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I looked out at the city from my lofty perch and thought of all the events that had led to this precise instant, this moment that I had imagined and ridiculously longed for so many times and that I was now trying to savor even as I felt it slipping irrevocably away.
At some point I felt her looking at me. I turned and reached out, tracing the outline of her face and neck with the back of my fingers, trying to burn all the details into my mind, wanting to have them with me later when she would be gone. I found myself saying her name, quietly, over and over, the way I say it when I’m alone and I’m thinking of her. Then she stepped in close and put her arms around me and pulled us together with surprising strength.
She smelled the way I remembered, clean, with a trace of perfume that remains a mystery to me, and I thought of wine, the kind you wait and wait to decant and then hesitate to drink because afterward it’ll be gone.
We kissed for a long time, gently, not hurrying, standing there in front of the window, and at some point I really did forget what had brought us here together and why we would have to depart alone.
We pulled off each other’s clothes the way we had that first time, fast, almost angrily. I removed the baton from where it was taped to my forearm and set it down. She knew better than to ask about it. When we were naked, still kissing, she pressed against me so that I had to move backward toward the king-sized bed. My legs bumped against it and I sat down on its edge. She leaned forward, one hand on the bed, the other on my chest, and pushed me down onto my back. She knelt astride me, one hand still on my chest, and reached down for me with the other. She squeezed for a second, hard enough to make it hurt. Then, looking at me with her dark eyes but still saying nothing, she guided me in.
We moved slowly at first, tentatively, like two people unsure of each other’s motives. My hands roamed the landscape of her body, now moving on, now lingering somewhere in response to the pace of her breathing or the pitch of her voice. She put her hands on my shoulders, pi
Afterward she straightened but kept her hands on my shoulders. She dipped her head forward so that shadows obscured her face. She made no sound but I felt her tears falling onto my chest and neck.
I didn’t know what to say, or even whether to touch her, and we remained that way for a long time. Then she eased off me and walked silently to the bathroom. I sat up and waited. After a few minutes she came out, wearing one of the hotel’s white terrycloth robes. She looked at me but didn’t say anything.
“You want me to go?” I asked.
She closed her eyes and nodded.
“Okay.” I got up and started pulling on my clothes. When I was done I faced her.
“I know you’re doing well in New York,” I said. “Ganbatte.” Keep it up.
She looked at me. “What are you going to do?”
I shrugged. “You know how it is with us creatures of the night. Gotta find a rock to crawl under before the sun comes up.”
She forced a smile. “After that.”
I nodded, thinking. “I’m not sure.”
There was a pause.
“You should work with your friend,” she said. “It’s the only thing for you.”
“Fu
The smile reappeared, a little less forced this time. “His motives are probably selfish. Mine aren’t.”
I looked at her. “I’m not sure whether I can trust your motives, after what you just said to me.”
She looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. You were being honest. Although I don’t think anyone has ever been honest with me in quite that way. At least not at that moment.”
Another smile. It was sad, but at least it looked genuine. “I’m being honest now.”
I needed to get it over with. I moved in close, close enough to smell her hair and feel the warmth of her skin. I paused there for a moment, my eyes closed. Took a deep breath. Slowly let it out.
I used English to avoid the unambiguous finality of sayonara. “Goodbye, Midori,” I said.
I walked to the door and, habitual as always, checked through the peephole. The corridor was empty. I moved into it without looking back.
The hallway was hard. The elevator was a little easier. By the time I got to the street I knew the worst was over.
A voice spoke up inside me, quiet but insistent. So is the best, it said.
21
I MADE MY way through the backstreets of Shinjuku, heading east, deciding where I wanted to stay for the night and what I would do when I awoke the following morning. I tried not to think about anything else.
It was late, but there were small clusters of people about, moving like dim constellations in the surrounding emptiness of space: vagrants and beggars; hustlers and pimps; the disheartened, the disenfranchised, the dispossessed.
I hurt, and I couldn’t think of a way to make the pain go away.
My pager buzzed.
Of course I thought, Midori.
But I knew it wasn’t her. She didn’t have the number. Even if she did, she wasn’t going to use it.
I looked at the display, but didn’t recognize the caller.
I found a pay phone and dialed the number. It rang once, then a woman answered in English. She said, “Hey.”
It was Naomi.
“Hey,” I said. “I almost forgot I’d given you this number.”
“You don’t mind my using it, I hope.”
“Not at all. Just a little surprised.” I was surprised. My alertness had bumped up a notch.
There was a pause. “Well, things were slow tonight at the club and I got off a little early. I wondered if you might want to come by.”
It was hard to imagine a slow night at Damask Rose, but maybe it was true. Even so, I would have expected her to want to go someplace first-a late di
“Sure,” I said. “If you’re not too tired.”
“Not at all. Would love to see you.”
That was odd. She’d pronounced “would” like something halfway to “we’d.” The blurring was contrary to her usual Portuguese accent. A message? A warning?
I looked at my watch. It was almost one thirty. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”
“I can’t wait.”
I heard her click off.
Something didn’t feel right. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what.
There was the oddity of her having contacted me. And the story about having come home early, although I suppose the latter might adequately explain the former. Her tone seemed pretty normal. But there was that peculiarly pronounced word.
The question was, what would I do if I knew it was a setup? Not what I would do if I suspected, but if I knew.
I went to another pay phone and called Tatsu. I got his voice mail. I tried again. No dice. He must have been on a stakeout or something.
Well, he does have a day job, I thought. But shit.
The safe thing, the smart thing, would have been to stay away until I could go in with backup. But there might be an opportunity here, and I didn’t want to let it slip.