Well, his diction might have been the soul of refinement, but the message was blunt enough. And not entirely surprising, given the conversation that led up to it.
I wondered if it was just a coincidence. Or karma. Or something about my demeanor that was suddenly making everyone swoon for my apparent potential as a contract killer.
“Forgive my directness,” I said, “but this is a pretty…sensitive thing we’re talking about. Why did they put you in charge of it? I thought you were carrying a bag because you’re on someone’s shit list.”
“Oh, I most certainly am. This is like the new Clint Eastwood movie, Dirty Harry. ‘Every dirty job that comes along.’ That’s me.”
“They’re having you take care of this so you can take a fall after?”
“Only if something unforeseen were to occur. I would of course prefer that such a thing not come to pass. That’s why I hope to rely on you. I know you. I feel I can trust you. And…from our conversations, I think you have the kind of experience I think would be relevant.”
I didn’t pause to consider whether those earlier, seemingly innocent conversations over coffee had in fact been more akin to job interviews. Nor did I wonder if we ever recognize the forks in the road we sometimes come to. They’re not common in life, and they’re never marked. Certainly, I didn’t recognize this one. Or maybe I just didn’t want to.
“I’m honored you would consider me for something this important,” I said. “But my experience was all in war. In a dozen ways, as you know, that’s different.”
“Yes, but—”
“But that’s only part of it. More important, this just isn’t the kind of job I want. I don’t know what’s next for me, but…it’s not going to be that.”
“Perhaps it doesn’t have to really be a ‘next.’ You could think of it as a one-time-only opportunity. With a generous cash bonus attached, of course.”
“Yes, it is generous, and perhaps if I were a little bolder, I’d be tempted. Have you considered trying to solve this problem…yourself?”
He nodded. “I have. But strangely enough, such self-reliance would be frowned upon. The powers-that-be wish to put distance between themselves and the outcome. They would be uncomfortable if the same person were to receive their instructions and carry out the act.”
I shrugged. “Don’t tell them it was you.”
And in that instant, an idea blossomed in my mind, as complete and profound as an archetypal Zen satori. Call it enlightenment. Call it insight into one’s own nature.
Call it an awakening.
“That notion has also tempted me. But I’m afraid the consequences of being caught in such a deception would be…very dire. I wish I were bolder. But I’m not.”
“I understand. I’m not, either. I’m really very sorry.”
Miyamoto nodded. He clearly had pushed as hard as he felt he could, and looked crestfallen that his efforts had come to nothing.
“There’s really no one else you can go to with this?” I asked.
He smiled wanly. “My superiors will have alternatives, I’m sure. To be honest, despite the risks, I was glad the opportunity came to me first. I know they were using me as a disposable intermediary — I’m accustomed to that. But if I could have made it happen, it might have impressed certain people. I’m…embarrassed to admit this could even be a consideration. I wouldn’t mention it, but you asked and it would be rude of me to be dishonest in response.”
“I understand.”
I sighed as though I was about to concede something and said, “What if I could put you in touch with someone who could help you? Would that be useful?”
He looked at me, his eyes bright with hope. “Could you?”
I shrugged. “I might know some people who I don’t think would object to this kind of work. And who have the kind of experience you would find relevant. If you’d like, I could make an inquiry or two. If there’s interest, I’d pass on your phone number. But beyond that, I wouldn’t be involved. I’m sorry.”
“No, please don’t apologize. This would be very helpful and I’d be most in your debt. I would even insist on paying you a finder’s fee for your important contribution.”
“That is very kind of you,” I said, my style again as formal as his, “but no, I would merely be offering an introduction of two people who I think might want to know each other better. It would be unthinkably rude for me to accept any kind of compensation for such a small favor as that.”
Miyamoto smiled, understanding now that when I said I didn’t want to be involved, I meant it. “Then I will accept this gracious favor as one generously bestowed by a valued friend. But only upon one condition.”
“Yes?”
“That my friend should know I will now be in his debt, and that I hope one day he will be kind enough to allow me to do him a kindness in return.”
CHAPTER NINE
I left Miyamoto at Hamarikyu and walked back to Shinbashi to pick up Thanatos. I wondered if I’d been crazy to offer to introduce him to someone who could help him with his “embarrassing situation.” But I sensed it was the right way to go about it. At least in general — the details still eluded me. I had to figure them out, and I knew I’d better get it right the first time. I doubted there would be any second chances.
I stopped at a payphone and checked with the answering service. McGraw had left a message: he wanted to meet at Zōshigaya Cemetery that afternoon. The message left me feeling equal parts relief and trepidation. I hoped there was no hidden message involved with his choice of venue. Maybe he was just being funny.
I ate a lunch of ramen near the station, then rode Thanatos northwest toward Zōshigaya. I knew the cemetery well — a serene stretch of green in Tōshima Ward, it had been a favorite of my mother’s, especially during cherry blossom season when, lovely as it was, it was less popular than some of the city’s other premier hanami locations, and therefore less crowded. She had taken me there many times when I was small, usually on the Arakawa-sen, which today is the city’s sole surviving public tram line. Even back then, the trams were dying out, being buried by train tracks as fast as the city’s wooden houses were being torn down and replaced by ferroconcrete.
I was still early for the meeting, so on a whim I parked Thanatos outside Waseda Station and boarded the Arakawa line, which would take me to Zōshigaya. A pastel-yellow train was already waiting at the terminal — a pretty fancy description for an open-air, street-level platform adjacent to the sidewalk — so I walked on, paid the fare, and moved past a dozen other passengers toward the back of the single-car carrier, really no larger than a bus. A young mother was holding her small son’s hand by one of the windows. The child was asking, Why aren’t we going? and the woman was smiling and explaining that of course we had to wait for the other passengers but that soon we would be off. I looked away, surprised by a feeling of overwhelming sadness. Some of my earliest memories were of my own mother taking me for a ride on the chin-chin densha, the ding-ding train, so named for the distinct double bell the driver sounds when pulling out of a station, and when the train started forward and the bell rang, I felt my eyes grow moist. My mother had succumbed to cancer just over a year earlier, while I was away at war. Her absence was still an acute ache in my life, and being back here on the train sharpened it. It wasn’t just the sound of the bell — everything around me suddenly reminded me of what now was lost. The serene and sedate neighborhoods rolling slowly by; the tracks half overgrown with grass; the gentle swaying of the train and the chunk-chunk, chunk-chunk of the wheels passing over the ties. The chin-chin densha was still here, steady and stalwart, and I was glad for that. But I was riding it alone now, a rōnin, a revenant returned from some faraway place, my past and everyone part of it sundered, irretrievable, accessible to me now only as painful and haunted memories, some still sharp, some increasingly indistinct.