Hard Rain

assume that he had something to hide, perhaps the
    very thing they were looking for. They would intensify coverage as a
    result.
    Tonight's exercise was intended to determine whether all this was
    indeed the case. The route I'd devised was designed to take whoever
    might be following Harry in a circle through the Ebisu Garden Palace, a
    multistoried outdoor shopping arcade that would afford me several
    opportunities to unobtrusively watch him and whatever might be trailing
    in his wake. It was aggressive enough to enable me to spot a tail, but
    not so aggressive as to scare the tail off. Except at the end, when
    Harry would pull away in front and I would close in from behind.
    At eight o'clock I made my way to the Rue Favart restaurant on the
    corner of Ebisu 4-chome, across from the Sapporo Building. I wanted to
    get there early to ensure that I would get one of the three window
    seats on the restaurant's third floor, which would give me a direct
    view of the sidewalk that Harry would shortly be using. If the tables
    were taken, I would have time to wait. I was hungry, too, and the Rue,
    with its eclectic collection of pastas and sandwiches, would be a good
    spot to fuel up. I had enjoyed the place from time to time while
    living in Tokyo and was looking forward to being back.
    I followed a waitress up the wooden stairs to the third floor, taking
    in the zany decor on the way lime green walls with enormous flower
    murals, helter-skelter chairs and tables of wood and metal and molded
    plastic. The window seats were indeed all occupied when I arrived, but
    I told the waitress not to worry, I would be happy to wait for the
    privilege of such a splendid view. I sat on a small sofa, enjoying an
    iced coffee and the hallucinatory ceiling murals of bee des and moths
    and dragonflies. After a half-hour, the two office ladies at one of
    the window seats departed, and I took their table.
    I ordered the shiitake mushroom ri sotto and a minestrone soup, asking
    if they could bring it in a hurry because I was hoping to catch a nine
    thirty movie. I would need to leave immediately after Harry passed by,
    and had to time things right.
    I thought about what I would do if my experiment were successful that
    is, if I confirmed that Harry was indeed being followed. The answer, I
    supposed, depended largely on who they were, and why they were
    interested. My main concern was that nothing should interfere with my
    preparations for departure, which, now that I had finished the
    'favor' for Tatsu, I was going to have to accelerate. I had to protect
    my plans, even if it meant leaving Harry on his own.
    The ri sotto was good, and I would have liked more time to enjoy it at
    my leisure. Instead, I ate quickly, watching the street below. When I
    was done, I checked my watch. Just enough time for one of the Rue's
    celebrated hot cocoas, dense concoctions crafted with pure cocoa and
    dollops of whipped cream, of which the Rue serves no more than twenty a
    day. I ordered one and savored it while I waited and watched.
    I saw Harry at a little after nine, moving clockwise from Ebisu station
    toward Kusunoki-dori. He was moving quickly, as I'd instructed him. At
    this time of the evening, Ebisu comprises mostly pleasure-seekers
    attracted to the swank restaurants and bars of the Garden Court
    complex. The pace of the area is accordingly relaxed. Anyone
    attempting to match Harry's speed would find himself out of sync with
    the area's rhythms, and therefore conspicuous.
    I spotted the first likely candidate as Harry turned right onto
    Kusunoki-dori at the Ebisu 4-chome police box. A young Japanese in a
    navy suit, slight of build, with gelled hair and wire-rimmed glasses.
    He was following about ten meters behind Harry on the opposite side of
    the street sound technique, as most people are aware, if at all, only
    of what is transpiring directly behind them. I couldn't yet be sure,
    of course, but from his position and his manner, and his pace, I had a
    feeling.
    Harry continued to move away from my position. Two groups of young
    Japanese now appeared farther back in his wake, but I dismissed them as
    unlikely. Their manner was too relaxed, and they were too young.
    Next was a Caucasian, a big guy, the sack drape of his dark suit and
    confident cadences of his gait both American,
    moving quickly down the sidewalk. Could be a businessman, staying at
    the nearby Westin Hotel, in a hurry for an appointment. Or not. I
    filed him as a possible.
    Harry