Hard Rain

willing to talk about.
    We were quiet for a few moments. Then she said, "You were right. I
    wouldn't have reacted so sharply if what you were saying were untrue.
    These are things I've been thinking about a lot, and I haven't been as
    honest with myself as you just were." She reached out and took my
    hand. She squeezed it hard. "Thank you."
    I felt an odd confluence of emotions: satisfaction that my manipulation
    was working; sympathy because of what she was struggling with;
    self-reproach for taking advantage of her naivete.
    And beneath it all I was still attracted to her. I was uncomfortably
    aware of the touch of her hand.
    "Don't thank me," I said, not looking at her. I didn't squeeze back.
    After a moment she withdrew her hand.
    "Are you really just trying to help a friend?" I heard her ask.
    "Yes."
    "I would help you if I could. But I don't know any more than what I've
    already told you."
    I nodded, thinking of the Agency and Yamaoto, wondering about the
    connection. "Let me ask you something," I said. "How many Caucasians
    do you see at the club?"
    She shrugged. "A fair number. Maybe ten, twenty percent of the
    customers. Why?"
    "Have you ever seen Murakami spending time with them?"
    She shook her head. "No."
    "How about Yukiko?"
    "Not really. Her English is pretty bad."
    Inconclusive. She didn't know anything. I was starting to doubt that
    she'd be of much help after all.
    I looked at my watch. It was almost five. The sun would be coming up
    soon.
    "We should get going," I said.
    She nodded. I paid the bill and we left.
    Outside it was damp but not raining. The lamplights on Roppongi-dori
    created glowing cones of slowly swirling mist. It was as late as it
    could get without getting early, and the street was momentarily
    silent.
    "Walk me home?" she asked, looking at me.
    I nodded. "Sure."
    Halfway through the twenty-minute walk it started raining again.
    "Droga!" she swore in Portuguese. "I left the umbrella at Tantra."
    "Shoganai' I said, turning up the collar of my blazer. What can you
    do.
    We walked faster. It started to rain harder. I brushed my fingers
    through my hair and felt rivulets trickling down the back of my neck.
    With about a half-kilometer to go, a huge crack of thunder rang out and
    it really started pouring.
    "Que merdaF she exclaimed with a laugh. We're doomed!"
    We ran for it, but to no real avail. We got to her apartment and
    ducked under the overhang in front of the rear entranceway. "Meu
    deus," she said, laughing, "I haven't gotten drenched like that in
    forever!" She unbuttoned her dripping coat, then looked at me and
    smiled. "Once you're already wet, it's actually kind of nice."
    Wisps of vapor were rising off her damp dress. "You're steaming," I
    observed.
    She glanced down, then back at me. She pushed a few strands of
    clinging hair back from her face. "That run made me warm," she said.
    I wiped water from my face and thought, Time to go.
    But I remained.
    "Thanks for an interesting evening," she said, after a pause. "You're
    not a bad guy, for a stalker."
    I gave her a half-smile. "That's what people tell me."
    There was an odd moment of quiet. Then she stepped in close and hugged
    me, her face against my shoulder.
    I was surprised. My arms moved reflexively around her.
    Just a little comfort, I thought. You were rough on her before. Let
    I was distantly aware that this sounded like a rationalization. It
    troubled me vaguely. Ordinarily I get along well without.
    I could feel her soft shape, the heat of her, conducted with electric
    clarity through the wet of our clothes.
    I felt my body responding. I knew she felt it, too. A.h, shit.
    She lifted her head from my shoulder. Her mouth was very close to my
    ear. I heard her say, "Come inside."
    The last person I'd gotten involved with when I should have treated her
    only as an asset was Midori. I was still paying the price on that
    one.
    Don't be stupid again, I thought. Don't get too close. Don't blur the
    line.
    But the thoughts were disconnected. No one seemed to be listening.
    She's a bar girl You don't know where her loyalties lie.
    That one was unconvincing. No one had directed her against me I was
    the one who had been pursuing her. She hadn't needed to warn me about
    the bugs. My gut told me she wasn't dissembling.
    She put a hand on my chest. "You haven't ... been with someone for a
    long time," she said.
    I reminded myself that this was part of the reason I've lived so
    long.
    "Why do you say that?" I asked.
    "I can