Rainfall

don’t remember.”

    “Good for Midori. She really is going to be a star.” I patted her on the hand. “Good night, Mama. See you again.”

    I took the stairs down to the street, then crossed Roppongi-dori and waited in the Meidi-ya supermarket across the street, pretending to examine their champagne selection. Ah, an ’88 Moët — good, but hardly a bargain at 35,000 yen. I examined the label and watched the elevator to Alfie through the window.

    Out of habit I scanned the other spots that would make sense as setup points if you were waiting for someone to emerge from Alfie. Cars parked along the street, maybe, but you could never count on getting a space, so low probability there. The phone booth just down from the Meidi-ya, where a crew-cut Japanese in a black leather jacket and wraparound shades had been on the phone as I emerged from the stairwell. He was still there, I could see, facing the entrance to Alfie.

    The stranger emerged after about fifteen minutes and made a right on Roppongi-dori. I stayed put for a moment, waiting for Telephone Man’s reaction, and sure enough he hung up and started off down the street in the same direction.

    I left the Meidi-ya and turned left onto the sidewalk. Telephone Man was already crossing to the stranger’s side, not even waiting until he got to the crosswalk. His surveillance moves were blatant: hanging up the phone the instant the stranger had emerged, the constant visual contact with the exit before that, the sudden move across the street. He was following too closely, too, a mistake because it allowed me to fall in behind him. For a second I wondered if he might be working with the stranger, maybe as a bodyguard or something, but he wasn’t close enough to have been effective in that capacity.

    They turned right onto Gaienhigashi-dori in front of the Almond Cafe, Telephone Man following by less than ten paces. I crossed the street to follow, hurrying because the light had already changed.

    This is stupid,
I thought.
You are in the middle of someone else’s surveillance. If there’s more than one and they’re using film, you could get your picture taken.

    I imagined Benny, putting a B-team on Kawamura, playing me for a fool, and I knew I would take the risk.

    I followed them for several blocks, noting that neither exhibited any concern about what was going on behind him. From the stranger I saw no surveillance-detection behavior — no turns or stops that, however innocent seeming, would have forced a follower to reveal his position.

    At the fringes of mad Roppongi, where the crowds began to thin, the stranger turned into one of the Starbucks that are exterminating the traditional
kissaten
, the neighborhood coffee shops. Telephone Man, constant as the North Star, found a public booth a few meters farther on. I crossed the street and entered a place called the Freshness Burger, where I ordered their eponymous entrée and took a seat at the window. I watched the stranger order something inside Starbucks and then sit down at a table.

    My guess was that Telephone Man was alone. If he had been part of a team, it would have made sense for him to peel off and change places at some point to avoid detection. Also, my periodic checks as we progressed down the street hadn’t identified anyone behind me. If he had been with a team and they were as clueless as he appeared to be, I would have made them easily as we moved along.

    I sat quietly, monitoring the street, watching the stranger sipping his Starbucks beverage and checking his watch. Either he was waiting for someone to meet him there, or he was killing time before a meeting somewhere else.

    Turned out it was door number one. After about half an hour had gone by, I was surprised to see Midori heading down the street in our direction. She was checking storefronts as she walked, finally seeing the Starbucks sign and heading in.

    Telephone Man pulled out a cell phone, pressed a key, and held the unit to his ear. Nice move for a guy standing in a public phone booth. He hadn’t needed to input the whole number, I noted, so whomever he was calling was a speed dial, someone he would call frequently.

    The stranger stood when he saw Midori approaching his table and bowed formally. The bow was good, and I knew this was someone who had been in Japan for some time, who would be comfortable with the language and culture. Midori returned his bow but at a lesser angle, uncertainty in her stance. I sensed that