Chapter
seven
Back on Thanatos, bombing through night Tokyo, I was roiled with conflicting emotions. Relief that I had a potential solution to my yakuza problem. Fear at how extreme and unlikely the solution was. Anxiety at the implications of what I had just agreed to do—those I could imagine, and even more, those I was probably missing. But for now, there was nothing I could do but wait for McGraw’s intel and continue to avoid places like the Kodokan, where Mad Dog and his friends would be looking for me.
I shoved it all aside and thought about the girl at the hotel, instead. I liked how unruffled she’d been in the face of that drunken guy’s bullshit. And how tough she’d been with me after. And the wheelchair…why? Something congenital? An accident? The reason the sight of it had surprised me so much was that she had struck me as so competent, confident, in control. I realized these weren’t qualities I associated with someone needing a wheelchair, and that my unconscious expectations were simply assumptions based primarily on foolish prejudice, itself likely the product of a lack of thought and experience. Was it weird I found her attractive? I decided I didn’t care. I didn’t even know if she could have sex. But…I wondered. Anyway, thinking about her was much more enjoyable than pondering the guerrilla war I was about to wage against mobsters determined to kill me.
I knew I shouldn’t go back to the same hotel, especially not twice in a row. But I told myself there would be no harm. It wasn’t like the girl knew my name, or even the first thing about me. There was no way anybody could trace me there. One night, two nights, it wasn’t going to make any difference. I needed a place to stay. And someplace familiar wouldn’t be the worst thing.
It didn’t take long to get back to Uguisudani, park the bike, and run the gauntlet of streetwalkers again. As I walked through the front entrance of the hotel, I was suddenly gripped by doubt. Maybe I was being stupid. Maybe she would think I was a creep for coming back. Maybe she wouldn’t even be there.
But she was. A different sweatshirt this time—gray, and no lettering. Other than that, she looked just the same. Just as good.
She glanced up and saw me. There was a pause, then she said, “I didn’t expect to see you back here.” There was a slight emphasis on the “you.” Other than that, her tone was as neutral as her expression.
She was listening to jazz again. I wondered who, and why she seemed to like it so much.
“Yeah, well, the Imperial was full.”
I thought that was reasonably funny, but she acknowledged it with only the barest hint of a smile. “Let me guess. A stay?”
“How’d you know?”
“Intuition.”
Her expression was still so neutral, I had no idea what she was thinking. I said, “What are you…doing here? This job, I mean.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean…you’re young. You know, mostly it’s an oba-san.”
“You stay at love hotels often?”
I felt myself blush. “No. Everyone knows that.”
She shrugged. “If you say so.”
Man, I was really striking out. “So really, why?”
“The interesting people I meet.”
The robot-neutral affect was killing me. Laughing to conceal my embarrassment at what I thought was a dismissal, I pulled out a five-thousand-yen note and slid it under the glass. “I guess it would work for that.”
She slid the bill into a drawer and came out with a thousand-yen note. She held it, not yet pushing it under the glass, and looked at me as though trying to decide something. “A job where I can sit is good. One where I can sit and study is even better.”
I grabbed onto the reprieve. “What are you studying?”
“English.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” This time her tone wasn’t neutral. It was vaguely irritated.
Jesus, I couldn’t seem to say anything right. “I mean, what do you want to do with it?”
I thought I detected something in her eyes—amusement, maybe? As though I was a well-meaning pet that was maybe just cute enough to deserve a little patience. But overall, other than the fact that she was talking, there was no evidence that she was the least bit interested in me. It was disconcerting.
“You might have noticed, I need a job that requires a lot of sitting. If I speak English, maybe I can get something a little better than this one.”
“I don’t know. I speak English, and it hasn’t helped me get the job I want.”
“What job do you want?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that’s part of the problem.”
That glimmer of amusement flashed in her eyes again, then was gone. “Do you really speak English?”
I nodded. “I’m half American.” I didn’t know why I said it. It wasn’t something I ordinarily shared with Japanese.
She scrutinized my face, searching, I knew, for the mongrel in it. “Now that you mention it, I think I can see it. Your mother was Japanese?”
I shook my head. “Father.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Both places.”
“You’re lucky. America’s where I want to go.”
“Why?”
She looked around. “Because I hate it here.”
Given my own love-hate relationship with the country, I wasn’t sure how to respond. So I just nodded.
She looked at me. “You don’t?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Were they hard on you?” She didn’t need to be more specific than that. She was talking about the ijimekko—school bullies.
“Sometimes.” A monumental understatement.
She held my gaze for a moment, then slid the thousand-yen-note under the glass, followed by a room key. I took both, feeling I was being dismissed, trying to think of something I could use to engage her further, coming up with nothing.
Finally, in a fit of creativity, I said, “I’m Jun.” Jun was my given name, bastardized to John in English.
She nodded as though this was possibly the least interesting thing she’d ever heard.
“What’s your name?” I said, going double or nothing.
She looked at me for a long beat. I imagined I knew what a microbe felt like under a microscope.
“Why would you want to know my name?” she said.
“I don’t know. So I have something to call you, I guess. Wait, now you’re going to ask why I would need to call you something, right?”
She raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly as though impressed by what a quick study I was.
“I don’t know,” I said, flailing but plunging ahead regardless. “In case I’m back here. If I come back, it could be the third time I talk to you. I feel like the third time I talk to someone, I should know her name. I’m not sure why. It just feels…like I should.” I realized I was babbling and couldn’t seem to find the off switch.
“I’m not familiar with that custom.”
Jesus. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s because I just made it up.”
She smiled at that, I thought half out of good humor, half out of pity. “Well, Jun, if you come back again and we talk for a third time, maybe I’ll tell you my name then.”
I tried to think of something witty to say and couldn’t. So I just nodded and took the key, then headed for the elevator. I hoped she would think my wordless exit was confident and cool. But I was pretty sure she knew better.