Hard Rain

too."
    Disengage, I thought. But my hands stayed put. They were moving now.
    I watched them as though from afar. The sound of fabric against flesh
    was loud in the enclosure.
    She's playing you, I thought.
    Then: The hell with it. You're supposed to be acting like an ordinary
    customer, anyway.
    I dropped to one knee, sliding my hands down to the backs of her thighs
    as I did so, then stood again, my hands sweeping the dress upward en
    route. She was wearing a black thong. The dress dangled slightly
    above it, gathered at her lower back. I gripped the dress in one hand
    like a bridle and took hold of her ass with the other.
    "Only above the waist," she said, smiling over her shoulder, her cool
    voice in counterpoint to the heat in my head and gut. "Or I have to
    call the doorman."
    I felt a surge of anger. Let it go, I thought. Just get out of here. Like
    you should have before this bullshit began.
    I removed my hand from her ass and took a step back, but my anger got
    the better of me. Still gripping the dress with one hand, I swiveled
    my hips in and delivered a hard spank to her exposed right cheek. There
    was a loud slap! and she yelped, jerking away from me as though from
    an electric shock.
    She spun and faced me, one hand on her wounded posterior. Her eyes
    were wide, her nostrils flared with shock and anger. In my peripheral
    vision I saw her weight shift to her back leg, and thought she was
    going to try for a ball shot with her forward foot.
    Instead, she stepped back. Her arms slipped to her sides and she drew
    up her shoulders and chin, the picture of suppressed regal rage. She
    looked at me.
    "Mo owari, okyakusama?" she asked, as contemptuously as she could. Are
    we finished, honorable customer?
    "Was that against the rules?" I asked, smiling into her eyes.
    She pulled up the dress and slipped her arms through the straps. Her
    face was still red with anger, and I couldn't help admiring her
    composure in controlling it. She managed the zipper without
    assistance, then said, "That was three songs, so thirty thousand yen.
    And you should tip the doorman ten percent. Ken?"
    Ken must have been the Nigerian, because a second later the
    semicircular sofa was pulled aside and there he was. I took out my
    billfold and paid each of them.
    "Thank you," I said to Naomi. I beamed like a well-satisfied customer.
    "That was ... special."
    She smiled back in a way that made me glad she didn't have a weapon.
    "Kochira koso," she replied. The pleasure was mine.
    She escorted me back to my seat. I switched the unit back on en route.
    Murakami and Yukiko were waiting for us.
    "Yokatta ka?" Murakami asked me, showing me the false teeth. Good?
    "Maana I told him. Good enough.
    He took Yukiko's hand and started moving away. "We'll discuss our
    business another time," he said.
    "When?"
    "Soon. I'll find you at the dqjo."
    He didn't like to make appointments any more than I did. "Morning?
    Evening?" I asked.
    "Morning. Soon." He turned to Naomi. "Naomi, shikkari men do mite
    jare jo." Take good care of him, Naomi. Naomi bowed her head to show
    that she most certainly would.
    Murakami and Yukiko left. A minute later the detector started buzzing
    continuous, so audio only. I'd been right about the house rules.
    Naomi and I made small talk for a few minutes for the benefit of the
    microphones. Her tone was cool and correct. I knew our little
    encounter hadn't turned out quite the way she had planned, but she had
    managed to distract me from my questions, which was what she had really
    been after. Probably she was telling herself that the fight had been a
    draw, that she could settle for that.
    What she didn't know was that it had only been round one.
    I told her I was bushed and had to go. "Come back anytime," she said
    with a sarcastic smile.
    "For another one of those lap dances?" I asked, returning the smile.
    "Absolutely."
    I walked up the stairs and out onto Gaienhigashi-dori. When I got to
    the street a horn tooted. I saw Yukiko driving by in a white BMW M3,
    Murakami in the passenger seat. She waved, then disappeared onto
    Aoyama-dori.
    It was just past one in the morning. The club closed at three. Naomi
    would be heading home at some point thereafter.
    I'd done the computer check. I knew where home was. The Lion's Gate
    Building, Azabu Juban 3-chome.
    The trains had already stopped running. I doubted that she'd have a
    car: keeping one in the city is too expensive and the trains go
    everywhere, anyway. Getting home would