”
“I’d be delighted to.” Alison was more than happy to do anything that would move her one step closer to a job with Green Space.
“If you could just drop this off.” Ms. Yamada took a small padded envelope from her purse. She lifted the envelope flap to show Alison a computer disk inside.
Alison took the envelope.
“I know it’s an inconvenience, but if it weren’t so important—”
“Consider it delivered. When I was staff counsel at Save-A-Tree, I often hand-carried critical documents. You can’t be too careful.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
“And you know, Yamada-san—”
“Please call me Yuko.”
“Yuko. I’m eager to work with you, with Green Space, however I can best help. When I get back from Hong Kong, perhaps we can meet and—”
“Yes,
please call my office. When you get back. And thank you, Alison. You’re helping us more than you know.”
The party roared on behind her as Alison escaped into her bedroom to put Ms. Yamada’s envelope away in a safe place. The beat of the music shook the bedroom walls.
Alison stored the disk in her wheeling suitcase. Hong Kong might be fun. She’d deliver the disk to Green Space, do a little sightseeing, some window shopping, and when she came back to Japan, a grateful Yamada-san — Yuko — would have the perfect job all lined up for her.
Alison returned to the party only to see Charles teaching Yamada a line dance. Alison smirked. Yamada might look as elegant and polished as a Vogue cover girl, but she moved like a rusty robot. Charles put his hands on Yamada’s hips and guided her through the steps. Wasn’t it presumptuous of Charles to make body contact in a culture where people went to lengths to avoid touching each other? Yamada, smiling broadly, didn’t seem to take offense. Thank goodness.
With a guest to attend to, Alison resumed her hostess duties. She felt almost Martha Stewart?“like as she mixed more margaritas, refilled trays with chips and salsa, and freshened drinks.
Pitcher empty yet again, Alison returned to the living room where she saw Charles clutching a fat joint in his hand. He took a long hit and held the smoke in, trying to get the maximum effect from the high.
She’d have to talk to Charles about the legalization of dope in Japan. Or lack thereof. Even Paul McCartney had gotten booted out of Japan because he’d been busted for drugs. Did Charles and his ex-pat pals assume they were above the law?
Charles held the joint out, offering it to Alison as she walked by, but she shook her head to decline. As Alison walked away, Charles tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and he exhaled smoke in her face. Just what she needed — a contact high.
“What, Charles?”
“Did you see your friend?” He took another hit on the joint and held his breath. His lazily focused eyes glowed like smoldering red embers. Alison could see that Charles was lit.
“My friend?” she asked. “Yamada-san? Don’t you remember? I introduced you.” The marijuana was affecting Charles’ memory.
Tokyo Firewall: a novel of international suspense Page 13