The Last Assassin (11 page)

D
OX AND I
met for dinner that evening at a Japanese restaurant called Omen on Thompson in SoHo. It was a good place, quiet and dark and private, and the food was first-rate. Over sashimi and beer, I explained the situation in Japan, the risks and the possible benefits.

When I was done, he said, “There's something I want to ask you about.”

“Okay,” I said, thinking there was something serious.

“Well, in all the excitement, you never did tell me how things went last night before everything went haywire.”

I realized I should have known better. “It went okay,” I said.

“Okay? What is okay?”

“You know…okay.”

“I'm talking about your lady.”

“Yeah, it was good, I guess.”

“Goddamn, man, what do I have to do, the old Rayovac to the nutsack to get you to talk?”

“It was good. She didn't throw me out. She let me see…my son.”

My son.
I wondered if the words would ever feel familiar. Just saying them made me feel slightly dizzy, good and anxious and confused all at the same time.

“Well, how was that?”

“It was…good.”

He rolled his eyes. “John Rain, Captain Eloquence. Did you at least…you know.”

I looked at him. “Did I what?”

“You know…did you get any?”

“Oh, for Christ's sake…”

“You got some then.”

I shook my head in exasperation and said nothing.

He grinned. “And here you were just in Barcelona with the lovely Miss Delilah. You slut.”

“I just called Delilah.”

“How was that?”

“I don't know. I told her things were complicated, that I needed a little time to sort them out. She got pretty sullen with me. She does that sometimes. But with the shit I'm up against, I just can't deal with it right now. I can't.”

“Well, making a woman like Delilah sullen, that's quite a privilege.”

“Look, let's talk about Japan, okay? Are you interested?”

“'Course I am. You're in a tight spot, I ain't gonna let you down.”

I nodded. I was going to owe this man more than I could ever repay. At least it looked like he might walk away with a good payday this time.

“According to the informant,” I said, “the shipment is unusually large. So we should be talking about an unusual amount of cash, too. Still, no guarantees.”

“Well, I never imagined myself squaring off against the Japanese and Chinese mobs, but I guess that's where the money is. Plus it's the kind of killing and thievery a man can feel good about after it's done. You know, it ain't like we're raping and pillaging a bunch of candy stripers.”

“No, you can bet these people won't be candy stripers,” I said. I wanted to add,
Don't get cocky,
but at the moment, I wasn't in a great position to dispense advice.

He took a swallow of beer, then leaned back and belched. “Well, the potential upside is fine,” he said. “You can count me in for that. But you're not doing this for the money, are you?”

“I'm not going to give it to charity afterward, if that's what you mean.”

“What I mean is, you're doing this to try to clean up the mess you made outside of Midori's apartment last night.”

“That's right.”

“So you can be with her and your boy.”

“Yes.”

“So you can get yourself a normal life.”

I nodded, uncomfortable, not sure what he was getting at.

“I've got a little joke I want to tell you,” he said. “I think you might like it.”

I looked at him. “Okay.”

“There's this hunter. He's in the woods with his rifle, and he sees a big, ugly-looking bear. Takes aim, shoots, and he misses. The bear walks over and says, ‘Mister, I don't like the feeling of being hunted. I reckon I'm just gonna have to teach you a lesson.' So the bear bends the hunter over a log, pulls his pants down, and sodomizes that boy for all he's worth.”

“Okay…” I said again.

“So a little later, the hunter is still prowling around, he sees the bear again. He takes aim, he shoots, and he misses again. The bear walks over and says, ‘Damn, son, you sure are a slow learner. Okay, I guess we'll just have to repeat the lesson.' And he bones him a second time.”

I wondered where he was going with this.

“Well, sure enough, an hour later the hunter sees the bear again. And he tries to shoot him again, and he misses again. Well, this time, the bear comes over looking especially grave and sober. And he says, ‘Mister, I want you to be honest with me. This isn't really about hunting, is it?'”

At that, Dox burst into laughter. I looked at him, quietly marveling at his sense of humor.

After a moment, his guffaws subsided. “You get it?” he asked.

“Yeah, but…”

“The hunter is you, partner. You keep telling yourself you're just trying to do the right thing, or be with your family, or get out of the life, or whatever. But it always comes down to killing with you. Always.”

For a guy who liked to play the hick, Dox had insight that could cut like a scalpel.

“It's like America,” he went on. “I mean, look at us, we're always telling ourselves how peace-loving we are. ‘We're a peace-loving people, we love peace.' I guess that's why we spend more on our military than the rest of the world combined, why we have over seven hundred overseas military bases in a hundred and thirty countries, and why we've been at war pretty much continuously since we were just a bunch of colonies. Shoot, you think if a Martian visited Earth and tried to identify the most peace-loving culture, he'd pick the U.S. of A.? I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it, mind you. We're a warlike people, it's obvious, we're good at war and we like it. I just don't know why we can't admit it to ourselves. I bet sales of Prozac would go down if we could.”

“Maybe,” I said, absently.

“You see my point, though, right? You are what you are, just like that hunter. The rest is just excuses for what you want to do anyway.”

“I hope this doesn't mean you think you're the bear.”

He laughed. “What I'm trying to say is, at some point, you should face up to your nature. I think you'd be more at peace with yourself if you would. Hell, look at me. Why do you think the ladies like me so much? I mean, aside from the generous nature of my natural endowments. It's because I'm comfortable in my own skin. Ladies like that kind of thing.”

I closed my eyes. “If you see another way out of this situation, tell me, and I'll take it.”

“I don't know that there is another way, right now. But that ain't really the point, and you know it.”

I nodded. “Look, I need to go. We've got to leave for Tokyo early in the morning and I haven't even made reservations yet and I'm running on fumes.”

“Shit, man, don't look so glum. Last night was a near thing, but you handled it. How many people you think could have come through like that? You're goddamn exceptional is what you are. And now you've got a good plan for fixing things and a good partner to help you. So snap out of this misery or I swear I'll kick your ass right here in this restaurant.”

“All right,” I said, giving him a wan smile. “I'll think about what you said.”

He laughed again. “You mean you'll try to find reasons to reject it. And you might find a few. But they won't last you. Because what I'm telling you is the truth.”

I
LEFT FOR TOKYO
from JFK in the morning. I would have preferred an indirect route, but we didn't have a lot of time. For security, Dox was traveling separately, and we would link up again at Narita.

Before going through security, I found a restroom at the end of the departures area. It was more distant from the check-in lines and from security screening than any of the others I had passed and, I hoped, would therefore be frequented by fewer travelers. I used a length of duct tape to secure the Strider to the underside of one of the toilets. I figured there was at least a fifty-percent chance it would be found by a cleaning crew, but if I got lucky, it would be waiting when I got back after finishing my business with Yamaoto, and I would be saved the hassle of having to get a new one.

I arrived at Narita late in the afternoon of the following day. After taking steps to verify the absence of a local welcoming committee, I found Dox and we caught a Narita Express train to Tokyo Station. The big man seemed perfectly at ease in the Asian surroundings, and I remembered how much time he had spent in the region. As for me, my feelings were, as always, mixed at being back here. For a long time, Tokyo had been the closest thing I had to a place I might call home. But it's not as though I ever belonged here, either, or ever really would.

While Dox roamed the mazelike station, I stopped at the local Vodafone shop so Mr. Watanabe could buy another pair of prepaid cell phones. I would have preferred not to put the additional stress on the Watanabe identity, but the mini-bazaars for black market phones that were running out of Shin-Okubo and Ueno when I lived in Tokyo had been cleaned up, and I didn't have time to go searching for wherever they might have been reconstituted. Anyway, the connection between Cingular in the States and Vodafone in Japan seemed manageably remote. I would have asked Dox to buy the phones, but I was determined to do everything I could to obscure his involvement.

When the phones were taken care of, I called Midori. She didn't pick up, but I left her a voice mail giving her the new mobile number. Even if she didn't need to reach me, or want to, I wanted to show her I could be there for her, and for Koichiro, even if only by phone. I didn't want her to think I was going to just disappear like a ghost, the way I had when she'd first left Tokyo.

We headed out. I wanted to see Tatsu right away, so Dox, who had spent enough time in Tokyo to know his way around, went to outfit himself with his customary personal cutlery while I headed to Jikei hospital. I caught the Yamanote line train to Shinbashi Station and walked the short distance from there. It was a cool but clear evening, and it felt good to be outside after the long trip from New York.

I circled the hospital, checking the hot spots, and used a side entrance to go in. On my own I felt secure, but Tatsu was a known nexus of mine, with plenty of his own enemies, and in going to see him I might be walking into an ambush. Nothing set off my radar. I went to the information desk in the bustling reception area and told one of the women sitting there that I wanted to see Ishikura Tatsuhiko, a patient. The woman checked the computer and told me that Ishikura-san was in the hospital's Oncology Clinic.

The sounds around me faded out. A wave of cold stole across my face and neck and spread through my gut. The woman gave me directions but I just stared at her, not hearing. I asked her to repeat herself but then after I walked away I realized I couldn't remember most of what she had said. I followed signs, feeling lost in the winding, fluorescent-lit corridors.

I found the ward, but couldn't recall the room number the receptionist had told me. I asked a nurse and she escorted me down the hall. Outside one of the doors stood an athletic-looking crew-cut Japanese man in a gray suit. There was a bulge under his jacket and a communication device in one of his cauliflower ears. He looked at me as I approached and I made sure to let him see my hands.

We stopped outside the door. While the man patted me down, the nurse poked her head inside and said in Japanese, “Excuse me, Ishikura-san, you have a visitor…”

“Ii yo,”
a weak voice responded from inside. Okay.

The nurse gestured to the room. The bodyguard walked me in, staying just behind me.

Tatsu was propped up in bed, surrounded by the usual depressing hospital machinery, an IV line snaking into his arm and a tube up his nose. I'd seen him only a month before, but he was ten kilos lighter now and looked as many years older. Whatever he had, it was eating him alive, and I could instantly see that all the machinery and IV lines in the world were nothing but a sick joke by comparison.

A pretty young woman sat to the right of the bed, a sleeping infant in her arms. Tatsu's daughter, I realized. He had told me the last time I saw him that his first grandson had just been born.

I hesitated, feeling I was intruding, but Tatsu waved me in.
“Hisashiburi,”
he said weakly. It's been a while. He nodded to the bodyguard and the man left.

A number of lies came to my lips, but none made it farther than that. “Damn, Tatsu,” I said, shaking my head, looking at him. “Damn.”

He nodded weakly as if to say,
Yes, I know,
then gestured to the woman next to him. “My daughter, Kaoru. And grandson, Arihiro.” His eyes were sunken but they lit up with his smile.

I bowed to the woman. “It's good to meet you,” I said stiffly.

Because of the baby, she stayed in her seat, but bowed her head. “I've heard a lot about you,” she said. “You help my father in his work.”

I glanced at Tatsu. “I try to.”

Tatsu said, “Don't tell him what I say.”

The woman smiled. “Only good things.”

I nodded. “He's probably lying, then.”

Tatsu chuckled. The woman stood up, the child in one arm, her free hand on Tatsu's shoulder. “I should get the baby home,” she said. “Feed him and put him to bed.”

“Yes,” Tatsu said. “Go. My friend here doesn't talk much, but he's good company.”

Tatsu turned toward the woman with a slight grimace, and she lowered the baby and held him there. Tatsu whispered something in the child's ear, and then, with another grimace, moved closer and kissed him softly on the cheek. He eased back onto the bed and let out a long breath.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” the woman said, her hand on his shoulder again.

Tatsu nodded. “Yes. Bring the little one.”

The woman smiled and said, “Of course.” She walked to the door and turned to me. “Thank you,” she said. I wasn't sure for what. I bowed, and she was gone.

Tatsu looked at me and gestured to the chair. “Let's talk, my friend. You didn't bring any good whiskey, did you?”

I sat down beside him. “I thought you were off that stuff. Wife's orders.”

He looked at me with the trademark wry expression he reserved for moments of stupidity too monumental to bear comment, and for an instant he looked like himself again. “Well, it doesn't matter very much now, does it?” he said.

“It's bad?”

The wry look gave way to a smile, as though this was the most amusing conversation he had had in a long time. “What do you think?” he said.

We were quiet for a moment. I asked, “How long?”

He shrugged. “A few weeks, maybe.”

Christ.
“They can't…”

“Gastric cancer. Stage four. It's already in the lymph nodes, the esophagus…that's why I've lost all this weight. I can't hold anything down.”

“The whiskey would have been a waste, then.”

He chuckled. “I could have just smelled it.”

We were quiet again.

He said, “I assume you're still interested in finishing Yamaoto?”

I didn't know what to say. He had so little time, it didn't seem fair to make him use it talking about this. But then I realized,
That's what he wants, maybe even what he needs.

“I'm still interested.”

“Good. The delivery will be at Wajima harbor.”

“Wajima…”

“On the Noto Peninsula, Ishikawa prefecture. The Sea of Japan. The gangs avoid large ports because of better security in the major facilities. They prefer quiet places like Fushiki in Toyama, Minamata in Kumamoto, Hososhima in Miyazaki.”

“Or this time, Wajima.”

“Yes. Yamaoto's men have made reservations at an inn there called Notonosho. The area is known for a hot spring, Nebuta, and apparently these men like the waters. Their names are Kito and Sanada, but they might be traveling under something else.”

“What timing are we talking about?”

“They arrive the day after tomorrow. The delivery will be the night after that. My informant still doesn't know how many Chinese will be involved. But my guess is no more than three. Otherwise the two yakuza would feel uncomfortable.”

I was thinking the same thing, but I only nodded.

“Rain-san, forgive me, but you're not as young as you used to be. Can you…”

“Look who's talking,” I said.

He laughed.

“Don't worry,” I told him. “I've got help.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Anyone I know?”

I shook my head. “What about you? I know you're a workaholic, Tatsu, but how are you able to…?”

“During the day, I have a steady stream of visitors. The doctors hate it, but when they complain I say, ‘So? A little work won't kill me.'”

We laughed, then were quiet again.

“It has to look as though Yamaoto's men killed the Chinese and stole the drugs,” he said. There was an odd fervor in his eyes. “This will put a great deal of pressure on Yamaoto. A great deal.”

Most men, lying on their presumable deathbeds, would be focused on other matters. But not Tatsu. Fighting corruption was his life's work, and he would devote every last breath to it.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “I'll take care of it.”

He nodded and seemed to settle in his bed. “Good,” he said, patting my hand.

Without thinking, I turned my hand around and took his in mine.

He gritted his teeth for a moment and groaned, then whatever pain had caused the groan passed. He said, “You have to hurry, Rain-san. Soon I won't be able to help you.”

I nodded.

He smiled. “Why do you look so sad?”

I shook my head. “You're an asshole.”

I thought he would laugh at that, but he didn't. Instead he squeezed my hand for a moment and then said, “I've thought a lot about what you said, you know. About being a manipulative bastard. I don't have a lot I can do besides lie here and think.”

“You come to any conclusions?”

“That you're right. That I knew exactly what I was doing when I showed you those photographs. That the situation has turned out exactly as I had hoped. Except for one thing.”

“I forgot the whiskey?”

He squeezed again. This time he didn't let go. “That I might have put your family in danger. If something were to happen to your son…”

Tatsu had lost his only son in an accident when the child was an infant. He had spoken of it to me only twice: first, when I had asked him years earlier, and again, on the night he told me that I, too, had become a father. The boy had died over three decades earlier, but the pain still showed in Tatsu's eyes. It always had, and I knew now there was only one thing that could deliver him from it. And that thing was coming far too soon.

“Nothing's going to happen to him,” I said. “We're going to take care of this.”

He closed his eyes and mumbled something. It took me a moment to pick up what it was.
Onegai shimasu.
Please.

We sat like that for a few minutes more. His eyes remained closed and I realized he was sleeping.

I got up and moved to the door. I nodded to the bodyguard, then checked the corridor. All clear.

I used the stairs and a back exit, then ran a route to make sure I wasn't being followed. It was good to have something operational to focus on. It helped me to not think.

When I was satisfied I was alone, I called Dox. He had already checked into his hotel, the large and anonymous Shinagawa Prince. We agreed to meet at a Starbucks in Shinagawa Station in two hours, after I'd checked into the equally unremarkable Shinjuku Hilton.

I clicked off and headed toward the Yamanote. Tatsu's words echoed in my mind:
Soon I won't be able to help you.