RainStorm

not to despair at
    the thought that it would all once more prove futile, partly because
    in the end someone would always come looking for me, partly because
    some restless thing inside me seemed to insist that I move on
    regardless. We reminisced over some of the experiences we had
    shared in Vietnam, when Tatsu had been seconded to the war by
    the Keisatsucho's predecessor and I, because of my Japanese, was
    tasked with liaising with him; the people we had known there, the
    friends we had lost.
    Once we got going, it was hard to stop. I realized how much I
    missed this form of companionship, how virtually nonexistent it
    had become in my life. And Tatsu was one of the few people,
    maybe the only remaining one, in fact, who knew me all the way
    back to the time before Vietnam and war and killing and everything
    else that eventually came to define me, a time that, on those
    infrequent occasions when I care to consider the matter, seems as
    disconnected and remote as a memory from early childhood.
    I realized, too, that this was part of what made me so miss Midori.
    She made me feel like that previous incarnation, made me believe,
    foolishly, that I might even shed my current skin and be
    baptized anew in the incarnation's unsullied body.
    Not a bad dream, that one, as dreams go.
    When we were done with the meal, and lingering over tea for
    Tatsu and a second coffee for me, he said, "I thought you might
    want to know that a gentleman named Charles Crawley, who has
    U.S. State Department accreditation, was in Tokyo recently. He contacted
    the Keisatsucho and made inquiries about you. Do you
    know this man?"
    First Dox, then Kanezaki, now Tatsu. Mr. Crawley was now
    firmly established on my radar screen.
    "I know the name," I said. "What did you tell him?"
    He shrugged. "That we had a whole file on you."
    "And then?"
    Another shrug. "We gave him the file."
    I looked at him, incredulous. "You just gave him the Keisatsucho
    file on me?"
    He looked at me and said, "Of course," in his trademark Why
    do I always have to spell everything out for these people tone, then paused
    before saying, "The official file."
    I smiled a little at the wily bastard, relief and even some gratitude ameliorating the irritation I might otherwise have felt at him
    for playing with me. The "official" file would be bereft of the most
    meaningful information, the items Tatsu wouldn't entrust to anyone,
    and especially not to his superiors, the nuggets that might reveal
    too much about his occasional resort to extra-legal methods in
    his battle with Japanese corruption.
    "What does the official file conclude about my whereabouts?"
    "That you are most likely still in Japan. Apparently there have
    been several sightings in major cities--Tokyo, Osaka, Fukuoka,
    Sapporo."
    "Really," I said.
    He shrugged. "Of course, I have my own notions about where
    you might have gone instead. But why would I want to clutter up
    an official file with speculation?"
    He was telling me that he had doctored the file. That he had
    done me a favor. I knew there would be a favor in return. If not today,
    then another time, soon.
    I nodded, thinking. All right, then. "Now, what about that fucking
    camera network of yours?" I asked.
    Tatsu had access to the world's most advanced network of security
    cameras, all tied into an advanced facial recognition software
    system. He had used the network to find me after I had first left
    Tokyo and relocated to Osaka.
    "No one is using it to track you. If that changes, I will let you
    know."
    "Thank you. Now, tell me about the man I briefed you on
    through the bulletin board."
    "Belghazi."
    "Yes."
    "I assume you already have plenty of background."
    "I do. Give me the recent data first."
    He nodded. "Belghazi supplies certain yakuza factions with
    small arms, working mostly through the Russian mob in Vladivostok.
    Lately he has been inquiring with these factions about you. I
    gather you did something to irritate him."
    "That's possible."
    "He doesn't seem like the kind of man one should irritate
    lightly."
    "I'm beginning to figure that out."
    "Would you care to tell me what you might have done to cause
    such grave offense?"
    "I think you can guess."
    He nodded, then said, "He is not a good man. He seems to be
    without loyalties."
    "My detractors say the same thing about me."
    He smiled. "They are mistaken. Your problem is that you are
    unable to acknowledge where your loyalties lie."
    "Well, I appreciate your ongoing efforts to help me