A Clean Kill in Tokyo

by moonlight, the other hidden in shadow. “Yes,” I said.
    “What was the dream?” she asked.
    “I don’t know,” I said, lying. “Mostly just images.”
    I could feel her looking at me. “You tell me to trust you,” she said, “but you won’t even tell me about a bad dream.”
    I started to answer, then all at once felt irritated with her. I slid off the bed and walked over to the bathroom.
    I don’t need her questions,
I thought.
I don’t need to take care of her. Fucking CIA, Holtzer, knows I’m in Tokyo, knows where I live. I’ve got enough problems.
    She was the key, I knew. Her father must have told her something. Or she had what whoever had broken into his apartment on the day of his funeral had been looking for. Why couldn’t she just realize what the hell it was?
    I walked back into the bedroom and stood facing her. “Midori, you’ve got to try harder. You’ve got to remember. Your father must have told you something, or given you something.”
    I saw surprise on her face. “I told you, he didn’t.”
    “Someone broke into his apartment after he died.”
    “I know. I got a call from the police when it happened.”
    “The point is, they couldn’t find what they were looking for, and they think you have it.”
    “Look, if you want to take a look around my father’s apartment, I can let you in. I haven’t cleaned it out yet and I still have the key.”
    The people who had broken in had come up empty, and my old friend Tatsu, as thorough a man as I have ever known, had been there afterward with the resources of the
Keisatsucho.
I knew another look would be a dead end, and her suggestion only served to increase my frustration.
    “That’s not going to help. What would these people think that you have? The disk? Something it’s hidden in? A key? Are you sure you don’t have anything?”
    I saw her redden slightly. “I told you, I don’t.”
    “Well, try to remember something, can’t you?”
    “No, I can’t,” she said, her voice angry. “How can I remember something if I don’t have it?”
    “How can you be sure you don’t have it if you can’t remember it?”
    “Why are you saying this? Why don’t you believe me?”
    “Because nothing else makes sense! And I’ve got to tell you, I don’t like the feeling of people trying to kill me when I don’t even know why!”
    She swung her feet to the floor and stood. “Oh, it’s only you! Do you think I like it? I didn’t do anything! And I don’t know why these people are doing this, either!”
    I exhaled slowly, trying to rein in my anger. “It’s because they think you have the disk. Or you know where it is.”
    “Well I don’t! I don’t know anything—I’ve already told you that!”
    We stood staring at each other at the foot of the bed, breathing hard. Then she said, “You don’t give a shit about me. You’re just after what they want, whatever it is.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “It is true! I’ve had enough! You won’t even tell me who you are!” She stalked over to the door and picked up a bag, started shoving her things into it.
    “Midori, listen to me.” I walked over and grabbed the bag. “Listen to me, goddamn it! I do care about you! Can’t you see that?”
    She tugged at the bag. “Why should I believe what you say when you don’t believe me? I don’t know anything! I don’t know!”
    I yanked the bag out of her hands. “All right, I believe you.”
    “Like hell you do. Give me my bag. Give it to me!” She tried to grab it and I moved it behind my back.
    She looked at me, her eyes briefly incredulous, then started hitting me in the chest. I dropped the bag and wrapped my arms around her to stop the blows.
    Later, I couldn’t remember exactly how it happened. She was fighting me and I was trying to hold her arms. I became very aware of the feel of her body and then we were kissing, and it seemed as though she was still trying to hit me but it was more that we were tearing at each other’s clothes.
    We made love on the floor at the foot of the bed. The sex was passionate, headlong. At times it was like we were still fighting. My back was throbbing, but the pain was almost sweet.
    Afterward, I reached up and pulled the bedcovers over us. We sat with our backs against the edge of the bed.
    “Yokatta,”
she said, drawing out the last syllable. “That was good. Better than you deserved.”
    I felt a little dazed. It had been a long time for me, a connection like that. It was