Rainfall

“Head in the direction of Omotesando-dori. I’m going to get Midori someplace safe and follow up on my hunch. I’ll be in touch.”

    He looked at Midori, clearly at a loss.

    “It’s all right,” she said. “We want the same thing you do.”

    “I don’t suppose I have much choice,” he said, looking at me with a glare that was meant to convey resentment. But I saw what he was really thinking.

    “Mr. Bulfinch,” I said, my voice low, “don’t try to follow me. I would spot you if you did. I would not react as a friend.”

    “For Christ’s sake, tell me what you’re thinking. I might be able to help.”

    “Remember,” I said, gesturing to the street, “the direction of Omotesando-dori. I’ll be in touch soon.”

    “You’d better be,” he said. He took a step closer and looked through the shades and into my eyes, and I had to admire his balls. “You just better.” He gave a nod to Midori and walked through the glass doors of the Spiral Building and out onto the street.

    Midori looked at me and asked, “What’s your hunch?”

    “Later,” I said, watching him through the glass. “We need to move now, before he gets a chance to double back and follow one of us. Let’s go.”

    We walked out and immediately flagged a cab heading in the direction of Shibuya. I could see Bulfinch, still walking in the other direction, as we got in and drove away.

    We got out and separated at Shibuya JR Station. Midori headed back to the hotel while I made my way up Dogenzaka — where Harry and I had followed Kawamura that morning that now seemed like so long ago, where, if my hunch was right, Kawamura had ditched the disk the morning he died.

    I was thinking about Kawamura, about his behavior that morning, about what must have been going on in his mind.

    More than anything else he’s scared. Today’s the day; he’s got the disk that’s going to flush all the rats out in the open. It’s right there in his pocket. It’s small and almost weightless, of course, but he’s intensely aware of its presence, this object that he knows will cost him his few remaining days if he’s caught with it. In less than an hour he’ll meet Bulfinch and unload the damn thing, and thank God for that.

    What if I’m being followed right now?
he would think.
What if they find me with the disk?
He starts looking over his shoulder. Stops to light a cigarette, turns and scans the street.

    Someone behind him looks suspicious. Why not? When you’re hopped up on fear, the whole world is transformed. A tree looks like an NVA regular down to the details — the dark uniform, the Kalishnikov. Every guy in a suit looks like the government assassin who’s going to reach into your pocket, take out the disk, and smile as he raises the gun to your forehead.

    Get rid of the damn thing, and let Bulfinch retrieve it himself. Anywhere, anywhere at all . . . there, the Higashimura fruit store, that’ll do.

    I stopped outside the store’s small door and looked at the sign over it. This was where he had ducked into that morning. If it wasn’t here, it could be anywhere. But if he had unloaded it on his way to see Bulfinch, this was the place.

    I walked in. The proprietor, a short man with defeated-looking eyes and skin the hue of a lifetime of tobacco, looked up and acknowledged me with a tired “
irrashaimase
,” then went back to reading his
manga
. The store was small and rectangular, and the proprietor had a view of the whole place. Kawamura would have been able to hide the disk only in places where a patron could acceptably put his hands. He would be moving quickly, too. As far as he was concerned, it would only need to stay hidden for an hour or so, anyway, so he didn’t have to find an incredibly secure spot.

    Which meant it was probably already gone, I realized. It wouldn’t still be here. But I had nothing else to go on. It was worth a try.

    Apples. I had seen an apple rolling out of the train car as the doors had closed.

    There was a selection of Fujis, polished and beautiful in their netted Styrofoam half blankets, at the farthest corner of the store. I imagined Kawamura strolling over, examining the apples, slipping the disk under them as he did so.

    I walked over and looked. The bin was only a few apples deep, and it was easy for me to search for the disk simply by moving around the apples, as though I was trying to select just the right one.

    No disk. Shit.

    I repeated the drill with the adjacent