A Lonely Resurrection

expression slightly bemused.
    He looked at me, trying to gauge, I knew, whether he was being set up for a ribbing of some sort. “You think so?” he asked, his tone tentative.
    I nodded. “Looks like you got your hair cut at one of those expensive places in Omotesando.”
    He reddened. “I did.”
    “Don’t blush. It was worth whatever you paid for it.”
    He blushed harder. “Don’t tease me.”
    I laughed. “I’m only half teasing.”
    He smiled. “What’s going on?”
    “Why does something have to be going on? Maybe I just missed you.”
    He gave me an uncharacteristically streetwise look. I had a feeling I knew where he’d picked it up. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”
    I wasn’t looking forward to the turn the conversation would take when I brought up Yukiko, and felt no hurry to get there.
    A waitress came by. Harry ordered a coffee and some carrot cake.
    “You hear from any of our new government friends lately?” I asked him.
    “Not a peep. You must have scared them.”
    “I wouldn’t count on that.” I took a sip of espresso and looked at him. “You still in the same place?”
    “Yeah. But I’m almost ready to move. You know how it is. The preparations take awhile if you want to do it right.”
    We were silent for a moment, and I thought,
Here we go.
    “Planning on spending time with Yukiko at the new place?”
    He gave me a wary look. “Maybe.”
    “Then I wouldn’t bother moving.”
    He flinched, his expression characteristically befuddled beneath the slick new haircut.
    “Why?” he asked, his tone uncertain.
    “She’s mixed up with some bad people, Harry.”
    He frowned. “I know.”
    It was my turn to be surprised. “You know?”
    He nodded, still frowning. “She told me.”
    “Told you what?”
    “Told me the club is run by the yakuza. So what? They all are.”
    “She tell you she’s involved with one of the owners?”
    “What do you mean, ‘involved’?”
    “‘Involved,’ as in closely involved.”
    He was tapping his foot nervously under the table. I could feel the vibration.
    “I don’t know what she has to do at the club. It’s probably better if I don’t.”
    He was in denial. This was going to be a waste of time.
    All right. I’d modify my approach and try one more time.
    “Okay,” I said. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
    He looked at me for a moment, off balanced. “How do you even know about any of this?” he asked. “Are you sneaking around behind my back?”
    I didn’t care for the question, though I supposed its substance wasn’t too far off the mark. My answer wasn’t exactly a lie. Just incomplete.
    “I’ve developed a. . . relationship with the yakuza who I think owns Damask Rose. A stone killer named Murakami. He took me there. He and Yukiko were obviously well acquainted. I saw them leave together.”
    “That’s what you wanted to tell me? It sounds like he’s her boss. They left together, so what?”
    Open your eyes, you idiot,
I wanted to say.
This woman is a shark. She’s from a different world, a different species. There’s something way fucking wrong here.
    Instead: “Harry, my gut tends to be pretty good about these things.”
    “Well, I’m not going to trust your gut more than I trust mine.”
    The waitress came with his coffee and cake and moved off. Harry didn’t seem to notice.
    I wanted to tell him more, wanted to offer Naomi’s thoughts as corroboration. But I could see it wouldn’t do much good. Besides, Harry didn’t need to know where I came across my information.
    I tried one last time. “The club is wired for sound and video. The detector you gave me was going apeshit the whole time I was there. I think the place is being used to entrap politicians in embarrassing acts.”
    “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean Yukiko is involved in it.”
    “Haven’t you even asked yourself whether it’s a coincidence that you met this woman at about the same time we discovered you were being followed by the CIA?”
    He looked at me as though I’d finally come unhinged. “Are you saying Yukiko is mixed up with the CIA? Come on.”
    “Think about it,” I told him. “We know the Agency was tracking you to get to me. They got to you through Midori’s letter. What did they learn about you from the letter? Just an unusually spelled name and a postmark.”
    “So?”
    “So the Agency doesn’t have the in-house expertise to do anything useful with information like that. They need local