“People would finally vote for change.”
“Yes. The question is, a change to what?”
“You think Yamaoto is trying to position himself to surf that coming wave of outrage?”
“Of course. Look at Murakami’s training course for assassins. This will augment Yamaoto’s ability to silence and intimidate. Such an ability is one of the historical prerequisites of all fascist movements. I’ve told you before, Yamaoto is at heart a rightist.”
I thought of some of the good news from the provinces I’d been reading, how some of the politicians there were standing up to the bureaucrats and other corrupt interests, opening up the books, eschewing the public works projects that have all but buried the country under poured concrete.
“And you’re working with untainted politicians to make sure that Yamaoto isn’t the outraged voters’ only choice?” I asked.
“I do what I can,” he said.
Translation: I’ve told you as much as you need to know.
But I knew the disk, practically a who’s who of Yamaoto’s network of corruption, would have provided by negative implication an invaluable road map to who was absent from that network. I imagined Tatsu working with the good guys, warning them, trying to protect them. Positioning them like stones on a go board.
I told him about Damask Rose and Murakami’s apparent connection to the place.
“Those women are being used to set up and suborn Yamaoto’s enemies,” he said when I was done.
“Not all of them,” I said, thinking of Naomi.
“No, not all. Some of them might not even know what is happening, although I imagine they would at least suspect. Yamaoto prefers to run such establishments as legitimate enterprises. Doing so makes them difficult to ferret out and dislodge. Ishihara, the weightlifter, was instrumental in that capacity. It’s good that he is gone.”
He wiped his forehead again. “I find it interesting that Murakami seems to have an important function with regard to that end of Yamaoto’s means of control, as well. He may be even more vital to Yamaoto’s power than I had first suspected. No wonder Yamaoto is attempting to diversify. He needs to reduce his dependence on this man.”
“Tatsu,” I said.
He looked at me, and I sensed he knew what was coming.
“I’m not going to take him out.”
There was a long pause. His face was expressionless.
“I see,” he said, his voice quiet.
“It’s too dangerous. It was dangerous before, and now they’ve got my picture on Damask Rose home video. If the wrong person sees that picture, they’ll know who I am.”
“Their interest is in politicians and bureaucrats and the like. The chance of that video making its way to Yamaoto, or to one of the very few other people in his organization who might recognize your face, seems remote.”
“It doesn’t seem remote to me. Anyway, this guy is a hard target, very hard. To take out someone like that and make it look natural, it’s almost impossible.”
He looked at me. “Make it look unnatural, then. The stakes are high enough to take that chance.”
“I might do that. But I’m no good with a sniper rifle, and I’m not going to use a bomb because bystanders would get blown up, too. And short of those two options, putting this guy down and getting away clean is too much of a long shot.”
I realized that I’d allowed myself to start arguing with him on practical grounds. I should have just told him no and shut my mouth.
Another long pause. Then he said, “What does he make of you, do you think?”
I took a deep breath of the moist air and let it out. “I don’t know. On the one hand, he’s seen what I can do. On the other hand, I don’t send out danger vibes the way he does. He can’t control that sort of thing, so it wouldn’t occur to him that someone else could.”
“He underestimates you, then.”
“Maybe. But not by much. People like Murakami don’t underestimate.”
“You’ve proven that you can get close to him. I could get you a gun.”
“I told you, he’s always with at least two bodyguards.”
The second I said it I wished I hadn’t. Now we were negotiating. This was stupid.
“Line them up right,” he said. “Take out all three.”
“Tatsu, you don’t understand this guy’s instincts. He doesn’t let anyone line up anything. When we got out of the Benz in front of his club, I saw him scoping rooftops for snipers. He knew where to look, too. He’d feel me lining him up from a mile away. Just like I’d feel him. Forget it.”
He frowned. “How can I convince you?”
“You can’t. Look, this was a risky proposition to begin with, but I was willing to undertake the risk in return for what you can do for me. I’ve learned that the risk is now greater than I had originally thought. The reward is the same. So the equation has changed. It’s no more complicated than that.”
Neither of us said anything for a long time. Finally, he sighed and said, “What will you do, retire?”
“Maybe.”
“You can’t retire.”
I paused. When I spoke, my voice was quiet, not much more than a whisper. “I hope you’re not saying that you might interfere.”
He didn’t flinch. “There would be no need for me to interfere,” he said. “You don’t have retirement in you. I wish you could recognize that. What will you do, find an island somewhere, spend time on the beach catching up on all the books you’ve been missing? Join a go club? Anesthetize yourself with whiskey when your restless memories refuse to permit sleep?”
But for the jellifying effects of the heat, I might have gotten upset at that.
“Maybe therapy,” he went on. “Yes, therapy is popular these days. It could help you come to terms with all the lives you have taken. Perhaps even with the one you have decided to waste.”
I looked at him. “You’re trying to goad me, Tatsu,” I said softly.
“You need goading.”
“Not from you.”
He frowned. “You say you might retire. I understand that. But what I’m doing is important and right. This is our country.”
I snorted. “It’s not ‘our’ country. I’m just a visitor.”
“Who told you that?”
“Everyone who mattered.”
“They would be glad to know that you listened.”
“Enough. I owed you. I paid. I’m done.”
I got up and rinsed with cold water at one of the spigots. He did the same. We changed and walked down the stairs.
Just outside the entranceway, he turned to me. “Rain-san,” he said. “Will I see you again?”
I looked at him. “Are you a threat to me?” I asked.
“Not if you are really going to retire, no.”
“Then we might see each other. But not for a while.”
“Then we needn’t say sayonara.”
“We needn’t say it.”
He smiled his sad smile. “I have a request.”
I smiled back. “With you, Tatsu, it would be a little dangerous to agree to anything up front.”
He nodded, accepting the point. “Ask yourself what you hope to get out of retirement. And whether retirement will achieve it.”
I said, “That I can do.”
“Thank you.”
He extended his hand and I shook it.
“De wa,” I said, by way of goodbye. Well, then.
He nodded again. “Ki o tsukete,” he said, a farewell that can be intended as an innocuous Take care or as a more literal Be careful.
The ambiguity felt deliberate.
13
I WAITED UNTIL after seven that evening, when I knew Yukiko would have left for the club, then called Harry. I was going to tell him what he needed to hear. I owed him that much. What he decided to do with the information would then be his problem, not mine.