A Lonely Resurrection

economist flush with pride.
    “The weightlifter had established an efficient system,” he continued. “All the traditional
gumi
were using his services. The legitimacy this system afforded the
gumi
was making them less vulnerable to prosecution, and more influential in politics and the boardroom. More influential in society generally, in fact. Our mutual acquaintance, Yamaoto Toshi, had grown particularly dependent on the weightlifter’s operation.”
    Gumi
means “group” or “gang.” In the yakuza context, the word refers to organized crime families, the Japanese equivalent of the Gambinos or the fictional Corleones.
    “I don’t see how his absence is going to make a difference,” I said. “Won’t someone just take his place?”
    “In the long run, yes. Where there is enough demand, eventually someone will offer a supply. But in the meantime, the supply is disrupted. The weightlifter was critical to the smooth maintenance of his organization. He groomed no successors, fearing, as strongmen do, that the presence of a successor would make a succession more likely. There will be a struggle in his organization now that he is gone. Deceit and betrayal will be part of that struggle. Assets and connections that are now hidden will be exposed. Criminal influence on legitimate enterprises will be lessened.”
    “For a time,” I said.
    “For a time.”
    I thought of what Kanezaki had told me about Crepuscular.
    “I had a run-in with someone from the CIA recently,” I said. “He mentioned something you might want to know about.”
    “Yes?”
    “His name is Kanezaki Tomohisa. He’s American, ethnic Japanese. He mentioned a CIA program for ‘furthering reform and removing impediments to reform.’ Something called Crepuscular. Sounds like your bailiwick.”
    He nodded slowly for a moment, then said, “Tell me about this program.”
    I started to tell him the little I’d heard. Then I realized. “You know this guy,” I said.
    He shrugged. “He was one of the people who came to the Metropolitan Police Force requesting assistance in locating you.”
    Marvelous.
“Who was the other?”
    “Holtzer’s successor as the CIA’s chief of Tokyo Station. James Biddle.”
    “Haven’t heard of him.”
    “He’s young for the position. About forty. Perhaps part of a new generation at the CIA.”
    I told him how I had met up with Kanezaki and his escort, fudging the details to conceal Harry’s involvement.
    “How did they manage to find you?” he asked. “It took me an entire year, even with local resources and access to Juki Net and the cameras.”
    “A flaw in my security,” I told him. “It’s been corrected.”
    “And Crepuscular?” he asked.
    “Just what I told you. I didn’t get details.”
    He drummed his fingers on the table. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt Kanezaki-san could have told you more than I already know.”
    I looked at him, as always impressed with the breadth of his information. “What do you know?”
    “The U.S. government is funneling money to various Japanese reformers. This is the same kind of program the CIA ran after the war, when it was supporting the Liberal Democratic Party as a bulwark against communism. Only the recipients have changed.”
    “What about the ‘removing impediments’ part?”
    He shrugged. “I imagine that, as Kanezaki-san suggested, they might want you to help with that.”
    I laughed. “Sometimes these guys are so presumptuous a certain grandeur creeps into it.”
    He nodded. “Or they could be under the misapprehension that you had something to do with William Holtzer’s demise. Either way, you should stay away from them. I think we know they are not to be trusted.”
    I smiled at his use, probably deliberate, of “we” and “they,” as though Tatsu and I were partners.
    “All right,” I said. “Tell me about the favor you want.”
    He paused, then said, “Another key Yamaoto asset. And also a man whose primitive appearance masks a more sophisticated set of skills.”
    “Who is he?”
    He looked at me. “Someone you should understand quite well. A killer.”
    “Really,” I said, affecting nonchalance.
    The waitress brought his tea and set it down before him. He extended the cup in my direction in a silent toast, then took a sip.
    “He is a strange man,” he said, watching me. “From his background, you might conclude he is only a brute. There was a history of child abuse. Fights in school, and early evidence of sadistic