A Lonely Resurrection

This was stupid.
    “Line them up right,” he said. “Take out all three.”
    “Tatsu, you don’t understand this guy’s instincts. He doesn’t let anyone line up anything. When we got out of the Benz in front of his club, I saw him scoping rooftops for snipers. He knew where to look, too. He’d feel me lining him up from a mile away. Just like I’d feel him. Forget it.”
    He frowned. “How can I convince you?”
    “You can’t. Look, this was a risky proposition to begin with, but I was willing to undertake the risk in return for what you can do for me. I’ve learned the risk is now greater than I had originally thought. The reward is the same. So the equation has changed. It’s no more complicated than that.”
    Neither of us said anything for a long time. Finally, he sighed and said, “What will you do, retire?”
    “Maybe.”
    “You can’t retire.”
    I paused. When I spoke, my voice was quiet, not much more than a whisper. “I hope you’re not saying you might interfere.”
    He didn’t flinch. “There would be no need for me to interfere,” he said. “You don’t have retirement in you. I wish you could recognize that. What will you do, find an island somewhere, spend time on the beach catching up on all the books you’ve been missing? Join a
go
club? Anesthetize yourself with whisky when your restless memories refuse to permit sleep?”
    But for the jellifying effects of the heat, I might have gotten upset at that.
    “Maybe therapy,” he went on. “Yes, therapy is popular these days. It could help you come to terms with all the lives you have taken. Perhaps even with the one you have decided to waste.”
    I looked at him. “You’re trying to goad me, Tatsu,” I said softly.
    “You need goading.”
    “Not from you.”
    He frowned. “You say you might retire. I understand that. But what I’m doing is important and right. This is our country.”
    I snorted. “It’s not ‘our’ country. I’m just a visitor.”
    “Who told you that?”
    “Everyone who mattered.”
    “They would be glad to know you listened.”
    “Enough. I owed you. I paid. I’m done.”
    I got up and rinsed with cold water at one of the spigots. He did the same. We changed and walked down the stairs.
    Just outside the entranceway, he turned to me. “Rain-san,” he said. “Will I see you again?”
    I looked at him. “Are you a threat to me?” I asked.
    “Not if you are really going to retire, no.”
    “Then we might see each other. But not for a while.”
    “Then we needn’t say
sayonara.”
    “We needn’t say it.”
    He smiled his sad smile. “I have a request.”
    I smiled back. “With you, Tatsu, it would be a little dangerous to agree to anything up front.”
    He nodded, accepting the point. “Ask yourself what you hope to get out of retirement. And whether retirement will achieve it.”
    I said, “That I can do.”
    “Thank you.”
    He extended his hand and I shook it.
    “De wa,”
I said, by way of goodbye. Well then.
    He nodded again.
“Ki o tsukete,”
he said, a farewell that can be intended as an innocuous
Take care
or as a more literal
Be careful
.
    The ambiguity felt deliberate.

CHAPTER 13
    I waited until after seven that evening, when I knew Yukiko would have left for the club, then called Harry. I was going to tell him what he needed to hear. I owed him that much. What he decided to do with the information would then be his problem, not mine.
    We set up a meeting at a coffee shop in Nippori. I told him to take his time getting there. He understood the translation: With the Agency snooping around, do a damn thorough SDR.
    I got there early per my usual practice and passed the time sipping an espresso and leafing through a magazine someone had left on the table. After about an hour Harry showed up.
    “Hey, kid,” I said when I saw him. I noticed he was wearing a stylish lambskin jacket, and wool trousers instead of the usual jeans. He’d gotten a haircut, too. He looked nearly presentable. I realized there was no way he was going to listen to me, and almost decided not to bother telling him.
    But that wouldn’t be right. I would give him the information, and it would be his responsibility to use it. Or not.
    He sat and, before I could open my mouth, said, “Don’t worry. There’s no way I was followed.”
    “Doesn’t that go without saying?”
    His eyes started to widen, then he saw I was just giving him a hard time. He smiled.
    “You look good,” I told him, my