She looked around nervously. “Okay, but make it quick — I really don’t need some drunken salaryman seeing us making out and getting the idea that’s what I’m here for.”
She unlocked the door and I ducked inside. I really just meant to give her a simple goodnight kiss, but it pretty instantly turned into more than that. She broke it off, breathing hard. “Get out of here, you. You’re too tempting.”
“Oh man, so are you.”
I went back around. “I have to charge you,” she said. “They know when a room’s been used because of the maid service. Otherwise, I wouldn’t.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to get you in trouble.” I gave her the money and took the key. “What time should I come down?”
“I get off at seven. But don’t meet me here. I don’t want people to see us together. Just come to my apartment, anytime after seven-thirty. Okay?”
“I can’t wait.”
She smiled. “Neither can I.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I spent the following morning at Sayaka’s. It was amazing — as good as the first time, and maybe even better, because now the ice was broken and we were getting a little more used to each other.
Several hours in, she was lying on her back, drifting in and out of sleep. I was turned on my side, my head propped on my fist, watching her. I didn’t want to get too comfortable — it would have felt great to nod off, but I had to meet Miyamoto at noon. And retrieve the money beforehand. I didn’t want it exposed for longer than necessary.
She glanced at me, her lids heavy. “What?”
“What, what?”
“Why are you looking at me?”
“I like looking at you.”
She smiled and touched my cheek. “You’re sweet.”
I kissed her fingers. “You really think so?”
“Yeah. Really.”
“Some people think I have a temper.”
“Not with me.”
I kissed her softly on the lips. “I like how I am with you.”
She didn’t say anything. She just smiled, tracing my ear, my jaw, my lips.
I glanced at the clock by the bed. “I have to go.”
“Work?”
“Yeah.”
“Still don’t want to tell me?”
“I can’t.”
“Jun, you’re not married, are you? I mean, you said you’d only been with one girl, but…”
The question caught me so off guard it made me laugh. But of course I could instantly see why she’d be concerned. “No.”
“I didn’t think so, but then…I wondered. It’s weird knowing so little about you.”
“I told you. You know me better than most.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“It feels like that. But then I feel like…maybe I’m being naïve.”
I stroked her cheek. “You’re not naïve.”
“I’ve never thought so, anyway.”
“You’re not. Let me just get out of this jam — a work jam, it’s not marriage or a relationship or anything like that. And then we’ll see, okay?”
I looked at her for a long moment. I guess my expression must have been kind of dopey. She said, “What?”
I smiled. “I just feel lucky.”
There was a pause. She said, “Do you want to stay here tonight? You can if you want.”
“I kind of like seeing you at the hotel. I think I’d miss you if you weren’t here.”
She laughed. “You really are sweet. Okay, then, see you tonight?”
I kissed her. “See you tonight.”
I rode Thanatos to Ginza. On the way, that phrase, I feel lucky, kept echoing in my mind. It was bugging me, and I didn’t know why. I pushed it aside. There was one small thing I needed to take care of, and then I’d retrieve the money. I had to focus.
I found a guy delivering bento lunches on a motor scooter — an ordinary guy, doubtless unimaginative but responsible, and also doubtless in need of cash given the likely wages of the bento delivery industry. I asked him if he’d like to make a quick ten thousand yen. All he had to do was open a bank account for me, Taro Yamada, the Japanese equivalent of John Smith, right here at the local branch of the Taiyō Bank. I’d give him the cash, he’d sign the paperwork, ten thousand yen for fifteen minutes’ labor. He didn’t hesitate. It was done and he was back on his scooter before those bento lunches even had a chance to cool. Next, I called a telephone answering service and established an account for someone named John Smith, setting up payment through the new bank account.
The necessary infrastructure established, I rode Thanatos to Aoyama-itchōme and got on the Ginza line from there. I pulled on my little disguise as the train left the station, and when I got out at Gaienmae, I saw no one lingering after the train had departed. I picked up the envelope as I had last time, and taped my alter ego’s new phone number to the bottom of the seat. Now if Miyamoto needed to reach the contract killer I’d put him in touch with, he could. Ten minutes later, I was back on Thanatos, with ten thousand dollars in a bag around my shoulder. Not bad.
I headed over to Akasaka-mitsuke, parked near the New Otani, and walked the rest of the way. Miyamoto wasn’t there yet. Rather than wait for him in the lobby, I strolled around the hotel, imagining how I would get to me if I were the opposition. It was a good game and I knew I needed to practice, to get as fluent in the city as I had become in the jungle.
I knew that in McGraw’s imagination, or at least in his hopes, my meetings with Miyamoto were always super cloak-and-dagger. And initially they had been, at least to some extent. But over time, it had become increasingly relaxed. So I wasn’t at all perturbed when Miyamoto came in and waved as soon he saw me.
He came over and bowed low. “Thank you again for the great service you have done me.”
Of course, I played dumb. “What do you mean?”
“The…friend you introduced me to. He proved most helpful. Professional and discreet.”
“Really? He didn’t say anything to me. Well, discreet, as you say. But I’m glad it worked out. Your people were…pleased?”
“Very pleased. It seems I’m now worthy of a whole new level of respect, and I owe it all to you. It has been my good fortune to know you.”
Good fortune…luck again. Why was that notion bothering me? Again, I pushed it aside. “You don’t owe me anything,” I said. “I just hope you don’t get a promotion out of this — I’d miss our meetings.”
He laughed. “Do you have a little time? The hotel’s garden is wonderful — over four hundred years old. A beautiful sight to contemplate while drinking tea.”
So we spent an hour or so enjoying tea in the lounge overlooking the garden. Miyamoto commented on my new apparent mindfulness in the way I sipped and savored, saying he was honored I had listened to his silliness. I told him it was my honor that he would so patiently instruct someone so unworthy. It was easy to switch bags naturally when we stood to go. As I headed toward the back exit, Miyamoto said, “I won’t forget what you did for me, or that I owe you a service in return.”
“Really, you are much too kind. All I did was offer an introduction.”
“And you are much too modest. I am in your debt.”
“Okay, you can pay for the tea again next time.”
He laughed. “That will hardly suffice. But yes. Until we meet again.”
A number of things had been roiling my mind, including that weirdly disturbing notion of luck and fortune, and though I’d suppressed it all while chatting with Miyamoto, I wanted to think carefully about what was bothering me now. So I rode Thanatos the short distance to Zenpuku-ji, a small temple constructed in 824, making it Tokyo’s oldest after Sensō-ji in Asakusa. Zenpuku-ji was a quiet space with a giant ginkgo tree said to be as old as the temple itself, with both the tree and the temple surrounded by graves, many of them ancient. It would be a good place to work things through. In my experience, nothing fosters more sober, careful thought, more honest reflection, than finding oneself the sole living trespasser in a sanctum of the dead.