She pushed his head away and leaned forward, working at his trousers. Fortunato kissed her shoulders and neck. She moaned softly. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the hot, crowded room, no one else in the world. It was happening, Fortunato thought. Already he could see a little in the darkness, see her plain, square face, the lines beginning to show under her eyes, seeing how her looks had consigned her to the darkness of the Pinku Saron, wanting her even more for the desire he could see hidden inside her. He lowered her onto him. She gasped as he went into her, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Yes, he thought. Yes, yes, yes. The world. I surrender. The power rose inside him like molten lava.
It was a little after ten when he walked into the Berni Inn. The waitress, the one who'd told him her name was Megan, was just coming out of the kitchen. She stopped dead when she saw Fortunato. The waitress behind her nearly ran into her with a tray of meat pies.
She stared at his forehead. Fortunato didn't have to see himself to know that his forehead had swollen again, bulging with the power of his rasa. He walked across the room to her. "Go away," she said. "I don't want to talk to you."
"The club," Fortunato said "The one with the sign of the duck. You know where it is."
"No. I never-"
"Tell me where it is," he ordered.
All expression left her face. "Across Roppongi. Right at the police box, down two blocks, then left half a block. The bar in front is called Takahashi's."
"And the place in back? What's it called?"
"It hasn't got a name. It's a yak hangout. It's not the Yamaguchi-gumi, none of the big gangs. Just this one little clan."
"Then why are you so afraid of them?"
"They've got a ninja, a shadow-fighter. He's one of those what-you-call-thems. An ace." She looked at Fortunato's forehead. "Like you, then, isn't he? They say he's killed hundreds. Nobody's ever seen him. He could be in this room right now. If not now, then he will be later. He'll kill me for having told you this."
"You don't understand," Fortunato said. "They want to see me. I've got just the thing they want."
It was the way Hiram had described it. The hallway was raw gray plaster and the door at the end of it was padded in turquoise Naugahyde with big brass nailheads. Inside, one of the hostesses came up to take Fortunato's jacket. "No," he said in Japanese. "I want to see the oyabun. It's important." She was still a little stunned just by the way he looked. His rudeness was more than she could deal with. "W-w-wakarimasen," she stammered.
"Yes, you do. You understand me perfectly well. Go tell your boss I have, to speak to him. Now."
He waited next to the doorway. The room was long and narrow, with a low ceiling and mirrored tiles on the. left-hand wall, above a row of booths. There was a bar along the other wall, with chrome stools like an American soda fountain. Most of the men were Koreans, in cheap polyester suits and wide ties. The edges of tattoos showed around their collars and cuffs. Whenever they looked at him, Fortunato stared back and they turned away.
It was eleven o'clock. Even with the power moving through him, Fortunato was a little nervous. He was a foreigner, out of his depth, in the middle of the enemy's stronghold. I'm not here for trouble, he reminded himself. I'm here to pay Hiram's debt and get out.
And then, he thought, everything will be okay. It was not even midnight Wednesday, and Hiram's business was nearly settled. Friday the 747 would be off for Korea and then the Soviet Union, taking Hiram and Peregrine with it. And then he would be on his own, able to think about what came next. Or maybe he should get on the plane himself, go back to New York. Peregrine said they had no future together, but maybe that wasn't true.
He loved Tokyo, but Tokyo would never love him back. It would see to all his needs, give him enormous license in exchange for even the smallest attempt at politeness, dazzle him with its beauty, exhaust him with its exquisite sexual pleasures. But he would always be a gaijin, a foreigner, never have a family in a country where family was more important than anything.
The hostess crouched by the last booth, talking to a Japanese with long permed hair and a silk suit. The little finger of his left hand was missing. The yakuza used to cut their fingers off to atone for mistakes. The younger kids, Fortunato had heard, didn't hold much with the idea. Fortunato took a breath and walked up to the table.
The oyabun sat next to the wall. Fortunato figured him to be about forty. There were two jo-san next to him, and another across from him between a pair of heavyset bodyguards. "Leave us," Fortunato ordered the hostess. She walked away in the middle of her protest. The first bodyguard got up to throw Fortunato out. "You too," Fortunato said, making eye contact with each of them and each of the girls.
The oyabun watched it all with a quiet smile. Fortunato bowed to him from the waist. The oyabun ducked his head and said, "My name is Kanagaki. Will you sit down?"
Fortunato sat across from him. "The gaijin Hiram Worchester has sent me here to pay his debt." Fortunato took out his checkbook. "The amount, I believe, is two million yen."
"Ah," Kanagaki said. "Another 'ace.' You have provided us with much amusement. Especially the little red-haired fellow"
"Tachyon? What does he have to do with this?"
"With this?" He pointed to Fortunato's checkbook. "Nothing. But many jo-san have tried to bring him pleasure these past few days. It seems he is having trouble performing as a man."
Tachyon? Fortunato thought. Can't get it up? He wanted to laugh. It certainly explained the little maids, rotten mood at the hotel. "This has nothing to do with aces," Fortunato said. "This is business."
"Ah. Business. Very well. We shall settle this in a businesslike way." He looked at his watch and smiled. "Yes, the amount is two million yen. In a few minutes it will become four million. A pity. I doubt you will have time to bring the gaijin Worchester-san here before midnight."
Fortunato shook his head. "There is no need for Worchester-san to be here in person."
"But there is. We feel there is some honor at stake here."
Fortunato held the man's eyes. " I am asking you to do the needful." He made the traditional phrase an order. " I will give you the money. The debt will be canceled."
Kanagaki's will was very strong. He almost managed to say the words that were trying to get out of his throat. Instead he said in a strangled voice, "I will honor your face."
Fortunato wrote the check and handed it to Kanagaki. "You understand me. The debt is canceled."
"Yes," Kanagaki said. "The debt is canceled."
"You have a man working for you. An assassin. I think he calls himself Zero Man."
"Mori Riishi." He gave the name in Japanese fashion, family name first.
"No harm will come to Worchester-san. He is not to be harmed. This Zero Man, Mori, will stay away from him." Kanagaki was silent.
"What is it?" Fortunato asked him. "What is it you're not saying?"
"It's too late. Mori has already left. The gaijin Worchester dies at midnight."
"Christ," Fortunato said.
"Mori comes to Tokyo with a great reputation, but we have no proof. He was very concerned to make a good impression."
Fortunato realized he hadn't checked with Peregrine. "What hotel? What hotel is Worchester-san staying in?" Kanagaki spread his hands. "Who knows?"
Fortunato started to get up. While he'd been talking to Kanagaki, the bodyguards had come back with reinforcements. They surrounded the table. Fortunato couldn't be bothered with them. He formed a wedge of power around himself and sprinted for the door, pushing them aside as he ran.