The Key to Midnight

shoulder, squeezed gently. 'I have an uncle who is-'
        'A hypnotist.'
        'Psychiatrist,' Mariko said. 'A doctor. He uses hypnotism only to-'
        'Yes, Mariko-san, you've told me about him before. I'm really not interested.'
        'He could help you remember the entire dream. He might even be able to help you learn the cause of it.'
        Joanna stared at her own reflection in the blue bar mirror and finally said, 'I don't think I ever want to know the cause of it.'
        They were silent for a while.
        Eventually Mariko said, 'I didn't like it when they made him into a hero.'
        Joanna frowned. 'Who?'
        'Godzilla. Those later movies, when he battles other monsters to protect Japan. So silly. We need our monsters to be scary. They don't do us any good if they don't frighten us.'
        'Am I about to get hit with some philosophy of the mysterious East? I didn't hear the Zen warning siren.'
        'Sometimes we need to be frightened,' Mariko said.
        Joanna softly imitated a submarine diving alarm: 'Whoop-whoop-whoop-whoop.'
        'Sometimes fear purges us, Joanna-san.'
        'We're deep in the unfathomable waters of the Japanese mind,' Joanna whispered theatrically.
        Mariko continued unfazed: 'But when we confront our demons-'
        'Deeper and deeper in the Japanese mind, tremendous pressure building up-'
        '-and rid ourselves of those demons-'
        '-deeper and deeper-'
        '-we don't need the fear any more-'
        '-the weight of sudden enlightenment will crush me as though I'm just a bug-'
        '-don't need it to purge us-'
        '-I tremble on the edge of revelation-'
        '-and we are then freed.'
        ' I’m surrounded by the light of reason,' Joanna said.
        'Yes, you are, but you're blind to it,' said Mariko. 'You are too in love with your fear to see the truth.'
        "That's me. A victim of phobophilia,' Joanna said, and drank the rest of her sherry in one long swallow.
        'And you call us Japanese inscrutable.'
        'Who does?' Joanna said with mock innocence.
        'I hope Godzilla comes to Kyoto,' Mariko said.
        'Does he have a new movie to promote?'
        'And if he does come, he'll be the patriotic Godzilla, seeking out new threats to the Japanese people.'
        'Good for him.'
        'When he sees all that long blond hair of yours, he'll go right for you.'
        'I think you've got him confused with King Kong.'
        'Squash you flat in the middle of the street, while the grateful citizens of Kyoto cheer wildly.'
        Joanna said, 'You'll miss me.'
        'On the contrary. It'll be messy, hosing all that blood and guts off the street. But the lounge should reopen in a day or two, and then it'll be my place.'
        'Yeah? Who's going to sing when I'm gone?'
        "The customers.'
        'Good God, you'd turn it into a karaoke bar!'
        'All I need is a stack of old Engelbert Humperdinck tapes.'
        Joanna said, 'You're scarier than Godzilla ever was.'
        They smiled at each other in the blue mirror behind the bar.

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    3
        
        If his employees back in the States could have seen Alex Hunter at dinner in the Moonglow Lounge, they would have been astonished by his relaxed demeanour. To them, he was a demanding boss who expected perfection and quickly dismissed employees who couldn't deliver to his standards, a man who was at all times fair but who was given to sharp and accurate criticism. They knew him to be more often silent than not, and they rarely saw him smile. In Chicago, his hometown, he was widely envied and respected, but he was well liked only by a handful of friends. His office staff and field investigators would gape in disbelief if they could see him now, because he was chatting amiably with the waiters and smiling nearly continuously.
        He did not appear capable of killing anyone, but he was. A few years ago he had pumped five bullets into a man named Ross Baglio. On another occasion, he had stabbed a man in the throat with the wickedly splintered end of a broken broomstick. Both times he had acted in self-defense. Now he appeared to be nothing more than a well-dressed business executive enjoying a night on the town.
        This society, this comparatively depressurized culture, which was so different from the American way, had a great deal to do with his high spirits. The relentlessly