Hard Rain

useless from a security standpoint, but the
    mezzanine-level Old Imperial
    22Q
    Bar. The latter is a relic from the original Frank Lloyd
    Wright-designed Imperial that was torn down in 1968, ostensibly in the
    name of earthquake safety, more likely in obeisance to misguided
    notions of 'progress." A walk to the mezzanine level would mean moving
    back across the lobby, taking a flight of stairs, and making several
    turns around mostly deserted corridors with various points of egress.
    If Midori had anyone following her, either with her knowledge or
    without, they'd have a hard time remaining unexposed while we moved.
    We took the stairs to the mezzanine level. With the exception of the
    dozen or so patrons seated in the restaurants we passed, there was no
    one about. I checked behind us while we waited at the bar entrance to
    be seated. No one approached. It seemed she was alone.
    We sat next to each other in one of the high, semicircular booths,
    hidden from the entrance. Anyone hoping to confirm our presence now
    would have to come inside and reveal himself. I ordered us a couple of
    eighteen-year-old Bunnahabhains from the bar's excellent single malt
    menu.
    The feeling was a bit odd under the circumstances, but I was glad to be
    back at the Old Imperial. Windowless and low-ceilinged, dark and
    subdued, intimate despite its spaciousness, the bar has an air of
    history, of gravitas, perhaps a consequence of being the sole surviving
    feature of the hotel's martyred progenitor. Like the hotel itself, the
    Old Imperial feels a bit past its prime, but retains a dignified beauty
    and mysterious allure, like agrande dame who has seen much of life,
    known many lovers, and kept many secrets, who does not dwell on the
    glory of her more exuberant youth but who has neither forgotten it.
    We sat in silence until the drinks had arrived. Then she said,
    "Why?"
    I picked up my Bunnahabhain. "You know why. I was hired."
    "By whom?"
    "By the people your father took that disk from. The same people who
    thought you had it, who were trying to kill you."
    "Yamaoto?"
    "Yes."
    She looked at me. "You're an assassin, aren't you? When there are
    rumors that the government has someone on the payroll, they're talking
    about you, right?"
    I let out a long exhalation. "Something like that."
    There was a pause. Then she asked, "How many people have you
    killed?"
    My eyes moved to my glass. "I don't know."
    "I'm not talking about Vietnam. Since then."
    "I don't know," I said again.
    "Don't you think that's too many?" The mildness of her voice made the
    question worse.
    "I don't... I have rules. No women. No children. No acts against non
    principals The words echoed flatly in my ears like a moron's mantra,
    talismanic sounds suddenly stripped of their animating magic.
    She laughed without mirth. "I have rules." You sound like a whore
    who wants credit for virtue because she won't kiss the clients she
    fucks."
    It stung. But I took it.
    "And then your friend from the Metropolitan Police Force told me you
    were dead. And you let me believe it. Do you know I grieved for you?
    Do you know what that's like?"
    I grieved for you, too, I wanted to say.
    "Why?" she asked. Why would you put me through that? Even beyond
    what you did to my father, why would you put me through that?"
    I looked away.
    "Tell me, goddamn it," I heard her say.
    I gripped my glass. "I wanted to spare you. From this ...
    knowledge."
    "I don't believe you. I half knew anyway. What did you think I would
    think when the evidence of corruption on that disk, which my father
    died trying to get published, wasn't? When I tried to find out what
    had been done with your remains so I could offer my respects, but
    couldn't?"
    "I didn't know it wouldn't be published," I said, not looking at her.
    In fact I thought it would be. But regardless, I expected you to
    forget about me. At times I had my doubts, but what could I do at that
    point? Just show up in your life and explain? What if I'd been wrong,
    what if you had forgotten, you didn't suspect, you'd gotten on with
    your life the way I'd hoped?" I looked at her. I would have just
    caused you more pain."
    She shook her head. "You couldn't have caused me more pain if you'd
    tried."
    There was a long silence. I said, "Are you going to tell me how you
    found me?"
    She shrugged. "Your friend from the Metropolitan Police Force."
    I was taken aback. "Tatsu contacted you?"
    "I contacted him. Several times, in fact. He kept blowing me off.
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