A Clean Kill in Tokyo

down Shinjuku-dori, then make a left on Meiji-dori, then go left again on Yasukuni-dori. Wait for me on the north side of Yasukuni-dori in front of the Daiwa Bank. I’ll get there right after you do.” I pulled out another ten-thousand-yen note and tore it in two pieces. I gave half to him, told him he would get the other half when he picked me up. He bowed in agreement.
    “Do you have a card?” I asked him.
    “Hai,”
he answered, and instantly produced a business card from his shirt pocket.
    I took the card and thanked him, then walked around to the back of the Studio Alta building, where I took the stairs to the fifth floor. From there I had a good view of the east exit. I checked my watch: fourteen minutes to go. I wrote down an address in Ikebukuro on the back of the card and slipped it into my breast pocket.
    Holtzer showed up one minute early. I watched him emerge from the east exit, then walk slowly toward the Studio Alta sign. Even from a distance I could recognize the fleshy lips, the prominent nose. For a brief, satisfying moment, I remembered breaking it. He still had all his hair, though now it was more light gray than the dirty blond I had known. I could tell from his carriage and build he was keeping in shape. He looked cold in the short-sleeved shirt. Too bad.
    I saw the cab driver approach him and say something. Holtzer nodded, then followed him to the cab, glancing left and right as they walked. He looked the cab over suspiciously before getting in, and then they drove off down Shinjuku-dori.
    I hadn’t given Holtzer’s people time to set up a car or other mobile surveillance in the area, so anyone who was trying to keep up with him was going to have to scramble, most likely by hurrying to get a cab. I watched the area for four minutes, but there was no unusual activity. So far, so good.
    I turned and headed back to the stairs, taking them three at a time until I got to the first floor. Then I cut across Yasukuni-dori to the Daiwa Bank, getting there just as the cab pulled up. I walked over to the passenger side, watching Holtzer’s hands as I approached. The automatic door opened, and Holtzer leaned toward me.
    “John,” he started to say, in his reassuring voice.
    “Hands, Holtzer,” I said, cutting him off. “Let me see your hands. Palms forward, up in the air.” I didn’t really think he was going to try to just shoot me, but I wasn’t going to give him the chance, either.
    I noticed time had done nothing to diminish the tough South Boston accent. “I should ask the same of you.”
    “Just do it.” He hesitated, then leaned back and raised his hands. “Now lace your fingers and put your hands on the back of your neck. Then turn around and look out the driver-side window.”
    “Oh, come on, Rain…” he started to say.
    “Do it. Or I’m gone.” He glared at me for a second and then complied.
    I slid in next to him and gave the driver the business card with the Ikebukuro address, telling him to drive us to the place on the card. It didn’t matter where he took us. I just didn’t want to say anything out loud. Then I squeezed Holtzer’s laced fingers together with my left hand while I patted him down with my right. After a minute I moved away from him, satisfied he wasn’t carrying a weapon. But that was only half my worry.
    “I hope you’re happy now,” he said. “Do you mind telling me where we’re going?”
    I thought he might ask. “You wearing a wire, Holtzer?” I said, watching his eyes. He didn’t answer.
Where would it be?
I thought. I hadn’t felt anything under his shirt.
    “Take off your belt,” I told him.
    “Like hell, Rain. This is going too far.”
    “Take it off, Holtzer. I’m not playing games with you. I’m about halfway to deciding the way to solve all my problems is just to break your neck right here.”
    “Go ahead and try.”
    “Sayonara,
asshole.” I leaned toward the driver.
“Tomatte kudasai.”
Stop here.
    “Okay, okay, you win,” he said, raising his hands as if in surrender. “There’s a transmitter in the belt. It’s just a precaution. After Benny’s unfortunate accident.”
    Was he telling me not to worry, that Benny didn’t even matter?
“Iya, sumimasen,”
I said to the driver.
“Itte kudasai.”
Sorry. Keep going.
    “Good to see you’ve still got the same high regard for your people,” I said to Holtzer. “Give me the belt.”
    “Benny wasn’t my people,” he said, shaking his head at my obvious