Part 25 (2/2)

Young men with short gaffs went among the tuna, lifting them this way and that across the wet concrete by hooking them in the gills. Other men walked slowly among the deepening rows of fish, spraying them with water.

All the while a pearlescent mist rose about their feet, the spray from their hoses bouncing off scales and concrete to form miniature rainbows in the air.

At five minutes to five, the men began stacking the most enormous mounds of pink and white sas.h.i.+mi, sparkling, dewy fresh, ready along with the great fishfor auction.

The market was filling up with people: buyers, sleepy sightseers, revved-up revelers who were making this their last stop among many during the long night.

”Maroc-san.”

Jake turned, saw a diminutive j.a.panese come around from behind a stack of squid.

”Kachikachi-san!”

They bowed to each other, performing the greeting ritual of the Yakuza.

”When I saw you last you were tied up.”

”By your own hand, Maroc-san.”

”A thousand apologies. The circ.u.mstances a”

Kachikachi nodded. ”Komoto-san explained everything afterward,”

”It is about Komoto-san that I have come,” Jake said. ”Is he here?”

”Let us have breakfast,” Kachikachi said. He led the way across the concrete running with sea water and fish blood to a small restaurant that was no more than a counter beneath a striped awning.

Over sas.h.i.+mi and Kirin beer, Kachikachi said, ”Komoto-san sends you his greetings.”

Jake said nothing.

”He apologizes for the manner in which you have been led around. As you said, circ.u.mstances a”

”The war.”

”You come at the worst time imaginable,” Kachikachi said, crunching into a thick slice of abalone cunningly shaped to resemble a b.u.t.terfly.

”I know.”

”There is talk of an escalation of the war.”

Buddha, Jake thought. It is already a bloodbath.

”Times are most difficult, Maroc-san. I spent fifteen minutes here making sure that you had not been followed before I made contact.”

”Followed by whom?”

”These days,” Kachikachi said, dipping squid into soy sauce, ”there are many enemies.”

Jake thought of his own situation. ”I feared that Komoto-san was already dead,” he said. ”I have been calling for days.”

”Security, Maroc-san.” Kachikachi ordered more sas.h.i.+mi for them both. ”And Komoto-san has no wish to involve you in this extreme danger.”

”It's too late for that,” Jake said. ”I'm already here.”

Kachikachi's face darkened. ”I am afraid that it would be best if you left.”

”Left?”

Kachikachi handed him a slim packet. ”Immediately.”

Jake opened it, found a one-way ticket to Hong Kong. ”What is this?”

Kachikachi's eyes were sad. ”It is my oyabun's wish.”

Jake put the packet on the counter between them. ”This did not come from Komoto-san.”

”I regret to say that there is no choice, Maroc-san.” Kachikachi's eyes were downcast. ”One should not have to speak to a friend in such a manner, but I, too, have been given no choice.” He reached into his pocket, threw some bills on the counter. ”Please be on that flight.” He stood.

”I want to see Komoto-san.”

”Goodbye, Maroc-san.”

”I will see him, Kachikachi-san. I must.”

But Kachikachi had already disappeared into the mist. Pocketing the ticket, Jake left the restaurant and went carefully through the market. It was just past five thirty and the first auction had begun. The crowds had increased and he had plenty of cover.

He spotted Kachikachi and worked his way through the throng, careful to change vectors frequently since Kachikachi was already sensitive to security.

At the land end of Tsukiji, the small man paused, looking around. They were in the east end of Tokyo. Kachikachi turned right, hurrying up the street. Jake followed, crossing and recrossing the street several times, using shop windows and, where he could, mirrors to keep the small man in sight. At the same time, he kept an eye out for ticks who might have picked either him or Kachikachi up at the market. He saw no one.

Kachikachi went into Asas.h.i.+cho. He was heading directly for Jisaku, a well-known restaurant where one could still see geisha performing with lunch or dinner, though the woman was more likely to be sixty than twenty. Nowadays all the young ones were selling their bodies along the Ginza. This tradition, at least, was dying out.

The place looked like a temple structure with its long sloping tiled roofs and ancient appearance. Kachikachi pa.s.sed into shadow under the eaves.

Jake paused on the street and took a hard look around. There were a number of cars parked along the curb. One of them he recognized as Mikio's company Mercedes. It was impossible to tell if anyone was inside because of the tinted gla.s.s. But in the cool morning air Jakecould see the soft swirl of exhaust emanating from the car's tailpipe. The engine was on, the Mercedes ready to roll.

Keeping one eye on Jisaku, into which Kachikachi had disappeared, Jake went out into the street and hailed a cab. At this time of the day, with people streaming in from nearby Tsujiki, it was not difficult to find one. The automatic door opened and Jake ducked his head inside. He spoke to the driver in rapid idiomatic j.a.panese, unfurling several bills of high-yen denomination as he did so.

The man nodded, pocketing the bills, and Jake stood up. He was about to return to the restaurant when he saw the front door open. Kachikachi came out along with a large Yakuza. They stood in the mist, watching the street. Jake turned away, leaning on the open door of the taxi.

Reflected in the window of the car he could see another man emerge from the shadowed doorway of the restaurant. Now the three were on the move. They were definitely on their way to the Mercedes.

Jake climbed into the taxi and the door sighed shut. There was a miniature TV that the last pa.s.senger had left on. Jake switched it off and watched the three hurry down the walk. Jake studied the third man. It was difficult to get even a partial view of his face because of the intervening bulk of the big Yakuza, but Jake recognized the wide shoulders and narrow waist, the close stubble of his shorn hair.

Mikio!

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