I cut back the other way, checking behind me before I left the station. Probably it was nothing, but I’d remember his face and gait, watch my back as always, see if he showed up again.
Principles of Strangles was in excellent condition, as promised, with a price to match, but I knew that I would greatly enjoy the slim volume. Although I was eager to depart, I waited patiently while the proprietor carefully, almost ceremoniously, wrapped the book in heavy brown paper and string. He knew it wasn’t a gift, but this was his way of showing his appreciation for the sale and it would have been rude for me to hurry him. Finally, he proffered the package with extended arms and a deep bow, and I accepted it from a similar posture, bowing again as I left.
I headed back to the Mita line. If I had really been concerned that someone was tailing me I would have caught a cab, but I wanted to see if I could spot Attaché Man again. I waited on the platform while two trains pulled in and departed. Anyone trying to follow me would have had to stay on the platform, also — incongruous behavior that makes a person stand out in sharp relief. But the platform was deserted, and Attaché Man was gone. Probably it had been nothing.
I thought of Midori again. It was her second night at the Blue Note, and she’d be starting her first set in about an hour. I wondered what she would think when I didn’t show for the second time. She was human; she would probably assume that I hadn’t been interested, that maybe she had been a little too forward in inviting me. It was unlikely that I would ever see her again, or if we did by chance bump into each other, it would be slightly awkward but polite, two people who met and started an acquaintanceship that somehow didn’t take off, certainly nothing out of the ordinary. She might ask Mama about me at some point, but all Mama knows is that I pop into Alfie from time to time without warning.
I wondered what it would have been like if we’d met under other circumstances. It could have been good, I thought again.
I almost laughed at the absurdity. There was no room for anything like that in my life, and I knew it.
Crazy Jake again: There’s no home for us, John. Not after what we’ve done.
That was about the truest advice I’d ever been given. Forget about her, I thought. You know you have to.
My pager buzzed. I found a pay phone and dialed the number.
It was Benny. After the usual exchange of bona fides, he said, “There’s another job for you, if you want it.”
“Why are you contacting me this way?” I asked, meaning why not the bulletin board.
“Time-sensitive matter. You interested?”
“I’m not known for turning away work.”
“You’d have to bend one of your rules on this one. If you do, there’s a bonus.”
“I’m listening.”
“We’re talking about a woman. Jazz musician.”
Long pause.
“You there?” he said.
“Still listening.”
“You want the details, you know where to find them.”
“What’s the name?”
“Not over the phone.”
Another pause.
He cleared his throat. “All right. Same name as a recent job. Related matter. Is that important?”
“Not really.”
“You want this?”
“Probably not.”
“Significant bonus if you want it.”
“What’s significant?”
“You know where to find the details.”
“I’ll take a look.”
“I need an answer within forty-eight hours, okay? This needs to be taken care of.”
“Don’t they all,” I said, and hung up.
I stood there for a moment afterwards, looking around the station, watching people bustling back and forth.
Fucking Benny, telling me, “This needs to be taken care of,” letting me know that someone else would be doing it if I didn’t.
Why Midori? A connection with Bulfinch, the reporter. He had sought her out, I saw that at Alfie, along with Telephone Man. So whoever Telephone Man worked for would assume that Midori had learned something she wasn’t supposed to, or maybe that her father had given her something, something Bulfinch was after. Something not worth taking any chances over.
You could do it, I thought. If you don’t, someone else will. You’d at least do it right, do it fast. She wouldn’t feel anything.
But they were just words. I wanted to feel that way but couldn’t. What I felt like instead was that her world should never have collided with mine.
A Mita-sen train pulled in, heading in the direction of Otemachi, the transfer point to Omotesando and the Blue Note. An omen, I thought, and got on it.
10
IF YOU WANT to survive as long as I have in the world I inhabit, you’ve got to think like the opposition. I learned that from the gangs that pursued me when I was a kid, and refined the lesson with SOG in Cambodia. You’ve got to ask: If I were trying to get at me, how would I go about it?
Predictability is the key, geographical and chronological. You need to know where a person will be and at what time. You learn this by surveillance, analyzing the routes to work, the times the target comes and goes, until you’ve identified a pattern, and choke points through which the target can almost always be counted on to pass at a certain time. You choose the most vulnerable of these, and that’s where you lay the ambush.
And if that’s what you’re doing, you’d better not forget that all the time someone is running the same kind of operation on you. Thinking like this is what divides the hard targets from the soft ones.
The same principle works for crime prevention. If you wanted to grab some quick cash, where would you wait? Near an ATM, probably, and probably at night. You’d scout around for the right location, too, someplace with enough pedestrian traffic to save you a long wait, but not so much of a crowd that you’d be impeded from acting when you identified a good target. You’d look for a dark spot far enough from the machine so the target wouldn’t notice you, but close enough so that you could move right in once the cash transaction was completed. Police stations close by would make you nervous, and you’d probably hunt for a better place. Etc. If you think this way, you’ll know exactly where to look to spot someone lurking, and you’ll know where you’re vulnerable, where more alertness is required.
With Midori, extensive surveillance wasn’t even necessary. Her schedule was publicly available. Presumably that was how Bulfinch knew to find her at Alfie. And that would be the easiest way for Benny’s people to find her now.
From Otemachi I rode the Chiyoda-sen subway seven stops to Omotesando, where I exited and took the stairs to the street. I walked the short distance to the Yahoo Café, a coffee shop with Internet terminals. I went in, paid the fee, and logged on to one of the terminals. With the café’s T1 line, it took just a few seconds to access the file Benny had posted. It included a few scanned publicity photos, Midori’s home address, a concert schedule with tonight’s appearance at the Blue Note, and parameters indicating that the job had to look natural. They were offering the yen equivalent of about $150,000 — a substantial premium over our usual arrangement.
The reference to tonight’s appearance at the Blue Note, first set at 7:00, was ominous. Predictability, time and place. If they wanted to take her out soon, tonight would be almost too good to pass up. On the other hand, Benny had told me I had forty-eight hours to get back to him, which would indicate that she would be safe for at least that long.
But even if she had that much time, I didn’t see how I could parlay it into a reasonable life span. Warn her that someone had just put a contract out on her? I could try, but she had no reason to believe me. And even if she did, what then? Teach her how to improve her personal security? Sell her on the benefits of an anonymous life in the shadows?