Collector of Secrets (8 page)

From the opposite side of Ginza’s Harumi-dori Avenue, Max could see the white
Kabuki-za
building a block away. Dramatically bathed from below in brilliant light, the recessed center of the historical façade created the impression of a sixteenth-century Asian castle with matching east and west wings. The vision was striking, and he wondered what it would have been like to attend the original opening in 1889.

Crossing at the busy intersection, he stared up at the overhanging clay-tiled roof. Dual blood-red banners flapped in the evening breeze. Adorned with thick black
kanji
lettering, they hung past the matching third-floor balconies and framed the downward-sweeping lines of the black and gold second-story marquee. As he drew closer to the building, he could see Yoko’s unmistakable bobbed haircut near the entrance. She was attending to her entourage of ladies. Gathered near the front pillars, they stood chatting beneath a string of glowing red lanterns.

He tried hard to ignore the nervous sweat soaking into his undershirt.

As if she heard his quickened heartbeat approaching, Yoko turned toward him and dipped her head in a slight nod. “Thank you for showing up.” Her lips, which normally arched downward, lifted at the corners into a forced smile that didn’t match the dark tone of her eyes. “You’re late.”

“Yeah . . . well,” he muttered, looking away.

She raised a single pencil-thin eyebrow. “I assumed you’d be early, since you left the office in such a hurry.” Not allowing him time to respond, she turned back to address the dozen women clustered together, holding her hands outward like a maestro conducting an orchestra.

He watched the ladies nodding heads while they drank in her animated narration—lies, he was sure—punctuated at the end with a noisy laugh.
Why don’t they see through her?
It was clear she was hard at work, since the only two terms he’d been able to understand were his own name and the word for “corporation.”

Max took a step backward as Yoko finally broke away from the group and moved toward him.

“We’re just waiting for Mrs. Hirano before we go in,” she said.

“Fine.” He made a point to avoid eye contact.
She certainly can’t overlook her wealthiest contributor.

Reaching into her Prada handbag, Yoko drew out the resignation letter and thrust her manicured hand toward him. “You forgot this.”

It was clear the envelope had been opened, and he heard himself bite back. “I didn’t forget that letter. I quit.”

Her eyes grew even darker. “I don’t accept.” The paper shook in her outstretched hand. “You can’t take a board position and then simply resign.”

Glancing over Yoko’s head, Max caught a glimpse of several women curiously eyeing them, and he made a point to temper his rising frustration. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”

Yoko waved dismissively and her tone grew curt. “They can’t speak English and have no idea what we’re talking about.”

“I want my passport back.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“It’s not the only thing, but you’ve had it for weeks, and I’ve asked for it at least three times.”

“I told you the lawyers need it for the legal paperwork.”

What bullshit, Max thought. “Really? Is that the latest story?” His body tensed—he hated arguing. “Last week when I politely asked you it was another excuse, and the week before that something else. I’m surprised you can keep all the lies straight in your head sometimes.” He waited for the explosive fireworks, but they didn’t come.

“Max, please.” She drew out her words and softened her tone. “Something has upset you, and we need to talk about it.” She folded the letter back into her purse. Lifting her head, she smoothed the sides of her hair. “Let’s have brunch tomorrow. It’s Saturday. We can discuss whatever is bothering you.”

He had witnessed this bait-and-switch tactic before, and he wasn’t about to fall for it again. “I have plans with Tomoko all day.” He stared with rigid eyes. It was only a partial lie.

“Well, then, Sunday, perhaps.” She stepped closer. “We were so close. Let’s mend the fences.”

Well, she does seem sincere.

Before he could respond, the moment was broken by a braking taxi. Mrs. Hirano was finally arriving. Yoko’s change from conciliatory friend to money-hungry parasite was instantaneous. She pressed Max backward with a sharp elbow and stepped on his foot as she rushed to the cab door.

Watching her at work, Max was astounded at himself. She had almost beguiled him again. What was it about her personality that blessed her with the ability to charm and control? A few more seconds and he would have agreed to brunch with a simple shrug of his shoulders. He resolved to grow a thicker skin, become tougher. In the meantime, however, he would have to find a way to get his passport back while attempting to avoid her for the next two weeks.

Max followed while Yoko ushered her wealthy little flock past the bowing attendants and into the red-carpeted theater lobby. She was unlike anyone he had ever met―a master of manipulation. And as the closing doors blocked out the bustling street noise, he couldn’t help but wonder who had taught her to play this high-stakes game.

TOMOKO COULD see her breath as she perched against the low wall in Sapporo’s Odori Park. Her cell phone was pressed to one ear as she left an answering machine message.

“Hi Max. I’ll be on my way home to Tokyo soon. Meet me in Roppongi tonight, instead of Shibuya. I miss you. Bye-bye.”

The jeans she was wearing offered scant protection against the chilly stone, and she rocked from side to side, shivering in the early morning sunlight. A few more minutes of this and she would be taking the coat from the bum sleeping on the bench behind her. Miki was fifteen minutes late, and Tomoko felt ready to kill her.

Certain she heard her name being called, Tomoko attempted to block the glare from the bright eastern sunrise. In the middle of the park plaza, she could see the outline of someone jogging toward her. She desperately hoped it was Miki, but it couldn’t possibly be. The person heading her way was wearing a pair of thigh-high black-and-white striped stockings and pink Converse Chucks. Her friend was much too conservative for an outfit like that.

“Oh no, you’re freezing! I’m so sorry,” panted a familiar girlish voice.

Tomoko stood to get a better look, and her jaw dropped. “Wow, I can’t believe it!”

Miki’s flattened, shoulder-length, bleached blonde hair was held in place at the front with three pink plastic barrettes. A white T-shirt covered in large black stars peeked out from under a red Betty Boop jacket, and her pleated miniskirt almost covered her leggings. She was a five-foot-tall billboard begging for attention.

“You like?” Miki spun around. “Here, put this on.” She handed over a silver goose-down coat.

“Thank you. I’m so cold.” Tomoko’s voice rose close to a whine. “And you’re really late.” She could barely take her eyes off her old college friend.

“Hey, you’re the one who came this far north without warm clothes.” Miki stepped closer to help. “This sticks sometimes.” She twisted the zipper and it finally moved.

“Well, it’s spring in Tokyo.”

“Which is five hundred miles south of here,. Come on, let’s walk and heat you up.” Miki’s bracelets rattled as she adjusted her shiny pink purse.

“All right, but you need to explain your outfit.”

“So you don’t like it?” Miki placed an index finger on her lower lip and stared up with a pout as they both broke into hysterical giggles.

Morning traffic was light, and they crossed the street to the next section of the park. “You try working in a boring government job. I have to wear this awful uniform and the work is so, so, so boring.” Bitterness edged into her voice. “I didn’t get an exciting job like you.”

“I know,” Tomoko conceded. “But you deserved it.”

“Well, some of us are short and a bit on the fat side.” Miki snickered self-consciously, before holding up an open hand. “You don’t need to say anything. I’m happy you got the job. And besides,” she said, throwing her blonde head back, “I’ve decided that I’ll simply compensate with style.”

Tomoko nodded and enjoyed the warmth beginning to build up inside the jacket. “So why are we meeting here? My hotel is only a few blocks from the TV Tower.”

“I was worried about handing over private government information with too many people around. I could get in trouble, you know.” Miki scanned the area. Several other couples could be seen, but nobody was paying them any attention. “I know my job is bad, but I can’t lose it.”

“Well, if you’re playing secret agent, you’re not exactly blending in with those stockings.”

They both laughed.

“It took me about a week, but I did get most of what you’re looking for. Although, if you don’t mind my asking, why do you want the information?”

“I just have a strange feeling about Max’s boss, Yoko. Something isn’t right.”

“You’re really crazy about this American guy, aren’t you? Tell me what he’s like.”

Tomoko beamed as she spoke. “He’s tall, with amazing blue eyes.”

“No, not that. I’ve seen pictures already. You know what I mean. Most white guys are bad news—they come here for a while and then they’re gone.” Miki snapped her fingers. “I want to know what he’s like. Does he have money? Do you love him?”

“Don’t worry. It’s only been a couple of months, and we’re taking it slowly.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Fine. If you must know, he’s kind-hearted and he makes me laugh. I know that sounds dumb, but it’s true. You remember the guys we went to school with? They got jobs with big companies and became exactly like all the boring businessmen we used to ridicule. Well, that’s not Max. He’s spontaneous and willing to try new things. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’ve always pictured my life as an adventure. I think it can be that way with him.”

Miki pressed on with the line of questioning. “So what about his family?”

“He hasn’t said much, really, other than that they moved around a lot. His mother lives somewhere in California. She’s extremely religious, a Christian, but we’ve only talked about his father once—sounds like a drinking problem—he changes the subject whenever I ask.” They crossed another street and continued strolling east. “He’s mentioned his grandfather a few times. They were close before he died . . . I get the feeling that’s why Max likes spending time with Mr. Murayama.”

“You know that guys from bad families usually have hidden issues.” Miki clicked her tongue for dramatic effect. “Lots of emotional baggage.”

“Seriously? Did you just quote that from a magazine?”

“It’s true! You need to be careful that he doesn’t become another one of your ‘I can fix him’ projects. You remember how the last three guys turned out.”

“This is different. He’s different.”

“If you say so.” They both took a little step to the right as Miki nudged her friend gently with her hip and changed the subject. So what’s it like to have sex with a
Gaijin
? You know what they say about a guy with a big nose!” Miki mockingly licked her lips.

The two stopped next to an ornate dry fountain, and Tomoko turned to confront her friend. “I can’t believe you!” Attempting to appear angry, she couldn’t help but grin a little at the same time.

“Oh, don’t be a prude. Here’s the deal. You tell me about the sex, and I’ll give you the information you asked me to find.”

“No.”

Miki put a finger to her bottom lip and rolled her eyes upward. “Okay, but some of the material is quite . . . mmmm . . . interesting.”

Tomoko folded her arms across her chest. “This is not fair.”

“No, turning twenty-six and being called ‘Christmas cake’ to your face because nobody wants you after the twenty-fifth—now that’s not fair.” Miki patted her purse with her free hand. “This is just called creative negotiating.”

“Fine.” Tomoko held out a half-thawed hand, and they shook on it. “But can’t we go inside somewhere?”

“Sure.” Miki pointed back the way they had come. “There’s a breakfast place—Rope 101—just on the other side of the fountain. We can go . . .”

Tomoko was already on the run, moving before Miki could finish speaking, and as she charged around the corner and across the street, she could hear her friend laughing while jogging to catch up.