The Last Assassin

horn-rimmed glasses, and two layers of thick fleece under the windbreaker that added the appearance of twenty-five or thirty pounds. I reconnoitered the area on foot, my posture, gait, and presence maximally unobtrusive. I checked the spots I would have used to watch the apartment. I even checked the local watering holes in case Wong had a partner who was waiting in the area to pick Midori up after her performance at Zinc. Everything was clear. I parked myself in a jazz joint called 55 Club a block from her building and waited.
    A half hour later my phone buzzed. I went outside to answer it.
    “Set’s over,” Dox said. “Midori just got in a cab.”
    “And our friend?”
    “He’s staying put for the moment. Just like last night.”
    “Has he used a phone?”
    “No.”
    “All right. Sounds like we’re in business.”
    “You know, I’ve been thinking. Just because he didn’t go there last night doesn’t mean he’s going to do the same tonight. What if…”
    “Look, if he hasn’t followed her yet, he’s not going to. Not tonight, anyway. And I’ve checked all the possible spots around her apartment. It’s clear. This is my chance.”
    “Yeah, but…”
    “I’ll be fine.”
    “I’m not saying you won’t. But why don’t I just swing by and have a look anyway. Can’t hurt to have me around.”
    “I appreciate that. But I’d rather…do this alone. You know?”
    There was a pause. Then he sighed and said, “It’s your party, man.”
    Part of me was trying to speak up, to tell me he was right, it couldn’t hurt. But things felt under control. Midori would either invite me inside or send me packing. All I needed was a minute either way.
    “I’ll call you after,” I told him. “I’ll let you know.”
    “All right. Be careful, partner.”
    I closed the phone and turned it off. This was apt to be delicate and I didn’t want any interruptions.
    I walked partway down the street and pulled off the baseball cap and wig. I started to pocket the wig, but then imagined Midori seeing it protruding from one of my pockets and decided to toss it instead. It would have made her too suspicious, and at this point it had served its purpose. I stuffed the baseball cap in one of the windbreaker’s pockets. I waited. A few minutes later, a cab approached from down the street. I started walking toward it.
    The cab stopped in front of Midori’s building. The door opened. I paused ten feet away on the sidewalk.
    Midori got out. She thanked the driver and closed the door. The cab pulled away.
    Midori looked up and saw me. She froze.
    I tried to say something, but nothing came out. A long moment went by.
    Finally I said, “Midori.”
    She watched me. I wanted to look around, to check my surroundings. I fought the urge. She had always hated that kind of awareness. It made her distrust me.
    “Why are you here?” she asked.
    “You know why.”
    “How did you…” she started to say, then stopped. She’d probably decided it didn’t really matter. Or that she didn’t want to know.
    “Can I come up?”
    She was silent.
    “Just for a minute,” I heard myself saying.
    After a moment, she nodded. We went inside. Although I hadn’t seen any cameras, I assumed they would have some sort of remote security in the lobby and I kept my head down. Midori said, “Hello, Ken,” to the doorman, and we got in the elevator. She didn’t look at me on the ride up. We didn’t speak.
    We got out on the seventeenth floor and walked down the corridor. She unlocked a door and we stepped into a nicely furnished living room. Dark wood floors, Gabbeh rugs, black-and-white photos of leafless winter trees. Comfortable-looking upholstered chair and couch. Some sort of indoor infant swing set was parked in a corner, surrounded by brightly colored toys. We took off our jackets and shoes and moved inside. I peeled off the double fleece, too. I didn’t need it now and it was warm in the apartment.
    A pretty brown-skinned woman emerged from behind the door to what I assumed was a bedroom. She glanced at me, then looked at Midori.
    “Everything okay, Digne?” Midori asked.
    The woman nodded. “The little angel is sleeping. I give him a big bottle before he goes to sleep.”
    Her accent was Latina. I guessed El Salvador.
    Midori nodded. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
    “Of course.” The woman picked up a coat from the couch, slipped on her shoes, and paused at the door. She smiled and said, “Oyasumi