Hard Rain

Sentiment is stupid. On
    balance, Harry had become a liability. I had to leave him behind.
    Part 3.
    God. That bastard, he doesn't exist. Samuel Beckett
    Fourteen.
    I made my way back to the Imperial, entering the hotel through the
    Hibiya Park side. In my mind, anyplace where I'm staying is a
    potential choke point for an ambush, and my radar bumped up a notch as
    I moved through the spacious lobby to the elevators. I automatically
    scanned the area around me, first keying on the seats offering the best
    view of the entranceway, the places where an ambush team would position
    a spotter, the person tasked with supplying a positive ID. I saw no
    like lies My radar stayed on medium alert.
    As I approached the elevators, I noticed a striking Japanese woman,
    midthirties, shoulder-length hair wavy and iridescent black, skin
    smooth and pale white in contrast. She was wearing faded blue jeans,
    black loafers, and a black V-neck sweater. She was standing in the
    middle of the bank of elevators and looking directly at me.
    It was Midori.
    No, I thought. Look more closely.
    Since that last time, about a year earlier when I had watched her
    perform from the shadows at the Village Vanguard in New York, I've seen
    a number of women who resemble Midori at first glance. Each time it
    happens, a part of my mind fills in the details, perhaps wanting to
    believe that it really is her, and the illusion lasts for a second or
    two before closer inspection convinces that hopeful part of my mind of
    its error.
    The woman watched me. Her arms, which had been crossed began to
    unfold.
    Midori. There was no question.
    My heart started thudding. A fusillade of questions erupted in my
    mind: How can she be here"? How can it be her? What is she doing back
    in Tokyo? How would she know where to find me? How would anyone
    know?
    I shoved the questions aside and started checking the secondary areas
    around me. Just because you've spotted one surprise doesn't mean there
    isn't another. In fact, the first one might have been a deliberate
    distraction, a setup for a fatal sucker punch.
    No one seemed out of place. Nothing set off my now-elevated radar.
    Okay.
    I looked at her again, still half-expecting that the second examination
    would tell me I'd been hallucinating. I hadn't. It was her.
    She was standing now, watching me. Her posture was stiff and somehow
    determined. Her eyes were fixed on me, but I couldn't read them.
    I glanced around the room again, then slowly walked over to where she
    stood. I stopped in front of her. I thought the ba-boom, ba-boom in
    my chest might be loud enough for her to hear.
    Get it together, I thought. But I didn't know what to say.
    "How did you find me?" is what came out.
    Her expression was placid, almost empty. Her eyes were dark. They
    radiated their characteristic untouchable heat.
    "I looked in a directory of people who are supposed to be dead," she
    said.
    If she'd been trying to fluster me, she'd done a nice job of it. I
    glanced around the room again.
    "Are you afraid of something?" she asked mildly.
    "All the time," I said, settling my eyes on hers again.
    "Afraid of me? Why would that be?"
    A pause. I asked, "What are you doing here?"
    "Looking for you."
    "Why?"
    "Don't play dumb. I know you're not."
    My heart rate was starting to slow. If she thought I was going to
    start spilling my guts in response to her vague replies, she was
    mistaken. I don't play it that way, not even for her.
    "You going to tell me how you found me?" I asked.
    "I don't know."
    Another pause. I looked at her. "You want to get a drink?"
    "Did you kill my father?"
    My heart rate reversed course.
    I looked at her for a long time. Then I said, "Yes," very quietly.
    I watched her. I didn't avert my eyes.
    She was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was low and
    husky.
    "I didn't think you would admit it. Or at least not so easily."
    "I'm sorry," I said, thinking how ridiculous it sounded.
    She pressed her lips together and shook her head, as though to say You
    can't be serious.
    I looked around the lobby again. I didn't spot anyone who was
    positioned to do me harm, but there were a lot of people coming and
    going and I couldn't be sure. I wanted to move. If she had any
    accomplices, this would draw them out.
    "Why don't we go to the bar," I said. "I'll tell you what you want to
    know."
    She nodded without looking at me.
    What I had in mind was not the lobby-level Rendezvous Bar, which is so
    heavily trafficked as to be