I figured what was coming, but I coaxed anyway. “Yes?”
“They wanted us to be part-time prostitutes.”
“I’ve heard about that sort of thing.” So had Mariko, I thought.
“Well, it’s true,” Rita said. “I refused go along with it. I made it plain that I was hired as a singer and a dancer, not as a whore.” She spat out the word. “They made it very hard for me to keep saying no to them. They never used force or anything, but there was constant pressure to entertain guests after the show and to do the things they wanted me to. Anyway, I got tired of it, but I was stuck in a foreign country and didn’t have enough money to get back home.”
I nodded sympathetically, encouraging her to go on.
“Since I wouldn’t go along with them on the prostitution, they said they would tear up the contract and give me enough money to get home if I did some nude modeling for them. I’ve done lingerie modeling, and I figured it wasn’t that much different. Besides, it would get me home. So I said okay.”
“And. .”
“And I posed for them. They wanted me to get in some strange poses, but at the time I didn’t think much about it. They kept their word about paying me enough to get back to the States and they even tore up my contract.”
“So what does this have to do with the package you want me to pick up?”
“Well, about three months ago, right after I got back to the States, I met a nice older gentleman. I won’t tell you it was a whirlwind romance, but after my experience in Japan, some stability and financial security looked good. Maybe safety was what I was really looking for. Anyway, we’ve decided to get married. About a week ago I got some photographs in the mail.”
“The photographs you posed for?”
“Yes, but they were different. Somehow they managed to alter the photographs so it looked like I was doing things quite different from just posing nude.”
“Such as?”
“They managed to add men and even a dog to the photographs. It was disgusting. If my fiancée saw them, I’m sure it would ruin my chances of getting married.”
“Even if you explained what happened and that the pictures are altered?”
“He’s very conservative,” she said. “He doesn’t even know I posed for lingerie advertising. He knows I wasn’t a virgin when he met me, but he’s very possessive. I’m sure he’d call off the marriage if he ever saw those pictures.”
“And with the pictures I suppose you got a request for money.”
“That’s right.”
“How much?”
“That doesn’t really matter. I’ve already paid it.”
I frowned. I expected a complication where I would get involved in fake ransom drop-offs and a bevy of blackmailers. I was a little disappointed. “That’s too bad. My advice is don’t pay. Blackmail has the habit of stretching out and never ending. You should call their bluff.”
“If they try it again after we’re married, I might do that,” she said. “But right now I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize my marriage.”
“And the package you want me to pick up?” I prompted her.
“Those are the photographs I paid for.”
“Are you getting the negatives, too?”
“That’s right.”
“And when I pick up the package, you want me to make sure you’ve gotten both the photographs and the negatives.”
“No, I don’t,” she said hastily. “I don’t want anyone seeing those photographs. They kept their word about giving me enough money to go home and tearing up my contract. I’m sure they’ll keep their word on this, too.”
“But they double-crossed you over what they did with the pictures.”
“We didn’t have an agreement on that. I just wasn’t bright enough to think of all the possibilities or the kinds of trouble it might cause me later. I just want you to pick up the package.”
“And who has this package?”
“A man named Susumu Matsuda. He’s staying at the Golden Cherry Blossom Hotel. He’s here from Japan. Anyway, I’ve already arranged for him to hand over the package. But I don’t want to go over and meet him to pick it up. Frankly, I’m a little scared.”
I nodded sympathetically. “And after I pick up the package?”
“I want you to hold the package until I call for it. If you can arrange to pick it up today, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“All right,” I said. “Mr. Susumu Matsuda at the Golden Cherry Blossom.” I made a quick note on a piece of paper.
Rita opened her purse, took out a Gucci wallet, and pulled out some bills. “Here’s a deposit. I’ll give you the balance after you’ve picked up the photographs. Is that satisfactory?”
“Most satisfactory.” I stuffed the bills into my pocket without looking at them.
“Can I have one of your cards, so I’ll know what phone number to call?” I was now sure this was a game set up by Mariko. Only Mariko knew I had a phone installed in the office and fake business cards printed up.
“Certainly,” I fumbled in the top drawer of the desk and pulled out one of the fake cards.
Rita looked at the business card. “Okay, Mr. Tanaka. I’ll be counting on you.”
“I’ll do my best, Ms. Newly.”
I escorted her to the door of the office and watched her as she walked down the hall toward the creaky elevator. Before she turned the corner to the elevator she looked back at me, as if she expected me to be there. I smiled and tried to wave reassuringly. She smiled back and turned the corner.
When I returned to the office I closed the door and started laughing. I was convinced that Mariko was the mastermind behind the little charade I had just gone through. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small wad of bills. The laughter died. I was expecting stage money, but there in the palm of my hand were three crisp one hundred dollar bills.
3
Mariko was the proverbial struggling actress. For her to put up three hundred dollars for a joke was, in itself, a joke. I decided to talk to her.
Mariko disdained the standard actor’s job as a waitress and she worked at a dress boutique in Little Tokyo. It was only a few blocks from the rented detective office, so I committed what passes for a peccadillo in Los Angeles and walked. The Kawashiri Boutique is part of a tourist complex on First Street known as Japanese Village. It was designed by a Korean, so it looks like a Korean’s version of what a Japanese Village in Los Angeles should look like. That’s America.
The entrance to Japanese Village is marked by a three-story yagura, or fire tower. A yagura was used in ancient Japan as a watchtower to look for the incipient signs of smoke in crowded cities. The yagura in L.A. is made from bolted together telephone poles, so it would hardly qualify as a museum piece, but I suppose it could be used to spot a tourist bus and the incipient signs of cash.
A cluster of new buildings radiate out from the tower: numerous restaurants, gift shops, bakeries, toy stores, souvenir shops, and a couple of dress shops, including the Kawashiri Boutique. As I walked in, Mariko was helping a couple of customers.
Mariko had on a simple navy dress with a colorful red and gold scarf draped over her shoulder. She’s only five feet three inches tall, but that isn’t a particular handicap in a shop that caters to older Japanese women. It is a handicap in her acting.
Her face is round with a small pointed chin. She has a cute button nose and wide brown eyes. Japanese faces have a wide variety of types (at least to other Japanese). Mrs. Kawashiri, who owned the boutique, has a broad flat face that wouldn’t look out of place on a Korean, Mongol or Eskimo. Mariko has the same kind of features as me, which look more Southeast Asian.